Title: Love, Free As Air

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.

Warnings: Sex, angst, profanity, a bit of violence. Ignores the epilogue of DH.

Pairings: Snape/Harry/Draco.

Rating: R

Summary: Trapped in his Animagus form, Harry stumbles on Snape and Draco, who disappeared from the wizarding world years ago. His first task is to become human again. His second might be to help Snape and Draco with the same problem.

Author's Notes: This story is being written for heeroluva, who won a charity auction at gulf_aid_now to raise money for the oil spill disaster in the Gulf of Mexico. She gave me the plot, for which I thank her. I'm not sure how long this story will be, though I estimate somewhere between 15 and 20 chapters. The title comes from a quote by Alexander Pope.

Love, Free As Air

Chapter One—On Singed Wings

There was too much smoke and confusion for Harry to chance changing back. He accepted his fate with a bob of his head and made for the nearest window, intending to get outside and then transform so that he could look back on the destruction and salvage what memories he could to give to the Aurors.

The sting of a spell across his tail was almost intangible until it suddenly blossomed and wrapped his body in pain. Harry screamed and flared his tail out, but of course there was nothing there now. The wizard who had cast the curse might already have fled or succumbed to smoke inhalation.

And you'll do the same thing if you don't get out of here right now.

Harry flung himself upwards into the noise of roars and bellows and neighs and screeches, and then found the window he'd been looking for. Up and up and up, as the wind boosted his tail and lent strength to his wings.

"Go outside if you cannot sit still."

Severus had spoken the words an hour ago, but they still echoed in Draco's head. He winced and leaned back against the stone wall of the garden, looking around in a desperate effort to cheer himself up.

He saw nothing but the same familiar herbs, bushes, and vines that Severus had planted to serve as his ingredients. They'd had flowers the first year—though of course never as beautiful as the rose gardens at the Manor—but Severus had refused to have any the next, stating that petals were useful in few potions. Draco had admired Severus's stern self-denial at that point, and had thought he was childish, himself, in wishing for a few bright blossoms, so he'd agreed.

Now he knew it wasn't self-denial. Severus simply didn't care about beautiful things, and never would if he wasn't forced to.

Draco closed his eyes. He began the familiar litany of excuses that would soften his resentment against Severus.

You knew when you came with him that he wasn't rich. He warned you that he wasn't a pleasant man to be around, and only cared about potions. You can't say that he lied. You could have left when you found out that he wasn't your perfect dream mentor. You were the one who tricked yourself into thinking his every word was wise.

But that litany hadn't worked for some time, not unless Draco repeated it for hours and wore himself into agreement with Severus through sheer weariness. Yes, Severus had told the truth, but he also had been able to see, had to have seen, the hero-worship shining in Draco's face, and he'd done nothing to discourage Draco's impressions of his activities during the war or during his trial.

He could have said that he really didn't love or care for anyone, that he only cared about himself, that he'd never had human warmth and didn't miss it, Draco thought, opening his eyes and staring at a clump of morning glory vines that Severus had trained to grow along a trellis placed against the wall. I gave him plenty of opportunity to say that. Instead, he smiled at me with this dark glint in his eyes and hinted that maybe I was the one who could teach him love.

Draco snorted. What a fucking joke. He's devoted himself to abstract ideals like pride and skill for so long that he probably wouldn't recognize love if it fell out of the sky and landed at his feet.

A sharp crashing noise in the nearest tree startled him. Draco looked up and blinked, then rose to his feet when the crashing didn't stop. Angry birds sometimes battled for the fruit on the high trees that Severus had planted, but they went away after one sting of the guardian wards around the tree trunks. Perhaps this was a more stubborn or desperate bird than usual. They were getting into late summer, and Draco thought he vaguely remembered some birds reared a second brood then or something.

At the very least, it was a diversion from his thoughts and his absolute lack of any occupation.

How sad, Draco thought as he walked along the curving stone path to the back of the garden and the source of the sound, that this has become my life.

Harry raised his head and shook it in a daze. He already knew that something was wrong. He did his best to control the instincts of his Animagus form and stop thrashing with his wings against the invisible net that held him so that he could number all his problems.

First, he had aimed at the nearest source of powerful magic, thinking it would be the encampment of Aurors who were waiting for his report. But either they had left or he had been carried further by the kidnappers than he had expected. This place had its own wards that he had pierced with several jabs of his beak, but from inside, it was not the camp—unless they had managed to build stone walls and plant an extensive garden overnight.

Second, the spell one of his captors had cast at him as he escaped was causing random flares of pain throughout his body. Wherever this place was, Harry thought he'd have to stay for a while. He couldn't fly if he was burning with agony.

Third, the spell had another effect, the one Harry had feared it did. When he found himself within a net of air and magic, he had tried instinctively to change back. The transformation would have ruptured the spells meant to contain an animal and he'd have fallen to the ground. Not very dignified, of course, but at least it would mean that he could get help from whatever wizards these were.

But he couldn't change back.

Not surprising, since the kidnappers he'd been investigating were highly skilled in Transfiguration, and had been snatching wizards—especially wizarding children—for months and changing them into rare and expensive animals to sell. It made sense that they would have developed a spell that would keep anyone from reverting to their human form, whether by accident or accidental magic.

But it was inconvenient as all fuck right now.

Footsteps sounded below. Harry twisted his head. With luck, this was a wizard now, and he would be able to explain the situation as soon as they got him out of the net, even if he couldn't change back. There were advantages to being the specific kind of bird he was.

He almost changed his mind when he saw the pale face peering up at him from below. It had been six years, but he hadn't forgotten what Draco Malfoy looked like. If nothing else, the posters in the Auror Department that showed his face and promised a reward for information on him would have reminded Harry. Malfoy had fled on the eve of his own trial, and helped the condemned criminal Severus Snape to escape as well.

It didn't matter that Harry hadn't agreed with the Wizengamot's conviction of Snape or its probable conviction of Malfoy. The point was that there was such a thing as the law, and running away from it solved nothing in the long run.

Now, swaying in the net, Harry had to wonder whether it wouldn't be to his advantage to keep quiet and try to find someone else to change him back. He really only needed the spell stopped and his wounds healed, and a few days to recover. Then he could take to the sky again.

In fact, that was so much the best course that Harry was sort of impressed with himself for thinking of it. He usually wasn't very sensible. He kept still and silent except for a few involuntary flaps as Malfoy studied him. His form could hang upside-down without trouble, but that was under its own power and not hanging from meshes he couldn't see in the midst of the air.

Draco stared.

The bird above him was the size of a small crow, or so Draco thought. It kept moving just when he had his eyes focused on it. But its feathers were grey, and stood out around its body so much that Draco thought it might actually be bigger than it looked, or smaller.

Ash-grey. That was an unusual color for birds, Draco thought. He'd seen doves that were near it, but this wasn't a dove. Apart from anything else, it had a bright red spot on its tail. And it was screaming in a manner that made Draco wince. Any dove that had a voice like that would get pecked to death by all the other doves around it.

A hawk?

The feet, when Draco could see them—the bird was head-down in the net that Severus had set up for thieves that didn't learn the first time—did look like talons. It might be a hawk.

Draco raised his wand and cast the spell that would cut the net and bring the bird down still tangled up in it. He didn't want those talons and that heavy beak, which he could see in flashing glimpses, getting close to him unless he had no choice.

The net fell, the bird screaming indignantly all the way, and Draco caught and balanced it in his arms. The bird thrashed around until it was staring at him, drawing shallow breaths all the while.

Draco blinked. No, the head didn't look like any hawk's head he'd ever seen. The face was white, with big, unexpectedly green eyes with intense black pupils. The pupils changed size while he looked, as if the bird was trying to focus on him. And the red feathers weren't just a spot of color; the whole tail was red, a rusty color that Draco had last seen in the worse class of sunset.

"What are you?" Draco murmured. He was starting to think that this wasn't a bird native to England, and that meant it had probably escaped from a Muggle zoo or pet shop. He turned the net over, trying to get a better look at that flared tail and the heavy feet. Now that he could see them, they were far too small to be a hawk's talons.

The bird screamed again and snaked its neck around in an unexpected maneuver, sinking its curved beak into Draco's thumb.

Draco swore and pulled his hand back, a steady stream of blood running down past his nail. The bird flailed enthusiastically and nearly broke free, but Draco cast a weak Immobulus and froze it in place. Then he cast a charm that would make the net hover in the air while he healed the wound. The bird, apparently not completely frozen, rolled its eyes at him malevolently.

Draco recognized it now, and felt rather stupid for not doing it earlier. On the other hand, you didn't actually expect a parrot to turn up in your garden, not in this climate. He and Severus had lived in a few places where—

He cut off that memory before it could become uncomfortable and stepped forwards to study the bird. "You'll be lucky if Severus doesn't chop you up for potions," he told it. "I think he'd like to try your heart with a base of raven feathers and see what happens."

"Idiot," the bird said.

Draco jumped, the voice was so clear. Someone had owned this bird, he was sure, and probably had done some experiments of their own to teach it to talk. He shook his head and studied the bird more closely, looking for some kind of identification marker. He had heard that Muggles put things like that on their pets, though it was possible that it had been destroyed by the wards that would give free passage to animals but not to Muggle devices.

He found nothing unusual except a jagged white streak across the bird's forehead, hard to see because of the pallor of its face. There were bent and singed feathers, too, as though the bird had just barely escaped a fire. "Whoever had you last didn't treat you well," he murmured.

"I'm Harry Potter," said the bird.

Draco laughed. "You did have a conceited owner. Or perhaps someone who was a Potter fan?" He tried to remember if he'd heard what Potter was doing these days. Severus had a subscription to the Daily Prophet under a false name—which had been ridiculously easy to set up—and Draco remembered a story that Potter had gone through most of Auror training but decided not to become an Auror. He had no idea if he'd read anything more than that, though. About the only thing he was sure of was that Potter hadn't become a professional Quidditch player; there would have been more stories about him if that was the case.

"I'm really Harry Potter," said the bird. "Let me go."

Draco shook his head. "You're an intelligent bird, but everyone knows that parrots repeat what they see and hear." He paused, a bit of doubt coming to life in him. "Unless…"

He cast the spell that should force an Animagus to resume its human form. The bird did nothing but struggle and scream. Its voice was piercing, Draco thought, resisting the urge to plug his ears. He still didn't think that warranted the parrot's previous owner setting it on fire, though. You shouldn't own a bird like this unless you were prepared to deal with its voice in all its aspects.

"I thought so," Draco said. "A clever bird, and your owner was a Potter fan, which tells me that he was a wizard, but nothing more."

He stood a few minutes studying the parrot, and ignoring the idea that crept into his head until it was fully formed and he could regard it without embarrassment.

If the bird had belonged to a wizard—and it would have been a fantastic coincidence for it to belong to a Muggle or Squib who just happened to have heard of the wizarding world—then there was no way for Draco to get it back home. He couldn't reveal where he and Severus were. Even if he left Severus, as he sometimes dreamed of doing lately, he wouldn't deliver his former lover to the Dementor's Kiss.

That meant he was going to keep the bird, and whoever had owned it last could go hang.

Draco had never before thought of adopting a bird. On the other hand, he was so desperate for a change and a bit of relief from his boredom that he would accept anything that dropped into his lap.

"It looks like you're stuck with me for right now," he told the bird. "I'll have to think of something to name you." He waved his wand, removed the last of the Freezing Charm—which obviously hadn't been that effective, but then again, it probably wasn't meant to work on animals—and floated the net towards the house.

"Let me go, you bastard," said the bird.

Draco shook his head. "Your former owner was foul-mouthed in addition to everything else," he said. "A pity. Well, you'll hear better language here, if not always of the sweetest or lightest kind."

There were times that Harry hated the Animagus form his magic had chosen for him, useful as his wings and a human voice were.

He had thought of calling Malfoy by his name, to see if it would make a difference, but then again, the git already seemed to have discarded the suspicion that Harry could become human when his spell failed to break the curse on Harry. The mention of his name when there was no possible way a parrot could know it might have made him paranoid and determined to kill Harry.

And there was no way that Harry could resist or escape the magic as long as he was in this bloody net. His best hope for the moment was to wait for Malfoy to release him and then find the nearest window.

If I can.

Harry flexed his wings as soon as Malfoy released him from the Immobulus Charm. They ached. An attempt to turn himself right-side up in the net made his breastbone—always heavy—flare like an old wound. Harry closed his eyes in a slow blink and ruffled his feathers. Maybe he did have to rest before he flew again.

On the other hand, if Malfoy got him into a cage, what was he going to do? A wizard could add charms around the bars that would give no normal bird a chance of escaping, and Harry was essentially a normal bird as long as he was under this stupid spell and as long as no one would believe him.

Gnawing the problem the way he wished he could gnaw Malfoy's fingers, he looked up only when they left the bright light of the garden and Malfoy swept him into the stone house that Harry had been distantly aware that the garden surrounded.

The first room was huge and shaped rather like a box, lined with dark wood that made Harry wonder exactly how Malfoy and Snape had afforded this. The furniture in the room seemed to consist entirely of two couches and three chairs, all of them piled with books. Harry saw dust lining the edges of the deep blue curtains and was glad that birds had no sense of smell.

Malfoy deposited the net on the floor and crouched to look at him. Harry opened his beak in a prolonged hiss. That might decide the prat against keeping him as a pet or as a source of mobile potions ingredients, which now appeared the likeliest options.

"You'll need a cage," Malfoy said, as if to himself. "A large one, since you're a large bird. And a perch to sit on. And…what do parrots eat? Seeds? Nuts? Crackers?" He trailed off, but not as if he was puzzled. He was staring at the far wall instead, and Harry thought that he was probably reliving a memory.

While he's doing that, I'm floating here, tired and hungry and needing to spread my wings. Harry spoke again, though by now he had lost hope that that would actually make Malfoy pay any attention. "Seeds. Nuts. Fruit."

"You are a good mimic," Malfoy murmured. "Maybe you'll eventually speak the way I do, rather than the way your former owner did."

Harry would have liked to be in a cage at that moment, if only so he could bang his head against the bars in frustration.

A door opened somewhere down the corridor that appeared to connect the boxy room with the back of the house. Malfoy scrambled to his feet and moved in front of the net as if he wanted to shield Harry from the sight of whoever was walking towards them. Harry shifted to the side, beating his wings a little so that he could regain his balance, and incidentally sending small white feathers flying everywhere.

"Hush!" Malfoy whispered at him.

Under the impression that he should do everything he could to inconvenience someone who refused to believe he was an Animagus, Harry flapped harder and screamed. The footsteps paused and then came further along, proving to belong to a tall, pale man wrapped in black robes and with a familiar irritated expression on his face.

Harry stared. He had assumed that Snape would have changed somewhat during the six years since he last saw him—even Malfoy had, if only to grow taller—but Snape might have walked out of the holding cell where Harry had last seen him. He fixed Harry with an inimical dark eye, but there was nothing new about that, either.

Harry unexpectedly relaxed. It was as if he had come home.

Severus did not bother asking where Draco had found the parrot. Draco regularly had small "adventures" as if he were still a child and needed such things to divert his imagination. He directed his gaze at Draco, however, only after he had examined the bird for long enough to ensure that he knew what kind it was. It would not do to look stupid in front of the one person who had always depended on his knowledge.

"What are you doing with an African grey parrot, Draco?" he asked, and had the satisfaction of seeing Draco's jaw fall and his eyes light up. It would be a black day when he could not manage to startle and impress Draco.

"Is that what it is?" Draco breathed, looking down at the parrot as if it had suddenly sat up and performed a trick. "The really smart ones, the ones that can say all sorts of things? I didn't know. I thought it was a crow at first, or a dove. I didn't know that it was a parrot until it bit me," he added, holding up his thumb for inspection.

Severus glanced at it because he knew he must, and then turned his attention back to the bird. It was watching him with bright, mad green eyes that somewhat interested him. As far as he knew, most African greys had golden eyes. "I want a feather or two from its tail to test in that Draught of Readiness. Is it a Muggle pet?"

Draco shook his head. "And not an Animagus, either. It mentioned Harry Potter, and it seems to know plenty of other words, but there's no way that we can send it back to its owner. I'm keeping it."

Severus stared at him, surprised that Draco would think he cared about a proposition so astonishingly irrelevant. Draco had his chest puffed out and his cheeks slightly flushed, as if he assumed that he would have to defend his choice of pet. Severus shook his head. "I do not care, as long as it does not disrupt me." He crouched down and reached for the bird's tail, trusting that it was caught well enough in the trap that it could not move.

The parrot managed to flip itself over and snapped its beak at him. "Don't touch the tail," it said.

Severus could see why Draco might want the bird. Its voice was astonishingly clear, and it moved as if it knew what it was saying. He cast a weak charm that would hold the beak shut and then plucked the two feathers. The minute he released the magic, the bird shrieked and spasmed as if it were dying. Severus winced and rose to his feet, making a mental note to redouble the soundproofing charms on his lab.

"You may put the cage in here, if you would like," he said indifferently to Draco. "I have one belonging to a rat that you could enlarge."

Draco nodded, his eyes on the floor. Severus gritted his teeth. Sullen moods like this sometimes took Draco, even after his generous offers—in fact, most often after his generous offers—and Severus had not found the answer why after six years of living together.

He left to go back to his lab, already testing the consistency and strength of the feathers. They bent under his finger too easily to be of use in the Readiness Draught, he judged, but he would try them with the raven-feather base and see what happened.

"He never even asked what I was going to name you, or why I wanted to keep you," Draco told the bird dully.

It looked up at him with one eye, cocking its head to the side, and Draco shook his head. It wasn't as though the bird knew anything about his situation or could help him. And really, did he deserve to be helped? The confrontation with Severus, as it always did, had left him feeling like an adolescent. Severus cared about deep things, important things. What was Draco's desire to adopt a pet against his experiments that were making his (assumed) name rich and respected in the outside world?

"I think I'll call you Compensation," Draco muttered, and followed Severus to find the cage.

What could he do? There was nothing for him to go back to if he left.

Increasingly, though, he was feeling as though there was nothing for him to stay for, either.