Chapter Text
“ You!”
A small hand yanked Jon out of the line of students queuing into the Great Hall for dinner and slammed his back against the banister of the marble staircase. His bag slipped off his shoulder and dropped with a heavy thump to the stone floor. Daenerys Targaryen glared up at him. Her platinum hair gleamed in the candlelight. Fury was etched into every line of her pretty face.
Jon raised his hands in protest. “Whatever it is, I didn’t—”
“Yes. You. Did.”
Daenerys smacked his hands aside and shoved her finger in his face. Her cheeks were turned from pink to ruby. She stamped her foot and looked more ready to spit venom than a snake.
“You—and your—this is all your—”
“Woah, leave Jon alone, Targaryen. He doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
Robb had just turned the corner and joined them at the base of the staircase. And clearly, he had said the wrong thing. Daenerys’s wand appeared in her hand at once. She aimed its polished, dark point so close to Robb’s forehead that his eyes crossed.
“Go,” Dany snapped at him. “Go gorge yourself on house elf labor while I have a word with your cousin. Move! ”
Robb gave Jon an apologetic look, then scampered into the packed Hall. He disappeared into the sea of black robes that filled the Gryffindor table. Jon glared at his back, then yelped when Dany’s wand smacked him on the nose. They’d never spoken properly before, despite sharing classes for the last six years. A few words once or twice in classes, but that was it. And he’d seen firsthand how dangerous Daenerys was with her wand in hand. Besides himself, she was the only sixth year proficient at duelling. The rest of their year-mates managed fine, but they couldn’t compete with Daenerys.
“Clear off, you lot!”
Daenerys’s order was obeyed at once by the remaining group of third years. Jon spotted Sansa’s fiery hair among them before they too disappeared into the Great Hall. As soon as they were alone in the entrance hall, Daenerys rounded on him again. She did, at least, tuck her wand back into her pocket, but all the same, she looked ready to slap him.
“Follow me.”
“Why—”
She moved for her wand. “Don’t make me Stun and drag you.”
“But I didn’t—”
“Do you or do you not own the only snowy albino owl in the castle?”
Jon was so caught off guard by the question, he could only gape at her. Daenerys scooped up his bag and shoved it into his chest.
“We’re going to the Owlery, Snow.”
“But what’s Ghost have to do with—”
She gave him a rough push toward the marble staircase, then poked him in the back with the end of her wand. They marched up to the fourth floor, past Professor Lannister’s office and to the base of West Tower. Jon glanced back at her still angry face and headed up first, sighing. He couldn’t imagine that Ghost—his sweet, snowy owl—had done anything horrible. Since his first year at Hogwarts, when his mother had bought Ghost for him on his eleventh birthday, the snowy owl had been gentle and affectionate. He’d never failed in a delivery, had only been rude to Sansa whenever she got too snotty toward Jon.
What could Ghost do to piss Daenerys Targaryen off so much? What have you gone and done, boy?
“In.”
Another hard jab of her wand pressed between Jon’s shoulder blades. He opened the wooden door and stepped into the drafty Owlery. Each window was glassless, the floor covered in straw, owl droppings, and regurgitated mice and vole skeletons. Overhead, a few owls swooped in and out of the windows as a ruby autumn dusk settled over the castle grounds. A number of hoots greeted them, but then something cuffed him on the head.
“Ouch!”
Ghost gave a welcoming screech, but instead of landing on Jon’s shoulder like normal, he swooped back around and dived for Daenerys.
“Keep back, you stupid owl!”
She raised her wand and Jon moved between them, knocking it aside.
“Don’t hurt him!”
“Then tell him to stop dive-bombing me and let me near Drogon!”
Jon glanced upward and found the perches and rafters had emptied in a hurry except for Ghost’s pale feathers and a dark screech owl with her head tucked under her wing. Ghost glared down at them both reproachfully.
“Ghost, stop attacking Daenerys! Come here.”
His snowy owl clicked his beak at him.
“Come here . Ghost, get down here.”
Instead, Ghost turned his tail to him and cozied up with the black owl still sleeping beside him. Daenerys took a slow step closer to him, glaring up at the pair of owls.
“Your owl is a menace.”
“He’s usually very nice,” Jon told her. He squinted up at the pair, then back to her. “Is the black one yours?”
“Drogon.” Daenerys shoved her wand in her robe pocket and kicked at the bones on the floor. “She won’t… I need her to take a letter to my brother and she’s ignoring me and your stupid owl keeps trying to take my scalp off.”
“Sorry.”
Jon examined the rafters and perches for a moment, then pushed up his robe sleeves. “Nothing to it then.”
“What do you—Jon Snow, what are you doing ?”
He’d already hoisted himself up onto the first wooden rafter, awkwardly straddling the beam. Ghost’s peered down at him with one reproachful scarlet eye.
“I’m going to coax him away from her, so you can send your letter.”
Daenerys watched him climb in disbelief. As Jon hoisted himself to the second to last beam, both Ghost and Drogon shuffled above him. Daenerys’s owl screeched at him, fanning out her wings, and that’s when Jon spotted it.
“She’s made some kind of nest,” Jon called down, squinting up at the owls above him.
“A nest?”
“Looks like it.”
Jon grasped the beam he was sitting on, carefully found his footing, and stood. The perch Ghost and Drogon had taken was a good four feet above his own. He grasped it with his hands and slid sideways toward the owls. Drogon gave another warning screech, but Ghost shuffled closer. His scarlet eyes looked wary.
“Shh, hey, Ghost, it’s just me. I know you two are, er, friends, but Daenerys needs to send a letter, okay? So you’ve got to—uh oh.”
“What do you mean ‘uh oh’?”
For Jon had just seen the explanation for the nest Drogon was settled on. She shifted her tail again and Jon was sure then. Four beautiful speckled eggs were tucked under her.
“Um, Drogon’s uh… gods, Ghost, if you wanted a mate I could have gotten a second owl for a companion?”
“A mate ?!”
“She’s laid— ouch !”
Daenerys had chunked one of the mice skulls at him. It smacked his cheek then ricocheted off the beams back to the floor. Jon rubbed his face and met her glare with one of his own.
“What was that for?”
“Your owl took advantage of mine, that’s what for!”
“He did not!” Jon waved his hand at the pair of owls, then hugged the beam tight when he nearly lost his balance. “Look at them, all cuddled up.”
Another tiny skull nearly missed his nose.
“Would you stop throwing shit at me before I fall and break my neck?”
Daenerys huffed then began to pace the Owlery as Jon gave Ghost a quick stroke and climbed back down. As soon as his shoes hit the floor, Daenerys was in his face.
“Your owl is—”
“Quite cozy with yours, yeah.” Jon glowered at her, then stared up at the pair. “She’s nesting, I’m not sure there’s much we can do until they hatch.”
Daenerys stared at him for so long, Jon was certain she was imagining all the different ways she could curse him with a hairy face or a warty tongue. Then she poked him hard in the chest.
“And what do you plan to do with your monster’s little owlets when they hatch? Because I am not —”
“They’re as much my responsibility as yours . It takes two to… well, to do that. ”
He could feel the heat in his cheeks as he looked away from her. A few owls swooped back in through the glassless windows with frogs and mice in their beaks. Jon tried to steer the conversation to a more amicable area.
“Look, we’ll use a school owl to take your letter. Tomorrow we can ask one of the professors what to do about them.”
Daenerys considered him as Jon coaxed one of the barn owls within reach. It held its leg out and Daenerys busied herself with tying her letter to it.
Jon thought over their options. Professor Lannister would only make jokes, and Professor Aemon was a history scholar, not a man learned in the nature of owls and other beasts. Most of their professors wouldn’t be much help except perhaps to scold them for not minding their owls better. Professor Tarly, the new Care of Magical Creatures instructor, might be a good choice. He was only a few years their senior and quite nice, if a bit skittish around students. Jon had only a vague recollection of the round-faced boy who’d been a fifth year when he’d first arrived at Hogwarts. As a professor, he was still rather skittish, though overly enthusiastic and kind enough.
“We can ask Professor Tarly tomorrow,” Jon told her as the barn owl took off through the window, Daenerys’s letter attached to its leg. “He’s a bit odd, but he’s nice. I think we could convince him to help.”
“Or at least get the information we need.” A hard glint was in her eyes, a soft shade of violet and blue like the winter roses and lilacs that filled his mother’s garden at home. “I am not spending my sixth year raising owlets because your albino menace got overly flirty.”
“Maybe Drogon was the overly flirty one,” he snapped back.
They glared at each other.
“It’s not my fault either. Drogon isn’t…”
Jon blew out a frustrated breath as his stomach rumbled. “Look, it’s nobody’s fault. And arguing about it doesn’t change that it’s happened. Let’s just get dinner before it’s over. I’m starving.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
Their walk back to the Great Hall was both slower and quieter. The corridors were deserted except for the Fat Friar, who waved merrily as they passed.
“I suppose we could give the owlets away, once they’re old enough,” she said as they arrived in the entrance hall. “To other students who’d like their own owl but don’t have the money to buy one.”
“If we can convince Ghost and Drogon to part with their babies,” he reminded her.
She stamped her foot again. “ Ugh , this is a mess. Tomorrow we’ll meet before class, breakfast by the willow next to the lake.”
“But—”
“No buts,” she snapped. “I don’t care how far that is from Gryffindor Tower, we—”
“Hufflepuff.” Jon flushed a bit as she stammered to a halt. “My cousins are in Gryffindor, I’m in Hufflepuff.”
“Oh, right. I… sorry.” And for once, she did look apologetic. It was an uncomfortable spot, being the only member of the Stark family not in Gryffindor. “Hufflepuff is…?”
“Basement, by the kitchens.”
Her whole face lit up. She almost looked nice. “You know where the kitchens are? Have you been in to see the house elves? Do you know—”
“Tomorrow for breakfast,” Jon said, cutting her off before she could get going. His stomach growled again. “How’s eight o’clock?”
“Fine, Snow.”
And with that Daenerys Targaryen flounced away from him, toward the Slytherin table across the Great Hall.
He could hardly focus that evening after he’d stuffed his face at the Hufflepuff table. All around him the round, cozy Hufflepuff common room was packed and noisy. Jon had taken his favorite seat beside the fire, trying and failing to finish his essay for Potions.
“—and in conclusion bygones will share you from most poisons but not all?”
Val snorted as she read over his shoulder.
“Using one of those Spell-Checking quills, Snow? Looks like the spell’s about worn off.”
Jon reread his last sentence, grimaced, and scratched out the incorrect words. “ Bezoars will save you,” he muttered, jotting that down. “You finished already?”
“Haven’t started.” Val dropped into the armchair beside him, kicking her legs over the arm carelessly. They were the only sixth-year Hufflepuffs in N.E.W.T. Potions, and Jon was glad for it. She was hardworking and tireless—at least, when she felt like it. Val could procrastinate like a hibernating bear. But she was more than willing to do her own work and carry her own weight. “Can’t be too tough. Not as tough as your new project.”
Jon hummed in feigned interest.
“You know, you and Slytherin’s little princess,” Val continued, nudging his quill hand with her shoe. His last word trailed off in a squiggly, illegible mess. “She seemed quite... hot headed for you.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not as much as Ghost is for her owl apparently.”
That stopped Val in her tracks. “Ghost is… come again?”
“Bet he’d like to,” Jon muttered as he pulled out a fresh roll of parchment to write out a clean copy of his essay. When Val kicked his elbow, he added, “Ghost and Drogon—that’s her owl—are nesting. They’ve got eggs and everything. He kept dive-bombing her when she tried to get near them to send a letter.”
“Huh.” Val gave him a blank stare for a moment, then shrugged. “Suppose one of you needs to get some. Good for Ghost, Slytherin owl or not.”
Jon rolled his eyes. “I’m fine without wasting my Hogsmeade trips in Madam Puddifoot’s fluorescent pink nightmare.”
Val snorted and finally started pulling out her books, quills, and parchment. “Don’t recall Ygritte ever dragging you there.”
Jon stiffened. His ex hadn’t been the frilly type, but she hadn’t had the easiest temperament either. Their only couples trip to Hogsmeade had been a muddy trek from the castle to the Three Broomsticks and then the Shrieking Shack. Ygritte had graduated last year, but not before they’d broken up. At the time, he’d been full of regret and heartache over it, but summer had changed his mind.
Being single was far easier.
“She was more a Shrieking Shack sort.” Jon set his essay aside to dry and packed his books and supplies away. “Don’t forget practice is Saturday morning this year. Gryffindor’s new captain whined until he got our old slot.”
“As you say, Captain.” Val muttered as he stood. “Wait, isn’t Stark the new captain?”
“Yup,” Jon said cheerfully. “My blasted cousin whined and begged and gave me a dozen things I wanted before I finally relented and said I’d move ours.”
He left Val laughing by the fire, turning down the winding hall that branched off to the boys’ dormitories. Unlike his cousins up in Gryffindor Tower, the Hufflepuff dormitories were all on the same level, just winding in a great circle at the base of one of the great towers. His dormitory was empty except for Grenn’s barn owl, awaiting Jon’s housemate with a messily bound scroll.
Jon changed into his pajamas, grabbed a book and scrap of parchment, and shut himself away behind the yellow and black drapes on his four-poster. Once he was settled, he dipped his quill in his inkpot, and began to write:
Dear Mum,
You’re never going to believe what Ghost did…