James sighed, put his head down on the heap of open books. Half between
exhaustion and rage, he began to mumble to himself, words that would make
Hazel blush, words that fifteen year olds aren't supposed to know. He would
never get this! Never! He had been trying, along with Sirius and Peter, to
do this for nearly three years. The knowledge was there, under his
fingertips, but the magic wouldn't come!
Day after day, James had come to the library, sometimes with Sirius, sometimes alone. He had tried every book with even a passing reference to what he sought, yet to no avail. For every idea he had, there were a dozen reasons why it would never work.
Long hours of work had lent James the unfortunate habit of talking to himself. "Alright, Potter, time for some light reading before you snap." He rose, putting the tomes back in twos and threes. "Just one more book, then to bed."
As he was putting the last volume away, James saw something that caught his attention. It was a slim hardbound book, with a cover the color of Lily's eyes. "The Nature of Magic" it read, with slim golden letters.
Picking up the book under his arm, James checked it out, signing his name with a flick of his wand, then brought it back to Gryffindor Tower. Flopping down in one of the cushy armchairs in the common room, he opened the book to a random page (James hated starting school books at the beginning) began to read.
"The nature of magic is not what the common mage all too often believes it to be. Magic neither a weapon nor a tool, designed to be picked up, used, and then discarded at the mage's convenience. Nor is it exact, precise. There is no defined measurement of magic, no set rules for the exact manner in which each spell carries itself out.
Magic is much more than that, or at least it has the potential to be. Magic is an art form. It is an extention of the mage who wields it. It also IS the one who wields it. A powerful mage never hates himself.
Magic must be treated properly. It is a lover, a friend, and a mentor, all at once; yet it is also a mortal enemy and a bitter rival. Mages must understand both aspects to wield the power magic can command, but be forewarned: those who fully and truly understand magic in this light are never thirsty for power. Instead, they know intimately that they have always possessed that power within themselves."
James just stared blankly at the page for a long time. He felt like leaping for joy, like crying with happiness. He understood, at last he understood! Yet somehow, he found that he could not move. His legs would not support him if he tried to stand, his arms gripped the chair rigidly.
After what must have been hours, James stood. He stood slowly, shakily, but he stood. He quietly went up to the boys' dormitory, put the book on his nightstand, and went into the attached bathroom and locked the door. No one else must be allowed to see this.
Gripping his wand firmly with one hand, James opened his mouth. For the first time, he did not concentrate on the syllables, he did not worry about his pronunciation. He whispered, in the ecstasy of magic, "Meus Animagus Altnerus", tapping his forehead with the wand.
Even as he breathed the last syllable, James could feel the magic working. His entire body quivered as he suddenly grew hair, a rather ticklish sensation. He was forced to go down on all fours, even as he felt his spine lengthen and realign with a sickening popping sound. It was not as painful as James had always suspected it would be. His neck grew the most, even as his torso broadened.
His kneecaps completely shifted to the back of his legs with a painful sounding snap, nearly knocking James off his feet. He found himself staring at his feet. He barely kicked off his slippers before his feet grew, his toes melding together and hardening into hooves. The same was happening to his hands, James realized. Then, at the end of it all, the most amazing thing happened: James's skull started to reform itself! His jaws lengthened and narrowed, forming a snout, even as bony points sprouted on the top of his skull.
Only when the transformation was complete did James have the courage to look in the mirror. Where there should have been a lanky fifteen year old wizard, there now stood a proud stag. No longer was their a mass of unruly black hair; now there were antlers. Two antlers with five beautiful prongs each. Prongs. Hardly noticing that he could still speak in this form, James began to laugh quietly, a silent, startled chuckle that echoed from the barrel chest of a deer. "Prongs. I am Prongs!"
Day after day, James had come to the library, sometimes with Sirius, sometimes alone. He had tried every book with even a passing reference to what he sought, yet to no avail. For every idea he had, there were a dozen reasons why it would never work.
Long hours of work had lent James the unfortunate habit of talking to himself. "Alright, Potter, time for some light reading before you snap." He rose, putting the tomes back in twos and threes. "Just one more book, then to bed."
As he was putting the last volume away, James saw something that caught his attention. It was a slim hardbound book, with a cover the color of Lily's eyes. "The Nature of Magic" it read, with slim golden letters.
Picking up the book under his arm, James checked it out, signing his name with a flick of his wand, then brought it back to Gryffindor Tower. Flopping down in one of the cushy armchairs in the common room, he opened the book to a random page (James hated starting school books at the beginning) began to read.
"The nature of magic is not what the common mage all too often believes it to be. Magic neither a weapon nor a tool, designed to be picked up, used, and then discarded at the mage's convenience. Nor is it exact, precise. There is no defined measurement of magic, no set rules for the exact manner in which each spell carries itself out.
Magic is much more than that, or at least it has the potential to be. Magic is an art form. It is an extention of the mage who wields it. It also IS the one who wields it. A powerful mage never hates himself.
Magic must be treated properly. It is a lover, a friend, and a mentor, all at once; yet it is also a mortal enemy and a bitter rival. Mages must understand both aspects to wield the power magic can command, but be forewarned: those who fully and truly understand magic in this light are never thirsty for power. Instead, they know intimately that they have always possessed that power within themselves."
James just stared blankly at the page for a long time. He felt like leaping for joy, like crying with happiness. He understood, at last he understood! Yet somehow, he found that he could not move. His legs would not support him if he tried to stand, his arms gripped the chair rigidly.
After what must have been hours, James stood. He stood slowly, shakily, but he stood. He quietly went up to the boys' dormitory, put the book on his nightstand, and went into the attached bathroom and locked the door. No one else must be allowed to see this.
Gripping his wand firmly with one hand, James opened his mouth. For the first time, he did not concentrate on the syllables, he did not worry about his pronunciation. He whispered, in the ecstasy of magic, "Meus Animagus Altnerus", tapping his forehead with the wand.
Even as he breathed the last syllable, James could feel the magic working. His entire body quivered as he suddenly grew hair, a rather ticklish sensation. He was forced to go down on all fours, even as he felt his spine lengthen and realign with a sickening popping sound. It was not as painful as James had always suspected it would be. His neck grew the most, even as his torso broadened.
His kneecaps completely shifted to the back of his legs with a painful sounding snap, nearly knocking James off his feet. He found himself staring at his feet. He barely kicked off his slippers before his feet grew, his toes melding together and hardening into hooves. The same was happening to his hands, James realized. Then, at the end of it all, the most amazing thing happened: James's skull started to reform itself! His jaws lengthened and narrowed, forming a snout, even as bony points sprouted on the top of his skull.
Only when the transformation was complete did James have the courage to look in the mirror. Where there should have been a lanky fifteen year old wizard, there now stood a proud stag. No longer was their a mass of unruly black hair; now there were antlers. Two antlers with five beautiful prongs each. Prongs. Hardly noticing that he could still speak in this form, James began to laugh quietly, a silent, startled chuckle that echoed from the barrel chest of a deer. "Prongs. I am Prongs!"