Chapter 13
School was a dance I had learned by rote by the time of my third year at Hogwarts. Go to class, do homework, go to Library, meet with the Weasleys, practice in the Room of Requirement, write letters, eat, sleep etcetera etcetera. Not necessarily all in that order. Months slipped by without incident. I had a reasonably good handle on my schoolwork—Arithmancy and Muggle Studies were a breeze with my experience with both maths and, well, being a Muggle—my own research and practice was progressing nicely—I was able to consistently produce an incorporeal Patronus—and Professor McGonagall had said she'd consider letting me begin work on the Animagus potion after Christmas.
All in all, things were going well. There were no nasty surprises—aside from the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who was even more interested in poisons than Snape was—whatsoever. Then November came around and frost had begun to crisp the ground. Then one of my few friends decided they were bored.
"Charlie, I have NEWTs to study for and Head Boy duties to carry out," Bill said through gritted teeth. "You know this. I know you know this. So why, pray tell, have you dragged us"—meaning him, myself and Percy—"out onto an icy Quidditch pitch. And why do you have that stack of broomsticks with you—no. Just no. That's not happening."
"C'mon, Bill," Charlie pleaded, deftly tossing a broom to the ground before each of us. "Lighten up a little. This'll be fun!"
"I don't have the time! I'm up to my neck in work and I'm fairly sure that Poe is too."
I made a silent note to work on hiding my tiredness better.
"Exactly! We all need a break. A breath of fresh air, a brisk bit of exercise. Nothing better to clear the head than a quick jaunt around the grounds, right?"
Bill started to argue back—or possibly just to snap at his brother and go back inside. I wasn't sure, I hadn't seen Bill this agitated before—but I shook my head.
"Charlie has a point," I said. "Muggles have done studies on it, I think. Getting in some exercise to get a break from working, I mean."
"See, even Poe wants to fly!" Charlie said, waving insistently at me. "And you know how much they hate flying."
I didn't reply to that and just stared at the broomstick. I hadn't been flying outside of school activities since my first year and never flew higher than I absolutely had to. My plans to overcome that particular fear had... They'd fallen by the wayside. I'd been distracted and busy. Now though...
"Up." The broomstick rose into my hand, jerking slightly mid-ascent. I swung a leg over it and checked to make sure my grip was right. Bill and Charlie stopped arguing to look at me. Percy still hadn't said anything. I actually thought he was a bit scared to see his brothers—both role models—fighting.
I kicked off from the ground and—slowly—guided my broom to about four metres in the air. After a bit of consideration and a few moments to gather my nerve, I inched my way up to six metres. Then I started flying a careful circuit of the Quidditch field.
Halfway through my first lap, Bill caught up with me.
"You know," he shouted "I seem to remember you being a bit less skittish than this. Did something happen."
I shook my head and immediately gripped my broom tighter, bringing it to a dead stop as it swerved slightly. Even with a bit of distance between us, I could hear Bill sighing.
"Look, Poe, you don't need to worry. Charlie and I know how nervous you are on a broom. We'll fly below you and catch you with a spell if you fall. We promise. You can take a few risks, it'll be okay."
I didn't reply in words. Instead, I managed to swivel my broom—in what had to be the most awkward turn in the history of the practice—to point away from the Quidditch stands. Charlie and Percy were hovering a distance above me, clearly more comfortable than me. I took a few deep breaths and urged my broom forwards.
Slowly at first, then faster and faster, I flew. Wind whipped through my hair and caught in my clothing, making loose flaps billow like balloons. The Weasley brothers, each and every one of them, zipped by me with ease. I ignored them and tried to keep calm. Grabbing onto the shaft, I pulled on it and shot higher than I'd ever gone before.
I heard one of the others laughing but couldn't tell which one. Didn't care which one. I had momentum and didn't want to stop. I levelled off at about the height of the Astronomy Tower and began circling the grounds. It was cold, the air thinner and forgiving.
Down below, when I chanced a glimpse away from dead in front of me, the castle's grounds were... They were nice enough, I supposed. The castle was a picturesque enough building in its own right. With its towers and crenellations and... Other structures I couldn't name, it looked like something from a fairytale. The grass around it was tinged with the silver of frost, but the Lake had not yet frozen over, becoming a deep blue-black in the midst of the shimmering ground. From the height I was at, Hagrid's hut looked like a toy and the Whomping Willow was hard to tell apart from other trees—except for when it began thrashing in response to some unseen invader.
"Nice view, isn't it?"
I started, my broom jolting and nearly unseating me. I hadn't heard Charlie approach me and, to his credit, he backed off sheepishly at my reaction.
"Sorry, sorry, shouldn't have startled you. But it is a nice view alright. Most people don't ever get the chance to go flying freely around the castle like this, but I thought you should see it at least once. I thought all of you should."
I thought for a moment and urged my broom a bit higher. It was easier somehow, now that the ground was so far beneath me. Hogwarts itself began to shrink slightly. It was still a huge building, but I could no longer make out the various windows along its walls. I continued circling, getting higher and higher. I only stopped at Charlie's shouted warning. I couldn't catch the details, but I gathered that it wasn't safe. Probably a limitation of the school brooms.
Coming to a stop, I hovered mostly in place, the world below mine to behold.
I'd been at this height before, in aeroplanes. From so high up, fields became patchwork quilts and towns were reduced to clusters of tiny boxes. People didn't even feature at all, unless in great numbers. Which made for a pretty cynical metaphor, now that I thought of it.
Bill waved to get my attention and gestured towards the ground. I had to agree. It was an awe-inspiring view, but it was getting colder and darker. A symptom of the winter. It was time to descend.
Recalling a few fragments of Madam Hooches classes—and a few snippets gleaned from the few Library books I'd perused on the subject—I adjusted my grip, tightened my legs, then pushed down on the handle.
I fell. Both myself and my wooden steed went vertical, headfirst towards the ground. My vision blurred and my breath caught in my throat, mouth shut tight on instinct. Struggling to focus, I waited until I was almost level with the top of the main Hogwarts building and pulled up on my broom, bringing myself out of the dive. Or I tried to. My broom jerked against my grip and came out of the straight descent, instead veering off to one side and twirling me about it.
Ground spun over sky over castle over ground and I forced myself to let go. Without having to grip my out-of-control broom, I scrambled for my wand, almost losing my grip.
"ARRESTO MOMENTUM!"
The wind in my ears died down to a faint breeze and my plummet slowed to a gentle fall just in time for me to flop into the ground on one side. I winced and rolled back to my feet. I'd bruise, but no worse.
Above me someone was cackling—probably Charlie—and someone else was cussing quite creatively—likely Bill. I dropped back to the ground and waited for them to land. There was no point in trying to stay standing until my head stopped spinning. My eyes closed, I raised my wand and muttered "Accio out of control broomstick". With a thud, something hit the ground next to me, presumably the broom in question. I wasn't sure how much damage I'd done if any, but I figured it was better to have it on hand than lose it completely.
The Weasleys hit the ground nearby.
"Poe! Poe! Are you alright?" Percy near-shouted. "That—that was too reckless, you could have been killed! Are you hurt anywhere? Answer me if you can hear me?"
"Calm down, Perce," Charlie cut in, a touch of pride evident in his voice. "These brooms often go wonky on dives and Poe had no way of knowing that. They even pulled off a near-perfect recovery just before impact."
"Only barely though." This was Bill. "Poe, when I said we'd catch you if you fell, I wasn't expecting... That. Are you sure you're okay?"
Unbidden, I put together a subtext in Bill's question. 'Why did you just try to throw yourself into the ground?' I forced myself to sit up and open my eyes. Everything was still wobbling a bit, but it was good enough.
"Sorry about that," I said, trying to sound as contrite as I could. "Looking at the ground from so high... I kinda got a bit caught up in the moment. It didn't seem so hard, so I thought I'd give it a try..."
Bill sighed, in relief, despair or a mixture thereof, I didn't know. Charlie came forward and squatted next to me.
"Yeah, I know the feeling. A fair few fliers get similar impulses the first time they go that high. Most don't plunge straight into a dive like that though. To be honest, for a first-timer, your form wasn't terrible, but you completely lacked the control you'd need to pull it off safely. So, don't let me catch you doing that again until I've had a chance to teach you or I'll nail you to the ground with lead boots. You hear me?"
I nodded. My blood was still pumping with... Was this what an adrenaline rush felt like? I was tired, but also could barely sit still. It was weird and made my hands more jittery than usual. I lay back down and waited for the feeling to pass. My close brush with mortality would sink in later, but for the moment I was content to try and preserve as much of the memory as I could. To remind me that some things were worth living for, worth taking a chance on.
—tN—tN—tN—
I'd forgotten about Quirrel. Before assuming the post of the Defence teacher he'd already held a post at the school, namely that of the Muggle Studies teacher. He wore no turban, spoke clearly without the slightest lisp and was clearly highly knowledgeable about his subject.
Compared to his depiction—or rather, his facade—in the Philosopher's Stone, it was like they were two different people. Since I was on-guard from the start, I caught glimpses every now and then of what he'd become. A turn of phrase, a momentary flicker of an expression, an unusual response to a question. Little signs that he was far from satisfied with the post he held, that he longed hold greater power. Then again, that may just have been my foreknowledge colouring my perception of him.
In any case, the sheer irony of the idea that a Muggle Studies teacher would go on to become one of Riddle's most devoted servants was amusing enough that it balanced out the apprehension. I kept my head down in class, completing the assignments as well as I could but never asking questions or volunteering. Little risk thought there was, I'd prefer not to be on Quirrel's radar in any way, shape, or form.
—tN—tN—tN—
I wondered every now and then how they saw me.
Not Dumbledore, who knew the truth. Not the Weasleys, who knew me. But the others. My teachers, my classmates, the ones who never saw beyond the outermost of my masks.
I spoke little, except to answer questions when called upon. I didn't interact with others outside of bare necessity and always had my head buried in a book or bent over an open notebook. Did they think me a bookworm? An antisocial 'loser'?
I wasn't bullied, not really. I was fairly sure that I was too quiet to be worth the bother. Besides, bullying a known associate of the Head Boy and his Prefect younger brother was a more dangerous prospect than most were willing to venture on.
I did passably in my classes. I excelled in Transfiguration and Charms. My potions were consistently deemed to be acceptable by Snape—which was as good as a row of gold stars from any other teacher. I scraped by in most of my other subjects, never at the top of the class but far from the bottom. Defence was the anomaly. Without a consistent teacher to evaluate performance properly, nobody was really sure where anyone else stood. I was fairly certain that I was doing better than most even there though, if only by dint of my out-of-hours practice.
I didn't play Quidditch. I wasn't part of any of the Clubs—though if someone tried to restart the Duelling Club again, that'd be a different story. I didn't hang out in my common room. I was almost less a part of everyday Hogwarts life than the ghosts. I variably haunted the Library—where more attention was given to books than people—the Room of Requirement—which few knew existed—and a select few unused classrooms suitable for practicing in.
Most of the staff seemed to like me, not that unexpected. I was a polite and bright student who didn't cause trouble and often showed interest in the subjects beyond what was covered in the exams. They didn't see me having to catch my breath, slumped against a wall, after staying back to ask them about something I'd found in the library. They didn't know—though perhaps they suspected—about the sleepless hours spent sifting through thick tomes and scribbling barely-legible notes to be examined at full wakefulness.
It was a bad habit of mine, to conceal the burdens I carried to preserve the mask of one who could rule the world—a bit of a melodramatic way of considering it, but apt. Particularly from those best-placed to ease my load. And there was one burden that I could pass onto none. None save for Dumbledore. My past was a secret shared by two and no more.
For the moment, anyway. Perhaps at some point in the distant future, when things were peaceful again and there was someone I could trust... But that was fanciful thinking. A hypothetical.
My origins were likely the second-biggest obstacle to bridge in attempting to relate to my 'peers'—the biggest being my own anxieties that had carried over from my previous life. I was decades older—mentally and emotionally—than any of the other students. I had 'seen' things played out that they would only ever know of through corrupted half-rumours. I knew things they never would, never could. My sense of scale and proportion for so many things was different to them. They fretted about exams and jobs and Quidditch—topics that, Quidditch aside, I should rightly be more concerned with than I was—where I could dwell only on the price of failure. The price of blood that would be paid if I made a mistake, forgot something vital. A price that—regardless of who paid it—would be too high.
And so I studied and smiled and scribbled away for all to see and none to notice. Inside, I was sobbing. And where nobody else could see me, I worked and plotted and schemed. Hogwarts carried on, oblivious. All was as it should be.
—tN—tN—tN—
A hedgehog settled onto the table as a picture-perfect pincushion. McGonagall looked on approvingly.
After the Christmas holidays had ended, she'd sent an owl asking me to come to her office for a few hours on the first Saturday of the term. Once there, she'd began testing me on my practical and theoretical knowledge. I'd easily demonstrated my mastery of the third-year material, so she'd moved on to examining me on the fourth-year curriculum instead.
She'd never actually told me to study ahead, so I guessed that it also served as a test of my commitment to studying beyond the strict letter of the course. Someone only do the bare minimum needed to get by—as I was doing in several of my other subjects—could not be considered suitable to attempt the Animagus transformation.
"Very good," McGonagall said, a rare smile crossing her face. "And now, if I could direct your attention to the next desk"—she gestured towards two covered cages, whose occupants were revealed as a rabbit and a cat—"then I would like you to exchange the ears, noses and eyes of these two animals in one spell."
Cross-Species Switching spells were one of the more advanced topics on the fourth-year course, for all that it used only existing features. Nonetheless, Bill had coached me through them at the start of the year and before long I was left with a very confused looking lapine and feline. Once McGonagall had given her approval I switched them back. It always felt a bit awkward to experiment on random animals like that.
"Very good indeed. I must say, young Poe, you've more than lived up to the promise you showed. At your current rate, I can't imagine you having much trouble with your OWL examinations." McGonagall strode away from the desk holding the animals—one of many set up throughout the room—to the clear desk at the head of the room, before seating herself and beckoning me to sit opposite her in a just-conjured chair.
"Thank you, Professor," I said. "I've been trying my best. To be honest, there are still a few things that don't quite make sense and I'm not sure I'd have been able to keep up without Bill's help..."
"I think you'll find that your definition of 'keeping up' fits most people's definition of 'over-achieving'. And while I appreciate your honesty in not hiding the areas you feel you are deficient in, I do not believe that will be an impediment. First, however, I will require you to perform one last spell."
She reached into her pocket and deposited a once-handsome, now-worn, eagle-feather quill on the desk.
"Kindly duplicate this for me. Please do not damage to original in any way."
The Doubling Charm—a confusingly-named spell if there ever was one—was covered in the OWL year of Transfiguration. If it was the only spell she was planning to test me on beyond fourth-year, then I was lucky. Of the other possibilities, I still struggled with Vanishing and transfiguring eyewear. Doubling was something I did have a reasonable amount of confidence in. I focused for a moment before bringing my wand down on the quill, tapping it gently.
"Geminio."
The feather blurred for a moment before a twin popped into existence next to it. I held my breath and examined them both. That the duplicate didn't disappear immediately was a good sign and I didn't see any obvious differences or changes between the two quills, so hopefully, it would be enough to satisfy Professor McGonagall—
"Excellent. A perfect fine-detail duplication if I've ever seen one. I know we're not in class, but take ten points regardless. You've earned them."
I flushed slightly. I tended to accumulate a modest but steady amount of points throughout the year by virtue of diligent work and an adherence to the rules. Well, most of the rules. At the very least, I'd never been caught breaking any rules, which was the important part.
McGonagall sat back in her chair and fixed me with an uncomfortable stare. She wasn't angry, nor was there any sign of the satisfaction she'd shown moments before. It was more like she was analysing me, breaking me down piece by piece, planning how to take my ever component and twist them around into something entirely different. I resisted the urge to fiddle with my wand under her scrutiny. Now was not the time for poor self-control.
"What is the first step in creating an Animagus potion?" she said, the question breaking the silence without warning. I blinked and gaped for a moment before pulling the answer from my studies.
"It's a mandrake leaf, I think?"
"Are you asking or telling me?"
"Telling. But it can't go in as is. It has to be prepared... By being held in the mouth for a month? Yes, from one moon to the next."
"Good. What is the main incantation that has to be performed on the potion and how regularly must it be cast?"
"It's 'Amato Animo Animato Animagus' and it has to be cast at sunrise and sunset every day once the potion has been made." I almost tripped up before I caught the trick question. "Except that it isn't cast on the potion. The caster must have their wand directed at their heart."
"And how does an Animagus discover their form?"
"By drinking the completed potion during a lightning storm after using the spell one last time. There is no sure way of knowing what form they will take before that. Although..."
"Yes?"
"There is some degree of correlation between the animal form of an Animagus and the shape taken by their corporeal Patronus, but it's not guaranteed. If I remember correctly, the leading theory is that they're both determined by similar personality characteristics. And neither can be wilfully chosen."
"Excellent insight." Professor McGonagall smiled and raised her own wand. "Expecto Patronum."
As a silvery cat sprang onto the desk, the witch who conjured it shrank and leapt onto the surface beside it. As I'd expected, they were near-identical in size and markings, save that one was picked out in silvery light. After a moment, the Patronus faded and Professor McGonagall, sprang back into her chair and resumed her human form.
"May I ask if you have, by any chance, produced a corporeal Patronus, Poe?" she said, brows quirking. I suspected that she was actually curious about whether I had or not.
"Not yet, ma'am. I can consistently produce an incorporeal Patronus, but I'm having difficulty progressing beyond that. I think I may lack the level of experience needed to materialise one at the moment."
"I see. Nonetheless, that is admirable progress. Did Messrs Weasley teach you that one? Though I wasn't aware that they had actually touched on that particular Charm in their studies... Defence has a somewhat erratic reputation, after all."
"No, Professor," I said, hesitating for a moment. "I practiced it myself, from books. I... I read about Dementors and wanted to have something. Just in case."
"Quite understandable. There's no shame in being afraid of those loathsome creatures and even less in being prepared to fight back." She smiled gently and reached across the table to pat my hands, which had clenched around my wand without my noticing. "Those who can manifest a fully corporeal Patronus are in the minority. If, or rather, when you succeed in doing so, there is a useful trick I can teach you to let it carry messages."
I was already aware of that particular application but as I suspected that it was supposed to be a secret reserved for members of the Order of the Phoenix, I schooled my face into an expression of interest. Even though I was already working on equally secure and more versatile forms of communication. Ones that didn't require lighting a beacon over the location of the recipient.
"For the moment though, I deem your knowledge and abilities to be sufficient to attempt the brewing of the potion. I will supply you with the equipment you will need, along with what ingredients do not demand special collection methods. Those you shall have to acquire yourself, under my supervision. To be clear, you will inform me of every detail that may affect the potion, no matter how small. The margin for error is such that a single mistake may have catastrophic and irreversible consequences. Moreover, you will not attempt any part of the process without my consent.
"The potion is very sensitive to timing and environmental factors. The unfortunate fact of the matter is that there is little we can do about those. There will be attempts that will fail not through any error on your part but from the whims of the weather. You will likely have to make dozens of attempts before you achieve a satisfactory result. It will not be easy. It may very well take until after you finish your studies here at Hogwarts, in which case other accommodations will have to be made. I know you've done your research, I know that you are aware of the consequences of failing to approach this with all due caution. As such, I will respect you enough not to try and impress them upon you once more.
"If you truly wish to do this, to start on the road to becoming an Animagus, to shedding your form as freely and easily as thinking, then sign here and I will do everything in my power to bring you to success."
McGonagall pulled a roll of parchment from her robes and unfurled it on the table before me. She set the quill she'd had me duplicate earlier—the conjured copy had faded by now—beside the parchment along with a bottle of ink.
I took my time reading the scroll. It was a form from the Ministry of Magic, declaring the intent of a witch or wizard to become an Animagus and certifying that they would comply with all Ministry guidelines and regulations in the process. Professor McGonagall had already placed her signature as my mentor and Albus had given his seal of approval to allow one of his students to attempt such a dangerous spell.
I had already done my thinking. I signed my name. McGonagall gave another one of her not-as-rare-as-they-used-to-be smiles.
"Congratulations, Poe. It will be my pleasure to have you as a student. I will call you here again when it's time to make the first attempt."
I left the room drained but excited. Finally, I was able to feel like things were moving, changing, instead of just treading in place. It was a good feeling.
