Work Text:
August 4th, 2001
Hagrid and the Granger family stand outside the apothecary’s, their bags weighed heavier with what Hagrid referred to as ‘basic potion ingredients’ and what Harry referred to as ‘gross slimy things that even Hermione refused to look at for too long’.
Hagrid was looking down at one of the school supply lists, his black eyes squinting to read. “Looks like that should be all--”
“Oh!” Hermione exclaims, her eyes wide. “Does that mean we have to leave?” She turns her pleading eyes to her mother. “I still wanted to go to that store I was telling you about…” Hermione trails off, eyes going impossibly wider, as if she had just said too much.
Hagrid chuckles, a deep booming sound that seemed to make the ground rumble. “Don’ worry, Hermione. We’re not leaving yet. I still haven’t bought Harry her birthday present!”
Harry’s face flushes. “Oh… oh, you don’t need to do that!” She is quick to reassure him, her chest filling with white hot embarrassment. Harry barely liked receiving gifts from her aunts and uncles on her mother’s side of the family, let alone a practical stranger.
“Well, o’course I do!” Hagrid exclaims, waving his large hands around as he speaks. “It’s bad ‘enough I couldn’ get ingredients in time to make yeh a cake!” He quickly scans the list again, before his eyes light up. “An’ yeh know what? I’m gonna get yer animal!”
“Animal?” Harry repeats, warily taking a step back from Hagrid in case he accidentally hit her with his waving hands.
Hagrid nods, and shows her the list, pointing out a section that Harry had apparently elected to forget due to the seemingly ludicrousness of the statement.
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad
“Oh…” Harry trails off, looking to her parents for some sort of support. “Well, we can’t have a cat. Dad has allergies--”
“So do I.” Hagrid nods, flipping the list back around. “And toads, they went outta fashion years ago. Wouldn’ want yeh teh be laughed outta Hogwarts.”
“Is that possible?” Hermione asks, genuinely curious.
Hagrid’s eyes brighten. “I’ll get yeh an owl! An owl for the whole family! They’re great, all the kids want one! And they’re darned useful to send letters back and forth at school.”
“Couldn’t we just use the post office?” Calypso asks, obviously quite taken aback at the thought of owning a live owl.
Hagrid laughs, though not mean heartedly. “Trust me, Mrs. Granger, after sending the post, and then transferring it from the Muggles to the owls, then the opposite way around for the students… It’s just easier to cut out the middleman.”
Calypso and Richard share a look.
“I would like an owl.” Hermione pipes up, starting to bounce on her feet. “If we’re going to a school for magic, don’t you want the whole experience?”
Richard clears his throat. “Well, I’m not allergic to feathers, at least.”
“It’s settled then!” Hagrid beams at Hermione. “So, why don’ you two,'' He gestures at Calypso and Hermione, “Go to yer mystery store, and the three o’ us,” Harry, Richard, and himself, “Will go get an owl!”
Hermione grins at Harry. Harry pastes a small smile on her face in response.
***
Eeylops Owl Emporium is easily one of the worst places Harry could ever imagine. It was dark, filled with the unnatural sound of dozens of owls ‘hooting’ at once, and smelling of dank decay.
The old woman standing behind the counter barely looks up at them, her eyes settled on the only other group of customers in the store, a man and a young child poking at a white owl hanging in a cage.
Harry shudders.
“Wow.” Richard whispers, scanning the cages.
Hagrid chuckles. “Never seen this many owls at once before?”
Richard stares up at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one before.” He leans closer to a proud looking tawny owl. “Incredible.”
That was certainly one word for it , Harry thinks, shrinking in on herself as her green eyes land on glowing yellow ones.
It was disconcerting, being surrounded by this many glowing, judgemental eyes.
It reminded her of being at Mrs. Figg’s house, no more than 5 years old, with no company other than the forgetful old woman and her cluster of cats.
It reminded her of being chased around the yard while attempting to weed it by Marge’s-- just Marge, it had always just been Marge -- crazy puppy, Ripper.
It reminded her of being locked away in a dark cupboard, her face stinging, and knowing that nobody cared about her except for the spiders hanging on silken string.
“Darling,” Richard calls out, gesturing for Harry to come closer to him. “What do you think of this one?”
The Barn Owl that Harry’s father was referring to had dusty grey feathers, and narrowed its black eyes at her, as if daring to look upon him was a crime.
Harry shakes her head. “No.”
The cashier was now engaged in conversation with the man that had been poking at the Snowy Owl from earlier.
“The bird’ll be ten Galleons.”
“ Ten galleons!” The man exclaims, slamming his hands palm down on the desk.
The woman shrugs, unapologetically. “Those owls are rare. You know how long it took just to find her in the first place? Ten galleons. Plus any other supplies you may need.”
“Merlin’s beard.” The man hisses. “I’ll bet the Menagerie wouldn’t try to pull a scam like this.”
“Probably not,” The old woman agrees. “They’re too busy illegally breeding to care much for their owls.”
Harry couldn’t help but turn around at that comment, now facing the cash register. The older man was rifling through his coin purse, apparently in search of Galleons. The boy behind him held a cage, and in that cage was a very distressed looking Snowy Owl. This boy, who could not have possibly been more than a year younger than Harry, was rocking both of his arms back and forth, and the cage he was holding was flying right with them. The poor owl was just along for the ride, letting out small, distressed hoots.
Harry stares for a long moment at the scene, before the images properly caught up to her, and she realised that she was, in fact, looking at what her brain said she was looking at.
“Oi!” She finds herself hissing, marching right up to the boy. She doesn’t speak too loud, both to not draw her father’s attention to her, and to not jolt any of the other owls. The boy doesn’t bother to look at her. “You.” Harry puts her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to stop at least one of his arms.
“What?” The boy asks, clearly taken aback by her.
“You need to stop shaking that cage.” Harry tells him, gesturing down to the clearly upset owl that he was holding. “She doesn’t like it.”
The boy raises a dubious eyebrow at her, looking her up and down. “Look, I think I know a thing or two more about owls than you do.” If Harry wasn’t so caught up with the bird, she definitely would’ve questioned what the boy meant by that. “Trust me, it’s fine.”
Harry starts to seethe. Distantly, she feels the hand of her father, who had finally realised that she wasn’t staring in awe at the owls like he was, on her shoulder. “No, she --”
Isn’t.
That was what Harry was going to say, before the bird decided to make that clear for herself. The Snowy Owl lets out an ear piercing screech, and begins rapidly flapping her wings.
This is enough to startle the self-proclaimed ‘owl expert’, and due to his bewilderment, he actually drops the cage.
The metal door pops open on impact, and a streak of white flies out.
“Damn!” She hears Hagrid exclaim, his voice rising a pitch.
The cashier lets out a long suffering sigh. “Bloody bird.”
The owl perches herself on a shelf filled with Owl Feed. The shelf isn’t very high off the ground, shorter than all of the grown men, not just Hagrid. Harry would find it an odd place for escape, but the way that the owl looks at the humans, like a queen looking down upon her subjects, she thinks that only someone stupid would try to go after her.
“I’ve got her.” The boy says, striding towards the shelf, despite the glare that the owl had fixed on him. He stretches out an arm, and wiggles his fingers, cooing, “C’mere, owl. C’mere!”
The bird doesn’t move. At least, not until the boy’s fingers are close enough to her face that she can lean forward and bite him.
“Ouch!” The boy screams, waving around his slightly reddened finger. “It bit me, it bit me!”
The other owls are jostled from their stasis, some flapping their wings, others letting out high pitched yips.
“Shush up, boy!” The sales woman yells at him. “You’re stirring up the birds.”
The older man grips the inconsolable boy by the shoulders, glaring at the woman. “What do you think you’re doing? Yelling at my boy when your damn bird is the one that attacked him!”
“It was about to be your bird.” The woman reminds him.
The man scoffs. “You want me to pay 10 galleons for a crazed bird? Screw that, we’re leaving. Come on, Michael.” With that, he grabs the boy’s upper arm, and drags him out of the store.
Harry wrinkles her nose when they are officially out the door, and says under her breath, “Bloody prick.”
Thankfully, her father doesn’t seem to hear her. However, it looks like the Snowy Owl does. She tilts her head to the side, and lets out a small chirp, her amber eyes focused on Harry.
“Damn bird.” The woman curses. “Cost me a perfectly good sale.”
“Oh, don’t blame the bird.” Hagrid tells her. “Seems teh me that she’s just a good judge of character.”
Harry takes a small step towards the owl, biting her lip as she does. It's an invitation, and they both know it.
“Harry?” Richard asks. “What are you--”
With a flap of wings, the Snowy Owl takes off from her spot on the shelf, and lands on an empty perch well within arms reach of Harry. She tilts her head, a question in her eyes.
“Harry…” Richard takes a tentative step back, reaching out to bring his daughter with him.
Harry turns to face her father, and shakes her head at him, before shuffling towards the owl. Her arm extends, her hand palm out. The bird takes the bait, and nudges Harry’s palm with her head.
Harry can’t help but laugh, the softness of the feathers, the small chirps that send vibrations all throughout Harry’s arm.
She moves her hand, so that she can scratch the base of the bird’s scalp. She gets a happy twitter in response.
The bird is looking at her, and if Harry isn’t mistaken, there’s a warmth settling in her eyes.
Harry’s hand travels to the owl’s wing. What she wasn’t expecting was for the owl to turn her head and nip her finger.
Harry gasps and Richard takes a step forward, gripping Harry’s shoulders as if prepared to pull her away from the ledge of a cliff.
However, when the owl blinks at Harry with her big eyes, and chitters, fluffing her wings as if asking for more scratches.
So, Harry laughs. “Aw, you’re a good girl.” She tells the bird, once more stroking her plumage. “And so pretty, too.”
Hagrid, who had been quietly watching the interaction, turns to face the cashier. “How much was the owl, again?”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “10 galleons.”
Hagrid nods. “Okay, add a perch, cage, owl feed, and a couple ‘o those frozen mice as well.”
“Hagrid,” Richard interrupts, taking only one hand off of Harry’s shoulders, and facing the much taller man. “You really don’t need to do that.”
“I want teh.” Hagrid replies, pulling out a moleskine pouch filled with jangling coins. He smiles down at Harry still stroking the owl’s feathers. “Animals, they’re-- they’re good fer the soul.”
***
Harry and Hermione were sitting in Harry’s bedroom.
Harry was sitting in her hanging chair, her embroidery hoop in hand, creating a pattern with the new colour-changing yarn (which Hermione and their mother had bought at a craft shop which had been the ‘mysterious store’ from earlier). Hermione was sitting on Harry’s bed, one of their new school books spread open in her lap.
The new ‘family’ owl was sitting on her perch, the faint breeze from the open window ruffling her feathers.
She was still unnamed. Ideas have been thrown around; Athena, Snow White, and Eliza just to name a few. None of them felt right, though.
Hermione makes a small cooing sound in the back of her throat, which made Harry smile. It meant that Hermione had just learned something that she found absolutely fascinating.
As if on cue, Hermione looks up from her book, already speaking quickly. “Did you know that same-sex marriage has been legal in Wizarding Britain since 1943?”
Harry’s eyebrows furrow, pulling her needle through the white cotton t-shirt she was embroidering. “Same…? You mean, like gay couples?”
“Yes!” Hermione exclaims, her eyes scanning the pages once more. “Back in 1940, a witch named Hedwig started advocating for a lesbian couple that wanted to get married, but the Ministry wouldn’t allow it.”
Harry stills, her brain snagging on something that Hermione had said.
“What was the witch’s name?”
“Hedwig.” Hermione replies promptly. “Or, at least, that was her pseudonym-- fake name. She was inspired by Saint Hedwig who was the patron saint of brides, and since she was trying to help two brides get married--”
Harry jumps up from her chair, startling both of the other occupants of the room. “Oh, my god! Hermione, that’s it!”
“What is?”
Harry steps closer to the owl, a wide smile lighting up her features. “Hedwig. That’s her name.”
“Hedwig.” Hermione repeats slowly. “Really?”
“Yes! It’s perfect!”
Hermione raises a dubious eyebrow. “In what way?”
“I dunno.” Harry shrugs, looking back at the owl-- Hedwig. “It just fits. Besides, she likes it. Don’t you, Hedwig?”
Hedwig makes a happy chirping sound, and affectionately nips Harry’s finger.
It was perfect.