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ACT3CH10 - The Peverell Legacy
🕑 Added 2023-08-23 13:26:41 +0000 UTC“Ever since that night at the cemetery, I’ve been having… dreams. I’m… I’m not sure if I can call them dreams, because they’re too lucid. In them, I’m in a cold place, like an icy mountain. I think. And I meet Ignotus.”
“Who iz this man?” Fleur asked.
“Ignotus Peverell,” said Harry. “Grandfather of Iolanthe Peverell. She married Hardwin Potter, and is my family’s connection to the Peverell legacy. He’s the previous Peverell Vessel, and the entity you’re so fond of calling a demon.”
“Wait,” said Sirius. “You’re not talking of the Ignotus Peverell, as in, brother of Antioch and Cadmus Peverell, are you?”
Harry nearly missed how Albus Dumbledore stiffened at that.
“The originator of the Three Brothers story?” asked Joshua.
Harry perked up at that. “What story?”
“The Tale of Three Brothers?” said Daphne. “It’s from the Tales of Beedle the Bard.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Perhaps we should focus on the more important things first?” asked Dumbledore. “If what Harry claims is right, then reality is obviously quite different from a children’s bedtime story.”
Joshua snorted. “Come now, Headmaster. You of all people shouldn’t claim it as a parable. Given how both you and your best friend were obsessed with it.”
The room instantly got noticeably colder, as Dumbledore met Joshua’s eyes, and Harry sensed a spark of true anger crossing his face.
“An obsession that led a man to committing genocide, Mr. Greengrass. Do you really want to discuss exactly what motivated Gellert Grindelwald? Perhaps we could start with the mausoleum at Pere Lachaise?”
Harry didn’t know what it was about, but Joshua looked like he had been slapped.
“No,” said the man after a long second. “That will not be necessary.”
“Professor?” asked Harry. “What is he talking about?”
“Harry —”
“I’m sharing my secrets with you,” Harry added before he could even speak. “If there is something I must know, then I’ll ask you not to hide it from me.”
The old man looked utterly conflicted, and glanced at everyone around him.
“I trust them,” said Harry simply.
Dumbledore regarded him thoughtfully, as if determining what and how much to say. “I see you cannot be convinced otherwise. Nevertheless, I do not think this is a good idea.”
“Noted,” drawled Sirius.
“And now the story?” asked Harry.
“I’ll tell you,” said Daphne. “I know it verbatim. Astoria loved that story in particular, and would make me read it to her before bed.” She smiled, and closed her eyes, as if picturing the scene. “It’s about three brothers that were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight.”
“Midnight,” said Sirius absently. Daphne opened a single eye and arched her brow.
“Sorry,” said the man sheepishly. “My mother always said midnight. Much more darker and mysterious.”
Daphne rolled her eyes. “As the story goes, the brothers reached a river too deep to cross through and too dangerous to swim across. But they were all very talented in magical arts, so they waved their wands and transfigured a bridge across the treacherous waters. They were halfway across it, when their way was blocked by a mysterious hooded figure.”
She took a dramatic pause.
“And then Death spoke to them.”
Harry narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Daphne continued her story.
“He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travellers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.”
“Take a little death inside you, Boy. And it shall lead you to more. Open your mouth…”
Harry shivered.
“The oldest brother,” Daphne went on, “was a combative man. He asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.”
“The Elder Wand,” muttered Joshua.
Daphne continued her tale. “The second brother, an arrogant man in every sense of the term, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.”
Harry stared at Daphne, eyes widened. Bringing someone back from the dead, just the sheer idea of that enthralled him. The image of his parents returning to life consumed him. Ignotus’s words came to mind.
“.... As magic can be twisted and perverted to cruel and destructive ends, Necromancy can be turned upon its nature as well. Death can be warded off, as I did. Life can be served by that dark power, if one’s intent and purpose are strong.”
Life can be served by that dark power. Life! He could save Daphne. He could bring his parents back. All of that through Death. A power that only he had, surging in his very veins.
“Harry?”
Sirius’s voice shook him from his reveries, and Harry found everyone looking at him curiously.
“Sorry,” he said. “Was thinking. Please continue.”
Daphne gave him an odd look. “After fashioning the stone for the second brother, Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.”
“...What did you say?”
“Death’s own cloak of invisibility,” Daphne repeated.
“It is exactly what you think, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “The Potter’s Invisibility cloak is an heirloom that it got from the Peverell family. From Ignotus Peverell.”
“But cloaks do not last that long,” said Fleur.
“Invisibility cloaks are normally woven from demiguise hair,” said the Headmaster. “That’s why they end up fading with the years. But the Potter Cloak is different. It truly renders its wearer completely invisible, and is supposed to endure eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it.”
“You’re telling me the Potter’s cloak is Death’s cloak?” Daphne asked, looking absolutely flabbergasted. She looked back at her father, who gave her a small nod.
“The Potters have always been one of the strongest contenders for the Peverell family,” said Joshua. “Every generation of the Potters have made an attempt for the Peverell line, but no one ever achieved it.
Harry didn’t pay her any attention. His mind was racing far ahead to what Ignotus himself had told him.
“Remember that you used my Cloak to trespass into Death’s domain. Remember that your spirit was taken over, while Death danced within the dark mansion, and I returned you to the way you were. Did you think that such a reconstruction was simple? To extract Death out of a soul it has grasped? A connection was inevitable…”
If he had accessed Death’s powers through the Cloak then…
Was that how he had survived as a baby? No, that wasn’t it. Dumbledore had told him that James Potter had left it to him before his death. But in that case, Harry had only gotten it after Dumbledore returned it to him in the first year. But then… how had he made the connection with Death? Why did it work for him, but not for James Potter or any of his forefathers?
Something didn’t add up.
“What happened after?” He asked, looking at Daphne. Sirius was right. Had he come clean about this earlier, he would have known so much about the Peverells, but he hadn’t.
Daphne returned to her story. “Having gifted the three brothers with his gifts, Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death's gifts. In due course, the brothers separated, each for his own destination.”
Daphne took a deep breath.
“The first brother travelled on, and reaching a distant village, sought out an old enemy of his. With the Elder Wand in his possession, he won the duel. He left his enemy for dead, and proudly proclaimed his invincibility to all who would listen, how he had procured the most powerful wand to exist, from Death’s own hands no less. That very night, an assassin crept into his room, and slid his throat. Thus, Death took the first brother for his own.”
Harry sat straighter.
“The second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him.”
Harry stared at Daphne, hungry for more.
“But she wasn’t what he expected. Sad and cold and separated from him, as if, by a veil, she was distant. She was there, before him, but she didn’t belong there. She suffered, and wanted to return. Driven mad with hopeless longing to be with her, he took his own life.”
Daphne frowned. “And so Death took the second brother for his own.”
“And the third brother?”
“Death searched for the third brother for many years, but he was never able to find him,” said Daphne. “It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life."
And then she exhaled. “That was it.”
“The Elder Wand,” said Joshua, using the pyrologos spell to draw a fiery, vertical line in mid-air with his wand. “The Resurrection Stone.” He added a circle on top of the line. “And finally, the Cloak of Invisibility.” He drew a triangle enclosing the line and circle, to make the symbol that Harry recognized as Grindelwald’s symbol from his lessons on wizarding history.
And for a moment, Harry saw himself, possessor of the Hallows, facing Voldemort. Death was invincible, and with the Hallows, his command over its power would be absolute. Perhaps that was the answer? Hallows empowering the Peverell Vessel versus the Dark Lord? The power of Death against the Death Eaters… A wand stronger than any other, a stone to revive the dead, and a Cloak that connected him across time and space, a connection between the previous vessel and himself….
Then, a different thought struck him. And he was back in the Anima, surrounded by corpses, his gaze flickering through the endless possibilities of alternate futures laid out before him. He remembered seeing that old, emaciated version of himself, his eyes glowing a stormy grey.
A strange ring on one finger, a wand with concentric beaded rings that rose all the way to the tapered tip, and his cloak fell over him. A shadow of a thestral loomed over him, never touching, never leaving, almost like Ignotus himself.
It was just like Ignotus had told him.
I cannot die. Even here, at the centre of its power, it cannot impose death upon me. Every breath is agony, but death… death is beyond me. I’m a figment of the Time before, and you… you have come to take my place.
Was that how he wanted it to end? He would have power, the power of Death, true immortality, but at what cost? To become a ghost of a man, living at the edge of life’s awareness, awaiting the arrival of another on a snowy white cliff, promising him a power to end everything?
“Those three legendary items,” said Joshua, “are the Deathly Hallows, which if united, will make the possessor the Master of Death.”
“No,” said Harry abruptly, meeting Joshua in the eye. “It does not. It….” he paused, as another realisation crashed upon him. Ignotus had not lied to him. Every single time he had progressed in his understanding of Death, every time he had reached through their connection to meet Ignotus, the man had shed light to the path ahead. Harry had thought he was being cryptic, and perhaps he was, but he was also giving him crucial information on a piecemeal basis.
Just like Nicholas Flamel had told him, the purpose of hoarding knowledge was not to keep it hidden from everyone, only from the incompetents. Ignotus too, had said something along the similar lines.
“... Life does not talk to you, but pushes you around. Each push is life saying, ‘Wake up. There’s something I want you to learn.’ If you listen to it, you progress. If not, life will keep pushing you around. Some give up. Some die. A few learn the lesson and move on. Most quit, and a few like you, fight…”
He let out a small, mirthless chuckle. Had he really been that short-sighted? After putting up that stand against Ignotus, had he really just been willing to lose himself so easily?
Weeks late perhaps, but he understood it now. He had, in his superficial understanding of his power, proclaimed himself to be Death’s Avatar, without truly realising what it was he was claiming to be. Daphne was right. He really was being supercilious.
“It… does not?” Surprisingly, it was Dumbledore who asked the question.
Harry shook his head. “Death has no Master. It is not a dog you have on a leash, professor. It is one of the fundamental forces of the Universe.” A strange calmness overcame him as he recited the words that Ignotus had once shared with him. “It is the blackness. The Void. When the first living thing took birth, Death was there, silent, patient, waiting. When the last living thing dies, it will stow the chairs, turn off the lights, and lock the universe behind it as it leaves.”
He paused, thinking some more. “You were right earlier, Professor. It is just a children’s tale. Reality… is far different.”
“But Harry,” began Fleur, “Ze cloak—”
He shook his head. “I’m not saying that those items don’t exist. Yes, my Cloak is Ignotus’s Cloak. Whether he got it from Death or not, I know not. But it does have a connection with Death. As for the wand…”
“It’s real too, Harry,” said Joshua. “Gellert Grindelwald searched for it. He believed it was real.”
Harry turned to Dumbledore again. “And what do you think, Professor?”
Something flickered across the old man’s eyes. “It is… real. Those that seek the Hallows believe that the three brothers were actually Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus Peverell. We believe that Antioch had the Elder wand, though whether he actually won it from Death or if he was an accomplished necromancer that created the Hallow using Family Magic is up for debate.”
“Not magic, Death,” Harry corrected him.
Dumbledore nodded. “The Hallows are quite coveted, Harry. It is why the Peverell name is so infamous. Most old families believe that gaining the three Hallows is the ticket to unlocking the Peverell bloodline.”
“Then ’Arry happened and proved everyone wrong!” added Fleur.
Harry twitched. He was never a fan of the way Fleur compared him with a calamitous event that shattered paradigms and wreaked people’s lives.
“There are enough traces of a wand, or wands, changing hands. It’s easy to trace it, given its bloodied history,” said Dumbledore. “The Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny… it has several names, but the essence is the same. A wand that found itself in the hands of the most powerful witches and wizards, only to be snatched from them through murder.”
“And Grindelwald had this wand?” asked Harry.
Dumbledore stiffened right then, and that cost him.
“He did, didn’t he?”
“There were rumours,” said Joshua, looking at Dumbledore calculatingly. “Rumours that Grindelwald had acquired a deadly wand, one more powerful than any other. And after what he pulled off at the Mausoleum of Pere Lachaise, I’m inclined to agree.”
“But Professor Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald,” said Daphne. She narrowed her eyes. “Wait, does that mean —?”
“You have it, don’t you, Professor?” asked Harry. He never thought he’d see this, but the venerated professor looked akin to a caged animal right that moment.
“I… do,” admitted Dumbledore. “The owner of the Elder Wand must always fear attack. So I kept it a secret. I was happy to use my cherry wand instead, and it served me well.”
“But ‘Arry is a Peverell,” said Fleur. “Doesn’t that mean it belongs to him?”
“No,” Sirius corrected her. “Even if it is a Peverell heirloom, it is a wand. And wands change allegiances.”
“But this is the Elder Wand,” said Daphne. “If it was crafted by a Peverell using Fam… using Death, then it might work for a Peverell in ways it might never work for others.”
All this time, Harry just stayed silent, hearing every word but not saying a single thing. He only had eyes for Dumbledore. Dumbledore, who was a seeker of the Deathly Hallows. Dumbledore who had the Elder Wand. Dumbledore, who had tried to avoid this discussion in the first place.
“You knew the Cloak was a Hallow,” he said at last. “That’s why you had it, didn’t you, Professor?”
The old man looked stricken. “I admit I was curious. It was immune to detection charms, summoning charms, tracking charms… the magic infused in it was unlike anything I had ever seen. I imagined it was the work of Peverell family magic, and left it at that. Most of all, I wondered if the Elder Wand would react to another Hallow, but I was disappointed. There was… nothing. No trace of recognition. No trace of familial magics mingling with each other. I had all but given up, and was about to return the Cloak to your parents, when the unfortunate incident at Halloween happened. I kept it in my custody, until I could safely return it to you, its true owner.”
“I see,” said Harry at last, a small frown formed on his face. “Professor, I have a small request to make. It is about the Elder Wand.”
Dumbledore hesitated, and seemed to shrink into himself. Finally, he let out a sigh. “I knew this day would come, eventually. When you proclaimed your Peverell heritage in front of the entire Wizengamot, I knew that I would be standing before you someday, and you would ask this of me.”
A small smile forming on his lips, as if amused by an inside joke, Albus Dumbledore met Harry’s gaze. “I’m ready to be disarmed, Harry. Do it, and take the Elder Wand as is your right. By blood and magic, it is yours to command.”
Harry did not understand why, but the Headmaster’s words caused a feeling of ice in the pit of his stomach. He did not know how or why, but something very primal had shifted in the world the moment he had said those words. He knew that every single eye in this room was at him, and chose his next words with great care.
“That’s not what my request is about, Professor. Please, no matter what happens, I do not ever want you to hand me the Elder Wand.”
Dumbledore blinked.
As did everyone else.
“But Harry —”
“No, Sirius,” Harry replied, his voice filled with steel. “I’ve made up my mind. If the professor doesn’t want it, then you take it.”
“You’re crazy, ‘Arry,” said Fleur. “It’s the unbeatable wand.”
“No,” Harry said calmly. “No wand is unbeatable. If it was, it wouldn’t have changed hands so frequently.”
“Unbeatable or not,” said Daphne, and Harry sensed the desperation in her voice. “It’s a powerful wand. Wizards have done amazing things with it.”
Harry smiled. “I’ll admit it is powerful. But I already have a wand that chose me. I do not need another.”
Albus Dumbledore just… watched him. And were his eyes glistening?
“Harry?” asked Joshua. “What are you not telling us? Why are you so against having the wand?”
Harry smiled. “Not just the wand. Take it from me. The tale of the three brothers is a myth. You think it’s an innocuous children’s story, through which the secret of the Deathly Hallows is shared across generations. It isn’t. It is an illusion to fool others into doing something they shouldn’t.”
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. “Why would you say that, Harry?”
“I told you earlier, Professor,” said Harry. “Death has no Master. It is a river that will flow into this world through its vessel. My best guess is that acquiring those three artefacts will transform them into Death’s Vessel, just like I am. All this time, Ignotus wanted me to choose. But I didn’t really understand what he meant. But now, I do. Had I followed the rule, had I chosen the thestral, I would have ended up collecting the Hallows next. Hold the Wand, the Stone, the Cloak.”
“Become ze Master of Death?” asked Fleur.
“ No,” said Harry with a mirthless smile. “If I did that, I would truly become Death’s Avatar and take up its role in its entirety.”
“And that role is?” asked Daphne.
“To end all magic,” whispered Harry grimly. “Forever.”
....
....
....
Surprisingly enough, there was little media activity on the entire Halloween night incident. There was some mention about some students getting injured on the third page, but the entire event was otherwise pushed under the rug, classified as the result of a magical anomaly and left it at that. There had been a comment from Umbridge, claiming that the need to inspect Hogwarts’s magical architecture to mitigate any future chances of this happening. Bloody woman had the gall to suggest to use the new funds from the basilisk sales to fund a Ministry check-up of the entire castle.
Either way, things had returned to normalcy. Well, as normal as it could, for him.
After getting released from the Hospital Wing, he had stopped attending majority of the classes, exiling himself to his private dorm, going through his entire roster of spells, and confirming if the Halloween event had fucked up his magical affinities. After what had transpired in the cemetery, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he found his spellcasting fucked up all over again.
It wasn’t.
Instead… it had gotten better.
How? He had no idea, but he wasn’t going to look a gift hippogriff in the mouth.
That was how Harry found himself in his first class on Animagus transformation. Granted, all he was doing was blinking around, vaguely aware that he was sitting on the floor. He stayed like that for five or so minutes, before he could even begin to focus. The room around him looked… large, larger than anything else. The large, black curtains around him moved around, and a very loud sound all but shattered his eardrums.
“How does it feel, Harry?”
It. Hurt.
He gasped several times, shook his head. Imagine his surprise when his head shifted to the side all the way to the left, like it was shifting along a disc, going so far that he feared he had snapped his neck. Any attempt to turn his eyes ended up in vain. Harry tried turning his head downward, and ended up rotating it instead, and instantly backpedalled, terrified of accidentally killing himself. Slowly, he felt his claws flex, and bent his body forward, and raised his head, fixing Tonks with a glare for talking so loudly, and said — “This is weird. Get me back to normal.”
Or tried to say that. What came out was something more like, “Hoooot hootoothoot Hooot!”
This was his first class at shapeshifting. For some reason, transforming into his animagus form was the easy part. It was the next part that was strenuous beyond expectation.
And it was confusing beyond imagination. For one, he couldn’t smell. Like, at all. Instead, his vision and his sense of hearing had been dialled to eleven and then some. He was intensely aware of the slightest changes of colour and sound all around him, a hundred thousand different stimuli that begged to be explored. It was different from how he saw things as a human, the lights felt dimmed, the colour felt lighter, but at the same time, he could perceive even the slightest movement in nearly everything, like he was watching it in slow-motion.
He heard Tonks say something else, but the sheer loudness in her voice made it really difficult for him to focus. Instead he looked at the large, ornate mirror McGonagall had conjured for them, and took a cautious step forward, only to stumble down face-first into the floor. Screeching and flapping his wings, he somehow managed to pick himself up and glared up at Tonks who looked plain amused.
The creature in the reflection looked very much like any other great horned owl. Large, bulbous, yellow-eyed stare, reminding him too much of a certain King of Serpents; a hard, inflexible bill; long, earlike tufts on either side of his head which had absolutely nothing to do with hearing; a pair of thick limbs ending with tough, vicious-looking claws, and two broad, feathery wings on either side, and a short tail that all but merged with the wings once the latter were folded into place. The only difference was that except for a feathered body perfectly coloured for camouflage in the wild, his was a jet black exterior that felt less feathery and more akin to thin, but extremely strong scales.
He heard Tonks snort, and then transform into a great horned owl, and perch on the floor, laughing, before she spoke what sounded to him like perfectly understandable English.
“Your feathers,” she said. “They look different.”
“Not feathers. Scales,” said Harry, studying his own reflection. “Reminds me of…”
“Thestrals, right?”
Harry couldn’t shake his head the normal way, so he settled with a hoot instead.
“Do you feel anything strange about them? Anything… out of the ordinary?” She paused for a second. “It’s okay if you don’t. This is your first transformation, so your entire form is new to you.”
Harry kept her words in mind, and glanced at his body, raising his wings and flexing them, studying the way the scales moved around. There was a reptilian feel about them, but he was sure that they could tank physical damage far greater than feathers.
“It feels like I am wearing something heavy, but I am… not? Like, I am supposed to have hands, and fingers and thumbs, but instead I have wings, but it doesn’t feel odd. Like, I am supposed to have them. I can feel my magic, but I don’t know if I can do anything. Everything looks… weird. Everything sounds weird. Like it’s less, but more. Does that make sense?”
“Difference in human and owl perception,” said Tonks. “You will get used to it in time.”
Harry gave her a sceptical stare. “These scales…”
“What about them?”
He stayed in quiet contemplation for some more time. They obviously looked different, but he instinctively knew that they were part of him. And he was supposed to have feathers like Owl-Tonks then…
“Hooot!” Tonks watched in fascination, as the scales began to change colour, shifting to a feather-like texture and colour. There was no magic, no channelling of energy or spellcasting that accompanied the metamorphosis. Instead it was more like his skin was remembering what it was supposed to look, and creating a similar caricature, even if it was just camouflage.
The next moment, two exactly identical great horned owls were sitting opposite each other.
“Show off!” said Tonks.
Harry let out a happy hoot. “I think I got the scales from the thestral. They are still mine, but they are… how do I put it? Flexible? Less obligated to follow the rest of my biological constitution? It’s still my body, but it’s got more… functions? Like, I know it’s imitating yours right now, but I don’t feel like it’s different or abnormal to do so at all.”
Owl-Tonks rotated her head in an anti-clockwise direction. “A crude description, but I think I understand. Only you, Harry. Making a metamorphmagus feel inadequate on the first day. You surely know how to show a girl a good time.”
Before Harry could reply, a loud, familiar screech tearing across the skies as Hedwig all but dive-bombed at him. Where her snowy-white wings gliding through the air used to be a thing of beauty, now they appeared like a snowy-white blade tearing through the air, heading to decapitate him for good. Harry let out a hoot, and tried to step back out of sheer instinct, and ended up tumbling backwards, with Hedwig swooping just inches above him before she turned, and came down and landed on the floor, and spoke to him, also in perfectly understandable English.
“You duffer.”
Harry stared at her. He had always been able to sense Hedwig’s emotions, and almost always been able to follow her thoughts, but this was the first time he was actually hearing her speak in, erm, English. Wait. Could owls speak English? Or was he magically converting it from… Owlish?
And holy demented dementor! The urge to hoot at Hedwig was overwhelming.
But he resisted. Partly because he was still trying to get up from the floor, only to just end up falling all over again. More important was the impatient glare that Hedwig sent his way, and somehow — he didn’t know if it was something in her body-language or what — but he became aware that Hedwig was telling him to cut short his stupidity and sit back up, or she’d come over and punish him.
Something in him really didn’t like the idea. Then he realised that even Tonks — Owl-Tonks, was looking just as cautious, and that made him feel better.
Hedwig turned to Owl-Tonks and again, in what sounded like perfectly good English, said, “Funny. Now restore him back to human.”
Owl-Tonks gave her an imperious look. “Do you think you can order me, owl?”
“Not your owl,” said Hedwig. Now that he noticed it, Hedwig was actually slightly taller than he was, in his owl-form. She took a step forward, and lifted her beak up in a perfect balance of condescension and unmistakable hostility. “Would you like an answer before or after I tear your wings off?”
Harry blinked. He had absolutely no idea that his little Hedwig could be that violent.
Owl-Tonks blinked her eyes, and something about her stare deepened. Harry supposed owls didn’t exactly have an equivalent of narrowing one’s eyes.
“Why?” She asked.
“He is my wizard.”
Owl-Tonks blinked her large eyes. Twice. And then she turned to him and let out an amused hoot. “Think you are ready to change, Harry?”
Harry could only blink in response.
Owl-Tonks let out another amused hoot, and transformed back to her human form. She touched the floor he was sitting on, and a set of runes flashed, and for a second time, agony overwhelmed him, though he felt too weak to scream about it. It took a subjective eternity to pass, but when it did, Harry was himself again, lying on his side, sweating and panting heavily on the floor. Tonks lifted a cotton blanket and dropped it over him to cover his vitals.
“Thanks,” he murmured, blushing, unable to look at her face. Luckily for him, Hedwig hopped over and nuzzled his face, and bit his earlobe affectionately, letting out another happy hoot. She pushed him with her head, nudging him to rise up. Harry got up slowly, wrapped the blanket around himself, grabbed Tonks’s hand to stand up again.
“That was excruciating,” he said at last.
“Get used to it,” said Tonks. “You didn’t mention you have a familiar bond with your owl.”
It hurt to move, but Harry shrugged his shoulders anyway. “Always have. I haven’t quite heard her speak before, but I can always understand her emotions. Why?”
Tonks blinked. “You know what? Why am I even bothering to be surprised? You’re practically a walking-talking paradigm shift.”
Harry blinked. What strangeness had he demonstrated now?
“Hedwig is your familiar,” said Tonks. “It’s a bond that forms between two magical beings who are deeply attached to each other mentally. Admittedly, it takes over a decade at least for the relationship to develop into a bond, but I suppose, you’re just different than others.”
Harry shrugged and took it in stride. He had a similar relationship with Hecate, but that was more because she moulted and he imprinted on her, instead of a natural bond forming between them.
“Your owl was able to sense your transformation and come all the way to you from the owlery. And I think…” She smirked. “She’s a little territorial about her wizard.”
As if to prove her point, Hedwig nibbled his earlobe again and cuffed him with her wing.
Harry rolled his eyes.
Comments
Akinola Ologunde
Stories that incorporate Hed and Harry’s relationship are always number 1 for me.
Nathaniel Scurry
Hedwig best girl. Kek!
