Chapter 35: Hope is A Thing With Feathers

Harry was not a fan of the Potion. Not at all.

He took it twice a day: 8 in the morning and 8 at night. He'd timed it that way so that he could handle morning Quidditch practice.

Harry had refused to be grounded. It'd taken a lot of begging, far more than was dignified, but he'd finally gotten Madame Pomfrey to clear him. Flying was something Harry couldn't give up. Practices made him feel better, freer, healthier. It made him feel less like the invalid he was most of the time these days.

Remus hadn't been kidding when he'd said that the Potion had side-effects. They started around an hour after taking the Potion and lasted until hour 10. Harry primarily experienced aches and fatigue during the day. It was rough, but he was able to get through classes well enough. Nights were worse. Much worse.

At night, the pain in his bones grew to terrible levels, stabbing jolts of agony running along his body. Even his intense fatigue couldn't bring him to sleep when the pain reached its peak. There was no relief. He couldn't take any other Potions while on this one. The ingredients were volatile and reacted badly with every Potion that could help him: Dreamless Sleep, Pain Relief Potions, etc. He had no choice but to grit his teeth and bear the pain. The only thing that got him through those long nights was the promise of flight. He looked forward to Quidditch practice more than he ever had before. In the air, his bones stopped aching, the fatigue was replaced with Adrenaline, he could breathe again. He always felt more tired on the days he had practice, but his mood was always better. That was more than enough for Harry. His mood could use all the improvement it could get.

Harry had never felt more useless. He'd been forced to give up nearly all his extra lessons. There was no more Occlumency, no more Dueling, no more Spell-Crafting. He could barely make it through his regular classes without falling asleep. He was forced to run Founders' League meetings from an armchair, confined and imprisoned by his own weakness. He still met with Professor McGonagall on Saturdays, but only because she thought practicing the Animagus meditation would be good for his "emotional health." Harry had found it very difficult not to throw something when she'd used that phrase. He hated being treated like he was fragile. He hated BEING fragile.

He knew it was only temporary, but that didn't make it easier. He was wasting time. Time that he should be using to train, to get better. He was no match for Voldemort at the moment. None at all.

He felt incredibly guilty. Guilty for being such a weakling while Voldemort grew stronger and stronger. He wasn't going to be ready to face him, and people would die because of it.

He compensated by throwing himself into revising for the OWLs. He spent nearly all his free time poring over study guides, textbooks, and practice essays. Most nights, he worked until he couldn't see straight, pushing past his profound fatigue.

If he couldn't train, then he could at least make his parents proud. He could at least show Sirius and Remus that they weren't wasting their time on him. He had to show them that he was worth something. Anything.

More than anything, Harry felt like a burden. People were spending so much of their time caring for him. Snape was making large quantities of a very complex Potion, George was spending all his spare time in Snape's lab working to solve Harry's problem, and his friends were always trying to cheer him up. They were all wasting their time on him and it was all his fault. If he'd only been strong enough to block Voldemort from his mind, then none of this would have happened.

He'd been too weak to keep Voldemort out of his head, and now he was barely strong enough to lift his own head. It was terrible, embarrassing, and demeaning.

It was all his fault.

…

Harry trudged down to the Dungeons, trying hard not to drag his feet. George was walking beside him, slowing his pace to accommodate Harry. They were headed down for Harry's daily meeting with Snape. The Potions Master had to check his blood every 24 hours to make sure that the poison wasn't becoming too concentrated.

George always came with him, refusing to leave Harry alone with Snape. Despite spending most of his evenings with the man, George did not trust Snape. Not in the slightest.

Harry had to pause at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the stone wall of the Dungeon. He rubbed at his hip bone, trying to dispel some of the stiffness there.

"You okay?" George asked, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah. I just need a second."

George had been a rock in the two weeks since Harry had started taking the Potion. He was so endlessly compassionate, so ceaselessly caring. It almost made Harry angry. George was really too good for someone like him.

Harry gave up on his hip and resumed the journey toward Snape's classroom. George knocked, stepping back as Snape flung the door open.

Snape checked his blood quickly, wordlessly. He avoided Harry's eyes, keeping his attention on his task.

Things between Harry and Snape could only be described as awkward. There was so much bad blood between them now. So much anger. So much pain.

Harry knew that Snape was giving up a lot to help him, but he couldn't forget their past. He didn't know how to feel about his Professor anymore.

"The concentration has gone up," Snape observed, looking pensive.

"Really?" George asked, coming to look at the numbers Snape had scrawled in his notes.

"Yes. It's not dangerous yet, but the symptoms may be worse. We'll have to keep an eye on this."

Snape turned to him, something akin to concern in his eyes.

"Potter, if the pain becomes unbearable or if you feel feverish…"

"We'll come straight to you, Professor," George interrupted, brow furrowed in worry.

George was silent as they left the classroom, clearly lost in thought. Harry turned to make their way up to the Great Hall for dinner, but George stopped him.

"Let's go to the Kitchens instead."

"Why?"

"We're having ice cream for dinner."

Harry turned to stare at him.

"Why?" he asked again.

"You've had a hard week. I've had a hard week. We deserve ice cream."

He wasn't wrong.

Dobby was more than happy to supply them with ice cream, leaving them to eat in a comfortable corner of the Kitchens. Harry had invited the House-elf to join them, but Dobby had refused, telling Harry that he shouldn't waste this time alone with his "special friend."

Harry had blushed a deep red at that comment, refusing to meet George's eyes for nearly five minutes.

"George?" Harry asked, breaking the silence between them.

"What happens if the Potion concentration goes up too high?"

Harry had been wondering this for days, not quite understanding what would happen.

George let his spoon fall into his bowl, frowning.

"Your organs will shut down. If we don't catch it in time…"

"I'll die."

George nodded, refusing to meet Harry's eyes.

"This is such a mess," Harry whispered, appetite vanishing.

"I've made such a mess of everything."

George whipped his head up, glaring at Harry.

"Explain to me how this is your fault."

"If I'd…"

"No," George cut him off, pointing his spoon at Harry's chest.

"This isn't your fault. And I'm so...Merlin, I'm so tired of this! Not everything is your fault, okay? At some point, you have to stop putting all the blame on yourself. You have no idea how exhausting it is to put up with your guilt complex all the time!"

Harry bristled, anger and hurt filling him at George's words.

"I'm sorry for making you put up with me, then."

George looked horrified.

"That's not what I meant…"

"Isn't it?" Harry demanded, standing suddenly, hip protesting terribly at the movement.

"I'll give you a break from me. Sounds like you need one."

"Harry…"

Harry left before George could finish speaking, starting to make his way back to the Common Room.

He didn't make it.

After barely a minute of walking, the pain in his hip had grown to a terrible pitch. Unable to keep moving, he collapsed against a wall, grateful that the hallways were deserted. It was a Friday evening and most students were out on the grounds or in the Great Hall.

He sighed heavily, wishing he hadn't left like that. George hadn't meant to hurt him. He was just frustrated by Harry's tendency to blame himself for everything. Harry knew that, but he was just so...fragile right now. The constant pain made it difficult to control his emotions.

He tried to stand unsuccessfully, wincing as his spine protested the movement. The pain was spreading, sending jagged aches across his torso and back. The worst of it was always in his hips and spine. Right now, it was the worst it had ever been. It burned.

"Harry?"

George had followed him. Of course he had.

"Sorry," he gasped, fighting against the pain.

"I shouldn't have walked away like that…"

"Don't worry about that right now. We need to get you back to the Common Room. Or should we go see Snape?"

Harry shook his head.

"No. It's not that much worse than usual. It's just...it happened so quickly."

George pulled him to his feet, supporting most of his weight as they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower. After an exhausting journey through the castle, they stumbled through the Portrait Hole and collapsed onto one of the sofas.

Harry shifted, trying and failing to find a comfortable position. There simply wasn't one. He gave up, laying his head on George's shoulder and breathing deeply. Merlin, this hurt.

"I don't need a break from you," George said suddenly.

"I didn't mean it that way. I could never mean it that way. Never."

"It's okay if you did…"

"I didn't. I just...I'm tired of watching you tear yourself apart with guilt, but I'm not tired of YOU. I could never be tired of you."

Harry smiled.

"Me neither."

Harry winced as a sharp stab of pain ran up his spine.

"Ow," he muttered, grabbing George's hand and gripping it tightly.

"Ow."

"This is the worst," George whispered.

"I hate this so much. I wish I could take this Potion for you."

"I would never let you do that," Harry said, gritting his teeth against another wave of agony.

"I know. But if it was possible, you couldn't stop me."

"What did I do to deserve you?" Harry asked, not expecting an answer.

"You didn't need to do anything, Harry. You have me. Always. No conditions. No fine print."

Despite the pain, Harry smiled, losing himself in the comfort of George.

He dozed off against George's shoulder, adrift in a haze of pain.

…

He was back in the graveyard, heavy mist obscuring his vision.

"Kill the spare!"

Green light flashed through the air, hitting George squarely in the chest.

He fell to the ground, blood pouring from his chest.

Harry collapsed beside him, George's blood soaking through his trousers as it spilled onto the ground.

George's brown eyes grew empty, blank.

He was gone.

"No!" Harry screamed, shaking him hard.

"NO!"

"Well done, Harry," Dumbledore said, suddenly appearing beside him.

"You've killed another one."

Dumbledore's skin was crumbling like dust, bones poking out from beneath decayed flesh.

"Just like you killed me."

Harry woke suddenly, eyes flicking open, breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. His head was still on George's shoulder, body leaning against the other boy. He was shaking, trembling with the aftermath of that horrifying dream.

"It's okay, Harry. It's fine. You're safe."

It was George's voice. He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead.

"You were dead," Harry whispered, heart beating a frantic rhythm, oxygen evading him.

"You were dead…"

"I'm not dead," George reassured, wrapping Harry in a hug.

"I'm not dead. I promise."

It took fully ten minutes for Harry to calm down enough to release George. It was only then that he noticed that they weren't alone. Hermione, Ron, Fred, and Neville were all sitting around them, clearly working on homework. They all look worried.

"Hi," Harry said weakly, blushing brilliantly.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize, Harry," Hermione said kindly.

"It's perfectly normal to have nightmares. I had them for months after the end of Third Year. There's no need to be embarrassed."

Harry smiled at her. She returned the grin, turning back to her ridiculously elaborate Arithmancy notes.

"It's good you woke up," George cut in.

"It's nearly time for your next dose."

Harry groaned. The pain had faded during his nap, but it would return soon after he took the next round of the Potion.

"No whining," George chastised, grabbing the next dose from Harry's bag.

"The great Harry Potter does not whine."

"That's not true," Ron cut in, chuckling.

"You should hear him complain about Astronomy homework!"

"Oi!" Harry said, glaring at his best mate.

"It's not my fault that stars make no sense!"

"They make no sense to YOU. That's not the same thing."

Harry threw a pillow at him, grinning even as he downed a mouthful of poison.

…

It was 3 in the morning.

The concentration of Potion in his blood had been going up steadily over the past week, and Harry couldn't sleep for the pain of it.

The pain he'd experienced in that hallway a week ago was nothing compared to this. It felt like his spine was splintering, like his hips were cracking, like…

"Harry?"

Ron was standing over his bed, looking down at him in concern.

"You good?"

Harry couldn't speak. All he could do was shake his head, biting the inside of his mouth to keep from screaming.

"I'm getting George," Ron said, rushing from the room.

George had pestered Snape until he'd taught him the Spell to test for the poison's concentration. He checked every night, not trusting Harry to tell him when his symptoms worsened.

Ron returned less than 5 minutes later with a pale-faced George.

George waved his wand over Harry's body, face collapsing in relief as he took in the floating numbers.

"He's alright."

"He's not alright!" Ron retorted angrily.

"He's in pain!"

"I know, Ron!" George said, voice cracking as he whispered.

"I can't do anything about it!"

"You can stay with him."

Ron said it quietly, tentatively.

George seemed taken aback.

"I can't...that's not…"

"I won't tell. No one will. Besides, it's not like you'd be doing anything...um...unsavory."

Ron choked on the word, and Harry knew his ears were bright red.

"He always seems to hurt less when you're there."

"Okay," George whispered.

"Thanks, Ron."

George lay down beside him, staying on top of the duvet.

"Hey, Harry," he whispered, taking his hand and squeezing tightly.

"Just breathe, okay? It'll stop soon."

Harry nodded, knowing George was right. If he could just make it until morning, then the pain would fade. But then he would have to take another dose and the pain would return. It always did.

"I'm so tired of this."

He hated the sound of his voice, shaky and desperate.

"I know. We're doing our best to come up with a good solution, Harry. We'll get there. You just need to hold on. If anyone can get through this it's you."

Another jolt of agony ran down Harry's spine and he dug his fingers into George's hand, holding on too tightly.

"You know the Gnomes that live in our garden?" George asked, shifting closer to Harry.

"Yes…"

Harry didn't know where George was going with this.

"When I was eight, one of them adopted this stray kitten. They became the best of friends. The Gnome would ride around on the cat's head like some kind of warrior. It was ridiculous."

George laughed and Harry couldn't help but smile at the sound.

"One day Fred and I pulled a prank on Bill. I think we filled his boots with honey. Anyway, after we'd put everything in place, we saw the cat and the Gnome sitting there. They were watching us. And they were both laughing."

"Cats can't laugh."

"This one did! It was amazing."

George told story after story, chasing away the pain with happy memories and tales of mischief. Hours passed, the light of dawn beginning to climb through the windows, George's hair glinting with golden flecks.

They both fell asleep around 6, grateful that it was a Saturday morning. George shook him awake just after 8, forcing him to take the next dose.

They intended to get up then. Harry had to meet with McGonagall at noon, and they didn't want anyone to know that they'd spent the night together. They could lose a lot of House points for that. Unfortunately, they were both too exhausted, falling back to sleep within minutes.

…

A familiar voice broke through his slumber.

"You're going to be late for McGonagall if you don't wake up."

Hermione was here. Oh no...

Harry opened his eyes, blushing brightly when he realized that he'd shifted closer to George while they'd slept. He moved away, extricating himself from George's arms.

George was already awake, grinning wickedly at him.

"Embarrassed, Harry?"

"No," Harry said, knowing his face was betraying him.

Hermione giggled.

"You two are adorable. Now get up before Professor McGonagall comes looking for you. She'd take so many points off Gryffindor for this."

Harry hurried to get ready, pulling on clothes and rushing out of the dormitory. He felt much better this morning. The Potion was strange that way. He could feel so awful and then be fine just a few hours later. He just wished it was more predictable.

He skidded to a halt outside McGonagall's office, noticing he was 5 minutes late.

"You're late, Potter," she greeted, lips twitching in amusement as she took in his ruffled appearance.

"Sorry, Professor."

He sat in his normal seat, beginning the process of meditating on his Animagus form. In the months since he'd started working with Professor McGonagall, he'd made significant progress. So far, he'd been able to change his arms to wings and his feet to talons. He was so close to making the full transformation. He just needed to focus.

He closed his eyes, imagining that he was on his Firebolt, the wind rushing in his ears, hair blowing in the breeze. As he flew, something changed. His Firebolt disappeared, wings carrying him upward. His hair became feathers, sleek and satiny.

"Potter!"

Harry opened his eyes and screamed.

Well, screeched.

The world looked totally wrong. All the colors were off, bright and glowing.

"You've done it, Potter!"

Had he? He looked down. His body was gone. Instead, a small black owl was perched on his chair. He lifted his claws, examining them with curiosity. This was bizarre.

"Take things slow, Potter. Don't try anything crazy."

Harry knew she was right, but he didn't care. He wanted to fly.

He stretched out his wings, testing their weight. This should be pretty intuitive, right?

It wasn't.

Harry attempted to fly off his chair. For just a moment, he was airborne. Then, he face-planted onto the ground.

"Wonderful, Potter. Excellent work."

Even as a bird, Harry didn't miss the sarcasm.

"Change back."

Harry protested, a pitiful hoot emerging from his beak.

"Now."

Harry focused on his human self, surprised by how easy it was to change back.

Professor McGonagall was beaming at him, pride shining in her eyes.

"You've done it!"

Harry smiled back at her.

"Can I go again? I want to fly!"

Her face turned stern, lips pursing.

"You can try. But, Potter, do not do anything foolish."

Harry grinned wider, concentrating back on his form. It was much easier the second time. He was an owl in seconds.

"You're quite cute," Professor McGonagall said, amused.

"I thought you might look like a predator, but you look more like a…"

Harry hooted indignantly at her, puffing up his feathers. He was NOT cute.

"Calm down, Potter. Honestly. Try flying again. This time, don't think about it. Let your instincts take over."

Taking her advice, Harry flung himself off the chair, clearing his mind. To his delight, his body took over, flight coming as naturally as breathing.

He swooped about the room, hooting gleefully. This was amazing. He flew past the window, noticing that it was open. Maybe he could…

"Don't even think about it, Potter."

Too late.

Harry flew out the window, entranced by the feeling of flight. This was so much better than a broomstick. It was the best feeling in the world.

Harry turned his bird eyes onto the grounds, scanning the grass. He spotted his friends sitting by the lake, homework spread around them.

He flew toward them, relishing in the warm air rushing against his wings. He landed on George's knee.

"What the hell?" George exclaimed.

He leaned in, taking in Harry's appearance.

"Merlin...is that Harry?" Ron asked, staring at the small black owl that had replaced his best mate.

Harry hooted in affirmation, puffing out his chest.

"Oh!" Hermione said, moving in to stroke Harry's feathers.

"He's so sweet!"

Harry snapped his beak at her fingers, doing his best to glare at her.

"Hey!" she said, pulling her hand away.

"Don't be mean."

"Does McGonagall know you're out here?" George asked, staring into Harry's eyes.

Harry hooted, feeling a bit guilty that he'd left.

"I'll take that as a no, then. Come on, I'll take you back. You'll have to stay in bird form. We don't want anyone to see you transform."

George moved Harry onto his arm before rising to his feet and heading back to the castle.

"You are actually pretty cute. Not as cute as your human self, but…"

Harry dug his claws into George's arm, hooting his disapproval.

"Hey! That was a compliment."

Harry huffed, turning his back to George. The other boy just laughed.

They arrived at McGonagall's office without incident, the door swinging open before George could knock.

"Bring him inside."

George stepped into the room, setting Harry onto McGonagall's desk. Harry fluttered to the floor, transforming back to his human form.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor, Potter."

Harry nodded. He deserved that.

"You could have been seriously injured. Think before you act next time."

"Sorry, Professor."

She smiled at him, fondness in her eyes.

"It's alright, Potter. I'm hardly surprised. You're just like your father in that way."

Harry grinned at her. He never grew tired of being compared to James Potter. He loved how close it made him feel to his Dad.

"Now, go away."

Harry thanked her, heading back to the Common Room with George.

"We have to call Sirius," George said suddenly.

"We need to show him your form."

Harry couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that sooner. He quickened his pace, dragging George toward the Room of Requirement.

Once inside the Room, Harry pulled the mirror from his bag and handed it to George.

"Here. You hold it. I'll transform."

Harry focused, turning easily into the small black owl.

He hopped onto George's hand, positioning himself so that he was in clear view of the mirror.

"Sirius Black."

His godfather took a few minutes to appear, looking a bit flustered. He had sawdust in his hair.

"Hi, George! Sorry it took me a second. I was working on remodeling the attic. Where's Harry?"

"Here," George said, lifting Harry into the mirror.

Sirius stared, mouth hanging open.

"Merlin! He did it! MOONY, COME HERE!"

Remus came running, looking worried.

"What's happened?"

"Harry did it! LOOK!"

Harry had never seen Sirius look this excited before. Remus looked at the owl in the mirror, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Is that…?"

Harry bobbed his head up and down, the bird equivalent of a nod.

He transformed back, nearly knocking George over as he did so.

"Ta-da!"

To Harry's surprise, Remus' eyes filled with tears.

"Remus? What…?"

"That's just what your father said the first time he transformed."

"Oh. Sorry…"

"No. It's amazing. The day that they told me that they'd completed the transformation was one of the best days of my life. You just reminded me of that. Thank you, Harry."

Harry smiled at Remus, happy to have made him happy.

"Can you fly yet?" Sirius asked excitedly.

"He flew out the window of McGonagall's office," George said, chuckling.

"Nice, Harry! We'll make a Marauder of you yet!"

Sirius frowned.

"You need a name."

"No," Harry said.

"No offense, Sirius, but all your names are terrible. I'd really rather not have one."

Sirius looked affronted.

"I came up with those names myself!"

"Exactly."

"What about Feathers?"

"No."

"Birdbrain?"

"NO!"

A/N: Sorry for the delay! Yesterday was hectic (in a good way), and I just didn't have time to finish editing this chapter until this afternoon.

Next chapter is coming WEDNESDAY and will feature Harry playing the Quidditch Final despite the Potion making things rather difficult. Also, for anyone wondering, we've got about 6 chapters left in this story. I have plot maps for 6th- and 7th-year sequels though, so things are far from over!

Thank you for the favorites, follows, and comments! I really appreciate it!