Part 1: For All My Faith: The Messenger of Letters and Words

POV, Hedwig

"That is a lie. You mean to say you are his owl?"

I felt like throwing myself to the ground and never rising—that was how annoyed I was.

"Yes."

Faint hoots and churring broke out among the other owls. I glared as fiercely as I could at the nearest ones. It seemed to work; they stopped and chose to stare instead, rather rudely.

"Oh, absolutely. And I am the owl of the Prime Minister!" snorted a Great Gray, breaking into fresh churrs.

You will see, I thought. "Perhaps you are," I replied simply.

The Great Gray fell silent, as did many of the others.

I lifted my head. "If you doubt what I say, I will let you. But remember, they are your opinions alone, and are none of my concern."

That was a long time ago, but the memory still rang within my head as I swooped towards the roost of stone. I had made a few friends since then—a Barn Owl, a little Elf Owl, and a Spotted, all kind to me and not doubting that I was the owl of the oh-so-famous Harry Potter.

"Hedwig is here!" called one of the school owls as I silently swept through an opening and onto a perch. It was just as I remembered it: pleasantly dark, roomy, and filled with the sounds of other owls.

"Greetings!" I replied. Stella, one of my friends, landed on a perch next to me. "It is fortunate you have arrived, Hedwig," she said in a low voice, her heart-shaped white face glowing with concern. "I heard rumors."

I blinked. ". . . Of?"

"Of death and defeat," said Stella.

I rolled my eyes. "When has there ever not been?"

"No, they were different this time." Stella paused. Then, lowering her voice even further, she said, "What exactly happened in the Ministry?"

I irritably tapped my talon tips against the perch. "I was not there, and that is for those who were to say."

Stella nodded. "I understand."

"Hello, Hedwig."

I opened an eye blearily. "Who is this?"

The answer presented itself to me as I saw fiery red and gold plumage. "Oh. . . . Greetings, Fawkes."

The phoenix nodded in return as I straightened from my sleep and flapped my wings to stretch myself in the cage.

"And may I ask why am I graced by the presence of one such as you? Especially as the distance of the flight from Hogwarts to here is quite a lengthy one."

Fawkes opened and closed his beak, making a sharp clacking sound. "Death is on its way, Hedwig. I can feel it." He eyed me. "We phoenixes have always had magic in our being, equal to that of even the most powerful blood of unicorns. That . . . that magic . . . has granted us the ability to sometimes catch a glimpse of a possible future."

I nodded patiently. "And?"

"And I think I foresaw something that greatly concerned you."

I blinked. "Me?"

Fawkes warbled softly, emitting a single clear, pure note of phoenix song. "Yes. I wish to tell you what it is that I saw, but you must swear to tell no one. And not to fall into senseless panic."

I tilted my head, considering. After a while, I hooted, "Very well. I swear."

"In what I saw, you were with your wizard and . . . you . . . you had passed into the void. By work of the Dark Lord's own spell, the Unforgivable Curse of death."

An icy tremor passed through me, tracing from my head to the tips of my talons and wings like a cold river of dread. Fawkes was not often wrong; all owls of Hogwarts knew that. In fact, phoenixes as a group were nearly always right.

Fawkes must have seen my discomfort, for he said quickly, "Remember, there is a chance that you could alter the future. Actions can sometimes change the path of fate."

I churred drily. "Not for me, I cannot. . . . I go where my wizard goes, even past the void."

Silence.

Then Fawkes dipped his head and replied, "You shall act as you see fit, and you have my best wishes with you. Good day, Hedwig."

"And my own go with you. Good day, Fawkes."

Fawkes was right.

In a timeless dream of eternal darkness, that was my only thought.

He was right. . . . I could have tried harder to escape, but the talons of fate caught me in the end.

I was but an owl, but now . . . now, past death, could I be something more? Reborn into the world? For I did not fear death, no, so I could not become a ghost. But I wanted to stay. I wanted to, so badly . . .

You cannot. Accept it.

I was nothing now.

Accept it.

In a timeless dream of eternal darkness, I drifted away, with one desperate thought still clinging to my soul:

For all my faith, for all my time, for all my life I had served and been his ever-present messenger . . . And yet I had failed, in the end. Failed to slip past and defy death and accompany my wizard.

But perhaps, in the end, he will be triumphant even without my help. Perhaps, in the end, he could find companionship like that I had given him in another.

Part 2: Messengers of the Past: The Mysterious Department of Mysteries

POV, Anonymous Unspeakable

"Welcome to the Department of Mysteries, where the past is kept through to the future! We are glad that you have taken the time and interest to . . ."

I shut out the rest of the Ministry worker's words. I wasn't one of those Ministry-worshiping fools. No, I acted as I saw fit and heeded no laws except those I saw fitting. Not that I was a mindless, complete criminal. I just didn't like it when people told me—or tried to tell me, anyway—what to do.

Which was why I chose to see if the Department of Mysteries was where my future and my passion lay.

And now, looking back to my first sight of the place, it did. The huge cavern of untold fates and hidden futures were exactly what I was looking for. The very air sang of, well, mystery.

To me, Unspeakables were the very best of the Ministry, even if we did receive a rather low pay.

. . . And then those schoolchildren from Hogwarts had made us all the less popular.

I sighed as I surveyed the mess; in fact, mess was an understatement of the wreckage. No, it was more accurately described as some of You-Know-Who's most impressive aftermath.

Glass was everywhere, shards and grains and smashed orbs, the mist that was once contained within writhing around the pieces, as if lost and trying to find its way back. Low voices speaking the prophecies recorded within the spheres were a constant, if somewhat dim, murmuring companion.

It was a hard decision, but I knew I couldn't stay here. To stay in the Ministry as the Dark Lord was rising to power once again was suicidal.

The hardest part was, though, the fact that I was leaving all these messages from the past. I didn't want to. But what choice did I have? Fighting the control of You-Know-Who was pointless. Leave that to the Chosen One or whatever that Potter boy was called these days. All I could hope was that he got rid of the menace.

I also knew the students of Hogwarts and the Death Eaters had come for the one prophecy we never spoke of and held in deadly and fearful respect.

All this, over one crystal orb containing mist and a possible future . . .

Some called me a coward not to stand by the Order of the Phoenix and Hogwarts and whoever else was planning on opposing You-Know-Who. . . . I understood them, understood why they would say that.

But how would I be able to help? I was only a pawn of the Ministry of Magic, only another wizard who made sure no one broke into the Department of Mysteries. . . .

And I hadn't even been able to do that.

Part 3: Luck, Spirit, and Faith: Messenger of the Phoenix

POV, Noctus, Barn Owl under service of the Order of the Phoenix

I did not believe in luck.

Even if I did, I would not have liked it as it was never on my side.

That statement must seem strange to others, especially as I served the famous Order of the Phoenix. But I truly did not, and neither did many others of my kind.

I believed solely in skill and strength of spirit, which may have been why they chose me.

It must also seem strange—and daring—that the Order opposing against the greatest master of the Dark Arts used owls, which were able to be intercepted. Well, I am here to tell you that they do, even if the owls they use are highly intelligent even by human standards but rarely used; used only when there was no other way to reach someone.

Tonight was one of those times.

The Order was desperate now. I could tell. It was in their faces, their actions, their spirit. Owls believe very much in spirit . . . and theirs was slowly being put down. Hear me: it was horrible for me to watch. I tried to tell them to use me, to let me carry their messages for once, but the tongue of humans was lost to my own. I could not reach them.

Eventually, though, through long hours of my labor as I arranged various items into words they could read, they let me. It took at least a month—they had little or no faith in my (as they called it) "abilities."

I churred softly to myself. And yet here I was, carrying messages at last.

It was between a number of Order members. A few of the head wizards had organized a meeting, or as I preferred to call it, a council of war. . . . At least, that was what it seemed to me.

I was doing what I did best: flying, racing against time and perhaps even hope. I was flapping above a forest when my hearing suddenly picked up an odd movement of air.

It was not wind. I had heard too many kinds of wind too many times to mistake it for that. It was unnatural—too bold, too out of place. And the air tonight was only frozen, cold air with no thermals that was hard to fly through. There could not possibly be wind.

Yet, the sound was ever so slightly familiar to me . . .

I stopped in midair, hovering. I tilted my head to the side—being a Barn Owl, my hearing would be more acute that way as my ear slits were not evenly aligned, one slightly above the other.

And now I knew where I had heard it. I turned towards the sound furiously.

It was the sound of a wizard riding after me on a broomstick.

I knew there would be no use hovering there, waiting for them to capture the letters. So I did what I knew they least expected: I turned around and sped towards them.

I had the parchments in my beak now—I would need my talons to fight. Mentally and physically I braced myself, and then—

Light exploded around me, sudden in the dark night. I blinked in confusion but lashed my talons out and flared my wings, clawing whoever was on the broomstick. I only saw light and heard a scream followed by a shrieked curse and a spell, but nothing else.

Then the golden light faded and I found myself once again in the air, the letters in my beak and blood on my talons and feathers.

I turned in the air, searching for the wizard (or witch, now that I considered) I had attacked.

Nothing.

I angled myself into a dive, aiming for a small pond I could see from above. I washed my talons free of blood there, and as I did, I wondered what had happened.

Owls did not use magic of any kind. . . . We, however, did have some very strange abilities, random occurrences that protected us or accomplished what we alone could not every now and then. Was that what the light was? Was it some sort of supernatural shield for me to hide behind?

I shook the water off and returned the letters to my talons, clacking my beak once as I did. I would leave the thinking for later; the Order came first, always.

As I rose into the night, I tilted my head slightly in amusement.

Maybe I did have luck on my side.

Yay, first Harry Potter fic (which reminds me: DISCLAIMER, I'M NOT JKR)! :D I'd had the idea of doing a story from Hedwig's point of view, but I never imagined it would expand to this. (That doesn't mean I'll continue. I'll leave it here—there's no more to say.)

I also apologize if any of the HP facts are wrong; it's been awhile since I'd read the books and because that time was occupied with my exploration of other series, I may have mixed up some things. So if you notice any mistakes, do tell!

Another thing. I must also put in a word for Kathryn Lasky's Guardians of Ga'Hoole series, which gave me the inspiration and information [on owls] for this fic. (I highly recommend it for those of you who liked JKR's idea of owl messengers!)

And, as always, reviews are much appreciated! ;D

PS: Churrs/churring are what owl laughter is called. In Guardians of Ga'Hoole anyway, and I trust Lasky. :P