CHAPTER SIX
The birds had migrated long before the first sign of frost touched the ground, but it's a freezing day when Icarus finds himself looking up into the high branches of a tree on the edge of the forest.
"Vot are you looking at?!" Sergei grumbles, stomping up behind him, "It's freezing."
"You should listen to the russki," Nathaniel adds, "he knows what he's - ow!"
"D'you think you could get me up there?"
Sergei appears in the corner of his field of vision, eyeing the thick branch above them.
"Vhy? Vot's up there?"
"There was a nesting golden eagle," Icarus explains, "I haven't seen it for a little while."
"If there is anything, it is probably dead."
"We'll be dead if the groundskeeper catches us," Nathaniel huffs, folding his fingers together and kneeling by the tree, "hurry up."
So, using Sergei and Nathaniel to boost him up, he manages to scramble up on to the branch - and up and up and -
"OI!"
He slips, but manages to hold onto the branch above him. Curses float up from the ground.
"WHAT'RE YEH LOT DOIN'?!"
He hauls himself up and keeps climbing. If he's already in trouble, he might as well make it worthwhile. Soon enough, he arrives at the nest and manages to peek inside.
It's early, for the season, but - there they are. Two eaglets; the first still half out of its shell and dead from the cold, the second, smaller, shivering and barely alive. He scoops it carefully into his hand and tucks it into his chest pocket, before making his descent.
Three pairs of eyes look up as he settles on the last branch. Two are terrified; the other, furious.
"What d'yeh think yeh're doin', climbin' on up into tha forest?" Hagrid rumbles dangerously.
Icarus studies him for a moment.
"I hear you like animals," he says.
Ten minutes later, all of them are crammed into his hut on the edge of the grounds with massive cups of tea. The bird quakes in a makeshift nest of fabric.
"D'you think it'll make it?" Nathaniel asks, grimacing as Fang - Hagrid's dog, a large, sweet thing - dribbles on his lap.
"Who knows," Hagrid grunts, pulling out a tray of scones, "lasted this long, 'asn't he?"
"She," Icarus murmurs, reaching out to rest his hand in the pile of fabric. The eaglet shivers and tucks itself against it.
"How d'yeh figure that?"
"How'd you figure it's a boy?"
"So," Sergei interrupts, "you live here…all the time."
"Yeah," Hagrid says, eyeing him suspiciously, "wha' of it?"
"It is just…small. The other teachers cannot extend it for you?"
"I haven' asked - an' it works well enough…don't spend much time in, anyway."
Icarus feels Sergei's eyes settle on him, searching for…something. An escape from the conversation, perhaps - and it's Nathaniel, bless him, who picks up a scone and provides one for both of them.
He'll never do it again, he tells them, heaving over a toilet in the early hours of the morning, not for anything. Ever.
…
He's no stranger to nightmares.
But this one is rough. It leaves him twisted in his sheets, soaked in sweat, empty stomach cramping. The images fade quickly, black feathers on an invisible wind, and -
"Da."
He looks up from the essay he's grading and frowns at Icarus, who's stood in front of his desk with two jars of…something.
"Yes?"
"What d'you want me to do with these?"
"I don't - just, put them on the shelves."
Icarus does, and comes straight back to sit in the chair across from him, his own frown one of concern. A braid slips out of the mess black hair and settles along his neck.
"You've been gone all day," he says.
Severus huffs, going back to the essay. With a tug, it flies from his hand into Icarus'.
"It was just a nightmare," he snaps, "I don't need to talk-"
"Fen had McDonough write this for him," Icarus interrupts smoothly, "you were about to give him an Outstanding. You can be as grumpy, dark and brooding as you like, but I can't possibly let you do that."
He opens his mouth to protest but the pile of essays on the desk catches his eye. The top three all have Outstandings in the upper right hand corner. He swears.
"I've been having this dream," Icarus says, after a moment, "where I'm in the forest and there's a forked path in front of me. The left goes deeper in, towards shadows and…well, whatever the fuck else is in that place…and the right…goes to the lake. There's a crescent moon in the sky and I always - always - go right. And I get to the lakeside and at first nothing happens and then, all of a sudden, the water's at my knees and then my chest and then, just as I'm about to take a breath, something - a hand, I think - grabs my leg and pulls me under."
He doesn't realize he'd been holding his breath until it leaves him.
"I…don't remember mine."
"I know," Icarus snorts, "lucky bastard."
His laugh lingers on his lips, tugging at his cheeks, as he summons the essay back to his side of the desk.
"You thought of a name for that bloody bird of yours yet?"
"Rhiannon. Totally a Rhiannon."