New Experiences

Methos slouched a bit deeper on his couch. What more could he ask for, than a good beer and a book he hadn't read yet? Maybe it wasn't what most people would agree was good literature...okay, that was a bit of an understatement: it was the literary equivalent of Plan 9 From Outer Space, without a Mystery Science Theater 3000 episode dedicated to it. But he had a certain irrational fondness for such literary ephemera; some day not too far in the future, he would be the only person who remembered it, the same as he'd be the only person who remembered the mortals he met. Good, bad, or indifferent, he loved all of them, even the ones he didn't particularly like.

The ability to genuinely like life and everything about it was, he was convinced, the most important thing for living as long as Immortals could. He couldn't count Cassandra as truly living, merely surviving, and the rest of the Immortals with multiple millennia under their belts enjoyed the world and their lives, even if it wasn't necessarily in a way that others approved of. Today Methos was enjoying a book and a beer. Tomorrow...who knew what he'd be enjoying? There was a whole world full of possibilities out there.

Tap. Tap. Taptap. Normally he wouldn't have taken any notice of the sound, having lived in a number of houses with trees close enough to tap on the windows (or, more often, the walls). But this house didn't have any trees around it. He looked up and had to wonder if his beer had gone bad, because there in broad daylight was an owl, looking at him as if it was a cat that had decided that it was time to come inside and was wondering why he hadn't read its mind and already opened the door—or in this case, window. He decided to indulge its odd behavior. This was just a vacation house; nothing in it was important enough for him to care if an owl destroyed it.
Methos opened the window with all the reverence due to any animal that acted like a cat. To his amusement, the owl took it as its due and flew in to land neatly on the back of one of the kitchen chairs before it raised one of its legs towards him, displaying what looked like a scroll of paper.

A messenger owl? Now he really had seen everything. He wasn't sure he would have braved the talons and beak if he'd been mortal—but then, if he'd been mortal, he likely wouldn't have ever seen an owl tear apart its prey before, and developed a healthy respect for its destructive capability. But he was Immortal, so the worst he had to worry about was a few years spent growing back a finger or two. And the owl did seem docile, or at least domesticated. He took the scroll without incident. It unrolled a bit once it wasn't tied anymore, and he saw that it wasn't a scroll, but an envelope.

Mr A. Pierson
The Yellow Room
19 North Hill Road
Swansea

The address probably should have made Methos feel like somebody was watching him—the house has three bedrooms; how did the person who addressed the letter know which one he was staying in this time?—but the owl accomplished that just fine on his own, with the way it was staring at him. Right...it was a cat in the body of an owl, which had somehow been convinced to deliver mail.

"Would you like something to eat?" he asked. "I believe I have some dormice." The owl sat up straighter and, if it was even possible, stared at him even harder. He pulled out the cage of mice, already mourning their loss. And he'd just re-found the recipe, too...

With the owl happily engaged, he turned his attention to the letter. Parchment wasn't something that was used much these days. Green ink, an owl...the plot thickened. He cracked open the wax seal and read the letter.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr Pierson,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

A grin spread across Methos's face as excitement grew within him. Here was something he'd never done before, or even heard of. Magic school! He could hardly wait.