XXV: A Small Success
As Minerva lay there, drowsy from the warmth of the blanket and from the emotional exhaustion of the day, she remembered another early occasion that ought to have warned her that It was coming. It was a Saturday morning, she remembered clearly, and he had told her recently that he wouldn't be making any more trips for a while. The wards here were going to occupy him for a time, and there was little more he could do on the Continent at the moment. Apparently, many of his trips had been spent not only in searching for Grindelwald and spying on the Dark Wizard's followers, but also in trying to rescue captives held by Grindelwald in various miserable places, as well as attempting to rescue Muggles attempting to escape from Germany and Nazi-occupied Europe. Occasionally, the two missions would merge since, in certain communities in Europe, Muggle-Magic marriages were much more common than in England. Although Minerva was glad that her professor would not be going on anymore dangerous trips for a while, she felt guilty being happy about it since it meant that there was no more hope of him helping any additional wizards or Muggles who were trying to escape. Minerva didn't even want to ask if it meant that they were all dead already. It certainly seemed possible, after all she had read of the war.
There was a Quidditch game that afternoon, Ravenclaw-Slytherin, so although Gryffindor wasn't playing, the common room was buzzing with excitement. There was a great debate about whether it was more to Gryffindor's advantage if Ravenclaw won or Slytherin, and Minerva had had to intervene several times to keep people from jinxing each other in an attempt to emphasise the correctness of their positions. Finally, Minerva gave up, saying that if they wanted to jinx each other and end up in the hospital wing instead of going to the match that afternoon, that was fine with her. Hoping that would provide them incentive to keep their wands to themselves, she had flounced out of the portrait-hole with her book-bag and headed off to the Transfiguration classroom.
Professor Dumbledore was there when she arrived, which pleased her greatly, although she was a little worried that he'd be too busy to have her use the classroom that morning. Instead, he suggested that they work on some of her Animagus exercises. In addition to the type that she had worked on over the summer, which were essentially a series of progressive exercises that helped focus the mind, the magic, or the physical energies of the practitioner – sometimes all three at once, although she hadn't advanced to those yet – there were other exercises in which the practitioner focussed her mind on a particular quality of a particular animal and then used her wand to cast a transformative spell on one of her body parts, usually a hand or foot. It was a difficult spell since it was completely nonverbal, with no incantation even possible, and it required the caster to concentrate fully on both the essence of the particular animal and on the sensation of the body part in question.
Minerva had tried this twice before, in Dumbledore's presence, and had rather lacklustre results, she thought. The first time, she had focussed on her left hand and on the quality of a squirrel's fur since that seemed simple to her and had managed only a smattering of silvery-grey hairs on the back of her hand. The second time, on the same occasion, she had removed her left shoe and sock, crossed her ankle somewhat indelicately over her right knee, and concentrated on a raven's claw. Those results, although Dumbledore had said they were positive, were more disastrous, to Minerva's mind. Instead of either turning into a raven's claw, which would have been a perfect result, or at least changing her foot black, or something normal like that, three of her toes sprouted extremely long, sharp toenails, which she was unable to get rid of, even after concentrating on what her foot should feel like. Professor Dumbledore had had to cast a spell to force her toenails to resume their normal shape and size.
So this Saturday morning, she sat in a chair in Professor Dumbledore's office, cleared her mind, and focussed on her hand, then added to that the essence of a dog's paw, imagining vividly the forepaw of a border collie. She opened her eyes, raised her wand, and cast. To her immense disappointment, only a patch of dark, black fur had appeared on the back of her hand and down the length of her fingers.
Impatiently, she waited for Professor Dumbledore to examine her hand, turning it this way and that, stroking the fur the wrong way, then peering at its roots, before she could wave her wand and reverse the spell.
"Well, at least this time, I could reverse it," she said ruefully.
He looked at her thoughtfully. "Explain to me exactly what you were concentrating on before you cast."
Minerva told him, in as much detail as she could manage, her entire thought process prior to casting. She watched him as he walked in a slow circle, looking at apparently nothing. Suddenly, he turned and said, "Cast it on my hand, instead."
"But how?" she protested. "The spell requires me to focus not just on the dog's paw, but on my hand, the way it feels, its bone, muscle, skin, blood, and so on. How am I supposed to cast it on you?"
"It will require a variation on your focus, of course, but that should be a relatively simple matter. Your ability to focus your magic in empathy with other living creatures is excellent, Minerva. The exercises you have been practising since the beginning of the summer have made that part easy for you, wouldn't you say?"
"I suppose. I guess that's why this is so frustrating. Using an ordinary Transfigurative spell, I can change my hand into a dog's paw and back again with no problem. And I did that last week, repeatedly, as you know. But I can't force my hand to transform itself into a dog's paw. I don't know why." Minerva sighed.
"That's why I would like you to perform the spell on my hand, first. We know it is not that you don't know what your hand feels like when it is a dog's paw since, as you pointed out, you've performed an ordinary Transfiguration on it. Clearly, you are also achieving some kind of internal magical effect that drew forth the fur just now, and which we could no doubt diagnose in detail, if we were so inclined, but I don't believe that such a diagnosis would aid you at this point."
"But, Professor, your hand isn't my hand. I can't use an Animagus spell to Transfigure it!" Minerva, in all her reading, had never heard of anything like that being done.
"Ah, Minerva, but you can! I would perform it on you – and will, later, if you wish – but since you are trying to learn to cast, I would prefer you give it a try first."
"I have no idea how," Minerva said, feeling slightly stubborn about it, mainly because she still didn't know what her professor was getting at.
"As I said, your strength at the moment is your magical empathy. Although it may complicate things a bit to focus both on the dog's paw and on my hand, I believe that you will be able to. Once you have my hand fixed clearly, cast the dog's paw. Do not hesitate; the essence of the dog's paw is at your ready disposal, Minerva. Have faith that you do not need to linger over it. Simply cast." He held out his right hand to her.
"Um, Professor, I'm not sure this is a good idea." Albus raised an eyebrow at her, but she continued. "I don't mean the idea as such, I meant casting it on your wand hand. I know you can use your wand with your left, but I would really prefer not . . . messing with your wand hand, if you know what I mean."
Dumbledore smiled and dutifully stretched out his left hand to her. She looked at it and hesitated.
"Go ahead, Minerva, feel free! My hand is yours, at the moment," he said, grinning.
She smiled back, and took his hand in her own two smaller ones. She pushed the cuff of his robe back so that she could see the fine, well-proportioned wrist bones. She rested the palm of his hand in her left one while examining it with her right, running the tips of her fingers from his wrist across the back of his hand and down his long fingers. She held his hand closer to her face, seeing all the small, dry lines that mapped the back of his hand, and the short, fine hairs; then Minerva examined his clean, neatly trimmed fingernails, running a finger along those, as well. She could feel a warm, deep vibration coming from him that was clearly not physical, and she felt wonderment that his magic expressed itself so strongly when he was simply at rest in a chair. His hand still cradled in her left one, she moved her examination to his thumb, taking it in her right hand, scrutinizing it, pressing it in toward his hand, then extending it, then letting it lay at rest. She was just about to turn his hand over to examine the palm when, without thinking, she lightly stroked her index finger down the length of his thumb, wondering whether he had sucked it as a child, and whether it would help her exploration if she were to raise it to her own mouth . . . . That thought, which not long ago she would have dismissed as pure silliness, created the strangest reaction in her, as a warm tingle began low in her abdomen. Shaking herself mentally, she forced herself to return to her focus, and the tingle, ignored, subsided as she turned his hand over and explored his palm minutely. Again, a strange, unbidden thought passed through her mind, of how pleasant it would be to sit and hold his hand, stroke his palm, and caress the sensitive tips of his fingers, not because of a Transfiguration exercise, but just because it was his hand and it felt nice. At that distracting thought, Minerva closed her eyes and forced her mind and her magic back to their proper focus.
Eyes shut, she held his left hand between her two palms for what seemed an eternity as she tried to absorb its nature. When she opened her eyes, she said, "Ready?" He simply smiled slightly and nodded, so she released his hand, picked up her wand, and with the knowledge of his hand fixed firmly in her mind, she quickly called up the collie's paw and cast.
Albus's hand shivered a moment, like a mirage in the desert, then it slowly seemed to darken and melt. For a brief second, Minerva was alarmed, but before she could even register her own sense of panic, before her lay a perfect example of a border collie's paw. True, it was larger than usual since it seemed that it had taken on the size of Albus's hand, but it was perfect. Almost tossing her wand down on the desk, she reached over and grabbed Albus's hand, or paw.
Feeling that suddenly snatching up her professor's hand was rude, she apologised. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir! I wasn't thinking – may I? Does it hurt? What does it feel like? Did it hurt when it changed?"
"Of course you may, and no, it doesn't hurt. It feels much as I remember a dog's paw feeling the last time I did such an exercise. No, the Transfiguration didn't hurt, precisely, although it was more uncomfortable than when one casts the spell on oneself. And may I take this opportunity to say, 'Well done, Miss McGonagall'?"
Minerva was thrilled. It was a long way from her Animagus transformation, and she had yet to be able to perform the spell on herself, but it was a major success. Dumbledore called Wilspy and had her bring a pitcher of pumpkin juice and a plate of shortbread to celebrate.
As she munched on her biscuit, Minerva thought of something. "Professor, I was wondering a few things."
"That comes as such a surprise, Miss McGonagall! I didn't think you had a curious bone in your body!" he teased.
Minerva just smiled, shook her head at him indulgently, and continued with her questions. "Well, first, why don't they mention this technique in any of the books I've read – even in yours? Second, if I can change your hand into a paw, and I can, eventually, turn my hand into a paw, why can't I change my hand into your hand, and then just, well, turn myself into you? No Polyjuice needed!"
"Ah, Minerva, I believe that you will find part of the answer to your first question there in your final statement. I do believe that attempting to Transfigure oneself into the likeness of another human being might be possible – it would certainly be possible to Transfigure certain aspects, such as the hand – but such a Transfiguration might have unwanted side effects, upon which one may only speculate. But even were there no side effects, the practical consequences of being able to Transfigure oneself into the likeness of another human being without the use of Polyjuice could be quite negative. Also, remember that whomever you wished to Transfigure yourself into would have to be someone whom you knew intimately. It is one thing to Transfigure a hand, or even a face, but to Transfigure an entire body – well, it seems unlikely that anyone would wish to Transfigure themselves into someone they know that well by happenstance, and more unlikely still that someone they didn't know well would allow them to gain familiarity sufficient to enable such a Transfiguration. Not to mention that most practitioners . . . ."
Dumbledore went on, discussing the practical, ethical, and magical implications of human-to-human internal Transfiguration, and the differences between an Animagus and a Metamorphmagus, and how both were different still from the kind of Transfiguration they were discussing, but Minerva's mind had already stopped at his words, "whomever you wished to Transfigure yourself into would have to be someone whom you knew intimately. It is one thing to Transfigure a hand, or even a face, but to Transfigure an entire body . . . ." She thought of her minute exploration of her professor's hand – a hand that she already knew well after more than four years studying with him. Minerva halted herself from pursuing that thought any further, that thought which questioned: what kind of "intimate knowledge" would she need to acquire in order know the rest of his body that well? She turned her attention back to what Professor Dumbledore was saying just in time to hear the words, "Dark Magic."
"I'm sorry, sir, I don't think I caught what you just said, what was that about Dark Magic?"
"Just that some people would classify what you just did as Dark, although it is not officially labelled so."
"I'm afraid my mind wandered a bit, why do people think it's Dark? I mean, anyone from about the third year up can cast a spell that will Transfigure someone's hand into a paw of some kind."
"I see that the excitement of success has distracted you, my dear. As I said a moment ago, it is not the effect of the Transfiguration," Albus scratched the fur on the back of his paw, "it is the manner in which it is achieved. You forced an internal or essential Transfiguration upon another person – in a sense, you made my hand your own first, and then forced it to Transfigure itself from the inside out."
"What? I didn't feel as though I was forcing anything –" Minerva stammered.
"'Force' only in the sense of having my hand, the cells of my body, do something that is against their nature – rather like forcing crocus bulbs indoors. And as for the other sense of the word, you might be able to force such a Transfiguration on a Muggle against his will, but to do it on a conscious, aware wizard would require a great deal more power than you expended in your effort here – although I do notice you ate the last of the shortbread without any trouble!"
"So someone could force such a Transfiguration on someone else against their will only if they used much more magical energy than I did with your hand just now?"
"Yes; so you see that using an ordinary Transfiguration spell is a far easier way to turn your friend's hand into a paw! Of course, doing that requires an incantation, and to perform it nonverbally would take practice. Speaking of turning a friend's hand into a paw, do you suppose you could," Albus said, gesturing at his paw with his right hand.
"Of course, sir!" Embarrassed that she hadn't thought of it earlier, especially when he kept scratching his fur, Minerva picked up her wand, concentrated on his hand as a hand, prepared to cast, and then hesitated.
"Minerva?"
"I'm sorry, Professor, it's just that I'm more nervous about this than I was about performing the Transfiguration in the first place. Supposing I do it wrong?"
"Don't worry about it, just cast away – rest assured that my hand very much wants to be a hand again and will give you its full cooperation!"
Minerva didn't even smile at that, but furrowed her brow in concentration, and then cast as quickly and forcefully as she could, before she could become nervous again. This time there was a smooth transition, as the fur rapidly disappeared, the fingers elongated, the palm widened, and his hand reappeared.
Albus flexed his fingers, and said, "Very good, Minerva."
"May I see? Is it really all right?"
"Yes, my dear, of course. And it certainly feels fine. In fact, I do believe my fingers feel more limber than usual." Albus smiled at her.
Minerva took his hand, and in contrast to the painstaking examination she had performed before, simply held it, turned it over, then bent his fingers forward and back again. Letting go, she declared, "Well, at least you don't seem any the worse for it! Was it as uncomfortable as the initial change?" she asked. "It looked like it went more smoothly."
"No, it wasn't; in fact, although such a thing always feels peculiar, particularly when the spell is cast by someone else, I barely noticed anything beyond a kind of odd stretching and rolling. You did very well, indeed. I believe you will have greater success the next time you attempt it on your own hand. However, we have already missed lunch, and will miss the Quidditch game if we do any more at the moment. Perhaps we could meet tomorrow afternoon, just before dinner, and resume."
Minerva readily agreed to this plan, and left to join her friends and troop off to watch a very exciting, rather cut-throat, Quidditch match, which Ravenclaw won by only two points, after their Seeker made a mad flight after the Snitch, catching it only seconds before crashing, ironically, into the Slytherin section of the stands. It was a clear win, however, and as unhappy as Slytherin House was at the loss, a couple of burly seventh-years pulled the hapless Seeker out by his ankles from the rather large hole he had created, and he was sent off to the hospital wing to be treated for concussion and who-knew-what-else.
Minerva was aglow from the excitement of the match, her success with the Transfiguration exercise, and the prospect of another tutorial with Professor Dumbledore the next day. After dinner – during which she spent more time than usual just talking with her friends, rehashing the game and debating the necessity of the Ravenclaw Seeker's dive into the Slytherin stands, and hardly any time worrying about her project, or the wards, or whether she should have volunteered for an additional Prefect Patrol duty that evening – she retired to bed early to reread Emergent Creature again. Minerva was as relaxed that evening as ever she had been, with not a clue that in just a matter of days, her internal peace would be shattered.
A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing! The next installment finds Minerva having a larger success.