Amato Animo Animato Animagus
It's easy to be a bird. He flies, he perches, he hunts mice and rats when the hunger gets too much and he eats them. It was easy really, even the thought of eating mice grew on him, perhaps because the long flight he took had his hunger grow to desperate levels.
Harry becomes a bird in a way that probably isn't very healthy. The human in him sometimes makes an appearance, but it has been in love with the sky for longer than he has had this form and it doesn't feel like much of a loss to have no opposable thumbs when he has wings.
It doesn't take long for him to forget that he was ever Harry Potter. It makes so much more sense to hunt for himself, to provide for himself. He gets into a few scraps with other birds, sure, but it's still nothing compared to the yearly school incidents he deals with. An entire week passes in this peace until—with an almighty screech— Hedwig descends upon him.
And Hedwig, being a fully-grown female snowy owl was considerably larger than him in this form, and was also clearly pissed off.
They indulged in a sort of one-sided fight, Harry unwilling to hurt his first friend in the entire world and Hedwig cuffing him on his head with her wings, screeching loudly. Harry the wizard isn't afraid of her, not at all, but Harry the bird is still running on instinct. When the large wingspan of his owl blocks out the sun, the fear sets in and quickly takes over, instincts screaming at him to get away from the bigger predator, insisting that he is yet too small to be of any danger to her. Harry tumbles out of the tree he was perched on and somewhere along the line the wings turn to hands, the talons to feet, and it is a fully human boy that lands on the ground, bruised and scraped up.
With a soft hoot, Hedwig descends onto the lowest branch and holds out a leg with a multitude of letters attached.
Harry fumbles with the paper, fingers not quite working independently the way they should. He holds them in the fold where his thumb meets his hand and tears them open with his teeth. A laughing hoot from Hedwig helps, makes him think wizard especially when he goes to cack at her but finds that his body is ill suited to such sounds now.
It takes him a few tries, barely managing the 'eh' sound at first but finally in a raspy voice he manages to say "Hedwig" and his owl descends upon his shoulder.
His hands don't work the way he wants them to and he pushes the letter open with the heel of his palm but finally it lies open in front of him.
He reads, slowly, steadily and with every word as his rage grows stronger and as his magic flings itself angrily against the world he regains himself.
Because even now, even knowing that he is gone from Privet Drive, that he had to flee from Dementors, even then all Sirius and Hermione have to say are words chiding him. They chastise him for leaving the safety of the wards, saying that they would have protected him from the Dementors, not bothering to explain how or why they even got there, only that Dumbledore would handle it.
And then they insist he return, that this is no time to play runaway child.
With trembling but now nimble fingers, Harry tucks these letters into the mokeskin pouch at his neck where his invisibility cloak, his trunk and his wand all reside. Because even though Harry hadn't expected Dementors, he still knew his 'family' well enough to know there was always danger in Privet Drive.
And yet, they insisted he return.
In one swift second, he is back to his Animagus form and takes to the branches, sulking. Hedwig follows soon after, settling herself next to him and with a crooning sound, she begins grooming him. Her large wing fans out for a second before tucking around him in a facsimile of a hug and Harry settles into her side.
'It shouldn't be this hard' Harry thinks with a sigh that comes out like a wail, 'It shouldn't be so hard to be me.'
Hedwig, it occurs to him, is the closest thing he has to a mother. Another time and Mrs Weasley would have that spot but this form makes him feel close to Hedwig in a way Mrs Weasley isn't.
Ron's mother is lovely and kind and she cares, she cares for Harry and not just the Boy-Who-Lived and he will always adore her for that. But she treats him differently than her children and being so close to Ron, he sees it clearly. Harry sees the way she lets his mistakes slide completely, sees the way she doesn't scold him the way she does Ron and even Hermione to an extent. She adores Harry but treats him rather like a well-meaning guest.
Hedwig though, if she had a human form of her own Harry imagines she would take a spoon to his backside for his yearly adventures. Now, in this form she takes great pleasure in disciplining him the way she knows best and Harry laps up all of it. In his dreams, he imagines Lily Potter taking a secondary form and descending upon the world just to wave her metaphorical finger in his face and a happy chirp comes from him unbidden.
Yes, Hedwig is the closest thing he has to a mother. So when with one crooning hoot she herds him forward, tells him in her own way that she needs to return to the Wizarding world, what could he possibly do but follow.
Hermione sighed as one of the Weasley twins exclaimed loudly. The library in 12, Grimmauld Place was filled with dark and rather dangerous books, but a library nonetheless. Sirius had pointed out the safe ones and now Hermione spent all her time there, in the one spot where there was a decent amount of sunshine. It helped to keep her mind off things, like Ron having not done any of his homework, the worried whispers about who their new DADA teacher would be, Sirius moping about the house and of course, Harry's disappearance.
He had run off of his volition, that much they knew. Professor Dumbledore had done some magic and detected no other magical presence and so they were looking for her friend, asking around discreetly to see if Tom at the Leaky Cauldron had seen him, if the Knight Bus had taken him as a passenger, if he had found his way to Mrs Figg's fireplace and floo-ed out. And yet, nothing.
Times like this reminded her of how resourceful Harry could be if he just put his mind to it.
Times like this also reminded her of the epic messes that Harry got himself into even when he didn't want to.
One thing was for certain—especially given the letter that had been sent via Hedwig last week with the 'Screw off' written on it in a chicken scratch that took so long to decipher that the impact had been stolen and she hadn't even been hurt by the words—Harry Potter was going to be incredibly angry with them.
"Would you look at that Gred!"
"I say Forge, looks like the lovely Miss Hedwig's gotten herself a friend!"
"What would Harry dear have to say about that?!"
Hermione shut the tome in her hands (carefully, of course) and made her way over to the window out of which the twins were staring. She'd have to keep up with those two hellions, as prefect this year (still a rather giddying thought), it was her responsibility to keep the lot out of trouble and she might as well get a head start on it.
On the lamppost on the pavement outside, Hedwig sat with another bird with her, one that was not an owl.
"That's a peregrine falcon," She said aloud and the twin terrors turned and raised a questioning eyebrow each. "It's a bird of prey, they're known for being the fastest of all animals, clocked at 390 km per hour, their signature move is a high speed dive, they're often used in falconry."
Hermione looked at the bird carefully, recalling everything she knew about them. Her father was an amateur ornithologist and she had read some of his books before, it was just a matter of recalling the information.
It was a very pretty bird. The blue wings were so dark that they looked black, an oddly intense black, not the grey tinged one that was the norm. Even the eyes, they had an oddly green tinge to them with markings around them that made it look like it wore glasses.
"Looks like Harry, doesn't he?" One twin said and the other hmm-ed in agreement. Hermione looked at the bird again and saw what they meant. It only made the next words she spoke funnier, really.
"Maybe the resemblance made her adopt him." Hermione said, amused. "I don't think Peregrine falcons and Snowy owls usually get along but this one's a juvenile." The vertical markings meant juvenile while the adults had horizontal ones if she remembered correctly.
Poor Hedwig, to miss Harry so badly she found a little bird just like him to foster.
How sweet.
Fred and George Weasley, also known as Gred and Forge Weasley, looked out the window long after Hermione Granger left them to their devices. They watched as Hedwig looked straight at them, conveying with her stare the aloof amusement she always did. They watched as the falcon tried to follow her line of sight only to start whirling its head around as if confused.
The Fidelius charm doesn't affect animals. It affects wizards and the more humanoid 'creatures' and it affects them no matter what form they're in. Whether under Polyjuice or ...some other enchantment.
"Signature move is a high speed dive," Gred repeated Hermione's words and Forge snorted.
"A bird that loves a good Wronksi Feint. "
"How fitting."
"Looks like we have a letter to send to ickle Harry-kins."
"And come up with a good Marauding name as well."
Harry wailed, not wanting to read the letter Hedwig was carrying for him. It meant turning back to his human form and he hadn't done that since he'd followed her all the way back to London. They were in a tree in Hyde Park, somewhere away from the camera traps and Hedwig kept nudging him to take the letter. Finally, Harry turned back to his human self and took the letter, but stayed up in the tree, his legs sprawled over branches.
Something odd was going on. Hedwig had taken him to these townhouses but they seemed completely mundane, Harry couldn't really see any magical stuff happening.
But then after a few hours he saw Moody of all people. Clearly the hideout was somewhere nearby but where? Moody had seemed to disappear into nowhere and yet there was this niggling thought in his mind that he just couldn't hold on to.
Harry deliberated but figured that maybe the letter would have the answer to his question.
Probably not though, the whole lot seemed to like keeping him in the dark.
When Harry opened the letter, he was shocked. It was Fred and George! They didn't usually write him, that was something Hermione, Ron and Sirius did.
"Prongs Jr,
Although we suppose we can't call you that anymore, eh little birdie? Do us a favour and read the little piece of paper in the envelope would you. Beware, it has an enchantment on it, it'll go up in flames once it's been read. Be careful now, wouldn't want you to do a Fawkes now, would we?
-Gred and Forge"
Harry grinned like a lunatic. Finally some answers and of course Fred and George figured it out. Harry was pretty sure those two could end Voldemort all on their own if they really put their mind to it.
Carefully he teased the scrap of paper out of the envelope. He cradled it in his palm so no fire could make its way down the tree. He really liked this one, it had a lovely little hollow where he slept.
"The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London."
The paper burst into flames that burnt warm and fast, turning to ash quickly. His palms were going to be sensitive for a while now but Harry was lost in thought as that little niggling thought fell into place.
Because he had seen the doors of the townhouses, 10, 11, 13 and now finally he could put his finger on it, that there had been no 12, Grimmauld Place.
A Fidelius then.
Harry Potter growled. It seemed Dumbledore had learnt nothing from his parents' murder.
Amato Animo Animato Animagus