Chapter Text
James doesn’t exactly know when it started.
All he knows is that for the past two weeks, ever since seventh year began, he’s had a new problem.
A small, persistent, menace of a crow.
It had appeared out of nowhere one morning during one of his Stag runs through the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a tiny dark blur that swooped down at him with the confidence of a creature ten times its size. At first, he thought it was a fluke, some random bird with a death wish. But then it happened again. And again. And again.
Now, it’s practically routine.
The crow dive-bombs him every chance it gets, swooping low over his head and pecking at his antlers like it owns him. Sometimes it perches right between them, smug and comfortable, no matter how many times James shakes or bucks to get it off. It tries to steal his glasses, his glasses! Four, maybe five times a day if it’s feeling bold, and when he swears he can hear it laugh, he’s sure he’s finally lost his mind.
The others think it’s hilarious, of course. Sirius nearly choked laughing when James tried explaining how the little creature somehow manages to taunt him without ever making a sound beyond a sharp caw. Remus just smiled in that way that said he was trying not to laugh too.
But they don’t really get it. They’ve never seen it.
Because the crow only ever bothers James when he’s alone.
It never appears when Sirius is beside him, or when they’re running as a pack under the moonlight. No, it waits, somehow knowing exactly when he’s by himself, when he slips out for a quiet run or a late patrol through the grounds. That’s when it swoops out of the trees like a shadow given life, feathers gleaming darkly under the moon.
And no matter how hard he tries, he can’t catch it. He’s tried everything, sprinting, leaping, transforming mid-run, but the creature is too quick, too clever. It’ll dart out of reach, caw once in what he swears sounds like mocking laughter, and disappear into the treetops again, leaving James with nothing but ruffled fur and wounded pride.
He tells himself it’s just an animal, some overly intelligent bird with a grudge. But lately, it’s begun to feel like something more. The way it watches him, head tilted, eyes sharp, like it knows him. Like it chooses him, every single time.
James Potter, head boy of Gryffindor, beloved by many, and for some reason, absolutely despised by one very small, very persistent crow.
And worst of all, he’s starting to get used to it.
“I’m telling you, Pads, I can’t even run in peace anymore,” James muttered, slumping dramatically in his seat. His teacup sat forgotten in front of him, the leaves long gone cold while the rest of the class pretended to care about the shapes in theirs.
Sirius barely looked up from where he was lazily swirling his tea, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Still on about the bird?”
“The bird,” James hissed under his breath, leaning forward as if the crow might somehow hear him through the castle walls, “has made my life a living hell.”
Sirius snorted. “It’s a crow, Prongs. You’re being bullied by a bird half the size of your head.”
“It’s not just a crow!” James said, gesturing wildly, nearly knocking over his cup. A few Gryffindors at the next table glanced their way. “It’s personal, I swear. Every time I go for a run, it’s there! It dive-bombs me, sits on my antlers, steals my glasses—Merlin, Pads, it laughs at me.”
That got Sirius’ full attention. He raised a brow, lips twitching. “Laughs at you?”
“Yes! Well—not like ha-ha laughter, but it makes this little sound. Mocking. You know the kind.”
Sirius leaned back in his chair, grin spreading slow and dangerous. “Maybe it’s got a little birdie crush on Prongs.”
James froze mid-rant, staring at him in sheer horror. “Oh, Merlin. You think so?!”
Sirius barked out a laugh loud enough to make the Professor look over her spectacles at them with disapproval. “You’re hopeless, mate. First Evans, now a crow. You’re quite the heartthrob.”
James groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “This is ridiculous. I’m being stalked by an emotionally unstable bird, and my best mate thinks it’s romantic.”
“Maybe it just appreciates your… majestic antlers,” Sirius said with mock seriousness, squinting as if reading James’ aura. “Or maybe you wronged it in a past life. Were you, perhaps, a scarecrow?”
James peeked through his fingers, scowling. “Laugh it up. We’ll see who’s laughing when it starts following you.”
“Doubtful,” Sirius said easily, sipping his tea. “Even birds have standards.”
James threw a sugar cube at him.
“What did you do to make a crow hate you?” Peter piped up from behind them, his voice filled with genuine confusion, and maybe a hint of amusement.
James turned halfway in his chair to look at him, running a hand through his already wild hair. “I don’t know, Wormy. I exist, apparently. That seems to be enough.”
Peter snickered. “You must’ve done something. Birds don’t just start vendettas out of nowhere.”
“Maybe you knocked over a tree where its nest was,” Remus offered mildly from across the table, not looking up from the mess of tea leaves he was pretending to study.
James pointed at him with mock offense. “I don’t run into trees anymore.”
Sirius choked on his tea. “Anymore?”
James gave him a flat look. “It was one time. One. And I was still getting used to the antlers, alright?”
Remus finally looked up, fighting a smile. “So you admit there was a tree incident.”
“I’m surrounded by traitors,” James muttered. “Here I am being psychologically tormented by a bird the size of my hand, and none of you take it seriously.”
Peter leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Does it actually follow you everywhere?”
“Everywhere,” James said gravely. “Every morning run, every evening patrol, every time I so much as think about transforming, it’s there. Watching me with its creepy little shiny eyes. Waiting.”
Sirius grinned. “Maybe it’s just trying to teach you humility. Or aiming for the next Marauder initiation. We should replace the map with ‘Survive the Crow.’”
James slouched in defeat, glaring at his teacup. “You know, it’s bad enough when it attacks me mid-run. But I swear it’s starting to… plan things. The other day it dropped an acorn right on my head. Not even from above—like, angled, Pads. Angled. That takes strategy.”
Remus sighed, amused. “You realize you’re describing it like a criminal mastermind.”
“I’m starting to think it is one,” James said darkly. “If I disappear one of these days, you’ll know who did it.”
“Right,” Sirius said with a smirk. “We’ll tell Dumbledore to start the search in the nearest tree.”
That earned him another sugar cube to the head.
“Ow!” Sirius complained dramatically, clutching the side of his head as if a single sugar cube could’ve caused him grave injury. “You trying to kill me, Prongs? Because if that’s your idea of vengeance, you’re going to have to aim harder.”
James grinned, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “I swear to Merlin, if it starts taunting you next, I’ll laugh right in your face.”
Sirius gasped in mock offense. “Me? Taunted by a bird? Never. I’ve got charm, Potter. Even crows love me.”
“Yeah, well, tell that to the demon one that’s been following me around,” James said. “Maybe it’ll switch targets. I’d pay good money to see you running across the grounds with a crow attached to your hair.”
“Unlikely,” Sirius said with that smug, lopsided grin. “Animals adore me.” He tapped his chest proudly. “I’ve got a natural aura.”
Remus didn’t even look up from his notes. “An aura of chaos, maybe.”
Peter snorted. “If that crow ever saw you in your Animagus form, it’d probably think you were just a bigger, dumber bird.”
That made Sirius narrow his eyes. “Watch it, Wormy.”
James, meanwhile, looked positively gleeful. “You know, now that you mention it, Padfoot does bark at birds a lot. Maybe this is karma coming for the both of us.”
“Speak for yourself, Prongs. I don’t have drama with crows,” Sirius said, flicking the sugar cube James had thrown back toward him. It missed and bounced off Peter’s sleeve.
“You will,” James said under his breath, smirking. “Just wait. One day you’ll be walking all smug through the courtyard, and it’ll swoop right down on you. And when it does? I’m not helping.”
“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Sirius asked, laughing.
“Absolutely.”
Remus sighed fondly. “You two are worse than first-years.”
But James only smiled, leaning back in his chair as he looked toward the window. The afternoon light spilled across the divination tower, and for a brief moment, he swore he caught the flicker of a small black shaped feathers.
He blinked.
The crow could be anywhere. Watching.
And somehow, he just knew, it had heard everything.
“Maybe Snivellus sent it,” Sirius said mockingly, voice just loud enough to carry. He wore that trademark grin, sharp, wolfish, the kind that always promised trouble.
The said boy was seated just one table ahead of them, shoulders rigid as he pretended not to listen. His quill moved steadily across his parchment, though James didn’t miss the faint twitch at the corner of his hand, like the comment had landed right where Sirius wanted it to.
James snorted, unable to help himself. A quick, quiet laugh slipped out before he could stop it. “Yeah,” he whispered, grinning. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he trained a crow just to annoy me. Probably feeds it potions and curses it every night for motivation.”
Sirius smirked, clearly pleased with the reaction. “Exactly. Imagine it—Snivellus in his little dungeon, hunched over a cauldron, whispering to his feathered minion: ‘Find Potter. Ruin his morning.’”
That earned another laugh from James, muffled behind his hand. He tried to focus on his cup again, but the image Sirius painted was too ridiculous not to imagine. Severus Snape, self-proclaimed master of potions, giving evil monologues to a crow perched on his shoulder, it was too much.
Still, when James glanced up, his eyes accidentally caught Severus’s back. The tilt of his head, the slow, deliberate movements of his quill, the way he didn’t even turn, but James could tell he’d heard. He always did.
And for some reason, that thought lingered.
He should’ve just found it funny, should’ve joined in Sirius’s laughter until their professor threatened detention. But something about it didn’t sit right. The crow, the timing, the way it seemed to single him out. It was the kind of thing that would amuse Severus, wasn’t it? Quiet torment. Subtle revenge.
James leaned toward Sirius again, whispering low, “You really think he’d do that?”
Sirius snorted. “Mate, I think he dreams of it.”
James laughed under his breath, but when he looked forward again, Severus’s quill had stopped moving. His back was still, too still, and for a second, James wondered if maybe, just maybe, he had hit too close to the truth.
He quickly looked away.
The crow idea suddenly didn’t feel quite as funny.
- ····································································
James was making his way down the corridors of Hogwarts, the late afternoon sun slanting through the tall windows and painting the stone floor in streaks of gold. The castle was at its noisiest hour, students hurrying to dinner, laughter echoing between walls, the faint smell of parchment and ink thick in the air.
He was only half-listening to Sirius and Peter arguing behind him about something to do with exploding snap cards. Remus was trailing beside them, shaking his head in quiet amusement.
“I’ll catch you lot later,” James said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Going for a quick run before dinner.”
Sirius raised a brow. “Alone?”
James rolled his eyes. “Don’t start. I’m not going to let one deranged crow stop me from stretching my legs.”
Remus smiled faintly. “Famous last words.”
James only grinned, waving them off as he turned down the hall.
The sound of his friends’ voices faded behind him, replaced by the soft echo of his boots against the stone floor. He felt lighter without the noise, more himself somehow, even with the faint chill that always came around this time of year.
He was halfway down the corridor when he rounded a corner— and collided with someone.
“Watch it,” he snapped instinctively, steadying himself before the words were even out.
The other boy stumbled back, clutching his books to his chest. Dark hair fell over his face, and when he looked up, James froze.
Severus.
Of course.
The Slytherin scowled, sharp and immediate, as if James’s voice alone was enough to sour his mood. His black eyes flashed, glinting like wet ink under the light.
“Maybe you should,” Severus muttered, voice low but venomous.
Before James could even think of a retort, Severus brushed past him, robes snapping behind him like the wings of a storm. He moved quickly, almost too quickly, as if desperate to be gone before James could say anything else.
James turned his head just in time to catch that glare, the kind that always left a faint sting even after Severus was gone. There was something piercing in it, cold and oddly familiar, and for a split second, James could’ve sworn those eyes looked almost… darker. Blacker.
Like a crow’s.
He blinked, the thought vanishing as quickly as it came. “Weird bloke,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Shaking off the encounter, James kept walking, heading for the doors that led out to the grounds. He planned to shift, stretch his legs, maybe sneak into the orchard for a few berries he wasn’t supposed to pick. Anything to shake off the weight of the week, and the lingering image of Severus’ eyes.
And if he was lucky, maybe he’d get one peaceful run without being harassed by feathers and sharp beaks.
Just one.
But as he pushed open the doors to the courtyard, a sharp, echoing caw rang out from somewhere above him, low, deliberate, almost mocking.
James groaned, tilting his head back toward the sky.
“Oh, bloody brilliant.”
James walked for a while, boots crunching softly over the undergrowth as he made his way toward the edge of the forest. The light was different here, filtered through tangled branches and fading gold, painting the world in soft, dusky shades. The scent of damp earth and moss clung to the air, and somewhere in the distance, the lake glimmered faintly between the trees.
It was peaceful.
For once, the castle felt far behind him, the noise of students and laughter replaced by the quiet rustle of leaves and the distant song of unseen birds. He liked this part of the day, the calm before the moon fully rose. Just him, the forest, and the feeling of freedom waiting at the edges of his skin, ready to take form.
He stopped in a small clearing where the ground dipped slightly and sunlight still spilled through in faint streaks. With a small sigh, he rolled his shoulders, loosening his limbs in preparation.
“Alright, Prongs,” he muttered to himself. “Let’s get this over with.”
He took a deep breath and bent slightly, stretching his legs, rolling his neck until it gave a soft crack. The smell of pine and wet leaves filled his lungs. He could almost feel the magic stirring, right there, ready to unravel into antlers and fur, when something fluttered past his peripheral vision.
A single, black feather drifted lazily down in front of him.
James froze, eyes narrowing.
The feather landed near his boot, delicate against the dirt, gleaming faintly in the dying light.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.
He straightened, looking up, already half-knowing what he’d see, and sure enough, there it was.
The crow.
Perched high up on a crooked branch, its feathers slick and dark as ink, head tilted in that unnervingly human way. Its small, sharp eyes met his instantly, bright and intelligent, reflecting just enough light to make it look like it was smiling.
James groaned under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. “Not again.”
The crow gave a short, sharp caw, as if in greeting, or laughter.
“I’m serious,” James said, pointing at it like it could understand him. “Don’t start. I’ve had a long day. You can haunt someone else for once.”
The bird ruffled its feathers, unimpressed. Then, with deliberate slowness, it hopped down a branch. And another. And another, each movement measured, silent except for the faint rustle of leaves.
James glared up at it. “Don’t you even think about it.”
But it was already too late.
With a flick of its wings, the crow dove.
James stumbled back as it swooped low, just grazing the top of his hair before arcing back upward, a blur of black against gold light. It landed neatly on a nearby branch and let out another caw, one that somehow sounded very much like mockery.
James sighed, exasperated but not entirely surprised. “You’ve got issues, you know that? Proper issues. Who even raised you?”
The crow tilted its head, beak clicking softly. Then, to James’s growing disbelief, it reached down and plucked another feather from its own wing, letting it drift lazily toward him.
He watched it fall, landing right near his shoe, another deliberate move.
James knelt slowly, eyes narrowing. “Is this supposed to be a threat or a gift? Because either way, you’re creepy.”
The crow didn’t move. It just watched him. Still. Silent.
For a long moment, neither of them did anything, just stared, the quiet of the forest settling heavy around them. James could feel it again, that strange, crawling awareness under his skin. Like there was something familiar in the bird’s gaze. Something that shouldn’t be possible.
He shook it off, straightening again. “Fine,” he muttered, brushing the dirt off his hands. “You win. You always do, don’t you?”
The crow gave a small sound, low, almost pleased, and James swore it puffed its feathers out a little, proud.
“Unbelievable,” he said, half laughing now, despite himself.
He turned away, muttering curses under his breath as he prepared to transform, already feeling the shift stir beneath his skin again.
But as he did, he caught one last glance of the crow, perched still, unmoving, its eyes glinting darkly through the branches.
James exhaled once, closing his eyes as the familiar pull of transformation swept through him, bones reshaping, senses sharpening, the human noise of the world melting into something quieter, deeper. The change was always a rush: the air thick with magic, the heartbeat of the forest suddenly louder, clearer.
When he opened his eyes again, the world looked different. Softer around the edges, brighter somehow. He could feel the cool ground beneath his hooves, smell the faint sweetness of moss and damp bark. His antlers felt heavy but right, a weight he’d long since learned to carry.
Prongs stretched his neck slightly, shaking the last remnants of human thought from his head before looking up.
The crow was still there.
Perched high above, framed by the dusky light, it hadn’t moved. Its feathers rippled once, catching the fading sun like black glass. And then, without hesitation, it launched itself from the branch.
The soft beat of its wings echoed faintly as it swooped down, circling once, twice, before landing squarely on his antlers as if it belonged there.
Prongs froze.
The crow tilted its head, perfectly balanced, utterly unbothered. It let out a quiet click of its beak, then ruffled its feathers, settling itself comfortably atop him.
Prongs huffed, stamping his hoof once in protest. The motion made the crow flutter its wings for balance, but it didn’t leave.
He shook his head sharply, tossing his antlers from side to side, trying to dislodge it, but the bird only hopped, adjusting its grip and clinging tighter, its claws hooking delicately against the smooth curve of his horns.
A frustrated snort escaped him, steam curling from his nostrils in the cool air. He could almost feel it mocking him, the small creature perfectly still, as if daring him to try again.
Prongs took a step back, then another, trying to shake the weight off. The crow rode each movement easily, feathers gleaming, head cocked as though watching his futile attempts with something suspiciously close to amusement.
He stopped after a moment, breathing hard, ears twitching. The crow hadn’t moved. It sat there calmly, unbothered, as if claiming him as its perch, a black crown against the gold of his antlers.
For a long beat, they simply stood there, he proud stag and the tiny crow, staring at each other under the darkening forest canopy. The only sound was the soft rustle of leaves, the faint wind carrying the smell of rain and earth.
Eventually, Prongs let out a resigned huff, lowering his head slightly as if to say, Fine. You win.
The crow gave a single, satisfied caw, quiet and almost smug.
The crow lingered on his antlers for a heartbeat longer, head tilting this way and that, feathers catching the dim light like oil slick on water. Then, without warning, it gave a sharp flap of its wings and took off, rising smoothly through the trees.
Prongs lifted his head, watching as it climbed higher, weaving between branches until it disappeared into the canopy, just a shadow among the leaves.
For a long, still moment, the forest was silent again.
The faint rustle of the bird’s departure faded, replaced only by the whisper of wind and the soft hum of evening settling in. The air smelled of pine and damp bark, rich and clean. No sharp caws. No mocking feathers brushing against his face. Just quiet.
He let out a breath, a low snort that misted faintly in the cooling air, and took a few tentative steps forward. His hooves pressed into the soft soil, steady and sure.
Gone. The blasted thing was gone.
Maybe, finally, he could have one peaceful run.
He flicked his tail and gave a slow shake of his head, more to reassure himself than anything. The weight of the crow was gone from his antlers, and for the first time in days, the forest felt wide and open again.
Freedom.
He pawed at the ground once, the old thrill beginning to stir in his chest. The instinct to move, to run, to fly over the earth on four strong legs.
Maybe he could finally do this without being dive-bombed every five seconds. No more caws echoing in his ears, no more small black feathers clinging to his fur. Just the rhythm of his own heartbeat, the wind rushing past his antlers, and the feeling of grass brushing against his legs.
He gave one last look toward the treetops, nothing but still leaves and the soft light of dusk filtering through.
Maybe this time, he thought, he’d get to enjoy the silence.
He took a few steps forward, then broke into a run.
The ground blurred beneath him, air slicing cool and sweet through his lungs. His antlers caught fragments of dying sunlight as he bounded over roots and fallen logs, the forest becoming a whirl of motion and color around him.
No crow. No interruptions. Just the steady rhythm of his hooves and the heartbeat of the forest answering back.
And yet, as the shadows deepened, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was still being watched.
And he was right.
Of course he was.
Just as he began to lose himself in the rhythm of it all, the rush of wind through his fur, the ground flying by beneath his hooves, the forest alive with gold and green, the inevitable happened.
A flash of black against the fading light. A sharp caw that sliced through the quiet.
And before Prongs could so much as glance up—
Wham!
Something small and feathery dove straight down from above, grazing one of his antlers before circling around him in a victorious spin. The little menace had returned, perfectly timed, as if it had been waiting for the exact moment his guard dropped.
He stumbled mid-step, tossing his head and snorting indignantly. Leaves rustled, startled birds took flight. But the crow only seemed more delighted by his flailing.
It swooped close again, brushing his flank just enough to make him jolt. Then it darted away, letting out what sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
A laugh!
If James had been human right now, he’d have shouted something very un-Hogwarts-appropriate. Instead, Prongs let out a loud, frustrated snort, pawing the ground and trying to glare up at the little black silhouette circling above him like it owned the sky.
The crow tilted its head as if mocking him, glinting eyes full of mischief, before landing neatly on a low branch, just out of reach.
Prongs gave an impatient shake of his head, antlers catching a stray beam of light, and took a few steps forward. The crow only ruffled its feathers, clearly unbothered, clearly enjoying this.
He pawed again, as if challenging it.
The crow responded with another smug little caw.
If deers could groan, he absolutely would have.
He tried ignoring it, lifting his head high and starting to run again, but the bird followed, flitting from branch to branch, keeping pace as if it had all the time in the world to torment him.
Every time he slowed, it swooped lower.
Every time he picked up speed, it matched him, fluttering close enough to tug at his fur or tap one antler like a bell.
The nerve of it.
Somewhere, deep down, James knew Sirius would never let him live this down if he could see it.
But all Prongs could think, with growing irritation, was that maybe he should’ve stayed in the castle instead.
Suddenly, Prongs skidded to a halt.
The forest floor trembled faintly under his hooves, the sudden stop sending a few startled birds fluttering out of nearby branches. His head snapped up, antlers gleaming faintly in the dying light as he stood perfectly still, waiting.
The crow, clearly not expecting that, swooped down at full speed. It let out a startled, high-pitched squawk and flared its wings at the last second, nearly colliding with the stag’s antlers.
For a moment, it wobbled midair, feathers ruffled, before regaining balance with an indignant flutter.
Prongs tilted his head slightly, meeting its dark eyes with calm defiance.
The crow, however, looked offended. Utterly offended.
It cawed sharply, wings flaring as it circled him again, this time much closer. The sound was sharp enough to echo between the trees, like a string of complaints in a language only the two of them could half-understand.
When Prongs didn’t move, just stood there, large and steady and unbothered, the little feathered menace dove again, this time deliberately aiming for his neck. Tiny claws brushed his fur, and he jerked his head to the side, antlers scraping bark as he tried to shake it off.
The crow didn’t relent.
It let out a shrill caw!—the kind that sounded too much like frustration, and started hopping around him in tight, agitated circles, swooping close to nip at his ear or scratch at his back. Its feathers puffed up, wings twitching like it couldn’t quite decide whether to attack or just throw a tantrum.
Prongs let out a low snort, ears flicking back as he glared up at it.
What was this bird’s problem? It wasn’t acting like a normal animal, it wasn’t trying to chase him off or defend something. It was acting… personal. Irritated in a way that almost felt human.
When it lunged again, he dipped his head just in time, forcing the crow to flap wildly to avoid hitting him. The bird perched on a nearby root, glaring at him with tiny, furious eyes.
He couldn’t help but feel a strange twinge of amusement beneath the annoyance.
This bird had nerve.
Still, as it let out another angry caw and launched itself at him again, he began to wonder, why him?
Out of all the animals in the forest, why did this one seem so intent on making his life miserable?
Finally, Prongs stopped resisting.
He stood there for a long moment, sides rising and falling, breath misting faintly in the air. The crow perched on a nearby branch, feathers still ruffled, glaring down as if it had somehow won this ridiculous standoff.
James, somewhere deep inside that stag forms let out the mental equivalent of a sigh.
Fine.
Fine.
If the blasted thing wanted to follow him, then let it. He was done wasting energy trying to outsmart a creature the size of his hoof.
He turned and began to trot back toward the castle, hooves crunching over the soft, leaf-strewn ground. The forest grew quieter the further he went, the rustling fading into the steady rhythm of his steps. The crow, of course, didn’t make it easy, it darted ahead of him, swooping low as if to make sure he didn’t forget who was in charge.
At one point, it even landed right in front of him, forcing him to slow down or risk trampling it. When he stopped, it just cocked its head and gave a smug, satisfied caw before taking off again.
James snorted, shaking his head with a twitch of his antlers. Merlin help him, he was arguing with a bird now.
By the time the trees began to thin and the edge of the forest came into view, the sky had darkened into soft blue-gray. The castle loomed in the distance, tall and familiar, its windows lit like scattered stars.
He slowed as he reached the clearing, hooves sinking into damp grass. The smell of the lake drifted faintly on the breeze, and for the first time since his run began, he felt the ache of exhaustion settle into his legs.
Enough.
He padded closer to the castle wall, choosing a quiet corner half hidden by ivy, and with one last flick of his tail, he let the shift happen.
The change rippled through him, bones reshaping, fur receding, the air itself seeming to bend for a heartbeat before snapping back into place. A rush of cool wind met bare skin, and suddenly James Potter stood there again, running a hand through his wild hair and tugging his glasses from his pocket.
He exhaled slowly, shoulders heavy, eyes squinting up at the darkening sky.
Of course, the crow was still there.
It landed neatly on a stone ledge just above his head, looking down at him with that same unimpressed glare, feathers glossy against the fading light.
James frowned up at it, wiping his palms on his robes. “You just had to follow me back, didn’t you?” he muttered under his breath.
The crow blinked once. Then, almost mockingly, tilted its head and let out a single, soft caw.
James groaned. “Brilliant. Just brilliant.”
The crow didn’t stay still for long.
It gave another sharp caw, hopping along the ledge with a strange, impatient energy, like it was sizing him up, deciding whether he was worth the trouble. James narrowed his eyes. He’d seen that look before, on Sirius, right before something exploded.
“Don’t you—” he began.
Too late.
The little menace leapt into the air, wings cutting through the quiet with a quick, angry flutter. It dived for him again, beak aimed squarely at his face, specifically, his glasses.
“Oh, not again!” James groaned, already stepping back.
But this time, he was ready.
The second the crow swooped close enough, he lunged. His reflexes, sharp from years of Quidditch, snapped into place, and before the bird could so much as blink, he caught it right out of the air.
“Got you, little feather brain.” he breathed, triumphant.
The crow squawked loudly, wings thrashing in his hands. Tiny claws scraped at his palms, feathers puffed up in outrage as it twisted, trying to free itself. James held on, wincing as a wing smacked him square in the cheek.
“Oi—cut that out!” he hissed, tightening his grip just enough to keep it still. “I’m not going to hurt you, you daft—stop flapping, for Merlin’s sake!”
The crow did not stop. If anything, it looked angrier, twisting and squirming until it finally managed to peck at his fingers.
“Ow!” James yelped, jerking back in shock. “Did you just—?!”
The crow gave another vicious peck for good measure.
He hissed through his teeth, shaking his hand. “Bloody hell! That actually—”
Before he could finish, the crow took advantage of his loosened grip and wrenched itself free, fluttering backward into the air with a triumphant flap. A few stray feathers drifted down in its wake.
James glared up at it, hand throbbing and stinging. “You bit me!” he accused, as if expecting an apology.
The crow landed a few feet away on the low stone wall, feathers puffed and gleaming. It tilted its head and stared at him with an expression that could only be described as smug.
“Unbelievable,” James muttered, shaking his head. “First you attack me for days, now you bite me? You’ve got issues, you know that, feather brain?”
The bird blinked slowly, utterly unrepentant.
He sighed, flexing his fingers. There was a faint red mark on his skin where its beak had caught him. It didn’t break the skin, but it definitely stung.
For a long moment, the two just stared at each other, boy and bird, locked in some strange, silent standoff.
Something about the crow’s gaze made him pause. It wasn’t just clever, it was aware. Sharp. Calculating in a way that sent an odd chill crawling down his spine.
“Yeah, yeah,” James muttered, forcing a laugh to break the tension. “Go ahead, fly off. I’ve had enough of you for one day.”
But the crow didn’t move.
It just stayed there, eyes fixed on him, unreadable.