CHARGING forward with an exultant warcry, Ron's knight drove his lance through my king's chest in truly gruesome fashion.
"Checkmate," Ron added unnecessarily. I sighed and rose from my armchair.
"Well, that's enough punishment for me, mate." One of my pawns pushed himself up from where he'd lain on the board, and made a rude gesture in my direction with his remaining good arm, while other dangled uselessly on a flap of skin from his shoulder. "I don't think my pieces like me very much."
Ron chortled. "You sure you don't want to play one more? You'll only get better if you practice."
I held up my hands up in mock surrender. "You'll have to find another victim. Finishing my Transfiguration essay is going to be a relief after that beating."
The red-haired boy made a face conveying his disbelief that homework could ever provide relief from anything, and walked over to where Dean, Seamus, and Neville were playing Exploding Snap. Breathing a sigh of relief, I hurried up the stairs to the boy's dorms.
The first week at Hogwarts had passed in a blur of classes, homework, and socializing. After my summer of utter solitude, free to do whatever I wanted all day every day, the busy schedule and constant companionship of school life were somewhat stifling. Over the past several days, I'd found myself reminiscing on my idyllic time on the Sopophorous Isle, longing for some of that privacy and freedom.
Since it was now Saturday and I didn't need to be in my school robes, I changed into the second-hand ones with expanded pockets, loaded them up with everything I'd need, then hastened back downstairs and out the portrait hole before anyone could ensnare me into another game.
Truthfully, if I never played another game of Gobstones or Exploding Snap, I'd be perfectly content. My fellow First Year boys had seemingly inexhaustible enthusiasm for such games. I did my best to get along with everyone and not stand out, but I was - had been - an adult, and my tolerance for childish pastimes was just about at its limit.
While I didn't exactly regret having been Sorted into Gryffindor, I'd found myself occasionally wondering what life would have been like as a Ravenclaw. Did they play fewer games in their Common Room, perhaps studying together and practicing magic with one another? Probably not - these were eleven year-olds, after all. At this age schoolwork was a chore to be avoided. Even when that schoolwork was learning magic.
Hermione was an exception to that rule, of course. She was far less interested in games than the boys, but I hardly ever seemed to speak with her outside of class. We were still quite friendly, but she spent the majority of her free time studying in the peace and quiet of the library. While I was no stranger to Madame Pince's domain, any talking more than the occasional whisper wasn't an option there.
I shoved my frustrations aside. I was a First Year, and I would continue acting the part. Given my preparation over the summer, classes so far had held no challenges, and I had been the first to master every spell we learned in Charms and Transfiguration, the only classes that'd had any wand-work so far. I suspected this might have something to do with the way Hermione was anchored in the library.
Fortunately I'd been quite diligent about homework, having already finished everything the professors had assigned so far. Now that I had extricated myself from the other First Years, I had the entire afternoon and evening to myself, and I intended to put the alone time to good use.
My first stop was the Owlery, where I found Hedwig preening herself. She flew over and landed on my shoulder, giving my earlobe an affectionate peck. I ignored the slight pain and fed her some of the treats I'd brought along, stroking her soft feathers.
"I'll have some work for you soon," I promised her. "Once I get a bit more settled in. Just wanted to say hello."
Hedwig gave me another peck, hooted again, and with a few flaps of her wings was back on her perch. I waved goodbye and left the Owlery. I had grown close to Hedwig over, my only companion over the long, lonely weeks of the summer, and didn't want her to think I had forgotten about her now that I was at Hogwarts.
A pair of older Ravenclaws were approaching me on the seventh floor corridor when I reached the entrance to the Room of Requirement, so I continued past it. Ignoring the way their eyes were drawn to my scar as if it were magnetized, I waved and greeted them. I stopped in front of a portrait a few away from Barnaby the Barmy and pretended to be examine it, and was glad I did. Watching the departing backs of the Ravenclaws until they turned the corner, they both turned around to catch a second look of the "new celebrity".
I visualized a small study, containing a table with a chair, a leather armchair with plush cushions, a water fountain, and pull-up bar in the corner. After three passes the door appeared and I pushed it open. The Room met my requirements; it was truly an incredibly impressive working of magic.
Stripping down to my briefs, I engaged in a vigorous session of calisthenics, then cooled off with yoga followed by a long meditation in shavasana, or Dead Man's Pose. After dressing, I settled down behind the desk and opened up Charms of Defense and Deterrence, in which I remembered seeing the Disarming and Stunning Charms when I had skimmed it over the summer.
After several hours of practicing the wand movements, I tried added in the incantation. I managed a pale jet of red light for Expelliarmus, but was unsuccessful with Stupefy. I suspected having someone demonstrate the spell for me would make it much easier to learn, but I hadn't really spoken to any of the older students other than Percy Weasley, and didn't feel comfortable approaching anyone for advanced tutelage yet.
My arm was feeling pretty sore, so I settled into the leather armchair with the book I'd found in the Room of Requirement on my previous visit.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," I tried, figuring I might as well. Nothing. That would have been too easy. After spending thirty minutes trying out all manner of phrases related to the Marauders, Prongs, Padfoot, Wormtail, Mooney, and "fuzzy little problems," I had begun to feel distinctly silly sitting there and talking to an empty book.
Remembering Tom Riddle's diary from the second book, I decided to take another approach. I retrieved a quill and inkpot from the pocket of my robe and I moved back to the desk. Dipping the quill into the ink, I opened the book to the first page and wrote, "Hello, I'm Harry Potter."
The ink swirled into a circular puddle a few seconds after I stopped writing, and I grinned as a new message appeared.
"Greetings from the Marauders, Mr. Hairy Potter. Unfortunately, this book cannot help you with bad hair days - may we suggest Sleekeazy's fine potion?"
Chuckling, I tried correcting the book with my next message, being careful to keep my handwriting neat, but was met with another irreverent response. Though the book never said so outright, after some back-and-forth I got the feeling that perhaps they didn't trust that I was who I claimed to be. After I had informed the book that I was a first-year Gryffindor, I tried telling it that I was Prong's son, and it replied that "any red-blooded Gryffindor is worth their weight in gold."
The mention of blood got me thinking back to the way my trunk had needed a drop of blood to recognize my ownership. I considered that maybe something similar would convince the book I was who I said it was. I hadn't brought my potions knife, and frowned, not wanting to have to trek all the way back to the Common Room for it. Fortunately, a memory from the first book popped into my mind, of Professor Sprout's obstacle in the protections guarding the Stone.
"ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?" Ron's now familiar voice gave substance to my memory from the book. Plucking a barb from my quill and pulling out my wand, I focused and gave it a tap, turning it into a shiny steel needle. I pricked the tip of my left index finger and squeezed it until a small drop of blood bloomed on my skin.
Holding my breath, I let the drop fall onto the empty first page of the book and watched it sink into the page. My gamble paid off as neat writing suddenly faded into visibility. My lungs emptied in an involuntary whoop of joy.
The Marauders Present...
Notes on the Animagus Transformation
By Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail
Excited, I turned the page and hungrily began to devour the book's contents. I didn't stop until I had finished reading the entire book, and noticed my stomach was growling at me reproachfully. A glance at my watch informed me that it was already nearly an hour into dinner. Quickly packing up my things, I exited the Room of Requirement, careful to make sure the corridor was clear, and hastened toward the Great Hall.
I had often wondered how the Marauders managed to learn magic as advanced as the Animagus transformation while still in school, magic with a widely known reputation for difficulty and obscurity. The book had provided some explanation - incredibly lucky circumstances, and a willingness to take very dangerous risks.
The first stroke of luck: James and Sirius had each found unique books in their private family collections that provided critical aid in their quest. The two volumes James contributed, each centuries old, were hand-written diaries by long-dead members of the Potter family that described their personal efforts in mastering the transformation.
Both diaries explained that the first step was keeping a dream journal. Over time, diligent attention to this practice would improve one's ability to remember dreams with increasing clarity upon waking. Once the dreamer could consistently recall every detail of their nightly dreams, the next step was to hold a mandrake leaf, fixed in place under the tongue with a Sticking Charm, every day for a month.
Each night, the leaf was to be removed and placed in a specially prepared potion, which had to be discarded the next morning and brewed fresh every night. Furthermore, the ingredients to the potion had to vary in their proportions according to a schedule, determined through Arithmantic calculations according to a formula taking into account the precise phase of the moon and the times of sunrise and sunset for that day.
The potion served to both preserve the mandrake leaf, and to activate normally dormant compounds in the plant. A single error in brewing the potion, or a single day where the leaf fell out of one's mouth, meant starting the cycle from scratch after waiting a full month for the body's innate magic to revert to normal.
In the absence of any mistakes, after a month the leaf would change color from the usual green to a deep crimson, signifying success. At that point, the initiate had to spend a night sleeping outdoors, without any clothing, where they'd have a dream in which they were the animal they would eventually transform into.
The next step reminded me of the Occlumency exercises I had performed over the summer; every night, the initiate would meditate on their form until they fell asleep, trying to recall the feeling of their mandrake leaf dream as vividly as possible. There was no set amount of time one had to do this; it had to continue until they could consistently pass into a dream where they were in the form of their animal.
The diary noted that the three Marauders attempting the transformation had managed their mandrake leaf dreams in the spring of their Fourth Year, and had mastered the ability to dream each night in their Animagus form by the end of the following summer.
The Potter family texts had said this was where the truly difficult work began; partial-body Transfiguration into the animal form, starting with the feet, then gradually including the legs, the lower torso, the hands, then arms, the upper torso, and finally the head. Upon reaching the hands, this process required a partner who did not transform, who could revert the Transfiguration.
The Marauders didn't have the patience for this, particularly since Wormtail lacked the necessary skill in Transfiguration to do his part. Fortunately, Sirius had found the solution to their dilemma; a volume in the Black family library describing a variant of the Polyjuice Potion that one of his ancestors attempting the transformation had invented in the fifteenth century.
Unlike the Polyjuice Potion, this unnamed variant did not require a hair or fingernail of the target of the transformation. Instead, the hopeful Animagus merely had to take the potion and then perform the exercise they had already learned of initiating a dream in the Animagus form. Instead of falling into the dream, the drinker would physically transform into their form, and spontaneously revert to their human form after several hours, as when drinking Polyjuice.
Once the hopeful Animagus had experienced the physical transformation enough times, which varied somewhat for each person - apparently they would simply feel when they were ready - they would be able to initiate the transformation into their animal form at will. Unfortunately, there was still more work to be done. Drinking the Black Animagus-Polyjuice Potion, as the Marauders had dubbed it, had the fortuitous side-effect of maintaining the one's human mind while in animal form; this wasn't the case when initiating the transformation unaided.
The Marauders hadn't been able to find any way around the next step in the process. This stage again required the help of someone who stayed human. They would lead the transformed wizards through a series of exercises aimed at helping them regain the full use of their human minds while in their animal form, and then restore them to human form at the end of the session. Remus had fulfilled this role after learning the obscure charm that forced a transformed Animagus to revert to human form.
While I was eager to learn the transformation, this final step meant that even if I managed to get through the previous stages on my own, I would need a willing partner to complete the learning process. According to the book, Remus, though by all accounts a very talented wizard, needed several months of diligent study to master the Reverse-Animagus Charm - and he'd been in his fifth year at Hogwarts by then.
Chances were even the talented and studious Hermione wouldn't be able to learn the charm until at least Fourth Year, even if I somehow managed to convince her to help me in an effort that was quite clearly against the rules. No, I would definitely have to exercise some restraint in becoming an Animagus, however much it chafed. At least I could get started in keeping a dream journal.
I returned to the Room of Requirement after an early breakfast on Sunday morning, getting in a satisfying workout and several hours practicing Expelliarmus. After a shower in Gryffindor Tower, I joined my friends for lunch, then accompanied Hermione to the library. The Marauders' book had contained a variety of unfamiliar terminology, and I spent the afternoon leafing through some books on magical theory, hoping to fill these gaps in my knowledge. By dinner-time I'd found passages explaining most of the terms, and recorded the titles and page numbers in my Variable Volume.
The next week of classes went by with little of note happening. Most of my classmates were still mastering the match-to-needle Transfiguration and the Levitation charm, while the rest of us simply practiced our speed and consistency. We learned to cast Lumos in Charms, which gave Hermione and myself the opportunity to earn more house points for Gryffindor but left me almost as bored as Professor Binn's monotonous drone in History of Magic.
I wasn't handling the tedium of classes particularly well, and was looking forward to a break from the routine during our first Flying lesson with on Thursday. Neville, who was quite a bit more confident than he'd been described in the books, managed to stay on his broom for most of the lesson, and I felt quite guilty at the sense of relief and anticipation that filled me when he lost control toward the end of the lesson and was rushed off to the Hospital Wing by Madame Hooch, moaning and clutching his broken wrist.
Draco, true to form, swaggered over to the glass orb lying in the grass where Neville had crashed.
"Ha, a Remembrall," Draco smirked as he bent down to retrieve it. "As if that'd be enough to help a wizard as hopeless as Longbottom."
"Put it down, Malfoy," Ron snarled, clenching his fists and approaching the blond boy, only to be intercepted by Crabbe and Goyle. Draco raised an eyebrow, tossing the ball from hand to hand.
Straddling his broomstick, the Malfoy scion rose in the air, quite a bit higher than we'd been allowed to go by Madame Hooch.
"Your wish is my command, Weasley," he called down. Ron made to return and get his broomstick, but Crabbe and Goyle each gripped one his shoulders and he was unable to shake the larger boys off. I took this as my queue and hopped on my broomstick, ignoring Hermione's warning that I'd get in trouble, and shot up to face Draco.
"Potter," he drawled. "Think you can keep up?" He angled his broom up and I gave chase, until the crowd of First Years on the ground below looked like miniature figurines. Draco slowed to a stop and glanced over his shoulder, a surprised expression flitting across his face. Again I drew up to face him.
"That's not yours, Draco. Hand it over before we both get in trouble."
"I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be brave," Draco sneered. "You want it so much, catch!" He drew back his arm and threw the ball as hard as he could, barely staying on in his broom in the process.
I didn't bother with a retort and took off, flying as fast as I could while still keeping my eye on the Remembrall as it arced through the air, glittering in the sunlight. I heard faint cheering from the gathered students far below when my hand closed on it, and bowed with a flourish of my robe after I landed among the cheering First Years.
I was still in the center of a crowd of smiling Gryffindors, every inch of my back being patted by dozens of hands, when Professor McGonagall stormed up.
"Potter, I never... come with me!" Though she was clearly angry, I thought I detected a proud glimmer in her eyes. Ignoring Malfoy's smirk, I covered the grin that forced its way onto my face by rubbing my nose with my knuckles as I followed her back into the castle.
The events from the books played themselves out exactly as I remembered, and I was now the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in a century. The party in Gryffindor Tower that night was quite the raucous affair, and even Hermione got into the jubilant spirit after scolding me for my reckless behavior.