Edwin
Strange things tend to happen to James Potter in the middle of the night.
To clarify–he’s not being kidnapped from his bed or seeing visions of the future in his dreams, and he’s also not talking about a certain regularly scheduled furry adventure. But somehow or other, he keeps finding himself in peculiar situations in the wee hours of the morning. And despite what anyone may think, he’s not looking for them either. In fact, he’d rather they didn’t happen and he got some fucking sleep for once, but there’s nothing he can really do about that. Which is how he finds himself with parchment stuck to his cheek, blinking up at Professor McGonagall’s rather displeased face (or maybe amused? it’s hard to say) in what seems to be the quidditch announcer’s booth. Shit.
–
It all started with an essay–well, really, it all started with Sirius (as it usually does). James, being the wonderful helpful human being that he is, would typically help out Remus with his assignments when that time of the month came around. Copy down some essays, take notes for him, the usual. And most of the time, Sirius would chip in and take on his share of the extra work. Neither of them would complain about this to Remus, of course, because he’d never let them do it and would choose to work himself sick instead, but they both felt the extra work each month. And sometimes when there was a big match coming up or Sirius was particularly moody, one of them would do it all. Which was always a large task, not to be taken lightly…
Hence, why James was particularly displeased to find himself completing all of his assignments on top of Remus’ on the night before a match. Sirius had taken it upon himself to up and vanish the whole afternoon, so there James was, chained to a desk in the common room with only a few bedraggled 5th years for company and watching the delicious sunlight burn away through a grimy window. And–while he certainly liked to joke that he was the best thing to ever happen to quidditch–he was, in actuality, shitting himself about the next morning. So sitting around trying to muscle his way through the last section of his own essay before having to dive into rewriting it all in slightly different words and much messier handwriting was the last thing he wanted to be doing. But the moon was tomorrow, Sirius was nowhere to be found, and Peter was useless at transfiguration.
James, trying to channel his excess terror into bouncing his legs and tipping his chair back and forth, had finally made it onto Remus’ essay when the red-headed fifth year that had been sending glares his way all evening reached her tipping point and vanished the chair’s back legs–sending James flailing in his efforts to stay upright before crashing to the floor in an awkward heap. Upon sitting up, he discovered he had knocked the table and spilled ink all across Remus’ notes. Right ticked off at this point, James had huffed and puffed, snatched up all his work, and marched out of the common room, resolving to leave a dung bomb under her pillow another day. Which reminded him, he still had to figure out how to get past the sliding staircase to the girl’s dormitories so he could leave Lily’s birthday gift next month. But moving past his red-head woes, James then found himself stomping down the corridor perilously close to curfew with no idea of where to actually go. It was times like these he wished he had a map of the castle where he could see where everyone else was in order to not get caught. Too bad he hadn’t brought his invisibility cloak, but there was no way he was risking that fifth year’s wrath again.
As he quickly approached the staircase, he was struck by a moment of genius. Why not sneak into the library to finish his work in peace? In retrospect, it was remarkable he managed to get all the way there without running into anyone at all. He’d prepared himself to work through a few locks on the door, but it opened just like that–he supposed no one was really trying to break into the library of all places. Regardless, he’d gotten in with no issues and settled himself in a back corner where the light of his wand couldn’t be seen through the door.
It was in that back corner, many hours later and with his own hand imprinted on his cheek, that James was startled awake by a strange sound. His first thought was that he’d been caught, or was about to be, and he shot up in his seat to find the source when the sound started getting closer. But the more he listened, the less sure he was what it could be. It was a kind of rustling noise, but also tapping, and it came intermittently from between the shelves ahead of him. Concerned that some kind of horrible creature had spawned from a book and was ready to pray on innocent sleeping third years, James held his wand at the ready and cautiously snuck toward the shelves, rounding the corner to find…
A chicken.
He knuckled his eyes underneath his glasses, surely still half asleep and seeing things. But there it was: a remarkably boring, run-of-the-mill, standard brown chicken.
In the library of a magical boarding school in rural Scotland.
James had not slept enough for this.
The first thing that popped in his head was to make sure it didn’t breathe fire. Which isn’t necessarily something chickens do in real life but he was pretty sure Sirius had told a story once or twice and one could never be too careful. But as he was considering this predicament it occurred to him that he had no idea how to even check if the chicken did such a thing. So he settled for simply staying exactly where he was and not breaking eye contact lest the chicken catch him off guard. Let it be known that for the fair number of brilliant ideas James has had in his life he has had far far more absolutely shit ones.
Approximately 1 minute into his chicken face-off, James found himself quite bored and curious enough to approach. The chicken, for all its unremarkability, mostly stood there blinking at James and occasionally cocking its head at him. It was disturbing.
“Please don’t set me on fire...” The boy had whispered as he slowly crept up to the strange creature, holding his hand out for either reassurance or protection (he wasn’t really sure, but it seemed like a thing that people did). And much to his amazement, the chicken was quite content to let him plop on the carpet before it and give it a little pat on the head. It gave a little head shake at that, wobbling its feathers and staring straight up at him.
“I think I’ll call you Edwin.” James chuckled, and gave his new friend a boop to beak to christen him. Edwin warmed to him quickly, and after a few alarmed squawks at his sudden snatching, James had Edwin tucked in one arm while he hastily shoved his things into his robes. “Shall we go on an adventure, Edwin?” He couldn’t have been entirely sure, but it seemed as though Edwin nodded in confirmation. Or perhaps he just had a wobbly head. Do chickens' heads wobble? Regardless, Edwin seemed appropriately game for the suggestion.
James–having reshuffled Edwin to cradle comfortably against his chest–set off out of the library, determined to give his new friend a rundown of the castle.
“See that, Edwin? That’s the bench Snivellus–my nemesis–tripped and fell flat on his face after we tied his shoelaces together.” Edwin seemed delighted at that fact, and frankly James was having quite a time of this himself. “I highly recommend having a nemesis, Eddie–can I call you Eddie?” He seemed content enough, so James continued, “It just makes life so much more interesting.” He paused, warning “But don’t make me your nemesis, Ed, I’d never survive it!” He stopped in his tracks to pull the bird up to meet his eye level, “Please, I beg of you!!” Edwin flapped his wings and tried to peck James in the eye, which he was glad to take as a yes.
“Okay, Edwin, what should we explore next?”
—
They had wandered most of the first floor and just made it outside to the quidditch pitch as the very hints of sunlight breached the horizon, when it finally struck him why he’d even been in the library in the first place.
“Edwin!!” He exclaimed, nearly dropping the poor bird as guilt shot through him, “I have to finish Moony’s essay!” His feathered companion, having gotten the rundown on all of the people in James’ life, was justifiably concerned at this statement and squawked discontentedly. He shook his head in agreement, “I know, I know, I’m a horrible friend.” Edwin must have really disliked that statement, which was quite flattering really, but also alarming as he wiggled his way out of James’ arms and leapt, flapping uselessly, to the ground. And to make matters worse, took off running into the stands.
Now, at this point in time, James had been up for most of the night and spent a good chunk of that walking around the castle with a chicken. That is to say, he was tired. It took longer than it probably should have, considering he’s a chaser, for him to process that Edwin was running off and connect that signal to making his legs actually move. Meaning, by the time his weighed down extremities decided to take action, Edwin had made good headway across the pitch.
“Ah fuck, don’t do that!” He took off after the runaway fowl, groaning as he started up the stairs. “How are you so fast? You hardly have legs!”
James, embarrassingly, was panting when he made it to the top of the stands. Though they are exceedingly tall, he would like to add! Searching across the top row, he spied Edwin a ways off to his right, just by the stairs to the announcer's booth. “C’mon Edwin, please–” He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence before having to take off after him again.
“Why’d he have to pick more stairs?” He muttered to himself, losing steam quickly as the stairs kept stretching above his head. “Why do we even have so many blasted stairs?! We’re wizards, we can literally fly.”
Finally reaching the last few steps, starting through the open doorway, he exhaled, exasperated “Alright Edwin, nowhere else to go–” And stopped in his tracks. Because Edwin had apparently found somewhere else to go.
The booth was fairly small, a desk with the announcing equipment and scores facing the large open window overlooking the pitch to his left. There were a few mismatching chairs at the desk, and a short cabinet in the corner nearest to him. Absolutely befuddled, James spun slowly around, taking in the space not much larger than a standard walk-in closet. At a loss of anywhere else to look, he pried open the cabinet to find nothing but extra equipment and a whole lot of cobwebs. He kicked it shut, “What the HELL, Edwin Shortlegs Potter?!” The strange disappearance of his bizarre new friend was too much for his 13-year-old sleep-deprived brain to handle. He aimed for the squishiest looking of the chairs to collapse into, and made it 1 step before hearing a distinct crunch underneath his foot. There were no words as he raised his foot to inspect the damage, and discovered the source of the noise to be the demolished remains of an egg. He left the puddle and dropped into the chair, exhausted and entirely done with the events of the night. Or morning, he supposed, as the sun had become clearly visible above the horizon in front of him.
He wrestled the parchment and inkwell out of his robe pockets, feeling along the lining until his fingers finally brushed against a quill trying to pierce through the inner fabric. Work laid out in front of him, sun reflecting against his glasses as it ascended, James couldn’t help but giggle as a thought struck him.
“I guess I should’ve called you Edwina.”
–
This is how James finds himself jolting awake, parchment stuck firmly to his cheek and pain shooting up his neck, to the sound of McGonagall calling his name. “Mr. Potter! How lovely of you to grace us with your presence.” He blinks at her, vision coming into focus enough to recognize she has two students standing behind her.
“Ah… Minnie! I was just–” He grins, chuckling sheepishly.
“No need, Mr. Potter. I believe you have a game to get to?”
“Er, right. Right!” He scrambles up from the chair, peeling the determined parchment off his face and shoving it into his pockets. Relieved he’s being released just like that and eager to get to his game, he shoves past the three of them to reach the doorway, catching the eyes of the usual gryffindor announcer, Pax Brigsley, and surprisingly, fellow third year Dorcas Meadowes. He opens his mouth to make a dumb joke about deserving better chairs with having to climb all those stairs, but McGonagall interrupts before he can make any actual sound.
“You seem to be forgetting your… egg, Potter.” He freezes at this, feeling both sets of eyes shift toward the desk. He hesitates, struggling to connect his fuzzy recollections of the previous night as it all comes flooding back to him. Turning, he meets McGonagall’s bemused eye and follows it to see–inexplicably–an egg sitting upright on the desk, right next to where his head had been lying a few minutes prior. An egg he was certain hadn’t been there when he finally finished Moony’s essay and thought to lay his head down for a few minutes. “Edwina,” he breathes, delighted by this development, “you came back!” Grinning, he grabs the egg, dropping it into his overstuffed pocket and skipping a step back toward the door.
“James, what?!” He heard Dorcas call after him as he springs through the doorway and hits the stairs running.
“Just a message from a friend!” He shouts back over his shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time as he barrels downward to join his team before the game.
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