HEDWIG THE SNOWY OWL
someone gets "quoted" saying something they absolutely never said

While I always appreciate his company, I am not quite sure why—of all days—Harry has requested that I stay with him in the courtyard today. I've already delivered the post and should be well on my way. But no. Today I must remain the paragon of quiet dignity at his side while he attempts to stroke my feathers with those absurdly trembling gloved hands of his.

If he is so cold on this wintry day, it would do him far more good to return indoors. Then I could go about my business of preening, surveying my domain, and perhaps locating a mouse or two for an early supper.

And then Cho Chang walks past.

Harry inhales like he’s about to dive underwater.

"Your hair—" he says suddenly, at an embarrassing volume. Good gracious, boy, the girl is not deaf. "—is like—"

Hoo no.

"—like spilled ink!"

There is a pause sharp as a hooked talon.

Cho blinks. "Spilled… ink?"

Harry nods, as if verifying his words might somehow make him look less like a bumbling fledgling. "Yeah. Because it’s dark. A-and shiny! And—um—everywhere. But in a good way. Everywhere."

I freeze midpreen and wish, for once, that my eyes were not so painfully efficient as to notice the beads of sweat forming at his brow.

"I mean," he continues, his words tumbling out worse than Errol on Tuesdays, "not everywhere. Just—nicely arranged. Like—"

He gestures helplessly and I somehow manage not to hear how that thought finished.

Cho stares at him and Harry panics further.

"Hedwig came up with that," he blurts.

I turn my head slowly and ruffle my feathers. I beg your pardon?

Cho looks at me, then back to Harry, clearly unconvinced. "She did?"

Harry nods. "She’s very poetic."

I stare at him, feathers ruffling further as I spread my wings into a disapproving shield of white. A warning display, should he choose to recognize it.

He does not.

"She also thinks," Harry adds—because ruin loves company, and despite my now-imposing size he remains determined to ignore me—"that your skin is very nice—uh—lustrous."

Cho raises an eyebrow.

"LIKE," Harry says quickly, "the shine of a Golden Snitch. Not—like metal. Just—clean. And nice. And—fast?"

All three of my eyelids close. Somewhere, a mouse escapes death. I envy it.

Cho presses her lips together, clearly fighting a laugh—perhaps even taking pity on Harry and finding this whole spectacle endearingly ridiculous.

She too is a fool.

"So your owl thinks I look like stationery and Quidditch equipment?"

Harry’s ears turn red to match his cheeks and the tip of his nose. "When you say it like that… it sounds worse."

I hoot, a firm plea for him to stop—or at the very least to have the decency to dismiss me properly so I no longer have to bear witness to this owl-fully bad turn of events.

Harry winces instead. "She says that’s not what she meant."

Partially true. None of what Harry is saying is anything I meant.

Cho laughs now, properly. "Right… well, I think I’d better get going," she says, before continuing across the courtyard.

Harry exhales as though he's the one who just survived a near death experience.

"I think that went okay, don’t you?" he says, smiling and hopelessly delusional.

I simply return to preening. I have nothing to hoot on the matter.

Some thoughts are meant to stay in the roost.