Disclaimer: I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.
Canon Warning: While this story is expected to follow a similar event timeline as the original series, certain aspects of the characters' situations have been changed and this has the potential of changing the events in the timeline. Also certain aspects of the universe itself are different from the books and interviews. They should be obvious and I will be using the fact that both Hermione and Harry are outsiders to the magical world to get explanations out there. If I miss any, feel free you let me know.
Note from the Author:
This story deals with several topics which may not be appropriate for younger audiences. It will show the darker side of humanity and explore those aspects. Expect mentions of child abuse and neglect, human trafficking, various degrees of dubious consent, exploration of sexuality by minors, practices of various faiths, prejudice in various forms, and violence.
One thing that I believe firmly is that there is no Black and White; that everything is a shade of gray. Thus "good" characters may display the same "bad" traits that they do in canon and "evil" characters may do "good" things. The human condition is vastly complicated. While I strive not to "bash" a character, there are times when a spade must be called a spade.
As an author, I ask for my readers and reviewers to bear in mind that while Rowling's work was meant for children, this story is not targeting the same age group. It will firmly deserve its rating.
I trust my readers and reviewers to be respectful and not shocked about subject matter. Questions are okay, and even encouraged, and I promise to place more specific warning on chapters with graphic details or notations where sections have been removed. Slander or ad hominem attacks will be reported. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Constructive criticism will be listened to even if it seems otherwise.
Through Feline Eyes is inspired by a challenge issued on the AFF forums. While the challenge focused upon the more carnal potential of Hermione's situation, this story will focus on the human side more, especially at first. I do have a partial outline and a few scenes planned, but they are all prior to fifth year.
Specific Warnings for this Story:
T(w)eens being young but still needing to be the one to deal with things: This story picks up during Chamber of Secrets. With the August 31st cutoff for enrollment, chronological ages of the study group range from Hermione's September 1979 (13) to Luna's November 1980 (12) (and for later reference, Ginny's August 1981 [11]). These are kids, no matter how socially aware they may seem at times, and my experience with children is that they are all more than a little ethnocentric. Btw, I have moved this deadline to August 1st in my works.
Classism vs Purism: Yes, this story does deal with "Nature's Nobility" both in the sense of the nobility social class and in the sense of a better brand of human (and not everyone in the story agrees on what makes who better). These opinions run the gauntlet and are a reoccurring theme for this story in addition of being a major plot device.
This story focuses on character plots—which means lots of introspection and internal conflict. This story also focuses on the ongoing and every changing state of human rights in Wizarding UK, especially the political aspects of the definition of "Being". The unfortunate side effect is I am not aiming for a lot of action—there will be some as we go, but it is not the goal as it was in the canon.
Revision Note (12/2016): All chapters have been gone over and minor revisions have been made. The most drastic of which was a character name change (Blink and you'd miss its use. Don't worry. The character has not had any published scene time.) as well as formatting to make it all look the same. It is also more compliant with The Schrodinger Effect, as much as is possible with it being unfinished.
Dedication: This story is dedicated to the estimated 27 million men, women, and children who have had their humanity stolen from them for mere commercial gain while the rest of us pretend it doesn't affect us. We are One. We are Human.
Now the Story…
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Through Feline Eyes
Chapter 01: The End of the Beginning
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"They do not love that do not show their love." – William Shakespeare
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"I'm sorry," Professor McGonagall said and Harry had to admit that she certainly looked it. Though her features were set as sternly as ever, he had learned that the smaller details such as eyes were more important to reading someone's expressions and the Transfiguration teacher's eyes were filled with sorrow, resignation, and tears. Harry nodded at her to show that he understood what she had told him. Beside him, Ron gave an understanding smile. Unfortunately, his next words just proved to Harry just how much he did not understand the situation.
"So she's gonna be a cat for the rest of her life? Wicked!"
Harry looked at Ron aghast that he would say such a thing after being told about Hermione's circumstances. Didn't Ron understand what it meant by Hermione was going to be sold at the end of the school year? Harry had nicked enough newspapers and magazines to know some of what happened to girls and women after they were sold. The thought that Hermione, bossy but nice Hermione, was going to become one of those slaves made Harry's stomach tighten dangerously. Harry felt an impotent anger coursing through him and Ron had unwittingly provided it a target.
"You're being a prat! Don't you realize what 'being sold' means? She'll be no better than a pet!"
"But, Harry—if she's a cat, then she is a pet," Ron protested, his face flushing in reactive anger. "I mean, she'll be like a house elf, wouldn't she? She might look a little like a person, but she's not really one. Think, Harry: she won't be able to bug us about homework anymore."
In that moment, Harry forgot to care that there was a professor in the room. He forgot that Ron was supposed to be one of his best friends and that he didn't have so many that he could afford to lose one. All he saw was someone like his uncle who would dismiss Harry as "just a freak", but Ron was far less intimidating than the much taller and broader (and not to mention fully grown if overweight) man. Harry saw Hermione beating herself with a lamp like Dobby had done when he visited Privet Drive before the start of the year for no other reason than talking bad about her owner and a foul taste filled his mouth as everything took on a red tinge. In that moment, Harry was angry, wanting nothing more than to lash out, and Ron just gave him the perfect target.
"Hermione does more than that, you berk! She's funny and smart! She gets this whole magic thing much more than I do."
"You know, you're right," Ron conceded, looking thoughtful, "I will miss her help on homework—"
Ron never got a chance to finish his sentence as he was forced to stumble backwards from the force of Harry's punch. Harry stood there, shocked at what he did—he knew better than to fight. He always came off the worse in a fight—well, maybe not always. He did win the one against Quirrell last year, after all, but Ron didn't have Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head. The boys stared at each other, both slowly paling. Harry had to consciously focus on unclench his fists. He could feel a slight moist feeling on his right hand and it ached from its contact with Ron's jaw.
"Ron, I'm—"
"Gone barmy, yeah, I gathered that. Listen, I'll—"
"No, you listen! Hermione has been a friend—a right good one, too, and I won't have you insulting her, Ron," Harry interrupted venomously. Later, when he wasn't quite so angry, he would reflect on the strangeness of his persistent anger, but right now, it clawed at his insides like a hungry beast. Despite the little voice that warned him not to push this, Harry couldn't let it go. It touched far too close to the spot that hurt whenever the Dursleys said something similar about him or about his parents. "She helps us with our homework because she cares, Ron, and I think you'd care just a bit more than what you're acting that she might be—that she might be—"
Harry didn't want to say it, as if by not saying it, it wouldn't ever happen. He knew the word, of course. The magazine hadn't defined it, but had said the word in a very matter of fact manner. He had used the big dictionary in the Surrey Library to find the definition. The librarian had been really upset when she had found him looking up that word and the others that related. She had adamantly explained the wrongness of it. Surely, Ron, with his loving parents, knew what would happen to the third part of their trio?
"Twenty points from Gryffindor for hitting another student," McGonagall said in the gap left by Harry's faltering over the possible future of Hermione. She sighed deeply before adding, "and ten points to Gryffindor for defending a friend in peril. Now, Misters Weasley and Potter, please return to your seats. The headmaster has managed to put off the Ministry until the end of the school year, so until then I want you to act as if nothing has changed and try to help Miss Granger adjust to the changes that she has undergone."
"Professor," Harry asked as he took his seat, "will Hermione really be auctioned to the highest bidder?"
"I'm afraid so, Mr. Potter," the Scottish woman regretfully replied. Her brogue was thick in her dismay. Harry rubbed his left palm over the knuckles of his right hand to help ease the dull throbbing there. The throbbing in his heart would probably take much longer to heal. He glared at the ink well setting innocently on McGonagall's desk. In an attempt to distract himself, he mentally listed the different shades of magic clinging to it. The silence was tense as Harry screwed up his courage to ask the question that usually got the worse beatings from his aunt and uncle.
"Why?"
"I don't know, Mr. Potter. Perhaps we'll never know fully, but I suspect that it has a lot to do with the policies of the Senior Undersecretary, a woman by the name of Dolores Umbridge. She feels—very strongly about those who are part magical creature…and those of muggle heritage."
"But she's not showing…um, you know…different instincts? Just the furriness?"
"Madam Pomfrey has gotten rid of most of the fur now. Miss Granger just has the tail and ears now. From what I've seen, she does not demonstrate any more of a cat's instincts than an animagus would."
"Then why, Professor? Why say she's not a person? She still thinks—she still feels. She still can do magic. Why pretend that she can't?"
"Oh, Mr. Potter," the woman said with a deep sigh. "Why indeed?"
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Hermione had known when she erupted in fur after taking her portion of the Polyjuice that her life was about to change. Of course, her unfailing faith in authority had immediately assured her that everything would be all right. Madam Pomfrey would fix her in a trice. Surely there was something to be done.
But the foul-tasting flushing potion did not get rid of the tail or move her ears back from their perch atop her head. No matter how many flicks or swishes that the matron gave of her wand, Hermione's claws remained in place of her bitten nails. The complicated spell that took five full minutes to say did very little to the roughness of her tongue and the new shape of her pupils.
Madam Pomfrey had called in an accidental magic expert from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries at that point and the whole useless process had repeated. The healers began experimenting. All they managed to affect was changing the colors of her cat features from matching Millicent Bulstrode's kneazle to being more in line with her natural coloring. Despite the lack of significant process, Hermione had not begun to be afraid until the expert had mentioned having to inform the Ministry of Magic about the situation. Even that would not have been frightening if Madam Pomfrey's reaction had not been practically begging for continued silence.
It was not until she met the dispassionate representative from the Control of Magical Creatures Department that Hermione truly began to worry. The man had been cold to the point of rudeness, and it only got worse after learning that her parents were muggles. He had explained to the headmaster, not to Hermione—that it was not as if a real witch had been involved and that was why she could not be classified as a "being". It was in that conversation that she had learned what happened to "magical creatures" without that classification. They had to be taken care of by someone; someone had to be responsible for it. "Owned" was the word the representative had used. It reminded Hermione of her cousin's hunting dogs.
Even now, she felt sick at the memory of Dumbledore negotiating in the middle of the Hospital Wing with its too bright light and overly clean smell. Halfway through the byplay, Madam Pomfrey had left, pale and shaking. It was a sight as unnerving as hearing her future and possible uses discussed and argued in front of her. Hermione knew about the human trafficking that was still a problem in the muggle world—she was too well read not to be—but she had had the childish belief that with magic, there would not be those kinds of problems.
She knew better now, didn't she?
Hermione was pulled from her dark thoughts by the door to the infirmary opening. After a few moments, it shut again without anyone entering. She sighed, knowing who she was waiting for and knowing it was unreasonable to expect them. Madam Pomfrey had been keeping all visitors away and it was long after curfew anyroad. Her boys would not be so utterly stupid as to risk being caught out of the dorms while an unknown monster was on the loose. She startled when her bed dipped under the weight of an invisible person and promptly wanted to smack herself on the forehead. Of course Ron wouldn't—as much as an immature prat as he can be most of the time, he wouldn't do anything he knew would destroy his mother. Harry didn't have any qualms about that; if he felt a friend needed him, he would be there.
"Harry?" she whispered instead. Harry responded by flicking his hood back so that his head appeared to be floating. He had a nervous smile on his face as if he wanted to reassure her, but was not certain how he'd be received.
"Hey, Hermione," he replied in a matching whisper. Harry looked over his shoulder towards the door to Madam Pomfrey's office as if expecting the formidable matron to burst forth at any moment. Finally, he looked back and pushed his glasses up his nose with a single finger. "I was not expecting you to still be up," he admitted. "You've always been the early to bed type before…"
"I haven't been sleeping really well lately," Hermione confessed. Her eyes prickled with tears and her ears laid back. Her light brown tail twitched restlessly. She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat.
"Hermione, I—I'm not smart like you are," Harry said haltingly. He seemed unsure of what he was saying but each word rang out and registered as important the same way her Uncle Corey's had before his death and the way her father's voice was beginning to as well. It was powerfully confident in an understated way. "But what they are doing—it's wrong. I'll find a way to save you. I promise."
"Oh, Harry," Hermione choked out around a sob. The measure of control she had managed vanished like snow in August. Hope was far too painful right now. "How? It's impossible!"
"Magic," Harry answered more confidently. "Magic caused the problem. Magic can bloody well fix it!"
Hermione was freely crying then and did not even do a token scolding about his language. Harry shifted uncomfortably for a moment before he reached out and pulled the little witch into his arms. Awkwardly, he patted her back a few times before he settled into stroking the pajama-covered surface like one would a cat. That seemed more soothing to the distraught girl than the patting had been. It also helped to center Harry, allowing the stiffness to drain from his wiry form.
'I promise,' he vowed silently. Neither child noticed the aged Head of Gryffindor watching from the doorway, tears running down her face.