Previously:

The Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch match for the Cup.

Gryffindor won.

The euphoria of the match lasted at least for the next week, dampened only by the fact that the days had become unbearably hot, but we weren't able to relax in the shade because exams were almost upon us.

Fred, George, and I had started a betting pool on who was more like a maniac: Hermione, who was extremely sleep-deprived and would explode upon anyone in the Common Room speaking above a whisper, or Percy, who desperately needed good exam scores in order to achieve the job at the Ministry that he wanted.

Harry, Ron, and I were just content to ride out the storm.

Currently, we were all lounging in the Common Room; Hermione was buried in a book, Ron and Harry were engaged in a vicious (but quiet) chess game, and I was sprawled across the couch, an essay spread across my lap and every bone in my body aching.

For some reason, I had been sore all over for the past week – Harry and Ron were just convinced that it was left over from the match, and outwardly I agreed, but internally I knew that the bruise above my eye wasn't hurting and neither should anything else.

A tapping at the window distracts me from the forty-two uses of slugs in various potions, and I look up to see an unfamiliar owl watching me.

"Anyone going to get that?" I ask, glancing around at my friends. No one shows any sign of having heard me or the owl. "Fine," I huff, setting my parchment and quill aside. "Make the one in pain get it, why don't you?"

"What was that, Ori?" Hermione asks absently, glancing up from her book for only a moment.

"Nothing," I grumble as I open the window, letting the owl hop inside before untying the small note that it carried. I unroll the note and read the first line as the owl flies away. "It's from Hagrid."

That got everyone's attention, and they all crowd around me, books and chess forgotten.

"What is it?" Hermione asks curiously.

I quickly scan the paper and let out a long breath. "They've set an execution date," I announce. "It's set for the sixth."

"Well, at least exams will be over by then, we could be there for, y'know, support," Harry suggests with a shrug.

"He said we shouldn't be there," Hermione, who had been reading over my shoulder, said. "He doesn't want us to see Buckbeak…you know."

"Well then, we're definitely going," I decide.

The bookworm looks at me like I've just announced that I was transferring to Slytherin. "Um, Ori, Hagrid expressly told us not to go. And he's a professor."

I give Hermione the same smile I give the twins just before pulling a prank. "'Mione, you've known me for three years now, and you still don't know that someone telling you not to do something is a perfect reason to do it anyways?"

She holds my gaze for a moment before sighing. "Okay, I'm not saying we can't, but we still shouldn't. Harry really needs to be careful, and you…" Her eyes flick downwards to my ankle cuff, still glowing green.

"I can be out between sunrise and sunset," I remind her with a disgruntled look at the offending cuff. "I'll be fine."

I turn to head back to the couch, feeling her frown on my back, when a sudden burst of pain in my back brings me to my knees with a soft gasp.

Hermione and Ron are instantly by my side, and I can feel Harry hands on my back, holding me up.

"Ori, what is it?" Hermione asks frantically.

"It's...nothing," I mutter as soon as I get my breath back. "I'm...okay."

"No, you're not," she insists.

"This isn't a Quidditch injury." Ron frowns. "Maybe you should go see Pomfrey."

"No." I shake my head and push myself off the ground, standing on shaking legs like a newborn foal. "I'm fine, it's nothing."

"Last time you doubled over in pain, you were turning into another person," Harry points out. "It's not nothing."

Ron makes a face. "Ori, you had better not be turning into someone else again. That'd be weird."

I laugh at that before wincing, the movement jarring my sore ribs. "I'm fine," I insist at their worried looks. "Look, if it'll help you sleep at night, I'll go see Madam Pomfrey."

"I'll take you," Hermione offers, getting up to grab her bag.

"No, I'll be fine." I wave her off, shuffling back towards the portrait hole.

Harry gives me a concerned look. "I don't really think you should go on your own, Ori. Do you want me to take you?"

"No," I growl, both in pain and frustration. "I will be okay. I'll call Dobby if it gets too much, okay?"

Hermione and Ron look troubled, but Harry must've believed me because he puts a hand on each of their arms, nodding at me.

I return the nod and hobble my way out of the Common Room, managing to hoist myself through the portrait hole with no small amount of grunting.

Once I'm out of earshot of the Fat Lady, I lean wearily against the wall and sink to the floor, curling into a small ball. Every one of my nerve endings felt like they were on fire, my organs felt my they were playing bumper cars at high speed, and my bones seemed to be ripping themselves apart.

"Dobby," I croak quietly.

A loud crack is heard before the aforementioned elf appears. "Missy Rissy called Dobby! Is Missy Rissy hurt?"

"Don't worry about it," I hiss between clenched teeth. "Dobby, do you know…on the seventh floor…the painting of…the trolls learning ballet? The room…opposite that?"

Dobby only looks confused for a moment before nodding, his gigantic ears flopping up and down. "You's is speaking of the Come and Go Room, Miss! Dobby knows it."

"Take me there," I demand, probably harsher than intended, but the pain was getting steadily worse. "Take me there…and then leave…please Dobby."

Dobby looks concerned for another moment before nodding again and reaching out to grab my arm, snapping his fingers before the world goes black.

For a moment, I'm worried that I've passed out, but then the black disappears with another crack, and I'm on the floor of the 'Come and Go Room', as Dobby called it.

I manage to hoist myself onto my hands and knees before falling into a slightly different balled-up position, this one facing the floor.

Because oh my Merlin's ivory dentures this hurts soooo bad.

SO BADLY.

Do you know what it's like to feel your bones rearrange without any anesthesia of any kind? To have every organ in your body suddenly shift from where it's supposed to be to where it's not? To have your skull decide to reshape itself like a blob of wet clay? To have your spine deciding it wants to stretch out and add a few more vertebrae?

No?

Oh…well, I can say that it bloody. Freaking. Hurts.

I do have to admit that the pain does eventually stop – only once I've thrown up maybe three times and had three momentary black-outs, of course; but it does eventually fade, first to a more manageable level and then to a dull ache, like one should feel after a Quidditch match.

The first sign that something isn't right comes right as soon as I open my eyes, because I'm pretty sure I didn't have a black, furry snout when this all started. Or a shiny, wet black nose, for that matter.

I bolt to my feet and almost immediately fall over again, because my feet felt…odd…and – wait. These were not my feet.

They were paws.

I drop my head to look at myself, my jaw dropping with a weird whining noise.

Bloody hell.

I'd actually done it – I was staring at a dog.

I was an Animagus.