Running In Africa
The first time it happened, he didn't realize what was going on, only that suddenly the world was growing huge. He remembered taking a tentative step forward, only to collapse in a small heap. He remembers stretching, wondering, and finding furry paws where his hands were supposed to be. He'd yelled for his mother then, for comfort, help, and an explanation, but all that had come forward was a pitiful mewl, a little yowl that was strangely familiar to his ears. His heart had beaten in the little body, a staccato rhythm that went in synch with the panic he was feeling.
He remembers his mother storming into the room, the momentary incomprehension on her face, and those long, long legs. He'd cringed away from her tall figure until she kneeled down with an odd, proud smile on her lips. She'd scooped him up to hold him against her chest, and everything was okay again. The world had gotten heavy then, dizzy and after another long moment blissfully dark.
Upon waking in his bed, stretched out oddly on the pillow, his father explained that he was something rare, something that happened in pureblood families sometimes, through the combination of power and strong ancestry. He was a strong wizard, an animagus naturalis, similar to a born metamorphmagus child. The ability seemed to come from his mother's side, as her family had a strong line of shape shifting magic. She told him stories about his cousin Nymphadora, who had changed her appearance for every family picture, and great-great-uncle Ansellus, who had fallen in love with a married witch and spent two years as her pet cat. Those were strange evenings, with his mother being warm and pleasant as she stroked over his fur until he purred in bliss.
His father had someone come and teach him to control this ability, preventing him from waking up with furry ears, or a bushy brown, black striped tail. He did it for fun sometimes, until his infuriated father started punishing him to keep him from showing off. His father used his natural ability to teach him about pure blood and the advantages of being better. With self-righteous smiles and firm words, his father told him what was right and what was wrong, and his young mind soaked it up as his father's wisdom. It seemed so reasonable at the time, and he never got to meet people with other opinions to dissuade him.
His mother started buying him books about leopards, even a Muggle t-shirt with a leopard on it and posters to stick to his walls – no matter that he wasn't exactly a normal leopard and the spots were always off. His father bought him books on dark creatures, heavy books about the greatest dark wizards who had the scariest animagus forms. He didn't look through those, but he learned a lot about leopards and at seven had long since decided that he would visit Africa at some point in his life.
His father didn't like his animagus form much, and insisted that someone born with that much power could and should choose another animal as his form. He didn't understand what was wrong with being a clouded leopard – a form that came with a bushy tail he could spend hours chasing in a circle, a form that allowed him to climb high trees and bite through furniture.
His father urged him to try another form, and when he didn't, he told him that he was a disgrace to the family in that form. His father often told him that on the path he was going to be walking on there was no need for fur and bushy tails. He was pressed to take on a more dangerous, more threatening form, and when he gave in, his mother screamed and his father's eyes lit up with joy. He received a new broom the next day, but couldn't enjoy it after being sick in the bathroom for half the night.
He stuck to his four paws after that experience, using his animagus form as a kind of play toy which brought him entertainment for hours on end. He spent hours hiding in the high grass from the house elves, only coming in when his hunger became stronger than his will.
When he was old enough, they put him on the list of animagi, and when the examiners asked, he shook his head in panic, denying the second form his father had him take on. The instructor Read him, and wrote the second form down next to his name but didn't question the lie – it seemed wrong to force a nine year old to transform into something that gave him nightmares.
In Potions they once worked with the claws of a cock, and he had hives spread over his body. His animagus form didn't like it. He was afraid of weasels, had panicked during the ferret incident because of it. He was often sleepy, taking on that characteristic from the leopard form. He never told his father that being born to the animal form was a weakness to him. The urge to change itched at his skin sometimes, and he had to cut his nails more often.
In Transfigurations, McGonagall had noticed him early on, talked to him in private and gave him permission to change when he felt he had to – he didn't tell her about the second form either. The kinship didn't make her like him any better, and he refused to see her as mentor figure. He could get answers to all his questions from the library.
When his father was angry after he had refused to follow in his footsteps, he'd sent him a curse that forced him into the second form overnight. He'd heard the screams before he even realized what was happening, and nobody understood what he was saying. He'd slithered, ran as fast as he could into the forest to hide and wait - and hoped feverishly it would go away. They'd circled him in, with Hagrid up front; they had almost speared him before Potter came out and talked to him.
Afterward, they yelled at him for not telling them, after he'd been sick from the poison. He couldn't get used to that invading his system. McGonagall cursed at him for not telling her, but he didn't reply. Snape nodded knowingly, remembering the incident in his class. Potter was just happy that he was on the light side now.
When the war came, he assassinated Death Eaters with the second form and sometimes, after Potter had learned how to change, they climbed trees together, or ran through the night. They both knew the chance to survive until the end was slim. They were old enough to bear the brunt of the attacks and old enough to think about death. They weren't friends, and in the presence of others they joked that their animal forms could smell each other and that was enough for now. He told Potter of Africa, of hunting in the grasslands and climbing cycads. And Potter told him of airplanes and where to get tickets. And in the middle of the night, shortly before going to sleep, their plans to run away were as elaborate as their plans for the upcoming attacks.
Sometimes, with Potter at his side, running over the grass, he could almost imagine them running in Africa; in the heat, under the sun, over the dry grasslands.