Thanks for the support with this story! I especially appreciate koryandrs' reporting of errors that slip past me and the enthusiasm all of you have. It fires me up! Someone asked if I'm continuing an idea by Esama (I miss Esama :( )or Rorschach which is… actually kinda flattering. :D But no, this is my own story, albeit one of which the first chapter used to be posted over in my 'crossover collection of fics that aren't'.

Trigger warning: Mention of rape having occurred.

Birds of a Feather

Harry stared up at the giantess looming over him. Her fingers felt odd and cold as they gently prodded and pulled at his wing. He warbled a quiet protest, shuffling away from her. He noticed she kept a wary eye on his beak at all times, but she wasn't really hurting him so he didn't try to bite her.

Besides, it would be rude. And other than all the prodding and pulling, she seemed nice enough.

"Well, like I said, I can't know for certain without an x-ray." The lady spoke to Clint, ignoring Harry like the dumb animal she thought he was. "But I can't feel anything out of place. The joint doesn't appear to be dislocated and Harry here is either not in much pain or is the most placid bird on the face of the planet. Without doing an x-ray, all I can advise is to keep his movement to a minimum for the next few days and come to me immediately if it gets worse or if it's still hanging by the end of the week."

Clint sighed and quirked a smile.

"Thanks, doc."

"I'm a vet."

"That's like a doc for animals though, right?"

She sighed, but smiled. Then she turned serious.

"You do understand that keeping stray birds is illegal?" She repeated one of the first things she'd said, right after Clint had told her that no, he wasn't just handing the bird in. "Also, they need 24/7 care. The right food, the right equipment - they're dangerous birds of prey. They can blind a person - even kill them, in the right circumstances. Even by accident. They're not safe to just pick up and keep."

Clint scoffed.

"Look doc, like I said before: I didn't just find him. He's mine. He's all trained and shit. Watch this;" He held up his forearm and Harry, who was much smarter than a normal bird and could understand English and everything, flew dutifully over to it. He landed as gently as he could, but still heard Clint hiss a little.

"He just tore up your arm." The vet-lady said, utterly unimpressed. Clint waved his other hand dismissively.

"That's just 'cause I forgot to bring the glove - I was worried about his wing, see? That's my own fault, but only just 'cause I was worried about him. How much do I owe you, anyway?"

"One hundred and seventy pounds."

Clint went a little pale under his tan. He swallowed, but nodded.

"Okay. You guys take visa, right?"

She did. She shouldn't, considering his age, but it turned out the vet cared more about being paid than she cared about whether Clint had swiped his parent's card or not. She even had a fancy new electronic machine for reading it and ten minutes later, Harry and Clint were back out in the world.

"She had a point about your claws." Clint said out loud to himself, as he walked through the quiet night back towards the tent. Harry, riding on his shoulder, couldn't help but look anxiously all around. The world outside Privet Drive was much bigger and scarier, especially at night. Anything could be around! Monsters or, or drug addicts could get them!

"Maybe I should look at getting some kinda… I dunno. A leather vest maybe? A jacket? Gloves? Something I can wear all the time, so you can just land on me whenever."

Harry barely heard what he was saying. All of his attention was focused on snapping around to look at every unexpected sound or rustle of leaves in the breeze. He huddled closer to Clint. If something happened, he could fly away. Clint couldn't. And Harry couldn't just leave his first ever friend. What should he do?

"Well, whatever. I guess the first thing I should do, is look up how to take care of you. I don't suppose you know where the local library is, do you?"

At this, Harry paused. He shuffled further away from Clint, right to the edge of his shoulder, so he could turn and nod and Clint could see it. The boy seemed startled, then impressed.

"You know what I'm saying, don't you? You really know where the library is? Li-bra-ry. Library. Think you can find it?"

Harry rolled his eyes. It felt weird. He tried nodding exaggeratedly instead, which just made his new friend laugh.

"Well, cool. Tomorrow morning, then. First thing. We'll head in. Is it far?"

Harry thought about it, then gingerly shrugged his wings. He wasn't sure how long Uncle Vernon had driven to get here. Not far. But how far was that in walking-time?

Distracted, he didn't worry again about being alone until the lights of the circus were visible and Clint cut sideways to sneak through the trees back to his tent.

Birds of a Feather

"This is bullshit!" Clint threw the book down in disgust. The librarian, a round-faced woman with rosy cheeks looked over and frowned at him. Clint ignored her. Harry, hidden from her sight by Clint's body, crooned quietly.

"Feeding you once a day, okay, you're kinda tiny. But, training you to wear a hood for hours? Deliberately running noise and light at you? Half-starving you to train you to hunt? These fuckers are sick. An' so is everyone who does this crap. 'Specially those assholes who do it for sport."

Harry squeaked. Clint said bad words a lot, but he had to admit he didn't like the idea of being kept half-starved either. The hood sounded kind of okay, though. Like on Dudley's rain jacket maybe? To keep his head and eyes dry when it rained? He'd often wished he could have one, especially in winter.

Clint snapped the book closed and carefully picked him up, waiting for him to balance himself in his hand.

"Screw it." He muttered. "You're way smarter than the guys who wrote this book, let alone the birds in it. We'll just work it out ourselves."

Harry drooped. He wasn't going to get a hood then?

Birds of a Feather

Three arguments, two days, one show and one close call with a suspicious mob of repeat customers and Tiboldt's Family Circus was back on the road. Tucked away in a little nest of polyester-silk tent-cloth in the back of one of the storage trucks, canvass flap shielding them from the rest of the world, Clint and Harry were were hanging out and passing time. Last heard, the plan was to drive straight down and catch the ferry to Ireland. England was a little too small to just go a few hours away and set up another show.

The young bird's flight was still kind of shaky and weak and the backwash had nearly flung him to the ground the last time he'd tried flying from the truck, so Clint tried to keep him occupied inside and only let him fly his heart out when they stopped for breaks. He wondered if the weakness flying - the trip to the library had exhausted the bird, he'd ridden home on Clint's shoulder - wasn't just youth. Some of the books had been big on keeping hawks in cages and he figured Harry's old family looked just the type to keep Harry in something too small, a display animal to show off to the neighbours - to be had - instead of a living breathing creature with needs and which was smarter than they were.

And Harry was smart. Their first day on the road, when Clint had been leafing through and occasionally reading aloud a 'choose your own adventure' book, Harry had jumped down from his shoulder to his lap, got good and comfy and started tapping the pages occasionally with his beak.

But not just the pages. He'd tap one of the options to continue. He'd slump if he got it wrong, all drooping and sad until Clint pulled the story back to try again. He ruffled his feathers in annoyance if Clint ignored his choice and chirped triumphantly if that then led to failure.

He never tapped an option until Clint finished reading them aloud and no matter how Clint shifted the book, he never tapped anywhere else either.

He made more sounds than any other bird Clint had ever heard. He reacted to tone and situation as well as words. He talked back, in swinging up-ward queries and humming croons. His body-language was strange too, an affectation of human signals overlaid his natural bird ones - like shrugging, or pointing at something with a wing.

He sang to himself sometimes, whistling and off-tune renditions of vaguely-familiar songs.

He was special. Mythological-special. Comic-book-hero-special.

And he'd chosen Clint.

Birds of a Feather

Life went on. From Ireland the circus had sailed directly to the western-most tip of France then meandered east through Germany and Italy, before circling back through southern France en route to Spain. Tiboldt didn't like to get too close to the Balkans and the northern countries had apparently once torn his father's circus apart so most of Europe was just ignored entirely.

By the time they pitched in Morocco, Clint and Harry had worked out enough tricks - reliably performed by both of them - that Harry could join the act. The little bird had stood patiently whilst Yana fitted him for a little sequined vest - in Hawkeye's colours - but Clint had grinned at the obvious excitement evident in his friend's twitching tail feathers. When one of the other girls had speculated painting a light coating of glitter along his wings or breast feathers, to make him more visible to the crowd, all the women had been startled by Harry's exaggerated nodding and chirping.

No-one ever seemed to believe him when he told them how smart Harry was, how human-like his comprehension. Their loss.

He'd had to put his foot down about the paint, though. No matter how betrayed and sad Harry looked. All the books he'd read had talked about how much care had to be taken of a bird's feathers - and 'washable' paint still had chemicals in it that might strip or damage them - even ignoring the effort it would take to wash it out each time.

But, he allowed, maybe something on his legs would be okay…

Harry got little sequined velcro leg wraps. He refused to let the girls take his costume off afterwards and preened about in it for the next two days, until finally Clint managed to convince him that too much wear would make the sequins fall off or tarnish.

He won that battle, but didn't feel good about it - not until he managed to get his best friend something of his own, for every-day wear. In Algeria, the same wizened old man who'd made him a triple set of leather vests and arm-guards for practically pennies, also made him a couple of little silk-lined vests for Harry - with little magnetic-clasped pouches on the front, so the bird could carry the tiny, shiny things he'd taken to collecting. Before now he'd just bug Clint until the boy followed him - sometimes miles away - to pick up the tiny nugget of gold or broken half of a coin, or tangle of wrapping ribbon. His claws alone had trouble gripping anything too small and carrying in his beak had almost led to him choking to death once, so he didn't do that any more.

Harry loved the pouch and started picking up even more junk on his travels, only to bring it home to Clint to unload and store.

"You know we've got a limit on how much crap we can have, right?" He'd asked once. Harry'd just made a rude sound and flown away, although later on he'd been all droopy and sad and apologetic - the bird always seemed to feel bad after being rude or when thinking he'd hurt Clint's feelings. He'd even stopped collecting for a couple of days, before Clint realised what was going on, rolled his eyes and bought the bird a duffel of his own since - as he told Tiboldt - the bird was a full-fledged member of the circus now, and entitled to his own shit.

To Harry, he'd sternly warned that anything which didn't fit in the bag would be left behind, no exceptions. He hadn't quite understood why Harry had been so nuzzly and clingy and happy that day.

Birds were weird.

From Egypt to Ethiopia, then a dash through Somalia and onto another boat for the long trip to India, the circus moved on. The seasons changed. Clint and Harry ranged further and further in their off-time, flush with youthful confidence and the security that comes with having a partner. They filled a set of dye pits with slush powder, under the cover of night and by both ground and air assault then almost got caught when Harry's hissing avian laughter set Clint off too. Nothing distracted shop staff quite like a bird caught indoors and making a fuss either, making shoplifting so easy that even Clint was having trouble with the 'can only take so much' rule of constant moving.

It was probably around then that he started seriously considering leaving the circus for real, dreaming of a high-rise apartment somewhere full of all the awesome stuff the world had - free for the taking.

China was beautiful - and big. It took almost another full year just to wind through it, especially since only certain parts were dense enough that BOLOs were something to be concerned about. Harry got bigger (though not by much) and much better at stealing all on his own. Clint taught him how to let his wings drag, how to hunch and shuffle until he looked like a disease ridden rat with wings rather than the awesomely sleek hawk that he was - the better for people to dismiss him or not notice him entirely. Harry's eye for shiny things got more particular, the bird taking to following a man or woman home - his exceptional vision allowing a distance even Clint was hard pressed to match - and watching through windows to see where they put their jewellery. Then it was just a matter of an open window - just a crack was enough for Harry - and human-like cleverness combined with an agile beak, strong claws and a little breast pouch…

Clint forgot about the Olympics. It'd be cool and all, but then his face would be too well-known for this kind of life to ever be possible again, even as a fall-back plan.

They were just days away from leaving Indonesia for Australia when some locals cornered Clint and his 'trained bird' with an offer he couldn't refuse.

Help in a heist, a proper one, or be gutted in an alley and left for the dogs.

Harry had tensed on his shoulder, hunched low and as furious as he was fearful, ready to go for the eyes and wrists and thumbs like Clint had taught him, but Clint had seen the wrong lines of the men's coats. They were packing more than knives and bulging muscle. There were too many of them.

He agreed.

The op had gone smoothly, right up until the end. Clint and Harry had been eyes on, Clint well used to understanding Harry's silent signals from way above them all and between the two of them, the strike team had been guided around any potential discovery.

Then one of them had decided to have some fun with a woman in the shower, instead of just getting the goods and getting out. Neither he nor Harry had seen him rape her, but Clint had heard it. They'd both seen the man re-enter the main room with a smug expression, then seen that expression shredded as his head exploded. They'd seen the woman he'd raped, shaking and naked, standing behind his corpse with a high-powered gun held tight in two trembling hands.

They'd seen her face, twisted in fear and hatred and rage. She'd opened fire. So had the gang of thieves.

She'd died, messy and quick. Some of the thieves died as well, but the rest grabbed what they'd come for and got out.

Clint threw up down the side of the building he'd been watching from, then threw his ear-piece off after it. He called Harry back and booked it, the bird a cold lump on his shoulder, both of them forever changed.

A crumpled note identifying the remaining thieves was written in a shaky hand and dropped down into the ventilation system of the closest police station, a clatter and shriek making sure it would be discovered.

The circus left that night.

The next day dawned red and scorching in northern Australia, a bloody herald to Harry and Clint's third year together.

Clint was sixteen. Harry was ten.

They weren't children anymore.

Birds of a Feather

Holy change of tone, Batman!

I've had quite a lot of… hmm, not complaints so much as observations (not with this one), that my fics take too long for anything to happen. I resolve that this story won't be one of them!

Please let me know what you thought of the chapter! Some of the theories about the story's future so far have been way off base (but probably better) and some have been perilously close! -_-