CHAPTER SIX
He doesn't expect the bird to make it through the night.
But on the first day of the Christmas holidays he finds himself slugging through ankle length snow to Hagrid's hut, Arianna hurrying to keep up.
There's a desparate scrabbling from inside when he knocks, then the familiar grunt of - "Back, Fang, back" - and the door swings open to greet Icarus with a blast of heat. He ducks inside, ignoring Fang, and heads straight over to the makeshift nest where an eaglet three times the size of the one he'd rescued squawks up at him.
"Hullo, Hagrid," Arianna huffs, her glare bouncing off Icarus' back.
"Mornin'," Hagrid says cheerfully, "kettle's just boilt, if yeh fancy a cuppa."
"Please," she says, "I'm freezing."
"You're getting big, Rhiannon," Icarus mutters, setting down his violin case and reaching for the little jar of dead mice, "you'll be out of the nest soon."
She makes a little sort of happy sound and snatches up the pieces of meat he holds out for her.
"Didn't know yeh played," Hagrid says, over the tinkling sound of spoon against cup.
"Hmm? Yeah."
"You'll get as much sense out of him as you will from the planters on your windowsills, Hagrid," Arianna says wisely, "me, on the other hand - are those scones?"
Several hours later they find themselves trudging back up to the castle and he's listening to her complain about a stomachache.
"I told you not to eat them," he says.
"No," she snaps, "you told Rhiannon that your fingers weren't food."
He frowns but doesn't argue. She's probably right.
"Well," he offers, "I could get Miffy to get you some ginger tea. It should help."
"Miffy?"
There's a crack, and a scream, as a House-elf only slightly taller than Icarus' knees appears in front of them. She blinks owlishly at Arianna, who's cowering behind him, then beams.
"Young Master called for Miffy?"
…
Severus groans and buries his head under his pillow.
"G'way."
"Nope," Icarus replies cheerfully, poking at an exposed toe.
"Ho'youevengetinhere?"
"Magic."
Severus kicks him. He laughs.
"I brought coffee," he says, bouncing off the bed, "and breakfast. So wake up, Mr. Scrooge, it's Christmas."
When Severus shuffles into the office several minutes later he looks like someone who'd barely managed to crawl away from the trenches. He yawns, widely, and flings himself into the closest armchair.
Icarus, unfortunately for him, is familiar with this routine.
He plods over, waves the cup of coffee under his father's nose, and waits for it to be taken before sitting back in the other chair and tucking into a hearty breakfast of beans on toast.
"Did you open your presents yet?" Severus asks, reaching for his own plate.
Icarus shakes his head.
"Brought 'em here," he says, "it's gonna take more than sending them to my room to stop me waking you up."
"Clearly," his father mutters, smiling.
The chess set comes out in the next fifteen minutes and it ends being almost midday before either of them remember to open their gifts.
"Thestral hair?" Severus asks, unraveling the collection of vials Icarus had given him, "I suppose that's one way to tell me how much you care about school rules."
Icarus raises a brow, peeling back the paper on a violin case. He flicks the latches open and carefully lifts the instrument out. It's beautiful - ebony, etched with dahlia's and queen anne's lace.
"Thank you," he says, lips tugging into an idiotic grin.
"You have more, idiot," is Severus' response as he plucks another gift from his little pile. He feels it, pales, and sets it down.
"What," Icarus teases, plucking a crumpled package from his bag, "you don't like Hagrid's baking?"
Severus eyes the leather falconry glove he's unwrapped.
"That probably tastes better," he grumbles.
There aren't many gifts left for either of them - an obsidian wand handle from his father, biscuits from Arianna, a hand-knit scarf from Miffy, and a stationary set from Nathan. Severus places the Christmas cards he'd received above his fireplace and goes into his bedroom to change for the feast.
When they both finally make it upstairs and into the Great Hall, two of the house tables have been pushed together for the remaining students and teachers to sit at. Icarus slides into the seat next to Arianna and Severus wanders over to sit by Professor McGonagall. Twelve magnificent trees line the walls, decorated with silver and gold baubles and live fairies. Holly and mistletoe decorate the fireplaces and doorways - and halfway through opening their Christmas crackers, it starts to snow.
There weren't many students who stayed behind; Arianna introduces him to a Hufflepuff a year above them called Cedric and soon the three of them are piling their plates and exchanging their winnings from the crackers. They eat, and leave, only to meet up again to go outside and steal a rowing boat to feed the giant squid - an idea that leaves all of them soaking wet but highly amused. They stop at Hagrid's to warm up, and for Rhiannon to show off her new hopping skills, before going back to the castle.
By the time the clock in his father's room chimes nine, he's asleep on the moth-eaten couch, face pressed against an open book.
…
The students come back in a trickle, and then in a flood.
In a matter of days, they're flung back into classes and homework. Neither of which bothered Icarus very much, despite the amount of work he was putting into…other projects.
"Yeah, well, if you haven't noticed," Douglas grumbles one cold afternoon, while they're crossing the courtyard, "you're the top of the class. Us squibs could use some help."
Icarus frowns, confused.
"You're not a squib."
"It's a figure of speech, Icarus," Julia says softly.
He glances over at Nathan, who shrugs.
"I don't understand what you need help with," he says.
"Everything," Douglas groans.
"He can't remind you to turn in your homework on time, Doug," Nathan says.
Doug turns bright red and stalks off ahead of them. Icarus sighs.
"Exams aren't coming up until after the Easter break, right?" Julia asks, hugging a warm jar against her chest.
"Yeah," Nathan says, "but you know those half-year reports they send home? He's not doing so well, and his mum found out."
Icarus huffs out a cloud of warm air.
"I never said I wouldn't help," he says, finally, "but I don't know what he's struggling with."
"Like he said," Nathan teases, "everything."
Icarus kicks him.
…
Marcus Flint finds him in the owlery.
He rounds the corner to step inside and blanches. Probably because of the fully-grown golden eagle perched on Icarus' arm.
Icarus eyes him warily.
"Flint."
"Ick - Icarus," Marcus mumbles, catching himself quickly, "ain't you supposed to be in class?"
"I got a pass."
"Oh."
Rhiannon tears happily into the dead carcass Icarus had brought her. Marcus doesn't move from his spot, even when an owl craps on his shoulder.
"Weren't you going to send a letter?" Icarus asks, after what feels like a very long time.
"Ye - yeah, I was - I thought we was only allowed owls?"
"She's not a pet," Icarus says coldly.
"Right," Marcus swallows, "what sorta - what kinda bird is she, then? An eagle or somethin'?"
"Yeah."
"How'd you - how'd you get her to do…all that?"
"What do you want, Flint?"
Marcus seems to recover himself a little and sniffs, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"What makes you think I want summat?"
Rhiannon squawks, loudly, as Icarus levels him with a glare colder than the wind cutting through the tower. Marcus takes a small step back and almost slips.
"I were just - I was thinkin'," he says, quickly, "I've seen you a couple of times in flyin' class. I wanted to know if you was interested in tryin' out next year."
"Why would I do that?" Icarus asks.
"Well, you've got talent, haven't you? And I heard from -"
"I meant," Icarus says, as Rhiannon swallows the last of her food and hops off his arm onto the windowsill, "why would I join a team that's spent all year trying to make me feel like shit for being friends with a muggleborn?"
He waits for Marcus to reply, and when he doesn't, walks past him to the stairs.
"I don't care, you know," Marcus calls, "that you're friends with 'er. Or the groundskeeper or anythin'."
"Really?" Icarus looks back at him, "So Icky Icarus is just a slip of the tongue, is it?"
Shame twists Marcus' face. It doesn't suit him.
...
NOTES
Dahlia's = eternal love/commitment
Queen Anne's lace = sanctuary