Chapter 8: Hedwig's Grudge

As the Hag went in to check on the frail Haggis Plutarch that evening, she was pleased to see that the lass looked far less wan than she had earlier in the day. "How are you feeling, dear?" the Hag asked kindly.

"I'm alright," admitted Haggis, who was beginning to stir.

The Hag placed her hands resolutely on her bony hag hips and said, "Now, love, I know this may be a difficult subject for you, but you need to tell me everything the, er, 'Boy-Who-Lived' did to you."

Haggis whimpered slightly and buried her face in her hands. "He... came up to me," she whispered. "Spoke to me... in... in... OH!" She let out a loud sob of distress, but then sniffled, wiped her small nose, and continued, "...in iambic pentameter. I... I think I responded in iambic pentameter as well... it all happened so quickly! And then... then... he kissed me! And I was terrified; I cried out for help in, I assume, iambic pentameter-"

"What the bloody hell is 'iambic pentameter?'" the Hag asked, bored already.

"Oh, it's what Shakespeare used to write his plays," Haggis Plutarch explained, her eyebrows raised in surprise at her god-mother's lack of knowledge.

"Who the bloody hell is Shakespeare?" the Hag persisted dully.

"Oh, he was a play-write," Haggis Plutarch said, still looking surprised. "Well, actually, I suppose a horrid fiend like you probably wouldn't know about sophisticated things like that..."

"Too true, too true," the Hag agreed cheerfully.

Haggis Plutarch smiled with her pale, thin lips. "Yes, well... anyway, 'iambic pentameter' is, by definition, where you have a ten-syllable line with the accent on alternating syl-"

"Yes, yes, fine," the Hag interrupted. "Good lord, child, I don't actually care; don't be a prat!"

Haggis Plutarch smiled again. She loved her cold-hearted god-mother dearly.

In the cupboard under the stairs, Hedwig was growing increasingly resentful of Harry's persistent comments of, "Oh come on, Hedwig... it'll only hurt for a moment... that moment being, you know, the part where I break your hollow-boned bird neck. And after that..." a dreamy look came across his face "... after that, I'll fry you up with a little oregano and lemon juice and perhaps some thyme... or maybe just these beetles from the floor; after all"- he said with a wry smile -"beggars can't be choosers!"

Hedwig glared at him. "Whoo," she replied curtly.

Harry started to inch his way toward her, his hands outstretched. "Now come on, bird... I'm not going to hurt you... well, technically, that's not true, but still..."

"WHOOOO!" Hedwig screeched, flapping her wings in aggravation.

"Damn you, you filthy fowl!" Harry cried. He then chuckled to himself, "Heheheh... 'filthy fowl'... it's alliterative... heheheh... I am very clever..."

Hedwig rolled her round owl eyes.

Harry was still chuckling about his wit. "Teehee... and 'fowl' rhymes with 'owl'... talk about your double entendres!"

Hedwig was dying to tell him that this was not exactly the definition of 'double entendres'; she opened her beak, but the only thing she could get out was, "WHOOO! WHOOO!"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Don't talk back to me, you great feathered lump!"

Hedwig stared at him penetratingly for a few moments before looking away. She heard Harry mutter, more to himself than to her, "Don't worry, my pretty... just fall asleep, now... heheheh, I'll get her when she's sleeping, oh, how I will!"

Hedwig rolled her enormous eyes again. Harry seemed to have forgotten that she was nocturnal; as nighttime fell, he looked at her in annoyance and remarked, "Good grief... how do you stay awake so long?"

Hedwig deigned to answer.

Harry soon fell asleep on the floor. Hedwig saw her chance and swooped down to peck out his eyes.

"GAH!" Harry screamed, sitting up. "Oh, Hedwig, I just had the most terrifying dream! I dreamed an owl – GAH!" Hedwig had flown at his face once more.

Stage two of their epic battle soon commenced. Hedwig and the Boy-Who-Lived threw one another against the walls of the cupboard-under-the-stairs and tried to gouge one another with talon and nail.

The racket was so immense that Haggis Plutarch, who had been sleeping upstairs, awoke. She lay in bed listening to the sounds of the fight:

"GET OFF, YOU DAMN BIRD! GET OFF!"

"WHOOOOOOOO! WHOOOOOOOO!"

"GAH! TALONS!"

"WHOOO!"

"GAH!"

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"YES! HAHA, I HAVE YOU NOW, BIRD!"

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"GAH! IT'S STILL ALIVE!"

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"WHO!"

"HEDWIG, BE REASONABLE! YOU WOULD TASTE SO DELICIOUS!

DON'T YOU WANT TO MAKE YOUR MASTER PROUD!"

"FUCK OFF, BOY!"

At this last completely unexpected and unfeasible comment from Hedwig, Haggis sat up in bed. She was filled with a longing so intense that she did not understand how she hadn't felt it before. Haggis felt complete and utter love for Harry Potter. Also, she felt a desire for owl meat.

Forgetting all pretenses, Haggis rushed past the door of her sleeping god-mother and down the stairs, not stopping until she was at the door of the cupboard. Grabbing the key from where it hung on a nail, as well as a hunting rifle from on top of the mantle, she unlocked the door.

A great cloud of feathers and dust burst forth. "GAH – WHAT THE-" Harry began, but stopped as he saw Haggis Plutarch, the love of his life, take careful aim and shoot Hedwig through the head. The bird fell, stunned, to the cupboard floor as Harry, awash with shock, stared at Haggis. The girl brushed off her shoulders like a pimp and turned to look at him. The two then ran to one another and began to snog.

Meanwhile, Hedwig slowly bled to death.