~*Chapter Two*~ - Transformation

                "Still nothing…" Ron said as he read the newspaper; it had been several weeks since the initial discovery that Harry was missing, and Rita Skeeter was eating it up; writing story after unbelievable story about Harry's whereabouts. Well, Ron had thought, this is better than nothing. He was at least thankful that some of what she had wrote was trustworthy, such as the parts that pertained to the photograph on the front (which she didn't write.). Either way, still basking in the uneasy knowledge that Harry was still missing and possibly dead was not at all comforting. Again disposing of the newspaper that would make his mother flip (on the floor), he ran his hand over the now-healed dog's soft fur and smiled. "Do you mind if I tell you something, Harry? I feel that if I don't tell someone; anyone, I might bust." The dog's ears perked up slightly at this, and he wagged his tail gently. Ron smiled a bit and sat up, thinking of where to began. He didn't really think he would have to rehearse it, but he supposed the best place to begin was, of course, the beginning. So, he took a breath and sighed, a faint smile playing upon his lips. "I suppose it was right after Ravenclaw won the Quidditch Cup at the end of our fifth year, no one in Gryffindor was expecting it. When I found Harry, he was sitting in his bed with the curtains half-drawn, looking down and unsure. I noticed that he had been unfocused during the game; I thought it might have been from lack of sleep, or the fact that I had just returned from the hospital wing with Hermione in time to see him play. I had been with him when You-Know-Who  had come for him right before the cup; I had been foolish enough to go against him myself. Harry saved me, narrowly. I guess he didn't think I would live; but seeing me back among the living might have startled him. But when I looked at him as he sat in his bed, covered in mud; his messy black hair dampened with sweat, and that far-off look in his eyes, something more fierce than friendship tugged me over there." Ron paused at this, not quite realizing that he had a slight tinge of blush upon his freckled cheeks. "So, I asked him what was wrong, and told him that if it was the Quidditch match, I still thought he did wonderful. But he told me that it wasn't the Quidditch match; it was because he thought that me might have killed me in the fight with Vold-er, You-Know-Who. It was then that I recognized the fear; he was afraid! I didn't know how I was supposed to respond, my voice kinda caught in my throat." Ron trailed off, stroking the dog absently. "It took me a while to realize…well, that I loved him. I never told him or Hermione," he added quickly. "I didn't want to jeopardize our friendships."

                Ron, finally finished with his story, glanced down at the warm animal and sighed; the previous smile vanished from his face. "But now…he's missing, and no one has any idea where he is.  I'm worried…"

                The dog looked up at him with large, friendly eyes, and Ron almost swore that it seemed like he could understand every word of the story. He scratched the animal gently behind the ears then leaned his head back against the pillow, heaving a sigh and falling into a moment of silent thinking.

                He was rudely jolted from his thoughts by the sound of several owls hooting very near to him, each too loud to be Pigwidgeon. For a moment, he even dared to hope that one of the owls might be Hedwig,, but when he got to the front room, he was surprised to see about four owls sitting on his windowsill, each holding a package of some sort. Perplexed, he opened the window manually, only letting it stay that way long enough for the trio of birds to drop their packages in the chair and leave. After shutting it again with an annoyed shiver, he went over to the package-laden seat and picked one up that looked suspiciously like a broomstick. After unwrapping it, he saw with great awe and even more confusion that it was not only a broom, but a Firebolt; one that looked oddly like Harry's old broom. With great care, he set it aside and went for another package, this one substantially larger than the others.

                "Why on Earth do I have Harry's broom?" He asked himself, quite befuddled at the moment. With a last glance at the Firebolt, Ron brought his curious eyes back to the package in his hands. He read that it was all addressed to him, as was the broom, so he unwrapped the box and opened it with a flick of his wand. After the flaps on the box waved open, Ron reached in and pulled out a few long robes; one plain midnight blue, the other a dark crimson. As Ron unfolded the robes, which were in much better conditions that his own, something fell from the folds and hit his foot. When he looked down, he saw in amazement that it was Harry's wand, made of holly wood with a core of a phoenix feather. He quickly picked it up and regarded it carefully; this was starting to get a bit creepy. Gently laying aside the robes and wand, he reached for the last package, which was fairly light considering it's size. It was smaller than the previous package, but he had to steady it with two hands. After unwrapping it, he stopped in utter surprise. It wasn't what he had expected, not at all. Sitting there in his hand, bound by a few thin pieces of twine, was every letter Ron had written to Harry over the last four years; each one opened and neatly saved in its original envelope. Blue eyes wide, he unbound the twine and took a breath of surprise. Even the letters that had never been replied to, like Ron's Christmas invitation, was opened. But why had they not been replied to?

                Ron turned and looked at his feet, where the dog Harry was now sitting and looking up at him with vibrant green eyes. Ron blinked. Green eyes? Was he seeing things? He leaned down towards his pet, looking at him with scrutiny. Then he saw something he had never noticed before. There were markings on the dog's face, dark grey circles that went about his eyes and a slightly lighter marking on his forehead, like a…

                "A lighting bolt?" Ron asked, halfway between hope and fear. He was silent for a long moment, trying to sort this all out in his mind.  It just didn't seem to fit together. But still…

                "Harry?"

                Ron watched in silence as the dog stepped back a few feet from where he had been sitting and slowly began to change; the untidy black fur fell away and canine limbs became human. The fur became long brown traveling robes, except for atop the head, where it stayed and grew a bit longer. Ron started in shock at what had just happened as the restored Animangus turned to face him with gleaming green eyes framed in round glasses, his messy bangs shading his eyes a bit.

                Harry Potter smiled. "Hey, Ron."

~*Chapter Three Coming Soon!*~