"There's supposed to be a storm in Ottery, St. Catchpole," Hermione said.

I nodded.

"That wasn't one of the locations we thought was most likely, at least from what everybody told us," I said. "Do we have anyone who lives near there?"

We were in Neville's house, which meant that Hermione had been able to Floo directly to us. If we'd still been in Grimmaud Place, she'd have had to risk arriving by Knight Bus, which would have put her in more danger than I was comfortable with.

"Ron," Hermione said. Her voice was filled with dread.

It wasn't just that Ron was likely not going to understand why he hadn't been included. Ron's father was a member of the Ministry, almost honor bound to inform on us. His mother was a busybody, likely to tell Dumbledore, or at the least her husband.

"We'll figure it out," I said.

Worst come to worst, I could always obliviate everyone.

Hermione didn't seem convinced, but finally she nodded. "I'll contact him through the floo and see if we can get invited over."

"I'm not sure we've done enough to prepare," Hermione said anxiously. "What we did last time was all well and good, but the Death Eaters might be regretting missing their chance."

Harry smirked. "I bet they don't."

Harry's family had balked at having the floo network installed in their fireplace until Sirius had gone over to speak with them. According to Harry he'd told them I might come to visit if the Floo wasn't put in.

Harry had apparently been enthusiastic over the past two summers in describing my deeds to his cousin; Dudley was apparently quite afraid of me.

His aunt and uncle hadn't been kind to him for that, but Harry had shown them some Wizarding papers he'd hidden. They'd destroyed them, of course, but then Sirius confirmed everything Harry had told them and then some.

I suspect that he might have exaggerated my deeds; when he'd told them that I'd be at their house to visit, they'd turned white as a ghost and they'd been more than happy to send Harry on his way, especially once they learned that the Trace had been destroyed and Harry was theoretically free to do anything he wanted to them.

They'd been much more polite to him since then, especially after Harry had demonstrated his magic with no signs of recrimination from the government.

Now he slept at home, and stayed part of the morning, not getting up until his uncle had left. His aunt and uncle went to bed early, and he arrived after they normally went to bed.

He seemed enormously pleased by the situation.

"We'll floo over to Ron's house," I said. "And we'll wait until there is actually a storm. We'll pop up onto his roof, drink the potion and see what happens."

"I'm not sure you could get up on Ron's roof," Hermione said.

"You been to his house?" I asked, surprised. I didn't know any of us had been to each other's house, with the obvious exception of Neville.

"He showed me his home once, in the Room, when I told him I'd never seen a real Wizarding house."

I nodded. "So a steep roof."

"You'll be helpless once the transformations begin," Sirius said. "And there will be muscle convulsions. The last place you want to be is on a roof. Also... the pain will be incredible."

He'd been a little more forthcoming about side effects since I'd had a talk with him after the last debacle.

"How will we keep his parents occupied?"

"Stunner and obliterate?" I asked. At their looks, I said, "Or you could just ask the Twins to help."

"Right," Hermione said. "I guess I'd better make that call."

I don't know what she said to convince his parents, but we were at his home two ours later.

It seemed... lived in. It reminded me a little of my own home in Brockton Bay, before Mom died.

Everything was just a little shabby, but was well cared for. The whole place smelled of cinnamon and peppermint; apparently Ms. Weasley had been cooking for us.

She'd been a little cautious around me, but she doted on Harry.

It had the little bits of weirdness one would expect from a Wizarding house. The clock on the opposite wall had one hand and no numbers at all. It had little notes inscribed instead; apparently they normally fed the chickens at nine in the morning and had tea at four.

There were books stacked on the mantle; unlike my mothers books on literature, these were books about magical housekeeping and cooking. If I had time, I'd look through them; sometimes useful spells turned up in the oddest of places.

A table that seated eight was in the kitchen; it was of really nice quality. The chairs were mismatched.

There were windows out to their front yard; apparently we were likely to be finalizing our ritual somewhere outside while still being inside the family wards.

Miss Weasley hugged Harry tightly. "I thought you weren't going to visit at all this summer," she said.

"You see me all the time at Sirius's," he said, obviously embarrassed. He pulled away a little, but he obviously wasn't trying too hard.

"Ron's been upset," she said. "And so have the twins. Ginny too."

"It's dangerous," he said. "He could have come to Neville's, I guess, but Sirius is still recovering and too many people around still bothers him."

Harry was getting better at lying. I was impressed.

"So why now?" Miss Weasley asked.

"I wanted to come," Harry said.

That had the virtue of actually being true. He'd been happy when he'd found out where the storm was going to be. He'd felt guilty at excluding Ron, even if he'd been willing to follow my lead.

If we went through it first, we could make it easier for people like Ron if we found workarounds for some of the negative effects of the poison.

"I'm happy to be here too," I said, and I was surprised to find that it was true.

Neville's aunt was someone I approved of, but she was not a very warm person. His mother was, but there was still a little something otherworldly about her.

Miss Weasley was the kind of person who made you feel good.

"BOYS!" she shouted. "HARRY'S HERE!"

There was a thunderous sound of feet on stairs, and we were soon joined by the twins and Ron, followed by Ginny Weasley, a girl I'd barely noticed at school, other than spying on her a few times to make sure she wasn't a plant by Voldemort.

There were shouts and laughter, and we soon moved to the living room, a cosy room with a sofa and armchairs. There was a clock on the wall with nine hands, each inscribed with the name of a family member.

It had different conditions listed; home, work, school, garden, in transit, lost, Quidditch, prison and mortal peril.

"Mrs. Weasley," I asked, staring at the clock. "Where did you get this?"

"That?" she asked. "I don't know. My husband brought it home for Christmas one year; it helps because I tend to worry."

This was more useful than a foe glass if it was accurate. You had to stand in front of a foe glass, but this could be seen anywhere in the room.

I wondered if it was expensive; the Weasleys didn't look like they had a lot of money, so maybe it would be within our budget.

I could even assign bugs to look at it regularly.

"We all had to give a little blood," she said, but it helps me greatly.

"You wondered if you were all in mortal peril when you brought us here," I said. She'd glanced at the clock a couple of times. "Don't worry; if we put you in any danger, we'll leave."

"The ones chasing you might not let you," she said in a low voice.

Harry was surrounded by the younger Weasleys, telling exaggerated stories about his time at Neville's.

He didn't seem to notice Ron's look of anger.

"I'd be interested in getting one," I said. "Not for myself, of course; I don't need anyone tracking me. I'd like to keep the people I care about safe, though."

"It's good that you have people to care about," she said. "People who don't end up becoming dark lords."

"You mean me?" I asked. I shook my head. "I don't want to run things."

"It seems that you already run your school," Mrs. Weasley said calmly.

"Oh, that's just what I've been forced to do, to keep everyone safe," I said. "I'll be happy to give it all up when everyone is safe."

"And when will that be?" she asked.

"When the Death Eaters are all dead or in jail, and their master is taken care of permanently." I said. I frowned, "And maybe once some better rules are passed in the Ministry. The current system tends to breed dark lords. It might be good to give the whole system a good overhaul."

She looked disturbed for some reason.

"Hermione's going to be Minister for Magic someday," I said. "And she'll take care of it."

"And she works for you?"

"Right!" I said brightly.

Mrs. Weasley frowned, and then carefully reached out and hugged me for some reason. It felt nice, but I didn't understand the context.

For some reason, I soon found myself pulled into helping to make dinner along with Hermione. Apparently it was part of the deal she'd made with Mrs. Weasley.

Harry was out with the boys, even though he was twice the cook that I was; apparently he'd been cooking since the age of six.

"You cooked?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "What about your mother? Did she work?"

"My mother died," I said. "When I was... well, shortly before I came to Hogwarts."

Saying that she'd died when I was twelve would indicate that she'd been alive when I'd come to school.

"You poor dear," she said. "I'd heard you were an orphan. What happened?"

She wasn't asking questions for Dumbledore; I'd already told him all of this. This was simply a woman being curious despite my natural suspicions.

"My parents were murdered by Death Eaters," I said. "And I was tortured by them to the point that I have brain damage."

I couldn't tell them what had really happened; my theoretical life story was already known.

"She cooked," I said, noticing that both of them had gotten quiet. "She was a literature professor, but she always made time for me."

"Taylor grew up in a bad neighborhood," Hermione added. She glanced at me. "From what I've heard it was a really bad neighborhood."

"Made Knockturn Alley look like a picnic," I said sanguinely.

"You don't have to chop those by hand," Mrs. Weasley said. "There's a spell that will do it just as well."

I was chopping rapidly.

"It doesn't bother me," I said. "It's good for me to have a knife in my hand, and the skills you use in cooking make potions class easier."

It really was magical cooking class in a way, even though I'd never tell Snape that. The thought that he was teaching magical home ec would really bother him.

Dinner was cozy and pleasant; we ate outside watching the approaching storm.

Fortunately, the Weasley parents and Ginny were soon yawning, likely helped by the sleeping potion I saw the twins slipping into their food.

Was this something they'd done a lot? It seemed weird that they'd have the potion on hand. Were there long term effects to that, like there were to excessive obliviation?

Hmm... if I obliviated Voldemort enough, could I give him a magical form of Alzheimer's?

I added it to my mental list.

"So what's this all about?" Fred asked.

"It'd better be good for us to dose the whole family," George said.

They'd done it without Harry even telling them? I looked at Harry with a new look of respect. I hadn't expected him to engender that kind of loyalty in them.

"We're becoming animagi," I said. "And tonight is the last step. We'll be helpless when we make the first change."

Ron was staring at us with a look of betrayal.

"Trust me, mate," Harry said. "It's a lot less fun than you'd think."

"If it's any consolation," Sirius said brightly, "It's going to be incredibly painful."

Ron stared at him, obviously wondering if he was joking.

"It won't hurt once they get it right," he said. "But until then..."

"If he says it's going to hurt, believe him," Harry said. "If he says it won't... he's probably lying."

Ron still didn't look convinced.

"Sirius was only willing to take four of us," I said. "Me, Hermione and Harry because we've got Death Eaters wanting to murder us, and Neville because his house is the best defended, and his parents aren't likely to inform on us."

"Hey!" Ron said. "Are you saying my parents would...?"

"It would be your father's duty," I said. "And if they found out he'd helped us if I was convicted of a crime, it'd make him guilty too."

Ron glanced at Neville, clearly wondering why his parents didn't receive the same consideration.

"I saved his parents," I said. "At least to a degree. Mrs. Longbottom has the resources to defend herself."

"So it's because we're poor?" he asked angrily.

George put his hand on Ron's shoulder.

"We've got Ginny to protect, and if Mum and Dad die, there's a lot of us who are going to be in trouble. There's just Neville over there."

Neville looked uncomfortable, both by my implication that he was only part of the group because he had a house, and that his parents were somehow worth less than the Weasleys.

I could see, though that he understood that we were trying to make Ron feel better. We'd talked about it earlier in the summer.

Ron didn't look completely convinced, but he at least stopped complaining, which was good enough for the moment. I'd known that he'd be unhappy; jealousy seemed to be his worst character flaw other than a certain amount of laziness.

Hopefully, his Weasley loyalty would smooth things over eventually. Otherwise, I'd have to depend on those members of my group who were better at that kind of thing than I was.

Intimidation was great for enemies, but it didn't engender loyalty. That took an entirely different set of skills and actions.

"The storm is coming," Sirius said. He pointed.

The wind was already picking up around us.

We'd debated how to keep the potions; they were to be in a dark, undisturbed place until shortly before the storm. We'd settled on keeping them in my fanny pack with cushioning charms, and I'd spent most of the month without it, which had left me feeling almost naked.

Now I reached inside and handed the potions to Hermione, Harry and Neville. I took mine in hand. They were all prominently labeled; Sirius wasn't sure what would happen if we drank the wrong potion, but he had a feeling that it wouldn't go well for anyone.

We all pointed our wands at our own hearts.

"This is going to be dangerous," Sirius said to the others. He'd explained it to us at length. "They could get stuck halfway in one form, and half in another; it could even become permanent."

Ron stared at us, seemingly uncertain.

"Amato Animo Animato Animagus," we chanted in unison. We'd cast this spell on ourselves every morning and every night for the past month.

According to what I'd read, some Wizards in the past had to go through the ritual for years while waiting for lightning to literally strike.

Lightning struck in the distance, even though the sound of thunder had yet to reach us.

"Now," Sirius said.

I upended my vial, and the taste was as terrible as you might expect. It slithered down my throat, and everywhere it went a strange warmth filled me.

My skin started to itch; at first just a little, but more and more over a period of just a few seconds.

I managed to keep from scratching by force of will alone, but the others were already ripping at their clothes.

Despite myself, I found myself scratching at my neck; more leisurely than the others, but still inexorable.

Now my skin was starting to burn, and I could hear the cries from the others. They were falling to the ground and trying to claw their way out of their clothes.

I fell to the ground, and I could see the horrified, stricken look on Ron's face before the twins forcibly turned him around and away from us.

Sirius watched; he'd warned us about this as well. Once we got better at this, we'd be able to transform with our clothes. Right now, it was impossible.

Eventually we'd be able to choose, which I saw numerous uses for.

Sirius had to watch, because it was possible that one of us would go into respiratory distress when some organs changed faster than others. He had to be there to keep us alive long enough for the change to finish progressing.

It was always possible that your form would be a fish, or a shark, or something incompatible with dry land. It was unlikely since none of us other than me had been raised near the shore, and I didn't identify with sea life much due to Leviathan.

Other things could go wrong as well. A boy's lungs trying to support a horse body, a heart that wasn't large enough for the volume of blood that had to be transported.

Assuming that you survived the transition and had someone to help you, none of those things were impossible to overcome; doing it without someone there as a midwife was crazy, according to Sirius.

Considering that he didn't seem to be the kind of person who would think about everything in advance, I took that warning seriously.

Hermione started screaming first, followed by Neville and then Harry. My own throat had already closed off; I tried to scream, but I could not.

The world warped and altered around me, and everything changed and became utterly alien.