1 December 2011
5 D, Old Burbidges
East London

It was cold now, but a little bluebell fire charm in one of his saucepans kept Figaro Sellaphix’s small fifth floor balcony well warm enough if he layered on a thick sweater. The view of the city was quite smart for the cost of his rent. His dad had called the place a tip, Raine implied it was a hovel, and what was it ‘rustic’? Someone had charitably referred to it as rustic. But Fig loved it. Having his own space and not having to tidy for anyone else. After sharing a small room with his brother his whole life, and then a common room with a dozen other boys, it was very welcome.

He spent all his time out here, reading magazines, listening to music, eating his meals, napping, watching the massive black birds bicker with squirrels in the courtyard trees, that kind of shit. And he happily did all of this on his own.

CAW!

Figaro startled. On the farthest edge of his balcony railing was one of those big black birds. Looking at him. Tapping its talons on the ornate metal.

CRAW! it said again. Tap tap tap. Then it clacked its beak. But the moment Figaro moved, it flew away.

It was a few days later in the afternoon that Fig was out on his balcony, eating Bertie Botts new line of crisps, that the same bird (he guessed) visited again. It clacked its beak, and ruffled its neck feathers. Slowly, unable to stop the bag from crinkling, Figaro tossed it a crisp. It landed on the floor and immediately the bird hopped down, took the crisp and flew off.

This continued over the next fortnight, Fig getting into the habit of coming out with something crunchy at about the same time of afternoon on the days he wasn’t working. Sometimes the raven came, sometimes not, but each time it did it came a little bit closer. After a month, Figaro could call out his name (he’d decided on Trouble which felt very clever and could work for either male or female birds), and sometimes the raven would show up.

Then the funniest thing happened: Trouble started bringing things. First, a button. Then a lost earring with dangly little gems. Then, muggle coins, a London souvenir keychain, a sea shell, and a key. And one day in December, the little bugger crawled under Figaro’s chair next to the bluebell flames and stayed a while, as Figaro passed him some peanuts.

He wrote his brother.

Frank, I been adopted by a raven. I feed her crisps and she brings me an assortment of nonsense. I’m calling her Trouble.
(So you found out about Dad, I guess. Weird a bit, innit? See you at Christmas.)

Fig

A reply came the next day.

Figaro,

Yes, Dad and Mum came around and it was super awkward. Might have hurt his feelings, I don’t know. Maybe Christmas will be better. I’m going to be in a play! Mum’s making me, but I’m not that worried.

Nice job on your raven. Check and make sure its not an Animagus. You have strange friends.

Frank

Oh shit didn’t think of that.

The following day, Trouble announced her presence by tap tap tapping on his balcony door. Fig'd been home late from work. A bit wary now Frank had made him paranoid he grabbed his crisps, but as he opened the door, the raven slipped between his leg and began strutting around amongst the clutter. Click click as it perched on the rail of his bed. This was a first. But maybe Trouble was tired of the cold.

“No, no, please come in,” he said. He’d chatted to the bird before, but now he started to wonder if she could understand him all along. How do you test if an animal is an Animagus. He figured Moira would know. Kurby would. So would his folks. Hmm.

He supposed he’d start with the obvious. Trouble (if that was her real name, had transferred to the mantle and was poking at his books.

“So funny question, mate. You’re not actually a human, are you? Playing the long game to get into my flat and frame me for a crime. I’ve had about enough of that.”

Trouble ruffled her feathers and hip-hopped over to the kitchen area. Figaro watched. No answer. Obviously.

“Would you even tell me if you were? Or is this whole bit just about chicken tikka masala crisps?”

Caw. Fig narrowed his eyes. Was that an answer? She often cackled back at him.

Well. Then without further raven caw-ment, she took a whole slice of bread from the open bag and made her exit.


fin