Author: Jillian Knight (The Wolf of Were)
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: After Harry's fifth year, he's just spiraling downwards. He needs help, but where does one "mother-hen" owl turn to? No slash.
Rain finally came to Little Whinging. The draught that had destroyed most of the flora and fauna was replaced with tremendous rain fall that completely destroyed the recovering plants; but as the old saying goes, "When it rains, it pours." The streets were full of water and all the homes had their televisions turned on, waiting for any news on the weather.
The denizens of Privet Drive, especially the household of Number Four, were ending their gray, dreary, rainy day with dinner. In this particular home, Mrs. Dursely, the matriarch of the house, was laying out a large warm chicken in front of her husband and only son.
There was one element missing from this picturesque family scene. Harry Potter, Mrs. Dursley's nephew, was upstairs locked in his bedroom. The soon-to-be sixteen year old was asleep at the moment; in fact, the poor boy had just about always been sleeping ever since he had returned from his secondary school.
Harry's lone, small window was propped open, sending the soothing sound of the rain into the room, but it also served another purpose as well. Hedwig, Harry's snowy owl, sometimes flew through the open way when she discerned the rain would not downpour hard upon the bird.
The resident of the room rolled over onto his side, his ratty blanket exposing his flush, heated skin. He gently opened his glowing, emerald-green eyes timidly, almost as though the dark shadows of the dreary room pained them.
His room was absolutely quiet, the only exception being the steady beat of rain and the sounds of his aunt's family inhaling down their dinner. However, Harry did not seem to mind not being called down for dinner; he was not hungry anyways.
Pushing back the pain in his head and semi-forgetting about it, Harry sat up and stretched weakly like a kitten. The pale boy drew his knees up, wrapping his pale ashen arms around his legs, and leaned up against the peeling wall. Hedwig hooted from her spot on her perch, peering down warmly at the boy.
Harry lifted his thin hand up call Hedwig over, causing his legs to slide and lean against the wall. The large owl landed silently, but gently beside Harry. One could tell the animal was concerned just by looking into its eyes. The boy weakly lifted his hand and gently brushed the owl's feathers along her neck.
The rain was a low drizzle now, its sound measuring the low throb in Harry's head. The source of the throb was not in Harry's unusual scar, but in his head itself. Harry only stayed awake for a few more minutes; his fever and sick disposition causing him to fall quickly into a fevered sleep up against the wall.
Hedwig hooted lowly as she watched her master sleep. Her master had began a letter the night before while he was laying in bed, but now it was tossed onto the ground sometimes during the night.
The large predator hopped gently off the bed and landed onto the floor right next to the letter. Her bright yellow eyes eyed the parchment paper. Hedwig knew what he letters said. All birds, even the dumbest of diricawls, knew how to read. They had too, since their main services to humans were either singing, eating, or delivering messages.
Hedwig also took pride in the fact that she was an extremely intelligent owl. Even if she carried the forgot letter to her master's protector, it would not matter. Water, especially the hard rain outside, would destroy the delicate parchment. But, the owl looked up at her master's pale, outstretched hand, Hedwig knew that if she brought something her master needed, the protector would come to save her master.
Hedwig could tell her master was hurting. She could tell that he was sick. Hedwig hopped back up onto the bed and looked down at the hand of her master. The owl knew that her master needed that...
Hedwig did feel bad about hurting her master; but something had to be done. She eyed her master's sleeping form. She liked this human; he had always treated her with great care and love. Her boy was in pain, and she did not like that. The owl hooted softly, letting the concern of what she felt become vocal.
With great care, precision, and love, Hedwig bent her body down over her boy's hand. She gently nipped the back of the thumb. The brightness of the dark blood against the pale skin was almost terrifying. She drew some of the blood into her beak and began preening the white downy feathers on her stomach. She drew a little more blood into her mouth and continued preening the blood into her feathers.
Her boy barely moved when she nipped him. Her boy just laid there, head up against the wall, breathing raggedly. Her boy, Phoenix, good thing Hedwig was already snow white; she was only six years old! The predator was sure that if she was any other colour, she would have been already graying!
Dipping her beak into the nip for the seventh time now, Hedwig looked down at her work. Even though she was colour-blind, the owl could tell the stark difference between the usual white, vibrant feathers and the blackish splotches on her stomach.
The dark blood was preened skillfully through her feathers perfectly, her boy's protector would have to blind not to see this, nor would the rain wash this off fully. The owl knew two months ago that something had happened to her boy. He had later whispered everything to her. Her boy's last protector (whom Hedwig always thought was a bit off because of the tropical birds he hung around with) loved her boy---he was crazy, but the snowy owl knew he was alright (just not fully in the head).
Her boy's new protector, someone Hedwig had officially appointed mentally a month ago, loved him as well. The owl liked him, he was not as crazy as the last protector of her boy. He had come to the aid of her boy, she supposed the human could take care of her boy. Sometimes Hedwig wished (as many owls do during their long days in the owlery) that her boy was an owlet, then she could take much better care of him if he was!
The ran had taken a little break before opening back up its clouds now. Casting one look to the hand to check if the blood was hardening over the cut and another to her boy's flushed sick face, Hedwig quietly flew out the window.
Hedwig knew she had to hurry, the place she was going to took over an hour to get their. She would have to keep her front down from the rain, just in case, and avoid any quick rain showers.
Hedwig quickly began picking up speed as she flew into the night sky. Keeping the blood on her was easy; blood was hard to wash off. She had to hurry, the large white owl always like to be in the room when Harry woke up from his long sleeps.
Author's Note: Well, I've been thinking up a good story for awhile now. Harry's not going to speak much in this story, but whatever. I've been waiting for a really good parenting story for awhile now, thinking someone out there will do it, but it seems that fate has chosen me as the author. I've got this thing mostly mentally planned, this story will go on for awhile, continuing up in to Harry's sixth year for sure. I'm not sure how quickly I'll be updating, since I'm writing the drafts down during school when I have free time. I'll try at my least to post once a week, so there's my fanfiction promise! Please review and tell me what you think---or even suggest something; I really enjoy getting the posts.
P.S.: Please Review!