Title: The Nathair
Author: errandofmercy
Rating: K
Word Count: 4,316
Characters and/or Pairings: Minerva McGonagall/Silvanus Kettleburn
Summary: A mysterious creature is manifesting itself at Hogwarts. Minerva investigates.
Warnings: none
Author's Note: Nathair is apparently a Scotch Gaelic word for 'dragon' or 'serpent'. I know, I'm cheap and uncreative :p
The Nathair
The first chill of autumn had begun to creep in, settling in the gaps in the mortar of the castle walls. Hogwarts was drafty even in the summer, and icy zephyrs became increasingly common as Halloween drew closer. If not for the requisite Wizarding wardrobe of generous, wooly robes, it would have been nearly unbearable.
Professor Minerva McGonagall endured such a chill upon crossing the threshold into Gryffindor tower after a particularly long day that she was positive she'd walked through a ghost. As she ascended the many spiraling steps to her offices, she felt quite grateful for the laws of nature – the warm air rose toward her rooms without even the slightest hint of magic. In no time, the main office was positively toasty. With a flick of her practiced fingers, a modest log sparked to life in the hearth and the Transfiguration professor and Head of House peeled back her crisp black trouser socks in favor of a pair of garish yellow slippers, hand-knitted by the Headmaster himself. They were decidedly unprofessional, but the warming and cushioning charms woven into their fibres gave her 'plates' a well-deserved rest. Within the privacy of her own chambers, no one had to know, she thought with a smirk.
Minerva drew some water from a carafe on her desk into a mug and easily transfigured it into steaming, spiced cider. She sipped delicately, savoring the warmth and flavor as well as a glint of pride in her magical facility. While she was by no means a simple woman, Minerva had found over the years that she was rather easy to satisfy, contented with such pleasures as warm socks and good food on a chilly night. She was not the sort of witch to lust after pearls or exotic holidays – a good book and a comfortable chair were the only getaway she required. The responsibilities of her position suited her desire for purpose and routine, and the staff and students held her comfortably between loneliness and amiable solitude. It had its drawbacks, certainly, but Hogwarts was undeniably her home.
Outside, the evening mist was beginning to twine itself around the trees and curl at the edges of the stained-glass windows. Minerva watched the pale autumn sunset placidly – until something made her push up her spectacles in alarm.
Spanning the outer length of her window were four long, jagged lines. She rose and crossed to the window, peering quizzically at the damaged panes. The marks were each as wide as her palm, cutting deep into the glass, and their irregular, hooked shape made her think of... claws. Good heavens, she thought with a sharp intake of breath. The thought of a creature large enough to have made those marks made her heart flutter and her mind reel, trying to make sense of it. As Head of House, surely she would have been informed if there were dragons to be brought to the grounds. The claws seemed too big for a Hippogriff, or even a wyrm, as she was familiar with them.
Whether the culprit had come to the castle at the Headmaster's discretion or not, she reasoned, damage to school property was not acceptable. Setting her cider down resolutely, she decided she would investigate a bit, and consult Professor Dumbledore as soon as possible. Minerva cracked the window open and stuck her head out experimentally.
She discovered, to her horror, that the entire side of the Tower was scored with similar marks. It would take ages to restore the historic stonework, she thought with a frown as her eyes followed the trail of damage down to the castle lawn. A strip of damp grass as wide as the Transfiguration corridor was smashed flat, winding back and forth until it disappeared into the Forbidden Forest. Minerva's eyes went wide. It seemed that the arrival of whatever had been climbing atop the castle had not been planned in the least. While she was a Gryffindor to the core, Minerva was loathe to admit her love of the occasional, bloodless adventure; she preferred to maintain a sense of decorum and pawn off her urgent pursuit of the matter on her professional obligations. She had spent a good hour briskly thumbing through her library, looking for possible identities for her mysterious visitor, but had found nothing that made any sort of sense. There were no more dragons in this part of the world, outside of captivity and special animal sanctuaries, of which the Forest was not one. Unless one had escaped from its masters, in which case it would most likely have lost touch with its hunting abilities and would seek out humans as a provider of food. Perhaps that was the answer – but then why had the creature left empty-clawed? Feeling itchy with frustration, Minerva set down her books and headed for the castle's resident expert.
Efficiency was of paramount importance to a witch like Minerva, and so she chose to make the much faster – and, secretly, more pleasant – journey on four feet instead of two. Padding along the now-dark corridors with impressive swiftness, she reached the offices of the Care of Magical Creatures teacher within a few short minutes. Minerva discreetly resumed her original form and gave a polite knock, quite pleased with herself – she hadn't even broken a sweat. There was a rustling within, and she heard the whirr of several locks unfastening themselves before the door swung open. Silvanus
Kettleburn was a man on the cusp of his forties, solid but not stout, with a mane of hair like granite and stormy blue eyes. His face was rough-hewn and whiskered, like a tree in which Minerva could curl up for hours with a favorite book. And the fact that his left hand and right leg had been replaced with enchanted clockwork prostheses did little to detract from his handsome figure. Of course, she kept such indiscreet thoughts entirely to herself, but she couldn't help but feel a flutter of sentiment as his night-shirted form appeared in the threshold. She would never understand people who could answer the door half-dressed. "Professor!" he exclaimed, looking her up and down with a chuckle. "Nice booties."
Minerva blushed. In the commotion of the claw-marks, she had forgotten the knitted monstrosities. "What brings you to my neck of the woods? Fancy a nightcap?"Kettleburn beckoned her inside with that ridiculous mixture of disheveled and debonair. Minerva pursed her lips and tried not to think about her footwear.
"Professor Kettleburn," she began, "I came to ask you about a rather alarming discovery I made scarcely an hour ago... there is evidence that an animal of a rather respectable size has been cavorting along the side of Gryffindor Tower."
Kettleburn's feathery eyebrows jumped. "You don't say," he replied, his face working thoughtfully. "You wouldn't happen to have any such... specimens for an upcoming lesson?" she asked.
The older wizard shook his head."No, and if I did I'd have it locked up tighter than a Gringott's vault. Were there claws? How big?" Minerva measured her palm for him.
"About yea wide. Each. In sets of four." Silvanus gave a whistle of appreciation.
"It could be an escaped dragon," he offered, earning a nod from Minerva. "but that's not bloody likely. We'd have heard a bulletin about it or summat. And I'd have probably seen it hunting... I like to think I keep an eye out, but now I'm not so sure!" Silvanus made to close the door. "I'll get dressed and take Ogg for a look around straightaway. Thanks for the wands-up, Professor-"
"Professor, wait," Minerva broke in, staying the oaken frame. "There's something else. There was a long trail of flattened grass leading into the Forest. Perhaps a quarter-mile south of the Gamekeeper's hut. It might be a good place to start?" Kettleburn nodded.
"Indeed. Thank you kindly, Professor McGonagall. Pleasant evening to you – and rest assured, whatever it is, I'll keep the beast away from your window!" He grinned wolfishly and disappeared back into his rooms, leaving Minerva feeling alternately chuffed and irritated.
She couldn't deny the soft glow that seemed to come over her whenever Silvanus held her in his attention for more than a few seconds, but his 'gentlemanly' omission rubbed her entirely the wrong way. He hadn't bothered to ask if she might see fit to accompany him... better to take a pleasant but admittedly dull-witted giant than a powerful witch on such a dangerous errand? What did he expect her to do – pull the tartan over her head and hope the wizards would take care of things by morning? As Silvanus had said, 'not bloody likely'. With a smirk of feline superiority, Minerva slipped back into her Animagus form and waited in the shadows for Kettleburn to emerge. She would keep an eye on him and see if she could locate this mysterious beast herself. Plus, the thought of observing Silvanus in his element – chasing after what could only be a dangerous magical creature – was distinctly appealing. A few moments later, the Professor came striding out, clad in a heavy traveling cloak and swinging a large, leather satchel in his mechanical hand. Minerva fell into step a few yards behind him, disguising her tiny footfalls in the irregular clank of his mismatched boots.
The Forest was damp and loamy, the air too cold for comfort but just warm enough to keep the ground soft. Minerva got her paws unpleasantly muddy before electing to pick her way among the gnarled trees instead. She simply detested being dirty. To her surprise, Silvanus had not roused Ogg for this errand – he had meandered over to the Gamekeeper's darkened hut, but seemed to think better of it.
Minerva was certainly glad she had sneaked along. She didn't want the poor man to lose his other hand and leg confronting this creature, whatever it was. Though her field experience was limited, Minerva had practiced and trained enough to be able to leap out of feline form and into spell-casting position with a speed that impressed even the trigger-happy Madame Hooch. Silvanus might not realize it, she thought with a self-satisfied purr, but he was in good hands.
Silvanus' feet squelched in the mud as he bent over some odd silver instrument from his satchel. Minerva noted appreciatively that his gait did not seem to suffer from his enchanted limb – it was still a steady and pleasant movement to observe. He seemed to know where he was going, though in the brambled chaos of the forest it was hard to tell what had been smashed by the creature's bulk and what had simply sunken from rain and erosion.
They trouped along for what seemed like hours, pressing further into the Forest than Minerva had ever ventured. She started to feel an eerie prickle in her fur as she thought of all the sinister things that slithered and scuttled through these woods, where the hegemony of magical blood was thin as a gossamer spiderweb. She could defend herself, of that she was quite sure, but there were foes among these trees that she might never have heard of. She stuck a little closer to the comforting moonlit glint of Silvanus' prosthetic limbs. Suddenly, he came to an abrupt halt, lifting his enchanted hand to his face.
Minerva watched in fascination as the fingers whirred and spun, revealing a hidden myriad of attachments: through the dark she glimpsed a pair of calipers, a spinning blade, a magnifier, and, finally, a strange lens. Holding it up to his eyes, Silvanus peered around, and Minerva understood: with it, his night vision was as good as hers. She followed his line of sight and gave a bristle of alarm as she took in the view. A trail of destruction had been torn through this part of the Forest, boulders skewed and trees splintered in half with still-wet roots dripping dirty slur, great footprints stamped into the loam. A few hundreds ahead of them, the newly-cut clearing ended in a sheer, claw-rent rock face that rose above them in an enormous hillock.
"Merlin's bunghole," she heard Kettleburn murmur. "That bugger can climb." Whizzing through the arsenal on his hand, Silvanus rifled around in his satchel until he retrieved a large device cast of pronged metal. He dutifully screwed this onto his hand and attached a generous length of rope. Minerva watched him closely from her perch, wondering if perhaps she should reveal herself and offer to help him scrabble up the hillside. To her astonishment, his entire mechanical hand shot upward with a burst of magic, carrying the rope along with it until it latched firmly onto a crevice in the rock. Silvanus proceeded to shimmy himself skyward, using only his flesh hand and his legs, his wand gripped in between his teeth. Minerva felt a sudden desire to purr.
She scampered up to a high point above him, admiring but ready to break his fall if it proved necessary. An icy wind began to flicker through the trees, and, to her dismay, Silvanus' rope tether started to sway. The crafty wizard redoubled his efforts and somehow managed to gain purchase on the slippery surface. He scrambled to the summit and quickly returned his augmented hand to its proper state. Minerva could stand it no longer. Heart pounding, she crept behind a rock and transformed, attempting to smooth back her hair and straighten her robes before calling out to Silvanus in a tone she hoped wouldn't startle him.
"Professor Kettleburn! That was quite an ascent!" She waved disarmingly at him from a few yards away. Silvanus rounded on her, a look of utter bafflement on his face that quickly turned to mirth.
"Minerva? What on earth are you doing out here?" He stood and brushed the dirt off his robes. "I'm glad you tagged along, anyhow. I regret not asking you to come earlier. I didn't want to impose-"
"Nonsense," Minerva countered, picking a stray leaf out of his hair with a thrill of clandestine delight. "I had a feeling you might need some backup. Has following the trail given you any further insight?"
Silvanus shook his head. The wind was getting stronger now, whipping their robes and threatening to pull Minerva's hair out of its chignon. "Not a blasted thing," he grumbled, "except, perhaps-" Minerva was listening intently, but Kettleburn's words were drowned out by a sudden gust of wind that nearly knocked the pair of them back down to the forest floor.
The trees began to shake and shudder, and suddenly Minerva was seized by fear. This was not normal weather, she was certain. Wind whipped at her ankles and cheeks, kicking leaves and twigs into their faces with its cold intensity. She tried to catch her breath, but at that moment, something rose out of the moonlight before them that stole what was left of it from her lungs.
A massive, sinuous body hoisted itself over the rocky ledge, wide swathes of rippling muscles branching into expansive shoulders and haunches, a great serpentine neck and a lethal, undulating tail. Its arms and legs ended in ferocious, hooked claws, with a surplus climbing spike at the wrist, while its enormous body was coated in thick, opalescent fur that gleamed like moonlight. The creature's neck swung forward towards them, revealing a great crested head bearing a pair of filigreed, antler-like horns, cavernous jaws, and a pair of piercing, luminous eyes.
Eerie, ethereal breath misted Minerva's face. She tried desperately not to panic. Silvanus looked positively gobsmacked. "Well, I'll be snookered. It's a bloody Nathair. I thought they were a myth."
Minerva wanted to cast him a baleful glance, but she was a bit too afraid to move. "What do we do, Silvanus?" she whispered through the roiling wind. The creature snorted, spraying her with its strange air. Silvanus sounded as if his brain were on fire – she hoped he was half as terrified as she was.
"Merlin," he stammered, "it's been so long since I read this... wind spirits... they're highly intelligent... damn it all... peaceful unless provoked... protective of their young... that's important, I think... capable of communicating with humans, though they prefer animals... I forget how they do it... confound it, Minerva, don't let it eat you!"
But Minerva was one step ahead of the frightened wizard. At the word animals she had had a flash of insight – instantly she shrank into her feline form and, masking her fear, took a courageous step toward the beast's gigantic face. She didn't even look back to see Kettleburn's reaction. She gave her loudest, most diplomatic mew and waited. The creature's eyes brightened and its huge nostrils flared. Then it opened its jaws and let out a roar like a tornado crashing through the Forest.
Minerva's sensitive feline ears rang, and she shuddered. But then the Nathair rested its regal head on the ground before her. Suddenly, something shifted behind its eyes, like a portal opening, and Minerva was falling, falling backwards into herself, into a void beyond the edge of the world.
She was thrust into a strange, otherworldly haze, a world of darkness and must and moss and decay. She lifted her massive head and shrugged off centuries, eons of dirt and dust. Then her sleep-muddled mind began to clear and a single image crystallized within – a sparkling, opalescent orb. A shimmering egg.
The Young One.
Seized with a monolithic sense of purpose, she shot her long, graceful body out of the sleeping cave, loping over the misty hills and dells until the stiffness of sleep had disappeared. She sensed the Young One's presence through an intangible cord, though they were many miles apart. She ran towards it.
The journey was long and arduous. She fed on deer and goats in the darkness, sipped icy water from streams and ponds. She slept not. They had slept long enough. Now was the time for finding. The time for hatching.
Blind to all else, she followed the young one's call. At last, after many moons of chasing, she came to a great formation of rock. A multitude of tiny creatures moved throughout its fragments, their buzzing minds and bursts of magic chaotic and confusing. The Young One's voice became faint, drowned out by the human noise. Her ears strained and her heart ached with separateness. She scoured the stony landscape, searching for it, but the Young One was hidden away, beyond her reach. She had retreated to the forest in despair.
Soon the hatching would come, and the Young One would be alone. Without each other, both would perish. Everything would end.
The Young One sent a last, desperate cry through the noise to her fevered mind. A vast human cave, filled with shining trinkets and caked in dust. A prison hidden away to all but those who had most need of it. That was where she must go. Now. Before the end began.
Minerva jolted back to reality, her little feline heart hammering so hard she thought it might burst. Suddenly she knew. She had seen through the Nathair's eyes, it had poured its tale of suffering and separation into her mind and begged her for deliverance. It had even shown her where to go.
The Room of Requirement.
She was still so entrenched in the Nathair's memories that she found it hard to regain her footing. She stumbled along for a moment, then jumped up into Silvanus' astonished arms. She stood with her front paws on his chest and yowled loudly at him to follow before taking off at a canter through the trees. The Nathair let out a great gale of anguish and scrabbled fully atop the hill to gaze out at the castle. Minerva only oped that Kettleburn would be close behind her. Like the Nathair, her mind was filled with one thing only: finding that egg.
She wondered how it had found its way into the Room of Requirement; the place held innumerable trinkets and treasures from days gone by, and if the Nathair had slept for hundreds of years while its young matured, it was possible some witch or wizard had discovered the curious orb and thought it merely an opulent decoration. Minerva's Gryffindor heart surged with passion as she thought of reuniting mother and child, of putting to rights the creature's great suffering. Her little tabby feet had never flown so fast. She slipped into the castle and rushed up the steps to the seventh floor, scarcely stopping to catch a whiff of breath. When she arrived at the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, she skittered back into human form and quickly crossed the door's boundary three times, focusing as hard as she could on the glimmering, opalescent egg. The door shimmered into view, and Minerva was inside in a heartbeat.
With singular determination, she stalked past the piles of artifacts to the place the Nathair had shown her. But the egg was not there. With a pang of alarm, she began rifling frantically through the clutter, piles of mingled junk and treasure sloughing away at her touch until, finally, she caught sight of a pearly gleam. Reaching in with all her might, she pulled away a heavy blanket to reveal the egg. It was breathtakingly beautiful.
The egg was very large, the size of a generous pumpkin, and coated with spiral upon spiral of tiny, iridescent scales. It was warm to the touch, and weighed about as much as a rock of similar size. Minerva glimpsed a web of hairline cracks and her heart skipped a beat. Trying her best to balance carefulness with speed, she lifted her wand and cried, "wingardium leviosa!". The egg wobbled into the air and she Levitated it back to the doorway. Halfway down the stairs, she almost slammed headfirst into a breathless and wide-eyed Silvanus, his face shining with sweat as he clung to his satchel with his mechanical hand.
"Oi!" he cried, dodging out of the way just in time. "There you are! Bloody hell, is that an egg?!"
Minerva's face must have been luminous with excitement. "I don't know how it happened," she gasped. "It was like... Legilimency, I suppose... I saw into its mind so clearly..." she carefully rounded the corner of the ground floor, her eyes sparkling. "Silvanus, this is its child. The last of its kind. And it's about to hatch!"
Kettleburn laid a hand gingerly on the egg's surface. His face lit up as he registered the heat. "I love my job," he said, a broad grin spreading across his face. Minerva nearly giggled.
They made their way as quickly as possible to the Forest's edge. The Nathair's eyes glowed from between the trees, a feisty breeze surrounding them. When Minerva laid the egg gently at her feet, though, the wind died and the whole forest fell silent.
The Nathair sniffed at the great orb, nudged it with the side of her enormous face. Then she coiled her long, sinuous body around it protectively with a gust of a sigh. Minerva and Silvanus stood side by side, rapt. Her trembling hand clasped his mechanical one, and he squeezed back. The egg began to crack.
Slowly, with tiny rushing sounds like miniature zephyrs, the shell began to give way. A long, pearly snout poked through the opening, followed by a tiny paw, and then another. Silvanus gasped. The baby Nathair climbed feebly out of its shell, shaking some slime off of its tail, and gave a high-pitched howl. It was the most beautiful thing Minerva had ever seen.
The adult Nathair gave its child a sloppy but affectionate bath while the infant squealed and squawked. Then it climbed up onto its mother's nose and peered at them through beady eyes. The Nathair drew very close to the place where Minerva and Silvanus stood, rooted to the spot.
It looked deeply into their eyes, then gave a low, rumbling moan that rattled their bones. Then, as abruptly as it had come, it swerved away and disappeared with its offspring into the thick labyrinth of trees. The witch and wizard stayed transfixed for a moment more, before slowly approaching the broken remnants of eggshell.
Kettleburn picked up a heavy fragment, shaking his head in disbelief. "Well, Minerva," he grinned, "that was probably the best date night I have ever had. I think I owe you a drink."
Minerva stifled a chuckle, too exhilarated to be demure. "I'm afraid I'm not that kind of witch, Silvanus," she joked. "I'm more the 'rescuing abandoned mythical creature babies' type." She helped him gather the eggshell into his satchel, stowing a small piece in her pocket as a memento. Silvanus took her arm as they walked back to the castle.
"In that case, what are you doing next Saturday?"
"And I swear to you, it was big enough to fill this entire hall!" Silvanus' arms were stretched wide, a mug of coffee in one hand and a half-eaten croissant in the other. "And Minerva just walks right over and sweet-talks the blighted thing. Unbelievable!"
Minerva, having regained her senses after a few hours of sleep, looked demurely away, smiling into her tea. She did not really want to be the center of attention for the whole staff table, did she? To be honest, she wasn't sure. But the way Silvanus was speaking so lovingly of her filled her with a warmth she hadn't known in a long, long time.
She ran her fingertips over the smooth eggshell fragment in her pocket. It was a good luck charm of sorts now. She only hoped that Silvanus would enjoy her company in more... mellow conditions. She certainly didn't have the energy to do that sort of thing all the time.
FIN