Chapter Sixteen

Animagi

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"But when a wizard goes over ter the Dark Side, there's nothin' and no one that matters to 'em anymore....."

~ Hagrid, Harry Potter and Prisoner of Azkaban

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"Harry? Hey, mate, you ready?"

Ron's voice interrupted Harry's thoughts. He had been staring at his dinner, imagining that it was a Quidditch pitch and detailing intricate plays for his treacle tart. It was fair to say the upcoming match with Slytherin was weighing heavily on his shoulders. He tore his gaze away from the plate and stared at Ron, suddenly remembering another significant event he had been eagerly anticipating. His Animagi lesson.

He stood up quickly and glanced at his watch. "Right. We should go. McGonagall will be expecting us." They made their way out of the crowded, bustling Great Hall. Dark indigo clouds, swollen with precipitation, swirled across the enchanted ceiling, promising more snow. The winter had been brutal and Hogwart's was already burdened with half a meter of snow covering the cold, frozen earth.

Harry and Ron spoke nervously as they reached the Transfigurations classroom. McGonagall had not given them very specific information on these lessons. Harry wondered how they would start. He tried to ignore the anxiety gnawing at his mind. Becoming an Animagus was a desperate wish he held near to his heart.

"Let's do this, he murmured, mostly to himself. He pushed open the door and walked in.

The other three students, Neville, Hermione, and Cesare, were already waiting. They were sitting in a semi-circle of five chairs which faced McGonagall's desk. She eyed them sternly as Ron and Harry warily approached.

"Gentlemen. I was beginning to fear you had forgotten. Nevertheless, now that you have decided to grace us with your presence, perhaps we can begin?"

They mumbled apologies and shamefully took the last two seats. McGonagall took a large flask from inside her desk.

"Now you all know what we are going to try and accomplish. I must stress to you the difficulty in successfully becoming Animagi. Most wizards never attempt to process, and many who do still fail."

Harry noticed Ron yawn and resisted to urge to snicker. He knew the professor was only trying to prepare for the possibility of failure, but her speech fell on ears deaf with excitement.

She walked over to an old, peeling storage cabinet and took out five small vials. The five students watched as she poured a small amount of the thick potion from the flask into each dusty, glass vial.

McGonagall carefully picked up one of the vials and held it up. "This is but the first step in a long and arduous journey. This mixture will allow you a brief glimpse of your spirit animal. This is animal which best represents you and your characteristics. Most wizards choose to become their spirit animal because it is believed to be the easiest transformation."

"The time it takes to complete the process varies. Most believe the average time to be about a year, under the instruction of a trained Animagus. But--," The professor was interrupted when Cesare's hand darted up and he asked a question.

"Professor, is it possible to do it in less time? Significantly less time?" he asked nonchalantly.

She narrowed her eyes. "How significant, Mr. Jalil?"

He shrugged, looking very casual. "Ah, I don't know. Maybe a.........day?" Che said innocently.

Now she appeared even more cross. "Unless you're a Metamorphmagus or it runs in your family," she said very sarcastically. "This is a very serious topic, Mr. Jalil, and if you feel the need to make jokes, perhaps you should not be here."

His mouth fell open in protest, but wisely he kept silently. Harry noticed that Ron grinned madly when McGonagall scolded Cesare, and he rolled his eyes.

Looking a bit ruffled, the professor continued. "Now as I was saying, this potion will aid you in your vision. I hope you are all well-rested. It is no small ordeal on the mind." She placed one of the small vials in front of each student. "Whether or not you choose to drink is your concern."

Harry eyed the glass tumbler in front of him and carefully picked it up. The glass was icy-cold. The potion was a clumpy mixture of mottled green and black sludge. Just looking at it made his stomach turn. An anxious thought shot through his mind. What if the potion didn't work? What if he just sat there after drinking it and nothing happened? Would that mean he couldn't be an Animagus?

He rolled the vial between his thumb and index finger. Only one way to find out. He raised it to his lips and drank it quickly. It felt like cold mud sliding down his throat and he had to resist the urge to throw up. He gripped the edge of his chair, and then relaxed. Nothing was happening. Nothing at all. It hadn't worked. He wasn't going to be able to become an Animagus...........

And then suddenly, he was far, far away from his familiar world of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

~*~*~*~

Harry opened his brilliant green eyes to the dazzlingly bright sunlight, and he threw his hand up to protect his sight from the blinding glare. Harsh, unforgiving wind whipped through his hair. He took an awkward step forward, and stumbled as his foot struck soft, yielding sand. Losing his balance, he collapsed.

Where was he? What happened to him? Questions raced furiously through his mind. He squinted and carefully surveyed his strange surrounding. He was in.........a desert? How could that be? Yet, he was almost certainly in a desert. He was struck by the magnificence of the view. An ocean of golden brown waves rippled out to meet every distant edge of the ridiculously bright blue sky. A massive dune, twisted by wind, snaked across the sand.

The vision! He realized this must be it! But what could a dusty, hot desert possibly have to do with becoming an Animagus?

The cruel sun was beating down upon his body without mercy. He pulled off his black cloak and stared at the monotonous landscape. He was feeling anxious again. Was there something else he was supposed to do? The idea of waiting in this sweltering heat wasn't very pleasant.

As if in response to this thought, a strong breeze blew a large amount of sand into his face. Harry choked and sputtered, his hands instantly going to block his eyes. "Bloody hell," he muttered.

He froze as he suddenly heard a low hissing. His blood turned to ice and felt his body flood with adrenaline. He knew all too well what sort of creature made that sound.

A terrible sense of foreboding filled his mind. Harry forced himself to open his sand-encrusted eyes. Although his vision was bleary, there was no mistaking the incredibly long creature in front of him. It must have slithered over the dune. It raised itself up, flaring its formidable hood, and hissed again.

A snake. A cobra, to be exact. It was a dusty brown color, with a wide black band around its neck. It was at least seven meters long. Harry's attention quickly focused on the large, sharp fangs that were bared directly at him. Venom dripped off their slippery surface.

Well, just when he thought things couldn't get worse. Now he got to wait around for his spirit animal with a lethal, salivating snake. He didn't move, silently praying it would go upon its way.

The cobra appeared to have other plans. It crept a bit closer to him, and Harry immediately flinched. But a small mark above the cobra's eyes drew his attention, and he didn't flee. It looked like a small black line..........crooked, almost in the shape of a.......

Lightning bolt. The cobra had a lightning bolt shaped mark on its head.

The connection was instantaneous. He felt liked he'd been kicked in the stomach. He understood now. This was his spirit animal. The animal that was the best representation of his "personality and characteristics." Harry's spirit animal was a snake.

No, no, no, no, no...........! His thought rebelled against the logical conclusion. It was a desert. Of course there would snakes around. A cobra couldn't be his spirit animal. It was impossible. That was closer to something VOLDEMORT would transform into. Not Harry. He would rather not become an Animagus, than train to turn into a snake, he told himself defiantly. The thought made him queasy.

The brown serpent had stopped hissing and was now carefully regarding him with a detached air. Its tongue tasted the air as his scent drifted along on the rayeeb desert wind.

~ It'sssssssss what you fear.~ A silkily voice suddenly rang out, shattering the silence.

Harry frantically glanced around, searching for who had spoken. His searching gaze settled on the snake. 'Duh, Potter,' he thought, feeling quite idiotic. "You ARE a Parseltongue.'

He could have sworn the cobra gave him a condescending glare. But it might have just been a trick of the harsh, unforgiving sunlight.

~ Beware the one who sssssssharessssss my land. ~

Harry stared at the serpent in befuddlement. Huh? What was that supposed to mean? He wondered.

Any suspicions he had were lost when his vision slowly became hazy. He rubbed his eyes, but it didn't help. He saw the blurry outline of the snake and reached out a hand to steady himself, but could not grasp at the sand. Was this what heatstroke was like?

~Thissssssss issssssss where I leave you, Harry Potter. Heed my warningssssss. ~

Harry reached towards the now-indistinct form of the serpent. He felt himself being torn from this magical place. "Wait..........."

Golden waves of sand intermingled with bright blue sky swirled together and Harry closed his eyes as he was tugged back to Hogwarts.

He suddenly found himself sitting against the hard, cold chair in the Transfigurations class. His eyes darted widely around the room. The other four students had similar bewildered looks on their faces. Neville was gripping the edge of his seat so hard his knuckles had turned white. He shot Harry a fearful, confused gaze.

McGonagall was studying their reactions carefully. "I judge from your faces that you all saw something?"

She was met with slow, affirmative nods and took this as a sign to continue. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked pointedly at Ron, who was twitching with an awed gaze on his freckled face.

"Mr. Weasley. Did you see anything?"

Ron stopped tapping his fingers against the chair arms and looked up. He couldn't hide the huge smile that easily broke across his face. His blue eyes were alight with excitement.

"Well, when I opened my eyes I thought I was in the Forbidden Forest at first. Really bizarre stuff. But then I saw this sort of bird in one of the trees. It was reddish-colored and I dunno, kinda skivved me out. The thing was huge! For a second, I thought maybe Hagrid was doing some kinda mad breeding between a hypogryph and a phoenix."

McGonagall probably had to fight not to roll her eyes at Ron's rather.....creative description. She raised a thin black brow. "Can you narrow your observations further? Do you have an idea of what type of bird it was?"

His excitement seemed to deflate a bit. "Well, er, not really. It was some sort of red hawk I think."

She nodded curtly. "Well, this will require more research on your part, Mr.Weasley." She turned to Neville. "What about you, Mr. Longbottom?"

Neville was breathing heavily and for a moment Harry wondered if he was upset. But when he looked up, there was an ardent fervor about his visage. He gazed at the other students in wonder. "I saw a lion," he said in an awestruck tone. He seemed like he had trouble believing his own experience.

Professor McGonagall's surprised tone echoed the feelings of the other students. "A lion? And actual LION?"

He nodded slowly, but looked unsure. "Is that......is that bad?" he asked timidly.

She seemed to realize she had made a mistake and quickly back-pedaled. "No, no, of course not. That's very good. Er......." She glanced quickly around the room and her eyes settled on Harry. "Mr. Potter?"

Harry felt his stomach drop and fought not to appear nervous. Neville's spirit animal was a lion and now Harry had to announce that he was a cobra? What a great comparison, he thought sarcastically. The idea of becoming a snake made him nauseous. He couldn't meet McGonagall's inquisitive stare and tried to stall.

"Well, I saw a desert and wasn't sure the vision was going correctly at first. Er, it was really hot and sandy. I was starting to wonder if I was going to be stuck there and......."

"Did you see your spirit animal?" McGonagall interrupted, apparently not very engaged by Harry's story so far.

"Er, yeah."

"And.....?"

He took a quick breath. "I saw.........I saw a snake. A cobra, I think."

Ron snorted, thinking Harry was joking. Hermione's eyes grew wide as saucers, Neville looked confused, and Cesare seemed interested. As for McGonagall, she couldn't hide her surprise. "A snake? Are you sure? What did it look like"

Harry sighed and nodded. "Yeah, there was pretty much no mistaking it for anything else. It was brown and had a dark band around it's neck. Also......." He swallowed, feeling even more ill, "also it had a small lighting-shaped mark on its head."

McGonagall inhaled sharply and Ron's jaw dropped.

"Are you serious?!" he demanded. Harry nodded again. The professor opened her mouth to speak again, but she was interrupted by a cheerful-looking Cesare, the only one who didn't seem to be taking this news badly.

"It's an asp," He offered informatively. "The dark band around its neck? Egyptian cobra. Nasty creatures and very poisonous." Che smiled at Harry. "You have a legitimate venomous killer as your spirit animal. Nicely done, Potter," he joked. Hermione shook her head and hit his arm in attempt to make him be silent.

McGonagall also looked sternly at Cesare. "Thank you for you analysis, Mr. Jalil," she commented sarcastically. "We'll, er.......have to discuss this further, Harry," she said, at a loss for the correct thing to say. Instead, she quickly focused on Hermione. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione sat up straight in her seat and looked very serious. In a very formal tone, she solemnly announced, "My spirit animal is a brown fox."

"Very good," McGonagall sighed, clearly relived not to have another disturbing case like Harry's. In a tired voice, she asked the last person about their experience.

"Mr. Jalil, what animal did you see?"

Cesare was the only one who seemed calm and perfectly content. "Me? Oh, I didn't see anything," he said casually, indifferent to effect of his words.

"What? You didn't see anything?" McGonagall demanded in disbelief. Cesare was the top sixth year student when it came to Transfigurations. Everyone assumed that he would easily accomplish the challenge of becoming an Animagus.

"Nope, not a single thing," he said, quite cheerfully. "Guess I'm not Animagi material," He shrugged, without a hint of disappointment.

The professor narrowed her eyes and continued to throw odd looks his way. She seemed very eager for them to leave. "Well, I know you must all be tired. This is a very exhausting process. We will discuss your experiences in more detail next week."

Harry slowly nodded, not realizing how tired his body was. It felt like he'd just had the most exhausting Quidditch practice of his life. Every muscle felt stretched and pulled. His very mind was aching. He thought longingly of his warm, comfortable bed nestled high in the Gryffindor tower.

McGonagall bid them good night and the weary students left for their common room. Silence haunted to group as their footsteps echoed in the dark, empty hall. Harry threw a quick glance in Cesare's direction. He knew the rest of them were eager to discuss their Animagi visions, but didn't want to in front of Che. Harry was shocked the Egyptian hadn't seen anything. He was far more talented in Divination than the rest of them, (with the possible exception of Hermione.) It didn't make sense. And Che didn't even appear to be that upset about it! He seemed even more content than the rest of them. Odd.

~*~*~*~*~

Cesare stayed in the common room after the others went to bed. Hermione looked imploringly after him.

"Are you okay? That must have been a bit of a shock. I mean, with the Animagi........" She phrased her words carefully, watching for any reaction to her words.

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Hermione, really it's nothing."

She gave him a funny look. Che really seemed fine. He was even smiling! That didn't make any sense. Hermione knew she would have been more upset if she was in his situation.

"Okay, if you say so. Besides, it doesn't mean anything. You're still the best Transfigurer in our class."

Che laughed. "That's not true. Stop worrying. This really does not bother me." He ruffled her hair affectionately and lightly grasped one of her hands. He studied her face intently. "Go to sleep," he concluded, "You look tired."

"Mmm, that sounds good," she yawned. "How about you? Staying down here for a bit?"

He nodded with a small smirk. "You know me. The night owl. I have to do some homework."

"Liar. You never do homework."

"Then I'll find something else to do," he said quickly. "Go, you are exhausted." He kissed her lightly. "Good night, habibi."

After she left, Cesare relaxed in one of the chairs next to the fire. He felt a little more relieved now that this Animagi business was taken care of. He'd rather have McGonagall believe he wasn't capable of the transformation, instead of her discovering that he was already an unregistered Animagus. He didn't think she would be very happy to know about that small detail.

He stretched his arms over his head. He felt a little sleepy himself, but didn't relish the thought of having more murderous nightmares. Che felt a chill up his spine. The nightmares were only one reminder that everything was not right in his life. Nightmares, wandless magic, suddenly being much more skilled at magic....... The abnormalities continued to plague his mind and his restless nights. He sighed deeply. Cesare was no closer to figuring out what was going on than he had been a few weeks ago.

A hush of whispers interrupted his brooding. His eyes drifted over to the far wall across from the stairs. He cursed under his breath as he recognized the portrait from the other night.

"Foul sorcerer! Look not upon thee! Thou shan't filthy us with thy dark glare!"

He threw his hands up in exasperation and the medieval women cowered in their framed picture.

"What are you going on about? I can't understand a word of what you're saying!" he complained. Damn English. Such a complicated, odd language. He got up and strode over the painting. This was the first time he had really examined it up close. The two women were seated in stone room with narrow Gothic windows. Their clothing appeared to be from the early Middle Ages.

One woman dramatically covered her eyes at his approach. "Stop! Do not come any closer, thou Dark wizard of pagan deserts!"

He scowled, and in an offended tone, asked, "What are you calling pagan deserts?! You people were living in caves when we were building architectural wonders....." He shut his mouth quickly. Let's not get into that, Che, he told himself. He rubbed his brow in annoyance. "Listen, I don't really want people to hear you two calling me a Dark wizard, so how about......" He was cut off again when the women started cackling.

"It sounds a wondrous plan to thine ears! Thy black secret shall be exposed. Thou shall be cast out from Hogwart's!" one declared. The women were now giddy with malicious excitement.

"Dumbledore shall hear of thy Dark magic!"

"I WASN"T practicing Dark magic!" he protested. But it was futile. He suddenly they were serious about snitching on him when one darted to the edge of the portrait to escape.

He threw his wand arm out instinctively. "Petrificus dipengere!" Che jumped back as the painted figures froze in place. His mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Bism il lah!" he exclaimed. What did he just do? He'd never heard of that spell before he'd said it.

Che bit his lip uncertainly. He didn't know what to do with the portrait. If he unfroze it, the women would go to Dumbledore and accuse him of practicing wandless magic. Che knew he would probably not only be expelled, but jailed for using Dark magic. He couldn't let that happen.

It suddenly felt as if an icy presence had entered the room. Similar to the way a ghost affected its surroundings, but the cold was more mental and physical. A voice seemed to whisper to him from the dark shadows of the room. ~Destroy them. It is the only way......~

He whipped his head around, and pointed his wand in the direction of the voice. "Who said that?!" he demanded, his voice rising with nervous panic.

~It does not matter. All that matters is that you do not get caught. You will rot away in Azkaban for the rest of your life. Never to be free to see your friends or your native land again........Is that what you want?~

This time the voice had come from the other side of the room, and Cesare whirled around, frantically searching for the speaker. "I didn't do anything," he insisted. "I didn't do anything. They can't put me in prison!"

~Don't be stupid. They will not take any chances in times like these. And you did practice Dark Magic........~

"No, I didn't! I didn't mean too!

~But you did. You have been graced with a gift. It is your responsibility to not get caught.~

"Who are you?" Cesare whispered in a pleading voice.

~Destroy the portrait.~

"I can't....." Che could have sworn a cold wind suddenly brushed past him and left the room. It felt like waking up from a dream. He shivered and his anxious gaze swept across the frozen figures of the antique painting.

He stood up, feeling very unbalanced. He slowly walked towards the portrait. Dread and uncertainty filled his mind with every step. He stopped in front of the painting and swallowed hard.

'They're not real people," he told himself. 'Just paintings, a figment of someone's imagination.......This won't hurt them.......' But why didn't he feel convinced?

He'd go to Azkaban, he reminded himself firmly. One word to Dumbledore and he'd spend the rest of his life in jail for a crime he hadn't really committed. Conflicting voices in his mind only confused him more.

It's just a painting.

'I can't do this........I can't destroy them.......'

They're not real. They can't feel anything.

'They spoke to me. They can speak, they can think, they can feel.'

It's the only way. They threatened you. You have to respond. You'll go to jail. You'll spend the rest of your life locked in a cage. You'll never see the outside again. You'll never see Egypt again. You'll never see Hermione again..............

'I'll never see Hermione again............'

Cesare raised a shaky hand. His trembling fingers were pressed firmly against his wand. Without even having prior knowledge of the spell, he whispered it. "Incenario cuadroso."

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but certainly not what happened. The portrait burst into crimson and gold flames and emitted low groans that sounded like mournful cries of pain. His eyes widened in shock and he staggered back, dropping his wand in the process. He felt his blood turn to ice and started to shake.

He couldn't look away as the figures writhed and melted. Bubbling oil paint was running down the canvas, like water running down a swift stream. It slowly erased the faces and features of the women who he had been speaking to only moments before.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he repeated in horror, almost saying it to sooth his own soul. He felt dark and ugly. What had he done? Guilt was gnawing away at him, manifesting itself as actual nausea.

Cesare stood, completely transfixed, as the ruined portrait became a twisted, charred mass. All the paint had mixed together to produce a reddish tone that looked disturbingly like blood.

He suddenly became very nervous. What if someone suddenly came into the common room? He would be under suspicion.

Get rid of the evidence. The practical, indifferent thought surprised him out of his emotional response. Of course. He would have to get rid of the remnants of the portrait. It was the only thing linking him to his crime.

His crime. The word came unbidden, but did it accurately describe what he had done? It was just a portrait, he insisted to himself. A nasty little voice inside his head echoed back. Do portraits scream in pain? It mocked.

He waved his wand over the burnt remains. "Expellio." They disappeared in a flash of smoke.

Cesare sat back down in the same chair, yet felt like a very different person. More weight had shifted onto his already burdened shoulders. He had a very bad feeling of foresight. It seemed like he had just taken the first, tentative step onto a very dark path, from which there would be no turning back and no escape.

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-_~ Author's Note ~_-

Well, my happiness at being voted Harry Potter FanFiction.com's story of the month induced me to post another chapter.

One note, habibi is an Arabic term of affection. It's difficult to translate. Kind of like "darling" or "my love." It's pretty common.

Also, my new AIM id is Amarain12 to any who wish to contact me online. I like talking to readers.

Please, please review. I really appreciate any feedback and comment. Reviews=next chapter.......