Though the Frost was Cruel
In the aftermath of Christmas,
Hedwig is sent off with a
message -- but danger awaits!
Original story material is the property of the fanfic author; other material of Rowling et al. falls under the usual disclaimer.
"But -- won't the boy see the clue, my lord?"
"No," said the dark figure from the shadows. "It will be my little joke. He was raised to be as ignorant of the muggle world as he is of the magical. I won't have to lift a finger! He will overlook the obvious, and allow this disaster to happen. Then he will read my note, teasing his ignorance, and his own mind will torture him -- for I will have killed her in the process!"
By now, the day after Christmas held a tradition for Harry.
He knew full well that Ron would never wear the latest knitted jumper from his Mum if not encouraged to do so. Thus, the 26th had become the occasion when Harry and Ron agreed they would both wear their initialled gifts, all day, even if someone like Seamus made lame jokes about them ("Are you two looking for a vowel?").
Fortunately, Seamus was sleeping late today. 'R' and 'H' could enjoy breakfast in peace.
The thinly-populated Great Hall was quiet until the brown owl arrived, and swooped toward the Gryffindor table. "INCOMING!" shouted an helpful Ravenclaw, and the boys grabbed their goblets and leaned back from the table, prepared for the disruption of an arriving owl post.
"Bloody birds," moaned Ron, momentarily kept from his favourite hobby. "Why do they have to deliver at meal time?"
With quite decent aim, the owl dropped a letter next to Harry without dunking it in food, and soared back to the window.
"That's odd," said Harry.
"Yeah. Usually they score a goal in the muesli," observed Ron, already munching a sausage.
"Not that. I was just wondering who`d be writing to me today?" He opened it, to read:
Mr. Potter
Soon I will acquire something you would consider of
great value. If you are curious, I would appreciate
a post from you. Your owl can find me at the old
shepherd's hut 2 mi. north of Glenfinnan.
Stephen Furze
He showed it to Ron. "Odd again. I have no idea who Stephen Furze is."
Between mouthfuls, Ron agreed. "Never heard of him. Might be just selling stuff that fell off the lorry. It can't hurt to ask the git what it's about, though, can it?"
"I guess not. Hedwig is rested from her Burrow trip by now; I'll send her right off, and we should get an answer by nightfall. Want to take the sleigh ride this afternoon?"
Hedwig was pleased with the easy trip Harry had requested. The clean, crisp Winter air refreshed her. After only an hour, she was already approaching the hill north of Glenfinnan. She could see the little hut, a familiar landmark on her many trips to England. Gliding the last mile, she silently sang carols to herself; Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the feast of Stephen, when the snow lay `round about...
That was when she felt the severe jab on the back of her head.
What was that? Am I under attack?
The talons ripping at her wings answered that question.
She instinctively dropped the owl post and swooped around to face her attacker. It was not a pleasant sight.
Two large hawks were turning for another pounce. Five more of the predators held back, but obviously ready to contribute their deadly assistance. Hedwig met the first hawk with her own talons, though her owl's beak was poor defense against the long, gaping mouth that aimed for her face; she turned aside just in time.
Perhaps a human will scare them off!
She went diving toward the ground, looking for Furze -- but her addressee was nowhere to be seen. In these grazing fields, there was no deep forest to hide in, either, merely a few leafless trees, and some bushes that might afford her a modicum of shelter.She dodged the two attackers again, and scrammed toward the largest bush. It was her only hope. Can I reach it in time... and then, what?
The other hawks began to circle overhead.
As Harry crossed the high bridge by the Great Hall, he came upon Seamus, who was finally up, and overcoming his day-after-Christmas boredom by pitching snowballs onto the rocks below, and singing off-key.
How get him down? With sticks and stones!
How get him home? The brewer's cart!
How eat we him? With knives and forks!"
"What is that deranged song?" asked Harry.
"Oh, I was just thinking about home," said Seamus. "The 26th is a holiday in Ireland. Today we'd be 'Going on the Wren', and that's the Wren Boys' song."
"You eat a wren??"
"It's just pretend. There's an old, old legend about revenge on the wren for being a traitor. We go from house to house with a caged wren, and we sing the song, and folks donate a few coins to a local charity or event -- to get rid of us, I guess. It goes--
St. Stephen's Day he's caught in the furze.
Although he is little, his family is great.
Ah, pray you, good ...."
Harry jumped. "Did you say furze? F-u-r-z-e?"
"Yeah. You'd call it gorse; Sprout keeps calling it whin. Anyhow, according to the song, you chase the wren, and he gets trapped in a furze bush."
"TRAPPED IN A FURZE? STEPHEN?"
"Saint Stephen. Today's his feast day. What's got you up?"
Harry didn't answer. He had a stunned sort of look. "He's after Hedwig!"
"Who, Saint Stephen?" asked Seamus. "He's a bit dead, y'know."
But Harry was dashing away at full speed, pausing just once to shout over his shoulder to Seamus. "Get Ron at the boat landing, quickly, and meet me at the Quidditch team room. If the git wants owls, WE'LL GIVE HIM OWLS!"
Seamus ran for Ron, shaking his head and muttering. "Englishmen... nutty as a fruitcake, the whole bunch of 'em."
Hedwig's snowy white feathers were coated with blood and gore. One wing felt wrong; if she left this bush, she`d fall to the ground, flightless, and they`d have her. Now is not the time to rest, she warned herself, but she knew she was nearly exhausted.
Another pair of hawks plummeted toward the bush, but Hedwig stood her ground, trembling. She clawed one with her talons; the other bit at her wing, but only managed to pluck a feather or two. With much flapping and nipping, she fended off her attackers once more.
Each success would only last for a few seconds. The others were now resting in the trees, watching intently, ready to take their turn. They had all day to wait her out, wear her down. Too many... far too many...
Then, a dread sight approached out of the north -- a dark cloud, of many beating wings! That settled the matter; there would be more predators than Hedwig could possibly handle.
No! Not now!
Not like this!
The cloud neared. She could see individual birds now.
Wait a minute....
It was a friendly cloud. It looked to be the entire population of the owlery! They were followed by Harry, Ron and Seamus on brooms, swinging beaters' bats at any predator that was foolish enough to approach the back of the flock.
Harry, I take back everything I ever squawked about you!
A dozen owls teamed up to dive on each hawk surrounding Hedwig's bush. Feathers flew; the battle instantly turned. The vastly outnumbered hawks fled in all directions, wounded and scared, with owls screeching and clawing at their backs. Harry was sorry he didn't have a clear shot to hit the hawks with an Immobilus charm.
In less than five minutes, the trees around Hedwig were filled with perching owls, squawking in victory. Pig landed at Hedwig's side and rubbed against her bloodied wings in greeting. Harry alit a moment later, and began to extract her gently from the spiny bush.
Meanwhile, Ron and Seamus kicked in the door of the hut to look for any sign of the mysterious note-writer. What they found was a second note:
Stupid little boy! How does it feel to know
your precious white owl has been slaughtered
by hawks? Do you suppose she was still alive
when she was eaten by them?
Soon, your inferior friends will also meet a
miserable and degrading end. Then my hawks
will descend once more to feed.
-V-
"Not today, you great turkey!" smirked Ron.
An owl flew into the Great Hall. He was so small that he went undetected until the last few seconds of flight. Ginny quickly shouted "INCOMING!", and all the nearby diners assumed the defensive position.
It was well they did. In the confusion, Pig forgot to drop the message in time; weighed down, he tumbled through Hermione's fruit salad before letting it go. A few Gryffindors were splattered by a fast fluttering of wings in the drying-off process, then Pig was gone again.
"Bloody birds," moaned Ron as usual. He lifted the dripping note from his chocolate mousse, and read the address. "It's for you, Harry. Not another cheery pureblood note, I hope."
Harry wiped off the coating, licked his fingertips, and scanned the address -- and recognised the handwriting. Oh,let me guess, he thought. 14 muggles saw us, and we're all expelled. He opened it -- then, chuckling, read it aloud:
"Mr. H.J. Potter.-
"I was catching up on my reading before lunch when
this little messenger owl flew into my office and chirruped
extensively to the Sorting Hat. The hat has now told me
to write to you that Hedwig the Owl sends her greetings,
is mending well, and sincerely thanks you and your friends
for saving her life yesterday. She plights her faithfulness
and admiration.
"I know I am of little importance at this school, but when
you have a spare moment in your busy social schedule,
perhaps you might stop by, and fill me in on why I just
missed lunch to write a note for an owl.
"With best wishes for a happy New Year, I remain -
"Your lowly private secretary,
Albus Dumbledore."
"See that?" said Harry. "Even the headmaster does her bidding! That's what H and R stand for, Seamus -- Hedwig rules!"