Harry shifted the sneakoscope as he got his defence book out of his bag. He had found it stuffed inside a sock in his trunk that morning, and had decided to keep it close at hand. If Pettigrew thought they were vigilant and trying to keep track of him, then he would do his best to satisfy those expectations.
Harry, Hermione and Ron had spent the weekend going over everything they had found out. Harry, finally, had brought up the prophecy.
"It's the same thing every year," he had told his friends. "We decide that whatever trouble is happening isn't our concern, until the trouble finally does find me – as it's bound to, because of the prophecy! We really should know better by now."
His friends had agreed then that no matter that it looked like Pettigrew would be involved with something outside of Hogwarts, they would not become complacent, would not stop trying to keep track of his movements. And while they did not know what exactly was coming their way, they would do their best to prepare.
They had picked up their somewhat neglected duelling practice again that weekend, had pledged to go through the Daily Prophet with utmost care from then on – to make sure they would not miss any mention of anything Pettigrew might be involved in, and had discussed ways to make the best of Harry's dark detectors and their copy of the Marauders' Map.
Harry had noticed Lupin looking at him strangely a few times since the lesson had begun, but he supposed if his sneakoscope was not going off, it must not mean anything. He handed over his essay on hinkypunks when leaving the classroom, then shuffled out slowly.
Ron and Hermione had muggle studies soon after and were in discussion about the upcoming lesson. Harry ended up walking next to Neville, who asked him a couple questions about the essays they had just handed in, which Harry was not sure he had got right himself.
"Are you off to the library to wait for Ron and Hermione?" Neville then asked.
Harry supposed he and his friends did have something of a routine. "Er, well, we'll go there together, and then they'll leave when it's time for them to go to muggle studies—"
The shrill whistle seemed to come completely out of the blue. Harry needed a moment to recognise that it was the sneakoscope, much to his surprise. Hermione and Ron had stopped walking and were looking at him oddly. Harry reached into his bag to withdraw the sneakoscope, wondering what had set it off. Neville, looking at them oddly, excused himself before Harry had come up with an answer.
The sneakoscope went quiet a moment later.
"It's a cheap little thing." Ron sighed. "Maybe it's just making mistakes."
It was not until much later in the day that it occurred to Harry that Neville had ancient runes with Hermione. His mentioning that she would be having muggle studies at the same time might have made Neville suspicious, which could have set off the sneakoscope, Harry supposed.
Harry made sure to get his invisibility cloak for their later trip to Snape's office while waiting for Hermione and Ron to return to the library. Dumbledore had advised against using the time-turner, which meant that they had to think of good excuses for why they would be disappearing twice a week in the evenings. He was just considering how often they could claim to be studying in the library and get away without anyone noticing that they were not actually there, when Hermione and Ron returned with Neville in tow.
Studying with Neville was fine. It was even fun every now and then. Hermione was much more polite with him than with either Ron or Harry, and because Neville typically struggled more with the material, it meant that Hermione was forced to keep her more scathing comments in check.
Studying with Neville was a problem when they were about to go off to the dungeons without anyone knowing about it.
There was still well over an hour to go until it was time for dinner, and they still had plenty of homework to do. Harry struggled to think of an excuse why they had to leave, but nothing came to mind. Finally, Hermione began to pack her bag.
"Sorry, Neville, we have to run now." She looked at Ron and then at Harry, clearly expecting them to provide an excuse.
"Yeah, we need to—" Ron began, then looked at Harry as well. When there was no help forthcoming, he went on, "We, er, wanted to go back to the common room—"
"Oh, I'll head back as well—" Neville said at once, before getting interrupted by another shrill whistle.
Harry sighed. He supposed they were not entirely inconspicuous, and Neville had known them for a while. It was a warning that they would need to be more careful. As for Neville, looking embarrassed, having realised that his snooping attempt had been discovered, Harry supposed he could be trusted with a partial truth.
"Yeah, we're up to something," said Harry with a resigned grin.
Neville grinned back, apologised, and let them leave without any more awkward questions.
~HP~
The quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, which would decide if Gryffindor still had any hope to win the Quidditch Cup, would be happening on Saturday the 27th, and Harry would have to attend it because not doing so would look very suspicious. Considering how sleep-deprived he would be after a night in London, he would have preferred to go the weekend before, on Friday the 19th, but Hermione vetoed that. The week following after that would be the one leading up to the full moon, the Wolfsbane potion would be reaching its third stage, and Harry, Ron and Hermione would no longer be helping with it. That would leave them with more time to prepare. Thus, instead of travelling on the upcoming weekend, they decided to travel on the night of the following Friday, the 26th of November.
There was indeed need for preparation. There were the transfiguration exercises that Sirius had set them – all very advanced for their current skill level, easily consuming every free minute they had. Then they had to dictate their numerological calculations for their words to Sirius through Harry's talking mirror. This was so Sirius could determine how much of a change each of the words were likely to cause.
"As I said before, partial transformations can be tricky," Sirius explained. "It's safest to try words first that'll cause a superficial change – like sprouting fur, say – instead of a word that'll cause some sort of internal change."
"And there's a way to determine that beforehand?" Despite her dubious tone, Hermione sounded intrigued.
Sirius nodded. "To some extent, and with a fair amount of uncertainty. We – the four of us Marauders – learned about this the hard way. James fared reasonably well, but after the rest of us had one too many accidents, we finally sat down and learned this." He held up a book in front of the mirror, and leafed through a few pages of tightly written arithmantic calculations.
Noticing the boys' dismayed looks, Sirius laughed. "I'm not expecting you to learn this. It took us months of concerted effort – and Remus helped as well. He finally accepted that we were doing it, and thought it safer to help us avoid horrible accidents." He shook his head at the memory. "No, this I'll calculate for you before your visit."
Sirius had the calculations done a few days before their trip, as promised. Ron was lucky, in that one of his words seemed to be quite safe for a first attempt. Hermione's words all had somewhat higher values, but Sirius thought that she should be able to handle that.
"As for you, Harry—" Sirius hesitated, looked down at his calculations. "I'm not sure if it'd be a good idea for you to try just yet. I won't tell you not to," he added hastily, before Harry could complain. "You'll be travelling all the way to London, so I understand that you'd want to try, but both of your words – 'truth' and 'secret' – have higher values than I'd recommend for a first attempt—"
Harry swallowed, feeling nervous all of a sudden. Then he decided not to be silly about it. "I actually found another word – or maybe two. Would you be able to calculate those values for it before Friday?"
Sirius was not the only one looking surprised. Harry sighed, seeing three pairs of eyes on him. He supposed he would have to explain. Haltingly, he told them of the words he had found during the quidditch match. He considered stopping at 'flying', but then set his jaw, angry at his hesitancy. What sort of Gryffindor was he? Once he had said it, three pairs of shocked eyes stared back at him.
Sirius got over it quickly. "That's not as awful as you seem to think, Harry. A lot of black animals have some sort of association with death, and the way your early life's gone, it's just been a large influence on you."
He did not sound worried or upset, and Harry felt a heavy weight lift off his chest. His godfather's explanation made sense. Harry was suddenly feeling a bit foolish for having hesitated so much, for having let it worry him to the point where he had not spoken about it with anyone – when with just a few words Sirius had dispelled his worries.
"Wait, you turn into a black animal. So is death one of your words as well?" said Ron.
"Er, something like that," said Sirius, but did not go on. "Anyway, if you'd dictate your calculations, Harry…"
Harry did so the following evening, and the night before their trip Sirius had more pleasant news for him. The new words would be safe enough for him to try.
It was hours after curfew on Friday when Harry, Ron and Hermione made it to the top of the astronomy tower, having successfully made it past the disgruntled Fat Lady and without having run into anyone on the way. Hermione checked the time. It was well before eleven. Thankfully, they did not need to sneak around to help with the Wolfsbane potion that Friday, there were no Draco Malfoys who had overheard their plans, as had happened in their first year, and the astronomy lesson would not begin for another hour.
Crookshanks and Hedwig were not as quiet as Harry might have liked, but he was not protesting their presence the way Ron was. Or, rather, Ron was protesting Crookshanks' presence.
Sirius had mentioned that his little owl seemed a bit lonely, so Harry had offered Hedwig as company. But because she kept getting intercepted so often when delivering letters, he had thought it best to take her along in the car, rather than let her fly to London on her own. Hermione had immediately decided to bring her cat along as well, not heeding Ron's warning that a cat was hardly the sort of company a bird would enjoy.
They did not have to wait long. They heard the sound of the Ford Anglia, even though they could not see it until it landed – reasonably quietly – and dropped the invisibility feature. It threw its doors open and allowed them all to climb in. It did not even complain when Ron took the wheel, even though the car knew the exact directions. Hermione was watching the school, noting the exact time when the astronomy tower disappeared from view. They would need to know at which point to return in time, to avoid running into their previous selves.
The car landed again at the edge of the forest, where Padfoot was waiting to join them. Then they were high up in the air, invisible, travelling at high speed to London.
"Really, Hermione, did Crookshanks have to come along?" Ron was all but glaring at the cat. "We don't exactly have extra space—"
"Oh, please! There's plenty of space! And Crookshanks barely needs any. He's going to be sitting in my lap—"
Harry rather thought she was wrong on two counts. What space there had been in the back had been taken up by Padfoot. And Crookshanks had jumped off Hermione's lap as soon as he had seen the huge dog.
"I'm just saying he's out of place!" said Ron. "You really think a cat's a good company for two birds and a dog?"
Hermione, scowl firmly on her face, was trying to decide whether to argue back or 'rescue' Crookshanks from Padfoot first, when the unnatural cat provided her answer for her. Crookshanks was curious about Padfoot, rather than scared, and in a very short time had cosied up to him – causing Ron's dismay as Hermione basked in being proven right.
Harry tried to sleep on the way, though it was difficult. Now that the first – if partial – transformation was so close, the excitement was mounting. He and his friends kept guessing their potential animagus forms, distracting each other from sleep. Sirius did not join the discussion, even though he had transformed into a human, and kept encouraging them to try to sleep, as they would be adding a fair few hours to their night.
Harry must have nodded off after all, because he jolted awake when the car landed. Looking out the window, he saw that they were driving along a shabby muggle street, with rubbish bags lining the pavement. They passed a little square filled with unkempt grass. The houses around them looked grimy, and more than one had broken windows.
"We're here," said Sirius grimly, before stopping the car.
Harry must have slept more than he had realised, because he had not even noticed when Ron and Sirius had switched seats. Hermione, sitting next to him in the back seat, was also yawning. They all climbed out, Harry and Hermione carrying their pets, and followed Sirius to a house that by no means looked any more appealing than its neighbours, the black paint on its door looking shabby and scratched.
Up the worn steps they went, hurrying now, to attract as little attention from the muggles in the vicinity as they could – even though Sirius had assured them that the house was invisible to muggles. Sirius opened the door and ushered them into a dark, musty hallway.
"Welcome to the House of Black," he said, while he closed the door behind him.
It was surprisingly dark inside until Sirius flicked his wand at the old-fashioned gas lamps along the walls, shedding light on a long, gloomy hallway lined with age-blackened portraits, which had all been turned to face the wall.
"You can wreck everything but the wards. Though if you do, better make sure the portraits don't witness it," said Sirius. He sounded grim, rather than joking. "They can't hear us now – I made sure of that. Well, except that one particular portrait, of course…"
He did not explain further, but did point out a pair of long, moth-eaten curtains as they walked past, cautioning them to be quiet. After skirting an umbrella stand that looked as though it had been made from a severed troll's leg, he led them up a dark staircase.
Hermione finally broke the astonished silence while they were passing a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques on the wall. "Sirius, what are these?" She stopped on the stair, to take a closer look at them. "Are they from house elves?" she said, aghast.
Sirius stopped as well, turned back, nodded. "That's my family for you. Used to cut off the heads of their house elves once they grew too weak to carry a tea tray." His voice had an unnatural ring to it. He started up the stairs again. "The current one can't wait for the honour," he added under his breath.
"The current—" Hermione faltered in her step, almost colliding with Ron behind her. Crookshanks hissed and jumped out of her arms. "You mean, there's a house elf here?"
"I ordered him to stay downstairs in the kitchen. Then I put up noise dampening charms, to make sure he wouldn't be able to hear you." Sirius did not turn around or slow down as he explained this. "He only obeys me because he has to. I wouldn't put it past him to try to find some loophole to make trouble."
Hermione, becoming upset, began asking after the house elf who was forced to take Sirius' orders. After the third comment she made, Sirius exhaled, stopping on the second floor landing.
"I don't like having him around any more than you do, Hermione," he said. "I'll tell you what. I'll give him clothes as soon as I'm not being searched for by the aurors – or if I can find another safe place and can give this one up. I'd do it now, but then he'd run to the aurors right away, and I might still need to stay here this winter." His tone was short, on edge.
Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line, but let go of the topic.
Sirius led them to the library. It was vast, filled from floor to ceiling with shelves in several rows, reminiscent of the library at Hogwarts. The little owl was in there as well, and flew in a large circle around the room as soon as he noticed them, excited at the audience. Hedwig looked as unimpressed by the display as she had the first time she had met him, but after a moment she did fly off Harry's arm to greet him.
"I didn't realise you'd kept him," said Harry.
Sirius followed his gaze. His closed expression cleared somewhat when his eyes landed on the owl. "He didn't seem eager to leave, and I didn't want to make him. Now I don't know what to do with him. I'm constantly moving, and I'm not even using him to deliver letters."
Crookshanks, to his credit, did not try to chase the birds. He was far more interested in staying close to Sirius and kept circling him curiously.
"Why haven't you named him?" asked Ron, alternately watching the little owl and Crookshanks with a mixture of curiosity and an odd sort of disappointment at being proven wrong.
"I'm hoping to find him a better home soon. Then his permanent owners can give him a name."
Hermione was perusing the book covers along the shelves. They looked dark, reminiscent of the books from the restricted section of the Hogwarts library, and on closer inspection, had titles to match the looks.
"I wouldn't recommend them for light reading," said Sirius. "Come on, I've set everything up over here."
He led them to the farthest corner from the door. Harry recognised having seen the windowsill through the talking mirror. The curtains were squished against the windowpane and on top were placed a couple books, some parchment, ink and quill. Incongruously, these items were joined by colourful muggle snacks. Not far from the window, there was also a dusty old armchair, placed in the corner of the room.
Ron finally gave up his attempt to figure out Crookshanks and turned to the snacks instead. "Ooh, fizzy drinks in plastic bottles." He picked one up. "We learned about them in muggle studies."
Sirius nodded. "I thought Harry and Hermione might like them. They're not as bad as I remembered from before Azkaban," he added.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I want to go first," she said, getting back on topic.
Sirius, leaning against the wall next to the window, leafed through the sheets of parchment on the windowsill, picking one up. "Here's the calculations I did for your words, Hermione."
Hermione accepted the sheet of parchment curiously.
"The words you found so far – 'persevering', 'purpose' and 'honesty' – all have higher scores than I'd have liked – meaning they'll cause somewhat significant changes—"
"Actually, I may have—" Hermione began to say, but hesitated, focussing on the parchment instead. "But you still think I can try transforming, right? 'Persevering' seems to have the lowest value—"
"Yes, go ahead," said Sirius without any further preamble.
Hermione looked a bit put on the spot, but got over it quickly enough. "So, the Latin version. And I just say the word and think back to the moment when I first discovered it—"
Sirius drew his wand and directed the boys to be somewhat out of the way. "Yes. Try 'perseverans' and be ready to end it as soon as it begins to lose power – or if something is going wrong—"
"With the simple untransfiguration spell. Right. Alright." Hermione nodded, collected her courage and raised her wand. "Perseverans—"
Harry had no time to feel nervous. The change happened at once. Hermione's feet – shoes included – began to change, grew thin and covered in white fur, with definite paws at her toes—
"Reparifarge!" said Hermione much earlier than expected.
"Oh, well done, Hermione!" said Sirius, grinning at her. "A nice, clean transformation. And no problems reversing it, either."
"Ooh, that was so strange!" Hermione squealed a little in her excitement. "Oh, I want to try it again! And could I, maybe, try another of my words as well? I know the other words are going to be more difficult, but this one went really well – right? – and I really can't tell what animal I'm supposed to be yet—"
Sirius looked amused. "Actually—" he began to say, but then he settled on, "One thing at a time." He took the next sheet of parchment and handed it to Ron. "You go next. Thankfully, one of your words – 'chivalry' – has a nice, low value, and the translation as 'virtus' seems to work as well. So you can try that one. "
Ron, if anything, looked more nervous. Hermione's success had not dispelled his fears. It would hardly be the first time that she managed something at the first try, which he needed to struggle at. Indeed, his first try had no effect. Sirius went over the memory of finding the word with him, to help him focus on the part of himself that it was referring to. On his second try, Ron succeeded. Dense, sleek fur sprouted along his throat, of a dark maroon colour, with a white marking, its shape reminiscent of a sword.
Ending the transformation did not go as smoothly for Ron as it had for Hermione. The fur seemed to merge with his skin, the marking beginning to look like a scar, before Sirius took over and reversed it completely.
Hermione was the first to congratulate Ron on his success, before he could second-guess himself. Sirius followed suit, agreeing that he had done very well with a difficult task.
"Right." Sirius turned to the windowsill. "Harry's turn." With some hesitation, he picked up the final sheet of parchment, scowling at it as he handed it to his godson.
Harry looked at the calculations. Sirius had circled the relevant values – similarly low in both cases. The words themselves were also circled. The word 'volo' was underlined, and next to it was the word 'mors'.
"You said the word was 'flying' or 'I fly', right?" said Sirius. His voice was off.
"I think it's 'I fly' – at least the numerological—"
Sirius looked down at the parchment as well, pointing to the underlined words. "Those are the Latin translations—"
But Harry required no further explanation. It was his wand shopping all over again. Riddle taunting him with their 'strange likenesses' in the Chamber of Secrets. Voldemort. Vol-de-mort. How had he not noticed it until that moment? For his other words, Harry had been looking at the Latin translations himself, but after finding a word like 'death' he had not been as eager to proceed to the next stage.
Hermione and Ron caught on to the strange mood, and the tension in the room rose. Hermione grabbed the parchment from Harry's hands, and a small, distressed sound escaped her. She had understood. Harry was aware of Ron taking a look at the parchment as well, before falling silent. They had all fallen silent.
"I guess I'll try 'I fly', then," Harry said loudly. He tried for casual, but his voice was off as well.
Harry looked away, not wanting to see the pity in their faces. He tried to recover the excitement he had felt at his first transformation on the way to London. Trying to suppress the trepidation in the back of his mind, Harry thought back to the quidditch match, to the trance that had led him to his new word.
He raised his wand. "Volo—" he said forcefully enough to silence his nerves.
The pain sliced through him before he had finished saying the word. His skin was on fire, as if being pierced by needles all over. Except the needles were all trying to push out of his skin. He tried to end it, but he realised he had dropped his wand—
The spell ended abruptly. Harry, on his knees, looked up to see Sirius' wand pointed at him. His godfather and friends were regarding him with dismayed expressions.
Harry got up. "I want something to drink. How about you guys?" he said into the silence. He walked over to the windowsill before anyone could say otherwise.
Reluctantly, Ron joined him, and after a moment's hesitation so did Hermione. She picked at her drink and at the sweets Sirius had generously provided for them.
"I – I think you were sprouting some feathers," said Ron. "I mean, before, er—"
"Yes, maybe." Harry did not particularly want to discuss the experience. "I guess, with the word being what it is, I'd have to turn into a bird."
"Well, not necessarily," said Hermione. "There's insects, of course. And then there are a few flying mammals—"
"What, like bats?" Harry tried for levity. He did appreciate her ability to be studious in almost any circumstance.
"Well, at least you know you're not one of those," said Ron.
Harry returned his friend's smile. The uncomfortable moment was passing. "Well, I'll figure out more once I try again – but better with another word." He sighed. "Sirius, what do you think went wrong?"
His godfather came over and poured himself some of the overly sweet drink as well. "I'm not sure," he finally said. "I guess it might be—" He trailed off, as he glanced sideways at Harry's parchment, now lying on the armchair next to the window. Then, at Harry's questioning look, he said slowly, "You found two words at once and they could be connected – you might have to use them both at once. But you'll see once you've managed to form sentences with your words. Actually, James had a case of that. Two of his words—"
"Anyway." Sirius turned away from the armchair, changing the topic. "Today was not a bad effort all around. You three know a fair amount about your forms now. Hermione and Ron are clearly mammals, and Harry is some sort of a bird. I can't say any more about Harry or Ron, but we saw what Hermione's paws looked like—"
"Not really," said Hermione. "My feet didn't fully transform. There was just a vague outline. I mean, I guess I won't have hooves, but—"
Sirius hummed. "Considering the sorts of words you found, though, I think it's pretty clear what you'll turn into—"
Harry was surprised to hear this, and by the looks of it, so was Ron. Hermione, on the other hand, scowled – but did not look surprised.
"Hardly," she said. "There're so many different mammals I could be. I barely transformed at all, and I've only found three words so far. Well, four, actually – but you've only heard three. So—"
"No! Crookshanks, no!" Ron shouted all of a sudden.
They followed his gaze to one of the tall shelves. Sirius' little owl had made himself comfortable between the books and seemed to be dozing, tired after all that showing off of earlier. Crookshanks was precariously close, having climbed the shelf. Ron was ready to climb after him, shouting at him to get away from the bird. The owl woke at the shouting, but did not seem inclined to move. Neither did Crookshanks.
"Don't shout at him, Ron!" Hermione came to her cat's defence. "He doesn't mean any harm! If you stop scaring him, he'll climb back down all on his own—"
Ron was not listening to Hermione. He dragged the armchair to the shelf to get to Crookshanks. Harry, meanwhile, noticed Hedwig, who had been alerted by Ron's shouting and was now sitting nearby, watching the shelf and the other two pets. Harry considered asking her to just make Sirius' owl move, but was not sure he wanted to get between his friends' argument.
"Wait, let me try first," Sirius said to Ron. Then he turned to Harry. "You're alright, aren't you?"
Harry nodded, and Sirius turned into Padfoot, to try to communicate with Crookshanks. Harry picked up his parchment, which had floated off the armchair while Ron was dragging it around. The circled words drew his eye. Not quite like Voldemort's name. Anger coursed through him, recalling that he had found them while reliving the memory of Voldemort murdering his parents in order to get to him, to kill him.
Yet, at that moment, he had not been afraid. With sudden clarity, Harry recalled the grim determination that had come with the trance.
Harry was barely aware of Hermione arguing with Ron and Padfoot barking. His thoughts were racing. Maybe that was it, he thought with sudden excitement. His refusal to cower in fear back then was hardly similar to how he had been fearing the word he had found since then. Harry told himself to take heart and to be honest with himself. What sort of Gryffindor was he if he could not even face his own nature? He had to try again.
He cast the animagus spell almost automatically, trying to remember exactly how he had felt back during the quidditch match. It was only when he became aware that he was surrounded by Ron, Hermione and Sirius that he realised he had once again gone through a trance. The experience was still too immediate to make it easy to explain, but he tried his best.
"You were kind of right, Sirius," he said. "The whole point is that link between the words. That I'm not afraid – that 'I fly my course unafraid of death'."
Sirius was regarding him with a strange expression. It took Harry a moment to recognise it as pride.
"Of course," said Sirius. "What does that snake know about flying? Or the courage to recognise that some things are worth dying for?"
"Oh, right," said Hermione. "You-know-who's name means something like flight from death, doesn't it?"
She was holding a purring Crookshanks, Harry noticed.
"He hasn't eaten Sirius' owl, has he?" asked Harry, partly as a distraction. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable under his friends' scrutiny.
"Nah, Padfoot talked him around, I think," said Ron, for once not openly hostile towards the cat.
His almost fond expression made Harry wonder if he had missed something.
Sirius barked a laugh. "He's really surprisingly clever. And not at all a loner like most cats. He likes to make friends, especially with his owner's friends and their pets—"
"And he seems to like dogs, doesn't he?" said Ron. Now he really did sound fond.
Sirius snorted. "Clearly."
He looked at Hermione when saying this, who scowled in response. Harry yet again felt that he was missing something.
"So he's just befriended the owl? Hedwig too?" Harry looked around for her, but she also seemed to have found a secluded corner for herself.
Ron nodded. "Alright. I'll admit it. He's not so bad. But I want it pointed out that he's an unnatural cat—"
"No he isn't," said Hermione at once, cradling her cat even closer.
"Er, actually…" Harry hesitated at Hermione's put-out expression. He better proceed with caution. "You know I told you how Mrs Figg breeds part-kneazle cats? She kept telling me about the differences between cats and kneazles, and how to tell them apart. And looking at Crookshanks – do you think he could have a little bit of kneazle in him?"
Sirius snorted before Hermione could reply. "A little bit? I'd be surprised if that kneazle has more than a little cat in him."
Instantly, Hermione's face darkened and she started arguing back, almost irrationally trying to prove Sirius wrong. Crookshanks had to escape from her hold as it grew ever tighter. Harry frowned at her, wondering where her vehemence was coming from.
"Sirius, I had an idea about your owl," said Ron, interrupting the futile argument. "You said that he's tiring of following you around. Couldn't you just leave him here, in this house? If you left a window open, he could just come and go as he pleased—"
Sirius grimaced. "I thought about that. But I wouldn't put it past Kreacher to do him some harm." Sirius' expression closed off again, losing much of the good cheer he had regained since entering the house.
"Who?" asked Harry.
"The house elf."
Hermione had several things to say about that. The words came bursting out of her, as if she had been wanting to say them a while. Harry realised suddenly why she had been arguing with Sirius. She was still upset about finding out that he owned a house elf.
Sirius finally stopped her when she claimed that Kreacher would not harm the owl. "How would you know what he would or wouldn't do? You've never met him," he said.
"Well, maybe we should," she retorted. "He's forced to obey you, isn't he? So what's the danger?"
"Dobby managed to warn me when he was still owned by the Malfoys," Harry reminded her, then cringed at her betrayed look.
"Look, Hermione, it's better if Sirius doesn't leave the owl here, isn't it?" said Ron. "It'll be less work for the house elf – not that he seems to be doing much work…" He looked around the dusty, neglected room critically.
It was Crookshanks who finally did it. He curled up against Sirius' leg, purring contentedly – not interested in taking Hermione's side.
"Well, I've never even met a house elf," she snapped. "What do I know? I'm just a muggleborn. Maybe Kreacher is perfectly happy being ordered to stay in the kitchen when there're guests in the house. Maybe he doesn't mind cleaning up after us and after random owls. Maybe he likes serving the – what was it? – heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?"
Sirius had drawn back, his typical slightly haughty expression getting more pronounced. Harry was about to ask Hermione where she was getting such ideas from, but then he remembered what Sirius had told them of his Veritaserum questioning, when they had met with him in the Shrieking Shack. He had said something about having had a high opinion of his relatives, had he not? Harry had barely given that any thought, but it seemed it had made a worse impression on Hermione. Perhaps because she herself was a muggleborn, Harry surmised.
"Oh, Kreacher does love to serve the House of Black," Sirius said after barely a pause, his voice conversational, his expression almost bored. "He's loyal to their memory to the deepest recesses of his shrivelled heart. However, he doesn't consider me as part of the family any more – what with my parents disowning me. It wasn't enough to actually disinherit me, but they certainly tried their best—"
Noticing both of his friends' surprised faces, Harry realised that Sirius had never mentioned being disowned or running away from home around them – as he had around Harry.
"Really, Hermione, if I'd known you'd be so interested in meeting him, I might've arranged something. Though, a fair warning – I doubt he'd consider a – well, a muggleborn much of a guest. So if you do meet him, you'll have to contend with hearing certain derogatory terms with regards to your parentage." Sirius' strange, haughty facade cracked then. He sighed, then grimaced. "It won't be possible today, though. There's something I found in my brother's room that I need to show to all of you, and Kreacher would have a fit if he saw any of us anywhere near his Dear Young Master Regulus' things."
"Well, if he'd rather not have me in your brother's room…" Hermione trailed off, then looked away sheepishly. She had a feeling that she had gone a bit too far, and stopped arguing further. If she was surprised at hearing about Kreacher's supposed loyalty to the rest of the Black family, she did not say anything about it either.
Harry regarded her, the stubborn set of her jaw, her arms crossed in front of her chest.
Ron preempted him. "Well, do we all need to go?" he asked, in her support. "Hermione, if you still wanted to work on your spell, or—"
Sirius shook his head. "No, it's just an old newspaper clipping I wanted to show you. I can go and get it myself, actually."
Even though Harry would have loved to see more of Sirius' mysterious house, he found himself nodding as well. "I think I still wanted to look at my spell – and you, Hermione, were saying something about having found a fourth word—?"
Hermione looked at her friends, her expression still sheepish, but also grateful. "I – Yes, I found another word when I confounded that auror in Hogsmeade." Her grimace resembled a resigned sort of smile. "It's 'loyalty'." Not quite an apology, but a concession of a sorts.
Sirius' lips twitched as well, but he did not comment. With a murmured, "I'll be right back," he left the library.
Hermione turned to Crookshanks, averting her gaze from her friends. Ron crouched beside them, voluntarily interacting with the cat.
Harry, on the other hand, really did want to work on his spell. He picked up a couple of Sirius' books, sat in the armchair and began calculating. He had done this a few times now, and it did not take him long. He was finished with the entire phrase he had completed that day by the time Sirius returned.
"I think 'I fly my course unafraid of death' will work," said Harry, before he could lose his nerve. His translation was a bit clunky, but it should be serviceable. He spoke the words before anyone had thought to tell him not to.
This time, the transformation worked. Having his own body transfigured was still a strange sensation, but one he had experienced before. This time was only a little more involved than his previous experiences. He felt the feathers cover part of his face, extending downwards even where his clothing used to begin. Something about his vision had shifted as well, but he was not sure in what way.
Sirius reversed his transformation, not waiting to see if Harry would manage it himself. "That was risky. You should've waited for me to find out what sort of transformation would result from it. A whole phrase, Harry—" He broke off, smoothing out his worried expression.
Harry shook his head. He could not fully explain it, but he felt it had to happen that way. "I had to overcome my fear," he said.
Sirius looked like he wanted to admonish him some more, but let it go, instead holding out a yellowed, faded newspaper article. Harry, Ron and Hermione moved closer to take a look.
"It's a strange one," said Sirius, walking over to the windowsill. "My brother's room is littered with articles about Voldemort's rise to power – from the years leading up to the war, from when we were teenagers." After moving things out of the way, Sirius carefully laid out the very threadbare paper for them to read. "This one's much older. It's still from the old war against Grindelwald – World War II in the muggle world. And it was hidden, stashed under a whole bunch of newer articles. If not for last year's events, I'd never have guessed that it had anything at all to do with Voldemort, but—"
He stopped when he heard the gasps from the adolescents, who were now busy reading the article. It was about a murder. A certain Tom Riddle, muggle, had been murdered by a certain Morfin Gaunt, who had confessed to the crime, then continued on to complain about some lost locket. The article was very short, merely giving the facts as they were known.
Sirius nodded at the solemn, intrigued faces that gazed back at him, once the three friends were done reading. "Voldemort's closest magical ancestor was a Gaunt, and his muggle father's name was Riddle. Curious, wouldn't you say?"