Chapter Text
The sound of her window shattering made Akko jump so hard that she fell over backwards in her chair. On her monitor, she watched as her D.Va was sniped by a Hanzo that had been irritating her the entire match, but she definitely didn’t have time to be upset because a series of shrill shrieks followed by the sting of rain as the wind rushed into the now open cavity in her wall.
“Ittai nani?” she yelped, swiping free of the headset that had nearly been ripped off in the fall. She could hear her teammate’s confused stream of questions but Overwatch had slipped to the very last thing she cared about when she saw the mound of feathers that was squirming and making the worst possible noise at such a late hour. There were a number of things that went through her mind during the entire episode which lasted, at most, five seconds:
What in the heck just happened?
What is this lump of ear-bleeding noises on my bed?
Why is my window broken?
This rain is going to damage my PC.
I’m going to be booted from this Overwatch match and I was killing it.
I’m not supposed to be playing Overwatch, anyway—I’m supposed to be in bed!
Akko scrambled slowly to her feet, not even bothering to upright her chair as she crept toward the flailing creature that was making a mess of her comforter. It was a bird, obviously , because feathers were going everywhere as one wing beat it in a circle. Claws ripped and tore at her sheets.
“Yamete kudasai,” she begged, wincing as rain splattered against the side of her face as she reached toward the bird. Her bangs were already wet and stuck to her forehead. “Anata wa yakkaidesu!”
A screech—loud and obnoxious.
Her parents were definitely going to wake up.
Akko touched the bird. Tentatively, at first, because the only bird she’d ever touched before was a Parrot named Ijiwaru that bit her and drew blood. But this bird didn’t seem to react much. In a mean way, anyway. Instead, it stilled, its loud noises drowning to much quieter coos. It flapped one broad wing, the other held closely to its body, and pushed itself slightly upright so Akko could finally get a good look at it.
An owl?
It looked old and a little rough around the edges but there was something in its eyes that said it knew exactly what was going on and it wasn’t scared in the least. It blinked at Akko, cooing once more before dipping its head to begin preening at the wing that it was holding so delicately.
It was hurt.
Well, yeah, of course it was hurt, because it just crashed through her window!
But all that could be forgiven, because she was only sixteen and certainly wouldn’t be paying for the repairs, and right in front of her was an adorable little owl that had a damaged wing.
“So ne,” Akko said quietly, running her fingers gently over the wing and cocking her head to the side to try to get a look.
She was met with resistance. The owl hugged the wing closer to its body, lids half closed as it squinted at the girl trying to pry at its wing, and made a strange hissing noise that made Akko recoil just a bit.
When she was confident the owl wouldn’t bite her, she leaned in once more, petting the wet feathers on its head in reassurance. It cocked its head in the opposite direction, studying her face, and offered a gentler coo.
Akko decided to try a different approach.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, smiling. “Let me look.”
The owl smacked its beak and offered its wing.
“English only,” Akko muttered, shaking her head as she lifted the wing to peer underneath. “Figures.”
She could see blood leaking through the light brown feathers and, with a squeak from the owl and another reassuring, “It’s okay,” Akko parted the feathers and soft down underneath to see a small piece of glass stuck into the meat of the wing. She lowered the wing back to the bird’s side and rocked back on her heels, eyes narrowing in thought as she rubbed the back of her neck. She had to get the glass out, obviously, but this was the work of an aviary surgeon and not a teenage girl.
But Akko didn’t exactly know what she wanted to be when she grew up, still, so maybe she could be an aviary surgeon! And she did like birds, even if Ijiwaru bit her that one time. This was the perfect opportunity to try a potential career on for size. She glanced around her desk—it was getting wet from the rain—for something that might work as a surgical tool.
And seized the chopsticks that were still sticking out of a bowl of rice she’d forgotten from earlier.
She inspected her eating utensils-turned-surgical tools with the eye of a concentrated pre-professional and nodded an approval, glancing over her at the owl, who shook his head from side to side. But what did he know? He was a patient, she was the surgeon.
“Hold still,” she said, seizing the wing and leaning in once more. Her instruments were not sanitized and she lacked local anesthesia, but if this bird was tough enough to blast full force through her window, it was tough enough to grit its teeth—beak?—through a small, outpatient surgical procedure.
“Trust me,” Akko muttered as she focused on the task at hand. “I could be a professional one day.”
The owl squalled and flapped its other wing as Akko ground her teeth together and pushed the chopsticks into the meat that housed the glass. She closed the tip of her makeshift surgical instruments around the glass, pressing hard to make sure she really had it, and yanked. With care, of course!
Screeching filled the room, feathers flew as the owl went absolutely ape shit, and Akko cheered in victory as the glass fell to the floor.
“Atsuko!” came a muffled voice from her headphones, followed by a slew of concerned Japanese. Akko ignored it.
“You’re free!” she exclaimed, shoving the chopsticks back into her rice and grinning at the owl, who stared back at her wide-eyed and terrified. “Surgery was a success, you’re free to go!”
But the owl just stared and weakly tucked its wing back into its body.
“Oh,” Akko muttered, cocking her head to the side as she scratched her temple. “You’re right. I suppose a good surgeon would wrap the wound to protect it from possible infection or further injury. How could she forget such a simple task? She was moving back in toward the owl, a confident smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. The owl, however, was backing up into the pile of stuffed animals that she’d neatly arranged at one end of her bed.
The door to her bedroom flew open.
“Atsuko?”
Akko jumped, red eyes wide as she whirled to find her mother standing in the doorway. She looked sleepy and about ready to crawl back into bed until she noticed the broken window and the rain that rushing in.
“Atsuko, nani ga okotta?” she shrieked.
Akko backed into the bed, desperately trying to hide her feathered patient from her mother. “Watashi wa jibun o shiranai,” she blurted. “Watashi wa okite imasendeshita!”
Her mother glanced at the PC. At the Overwatch opening screen and the voices still blaring from her headphones.
“Atsuko, did you throw your controller through the window again?”
She’d slipped to English. Oh, no. She was mad.
“No!” Akko waved her hands in front of her face, flying forward to grab the controller that was lying on the floor to present as evidence. “See?”
“What’s that?”
“Nani?” Akko squeaked. She felt her face flush and swallowed hard.
Her mother stepped forward, carefully around the glass that littered the floor, and pointed to a few spots of blood on Akko’s comforter. “That.”
“Where is the—“
The owl was nowhere to be seen. Akko blinked in confusion before answering to her mother’s stern stare. “I, uh, cut myself,” she answered, smiling sheepishly.
“Clean this up, Atsuko,” her mother said with a sigh and wave of her hand. “Sleep in the front room tonight and I will have your Otou-san fix this tomorrow.” She glared pointedly at the PC. “And stop this Overwatch after hours!”
“Right,” Akko chirped, waiting for her mother to close the door to her room before whirling back to her bed. She couldn’t see the owl… but she could see the fluff of brown feathers poking out from behind her massive Totoro plush. With a grin, she reached across her bed and seized the squawking owl, pulling him forward and looking him in his wide, black eyes.
“Alright, Rowlet,” Akko said with a decisive nod and a wide grin. “Let’s get you all patched up.”
~ ~ ~
Rowlet was the most perfect companion. He was sweet, kind, quiet, and absolutely loved to cuddle. Not that Akko gave him a choice, because each night she tucked him into her bed with her and hugged him close just like she would with her Eevee plush. And he never complained. In fact, since it was hot out, he would flap his good wing (the one that wasn’t bandaged to his body) in an attempt to be a fan and cool her off.
And when Akko had to leave the room, she would always come back to find Rowlet making music with his nails and beak against the glass of the brand new window her father had installed. Akko always made sure to compliment his screeches and squawks. Even if he wasn’t a good singer, she knew that confidence was key.
There was only one small, itty bitty, completely minute issue that Akko had not anticipated.
Rowlet was a living animal. He consumed food (which Akko quickly learned consisted of anything and everything) and--based on the digestive process that she herself was victim to each and every day—he, well, pooped.
And he pooped a lot .
He was very cleanly about it because he only went in one corner, but the problem was that Akko didn’t have a litterbox because her parents never trusted her with a cat (“Anata wa sore o koroshimasu,” they always said) and she was running out of reasons for telling her parents why she was using so many paper towels (because she didn’t tell them about Rowlet, because they would say, “Anata wa sore o koroshimasu”) and the amount of times she was swiping liquid excrement was becoming unbearable.
But it turned out to be alright, because Akko found a thick, rolled up piece of parchment sitting on her floor that was just the right size for a poop pad. There was a bunch of writing all over it—looked official—and so Akko assumed it was something to do with her very poor grades and the need for her to try harder, study more, blahblah.
Akko was of the opinion that school was shit and studying was for the birds, so she flattened out the thick parchment in Rowlet’s poop corner.
At first he wouldn’t use it. He went all around it, which was very strange, but Akko figured he just wasn’t sure about the texture of his new pad and so, finally, when he was mid-stream, she seized him and held him over the parchment for the few remaining drops. He began to use it diligently after that, though she noticed that he always made direct eye contact with her every time he did. She assumed he was grateful and was proud of herself for making him feel so at home. And what was even better that a clean piece of parchment always seemed to appear on her desk within a few hours of use, so everything seemed to work out perfectly. She didn’t question where it came from—maybe her mother had noticed Rowlet and was just keeping everything quiet for her—and so she simple folded up the used letter, placed it in the bin, and replaced it.
Ultimately, she wasn’t sure what to do with him. She supposed she could let him heal and then set him back into the wild where he belonged, but there was also the very real idea of keeping him. After all, she enjoyed his company, and while she never thought she’d ever want an owl as a pet… well, it was pretty cool.
It was a week into life with Rowlet and Akko was crouched in front of her computer, fingers dancing across the triggers and buttons of her remote as she once more played Overwatch after hours. Rowlet had settled down on the back of her gaming chair (after she’d picked him up and placed him there a few times, because he kept falling off or something) and was sleeping peacefully with his good wing covering his face.
Akko had just popped her ult—
“NERF THIS!”
When the sound of shattering glass, a shrieking Rowlet, and a slew of English curses erupted from behind her.
“Ittai nani!” Akko shouted, probably a bit too loudly, and threw her headset and controller down on her desk. Luckily it wasn’t raining, but there was still the fact that something or, as Akko turned around, someone , had broken the brand new window that her father had just installed.
The person was groaning and mumbling. They brushed glass off their body and stood, rolling their shoulders as shards of glass crunched beneath black boots.
“Who are you?” Akko yelped, grabbing the first weapons she could find—chopsticks—and dual wielding them in her most threatening stance. Rowlet had leapt from his perch and had found himself on Akko’s bed, where he bounced up and down and cooed with excitement. Akko was confused. A strange person—a woman, she could see now—had crashed through her window in the dead of night and Rowlet was excited about it. Though, he did do the very same thing himself, so maybe it was some kind of thrilling sport for owls.
But for humans?
“I assume you’re Atsuko Kagari,” the woman moaned as she finally leveled her gaze with Akko. She was pretty, kind of young but definitely older, with long red hair and a pair of glasses that sat askew on her face. She was wearing black robes, which was super sketchy to say the least, but Akko found herself relaxing nonetheless. She dropped the chopsticks to her side and cocked her head.
“Uh, yeah,” Akko replied, “That’s me. But who are you ?”
“I—“ The woman lifted her chin in dramatic pride and offered a bright smile. “Am Professor Chariot du Nord. I was sent to check on the status of your response and, well, look for a certain owl that has not yet returned to the aviary.”
At which point she caught side of Rowlet, who was still hopping up and down and flapping his good wing.
“Oh! There you are. It’s wonderful to see you’re safe.” The woman—Professor Chariot du Nord—stepped to Akko’s bed and gently stroked Rowlet’s head with her thumb.
“That’s my owl,” Akko said defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest. “His name is Rowlet.”
“No,” the Professor said, raising red eyebrows as she turned her stare back to Akko. “ Her name is 736³ and she is property of the school.”
“What kind of name is 736³?” Akko scrunched her nose in distaste. “Rowlet’s much better. But, okay, sorry to mis-gender her, but I can’t exactly see anything through all those feathers on her crotch, not that I inspected —“
“Because 736³ is exponentially easier to say than 398,688,256,” Professor Chariot said as though it was the most simple answer in the world.
“Whatever,” Akko said. She plopped down on her bed and stroked Rowlet’s good wing, frowning as the owl moved a bit further away.
“And what exactly have you done to her? Besides kidnapping and imprisonment,” the Professor—if she even was a “Professor”—asked with a huff.
“What do you mean? She was hurt.” Akko pulled out the bad wing, which she’d expertly bandaged with bright pink pre-wrap and covered in her favorite Hello Kitty bandages. “It’s my new goal to become an aviary surgeon and I think the work I’ve done here will be perfect for my application to vet school. Or whatever school it is.” She scratched her temple. “Bird school?”
“I’m afraid the world has much greater things in store for you, Atsuko Kagari.” Professor Chariot straightened up, crimson eyes finding Akko’s as the hint of a smile etched across her face. “I assume you received your letter? I certainly hope that 736³ was able to deliver the invitation, given the circumstances surrounding her injury and the, uh—“ The woman glanced around Akko’s room, which looked as though a tornado had gone through it. “Unfortunate consequence that has resulted.”
Akko blinked. Narrowed her eyes. “What letter? What invitation?”
Rowlet—or 736³--hopped off Akko’s bed and walked slowly, the wing with the amateur bandage dragging on the floor, to his—her--designated toilet. With a look that could only be described as great shame, Rowlet turned her head in that Exorcist manner that owls are capable of doing and let out a very sad, very depressed hoot.
“Oh, my,” Professor Chariot said. She frowned, following Rowlet to the corner and delicately plucking up the piece of parchment by a corner that wasn’t marred by feces. Her eyes fell on the bin, where Akko had balled up the other used parchment, and she let out a little squeak that sounded a lot like disbelief.
She turned and, with a face twisted into pure disgust, presented the front of the parchment (which hadn’t been used, but was still damp in areas where Rowlet had freshly gone) to Akko.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmistress: Miranda Holbrooke
( Council of Morgan, Executive Chairwoman, Elite Grove Witch, Founder, Witch Rights Organization (WRO), Member of the Institution of Historical Magic )
Dear Ms. Atsuko Kagari,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Miranda Holbrooke
Headmistress
Akko just blinked.
“You’ve been accepted to Hogwarts,” Professor Chariot said, pressing the parchment closer as Akko took a step back. “And we’ve been awaiting your response and, well, the return of 736³. I came to see what the problem was. And now I see it was—“ She glanced around the room. At Rowlet, with her Hello Kitty bandages. At the fouled-by-fowl parchment in her hand. She sighed. “I see the problem was much more severe than we anticipated.”
“I don’t get any of it,” Akko said, dark eyebrows scrunched together as she tried to rack her brain for what might be going on. She pinched her arm. Nope, not dreaming. Had she ever heard of a place called Hogwarts? No. Had her parents applied her to a school without her knowing? Unlikely. Even more unlikely was her actually getting accepted into whatever school they’d put her up for.
“Atsuko—“
“Akko,” Akko corrected.
“Akko.” Professor Chariot sighed, as though the news she was delivering was altogether incredibly disappointing. “You, I fear—“ though the last bit was mumbled, “—are a witch.”
Akko’s eyes shot open. She looked at Rowlet, at Professor Chariot, to the excrement coated parchment, back to Rowlet, then let her whole face morph into the exact amount of turbulent confusion that was going on inside her own head.
“ Nani? ”