I Am Not a Raven

Wednesday night. A first-year informed me today, with great confidence, that Corvus is a word for crows and ravens. She has been learning Latin. I congratulated her and pointed out that I am an owl, and that the Professor named me when he was young, keen on Latin and not yet able to tell one bird from another.

Her friend was nervous of small spaces and asked whether the lecture hall was the cramped sort of room. It is not. There is nothing to crawl into and nothing to squeeze past anywhere on campus, and the cauldron bubbles in the story only: not a puff of smoke. Her puffer stayed in her pocket all hour.

And if anybody needs to leave, there is a button for it, and somebody watching who will open the door at once. Nobody needed it today. They were too busy discussing my name.

I have decided to let them call me what they like, as long as they keep looking for the Professor.