Violet had made her way all the way from the dungeons to the very top of the castle, and now stood in the doorway of the owlery, looking all around it with a sharp eye. Ah ha! Yes, it was just as she had thought--there was Mack, trying to hide behind a group of three owls and pretend that he belonged here. But the owls, sensing her eye upon them, slowly began to back away to the far edges of the perch, leaving Violet's troublesome magpie standing alone and quite visible.

"Come here, you," she said with resignation, holding out a hand, and the magpie cautiously stepped onto her outstretched arm, one foot after the other.

Violet walked over to one of the openings and looked out over the grounds of Hogwarts, enjoying the colors of the fall leaves down below. From this distance, it looked like some sort of Impressionist painting. "Well, today is my birthday, again," she murmured softly to her pet. "Eighteen years old. Practically ancient." Violet should really be getting ready to graduate at this age, but because she'd missed her second year, she was a year behind her class. This year she felt more out of place than ever, with so many of the seventh years who had been her friends last year already graduated and gone. It seemed she was either too old or too young for every group. On her shoulder next to her ear, Machiavelli grunted softly in sympathy.