It was a nice day.
Harry was relaxing on his couch with a good book, the radio was playing throwbacks of the Weird Sisters and he'd just had a lovely cup of Earl Gray.
It was a very nice day.
He was even starting to slip into a light doze when there was a sharp tap, no a sharp peck, on his forehead and he jerked upright, eyes flying open.
Hedwig was sitting on his lap, preening her feathers as if she hadn't just drilled a hole in his head with her beak and Harry scowled at her.
"What the bloody hell was that for?" he grouched angrily, rubbing at the sore spot on his forehead.
Hedwig gave him a disapproving look as if to say "Don't use that kind of language with me" and Harry after staring at her defiantly, muttered an apology under his breath.
(He, Harry James Potter, defeater of Voldemort, youngest Quidditch player, was being treated like he was a first year again by his owl. It wasn't for the first time that Harry wondered if odd things like this happened to only him.)
There was a smug look on Hedwig's face and Harry had to resist the deep-seated urge to stick his tongue out at her and instead asked, "What do you want anyway? Usually you're out and about eating mice and whatever else you can get your claws on."
Harry paused, a smirk slipping on his face, and added loftily, "You would think that such a high-class owl as yourself would have better things to do this time of day. Not to mention, a better taste in fine cuisine. Mice are so last year, my dear owl."
The room was silent as Harry and Hedwig had a stare-down before Hedwig flew off of his lap and started to peck any place her beak could reach.
"Ow, ow, shit, Hedwig, I take it back! I take it back, dammit, stop, ow, shit, that hurts," Harry half-laughed, half-whined as he leaped off the couch and started to run away from his owl, covering his face as he did so.
It was of no avail; Hedwig chased Harry wherever he ran.
(He briefly wondered if this was how he was going to die. He could see the The Daily Prophet's headlines now: Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Killed-By-His-Familiar or whatever ridiculous headline Skeeter could come up with.)
It was only when Hedwig cornered him against the kitchen wall, he put his hands up in surrender.
"I solemnly swear that if you stop, shit that hurts, that if you stop pecking me I will give you bacon for a year," Harry managed to gasp out in between peals of laughter and whimpers of pain.
Hedwig stopped pecking him and landed on the kitchen counter, tilting her head as if she were considering the offer.
Harry watched her nervously and let out a relieved sigh when Hedwig nodded her head.
He was safe.
For now.