1: Who? Who?

Harry froze. A white shape, almost silver in the moonlight, lay in the patch of mud he'd attempted to designate an herb garden. It was an owl. Harry's breath caught in his throat. It'd been over a year since he'd seen Hedwig knocked out the air by the green flash of a killing curse, but he couldn't help wonder if maybe it was just now she was hitting the earth. Another of his ghosts coming back to haunt him. A dark chuckle forced its way out - the sound half misery, half panic, and across the yard a wing twitched.

Harry dashed into his kitchen to grab a thick towel, cursing himself. There was a bird dying and he was being maudlin when he could do something about it.

The owl struggled wildly. Harry winced as he wrapped up the obviously broken wing, and again as the owl got in a good scratch down his forearm.

Inside was dry and warm, which seemed like an improvement over cold mud, but Harry, looking at the bundle of misery and murder in his arms, couldn't be quite sure what else to do. Bind the wing, but not while the bird was looking at him like that. Could you give owls sleeping draught? He didn't think that'd been covered in Care of Magical Creatures. Harry blinked and grabbed a pinch of floo powder.

Hagrid answered his fire call groggily. "All righ', Harry?"

"Yeah, I'm fine Hagrid. Er, sorry to wake you and all." It was later than he'd realized. He hadn't felt like sleeping. "Just…" Harry thrust out the owl.

"An owl? Where'd yeh find the bugger?" Hagrid shuffled closer to the fire and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "An' with a broken wing. Poor chap."

Hagrid shrugged off Harry's questions about how to safely knock the bird out before tending to it.

"Bite yeh? Don' you worry, Harry. A few nips won' hurt."

It turned out Harry did not need to transfigure a suit of armor from a bath robe and oven mitt before fighting to wrap the wing - though he planned it out with the slow methodicalness of plans formed past 1am. There was an avian equivalent to skelo-gro that Hagrid handed him through the floo.

Harry tipped the prescribed amount into a dish that the owl showed absolutely no intention of drinking from.

"Just pry his beak open," Hagrid motioned helpfully from the fire. "Yeh can do it, Harry." He yawned. "Bring that bottle back when yeh visit, will yeh?" And with that he shut off the floo and disappeared.

Harry stared helplessly at the bird. He set the potion down and awkwardly fumbled his wand out of his sweatpants pocket. His right hand was holding the owl and it seemed too late to switch. Harry sighed and pointed his wand at the attic. "Accio, Hedwig's cage." His voice caught on the words, but despite his stumble and jerky left-handedness, there was still a series of sharp clangs as the cage worked it's way out of the pile of boxes. He'd deal with that mess tomorrow.

A quick cleaning charm removed the worst of the dust. Harry rolled the owl in easily enough, but looking at it's glazed eyes and unsteady stance, he thought he'd prefer a bite. It was a barn owl from its distinctive heart-shaped face, but paler even than normal and with unusual gray eyes.

Harry slid in a dish of water and rummaged through his fridge. He rather wanted Molly's beef stew for himself, but upon sniffing everything else in the fridge (there wasn't much), he ladled chunks of beef and vegetable into another dish. Harry eyed the swaying owl and slid half of the stew back into the fridge and cut the smaller portion into bite-sized pieces. "If you can eat that and keep it down, you can have more."

The owl showed no signs of touching the water or stew, and especially not the cup of skelo-gro.

"Don't particularly blame you on that one, mate."

The owl slowly closed its silver eyes and slumped against the side of the cage. Harry stared. "Please be exhausted and not dead," he pleaded. Harry ran his hand through his hair. He did not want to deal with this.

Harry didn't know if he should force the bird to have some food and water, or just leave it alone. He resisted the urge to fire call Hagrid again. Surely he had a book on owls around here somewhere. Hermione gave the stacks of paper to him often enough. Mostly, however, they were all quidditch and Muggle history. Probably cause that's what he had told her he liked.

Ron, on the other hand, had actually gifted him a manual in 4th year after he realized that Harry hadn't purposefully thrown himself into a death-tournament he was patently unprepared for. Ron'd said vaguely that it might be useful. That particular year it really, really hadn't been, but Harry had appreciated the intent. He'd just accioed the book from the attic with another round of clatter and mustered the courage to go see if the owl was still alive, when it moved. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

Draco woke up slowly. His arm throbbed. He moved it and a sharp pain shot through the limb. He hissed but it came out as a soft hoot. Draco blinked. His eyes felt… big. And when he looked around, his head moved, too. Draco cursed. He remembered flying, long swoops over the countryside. He hadn't been pleased, exactly, to find out that his animagus was an owl. It was rather… common. The first thrill of flying, however, had rather settled any doubts he'd had. One wouldn't think it'd be that much better than a broomstick, but they'd be dead wrong.

He'd only had one glorious hour of gliding through the dark sky, adjusting to his new senses, however, before it had all gone rather pear shaped. There'd been a thestral, and falling. He'd passed out for a bit, he thought. Then there'd been a person… He remembered being trapped and manhandled, too hurt and confused to transform. Draco panicked, banging his hurt wing painfully against the bars of his cage. His cage. This wouldn't have happened if his animagus form had been something better, like, he didn't know, a dragon. He'd still be able to fly and also non-verbally roast whoever had dared to stick him in this metal contraption.

"Whoah, whoah," a voice soothed. Draco froze. His head swiveled automatically towards the sound. Towering above him was Harry Potter. Of course. The fight went out of him. Draco was so, so tired of everything going wrong. Of course Harry Potter would be here. He was… he was an owl and he was in a cage and the person who'd put him there was none other than Harry bloody Potter. Draco swayed dizzily.

"C'mon," Potter pleaded and Draco eyed him warily. Everything hurt.

"Just drink some water, eat some food. Then you can go back to sleep." The black-haired wizard pointed a finger at a blue cup. "And if you'll drink that even though I know it's nasty, your wing will be all healed up and I can let you out."

Draco wanted to snort. Bloody Potter trying to reason with an owl. As if it could understand him. But well. Draco supposed he could. And while he really, really didn't want to eat anything, skele-gro wasn't good to take on an empty stomach.

Draco sipped at the water and Potter's face lit up as if he'd witnessed a miracle. The detail with which Draco could see his pores should have been off-putting. It should have been creepy how owl vision faded Potter's warm brown skin to gray-scale. But somehow Potter still had a stupidly nice smile. The git. Draco scowled. Or would have if he had lips.

Next, Draco eyed the stew. At least it wasn't raw mice. Though if Potter had cooked it Draco wondered if he wouldn't prefer a mouse. Potter's ineptitude at potions did not particularly indicate culinary skill. Or basic food safety.

Piece by piece, Draco picked through the stew. Except the carrots. His owl palate was probably completely different than his human one, but it really just wasn't worth the risk. Finally, Draco was finished. It had been exhausting. He glared at Potter. The git was nearly clapping. It wasn't as if Draco'd defeated a Dark Lord. He'd eaten food.

His wing still pulsed with pain, but Draco closed his eyes to rest for a moment before tackling the skele-gro. It would taste revolting. And hurt to boot.

Potter hefted himself from the chair where he'd been avidly watching Draco eat. "Hold on," he said, "I've got an idea."

Draco snorted. The sound came out oddly.

Potter came back with another dish of stew chunks. He carefully dipped one into the skele-gro and held it out.

Draco strongly considered biting him. But, well, he was exhausted. And how many opportunities did one really have to be hand fed by the Chosen One?

Draco took the piece of meat delicately and swallowed it down. His wing began tingling uncomfortably, but before he could pay much attention, Harry held out another chunk of beef. "You're doing great. I know your wing feels weird, but just keep eating and it'll feel much better."

Draco tipped his head to swallow the new morsel. Being an owl was rather easy. If you were an owl, then apparently Harry Potter would look at you with those green eyes that Draco couldn't even see in color right now full of concern and be happy with you for eating.

Not that Potter would have had as easy of a time with a normal owl. Even disguised by surprisingly good stew, the skele-gro was disgusting.

Eventually, Draco shook his wing and the bone felt strange and wobbly, but whole. Potter coaxed him out of the cage, and Draco spread his wings gladly. They felt fine, but his feathers were a mess. Aggravated, he set to grooming.

Potter laughed. "You're a pretty bird, and I'd say you know it."

Draco glared, but did not stop picking through the bent quills. Just because Potter had never met a hair brush didn't mean everyone else had to be as lazy. And of course he was a fine looking owl. It wasn't like he'd worried his animagus would be a troll. Except that he rather had. When his gut was roiling and his thoughts were ugly and the memories of screaming morphed into nightmares about being split open and finding something violent and scary and dark.

Potter stretched. "I'm off to bed for the night. Don't get into too much trouble."

Draco found he did not have an eyebrow to raise. Instead, he glared. His range of expression may be limited, but he had a very satisfying glare.

Next up: Harry buys food and treats for the owl he is not at all planning on keeping. Draco does not eat mice, thank you very much.