AN: This is a rewrite of my very short attempt at my first fanfic, so please be somewhat nice with reviews and criticism (constructive only please). If you read the first (partial)story, then obviously this is different. I am trying to fit Mal into the timeline to be in the same year as Harry and the gang and then to later, if I ever get there, to take part in the War. Now, as I am new at this and am a college student taking 19 hours this semester, please dont be mad at sporadic updates with lots of time in-between. I will do my best. If anyone read the first attempt and liked it better and wants to finish it, be my guest. Please, if you do, let me know as I'd love to read it. That's all for now. Enjoy! (hopefully)

Disclaimer: All things familiar belong to JK Rowling. All things new belong to me.

Prologue

Malachi Crowley was not a normal boy; far from it actually. You see, when he was three he wandered into the woods near his family's home in Washington (the state, not the district) and came back nearly twelve hours later. He was completely unharmed and totally happy, except for one thing. In those twelve hours he had somehow gone from a slightly chubby three-year-old with light brown hair and hazel eyes to a small wolf cub with grey fur and hazel eyes.

Needless to say, his parents were concerned. After several hours of coaxing (and some scolding) they were finally able to convince their son that, while playing with the family dog might be more fun as a wolf cub, he still needed to be a little boy. There may have been a promise of mint chocolate ice cream involved, as well.

Over the next few years Malachi continued to transform into different animals, which, believe it or not, isn't always a good thing. Sometimes all he needed to do was look at or think about a certain animal, and then he was one. Changing back was rarely as easy. His parents, Patrick and Angela Crowley, soon decided that something would have to be done. Patrick Crowley was an expert in martial arts and had practiced meditation for the past two decades. After his four-year-old told him it was his inner desire to be the animals (I believe his exact words were, "But Daddy, I wanna be a wolf puppy!") that caused the transformation, he decided to teach him to discipline his mind in hopes that that would help him control his abilities.

Little Malachi's parents were afraid. They feared that if anyone found out what their son could do he would be hauled off to some government facility and treated like a lab rat. They warned him never to let anyone besides them see him transform. He only changed when his parents were watching, and only when they were alone in their home, which was several miles outside of town and free from prying eyes.

By the time Malachi was six he no longer transformed by accident and was attending a local elementary school. Unfortunately, said elementary school had faulty wiring and one Thursday afternoon the fire alarms went off. Malachi panicked, the blaring alarm hurting his over-sensitive ears and the smoke burning his over-sensitive nostrils. His animal instincts told him to run and the window was the quickest way to do so. Unfortunately said window was on the third floor.

Luckily no one saw the young eagle soar out the window and fly off in the direction of the Crowley home. When Patrick and Angela received a frantic call from the school saying their son had disappeared during a fire, they rushed home to find him sitting on the sofa watching TV (Animal Planet, if you were wondering). After hearing the full story from him they decided a change of scenery was in order.

While Patrick had grown up in Washington, his family was originally from Britain and he had inherited a small cottage on a good bit of land near Plymouth, England. It was fairly isolated and seemed the perfect place to start over.

Malachi was of course sad to lose his friends and the only home he'd ever known, but he was excited to begin a new adventure, as he saw it. He had always been exceptionally bright. His enhanced animal senses, which he kept even in human form (though not quite as strong), let him observe the world in a way few others could. That, combined with a nearly eidetic memory, made him even more extraordinary.

When he was seven Malachi decided to test his limits and see what he was truly capable of, so he started experimenting. After a few close calls, he realized it was much safer to know a bit about the animal he wanted to transform into before he actually transformed. Before long he knew more about almost every known species than most people ever did. He learned that the more he transformed and spent time in a new body, the faster he could transform and adjust. He began researching animal anatomy and physiology, as well as behavior and psychology. As an animal, he kept his human mind, but he also gained the mindset, senses, and instincts of whatever he transformed into. As a wolf (his favorite) he had high predator instincts and wanted to chase and be in a pack. As a rabbit he wanted to run and hide at every unfamiliar sound. He decided he much preferred predators to prey animals, because he felt stronger, safer. He also preferred birds or mammals to reptile or fish, because being cold-blooded was weird.

As time went on he wandered further and further from his new home. His parents let him go, recognizing the wildness inside of him and the need to be free. They only warned him to be careful and stay away from people.

It was great to be free and roam the forests with the animals, but Malachi was lonely. His parents had homeschooled him since the move to Britain, fearing another incident. His father taught private martial arts lessons at a studio in the city and his mother worked from home so she could stay with him. He loved his parents, but he missed being around other kids. When he was nine his parents finally decided he had enough control to reenter society; he hadn't changed on accident in nearly three years. He attended a local primary school for two years, making friends and laughing and joking like any boy should. The lessons always came easy to him, but he didn't mind. Life was good. Then everything changed on the day of his eleventh birthday.

Chapter One: Letter and Magic

On the morning of June 6, 1991, Malachi walked down the winding mile-long driveway—well really it was more of a dirt lane—to the mail box. The now eleven-year-old did this every morning, reveling in the cool fresh air and bright sunlight of the beginning of a new day.

When he got to the box he retrieved the usual post—bills, letters from distant family and old friends, a catalogue for some store he'd never heard of, and one unusual thing. At the bottom of the stack was an envelope of heavy parchment with his name written in emerald ink; there was no stamp and there was no return address.

Excited by the exotic letter, he raced back down the lane towards the house, hardly even realizing he'd shifted into a cheetah with the mail clamped in his teeth.

As soon as he got inside—once again human—he dropped the rest of the mail in the usual spot on the counter and sat at the small kitchen table to open his mysterious letter.

"What's that, Sweetie?" his mother asked from the stove where she was cooking breakfast.

"Don't know," he responded, studying the purple wax seal that held the envelope closed. Stamped in the wax was a coat or arms: a large letter H surrounded by a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake. He could smell several people on the letter and, strangely, some sort of bird, likely an owl but he wasn't sure. "Someone sent me a letter."

"Well who?"

"Not sure," he said, shrugging. "I don't recognize any scent or the handwriting and there's no return address, or stamp. I've never seen this seal before either." He continued to study the letter as if he was determined to figure out all of its mysteries without even opening it.

"Don't just stare at it and sniff it," said his mother. "Open it up."

He sent her a quick sheepish smile and broke the seal, hastily pulling out the letter written on the same yellowed parchment as the envelope. As he read his chin dropped lower and lower, his eyes widening in shock.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Crowley and Family,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We understand that this must have come as a surprise and we would be happy to send one of our professors to come and explain everything at you earliest convenience.

I will be coming by your home on this coming Saturday at approximately 2:00pm to introduce you to the wizarding world, of which you are now a part.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

The letter slipped from Malachi's limp fingers as he continued to stare, mind working furiously. Is this some kind of prank? No, that doesn't make sense; this is too crazy to be a prank. But it can't be true, can it? Witchcraft and wizardry? Was this letter actually saying that not only is magic real, but there is a school where it is taught and he, Malachi—freak shapeshifter extraordinaire—was accepted? Without even applying?

His mind continued to race and he didn't notice his mother coming up and looking at him concernedly. He came to his senses in time to see her pick up the letter and read. Her face went from worry to shock to disbelief as she read and reread the letter. Mal could literally hear her heart skip a beat. She sank into the chair beside him, still looking at the letter. They were both still sitting, silently staring, when Patrick walked in, looking to refill his coffee mug.

"Honey? Mal? What's wrong?" he asked, seeing them.

"Patrick," Angela said, turning to her husband. "Read this, please. I don't understand," she whispered, handing her confused husband the letter.

Patrick frowned as he read the letter. Malachi watched him and was surprised to see that, after the initial shock, his father's face showed understanding. Putting the letter down gently and sliding into the chair across from his son, Patrick sighed.

"I wondered if something like this might happen," he said, rubbing his face.

"Ever since he started transforming like that I wondered if it might lead to something like this." Sighing again he turned to his wife.

"We have to do what's best for Malachi, Angela. If these people can help him understand who he is, what he is capable of, then we have to see this through."

"I agree," she stated, after only a second's hesitation. Looking over at her young son, she smiled softly. "Well that's quite a way to start you eleventh birthday!"

Malachi grinned. "Yeah!" He was excited. Sure this was strange and a little scary, but he craved the wild adventure. Today was Wednesday, so in only a few short days he would finally, hopefully, know all the answers to the questions he'd had since he could remember.

Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Head of Gryffindor House, and professor of Transfiguration looked down the long winding dirt lane and frowned, though you had to know her pretty well to tell the difference between her usually severe face and the frown.

It was fairly hot on this sunny summer day and while many seemed to enjoy such weather, the stern witch, with her Scottish roots and dressed in dark maroon robes, did not. She was tempted to apparate straight to the front door and be done with it, but knew the muggle family she was visiting would likely not appreciate such a bold introduction to the magical world. So instead she sighed resignedly and started off down the dusty lane.

Malachi stared up at the clear sky, deep in thought. Today was the day Professor McGonagall would come and explain about Hogwarts and magic. Today was the day he would finally understand. While Malachi had had many friends over the years, he had never truly fit in. Knowing that he could never trust them with his deepest secret, his true self, he had always felt like a bit of an outcast. Part of him, the solitary predator, was okay with that; another part of him longed for a pack, a pride, a flock, a gaggle, anything. He longed to belong and to truly fit in, and he hoped this was his chance. He breathed in deeply, savoring the fresh air and the smells of trees and flowers, grass and dirt, animals and…She's here!

As the breeze blew through his shaggy hair he caught the unfamiliar scent of an unfamiliar woman. There was something strange in the scent. It was different form a normal human, but Malachi passed it off as having something to do with her being a witch from a magical school.

He gracefully leapt from the branch he was resting on and dove headfirst to the ground, shifting his form as he fell so that a red-tailed hawk glided down to the ground in the direction of the house. As he neared the ground he flapped his broad wings once, almost lazily, and turned upward, making himself parallel to the ground. As he did so he shifted again, this time to a medium sized grey wolf. Without breaking stride or slowing at all, he ran full-out across the meadow that his home was in. As reached the back door he heard a firm knock at the front of the house and his father moving to open it. A few feet from the door he slowed, rearing onto his hind legs and shifting back into human form, again without breaking stride. Just as he reached the door his mother called through the open kitchen window, "Mal, the professor is here."

"I know, Mom," he said as he walked in, closing the door softly behind him.

"Just checking, Sweetie," she replied, smiling softly and giving her son a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He returned the smile, but she could tell he was nervous, just as she and her husband were.

"Everything's going to be fine, Mal."

McGonagall reached the front door of the small, but cozy-looking cottage. Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, she raised a hand and knocked. She heard a brief muffled conversation, then footsteps heading toward the door. The door opened to reveal a tall man, slim and fit-looking, who appeared to be in his mid-thirties and was wearing jeans and a t-shirt (Amazing what these muggles wear, she thought). He smiled tightly, clearly anxious about the meeting.

"Professor McGonagall, I presume," the man asked, closely studying the strangely dressed woman. "I'm Patrick Crowley, Malachi's father," he said, extending his hand in greeting.

McGonagall nodded in return, accepting his hand and shaking in firmly. "Yes, I am Professor Minerva McGonagall. A pleasure to meet you, Mister Crowley."

"And you as well," he replied. Opening the door wider and stepping back to allow her through he said, "My wife, Angela, just went to call Mal. Please, come in and sit down."

McGonagall nodded again and was ushered into a bright sitting room. There were two couches, set against the walls in the corner, and several comfortable looking armchairs spread out in front of them. The room was fairly open and the two outer walls were mostly made up of large, floor to ceiling windows, which were all open to bring in the cool breeze. McGonagall sat on one of the couches while Patrick took an armchair.

McGonagall looked around the room with mild curiosity, as she always did when exposed to muggle homes. She was a half-blood, but had been raised primarily wizard and that had been some time ago, so the newer muggle devices always fascinated her, though not to the level they did Arthur Weasley.

Patrick studied the stern looking professor before him. Well, she certainly looks like a witch!, he thought to himself, with a small smirk. The somewhat older woman—perhaps in her sixties—wore a long, almost robe-like dress that covered everything save her head, which was topped by none other than a wide-brimmed pointed witches hat that matched the dark maroon of her strange dress. He could also glimpse sturdy boots on her feet, made of some unidentifiable leathery material. She had graying black hair, pulled up into a bun, which only served to make her appear even more sever, and small rectangular wire-framed glasses perched on her nose. He smirked again, no warts, at least.

Professor McGonagall was very aware of being studied by Mr. Crowley, but took no notice of it. This was not her first time meeting with the muggle parents of her students, and she was well used to the stares and questions that accompanied such meetings.

After a moment, the door across from where McGonagall sat opened to admit Mrs. Crowley—Angela, she reminded herself—and the young Mr. Crowley, her newest muggleborn student.

Mrs. Crowley was about medium height and had hazel eyes and a warm smile to match her son's. The boy, a bit tall for his age, looked somewhat scruffy, as if he'd just been playing outside. But he was dressed nicely enough in dark tan pants and a green plaid shirt. He was quite tan, as if he spent most of his time outside, and looked just as nervous about this meeting as his parents, but his eyes also glittered with a barely contained excitement that she had seen in many muggleborn's eyes in her years as a Hogwarts professor. To so many of them the chance to go to Hogwarts meant, for the first time, a chance to finally fit in and to be understood by their peers and teachers as they never had been before; a chance to thrive.

Smiling—for the first time, Patrick noted—McGonagall rose to shake hands with Angela and Malachi.

"Oh, it's a pleasure to meet you Professor McGonagall," said Mrs. Crowley, smiling brightly. "Thank you so much for coming to explain all this."

"Likewise, Mrs. Crowley," replied the professor. "And it's no trouble. We always send someone to introduce the new muggleborns to the magical world." At this point Malachi jumped in.

"What's a muggle?" he asked, excitedly. "Is it someone without magic? Like my parents don't have magic, so they're muggles and I do, so I'm a muggleborn?" he went on, practically bursting with curiosity?

"Malachi," warned Patrick in a firm voice, looking pointedly at his son. The boy looked startled for a moment before realizing his mistake.

"Oh. Sorry, Dad." Turning back to McGonagall he said, "Nice to meet you, Professor McGonagall," as he extended his hand. McGonagall allowed a brief smile flit across her face as she accepted the eleven-year-olds offered hand.

"It's nice to meet you as well, Mr. Crowley."

Introductions finished, they all sat down, this time with the adult Crowley's on the couch opposite McGonagall and Malachi in the armchair his father had just vacated.

"Well then," started McGonagall, "I assume you all have questions."

The Crowley's exchanged glances, wondering what to ask first. Malachi was bursting with questions, but was content to let his parents go first. He was pretty much set on Hogwarts anyway. How could anyone pass up the chance to go to a magical school and learn to be a wizard? What he was wondering was if there were others in the magical world like him, and if any of them went to Hogwarts. He was also wondering why Professor McGonagall smelled so strongly of tabby cat. Finally, it was Patrick who broke the silence and asked the first question.

"So, this Hogwarts is a school for magical children," he asked, "like Malachi?"

Minerva took a moment to recover from the fact that the first question wasn't something along the lines of, Are you insane? My child is not some magical freak? Explain yourself at once! Those were the usual sorts of first questions. She recovered quickly however, and nodded.

"That is correct, Mr. Crowley."

"Patrick's fine," he murmured distractedly. "But how did y'all even know about Mal? That he's…magical?"

"Well, Patrick," she answered, "Hogwarts has a way of detecting magical children and all of those in the United Kingdom are sent letters, such as the one you received, on their eleventh birthdays, inviting them to attend. Most of our students are born to magical parents, or at least one magical parent. Those born to muggles—and yes, Mr. Crowley, muggles are non-magical folk—are sent a professor such as myself to explain." She paused here, judging their reactions.

"Well, that clears that up," said Angela, smiling. "Would you like some tea Professor?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Crowley. That would be lovely."

"Oh, call me Angela, Professor," she replied, going into the kitchen.

Seeing his chance, Malachi jumped in with his first question. "So, what kinds of classes are taught at Hogwarts? Is it a boarding school? Where is it? How do the students get there? What do you teach, Professor?"

"Mal, calm down," scolded Patrick half-heartedly. Malachi gave his father a brief apologetic glance, but said nothing, looking back at McGonagall expectantly.

Before McGonagall could answer, Angela returned with a tray carrying four glasses of ice tea, a pitcher of the same, a small bowl of sugar with a spoon, and saucer with sliced lemons. Malachi smiled as he enjoyed watching yet another non-American be completely baffled by his mother's tea. Angela was originally from Texas and refused to drink hot tea in the summer. She often forgot that most people in the United Kingdom did not share that belief. Holding back giggles, Malachi walked the professor through adding sugar and lemon to her tea and watched as she drank, smiling when she declared the beverage delicious. Finally, she got back to Malachi's many questions.

"That was quite a few questions, Mr. Crowley, but I shall do my best to answer them all to your satisfaction." Taking a breath, she went on, "First off, yes, Hogwarts is a boarding school. It is located in Scotland and the students arrive by train, which departs from King's Cross in London on September the first." She went on to list all the classes taken by first years and explain a bit about each, mentioning briefly that she taught transfiguration. Then she went into a bit more detail about Hogwarts, explaining the four houses and enjoying their stunned expressions when she said Hogwarts was housed in an actual castle.

Happens every time, she thought gleefully.

When she mentioned the Forbidden Forest on the school's grounds, she did not miss Malachi's face brightening and the mischievous gleam in his young eyes. She went on to explain, rather sternly, that the forest was most definitely off-limits of all students and very dangerous. She also didn't miss that this barely fazed the boy.

Minerva went on answering the Crowley's questions for a good half hour. All the questions were ones she expected and had answered a million times before. When the rate of the questioning began to slow, she was about to set up a time to meet the family of three in London to accompany them to Diagon Alley, when she noticed something. They had another question, a big question, but were all three hesitant to voice it. Years of experience teaching students and meeting with their parents told her that, of the three Malachi was the most eager to ask, but also, strangely, the most afraid, and Patrick and Angela were equally eager but their eyes shown with a parent's concern for the safety of their child.

Many parents worried that the magical world was too rife with dangers for their precious children, but Minerva had the feeling this was something different, something beyond general fear of the unknown. This family had a secret, a big secret, possibly one they had kept for years, and now they were considering her. Perhaps it was something about Malachi's accidental magic. But no, she had already mentioned that and they had seemed unconcerned. Just when she was about to ask, the youngest Crowley spoke up, but what he said was nothing like what she was expecting.

"Professor," he started cautiously, "you said you teach transfiguration, right?" At her nod he continued. "Is it possible for a wizard, or a witch, to change into an animal?"

Well that was unexpected, she thought. But, she noticed how tense the three of them were, as if their—no, Malachi's—very life depended on her answer. Confused, she answered, "Yes, Mr. Crowley, it is, but it is a very advanced form of transfiguration." She paused, taken in their intent stares as all of their attention focused on her. "A witch or wizard who can transform into an animal at will is called an animagus. Each animagus has a specific animal that they can transform into and that animal must be registered with the Ministry of Magic, our government. To achieve the animagus transformation, one must spend months, sometimes even years, in intense study and meditation. Even after that, it takes years to master the transformation. Very few witches and wizards ever achieve this."

Seeing the boy's look and confusing it for disappointment, she went on, "You seem to be an exceptionally bright and diligent student, Mr. Crowley. I'm sure, when you're older, if you put your mind to it you can achieve the animagus transformation." This did not have the reassuring affect she was hoping for.

Malachi thought for a moment, staring off into space as he went over everything he now knew about the wizarding world and the professor before him, who he was now sure was a cat animagus. He trusted her, despite only knowing her for a few hours. Also, as a transfiguration mistress, she would be most likely to know of others like him and maybe even know something about his gift he had yet to discover. With these thoughts, he decided. He wanted to tell her.

Malachi looked to his parents, who had always told him to keep his secret, to never tell anyone. He knew they were considering it as well. They looked at each other for a moment, communicating silently in the way only a married couple can, before turning to their only son.

"Malachi?" Patrick asked, wanting his son's opinion.

The eleven year old nodded. "I trust her," he said. "She's a master of transfiguration and an animagus and I just trust her," he went on, trying to explain why he wanted to tell her. His parents had been great all these years, but they had never really understood what it was like for him. How it felt to have a wild, untamable, animal side to himself and to be constantly afraid and alone, wondering if he would ever fully understand or be understood. He needed to tell someone, to get answers.

After a full minute of staring at his son, then another full minute of once again silently communicating with his wife, Patrick finally made up his mind.

"Professor," he said solemnly, "there's something we think you should know about Malachi."