Chapter 3
Eventually, Steve had to move. The shaking and sobbing that had started when he’d given Harry a hug had mostly stopped, and Steve was pretty sure the child had fallen asleep. He needed that sleep, needed more sleep than he was getting, so Steve would watch over him to make sure that it wasn’t disturbed the best he could. As night fell, the bird settled in to sleep with the hope that Harry would manage a full night of rest. Unfortunately, his own sleep wasn’t quite peaceful either. Steve was a child again, small and barely crawling, and so thrilled to see the woman, his mother, coming towards him to pick him up. He babbled happily with his own love for the woman and his mother’s love for him before a strange sensation took over his throat and he started choking on the air instead. The world was fuzzy and gray at the edges, and the last thing he saw was his mother’s terrified face swooping towards him.
Steve startled awake right off the bed post. Was he a bird because he’d died and been reincarnated as one? He didn’t think so, but Steve was getting the feeling that everything and anything could be possible here. His wings weren’t responding the way he was used to, and he would have fallen straight onto the floor if Harry’s hands hadn’t caught him before he could drop any further. Harry set him on the bed, and Steve crooned anxiously, talons kneading the bedspread.
“Easy there,” Harry said. “Are you okay?”
Steve shook his head rapidly and then looked down at his wings. No wonder they felt heavier than usual - some of his feathers had shifted together while he slept to form finger-like protrusions at the very outside corners of his wings! He wasn’t sure if he should be thrilled at remembering something from his childhood and at managing to turn slightly human again, or if he should be absolutely terrified that he was sick enough to pass out as a toddler and that his body had started changing back to human again without his knowledge. He was definitely leaning towards the second option. Steve focused on the places he could see his feathers clumping together and thought as hard as he could about his regular wings, smooth and strong. With enough mental prodding, his wings were fully back to normal. Steve wasn’t willing to test it at the moment though, so he remained on Harry’s bed.
“What happened to your feathers?”
Steve shrugged the best he could. Without a human mouth and voice box, he couldn’t exactly explain to Harry that he’d dreamed he was a child and his body had tried to turn into a human while he was asleep.
“Oh! I’ve been meaning to ask: do you know why you’re a bird?”
Steve shook his head.
“So you weren’t cursed or anything?” Harry asked.
Steve shrugged and tilted his head to the side.
“Do you… not know how you turned into a bird?”
Steve nodded quickly.
Harry ran a hand over his face. “I was honestly not expecting that. I guess it won’t be so easy to reverse whatever happened then. Do you remember what happened right before you woke up as a bird?”
Steve shook his head again, honestly shocked that Harry was so close to the truth already. Maybe his magic or intuition, or both, were leading him to ask the right yes-or-no questions that would lead to the truth? If Harry did learn that he had almost no memories, maybe he could do some magic thing to help bring his mind back up to speed. Steve could hope, at least.
“Do you remember anything leading up to being a bird?”
Steve shook his head.
“Do you remember anything at all about your life before being a bird?”
Steve shook his head, then paused and nodded as small as he could.
“That felt more like a no than a yes, so I’m guessing you don’t remember much but do have some memory.”
Steve nodded wildly.
“I can try to look into solutions to memory loss when I’m back at Hogwarts, but I don’t know how long I’ll have to myself or how much homework I’ll have,” Harry warned. “Besides, there doesn’t seem to be any way to fix magically induced memory loss, or someone would have fixed my ex-teacher by now. His memories all got erased accidentally, though he did it to himself while trying to curse Ron and me, so I don’t feel too bad.”
Steve chirped. He was just happy that Harry was willing to help him at all. At the very least, he was going to bring something better back for him than random fruits or vegetables today when he eventually got his confidence back and ventured out again. He needed to figure out how to transform enough to tell Harry that everything that happened wasn’t his fault, and he needed to ask about his other school years. That offhand mention of one of his teachers trying to erase his memories did not exactly sound normal to Steve. It didn’t seem like anyone was protecting Harry or caring for him at all, so Steve would. Harry had done a lot for him, and he cared about the child now. Steve might not know who he was, not exactly, but he did know that he wouldn’t just walk away from this situation when he could help even when he got his memories back.
Steve discovered that his wings worked normally to his relief, so he managed to snag a small bag of wrapped chocolates that had been left unattended for just a moment. He carefully placed it on the roof while he went out again to find something normal for Hedwig to eat and something more substantial for Harry than sugar. He managed both and discovered that the chocolates were highly welcomed and about a week too early to be a birthday present for the boy that had helped him so much. Steve was going to give a birthday present more thought over the next few days. Maybe he could stockpile sweets or little things he thought Harry might like over the next week? No matter what he did, he could do it tomorrow when the sun rose once more. He settled in the not-yet-discarded cardboard box for the night, unwilling to risk falling when he woke up again.
Hands seemed odd to have after a week of nothing but wings, but Steve wasn’t mad at his new opposable thumbs. He knew now that his mother was a wonderful woman who did her absolute best, and Steve was self-aware enough to admit that he’d been a problem child besides being a very sick child. His mother, Sarah, had been doing her best to care for him, Steve never wanted to stay in bed or take the medicine she gave him. Mostly, Steve wanted to know why everything in his memories looked so much less technologically advanced. Harry might not have any access to technology in his room, but Steve had observed phones and laptops plenty while flying out and about, enough to realize that everyone seemed to have them and to know that not having technology now was a good way to have nothing - no job and little contact with other people. The one common thing to the few bits of technology in his memory and the ever-present technology in his present was that both carried the brand ‘Stark Industries,’ though the logo was different now.
Steve really wished he could ask Harry about Stark Industries, or ask when phones had compacted into one cordless brick instead of two or more separate moving pieces. That could provide him with knowledge about how old he was. If Harry didn’t know when that change happened, he could always look it up whenever his relatives let him free of the house - if they let him out of the house again. Steve really hated that Harry was stuck in his room all day with nothing to do but think. So much time cooped up was unhealthy, especially for a boy his age. Everything in Steve insisted that Harry should be free to run and play. Even his bird agreed with him on this, and his inner bird didn’t agree with him on a lot of the things he was doing, such as allowing Harry to touch him from time to time.
Eventually, Steve turned his hands back into feathers. His hands had been tiny and placed at the ends of his wings, but they’d been there and able to pick small things up. He practiced bringing them back a few more times before he gave his aching muscles a rest, all while Harry watched the show in front of him with some amusement. Steve hopped back up onto the bedpost to find a comfortable perch, his instincts screaming at him less now that he was no longer as vulnerable as he’d been while on the floor. Harry let out a sigh and turned to stare out the window once Steve had stopped moving, and the bird-human knew that something was wrong. He chirped softly, trying to ask a question while not able to use words. Harry understood him well enough though.
“I have these friends, Ron and Hermione, right? We spend all of our time together during the school year. Well, we didn’t last year because Ron was too busy being jealous for the first few months, but he was fine after that, so we spent the rest of the school year hanging out with each other. They’ve been pretty good at writing to me over the summers this far, even when I don’t respond quickly. Actually, the last time they didn’t hear back from me over the course of the summer, Ron and his older brothers broke me out of this room and took me back to their home, the Burrow, with them. Wait, that gives me an idea. Dobby?” Harry called out.
“Master Harry Potter Sir called?” a little wrinkled creature with huge eyes responded, popping into existence a little too close to Steve for his comfort. He shrieked out a call instinctively, though he snapped his beak shut halfway through with an apologetic glance towards Harry.
“It’s okay Steve. I should have warned you. Dobby, are there any house elves preventing people from contacting me?”
“No Master Harry Potter Sir. Dobby would know if another house elf had been here. Why does Great Harry Potter ask?”
Harry’s shoulders slumped. “My friends haven’t written to me at all this summer. But that’s enough about me. How are you doing, Dobby?”
“Great Master Harry Potter asks how Dobby is doing? Dobby is touched at this most kindest wizard asking!” Dobby wailed. Both Steve and Harry were alarmed to see tears welling up in the creature’s humongous eyes. “Dobby hasn’t been able to buy any good socks lately, though he is searching. Dobby thinks Dobby might have to make socks soon if he can’t find any good ones.”
Harry crouched down to root through one of his drawers for a moment, drawing out a forgotten pair of Dudley’s Smelting socks that was now much too small to fit the young whale. “I know these might not be quite what you’re looking for, but you can have them if you want, Dobby.”
“Master Harry Potter Sir is so kind!” Dobby cried out, firmly hugging Harry’s legs and snatching the pair of odd socks out of his hand. “Dobby must goes now to clean the Asking Room!”
The house elf disappeared with a snap of his fingers before Harry could ask what the ‘Asking Room’ was, and he turned towards Steve with an apologetic smile. Steve’s feathers slowly smoothed back down from their puffed-out position now that the unpredictable ball of energy had left, and the bird cocked his head to the side with what must be a million questions. Harry did his best to answer them quickly. “In my second year, Dobby was keeping my mail from me. He was hoping that I wouldn’t return to Hogwarts if none of my friends were writing to me anymore. Of course, he was taking my outgoing mail too, so Ron and his brothers came to find me after a few weeks of silence.”
Steve nodded at the explanation. That made as much sense as anything did around Harry.
The child sighed. “Of course, now there’s no hope of rescue. If my friends aren’t writing to me because they don’t want to and not because someone’s taking my mail, they aren’t going to come investigate. I’ve been sending letters with Hedwig every time Uncle Vernon sets her free from the cage, but she keeps coming back without any replies.”
Seeing Hedwig’s downturned head, Harry hastened to reassure her. “I don’t blame you, girl! I know it’s not your fault people won’t give you any replies to take back to you. Besides, even if Ron and Hermione can’t send letters because their parents won’t let them, I thought Sirius, at least, would write.”
Steve chirped a question. Was this a boyfriend Harry had been seeing or something else?
“Sirius is my godfather.”
Suddenly, Steve’s heart dropped past his talons. If Harry had a godfather, why couldn’t he live with that godfather instead of these people? Did the godfather not care enough about his godson to ask about his wellbeing and do something about it? Steve thought he remembered hearing whispers about a Sirius Black from some of the more gossip-prone people he flew above, but he didn’t remember what it was. Hopefully, this wasn’t the same person that was Harry’s godfather.
“Sirius has had a lot of bad press - he was accused of murdering thirteen Muggles and his best childhood friends, Peter Pettigrew. He didn’t do anything, but he was thrown into prison without even a trial, so people still think he did it.”
Steve couldn’t help his feathers standing out from his body. They did it themselves. That was where he’d heard the name Sirius Black before. People mentioned his name as a scary story, mostly if they wanted to scare a friend with a murderer running loose, still uncaught years later.
“He didn’t kill anyone,” Harry insisted. Steve wasn’t entirely certain he believed that, but Harry certainly did. “Peter Pettigrew killed the Muggles, people without magic that had also witnessed Sirius accusing him of betraying my parents to the person who murdered them, and then faked his own death. To this day, people in both the Muggle government and the magical government believe that Sirius betrayed my parents and got them killed, and then went crazy and killed Pettigrew and thirteen others when the rat confronted him about it. They’re completely wrong. Still, Sirius can’t hold a job because of the whole incident, so I know he has nothing to do but sit at home. I also know that he’s not exactly a stickler for rules, so there’s no reason that he couldn’t get in touch other than that he doesn’t want to.”
Steve wasn’t sure whether to be glad a suspected murderer wasn’t in touch with Harry or mad that a godfather didn’t care about his godson enough to check on his wellbeing after the horrible events of the child’s school year. His friends didn’t exactly seem ideal either, because they’d been there with Harry through the trials of the school year and had still abandoned him. If and when he met these people, he was at least going to fly too close to their heads for comfort, and that was only if he wasn’t able to punch them as a human.
“I know Hermione has my phone number and address, so she could call, send a letter by Muggle means, or visit herself. Her parents support her decisions, so I’m sure they wouldn’t mind driving her out on a Friday night or something to come visit me. But no, I’ve not heard anything from her or Ron besides a letter the second day I was back telling me to keep my head down and stay in the house as much as possible. They even told me that I could write to them to ‘talk about my grief’ or some crap! They haven’t bothered writing to me since, so why would I tell them anything substantial about me in the first place?! They obviously don’t care about me or how I’m doing anyway.” Harry’s voice softened close to the end of his rant, and he slumped back on his bed.
Steve was about to go in for another almost-hug, this time with the added benefit of little hands that could hold onto Harry’s shirt or fingers, when he heard the unmistakable sounds of an angry Vernon Dursley stomping up the stairs. His head swiveled around in shock before he got himself in gear and shot out the window to hide on the roof. If he stayed perched on the gutter, Vernon couldn’t see him or hear him, but Steve could hear him and try to counteract anything horrible that the man might say with his actions. He cursed his lack of a voice box once again. Though waking up with more memories and randomly changed body parts was unnerving, Steve wished it would happen faster if it meant he could be there for Harry in a more substantial way than just standing there and listening to him or bringing him food.
“Boy! While you are in my house, you will shut your freak mouth! Since you aren’t capable even of that, get out. I don’t want to see you again until it’s time for you to cook dinner!” Steve had never actually seen Harry’s uncle, but he could picture the spittle flying out of a red faced overweight man, probably an incredibly overweight man if the complaints from the stairs were any indication. “One more outburst, and that dratted pigeon of yours won’t see the outside of its cage again!” With that, the man-that-Steve-would-like-to-have-a-civil-conversation-with burst back out of Harry’s room with enough noise to wake the dead.
“Yes Uncle Vernon,” Harry sighed, though the man was already out of the room. He’d get in trouble if he didn’t reply, though none of his relatives seemed to enjoy it when he did anyway. Glumly, Harry walked down the stairs and out of the house, taking care to move as noiselessly as possible. Steve circled above him, certain that the young man he was following would have plenty to say when his thoughts settled. He might not be able to respond with anything other than body language or an indignant shriek, but Steve could and would be there to listen. By the time they’d reached the park with the wreckage in the corner, Harry’s posture had changed from beat down to furious. Luckily for Harry’s quickly fraying hold on his temper, the park didn’t have any occupants due to the heat, and Steve couldn’t see anyone that looked like they were headed to their park. Apparently, not everyone found dying grass as appealing as Harry. The young man settled on one of the swings, and Steve perched nearby on the fence post to wait.
“I’m not even that angry about what he said about me!”
Steve called out quietly, trying to ask what Harry was mad about if not being threatened and ordered about like he was nothing.
“I know that none of my living relatives can stand the sight of me. It’s not exactly anything new. But to threaten Hedwig… if I could leave, I’d be out of that house before I could say ‘Quidditch’.”
Steve cocked his head to the side. Now that Harry wasn’t locked up constantly, he actually could leave the house. He could go somewhere, and Hedwig was smart enough to stay quiet if Harry asked her to. Worse, Harry didn’t seem to care that his own safety, health, and happiness were under active threat in that house. It was only when someone else that he cared about was brought into it did he want to take action. Steve needed to find a way to convince Harry that he was worth something, though he suspected that was going to be much harder than it sounded if Harry had been taught he was worthless by those horrible creatures he called relatives all his life.
“I can’t leave though. For one thing, I’m under constant watch by some random people that look a lot like wizards. They think they’re being subtle, but I’ve spent enough time staring out of the window to be able to spot a distortion in the air where there wasn’t one ever before.”
Steve chirped. He’d thought he was imagining things, but apparently someone or someones really were stalking Harry. If Steve had any hope of getting Harry out of the house without being tailed, he needed to keep an eye on the intruders as well. Hopefully, a few of them were less vigilant than they should be about their duties in peeping on an underage child.
“Besides, even if they, whichever obviously magical faction they’re from, weren’t watching I couldn’t leave anyway. I’m locked in all the time, and when I’m let free I get shooed out of the house as quickly as possible. I have no time to try to get any of my school stuff from my cupboard under the stairs, or anything to try picking any of the locks around me with. If I could open the lock on Hedwig’s cage, I’d just let her out all the time, and maybe hope for the miracle of having my door unlocked so I could try to get to my school stuff. I can’t even do my summer homework right now, and I’m going to start this year behind like I do every year.”
Steve’s feathers puffed out against his will, and he narrowed his eyes. What did Harry mean “summer homework”?
“This year it’s even worse than usual too because I’m already behind from the whole Tournament thing and it’s one of the two school years that I take tests at the end of that basically determine the rest of my life.”
Steve’s feathers bristled further, and he let out an involuntary screech.
“I didn’t choose any of this, you know,” Harry said.
Steve nodded his head and screeched again.
“Yeah, I’m not thrilled either. Hermione would think I was being possessed if she heard me talking about wanting to actually do homework, but she’d have to write or visit for that to happen, so I guess I don’t need to worry about that.” Harry laughed bitterly. “But I’m bored out of my mind, and I do actually want to do well on tests that will decide my future career paths and everything.”
Steve had a new goal: he was going to help Harry get the best scores on these tests even if he had to fight literally everyone, Harry included, to do it.
“All of my school things are locked under the stairs where I used to be though, so there’s no chance of me studying to catch up on the things I missed or accomplishing the assigned summer reading and homework for all of my classes. I still have my wand, but I think it was particularly cruel of them to let me have something they know I can’t use.”
Harry’d said that so casually, like being locked in a cupboard was completely normal. Steve’s eyes couldn’t get much narrower, his back was starting to hurt from being so stiff and straight, and his feathers were going to take flight themselves if they got any further from his body. He was going to wreck the occupants of Number 4 Privet Drive.
“Well, that’s enough of a pity party. What do you say we get rid of the wreckage I found you in? Do you have any clue what that was anyway?”
Harry clapped his hands together and stood, striding off towards the mangled metal after Steve shook his head. Everything in Steve warned him against investigating the mess, and Steve wasn’t enough of an airhead to ignore his instincts, both human and bird, telling him not to do something. He stayed sat on the fence, observing Harry poking around the wreck with some trepidation. Just because Harry was enough of a fool to investigate further didn’t mean that Steve was not going to make sure he’d be a safe fool while doing it.