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“Look at this raven,” people said whenever they saw him. “Look at its eyes!”
His eyes were pitch black. There was nothing special at the first glance, but if you looked closely, you could catch an otherworldly gleam.
Sometimes there was admiration—usually expressed by Muggles, who perceived his unnaturally stark eyes as novelty. Sometimes there was hostility—those were wizards, who were aware of animagi and the fact that their beast forms retained some of the features of their human forms.
There was one thing that was undeniable: everyone paid attention to his eyes. Shining bright, they were like two tiny gems in the black void.
Maddie knew that, of course. The bird must be an animagus, yet still curiosity gnawed at her. She’d never seen a raven so close. There were no ravens near the castle, but she knew there must be some in the Forbidden Forest. The ones that lived there avoided public places and, frankly, were quite mean, cackling and spooking passers by.
Besides, if this raven was indeed a Hogwarts student as the public assumed, many were ready to bet their money on it being Harry Potter, which was rather fitting, given his thick black feathers. His eyes, though devoid of his brilliant green, were eerily aware. The look they gave was an anomaly itself.
Too mischievous. Too intelligent.
And that look was always directed at one other bird. Like now.
The owl.
A white snowy owl. Still as a statue. It always seemed to ignore the raven, its eyes droopy and unimpressed, its annoyance as pure as its feathers.
The raven loved to tease and provoke the owl. It poked with its beak, flapped its wings, and circled around the owl. The owl seemed to remain completely unharmed and unbothered; it merely glared at the raven.
Then it turned its head at Maddie.
Its eyes widened. She gasped when she saw them.
Draco suddenly cawed when he saw her. He outspread his wings, his beak opened, emitting sounds that intended to terrify and intimidate. The girl flinched, realising she was exposed, watching, and when she continued staring with that dumbfounded look, he decided to add a cherry on top.
“Tickle tickle,” in the deepest voice he could imitate.
The girl shrieked and finally sprang up to run away.
Draco started cackling like a madman: beak wide open, head tilted back, and wings flaring wildly.
Potter beside gave a judging hoot. He looked just as unimpressed, the bastard. The bloke had no humour in his heart, really. Draco was a comedic genius.
“What is it, Potter?” Draco drawled, imitating his own human voice. One advantage of acquiring a raven form was the fact that you could still speak. “Cat got your tongue? Oh, yeah, you can’t speak,” and then he laughed again.
Potter transformed then, his white feathers melting into a tanned, featherless skin. He flexed his shoulders and, straightening up, rolled his eyes. Draco could have sworn he transformed just to be able to do that.
“You’re being a dickhead for fun, as usual,” he gracefully pointed out.
“Well, duh,” Draco said, still in his raven form.
Potter snorted and then transformed again.
His golden eyes were plain to an untrained eye, but if you looked just so, you could see green flames dancing in those irises. They were beautiful, just like his human eyes.
Potter turned his body towards him, though he didn’t really have to since he could turn his head at ridiculous angles. Apparently the moron still hasn’t learnt how to be a proper owl.
Their eyes met. Potter gave a soft hoot.
Draco changed his pitch to a higher one and gave an answering click.
They were aware it was just slightly ironic, the fact that pale blonde Draco was a pitch black, cunning raven and the shaggy black haired Potter had such an elegant owl form. But Draco rather thought it made perfect sense.
Potter was silent. He loved to keep to himself. Sitting still and brooding has been kind of his hobby ever since the war. It was not the Potter Draco was used to, and, honestly, that Potter pissed him off.
Draco was loud and obnoxious. He loved to annoy and to mock. Being a raven opened too many opportunities. People always freaked out whenever they heard his perfect mockery of their own voices and the intelligent usage of those voices. Draco just happened to stumble upon Potter during his hunt for gullible idiots to laugh at.
He didn’t know it was him at that time, but something—perhaps boredom—drew him to him. His appearance was rather distinctive with the snowy white colour and uninterested eyes. Cawing at the other bird, he waited for something.
It didn’t happen. The owl threw a dirty glance at him and then flew away.
Naturally, Draco was a persistent pain in the arse, so he followed him. He continued following him and poking for its attention, receiving only fleeting glances before it flew away once again. And again. And again. Draco tried to become even louder, even more infuriating, literally inescapable.
He also watched it in his human form until one day he caught the owl transforming back into Potter.
All of it instantly clicked. He finally realised why he was so obsessed with that bloody owl.
Of course it was Potter.
Draco wasn’t even surprised he was a snowy white owl. He did remember his pet, after all. It was called… Hedwig. Animagi’s forms did take a rather sentimental meaning if they had a special bond with any animal.
His own wasn’t as sappy. Draco thought raven suited him for other reasons. For instance, when he finally revealed himself to Potter, it went like this:
They sat on a thick tree branch. Draco was cleaning his feathers. Potter stopped running off when he resigned himself to the raven’s company. So they were spending time together, if you could call it like that.
And then Draco decided to speak up:
“Potter,” he said in a perfect mimicry of his own voice.
That was the one that gained his attention. He sharply turned his head (not his whole body!) and his big eyes became even bigger. Yellow clashing with green in his irises. Slowly, he turned his head away.
“Potter.” Draco called again, but he was ignored this time. “Merlin’s balls, Potter, I’m talking to you. Still absolutely no manners, I see.”
Now this spurred Potter to transform.
“Malfoy, you twat! What the hell!” He exclaimed, absolutely pissed off.
Draco was thrilled. He tilted his head.
“What?”
“You did this on purpose!”
“That is rather obvious.”
“You!..” Then he let out a frustrated growl and strode away.
“Good day to you too, Potter!”
Naturally, Draco wasn’t driven away by a small tantrum.