The shape became clearer, the flapping of the wings. The short, stubby body, the vicious hook of a beak. The owl swooped and swirled across the page, as Ron fought the desire to whoop for sheer joy.
His elation collapsed just as suddenly as it arose.
This was a tease, a temptation. Hell, even a witch as bright as Hermione hadn't tried to achieve her animagus form. Nor Harry, and his father had been one too.
The owl was gorgeous, and as Ron watched, the ink faded and spread out towards the corners of the page leaving behind a painful hollow.
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