Written for the Quidditch League Round 7, Appleby Arrows Chaser 2: The Next Karate Kid (1994), (object) letter, (object) toy car, (word) deplorable.

Also for Hogwarts' Writing Club: Character Appreciation - 18. Creature: Owl, C4: George Banks - Write about someone overworked, Book Club: The Commander: (trait) lonely, (word) companion, (dialogue) "I only wanted to make things better.", (colour) black, Showtime 1: Hello! - (situation) an unexpected visitor, Amber's Attic: General 1. Write about someone making a commitment, Count Your Buttons: D3 - "Is that...blood?", Lyric Alley: 12 I am brave, I am bruised, Ami's Audio Admirations: 1, The Going-Home Song — Write about someone at home, Em's Emporium: Lily (Jily Trash): Write a character study, Lo's Lowdown, C4: Derek Morgan: write about someone who prefers actions to words, Bex's Bazaar, Other Elephants 6 - Babar - Write about an orphan.

Also for August Auction: (word) blame, Seasonal Challenges: Day of the Year: September 4 2018 - Newspaper Carrier Day: Write about an owl, Summer Prompts: (word) Gardening, Color Prompts: Cinnamon, Shay's Musical Challenge: 45. Hairspray - write about not letting anything stand in your way, Sophie's Tearoom: Courgette & Goat's Cheese Ciabatta: (word) Nestle, Holmes Challenge: (color) black.

And for the Geography Assignment: Task 12: Write about someone who is isolated and the HPHG: Day Two, Word: Impossible, Emotion: Anger, Dialogue: "I can't." / "Yes, you can." / "Oh, look, your words of affirmation have magically made it possible.", Word Count: 1876, Genre: Angst, Weapon: Whip.

Snape Appreciation Day: 11. Skele-Gro – write about an injury, Build a Monster Workshop: Legs: Privet Drive.

Word Count: 1876

"I can't," Harry said, looking down at the list of chores Aunt Petunia had handed him. It was twice as long as what he'd had last year, and there was no way he could manage all of it in a single day. It was impossible.

"Yes, you can," Aunt Petunia replied, and Uncle Vernon sent Harry a dark look that said he had no other choice.

He should have known better than to expect logic from the Dursleys.

"Oh, look, your words of affirmation have magically made it possible," he muttered, grimacing as he was forced to duck from his uncle's blow.

His aunt and uncle glared at him until he went outside and started gardening, the first task on the list.

The hours started bleeding together. It wasn't a big garden—thankfully—but Harry had been away all year, and Aunt Petunia's list of things-to-do was long enough that Harry would be lucky to be done by nightfall.

It was grueling work, and Harry hated it, but it wasn't anything he hadn't done a hundred times before. It kept him busy, at least—he suspected even his absent friends would approve of that, if they knew. When he focused on the garden, he wasn't thinking about Sirius or how close Harry had been to reaching him, or on the anger that still bubbled underneath the surface of his thoughts.

His aunt allowed him a fifteen-minute break at one, glaring as he made quick work of the deplorable meal she had set out for him—a stale cheese sandwich and half a tomato—and then Harry was back outside, sweltering under the harsh sun.

He fell into a kind of haze—first bend down, pull out the weeds, spray whichever product television had told Aunt Petunia she needed to use on the ground, then carry out the weeds to the garbage bag, only to come back and do it all over again.

He was almost done when he saw it. Some of the leaves were bent and torn, and Harry frowned when he saw something dark shine in the sunlight.

"Is that...blood?" The words slid past his lips before he could stop them, and he parted the leaves carefully.

Hidden behind the last rose bush, dark brown wings almost invisible against the cinnamon dirt, Harry thought the bird was dead at first, and his heart twinged. But when he reached over and tried to pull the dead body to him—Merlin knew how high Aunt Petunia would screech if she saw it—its head moved. Surprised, Harry reeled back.

Its tiny black eyes blinked open, and Harry smiled. "Shh, don't move—I'll take care of you."

Harry wasn't sure if the bird could understand him—Hedwig always seemed to, but Harry had no idea if that was normal or something purely Hedwig, or even magic—but it merely let out a soft thrill before stilling again.

Harry took a deep breath before reaching out again and carrying the bird back to his side. It nestled against his hand, and Harry felt bad at having to put it back on the grass instead.

"It's just for a little while, okay?" he told the bird. "Just until I finish with the garden, and then I'll carry you back in. I'll take you to my room—you'll like Hedwig, I think. She's my owl," he rambled.

Finishing up with his gardening tasks was much harder after that. His mind kept wandering back to the bird, and he worried over it. It had been hurt somehow, that much was obvious, but how badly Harry didn't know. He hoped it would live.

He needed it to live, but Harry didn't know how to care for a hurt bird. The most he had ever done for Hedwig was set a few ruffled feathers straight, but this bird was much more seriously injured. Harry hadn't seen any more blood after the roses, nor had he seen any open wound, but the bird was clearly weak.

Hagrid, he thought. Hagrid would know what to do. Harry would write him a letter that very night, and he would learn how to take care of that bird.

Everything would be okay.

.

Smuggling the bird back to his room was thankfully easier than Harry had expected it to be. Hedwig, though still suspicious of this new addition, also seemed to have accepted it by the time Harry was done with his letters—his usual one for the Order, and another for Hagrid.

Harry gave her the letters and trailed a finger down her feathers. "Be quick, girl, alright?"

Hedwig shot him a haughty look before nipping at his fingers and flying away.

Harry watched her leave, her white wings cutting against the darkness, for a few moments before he turned back to the newest addition to his room. He had thought about placing it in Hedwig's cage, especially while the owl was gone, but the opening had been too small to set down the bird easily.

Besides, the last thing Harry wanted was for the Dursleys to walk into his room and see him with a hurt bird. He didn't know what they would do, but he couldn't imagine it being anything good.

He had made it a little nest in the bookcase, between an old edition of Sherlock Holmes and a toy car that was missing half its wheels.

The bird seemed better now, at least. Harry had washed her feathers with some water earlier, and had thankfully found no open wound. The greatest injury seemed to be a broken wing—Harry knew that was bad, of course he did, but at least it wasn't immediately life-threatening—and he had done his best to set it straight.

He sat on his bed, staring at the bird. "You need a name," he said.

The bird twisted her head to look at him. Harry took it as an agreement, and he cast his mind back to his History of Magic book. It had worked for Hedwig, after all.

He licked his lips. "What do you think about Wendolyn? She was a great witch," Harry said.

The bird kept staring for a while before looking away, shuffling until Harry could no longer see her head. "Wendolyn it is," Harry whispered.

His sleep was uneasy that night. Harry laid awake, staring up at the small cracks in his ceiling, ears listening in for any sign of distress from Wendolyn, until he wasn't even sure he was awake anymore.

He didn't know when he fell asleep, but sleep granted him no reprieve.

Perhaps naming the bird Wendolyn was a bad idea, because Harry's dreams started off with a pyre. He couldn't see who was on it, but he could hear their screams.

They were screaming his name, begging him to save them. The crowd was so dense it took him too long to cross it; by the time Harry finally reached the pyre, the air was thick with smoke. He barely managed a glimpse of a face, twisted with anguish, before the flames swallowed it whole.

It had been Sirius.

It had been Sirius, and once again, Harry had failed to save him.

He fell down to his knees, head bowed over the ashes, and the crowd dispersed.

Except, the whispers didn't—they echoed. Hissed words of blame aimed at him like knives, guilt whipping his skin until he thought he could feel himself bleed.

"I only wanted to make things better," he whispered, and that was when he saw her—Wendolyn, her broken wing twisted in a way that was so much worse than it had been in reality.

She bled out in his hands.

That was when he woke up, Aunt Petunia pounding on his door and telling him to make breakfast.

.

Hagrid's letter arrived the following evening. Hedwig turned out to also be carrying some food—surprisingly edible coming from Hagrid, and a welcome sight since his relatives were taking out his inability to finish their absurdly long list of chores on his food intake. Again.

Hagrid had sent him some instructions too, but in the end, it seemed that what Harry had done—setting the wing and building some kind of nest—was the only thing he could do.

And it seemed to work, even if it took some time.

Hedwig's suspicion melted quickly, and she seemed to adopt Wendolyn as one of her own, pushing the smaller bird to eat when it was time and sending her disapproving looks whenever Wendolyn tried to shake her hurt wing.

It made Harry smile, and almost laugh, to see Hedwig's mothering tendencies being imposed on someone else.

He wished he had somebody he could share this with. He always felt isolated, when he was at the Dursleys', but this year felt worse somehow. For once, he had something to share, and letters couldn't do justice to the way Hedwig had almost fallen right off the window ledge the first time she had come back from the Order, only to find Wendolyn sleeping in her cage.

Every day, Wendolyn looked better. After two weeks, Hagrid's instructions said he should let her try to fly again.

"I'll miss you," Harry said, trailing a finger down her back. It felt softer than Hedwig's, somehow, though Harry knew better than to voice this out loud.

Wendolyn trilled back at him before twisting her head to nip at his fingers. Harry smiled.

Helping her fly again was easier said than done, however. The easiest thing would have been to have her practice in his room, or in the garden, since Harry still spent a lot of time there, but the Dursleys would probably kill him if they found out. They already barely tolerated Hedwig, he really didn't want to push them with Wendolyn. He wished he could, though.

But he had to find something—Wendolyn was beating her wings all the time now, or so it seemed. Harry half-feared half-hoped he'd see her flying next time he walked into his bedroom.

He ended up sneaking out at night and going to the park. It wasn't ideal, but he had done far worse and more dangerous things. He half-expected the Order to stop him—someone, perhaps Mad-Eye, to suddenly spring up from the middle of the street, screaming 'Constant Vigilance!' at him.

Nothing happened, and Harry walked into the empty park, Wendolyn in a makeshift cage under his arm. Hedwig had eyed him darkly for going without her, but he hadn't dared to risk it.

"I'm not really sure how this works, but here goes," Harry said, setting Wendolyn's box down in the middle of the playground.

Wendolyn hopped out, swiveling her head curiously. It made Harry smile.

"Come on, go on, fly." Harry stared, an odd twinge in his chest, as Wendolyn started to flap her wings.

The gesture was a little stiff, but after some more encouragement and some salvaged breadcrumbs, she finally rose off the ground. Harry let out a delighted laugh as he bent back his head to follow her flight.

She circled his head once, then twice, before flying higher, her dark plumage almost indistinguishable from the dark sky. He lost track of her quickly, after that. His eyes started burning, but for some reason he couldn't stop smiling.

"Go," he whispered. "Be free."

One of us has to be.