Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling, the wonderful lady who has inspired so many people to try their hand at writing too.
Author's Note
Sorry, this isn't a Carrow story. This is a just a little idea that I had that just grew out of control and so I had to do something about it. Of course, once I started writing it fought me, tooth and claw. This is actually the second complete rewrite of the first chapter that's how hard it fought me.
Ungrateful idea.
Not Quite A Bird
Chapter 1
"Hey, Harry," Sirius looked around furtively as he leaned around the bedroom door.
Harry glared at him half-heartedly from his cocoon of blankets, too deep in his own misery to really care. Couldn't the man see he was a walking danger, a living portal that Voldermort could reach through and hurt people? Sort of. He was a bit hazy about the how and why. But the images, the feeling of his teeth sinking into Mr Weasley's flesh haunted him, the feelings of pure malicious hatred…
"Come on Harry," Sirius padded across the room to poke his bundle of blankets. "I've got something to show you, just not here," he sent a dark glare at the empty portrait that hung at the end of the bed. "The walls have ears…and so do the pictures."
Reluctantly Harry unravelled himself from his protective cocoon, seeing as the man wasn't going to take no for an answer, was just going to stand there smiling at him creepily.
Sirius led him into the dusty, cobweb festooned front-parlour, closing the door behind him. If he'd been more with it Harry might have been more alarmed.
"See…I found this," Sirius pulled a small book out from his robe pocket. Its dark covers were shabby and battered, hanging on by a thread, loose pages poking out, dog-eared and stained. It didn't look at all impressive to Harry, more ready for the bin than anything else, but given his experiences with unassuming looking books…
"Doesn't look like much," Sirius grinned, looking distinctly dotty, "but in this there's a ritual for the Animagus transformation."
Harry stared at him suspiciously. "I thought you had to do that thing with a mandrake leaf, and collecting dew, and finding a thunderstorm and stuff…Hermione looked into it after third year, what with all the…you know," he shrugged.
"Well of course, that's the official way," Sirius nodded, smiling broadly, "but this is a bit of Black family magic see. That's the thing about the old pure-blood families, they like to hoard obscure knowledge, experimental stuff, little-known rituals and the like, and the Blacks have always been really good at it."
"Okay," Harry said, wondering where this was leading, whishing he'd never bothered leaving the safety of his blankets.
"Do you want to become an animagus?" Sirius asked, waggling the book and his eyebrows in a way he clearly thought was suggestive, or something. "Wouldn't it be groovy…"
Harry cringed.
"Groovy isn't in anymore?" Sirius asked. "Well, that just stink," he muttered under his breath, rallying himself with a shake that reminded Harry strongly of Padfoot. "Think how amazing it would be to be able to change into an animal, a tiger, or lion maybe, or even a dog, dogs are cool…
Or a bird of some sought, Harry thought, because truly, what would be better than soaring through the air under his power…and honestly he was rather touched by Sirius's offer. This was quite possibly the most useful thing an adult had done for him in…ages...ever. Something that would genuinely help him in the absolute mess he'd been thrown into, this war that had started years before he'd even been born, that he didn't really want any part of, that people kept trying to protect him from even though it was clear he wouldn't be able to avoid it…
"…though if you find your form is a rat I may have to disown you. Just joking," Sirius laughed awkwardly, "but seriously, I'm sure you wouldn't…"
"Sirius, I'll do it," Harry interrupted.
Sirius blinked at him, seemingly uncomprehending.
"I'll do it," Harry said.
"Really?" Sirius broke into a hopeful smile.
"Really," Harry smiled, "It's a great idea…so, what do I need to do for this ritual…"
"Oh! Ah…" Sirius flipped the book open, rustling through it a moment, squinting at the crabbed hand that scrawled across the page, "err…yeah. You draw this ritual circle of runes and stand in it…on a day of power…the Winter Solstice is coming up, so that's good…and you say an incantation…"
"And that's it?" Harry asked.
"Yup," Sirius grinned. "I'll have to sort the old ritual room out, but…"
The door to the old parlour crashed open, and they jerked round to find Hermione glaring at them.
"There you are," she scowled, "I've been looking for you everywhere. Mrs Weasley's putting dinner out…what where you doing?"
"Nothing," Harry stormed past her, the little ember of hope Sirius had somehow managed to fan into life threatening to sputter out. Why couldn't people just keep out of his business.
oOoOoOo
The ritual room lurked in the cellar, a part of the house Harry hadn't been anywhere near yet, not having had the opportunity nor the inclination to explore. Clearly he'd been mistaken, because here was the dusty remains of a potions lab, its glassware dirty and grime encrusted, and beyond that lay a wine cellar, mostly empty, though he suspected Sirius had a lot to do with that.
By contrast, the ritual room was pristine, even up to Aunt Petunia's standards, a perfect cube clad in the sort of granite that normally graced the kitchen counters in the fancy interiors magazines his aunt swooned over.
Inlaid into the floor was a circle of copper, inside of which Sirius was currently crouched, scribbling away with a stick of chalk, muttering to himself as he consulted the shabby book of dubious family magic.
"That should do it," Sirius muttered to himself as he stood, carefully circling on the spot, examining his handiwork. "Yeah…Heh Harry. Just in time. Pass me the candles will you…and the incense burner."
Harry glanced around confused until he spotted them tucked into an alcove in the doorway. Grubby old things they looked too, the candles flecked with dirt, the incense burner in need of a good polish, but he passed them to Sirius trusting the man knew what he was about, despite his growing misgivings.
The man began placing them around the circle in a way that apparently made sense to him. Some shrivelled old bits of bark Sirius claimed was sandalwood were shoved in the burner, and then…
"Sorry kiddo, but err…you need to take your clothes off," Sirius gave him an apologetic smile. "All of them, and then you need to stand, or sit in the middle of the circle. Don't smudge the chalk though…might end up with just antlers or something," he barked with laughter.
Naked? Hary froze as a part of his brain screamed in increasing panic at the suggestion…but this was magic…that was going to give him an alternate form, an animal form. A cat would be great, but a bird, now that would be cool…
Ignoring his common sense he began to pull off the ratty old pyjamas he'd inherited from Dudley, roughly folding them, wondering what on earth to do with them now. Sirius took them from him placing them with care they didn't deserve in the little doorway alcove as he tentatively made his way into the middle of the circle, hopping nervously over Sirius's mad chalking.
Would he be able to understand them if he'd taken Ancient Runes? Not for the first time he regretted his choice of electives.
"Oh, glasses," Sirius demanded, and reluctantly Harry passed them over, the room descending into an indistinct blur.
So, now here he was, trapped in this circle of symbols he didn't understand utterly blind and completely stark naked, goose-bumps coming up in places he didn't know you could get goose-bumps.
"Sirius, this had better not be some stupid prank," he growled, trying to hide his shivers, glaring at what he hoped was Sirius…but it could have been the shadows of the doorway.
"Bit late for that isn't it," Sirius snorted, "now the next bit…"
There was a rustle of pages.
"You need to say animalis autem interiore revelare seven times. Got that?"
He thought so. He hoped so, as he mouthed the phrase to himself.
Around him he could hear Sirius moving, smeared dots of light appearing, the candles and incense he thought, and then…
"Right. All ready," Sirius's voice came from the vague direction of the doorway. "Begin…now!"
"Err…animalis autem interiore revelare…" Harry said, his discomfort building. What if something went horribly, catastrophically wrong, and he ended up stuck in the Hospital Wing for months. Hermione covered in fur with cat ears came to mind. Or even worse, what if nothing happened at all…
But his worried died as around him the chalked circle flared into life, a smeared green shimmer of light, that would have looked really pretty if he could just see. Encouraged he pressed on…
"…animalis autem interiore revelare…"
The candles flared, their flames now an unnatural green…
"…animalis autem interiore revelare…"
There was a breeze in the air now, as around him the scent of dusty stale sandalwood stirred…
"…animalis autem interiore revelare…"
And then it was as if an elephant had sat on him, the pressure of the air increasing forcing him to the floor, his knees slamming painfully into the granite…
"…animalis autem interiore revelare…"
…he was being pulled apart now, the pain intense as he was slowly shredded molecule by molecule…
"…animalis autem interiore revelare…"
There was only pain now, terrible and all consuming, but still he clung on…
"…animalis autem interiore revelare…"
Darkness consumed him and, his strength failing him, he fell forward into darkness…
oOo
"…arry…Harry…HARRY…"
Some mean person was attempting to disturb him from his rest. Annoyed he stirred, determined to tell them exactly what he thought of being woken so abruptly…
Sirius was hanging over him, his face desperate and panicking, and had he been crying? Harry jerked into a more upright position, but his limbs felt shaky and uncoordinated. Puzzled, he looked down.
Feathers, his arms were covered in black feathers, so he must be some kind of bird. Excitement coursed through him as he attempted to stand on uncertain feet, the talons of which clattered on the floor as he stumbled slightly.
Cautiously optimistic he looked round at his godfather.
Sirius was sitting on the floor now, a grin beginning to spread across his tear-streaked face. "It worked," he whispered, "it worked!" He flung his arms around Harry in an uncomfortable embrace.
Harry squawked and fidgeted, trying to squirm away, but then Sirius was drawing away, eyeing his new form critically.
"Some sort of bird, huh?" Sirius said, "makes sense…though you're pretty large…and maybe flightless? Because look at these cute little handsies!" he grabbed Harry's altered fingers, bouncing them.
Harry tried biting him, but Sirius jerked out of the way, sniggering.
Unamused, Harry ignored him in favour of investigating some of the interesting scents that tantalized his senses, strange smells, intense colourful things that almost had physical shapes. Intrigued he followed his snout…
A smear of blood, his own, his nose suggested, a vague memory of smashing his knees into the floor rose in his mind…
Smears of something waxy, greasy on the floor, a hint of scorched dust…the remains of the candles…
The sharp bright metal tang turned out to be the remains of the incense burner, now little more than a twisted half-melted piece of scrap…
There was something following him, something large and rustling. He jerked round trying to catch it only to find himself chasing a mass of black ruffled feathers, that were attached…to his tail…
Barking laughter rose behind him, and he spun to find Sirius on his side, laughing uncontrollably.
It wasn't that funny, he chattered angrily, hopping closer to the annoying man, but Sirius just whooped and rolled over clutching at his stomach.
Seeing his opportunity Harry leapt, his arms spreading out, his tail instinctively flipping up to aide in his temporary flight. He landed heavily on the man, pushing the air from his lungs in a big whoosh of surprised pain.
"Bloody hell Harry," Sirius gasped as he attempted to wrestle him off. "Think you need to trim your toenails…what the…Merlin's balls…looked at your feet lately," he poked a finger at one of Harry's feet jerking his arm back when Harry had a go at biting him again.
But he couldn't help but be curious, even as he gave the git the trampling he deserved. There, curving up from each of his back feet was a huge razor sharp talon that closely resembled the sickles Professor Sprout had them use occasionally, (apparently the only tool to use for the harvesting of mistletoe for use in potions).
Wow. So he probably wasn't an herbivore then.
And then he was tipping sideways as a large weight ploughed into him, Padfoot trying to wash his snout even as he shrieked in indignation. Clawing his way out he easily leapt over the large dog, chattering his outrage at the treatment but Padfoot huffed in amusement giving chase.
They bounded and leapt around the ritual room in a game of tag, neither one of them quite wanting to gain the upper-hand and make the fun end…
"What in Merlin's name is going on?!"
Startled they came to a careening halt, Padfoot nearly slamming into the wall. The large dog shifted smoke like for a moment. "Oh, errr…hey Mooney,"
Harry did his best to roll his eyes, because Sirius might as well have had a flashing sign over his head saying guilty.
"Just having a little fun," Sirius's attempts at looking casual were laughable.
"You do know it's two in the morning, don't you," Lupin glared at him, "and…what's this?"
Harry flinched back, a moment of disorientation and he was human again. "Err, hi Professor…" he suddenly realised just how naked he was and just how cold it was, very rapidly returning to his feathered form.
"What have you done?" Lupin growled, eyes flashing menacingly as he advanced on Sirius.
Harry edged further behind Sirius, but the man didn't seem at all concerned. "Come on Remus. We both know war's coming. It's inevitable, and given current circumstances there isn't much I can do to assist, but if I can help Harry out, give him some tools that'll keep him safer later…"
Lupin grumbled a bit but Harry was too busy grooming an itch away to take much notice, the evening beginning to catch up with him a little.
His ratty pyjamas appeared beside him, glasses perched on top as Sirius ushered Lupin out of the room to give him some privacy. So hurriedly he sifted forms and shoved the garments back on, even as he tried to catch snatches of the hissed argument that was taking place outside, hints of bloody irresponsible and but the kid needs things to keep him safe and could have bloody asked…
The adrenaline and excitement had faded away now, leaving him yawning until his jaw cracked, his bones aching he felt so tired.
Looked like he was going to pay for it tomorrow, but he grinned as he took in the scuffed chalking of the circle and the thin smears of wax that was all that was left of the candles. It had been completely worth it.
oOo
At some point there was an attempt to wake him, a shaking of his shoulder, whispered conversation, someone tiptoeing away, but sleep was far more important, pulling him back into its warm and shadowy embrace.
Hunger woke him in the end, his stomach loudly complaining about being ignored, his bladder getting in on the action, making its presence painfully know. Groaning in despair Harry dragged himself out of bed.
By the time he made it downstairs he was feeling unpleasantly awake, his stomach clenching painfully, as if he hadn't eaten in a week. (Thanks Uncle Vernon for that completely unnecessary experience.)
In the gloom of the hall movement caught his attention. Crookshanks stared suspiciously at him, his eyes gleaming in the shadows.
Harry licked his lips. The cat had never looked tastier. If he changed he was sure he could stalk the smaller creature, sink his teeth in to hot flesh and…
"Harry! You're awake!"
He jumped guiltily at the sound of Mrs Weasley's voice, only to find her bearing down on him full of motherly concern.
From the shadows Crookshanks glared, slinking away around the corner.
Mrs Weasley looked tasty. Not like that, he hastily back-peddled, more in a medium-rare-steak-with-asparagus sort of way. Was this normal for the animagus transformation? He had so many questions churning around in his head.
But all he could do at the moment was to do his best to nod at all the right moments as she fussed around him. Apparently Sirius had told her a load of cobblers about him being sick in the night, for which he was intensely grateful. Now all he needed to do was reassure her that yes, he really could eat something, anything, please lead him to the food. Food?
"Harry, where are your glasses?"
Startled, he reached up to his face. How could have he have forgotten? But then his stomach made its displeasure known again. "Food?" he asked, trying to sound as plaintive and half-starved as possible.
True to form, Mrs Weasley more than provided.
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
"Well that's boring," Harry almost laughed when Sirius jerked round in shock.
"Bloody hell Harry, nearly frit the life out of me," the man complained. "Anyway, what's wrong with a little Christmas cheer, he gestured grandly towards the row of shrivelled house-elf heads, all now sporting jaunty little Santa hats.
"Bit predictable isn't it?" Harry wrinkled his nose. "How about…if they sang tunes?"
Sirius stared at him, then at the house-elf heads mental cogwheels clearly turning as a smile spread across his face. With a few flicks of his wand he had the wizened things singing jingle bells. It was a little off tune as their jaws struggled to form sounds, working against hardened dried out flesh and shrivelled tendons.
"See. Much better," Harry grinned.
"Ah, but to make it even better," Sirius smirked.
A moment later he had charmed the nose of each house-elf to glow red, flashing in time to the discordant music.
"See," he stepped back to admire his handiwork. "Perfection."
"That's not quite how I would describe it."
They looked round to find Lupin slowly heading up the stairs towards them, his face tired and grim. "I need to discuss something with you both," he said as he reached them, "about your little adventure the other night."
"Fine fine," Sirius grumbled, but he led them into a dusty room that had once been a study, or maybe a bedroom. It was hard to tell, the few remaining pieces of furniture covered with dust sheets.
Seeing an opportunity Harry changed, intent on exploring the room with his new incredible nose.
"Harry, I need you to listen as well," Lupin prodded him gently with a foot. "I have questions for you too…I looked through this…book…Sirius, did you read any of the notes, or did you just look at the diagrams?"
"Well of course I did," Sirius folded his arms defensively.
From what Harry could see of his god-father's face, he would say that was a solid no for the notes and a yes for any pictures. It was probably a miracle the ritual had worked.
Lupin had the battered book out now, open to a page so he could show Sirius something, the man's face becoming unnaturally pale. "A living sacrifice…but…he's very much alive…wait. Towards the end there was something, like a screaming face. It had red eyes, I remember that. Looked a little familiar too come to think of it…"
Harry cocked his head to one side, watching as the two men bickered back and forth. Did it really matter? He was alive, and healthy, and sane as far as he could tell, and he was also certain there was a mouse in here somewhere. There was a distinctive scent trail near the skirting board…
He was being prodded again, but the leg was withdrawn before he could really get his teeth sunk in, unfortunately.
Lupin sighed heavily, "this is the exact sort of thing I was talking about, far too instinct driven."
Feeling sheepish, Harry shifted, only to have Sirius ruffle his hair. "Got to work on that kiddo," the man laughed, "before you lose yourself, or cause yourself massive social embarrassment."
"Like when you got caught humping cushions in the common room," Lupin laughed.
"That was one time," Sirius glared, "and I might have been drunk as well…"
"Harry, where are your glasses?" Lupin asked.
"Err…" he frantically patted his pockets, finally pulling the cheap ugly things out. "There's something wrong with them, everything looks really weird…weirder than normal…honestly, it's easier without them at the moment."
"Let me have a look," Sirius grabbed them out of his hands before he could object, poking at them with his wand, muttering.
"Sirius…Padfoot, is that a good idea?" Lupin asked, his own wand out, but then there was a nasty snapping sound and Sirius began swearing, the frames now in several pieces in his hands, the lens cloudy and warped, the plastic apparently unable to handle magical manipulation.
"Merlin's scabby ball sack," he exclaimed. "I am so sorry Harry, I'll pay…"
"Honestly I'm not that upset," Harry reassured him, "they're the cheapest ones Aunt Petunia could find. You didn't think she'd actually spend money on me if she didn't have to, did you?"
The two men shared dark looks.
"I suppose if I go to Madam Pomfrey she'd be able to help me," Harry suggested, really not sure. He'd only really had his eyes tested the once with Aunt Petunia constantly grumbling about wasting her valuable time and the expense in the background.
"She most likely will," Lupin agreed, "or know someone who can."
"Right," Sirius grimaced.
"So, unforeseen changes…I'm going to have to do some more research," Lupin sighed, "and at some point we may have to tell the Headmaster. If anybody can figure out this mess he will."
Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that.
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
He crept forward, slowly and carefully placing each foot down as silently as he knew how. In the shadows Crookshanks had paused, to check an interesting scent possibly, looking round for a moment before continuing his casual prowl of the cellars.
Certain he hadn't been seen Harry followed the part-kneazle round the corner only to find himself with a snout full of claws. Squawking, he jerked back in shock, hissing angrily at having been caught so easily.
Stupid loud not-bird kitten, Crookshanks' body language seemed to suggest, too loud, too obvious, you wish to hunt?
Well of course he did.
Crookshanks gave him a contemptuous glare, turning with a twitch of his tail, watch and learn.
In the shadows of the abandoned potions lab Crookshanks settled down, waiting patiently for something. Harry wasn't entirely sure what. He could feel his attention wandering, boredom growing, maybe if he…
Claws whacked him sharply across the snout, and he found Crookshanks glaring at up at him. Patience gets you the mouse, his whiskers twitched in annoyance.
Behind him there was a rustle, a faint squeak, and to Harry's excitement, movement. Crookshanks whirled round, his tail twitching as he crouched, gauging scent, movement, hind-quarters shifting in anticipation, and then he sprung, surging forward.
But the mouse was tricky and sensed danger, surging past the old stained bench and sprinting towards the safety of a collection of large jars that had been dumped in a corner.
Without thinking Harry leapt, tail flipping up behind him as his feathered arms went wide, instinctively controlling his short flight.
He landed squarely on the tiny creature, skittling jars as he did so, sending them clattering and rolling across the floor. The unfortunate rodent now squirmed under his foot, until the sickle like claw pierced its back. It spasmed a moment before going still.
Filled with glee, Harry looked round, hoping Crookshanks had witnessed his very first kill and was suitably impressed.
The cat nonchalantly washed a paw, not bad for a first attempt…but of course practice is most important… He looked sharply towards the door.
A glimmer of light was filtering in from the passage, the sound of shuffling feet, muttering…
"…could have sworn…" Lupin's voice drifted in, and then he appeared in the doorway, the tip of his wand glowing brightly. In his other hand he held a mug of ovaltine. He stared at them a moment.
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Lupin blinked at him owlishly.
Harry cocked his head, should he? He craned his neck towards the mug fascinated by the delicious odours it emanated.
"You do know it's technically Christmas morning, don't you?" Lupin gave him a tired smile as Crookshanks rubbed round his legs.
Oh Merlin, he hadn't realised he'd been down here that long, he'd only intended to have a little explore. Worth it though, he stepped back scooping up his prize for Lupin's inspection.
"Oh, I see," Lupin said. "Your first I take it…congratulations. What do you intend to do with it?"
Harry blinked, he hadn't thought of that…
You should eat it, Crookshanks stared at him intently, or not, he twitched his tail dismissively as he disappeared around the corner.
Or maybe he could save it for later, Harry considered the matter.
"Go to bed Harry," Lupin sighed, "you don't want to miss Christmas, now do you."
oOo
"Harry!"
"Harry!"
He woke with a jolt, glaring blearily around the room until he saw Ron, crouched on the other bed, looking distinctly frantic. "Wus asleep, was matter?" he groaned.
"There's a dead mouse on the floor," Ron hissed, "I nearly stood on the disgusting thing."
Harry squinted at the floor, sleep-fogged mind desperately trying to catch up…mouse?
Oh!
His mouse.
"…all crunched up, and guts hanging out…"
"Err…Ron you do know you've handled way more disgusting things in potions, don't you?" Harry pointed out.
"Not on my bedroom floor I haven't," Ron was not impressed, "and not so I could put my bare feet in them."
He supposed Ron had a point, he wasn't sure he'd be too thrilled to suddenly step on a fermented flobber-worm or something. He shuddered at the thought of rotten slimy goo oozing between his toes.
But more pressing was just how unappetizing the dead rodent looked by the light of day, his hind foot claws having pierced its back, shattering its spine and exploding its torso causing its internal organs to spill out onto the floor in a little puddle of gore, its tail being its only identifiable feature.
Maybe it would look more appetising if he changed form…but then he needed to get Ron out of the room somehow. Because there was no way he was sharing this secret, not yet…not after this summer…
"Really boys, you're going to miss breakfast if you're not careful," Mrs Weasley's voice came from the doorway.
"Mum! There's a dead mouse...thing," Ron pointed accusingly at the mangled creature.
"Oh honestly," Mrs Weasley sighed as she pulled out her wand. With a sharp jab she vanished the mess. "I expect you both downstairs in ten minutes, otherwise you'll have to wait till lunch…and you still haven't opened your presents." She left, shaking her head sadly.
"Presents?" Ron looked shocked. "I forgot it was Christmas." He surged off the bed intent on the bathroom.
Harry didn't really hear him, still staring at the spot on the fusty old rug where his very first kill had lain. So it hadn't looked quite so tasty by daylight, but still…he couldn't shake the feeling he'd been robbed.
Clearly Crookshanks had been right. He should have eaten it.
oOo
Harry had to admit, even after five years he was still getting used to receiving presents, and giving them, and even the idea of celebrating Christmas at all, if he was being honest with himself.
Still, it was fun. Beat being locked in a cupboard for the day.
But when he tried to slope off after lunch to do some exploring in his new form (there was part of the attic he hadn't been in yet), he found himself being rounded up with the Weasley's and Hermione by Mrs Weasley, stuffed into his coat and then marched off to St Mungo's.
The muggle entrance was dreary as ever, rain washed and dirty, the store dummies dusty and abandoned looking in their old fashioned clothing.
How long could the Wizarding World keep this charade up, he wondered as he stood at the back of the crowd. He was certain he'd heard Uncle Vernon rant something about property prices in London last summer, people making obscene sums of money, and how normal respectable people were getting squeezed out….
"Harry!"
He was abruptly snapped out of his thoughts by the tugging on his arm. "Come on," Hermione looked at him with exasperation. "Are you coming in or not?"
"Oh…ah," he blinked, looking round to find the pavement now empty of red-heads, "er, yeah."
Hermione sighed, shaking her sadly as she pulled him through the window entrance…and into an overwhelming cacophony of sounds, smells and sights.
He blinked rapidly, eyes watering as he sneezed repeatedly, his nose objecting to the lemon scented cleaner that permeated the place…not to mention all the scents of people…he'd got to ask Sirius about this, was he going to get used to it, or was he going to be slowly driven mad? He wasn't sure which one he'd prefer, he thought as he took in a small boy who changed colour every time he sneezed being towed to reception by a very put-upon witch he assumed was the mother.
And there was a man sitting nearby who's head had been turned into a kettle, steam slowly rising from the spout, as he read a week old issue of the Daily Prophet. Surely he couldn't talk…but more importantly how did he eat…or see?
"Harry!" Hermione was tugging at his arm again, and so he went, trailing after the Weasleys as they made their way to the Creature-Induced Injuries corridor, and the "Dangerous" Dai Llewellyn Ward: Serious Bites.
Mr Weasley was propped up in bed looking more like his normal self, despite the large dressing that covered one side of his neck. He also, Harry noted had the same expression Ron got when he'd done something really stupid but had finally realised his error and was now building the courage to ask Hermione for help.
Mrs Weasley seemed to have sensed it too considering the suspicious looks she was giving him as she pulled a pile of brightly wrapped presents form out of her handbag.
"Ah…er, have you seen Healer Smethwyck at all?" Mr Weasley asked her, his nervous smile even more suspicious in Harry's mind, even as he began investigating his Christmas gifts.
Mrs Weasley's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"It's just…the trainee here, Augustus Pye wanted to try something a little alternate," Mr Weasley ploughed on seemingly oblivious to the mounting danger, "yes, a muggle treatment called stitches."
Mrs Weasley froze, even as her husband continued unwrapping his presents. "Ooh thank-you Harry," Mr Weasley exclaimed as he held up the pliers Harry had picked out for him. "Wonderful. I can't wait to get back…"
"Stitches," Mrs's Weasley's voice had a dangerous edge to it now. "As in they sewed your injury up."
Bill muttered something about getting a cup of tea as he headed towards the doors, the twins following in his wake.
"…absolutely barbaric…" Mrs Weasley was beginning to get into her stride now.
Did he get himself out of the danger zone…or did he stay and watch the show? Some popcorn might be nice.
More tugging at his shoulder. It was Ron this time, looking pale and nervous and desperate to get away from his mother who had now worked herself up to a good screech.
Mr Weasley looked like he wanted to leave too, but unfortunately he was trapped in his bed by the combined weight of blankets and gifts…so Harry trailed after his friends, out of the ward and along the corridor in the opposite way they came, as they did their best to catch up with Bill and the twins.
"Err…" Hermione came to a grinding halt in the middle of the corridor, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I err…I'm just going to use the loo." She darted through a door decorated with a brass and enamel sign declaring gentlewitches. It even had a little silhouette of a witch wearing robes and a pointed hat.
So, he wondered, did the gentlewizards door have a beard just so you could tell them apart, or…
"This is great," Ron complained, as he slumped against the wall ignoring the indignant glare of the witch whose portrait he'd just brushed against.
"So…err, Harry," Ron seemed to be gearing himself up for something. Across the corridor the portrait of a long dead wizard with a particularly fine beard reared back in his frame. "My dear boy," he called out, "you have the worst case of splattergoit I've ever seen."
"They're freckles," Ron growled.
"No, no." the portrait argued back, "simply the worst case of splattergoit I have ever seen. Quite disfiguring."
"Stupid, bloody painting," Ron scowled as he turned his back on the overexcited portrait now waving frantically at him. "I err…had any dreams lately?"
Harry frowned in thought, doing his best to ignore the portrait that was desperately trying to get their attention. Well…he hadn't, not really, not since the ritual and his gaining his flightless-sort-of-a-bird form. Not even the recurring with the corridor.
"No…not really," he said, "though…I did have one the other night…I went to potions…"
"Definitely a nightmare," Ron grimaced.
"Yeah, but then I realised I'd forgotten to put clothes on…and Snape had noticed and was storming towards me, and then…then I realised the classroom door had disappeared and I couldn't get out."
Ron stared at him, horrified. "Yeah, definitely a nightmare…how long do you think she's going to be?" he jabbed a thumb towards the toilet door.
Faintly Harry could hear the sound of running water, so probably not that long. "Dunno," he said, "you know girls have their monthly thing, you know, their period…"
"Harry," Ron exclaimed, face bright red.
The toilet door creaked open at that moment, Hermione pausing to take in Ron's crimson embarrassment, and Harry's attempt at an innocent smile. "Everything all right?" she asked suspiciously.
"Yes," Ron squeaked, clearing his throat nervously as Hermione began to glare. "Yeah," his voice was now too deep, "just…you know…boy things."
"Right," Hermione was clearly still suspicious.
"Young man," the portrait bellowed, now quite red in the face as he leapt around, desperate for attention. "If you don't do something about your condition it could be quite detrimental to your well being, quite the worst case of splattergoit I have ever seen."
"Been making friends?" Hermione smirked.
"Please, can we just get away from here," Ron hunched his shoulders as he led the way further along the corridor, the portrait continuing to follow them, running from portrait to portrait, the shouts of the indignant of occupants following them down the corridor.
Desperate, they charged up the nearest stairs leaving the annoying painting behind.
"Finally!" Ron heaved a sigh of relief as they entered a new and blessedly quieter corridor.
Though where they were he had no idea, it all looked the same to him, Harry thought as he looked round. Same pale green walls and easy to clean tiled floor, the same sprinkling of portraits of notable past healers and other worthy figures he'd never heard of, the odd landscape donated by grateful patrons…
"Hey, maybe we can ask directions?" Ron said, "there's someone down there."
"Seems like a plan," Harry agreed.
As they approached it became increasingly clear this was a patient, clad in striped nightgown and white waffle-weave dressing gown, and there was something oddly familiar about him too…
"Er, excuse me," Hermione said as they cautiously approached.
The man turned, smiling at them vaguely, "oh hello. Do you live here too?"
"It's Lockhart," Ron hissed.
Harry blinked. It was too, though he looked dowdier than he could ever remember seeing the vain man. Truly his attire was far from glamorous, but it was his hair, the previously glorious golden curls were now gone, lank and fading to grey, definitely receding at the temples. Clearly the staff were less than interest in maintaining the man's beauty regime.
"…know how to get to the Creature Induced Injuries corridor?" Hermione asked, though Harry was certain it was a waste of time.
"What's that?" Lockhart asked, looking quite bewildered.
"You know…" Hermione said slowly, "where they treat the patients with injuries they've got from creatures…since this is a hospital."
"Really?" Lockhart seemed fascinated.
"Er, yes," Hermione said, "you're a patient here too."
"Really?" Lockhart seemed quite blown away by this information.
Harry and Ron looked at one another. "Wow," Harry muttered, "he did a proper job on himself, didn't he."
Ron hid a smile, "probably the best thing that's ever happened to him too."
"…taught us at Hogwarts," Hermione explained. "You were our defence teacher, erm…three years ago now."
"Goodness," Lockhart seemed perplexed, "I bet I was awful too…would you like an autograph. I'm very good at them." His face relaxed into a vacant smile.
"Err…" Hermione backed away.
"There you are, Gilderoy you naughty boy!" Bustling towards them was a medi-witch in her lime green robes, her professional expression barely masking her relief.
"Do you want an autograph too?" Lockhart oozed excitement at the thought, "these children want autographs."
Ron rolled his eyes. "As if," he muttered. Harry could only agree.
"Actually," Hermione seized her opportunity, "we've got a bit lost. We're trying to get back to the Creature Induced Injuries corridor."
"Well that's simple enough," the Medi-witch gave them a kindly smile, "you just need to go down this corridor, turn left and then take the first stair on the right and go down four floors and then turn left…you wouldn't mind spending a few minutes visiting with Gilderoy first would you? It's just…he never gets any visitors at all, and it's so important for our patients with mind injuries to have regular social interactions. It stimulates them, helps them improve…"
Of course they didn't want to visit with Lockhart, Harry grumbled to himself, but, a few moments later he found himself, along with Ron and Hermione, being ushered into the Janus Thickey Ward. "For suffers of permanent spell damage," the Medi-witch informed them.
It was a long room, four beds lining each side, while above them were large windows, completely magical fabrications considering the bright sunlight they were letting in. The trees were a bit of a give-away too.
A couple of the beds had curtains had curtains drawn around them, for some more privacy he supposed. Maybe they'd got visitors too.
Lockhart seemed to be happy though, busily signing photos with a peacock feather quill, his face contorting with effort as he carefully wrote out his name, the preening, prancing photo of his old self smiling and winking up at him as it dodged his uncertain hand.
And then Ron was having the photo thrust into his hands, picture Lockhart posing and waving and blowing kisses from behind writing that a five year old would have been proud of. "Ah…er, thanks," Ron smiled, but it looked more like a cry for help to Harry's eyes.
"It was nice meeting you," Hermione edged towards the doors meaningfully, "but we really have to go now."
Relieved, Harry joined her, Ron grumbling to himself as they headed back down the ward and towards potential freedom. As they passed the curtained off beds the visitors stepped out and Harry found himself face to face with Neville Longbottom.
"Oh, hey Neville…Happy Christmas," he managed a smile, though it wasn't really returned.
"Well Neville. Are you going to introduce me to your friends?" Neville's grandmother appeared at his shoulder, her expression so severe it made Snape look lovable and cuddly.
Which made Neville's fear of Snape all the odder, he supposed as he waited, Neville stumbling and stuttering through the introductions, his Grandmother watching them suspiciously all the while.
"What brings you to St Mungo's on such a day?" Madam Longbottom glared at them, her expression demanding that their answer had better be good.
Thankfully, before he or Ron could say a word and possibly make the entire situation more uncomfortable, Hermione leapt in and began explaining, and Harry could only stand back, quietly impressed, as Madam Longbottom's expression actually softened slightly.
"We too are visiting family at this festive time," Madam Longbottom's mouth twitched into something that might have been a smile. "My son and his wife you know, they were badly injured at the end of the war..."
Behind her a medi-wizard was drawing back the curtains now, revealing the beds and their occupants. Harry could see them now, a man staring blankly up at the ceiling as he lay in his bed unmoving, his face pale and haggard, what little hair he had pale wisps.
"They were both Aurors," Madam Longbottom continued, heedless of Neville cringing at her side. "Heroes, both of them…"
On the other bed sat a woman, hunched and withered, her dressing gown hanging off her shoulders, her eyes vacant as she stared off into the distance, thin white hair falling limply around her face.
"…really Neville, haven't you told your friends about your parents?" She glared disapprovingly at him. Harry could only feel sympathetic as Neville shuffled his feet muttering something that only seemed to annoy his Grandmother further, he was certain that if his parents were in a similar situation he also wouldn't want to talk about it. It would be just too…painful.
"They were tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband…"
Behind her Neville's mum rose to her feet, hand fishing around in her dressing gown pocket.
"…the cruciatus curse you know…"
Harry winced in sympathy.
"…yes, they held my son and his wife under the curse so long their minds were permanently broken…"
Ron and Hermione seemed frozen in horror, but Madam Longbottom continued, describing the horror Neville's parents had lived through in excruciating and unnecessary detail.
They needed to leave, but how…he glanced back down the ward. Lockhart was shuffling towards them, vague smile plastered across his face, signed photos and a quill clutched in his hands.
"Guys," he hissed, elbowing Ron in the ribs, trying to sidle into him and get him moving somewhere, anywhere that wasn't here. Madam Longbottom glared at him for daring to disturb her gory narrative, but then…
"That annoying man," she huffed as she took in Lockhart's approaching form. "Come Neville, time to leave…Alice dear, what is it?"
Neville's mum stared through her, lips working soundlessly.
"Neville, if you would," Madam Longbottom sighed, pushing the frail women round.
Neville finally looked up from the floor. "Thanks Mum," he muttered as he took the sweet wrapper she offered him.
"Throw it away Neville, and come along." Madam Longbottom bustled towards the doors pulling them along in her wake. As they followed Harry noticed Neville quietly slip the sweet wrapper into his pocket.
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
Harry balanced on the roof ridge of Grimmauld Place, the claws of his other form lending him purchase on the moss covered slates, eyes gleaming in the orange tinted darkness, the night compromised by the sheer density of London's street-lighting.
To his excitement a few sparks shot up into the sky, closely followed by a distant popping sound. Looked like someone was warming up for midnight all ready, he crooned softy to himself. He couldn't wait.
He'd never seen the New Year's celebrations before, the Dursley's having always denied him the spectacle, locking him away in his cupboard. Of course he'd been able to hear…
And then once he'd been at Hogwarts…the Magical World didn't seem to pay it the sort of attention the muggles did, and Fred and George letting off fireworks in the common room just wasn't the same.
In the distance a sprinkling of sparks bloomed over the rooftops, swiftly followed by a distance crackle. Harry watched, anticipation building in his stomach.
There was a clatter and quiet swearing down by the dormer window, Sirius making his way slowly up the roof, slipping on the slates as he scrabbled his way forward. "Merlin's saggy balls," he heaved as he finally made the apex, plonking himself down next to Harry, breathing hard. "Don't remember that being quite so difficult."
Getting old? Harry chirped, head tilted questioningly.
Sirius gave him a look. "You know, even though you currently look like an overgrown chicken, I can still tell when you're being ruddy cheeky."
Harry shifted then, huffing with laugher as his body lost its solidity before reforming. His amusement died rapidly in the face of the cold as a sharp breeze whistled through his thickest jumper and snuck into gaps he hadn't realised were there.
And then it disappeared. Surprised he turned just in time to see Sirius put away his borrowed wand. "Thanks," he gave the man a quick grin, his attention snapping back to the sky as a spark whistled up, exploding into a small shower of sparks.
"So…" Sirius shifted, trying to get comfortable on the hard tiles. "I see you've discovered one of my old hiding places from dear old mum…always came out here when she was really on the war path, but err…you do know its nearly midnight?"
"Exactly," Harry said as he watched another rocket shoot up into the sky, exploding into a handful of golden sparks that faded away into nothing.
"Not very good though, are they." Sirius sounded deeply unimpressed as they watched a flicker of sparks shimmer over a distant rooftop for a moment.
"Nah. They're just cheap ones," Harry explained, "like the ones Aunt Petunia got once. I didn't get to see them of course, but Dudley moaned for weeks afterwards that they were rubbish, and why weren't they as good as the ones you get at displays…"
The sky exploded with fire, giant flowers of light blooming in the air as all around them the night sky blazed, explosions rattling them where they sat on the roof, the air becoming thick with the smell of gunpowder and smoke.
As the explosion slowed down Harry blinked, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Hey," he jabbed Sirius in the shoulder, "Happy New Year!"
Sirius seemed a little dazed, but he quickly rallied, "I take what I said back, that was pretty exciting…and Happy New Year too kiddo, hope you made a wish."
A better year would be nice, not that he was going to tell anyone that, he didn't want to jinx it…he'd only got a week left till school started again, and he had to return to bloody exam revision, bloody, bloody Umbridge…and no Quidditch. At least he had his new form; that had to count for something, he tried to pull himself away from his rapidly darkening mood, and there was an entire forest to explore…
"So…have you thought of a name for your bird…lizard form?" Sirius asked.
Harry blinked at him in the orange tinted darkness. "Err, no…nor really…"
"Really?" Sirius seemed surprised. "You're in luck then. I've always had a talent for names…how about…Feather-Duster?"
"No," Harry looked at him horrified, "no, absolutely no…I haven't really given it any thought, but I'm sure I can come up with something good."
"If you're sure," Sirius seemed disappointed.
"But if I don't," Harry said, trying to soothe him, "I'll let you choose."
"Deal," Sirius shook his hand, his grin promising something absolutely horrifying.
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
"…so…the slicing ability of the cutting charm is dependent on the bloody-mindedness quotient of the material the caster is attempting to cut…that makes sense…" Harry looked up at Buckbeak.
The hippogriff paused in his grooming to consider him for a moment.
"…but then the book states that wood always has a lower BQ then stone, but what about really hard woods like ebony, or bog-oak? There's no way they're softer than gypsum…"
Buckbeak tilted his head, chirping softly.
"Makes no sense…" he muttered, glaring down at his Charms essay, and the appendix of his copy of The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk.
"Wonder what the BQ of flesh is…just curiosity," he added, but Buckbeak had gone back to his grooming. Harry shook his head, his mind was just so full of questions at the moment, and all of them demanded answers, what did mouse taste like (he still hadn't caught another one)?
How did the wand choose the wizard, and why did he have holly wood and Hermione vine?
Would Snape taste like potions ingredients if he bit him?
He'd got to the point he'd started to write them down in the homework planner Hermione had given him for Christmas.
Of course when Hermione had realised exactly what he was using the planner for she hadn't exactly been impressed. How did he explain his lack of opportunity for notebook purchasing, or even realising he needed such things?
In the face of such difficulties he had retreated to the sanctuary of the attics.
Buckbeak was neutral on the proper use of notebooks, and a surprisingly good listener. It certainly beat Hermione's revision anxiety and Ron's whining about being made to study.
"Hey, you thing if you trangsfigured some rope into…say…granite then it would up its BQ to overcome your intent…but would your knowledge that it had been rope overcome that?"
Buckbeak chuckled under his breath, heaving himself to his feet so he could trot across the attic so he could flop down on top of Harry's book, glaring at his, head cocked on one side.
"Okay," Harry laughed as he buried his fingers in soft feathers so he could give the required neck scratches, the Hippogriff closing his eyes in bliss.
"Harry?" a voice called out.
Blast it, Harry sighed heavily, closing his eyes in exasperation. He knew this had been too good to last. "It's fine, really," he smiled at Buckbeak as the Hippogriff chirped at him inquiringly.
"I'm in here," he called to whoever it was looking for him. It didn't sound like either Ron or Hermione…maybe Ginny?
Ginny appeared in the doorway, wearing a Quidditch jumper over her jeans that she had clearly stolen off one of the Twins. He suspected that Fred, or George's chances of getting it back were slim to none.
"So here's where you keep disappearing too," she said giving Buckbeak a small bow. The hippogriff tore himself away from Harry, trotting across the attic to butt up against the newcomer, Ginny cooing at him.
"Snape's downstairs looking for you," Ginny said as she scratched just behind Buckbeak's eyes.
Harry looked up from where he'd been gathering his homework and books together, horrified.
"Why?" he asked. He was pretty certain he hadn't blown any cauldrons up lately, so…he could always change and make a get-a-way across the rooftops or something, the dormer was only over there…
"Not a clue what he wants," Ginny said, continuing her ministrations to the hippogriff, "but Sirius is down there as well, and I don't think they like each other very much."
oOo
Sirius not liking Snape turned out to be a bit of an understatement.
When he made it downstairs he found the two men standing nose to nose wands drawn as they snarled at each other, Sirius's mum screaming abuse in the background. The din was incredible. Seemed whatever loathing Sirius held for Snape, Snape returned it with interest.
It was tempting to see if they'd forget magic and end up rolling around on the floor trading punches and trying to bite one another, but he had a suspicion nothing good would come of it.
"Excuse me," he tried, raising his voice over the racket, but the two men were so caught up in their hatred of one another they didn't notice him. Was he going to have to physically intervene? The prospect did not exactly thrill him.
Except he wasn't Gryffindor for nothing. Throwing common sense to the wind, he left the relative safety of the stairs and approached the stand-off.
"Excuse me!" he tried again.
"Mr Potter," Snape glared down at him, "you have finally condescended to join us I see."
"Harry, get lost," Sirius growled, sounding more dog than man. "I'm not letting you on your own with this arsehole."
Which would make potions classes a little difficult, Harry sighed to himself.
"Dumbledore," Snape's lip curled, "has insisted that I give you extra lessons, the contents of which I will discuss with you alone." He turned his disgust on Sirius.
"No!" Sirius snarled, rearing back if ready to spring into the attack.
"Okay," Harry ignored him.
"NO!" Sirius howled, but Snape had already turned on his heel marching towards the front palour. Harry hurried after him slamming the door shut in Sirius's face. He nearly leapt out of his skin when Snape's wand appeared by his face, and the static tingle of magic flared under his fingers where they still touched the door for a moment. A locking charm he presumed.
The door bounced in its frame as something heavy slammed into it, the howls of rage fading into frantic barking.
"All that for that," Harry muttered to himself. Turning he found Snape standing by the fireplace watching him carefully, face an emotionless mask. "Mr Potter, you seem to have forgotten your glasses."
Harry's hand flew to face, "oh. I err…they broke, and then when we tired fixing them with magic they just…disintegrated," he shrugged feeling increasingly uncomfortable under Snape's intense scrutiny.
"I see…" Snape said, managing to convey that he wasn't at all satisfied with that explanation. "The Headmaster believes that it is essential for you to be taught the basics of Occlumency, given the nature of recent events."
Harry blinked. "Err…what's Occlu..Occlumency?"
"Typical," Snape's expression morphed into something more familiar, disgust maybe. "For your information Occlumency is the subtle and delicate art of protecting the mind against external penetration. It is an obscure and exacting art, but also extremely useful branch of magic."
More useful than you seemed to go unsaid, and Harry did his best to not roll his eyes. "Like…mind reading then?" he asked, genuinely curious now.
"No. Not like mind reading," Snape curled his lip in disdain. "A ridiculous muggle idea, the mind is far more subtle and complex. Regardless, the Headmaster is insistent that I should teach you, of all things, and so I will. The first Monday back, Potter, my office at 6 O'clock. Do not be late."
He glided towards the door, pausing a moment to give Harry a last suspicious glare. "And I might add that it would be highly advisable to keep this to yourself, even from your little fan club. If you can manage that."
"Okay," Harry easily agreed, though this only seemed to raise Snape's suspicions.
"I'll just tell them you've given me detention for the rest of eternity or something."
Snape didn't seem particularly impressed by this, but to Harry's relief he just jerked the door open. "Monday, 6 O'clock. Do not be late."
With that he shoved past Padfoot, ignoring the frantically growling and barking dog as he stormed out of Grimmauld Place, nearly bowling Mr Weasley backwards down the steps as he left.
"What in Merlin's name is going on?" Mr Weasley asked, his cheerful smile having morphed into worry and concern.
"Just this idiot," Harry rapped Padfoot sharply on the head.
"I see," Mr Weasley frowned as he shut the door. The expression did not suit him at all Harry decided…
"So…the hospital let you go?" he tried.
Mr Weasley's good humour reappeared. "Yes. I've been given a clean bill of health, all cured," he smiled broadly. "I thought I'd sneak back, give everyone a surprise…"
So that's where the Twins got it from, Harry grinned.
"…cheer them up. Merlin knows we've little to laugh about at the moment."
"DAD!"
Harry barely got out of the way as Ginny barrelled down the stairs, slamming into Mr Weasley so hard his back hit the front door as she bear-hugged him.
Weasleys materialised from seeming everywhere, thundering down the stairs, pouring out of the kitchen to greet Mr Weasley, loudly exclaiming as they hugged and chattered in a huge and happy ginger mob.
Harry felt quite uncomfortable, especially considering the circumstances under which Mr Weasley landed up in the hospital in the first place. He couldn't quite crush that niggling guilt even though the logical part of his mind was insisting that it wasn't his fault at all, that he'd just been an unfortunate on-looker trapped in someone else's mind.
Something damp nudged his hand, and he looked down to find Padfoot there gazing up at him with concern in his pale eyes.
"Thanks, Padfoot," he tried to give the dog-man a reassuring smile but he had a feeling it came out wrong.
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
Harry dragged his trunk downstairs only to find Hermione had beaten him to it, her trunk already neatly in place by the front door waiting for their return to Hogwarts.
He was still in two minds about their imminent return. He loved the Castle, and now there was the very real possibility of exploring the Forest, which he had a feeling was going to be a very different experience in his new feathered form. On the other hand…Umbridge, and the dark oppressive cloud of gloom she had envelope the school…
"Ron not down yet?" Hermione asked.
Harry turned to find her standing by the kitchen steps clutching a mug of tea. "Eh, he's still looking for his favourite socks," Harry shrugged, "so he could be a while."
Hermione nodded, breaking into a huge yawn.
"Late night?"
"I got packed, but then I started reading this new book on Arithmancy I got for Christmas, and then I realised what the time was…" she yawned.
Clattering came from the stairs and they looked up to see Ginny manoeuvring her trunk down towards them, still wearing the stolen Quidditch jumper he saw, though she'd given up on pushing the sleeves up and had rolled them instead.
"Morning," Harry called up to her.
"Hey guys," Ginny smiled as she descended the stairs, her trunk thumping along behind her. "Ron still not finished packing yet?"
"Course not," Harry smirked, Hermione snorting into her tea. "He's still looking for his fav…"
"Ginny, look out!" Hermione called out.
Ginny barely had time to look around as two dark shapes barrelled down the stairs, crashing past her, leaving her and her trunk to cartwheel down the stairs, until they landed in a tangled heap at the bottom, the trunk bursting open spilling its contents across the floor.
They rushed forward, heaving the trunk off, even as Ginny groaned and began sitting up clutching at a growing bruise on her forehead. "Those stupid idiots," she hissed, glaring up the stairs to where the shaken looking Twins stood. "Wait till we get back to school. I'm going to…"
"What is going on?"
Harry jerked round to find Mrs Weasley had materialised behind them, apparently summoned by the commotion.
"Ginny…YOU IRRISPONSIBLE IDIOTS, YOU COULD HAVE KILLED HER…"
Harry winced, backing away from the danger zone, Hermione hurrying past him back to the safety of the kitchen. She'd forgotten her tea on a sideboard he noted as he sidled into the dusty shadows by the stairs.
A hand landed on his shoulder. Harry yelped, the sound almost turning in to a squawk half-way through as he momentarily lost control of his own form. Fortunately Mrs Weasley (now accompanied by Sirius's Mum's portrait) was making so much noise he doubted anyone noticed.
"Sirius," he hissed, "that wasn't funny." He glared as Sirius's grin only got broader and more manic.
"Not funny," he fumed, noticing through his annoyance that Sirius was holding a small, badly wrapped parcel in his hands.
"Here," he thrust it towards Harry. "Don't open it yet."
Suspiciously Harry took it, turning it in his hands looking for signs of danger. Whatever it was had been wrapped in a page from the Daily Prophet, held together with string. It was small and flat…
"No, don't open it," Sirius hissed. "It's for an emergency, if anything happens."
"Like it exploding in my trunk and covering everything with pink goo?" Harry asked already yanking the string off.
"No," Sirius seemed almost offended. "Don't let anyone see I gave you that."
"That" turned out to be a small hand mirror, the sort of thing Aunt Petunia would keep in her handbag so she could check her eyebrows were acceptable for the supermarket shop.
There was a note too…
This is a two –way mirror, I've got the other one of the pair. If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you'll appear in my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours. James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions.*
"A two-way mirror," a smile appeared on Harry's face, "cool."
"It's for emergency use, when you really need me," Sirius almost glared, looking past him furtively to where Mrs Weasley was still berating the Twins.
"No," Harry said.
Sirius reared back as if slapped.
"You're going to be trapped in this dump of a house on your own with no one really to talk to," Harry explained as he slipped the mirror into a pocket. "Or stop you from boozing, and brooding about the dark times for that matter…"
The haunted, desperate look was back in Sirius's eyes, and for a moment Harry considering refusing to leave the house, stay here, look after his Godfather…
"I'm going to talk to you every day," Harry smiled, "I need all the help I can get with my revision."
Sirius let out a bark of laughter that sounded suspiciously damp, enveloping him in a crushing hug.
"I can talk to you once we're on the train, I'm sure I'll be able to get some time alone," Harry said as he extricated himself.
"Oh, didn't they tell you?" There was an evil glint in Sirius's eyes now. "You're not going back on the train, too risky what with everything. You're going back on the Knight Bus," he grinned.
"What?" Harry was appalled; like he wanted to go on that death-trap again.
Sirius seemed disappointed, "you've been on it?"
"Yeah," Harry scowled, "once, and that was one time too many…"
"Mum!" Ron called down the stairs, "have you seen my socks?"
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
*p756 Order of the Phoenix, J K Rowling
