Golden Apples and Frankincense

Chapter Two: Ashes

Harry was choking, but there was no uncle Vernon here. He coughed, pounding his chest with one hand, still instinctively cradling the warm bundle of feathers with the other. Hedwig could no longer hold herself upright on his shoulder and was flopped over in his lap like a limp feather duster.

"...-" He spat the dry, bitter taste from his mouth and squinted to see the result on the ground- what had he swallowed? All he saw was blurry grey. Harry touched his face but his glasses were still perched on his nose, the lenses intact and getting filthier with every touch.

The boy wizard pulled them off to wipe one-handed, still trying to rid his lungs of that dusty taste and not crush Hedwig. The world came into focus past the smear lines Harry hadn't been able to get off with his equally dirty sleeves. At least it wasn't as bad as having shattered lenses; his childhood magic had usually repaired those overnight (though it had never gotten the hang of frames), but he wasn't sure if that would work now he owned a wand.

What he could see wasn't Privet Drive, or Magnolia Crescent or any of the other streets he knew in the Little Whinging area. It wasn't even a street. Tall, unfamiliar trees arched overhead, blocking all but thin slivers of sunlight which looked too bright to be anything but midday rays. Where on Earth had he ended up?

Everything smelled of dry earth, not mown grass or dew and the air was almost painfully clean, without a single trace of car fumes. The only thing Harry could compare it to was a Hogwarts winter, when the usual scents were blanketed by snow and all that remained was untouched. This was starker, purer and all the more frightening for the unknown sights and sounds that assaulted him.

All around Harry was a ring of powdery grey ash, like a small meteor had fallen to earth, leaving the ground beneath him undamaged and without the crater he would expect. Merlin, he was ashen grey all over and the soot clung to his skin, a burning itch slowly spreading to every inch of his afflicted skin as he became aware of the contact.

Why am I thinking about stupid stuff now? Harry clutched Hedwig to him, sniffling into her crest as he tried to call her name.

"./..~..-"

Nothing that constituted real sounds, just creaky breaths and sobs. The wizard buried his face into her warm feathers and cried.

It might have been hours for all his sense of time, he cried until his head throbbed and his throat closed up tight and he had to cough to clear it. He wailed almost soundlessly until ash sloped off his cheeks, his tears making tracks in the dust and splashing onto Hedwig's now grey feathers.

His tears were a long time in stopping because who was here to see him now? This wasn't the Gryffindor dormitories where his nightmares or odd habits would be mysteriously spread around the school by breakfast time, nor was it his room or the cupboard under the stairs which both boasted thin walls and the knowledge that his aunt of uncle could open the door at any time.

Then he had no more tears, he just held one of the few unconditional friends he had in the whole world. Someone who didn't love him for his fame, his parents or his luck on the quiddich pitch: he had so few friends like that. His second friend, just one after Hagrid who was an adult and really an odd acquaintance at best. Hedwig didn't see his parents when she looked at him, or the Boy Who Lived. He was just Harry, the scrawny boy who fed her treats and stroked her feathers just so.

She was still warm, like the ash he knelt in. "../~/..~" He had managed a harsher... not a noise exactly but almost the echo of one. If he focused really hard, Harry could almost pretend he heard her heartbeat.

Badum...Badum...Badum.

"~../!"

It was a heartbeat, weak and fluttering but the beat was steady in Hedwig's fragile chest. A blow like the one she'd suffered, with all of Vernon's considerable weight thrown into it, would have killed a lesser owl. It was a good thing that Hedwig was made of sterner stuff.

The now grey owl hooted softly, opening amber eyes tiredly as if her lids weighed phenomenally more than they should. Harry sniffled, alternating between grinning and coughing over his shoulder so he wouldn't spray Hedwig with spit or something. This ash was really persistent, sticking in his lungs in a way not even floo powder could. When he'd coughed it up and found something to drink he was sure he would be able to talk again. Surely?

Gingerly, Harry wiped his eyes with his free hand, trying to shepherd the tears away without getting dirt in his eyes. It was only then that Harry noticed how rough his skin felt, even under the ash and whatever other muck he'd picked up along the way. He squinted down at it and even with his streak-filled vision he could see the puckered cracks of wrinkles and dark clusters of age spots, which had certainly not been there before!

Harry scrambled to his feet, jostling Hedwig who hooted at him half heartedly. Was the ash making him old? Had he somehow fallen out of time for fifty years, like those folklore stories Seamus told the other Gryffindors about toadstool rings? There hadn't been any feasting or dancing, or at least he couldn't remember if there had but the rest fit, right? He was in a ring after all! Even if it was an ash one and there were no mushrooms in sight it was enough to make him panic.

Hyperventilation was making him dizzy and he stumbled as fast as he could out of the 'crater' and instantly felt worse instead of better. His bones ached, even his teeth throbbed and his head felt like it was splitting open. He managed only three steps away from the furthest point the ash had reached before he collapsed to his knees. Hedwig squawked as the sudden descent and impact, wriggling out of his grip with a flurry of wing beats and leaving Harry free to take up a foetal position.

The pain was excruciating, like liquid fire running through his veins. Once, he had thought he knew what that was like, when the basilisk poisoned him in the Chamber, but in caparison that pain was like ice, so cold it merely gave the illusion of burning. This new sensation felt like a wildfire searing him from the marrow outwards and if Harry had his voice he would have screamed it into silence again.

Hedwig was peripheral to his senses, barely on Harry's radar as she flustered about him, cooing what he imagined were encouragements as he cried into the dirt. Sometime during her welcome but ineffectual fussing, she started to preen his hair and Harry could have wailed for the ivory hue it had adopted, shining moon-pale even through the grey ash he had begun to loathe.

Was he going to die like this? Age within minutes until he died a dried-out husk? He had barely begun to live, had only just started to escape the 'home' called Hell. Harry had made friends. For the first time in his life he had people he could depend on, if not completely then enough to trust them to watch his back. That was new, an unfamiliar and oh so sweet knowledge that he should have lapped up while he had the chance, rather than approach it so cautiously. Why had he? For fear his happiness would be wrenched away? Why hadn't he tried harder for them? All the petty squabbles he'd had with Ron and Hermione over the last two school years seemed trivial now as his life began to flicker out like a candle flame being slowly smothered.

If I get out of this, I'll never take friends for granted again. Harry thought, desperately. They're the only family I will ever have. Mrs Weasley's face flashed before his eyes and let loose a sack of snakes in his belly, only adding to what he was feeling now.

After what seemed like an eternity though was probably only a few minutes, something inside him lurched. Oh Merlin-

He must have blacked out at this point because what he saw was a horrible nightmare. The pain was suddenly gone, which was a relief but Hedwig towered over him like a skyscraper and he felt as weak as a newborn.

To make matters worse, he couldn't even swear properly. "Cheep." He chirruped plaintively and sneezed from a crumpled nest of dirty cotton.


It was, Harry reflected, very good that Hedwig has seen him transform.

He was small and pinkish and very cold, probably from being so naked and tiny, as he hunkered down out of the wind amidst the trappings of his previous life. It was the strangest feeling, for Harry to be the one that needed protecting now. Sure Hedwig had mothered him from day one, but he'd always been larger, able to shield her with his comparative bulk if it ever came to that. Now that their roles were reversed, well, Harry was glad Hedwig wasn't a normal owl. The mundane ones probably ate other birds' unattended chicks or something.

What was happening? How had he gotten here and how did he turn into a baby bird? Everything was so confusing, Harry had actually been elated when he saw his spindly clawed feet and plucked wings. He had been able to put two and two together, as fantastical as it seemed. One little thing making even the tiniest amount of sense amidst this nightmare was something to be celebrated.

Hedwig knew who he was, had seen everything happening and was therefore predisposed not to eat him. Harry could not stress how good a thing this was, considering she was twenty times his size and had a full arsenal of avian weaponry at her disposal. He was smaller than most of the mice she brought up to his room in an attempt to feed him and would have made a tasty hor dourve if not for her foreknowledge, intelligence, and ever present coddling.

Instead of being dinner, Harry was examined from every angle. Hedwig nudging him this way and that with her beak until one push landed him on his back. To his mortification, he couldn't do more than flail weakly and wait for Hedwig to right him, which she did with a chiding series of coos- as if it were his fault he'd fallen over in the first place!

Her feathers bore with them a welcoming warmth as Hedwig squatted down to his level, covering him without squashing him into a chick pancake. Harry's shivers subsided and he chirruped back, too happy to be warm and making any sound at all to be disappointed he couldn't say 'thank you' properly.

Surely, if he was a bird now, he should be able to speak bird language? He could speak Parseltongue and he wasn't even a snake- and snakes didn't even have ears! Speaking Bird when he was a bird made a lot more sense than being able to speak Snake when he was a boy.

Harry wriggled until he was burrowed under one of Hedwig's feathery layers, next to her skin where it was warmest. He let out the equivalent of a birdy yawn which was a cross between a chirrup and a weird inward sneeze. It had been much too hectic that day and adding that Harry was running on little sleep, the limp left-overs of his adrenaline rush weren't going to keep his eyes open much longer.

It was wishful thinking to hope that he would be back to normal by the time he woke up.


A hissing sound woke Harry, perhaps a few hours later by his internal clock's reckoning. The moon was the only source of light but Hedwig's feathers seemed to gather up the pale beams and reflect them back. Her weak glow and the moon itself, filtering down through the leaves overhead, was all Harry needed to see by. In that moment, he wished otherwise.

Three creatures were circling them, with ugly, bat-like faces and ears melding into a lithe body of dark fur. If Harry were normal sized they'd probably come up to his knees; no more than medium sized dogs. And he was about to get eaten by them.

(Ripper would be so disappointed some other rabid beast had beaten him to it.)

It wasn't actually the bat-faced creatures making noises, as he'd originally thought. Hedwig had puffed up her feathers and spread her wings in attempt to look larger than she was. The wet, rattling hiss came from her, varying pitch in time with the rise and fall of her ruffled feathers.

Hedwig's heartbeat was resounding in his ears. Or maybe it was his own. Harry wasn't so sure any more.

As one of the dog things darted forward (to make a swipe for him or Hedwig, it wasn't clear), Hedwig screeched, trying to peck at the interloper rather than swipe at it with her claws. Her entire body was vibrating with tension, doubly so when she missed. Her beak wasn't made for striking that way and she was pinned down, not only to the ground but to that one small spot where she could keep Harry safe.

Harry chirped shrilly, trying to impress his meaning into the handful of sounds he could make, and wriggled against one of Hedwig's legs, nudging at one scaly foot and chirruping plaintively.

Hedwig soon grasped his meaning, gripping him securely in her claws and launching them both into the air in one frantic flurry of motion. She wasn't encumbered by the extra weight (Harry was too small a passenger to make much difference) but a vertical take-off with only only one foot on the ground so not to crush him- that was hard. Hedwig narrowly dodged a snapping set of jaws, actually using the animal's head as a springboard to get a little more height. Soon they were off the ground, Hedwig's wings beating strongly yet still managing to maintain absolute silence as they wove through the obstructing branches.

It was nothing like Quidditch; when Harry was flying on a broom he was in control. Sure, the wind might buffet him a bit in really bad weather, but the only time he'd ever been helpless in the air was when Quirrell was bucking his broom about. The helplessness of that time was nothing compared to what he felt now. Harry had ended up facing the night sky somehow, his belly held in Hedwig's claws with delicate precision. If she tightened her grip even a little, he would be crushed.

Quidditch at Hogwarts was pure, unadulterated freedom but this- this was scary. He never knew that flying could be tainted with the fear of falling, it had honestly never occurred to him before.

They hadn't yet broken the canopy when a dark shape launched itself in their direction and it was only the high-pitched shriek it let out that allowed Hedwig to dodge in time. Turning herself and her passenger, Hedwig lashed out with her free talons, tearing through the membrane of one of the wings and screeching in victory when the creature fell with a thump to the forest floor.

Harry blinked down at the animal, twisting his bald body to watch its descent. He was still getting his head around the strangeness of it all (ironically, this was starting to be a familiar state of mind for him). How on Earth could something that moved like a dog on the ground fly like a bat in the air? There must be some trick to getting such large bodies into the air without a runway-

Another one of the bat-dogs launched itself at them and this time Harry turned in time to see the third pack member running up the trunk of a nearby tree. This one used the trunk like a springboard, unfurling its wings with a leathery snap and tried to pin Hedwig down with its partner on the other side.

Hedwig put on a burst of speed, manoeuvrings through a series of tightly knit evergreens in a manner that would have done Wood proud. As the bat-dogs bounced off the trees, gaining purchase on the bark but losing momentum as well, Hedwig propelled them upwards, breaking the canopy in a spectacular spray of pine needles. Harry voiced his discomfort in a panicked series of twitters; although Hedwig's wings had been curved downward in a sheltering position, the twigs that Hedwig dislodged had snapped around him like thunder. One stray branch at just the right angle and he'd lose an eye -or worse- and he'd be unable to do anything, even raise his hands to defend himself.

He didn't even have hands any more.

The moon was glorious overhead, the largest he'd ever seen it, or perhaps Harry was merely more dwarfed by it now than he'd ever been. It illuminated the tree line only indistinctly, like a dusting of chalk on coal, it was impossible to pierce the deeper darkness they had just escaped. It may have just been his imagination, but Harry thought he saw two hunched forms perched on the topmost branches of one of the taller trees, hissing discontentedly as they saw their would-be-prey fly off.

Harry's cheep was a little like a snigger and he received a smug coo in return.

His owl was pure bloody brilliant.


Hedwig carried Harry a fair distance, until it was evident that their pursuers would not be following them. She kept within the forest boundaries and the woodland was a large one, although not so immense that Harry couldn't see some of the edges of it from his vantage point in Hedwig's claws.

Eventually they dropped down onto a thick branch stripped of its bark, Hedwig knowing exactly what she was looking for even if Harry didn't have a clue. The cat/owl hybrid gave Hedwig a long look over with its glowing green eyes before scampering post-haste down the tree trunk, vacating its home in the hollow of the dead tree without a fight.

Harry cocked his little bird head in confusion, trying to get a good look at Hedwig's expression from the awkward angle he was in. His owl didn't look that scary- it was only the same look she gave his hair when it refused to conform to her preening regime.

Oh well, the nest was nice enough (Hedwig seemed to sniff, like Aunt Petunia when she saw a dirty child, or dust on her mantelpiece), it was certainly safer than being on the ground, though the increased altitude made it colder. Hedwig's fussing soon got the nest arranged to her satisfaction and only then did she gently deposit Harry onto the softest patch of the cat-owl's moulted feathers. Then Hedwig stooped to get in, as the hole was a little small for her, and Harry was in that awkward place between really warm and oh god, my owl's sitting on me, why aren't I crushed?

Harry had a difficulty dropping off this time; his previous nap had taken the edge off his exhaustion and his imagination was nothing if not wide awake to speculate what else could be lurking in the dark. A strange species mixing two types of animals together was weird enough but two of them? That wasn't a coincidence. Either some muggle lab had been messing around with genetics, or a witch or wizard in the area really needed to work on their transfiguration skills.

Muggles wouldn't be able to help him, of course, but he might have more luck communicating with someone from the wizarding world, someone who expected the weird and wonderful to happen rather than discounting it. It was something to ponder for tomorrow.

After wriggling about a bit to get the best view over the edge, Harry found his eyes fixed on a point in the distance, a puckered knot of wood on one of the opposite trees. It was amazing that he was able to see such a small detail so clearly without his glasses which, as far as he knew, were still in the clearing. Maybe whatever bird he'd turned into had really good eyes naturally? Not great night vision, that was the same as before, but definitely better sight overall.

Maybe I'll get to keep that, once I figure out how to turn back. He had never studied the animagus transformation past Professor McGonagull's brief explanation of it in first year. She had mentioned 'attribute bleed over' concerning people who stayed in their animal forms too long though and that sounded promising. Harry reckoned that developing a taste for bird seed would be a small price to pay if he could keep the eyesight.

Harry stomach gurgled, surprisingly loud for such a little belly. He stamped down on the urge to chirp both plaintively and continuously. Hunger wasn't a new thing to him and Hedwig was tired, there really was no point... waking her? Yes, her eyes were closed now and she was breathing rhythmically. Harry shut his eyes tight and tried to follow her example.


The first pale vestiges of dawn were just starting to paint the sky with a second twilight when Harry heard it.

((Eggs, eggs, beautiful eggs, all for me~ One, two three~))

Someone was singing, badly.

Harry squirmed from Hedwig's sleeping vigil and peered over the edge. ((Hello?)) He called, forgetting that he couldn't speak properly. Sure enough, all he got was bird noises.

((Who speaks? You? Featherless egg-layer?))

((Er, yeah. Where are you?)) Harry peered as far as he could down to the ground without falling out the hollow.

((Look up, stupid egg-layer!))

Harry spun, as well as he could spin around that is, crashing into Hedwig with a feathery 'bump' that didn't even dent her plumage. A snake stared down at him from above the hollow opening, its black eyes watching unblinkingly and its mottled brown scales blending in against the parts of the bark that hadn't been stripped away at some point. ((Oh! Hullo. Er, don't eat me.))

((Why not?)) The snake sounded disappointed, its tongue flicking out to taste the air. ((Even though you speak you are still small and edible.)) It surveyed the nest as best it could without coming into striking distance of the sleeping owl. ((I won't eat you if you give me some eggs. I like eggs.)) The snake's sibilant voice took on a longing tone.

((Er,)) Harry seemed to be saying that a lot today, ((there aren't any eggs here. And if there were, Hedwig would eat you before you could eat them. Or me,)) he hastened to add.

((Phooey.)) The snake huffed and something rustled discontentedly along it's sides.

((You have wings!)) Harry gasped in a chirruping fashion. ((How do you have wings?))

((The same way all my nest mates had wings. You are a very stupid egg-layer, even for a little one.))

((Actually,)) Harry trilled, ((only lady birds lay eggs and so do lady snakes so how come you only call birds egg-layers?))

((That,)) the snake sniffed, ((is too complicated for a stupid egg-layer to understand. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find some eggs to eat.)) It started its slow slither down the trunk.

((Wait! I have lots of questions!)) Harry called after it. ((And birds lay in the spring! You're too late to eat eggs!))

The snake wailed. ((But you're still a little morsel- there must be delicious eggys left!))

((I don't think so.))

The snake reared up, grasping the nearest branch with its tail and raising itself up to look directly into Harry's eyes. ((Oh, you think you know so much! I've seen a winter- have you? I thought not.)) It added immediately, with great smugness.

Harry was starting to rethink asking this particular reptile for help. ((I'm older than I look. I used to be human, a wizard, but I accidentally turned into a bird and now Hedwig, my owl, is looking after me. I was able to speak Parseltongue before I changed which if how I can talk to you but I don't speak bird language. Can you help me? Please?))

The snake looked at him, head cocked, then started to laugh. ((I have not heard such a good joke in ages! In fact... the last time I heard a joke was from my fourth hatched nest mate. He's dead now you know, jokers don't last long.)) The snake added, its coils still rolling with hissing laughter.

((Fine!)) Harry snapped. ((Whatever. It sounds silly but it's true. I can't talk to Hedwig at all and I need to. Do you speak Bird? Would you translate for me?))

The snake looked considering for a moment. ((No.)) He slithered to the end of the branch then launched himself off, opening two sets of sparrow wings along his body so he could glide jerkily to the next tree. Harry still wasn't sure if the snake could have helped him out if he wanted to, or whether it was all an issue of selfishness.

((Dammit.)) Harry tweet-hissed, still using the bird dialect of Parseltongue though the ease of it was gone with the snake out of his line of sight.

Sleep came back to him reluctantly, even as he curled up at the back of the hollow away from prying eyes and snapping jaws that haunted him long into his dreams.


Hedwig was wide awake before Harry, looking awfully cheerful for a nocturnal bird. Harry resisted the urge to snuggle back into the stolen bedding, giving into the more persistent one that he'd been feeling for quite some time now.

He opened his mouth wide and let out a high pitched cheep, several cheeps in fact. When he was sure she'd gotten the message, Harry bundled the instinct up and refused to pay it any more attention. Because if he let it, it would have had him squawking all day.

Hedwig cooed, bobbing her head a few times and shuffled out of the hollow, falling backwards into a perfect half spin, missing the branch on their doorstep and gliding into an updraught. The wizard-turned-bird watched her with no small amount of envy. I wonder if I'll ever manage to do that...? Not that he planned to stay a bird for long but still, it might be nice, just once, to try natural flight. He missed his Nimbus.

Not long after she'd left (though it felt like ages, Harry was so exposed in the nest by himself), Hedwig returned with a dead mouse and dropped it proudly at his feet.

Shuddering, Harry made a very human retching noise and shook his head violently. I can't eat that! The thought was even more disgusting than when he was a boy. Somehow.

Hedwig huffed, like a mother trying to get an obstinate child to eat, which was an apt description, Harry supposed. She tore off a little strip of flesh with her beak: a bloody sliver of flesh and a tiny strand of intestine topped with a prickling of brown fur.

This time Harry really retched, coughing up what little was in his stomach. Ew. Harry shuffled away from the spot and looked up just in time to see Hedwig swallow the mouse whole. It disappeared down her gullet, feet first and trunk last -wait, what?- and his stomach rolled again. Only the memories of Hedwig doing similar things in the past stopped him from losing another dose of bile to the feathered floor.

Amber eyes observed him contemplatively for a head-cocked moment before Hedwig flew out again.

Trying very hard not to think what she might bring back next time, Harry buried himself in some clean bedding to ward off his naked chill. Well, hethought, I'm not a carnivore any more. Omnivore? So I'm a vegetarian? That sounded about right. Some toast sounded good, as did treacle tart (didn't it always?) but he was getting the oddest craving for fruit and nut, and not the Cadbury's knock off either but real, honest to Merlin, scavenged-from-the-hedgerows sustenance. Seeing as the Dusley's had raised him on scraps and Hogwarts dining had been a poster child for heavy English cuisine, these pangs were odd. Bird food, indeed.

He was snapped from his reverie by Hedwig's speedy return. In her claws she clutched several starburst formations of slender twigs, every one laden with dark ripened berries.

Hedwig, if I had lips, I would kiss you!

The first fruit yielded a sharp, sweet tang which was far from unpleasant. Many times that number left Harry feeling sick from eating too much, too quickly. Compared to gnawing hunger, that wasn't so bad though.

Harry cuddled up to Hedwig, marvelling in how easy he found contact as a bird, compared to how he would shy away from hugs as a boy. The white mistress of the night preened smugly as if to say: 'see? Told you I would get it right eventually.'


A.N.: Well, this chapter was more exciting than the last one, I hate exposition but it really had to be done.

This chapter took a long time to write and edit to my satisfaction. I would be very grateful if you could leave a review; reviews telling me what you liked/didn't like and why are the best reviews ever.