“Your not one I would have suspected to find here.” Fenrir idly remarked to the bird in his hand. No a well known symbol of peace, serenity and devotion was not anything one would think to find in the large aviary of one Bellatrix Lestrange. “But I think you will do very well for this particular delivery.”
“Then again knowing your mistress, I bet you have a couple of tricks up your sleeve don't you?” He smirked, stroking a finger down the soft tufts of the snow white doves' dainty crest.
Setting down a small package, Greyback gave the bird a sharp look, stopping it's hopping instantly as he scrawled a quick note in accompaniment in a stark, bold hand.
My Dearest Bereaved Barwench
You can do so much better, his insides were boringly ordinary compared to his frilly little robes.
I couldn't even be bothered to keep him all bark and no bite as it were.
Tucking his missive into the small box, Greyback attached it to the dove and barked the address “Rosemerta of the Three Broomsticks,” and sent him out the window where the werewolf watched the bird soared into the horizon with it's species' customary grace.