I've been away from this story for a while, and seeing that I have 1k followers, I would be remiss in not warning you about the slight change of tone of this chapter in particular.
This whole fanfiction has been about magic more than anything else, the events and interactions among characters, few as they've been, exist only to showcase this or that tidbit of magic. Which was more or less my first aim for this story. Now, I can't completely ignore Voldemort, and while I am eager to return to an 'only magic' fic, it will take a while to find back my steam. Since the last time I wrote 'The Bigger Picture' my has English improved, so this should make the readers less willing to lynch me for my frankly horrible grammar.
This chapter will be very short, mostly because it's about people, and in this story, I have no patience for it.
Have fun, or don't. Like always, I don't care!
2000-04 April Hogwarts
The professors' lounge had been repurposed as a war room, so the oval table had few maps on it, an enlarged, modified copy of the Marauder's Map had been stitched to one wall, a blackboard was propped up in an angle of the room, the fireplace had been enlarged to allow better Floo-travel, and the shelves now sported a collection of topics war-related: from healing to cursing to ward-breaking.
I couldn't care less.
The meeting was set to begin at 02:00 pm, and from what I had been able to gleam chat with Filius, it would be a cross between a recruitment campaign and a resume of recent events. The Order, which now apparently lead the war against a ministry that everybody knew was under Voldemort's control, would later contact those that proved themselves insightful enough to actively help the war effort.
What I had to say would probably not sit well with anybody. But still, being early, I wasted no time in seating down next to Minerva, while I saw Fleur happily chat Filius' ear off.
"So, I'm 1,85cm and weigh 95kg, easily, with my clothes and whatnot, I easily hit the 100kg mark. As a fox, I weigh less than 30kg." I started, slipping my notes to the Transfiguration mistress while doing so.
"The question is, where does my mass go when I change? Where does my spear go? It sure as hell does not become a part of my fox form. And my armour does not translate into my other form, Hell, the only thing that stays is the silver patch I wear over my missing eye, and I spent months in making sure it would do so." I kept talking while Minerva bullheaded her way through my notes with the experience of a master of the art with decades of experience at her fingertips.
"You believe there is a... storage space when you are a fox? Somewhere around you?" She frowned a bit.
"The storage space clearly exists, it's a given, but since every Witch and Wizard can become an Animagus, but for werewolves, Veela, metamorpho-magi and whatnot, such a space is either a side effect of everyone's magic, or an unforeseen consequence of the process that makes us animagi." I pointed out the simple measurements of weight between my two forms.
"The process is far too well documented and studied, it doesn't have any part that could play with space manipulation, not in the scale you are suggesting, it's a transfiguration of the shape, the nature of our identity is used as a fulcrum." Minerva thoughtfully objected, skimming over my last theories.
"So, a magic soul naturally bends space around them? Like gravity does?" She asked when she reached the part in which I compared the change of mass to the difference between the weight of an enlarged box with the mass it contained.
She was quick on the uptake, it was one if the reasons why I liked her that much: "Yes, it bends space, but not like gravity does. I'm putting together a think tank in regard to this particular topic, and I'd love to have you on board."
Minerva pinched the bridge of her nose after having removed her reading glasses: "I fear I am a bit too busy with the recent events to dedicate time to theoretical research, as much as it pains me to admit it. You always manage to find the most interesting topics to delve into."
"Hello, professors." A somewhat familiar voice took my attention away from my chat with Minerva.
"Ah, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter and Weasley, take a seat, we're all a bit early are we not?" Filius welcomed the infamous trio to the room.
"I would have waited outside but..." the nineteen years old Emma Watson said, making me shake my head: Hermione. Granger. Not Emma. Watson. I haven't been caught with my guard lowered since Maggie Smith gave me my letter.
"You couldn't help but overhear a chat about advanced magical theory." I chuckled, it was honestly endearing, in little doses at least.
"I was thinking that between you three professors, and the Headmaster, there could be a way to make a ward that suppresses dark magic." She offered a thick bundle of papers towards her former Head of House.
"Yeah, it's called a cheering charm." I snorted, peeking over Minerva's shoulder.
"Excuse me?" She frowned, not understanding what I was saying.
Before I could cripple her pride outlining how incredibly idiotic her proposal was, Fleur cut in: "A shield-ward cannot be implemented to recognize the intent behind a single spell."
"Not without using a soul to empower it, at least." I mused out loud: "Giving sentience to a ward..." I started muttering before noticing the frozen expressions on everybody's face.
"What? You can program a computer, not a ward. And you need it to be alive for it to be able to distinguish between harm and not harm." At least I supposed so, a magical artificial intelligence was something I wasn't going to touch with a ten-foot pole.
"I believe everyone was offended by your hypothetical callous treatment if a soul, dear." Fleur kindly brought me back on track.
"Well, I've not played with the soul of others," If you don't count mine and the pieces of Riddle "But that's the first thing I can think of that would likely work. Maybe it would work with a Kneazle's soul too, can't know without experimenting."
"That's... That's awfully dark professor." Hermione was cringing in her seat.
"Is gravity light? Is magnetism dark?" I retorted tiredly.
I raised my hand to interrupt the girl before she could chew my ears off: "Magic is a fundamental force of this reality, it just is."
"Now, intent can be malicious, but it is subjective, your evil can be my good, don't you agree?" Oh, how I love philosophy. I thought to myself seeing her outraged frown.
"But an immoral use..." Hermione stammered out before I cut her off again.
"There is no morality, a person can be your friend or your enemy, or to better explain, right or wrong. Every living being acts for its own good, and all that goes against that good is classified as evil." I elaborated the previous concept.
"Morality isn't just words!" she wanted to rip my lonely eye off, I was sure.
"Isn't it? Every living being classifies everything in 'good-for-the-self' and 'bad-for-the-self'. This bleeds over and gains more connotations the higher one climbs the sentience-ladder. An amoeba classifies stuff that it can consume as good, and stuff that it can't as bad. A slug classifies leaves as good, the distance between itself and said leaves as bad, its shell as good, and salt as bad. You classify your friends as good, because they sustain, protect and love you, you classify the other side of this conflict as bad because their existence and possible victory implies the realization of a reality which you would classify as bad."
"But you can't deny that what they are doing is bad!" she shrieked again.
"That's clearly not the point I was making." I sighed, my fingers drawing little circles on my temples.
"How does it feel? To not believe in anything. To have nothing to fight for. You're spineless!" The unmistakable genius of Ronald Weasley of all people accused me.
My lone eye went from the bushy haired bookworm to the redhead: "Oh? Another that does not listen. To my system of reference, your conflict with the other faction is bad. Either of you can win, I don't really care, you are here in England to prove a point, not because you must, or need to fight."
"How dare you! I must fight! He killed my parents!" Aaaand… we're back to the shouting match. I noted in the safe boundaries of my mind when Harry Potter butted in.
"And your grandfather killed a bunch of Grindelwald' soldiers, you don't see them here trying to kill you, do you?" I asked sarcastically.
"That was war, the things Voldemort has done..." Hermione tried to tone down the exchange.
"Are war crimes." I completed what she was saying: "Whether you know it or not, he was fighting a war, still is, and your parents were fighting on the opposite side. They too didn't have to fight, they stayed, putting their son at risk, to prove a point. Nothing more."
"And that point would be?" Potter was gritting his teeth, trying to reign in the urge of drawing his wand.
"That they wouldn't 'run away'. Now, I don't know how you think, but the world is a big-ass place, humans are 7bilions and counting, and especially for wizards, if you don't want to fight, you can move." I tried to repeat my point.
"So, I should leave the innocent to die, is that it?!" He rose from his seat with rage painted on his face.
"I haven't ever, nor I will ever, pretend to tell someone what he should do with his life, your choices are your own. Voldemort is not destroying the planet, only taking over a country too spineless to fight back. And you are here, fighting, because of your parents, but I assure you, that the dead wish nothing, nor they do feel the need for revenge, and you're staying here forces your friends to do the same." I rose from my seat in the same way, albeit keeping my composure.
"Move to Australia, or Canada, I don't know, and I don't care, the problem here is not who is on the right side of the war, nor who is winning, only that you went this close to completely shred the Statute of Secrecy, which would cause a shitload of problems for people that are actually mentally stable." I suggested, making my way out of the room.
I have more important things to do than to cater to the whims of an angsty teen put in a position of power by spineless dumbasses. I thought to myself.
"See you at the Rabbit's Hole, Fleur." I waved my hand over my head, knowing that she would stay to at least hear what the recent happenings were.
Insufferable dimwits. I thought bitterly while making my way out of the castle.
I knew that while my magic was of a terrifying quality, and the shit I could pull unrivaled by anyone. I also knew that my more impressive feats were spells that took months or even years to be completed, it was stuff that I could pull only in Wonderland, the 'reality' in there incredibly supple to my 'voice'. I wasn't a fighter, never been a proper one, I was a researcher, a bit mad one, for sure, but I was no Voldemort. That was why I hoped to push Potter to deal with Old Tom before sweeping in and reorganize Magical Britain, the way his scar was burning red to my senses however, made me uneasy. Dumbledore was likely wounded; I could see no other reason why he wouldn't be there early to play his 'I'm holier than you-games'.
I could survive pretty much anything short of a Nuclear Bomb, but winning a straight fight against Tom? It would be a problem.
But Hermione might have had the right idea... a sentient ward to deny a kind of magic...
It was worth investigating.