"That tickles Frances," he told her with a slight giggle and scrunch of his shoulders, because the tiny talons shuffling along his shoulder and the feathers brushing against his neck now didn't help. But in a moment he conjured up a disc and teleported them to the usual alley he teleported to, to walk the rest of the way to the ice cream parlour. After all, while he didn't have a secret ID, Frances did, and he couldn't make it a point of always teleporting in front of the door when the people there knew he usually came with her. So the young mage stepped off his disc, looked both ways, then strolled onto the sidewalk, owl on his shoulder and all.
Very discrete.
"It's like Harry Potter. Except I don't have a wand and you can't fly and carry my mail," he whispered to her.
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