Disclaimer: See previous chapter
Chapter 7
In which four new animagi appear
Beyond Professor McGonagall's parlour window, it was a cold March evening but within her apartment, the gaily-crackling fire in her circulating oven sent waves of warmth to wash over all and sundry. A bemused smile danced on Minerva's lips as she watched Albus Dumbledore idly swirl whiskey in a crystal shot glass. He was sitting within reach of her but his mind was certainly far, far away. His cares were many these days but decades of loving him gave her certain perspicacity when it came to his moods. She did not sense worry or nervousness but neither did he look particularly happy. Oddly, he seemed expectant as if he knew something was going to appear on the horizon but was unsure as to what it would be. Minerva got the impression; however, that tonight's session was not about what he was thinking.
"It is not necessary for you to be here if you have something else that needs tending to, Albus," she said.
The Headmaster grunted snapping out of his reverie. "No, no," he said. "I want to be here. This enterprise has so much promise for the future. We were most fortunate that Henry and his three choices all proved to have the innate ability required. I hesitate to use the word fate but we were at the very least extremely lucky."
"Much depends on what forms they assume," Professor McGonagall said. "That is something that cannot be predicted."
Dumbledore downed his drink and smiled. "Almost any form can be put to good use I believe. The mission undertaken will dictate whether it is useful or not. Your cat has proven effective where an elephant would be conspicuous."
Minerva's jaw tightened. "Even if the children succeed tonight which I am confident they will, you won't be able to use them as agents tomorrow."
Albus sat his glass down on the end table.
"I got ahead of myself there," he replied. "Whether or not they join the Order will be a choice that will be theirs to make in the future. We are, at the moment, merely teaching them certain skills."
"That is sophistry," she retorted. "They know of the Order and you know that once that have the skills, they will want to use them."
"It can be argued that I am manipulating them to some degree but the final choice will remain theirs," he said. "And that choice I will respect. I'll talk to them tonight, if you wish."
Albus sensed that Minerva remained unconvinced. He sighed deeply. He struggled at times over the last three years to keep his word to her that he would deal with Henry Porter openly but he had yet to go back on his promise.
A contrite Minerva watched the interplay of emotions that flittered across the face of her beloved. He was wrestling with so many problems. He did not need her adding to his burdens. He needed her support.
"You are in a strange mood tonight," she said. "What is the cause? It's more then the animagi, I sure."
He started to reply then paused. After a few moments, he began again. "I received a letter today," the old man said tentatively. "Just a few hours ago."
"You receive several, even dozens a day," Minerva said. "What was so different about this one?"
"It was from a young man named Erik Tonsberg," he replied.
"A Norwegian?"
"Partially of Norwegian descent," Dumbledore answered. "But he's from Australia. He is my great-great grandson through my eldest daughter Desiree."
Minerva arched her eyebrows in surprise.
"That's rather amazing," she said slowly. "None of your descendants have bothered to contact you before. For that matter, I wasn't even sure that you had descendants beyond your girls."
"I didn't either. I think that my wife…never mind. That is past," he replied. "Erik is in a master's programme at the University of London."
"Is he a squib?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "No, according to his letter, he graduated from the Great Victorian Desert Magic School but he has chosen to enter the muggle professional world. In furtherance of that end he read economics at the University of New South Wales and now is here in Britain for graduate work."
Minerva nodded taking in what the headmaster said. "You don't seem particularly pleased with hearing from this young man."
Once again, it was several long moments before he spoke.
"There are days that I despise what I have become, Minerva," he replied. "I should be overjoyed to finally have one of my kindred re-entering my life but all I have are suspicions. Is he who he claims to be? What are his motives? Why did he appear now? I will meet the lad with one hand extended and the other clutching my wand."
"You need to be more forgiving of yourself, Albus," Minerva said. "Some paranoia has to be expected after the life that you have led. It undoubtedly is part of what has kept you alive. Besides, it is said that a pessimist has naught but pleasant surprises."
"I would give a great deal to be pleasantly surprised with Erik," Albus replied with feeling. "Not making an effort to be a part of my daughters' lives was the greatest mistake I ever made, a mistake which I can never atone for."
"Until death there is always hope," Minerva said. "You can still reach out to them."
Albus lowered his head, his eyes misting up. Minerva groaned inaudibly. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder knowing the situation even before he spoke.
"According to Erik, Desiree and her son drowned in a shipwreck nearly seventy years ago," he slowly told her. "I have written to the New Zealand Ministry for Magic searching confirmation but…I feel that it is true."
"And Portia?"
"She died just three years ago," Albus replied. "She raised Diana's granddaughter, Erik's mother, after the accident. She had no children of her own."
Despite his sombreness, a wry amusement crept into the quiet of his mind as he watched her mull over what he had said. If she knew him, then he knew her as well.
"To answer the one question you won't ask," he said. "Erik wrote that she died forty-three years ago,"
"Not to sound uncaring, Albus, but what difference does that make?" Minerva asked.
The headmaster opened his mouth to speak but whatever his comment was to be, it died aborning. He dropped his eyes to the empty glass on the table beside him. Feeling the need to move, he carried the glass to Minerva's sideboard. He wanted another whiskey but the students would arrive soon. It would not do to have them think that he was a closet sop.
"Does the confirmation that I'm a widower make a difference?" he thought peering out of the window. Clouds hid the moon and stars keeping the grounds blanketed in darkness. Fresh snow was softly falling from the black night sky. An occasional flake would gleam in the light that escaped the window as it drifted by the panes.
"While you're there, pull the drapery close, please," Minerva asked.
He complied like an automaton, his mind still far away.
Several loud knocks smashed Professor Dumbledore's stupor shoving him back into the present.
"That would be Ron Weasley," Professor McGonagall said. "He has been so eager for this night to come I have thought it likely that he would burst."
"Is he ready?" the headmaster asked. "Are they all ready?"
"I told you that they were, Albus," she countered, heading for the door. "Would I allow them to make the attempt if I was not certain that they would succeed?"
Ron was standing in the passageway. He was so fidgety that he was bouncing on the balls of his feet. He started to rush in as soon as the door opened but Professor McGonagall did not move aside. Instead, she arched her neck taking long exaggerated looks in several directions.
"What is it, Professor?" a perplexed Ron asked looking around as well.
"I was wondering where you hid the battering ram," she replied with a straight face.
The lanky red haired boy sheepishly grinned. "Yeah...ah…sorry about that, Professor," he said as his fellow Gryffindors came walking up. "I guess I am just, you know, keen."
"Good evening, Professor," Hermione said bobbing her head.
"Hello, Professor McGonagall," Chris said. "I would have been here sooner but I was flattened by this red blur as I was leaving the dormitory."
"Good evening, Miss Granger, Mr Gallatin," Professor McGonagall said, stepping aside. "Come in, the three of you and please be sitting. I suppose that it is too much to hope for that any of you spotted two wandering Hufflepuffs."
"No, miss," Hermione answered.
"Two?" Ron asked entering the McGonagall apartment.
"C'mon, Ron," Chris laughed following Hermione inside. "You didn't think that Maggie would miss this night, did you?"
Ron sniggered. "To be sure Mrs Porter will be here."
He grimaced immediately. "Someone please tell me I didn't say that aloud."
"Not only aloud, Ronikins but also quite clearly," Hermione said slyly. "With such a rich, vibrant voice, you should consider a career with the WWN. You would make a fine presenter or newsreader. Don't you agree, Professor McGonagall?"
"Yes, Miss Granger, I do," she jestingly replied in mock severity. "The chief benefit of such a career would be that he would have a script before him to work from instead of having to think of what to say."
"A benefit, to be sure," Hermione responded continuing to tease her friend as she sat on one of the settees. "Good evening, Headmaster."
"Miss Granger," he replied with a nod. "Mr Gallatin."
"Headmaster," Chris answered formally before sitting down beside Hermione.
"And good evening, Mr Weasley," Professor Dumbledore brightly said throwing the lad a lifeline.
Ron seized it gratefully. "Hello, Headmaster. How are you tonight?"
"Tolerable for an old man," Professor Dumbledore replied easing his body down onto an overstuffed chair.
Two firm knocks sounded on the door.
"That would be the Porters, wouldn't you think, Ron?" Chris asked smoothly.
"Bite me, city boy," Ron replied without any heat.
Professor McGonagall escorted her daughter and Henry, and to everyone's surprise, Professor Moody into the parlour.
"I could not stay away on this night," Professor Moody explained.
"I understand," Professor McGonagall said feeling her own excitement grow. "You know where the sideboard is."
"Ah, what a wonderful hostess," he replied heading for her liquor. "Do you want one, Albus?"
Maggie was excited as her mother but was less adapt at hiding it. Like Ron, she was practically bouncing as she sat beside her boyfriend on a sofa. Hermione and Chris both noted that Henry, in contrast, appeared if not nervous then tense. He, of the four of them, had the most difficulty mastering the prerequisite techniques and even though Professor McGonagall assured each of them in their last session that they were ready for the transformation, Henry was apparently not as confident.
After everyone but the restless Ron had taken a seat, Professor McGonagall stepped into the centre of the room. She glanced at the headmaster. He nodded in response.
"I have a tendency to see you as children," she began. "It is likely a hazard of my age but in truth you are young men and women. As adults, we make choices and must live with the consequences. You cannot help but see being an animagus as an adventure. I still do even after all the years I have been one. Yet being animagi will have a price. Being an unregistered animagus is a criminal offence. You can lose many of your rights and privileges as a wizarding citizen if discovered. In the present social climate, you muggleborn students are even more at risk."
Professor Dumbledore spoke up from his chair. "More importantly, if you choose sometime in the future to use your newly acquired talent in the struggle against Voldemort, you will find yourself at the forefront. Many have fallen in the past. There are no guarantees that you will not join them in an early death. To be frank, becoming animagi and joining our cause rather increases the odds of that happening. Take a few moments and think about that."
Ron did not mull the matter over. He stepped forward almost as soon as Dumbledore finished speaking.
"Headmaster, I know that I only turned fifteen on Monday and I am well aware that I am thicker then a plank," he said in a quiet, firm voice. "But you know how many relatives I have lost to the Death Eaters. I can stand here and recite their names and where they fell and the curses that brought them down. I am well aware of the odds but I still plan to join the Order of the Phoenix. I'd like to see an end to the Death Eaters and as far as I can see, being an animagus can only help. I don't want to have a niece or nephew of mine standing here in a few years facing the same choices."
"Not a son or daughter?" Professor McGonagall asked.
"Not likely," Ron replied. "But what the hell? A sixth son is expendable."
"No one is without worth, Mr Weasley," Professor Dumbledore replied forcefully. "And I will tell you now that I will not allow someone with a death wish into the Order."
"I'm not suicidal, Professor," Ron replied. "But like I said, I know the odds."
"Yes, you probably do. Probably more so then most of your fellow students," the Headmaster replied desolately. "Miss Granger? Mr Gallatin?"
Chris shrugged. "As Ron said, it comes down to family. I won't let Henry go it alone. "
Hermione nodded vigorously. "I once read that most soldiers say that they end up fighting not for King and Country but for their comrades next to them. My comrades are here in this room. Ron and Chris are my friends and Henry has become as a brother to me."
A look of concern grew on Henry's face as Chris and Hermione spoke.
"I know that you love me, Hermione," Henry fretfully said. "But that is not sufficient reason to place yourself in harm's way."
Bushy brown hair rolled like barley before a breeze as Hermione shook her head. "Henry, love is the only sensible reason to place your life in jeopardy."
Professor Dumbledore sensed Henry's fear. He grasped that it had not occurred to the boy that others would follow him personally. Henry caught a glimpse of a future where others might be in danger or die because of their belief in him, something with which Albus was all too familiar.
"Mr Porter, concentrate on tonight's task," Professor Dumbledore said kindly. "Tomorrow, come by my office after breakfast and we will talk."
Henry's sudden dread was reluctant to give up its place in his mind but with a concerted effort, he slowly penned in up. As the headmaster said, he had a task that needed his attention tonight. Tomorrow's problems were not yet here. As the fear subsided, Henry noticed Ron staring at the assemblage.
"Is something going on that I don't know about?" Ron asked of no one in particular. "It sounds as if everyone thinks that Henry is going to fight Voldemort face-to-face."
Henry sighed. He hated the secrets. He hated the need for them.
"I trust Ron, Headmaster," he said. "I have faith in his loyalty and his discretion."
Professors Moody and McGonagall looked at the headmaster. The three of them silently communicated for several heartbeats before coming to a mutual decision.
"You may tell him, Henry," Professor Dumbledore said.
Ron glanced over to Henry more in puzzlement then anticipation.
"As you know, Ron, I was adopted as a very small child," Henry told him. "My name at birth was Harry Potter."
Jaw dropping was only an expression that Henry had heard of until an astonished Ron physically demonstrated it for him.
"You're the Boy who Lived?" Ron stammered.
"Yes," Henry replied simply.
"Sod me," he mumbled grappling with the concept that a legend materialized before his very eyes
"Let's keep our friendship where it is at, if you don't mind," Henry replied dryly.
It took a moment for a Ron to get his friend's jest. He grinned and shook his head. "Damn, you're Harry Potter."
"No, Ron," Henry said. "I was born Harry Potter but I am Henry Porter. It is not a matter of semantics. That is who I am."
"Okay, yeah, I understand," Ron replied rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, no, actually I don't but if that's the way you want it, that's the way it'll be. It's just that…damn, you're Harry Potter. Who else knows?"
"In addition to those of us in this room, Henry's parents although I doubt if they understand the significance of who he is," Chris answered. "Plus, Hagrid, Luna, and Barbara Thane."
"Luna knows?" Ron asked. "She never even gave me a hint."
"She can keep a secret," Hermione said with decided emphasis.
"Yeah, yeah, I get you, girl," Ron replied.
"Voldemort also knows," Henry added. "And we can presume his inner circle also such as it may be."
"Voldemort, eh? Did him knowing have anything to do with Professor Quirrell trying to kill you?" asked Ron curiously.
More then one pair of eyes blinked at Ron's unexpected acumen. He was not a stupid as he claimed to be.
"Yes," Henry answered. "Quirrell was a Death Eater and was hosting Voldemort's spirit in his body. We also think that an agent of Voldemort's used a confundus charm on the Goblet of Fire to enter me in the Triwizard's Tournament in hopes that I will be killed before I can face Voldemort."
"Why?" Ron asked. "Never mind. Stupid question. He nearly died the last time he attacked you. I doubt that he'd shed too many tears if you died in the tournament."
"We may be making a mistake in thinking that the purpose behind entering Henry into the tournament is to kill him," Chris said.
He shrugged as every face in the room turned to him. "Well, that's what I think," he added in his defence.
"What other reason would there be, Mr Gallatin?" Professor Dumbledore asked.
"I don't know," Chris admitted. "But I do know that if we latch on to only one idea, we leave ourselves vulnerable if we are wrong."
Professor Moody snorted, angry with himself. He who prided himself at looking at all the angles had overlooked that one.
"The lad's right about that, Albus," Professor Moody grumbled. "We may be leaving our backs exposed."
Professor Dumbledore stroked his long white beard with one hand as he peered enigmatically at Chris over his half-moon spectacles. The lad made sense. He and Alastor will definitely have to discuss other possibilities soon. He mentally kicked himself for narrowing his focus.
"Minerva, please start the session before these overly clever young people give me more to worry about," he said.
Professor McGonagall maintained a placid façade even in the wake of several grins produced by the headmaster's slip of using her given name.
"I would normally have ladies go first but I believe that Mr Weasley would twitch himself apart if I did that," she said.
Ron joined the others in their laughter.
"Maybe you should have your looking glass out here so that they can see themselves, Mum," Maggie suggested.
"Good idea," her mother replied retrieving her wand. "Accio mirror."
Her old-fashioned, full-length mirror floated into the parlour. It manoeuvred flawlessly around the sofas landing gently beside Professor McGonagall's chair.
"One final point; I know that I have said it before but I wish to reiterate it," she said. "Your forms are unpredictable. Do not try to read too much into what you transform into and do not be overly disappointed if the animal is not one of your liking. It is a great accomplishment to be able to transform at all."
"Many a powerful witch or wizard cannot," Dumbledore said. "I cannot do so."
"Neither can I," Professor Moody said. "And believe me, there were times that eagle wings or cheetah feet would have come in handy."
Henry cleared his throat. "Are you certain about my eyes, Professor McGonagall?"
"Yes, Mr Porter," she reassured the youth. "Professor Moody, in fact, knew an animagus named Michael Delmore who had synthetic eyes."
"He was right bastard of an auror and a mentor to me. Got killed back in '65," Professor Moody said. "He had artificial eyes but could still transform into a falcon with no problems. The eyes adjusted to the skull whether he was man or bird. You will not find yourself blind, laddie boy. "
His pledge and the light kiss that Maggie planted on his cheek settled the nervous young man down.
"If you will, Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall said pointing to the centre of the room.
Ron who had not bothered to sit down since entering the McGonagall apartment bounded to the spot.
"You know what to do," Professor McGonagall said encouragingly. "Simply relax and do it."
Ron nodded, taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes, suppressing his excitement as he began to concentrate on the techniques that they had learned over the school year. Professor McGonagall stressed that speed would come later. First, they should only be concerned with doing it correctly.
Ron felt a tingle spread from the base of his neck to the rest of his body. It was not like an inch. It was more like the time that he accidentally shocked himself handling one of his father's muggle apparatuses. There was a tiny pop. Suddenly his body was like liquid. His back lengthened as his torso dropped to the floor.
He jerked when he heard Chris whistle.
Chris quickly raised his hands when Ron's eyes whipped around to him. "Down, boy," he said. "I didn't mean to startle you."
Ron blinked. He was seeing things differently. The colours were less vibrant and his focus, while sharp, was limited as if he were looking through a slot but a tsunami of smells threatened to overwhelm him.
"Cute kitty," Maggie laughed.
"Not quite how I would put it," Henry said.
Ron turned his head, searching for the professor's mirror.
"Oh…wow," he thought in wonder spying his reflection.
"A Bengal tiger, won't you say, Albus?" Professor Moody asked.
"A tiger of some sorts. I'm not well-versed enough in zoology to differentiate," the headmaster said. "Walk around some, Mr Weasley. Get a feel for your form."
Ron obeyed. He padded about the room in the stately manner of felines, adjusting to his now keen sense of smell and acute hearing. He stopped before a candelabrum. He raised a paw and tapped it delicately.
"I understand, Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall said. "Flame out."
The room was plunged into darkness at McGonagall's command. Within seconds, Ron's cat eyes adjusted to the dark. He could make out the shapes of the people in the room but could more readily smell them. He thought that he could even hear their heartbeats.
"Close your eyes, Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall warned. "Flames."
Ron slowly opened his eyes. He stretched then flexed his claws.
"I could do some damage with those," he thought approvingly.
Maggie walked up to him. "Ron, I have just got to pet you," she said. "I hope you don't mind."
Ron playfully bumped his head into the tiny girl's midriff signalling his consent.
"Ooh, so soft," Maggie purred as she began to stroke the fur on his head. Ron flexed his legs and arched his back in sheer enjoyment. A daydream was quickly born involving Tiger Ron and Luna.
"Resume your human form, Mr Weasley," Professor Dumbledore said. He chuckled at the reluctance that he saw when Ron turned his face to him. "Returning to your human form is as important as being about to transform into an animal."
Maggie gave him one last rub behind an ear before she took her seat. Moments later, Ron stood before them, a young man again. The vague look of disappointment vanished as everyone applauded.
"Very good, Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall enthusiastically said.
"Bravo," Henry cried out.
Professor Moody smiled broadly. "That was impressive transformation, Mr Weasley. You have got one hell of an alternate form."
"Yes, Mr Weasley," Professor Dumbledore said. "Allow me to add my congratulations to the general chorus. Well done, animagus."
Ron blushed with pride, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
"Too bad you can't tell Fred and George," Chris laughed. "They would have a field day with a tiger at their disposal."
"A wonderful thing is a Tigger," Maggie sang out.
"A Tigger's a wonderful thing," Hermione added.
Smiling at each other, they completed the first verse of the song together with increasing gusto.
"Their tops are made out of rubber,
Their bottoms are made out of spring.
They're bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy,
Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun.
The most wonderful thing about Tiggers is:
I'm the only one."1
Both girls laughed when they finished the tune. Ron stared at them unsure if they were making fun of him or not.
"What happened to the newfound maturity?" Hermione asked brightly.
"As I said, it won't get in the way of fun," Maggie answered.
Chris noticed Ron's look of confusion. "That was a song from a muggle film, mate. I'm willing to bet if we went to Hermione's home right now, we'd find a ton of Winnie-the-Pooh stuff in her room."
"I admit it freely," Hermione laughed. "I adore Winnie. So What?"
"So nothing," Chris replied lightly as Maggie hopped off the couch, scampering to her old bedroom. "Considering that my room at home looks like a shrine to Arsenal, I can hardly tease you too much."
"Not to mention what your middle name is," Henry added deviously.
"It could have gone without mention," Chris replied in exasperation as Professor McGonagall joined Henry in smiling broadly. She knew his full name, also.
"It isn't?" Hermione asked.
She laughed as Chris rolled his eyes. "It is," she exclaimed. "You're Christopher Robin."
"What can I say? Mum loved the stories also," he replied. "I shutter to think what I would have been named if she was into The Hobbit or something like that."
Maggie returned holding a large plush Winnie the Pooh and a smaller Tigger.
Hermione squealed when she spotted the dolls.
"You can keep him in your dorm, if you like," Maggie said handing Winnie to her friend.
"Thank you," Hermione said hugging the bear to her chest. "Silly old bear," she cooed.
"This is Tigger, Ron," Maggie said holding out the plush toy to him.
Ron turned the comical looking doll over in his hands a couple of times before handing it back to Maggie who immediately kissed it. He bewildered by their obvious passion toward what was to his mind two toys. They were not kids anymore. Hermione was even older then he was.
"I'll never understand girls," he said causing Professors Dumbledore and Moody to laugh.
"Welcome to the club," Professor Moody said
"Since Miss Granger seems enthralled with her new companion why don't you go next, Mr Gallatin," Professor McGonagall said.
Ron finally sat down as Chris took his place in the centre of the room. Ron watched as his friend went through the same physical and mental preparations that he done just a short time earlier. Chris, however, was faster. His sudden transformation took Ron by surprise causing him to leap out of the chair, tipping it over in the process.
"Spider," Ron spluttered.
"It's still Chris," Hermione admonished watching the large, hairy house spider that Chris had become with avid interest.
"I don't like spiders," Ron nearly whimpered.
"Oh, for goodness sake," she said extending her hand down to Chris. Ron paled as Chris walked onto her palm. When Hermione lifted him to her face, Chris playfully tapped her on the tip of her nose with his two forelegs. She giggled setting him back down on the floor.
Chris immediately ran to the fireplace. As everyone watched, he rapidly he scaled the rough stonework to the mantle. Moments later, leaping off the side to avoid the oven, he rappelled to the floor on a silk strand of his creation.
"That was so cool," he whooped as he resumed his human form.
"You like being a spider?" Ron asked incredulously.
"Oh man, yeah," Chris excitedly said. "I could move so fast and the peripheral vision was unreal. I could see almost all around me. I felt more then heard you guys talk but I could understand what you were saying."
Professor McGonagall saw the glance that passed between Albus and Alastor. Ron's tiger was indeed impressive but when it came to form that a spy could use, an arachnid was near perfect. Who noticed a spider in a corner? It was the proverbial fly on the wall.
"Outstanding, Mr Gallatin," she said returning her attention to her student. "Did you have to think about the silk at all?"
"No, Professor," he replied. "I just knew what to do. The instincts come with the form, I guess. I could have made a web if I wanted to."
"Headmaster? Professor Moody?" she asked.
"Excellent job, Mr Gallatin," said Professor Dumbledore softly clapping his hands.
"Remarkable form, Mr Gallatin," Professor Moody said. "If you cast a disillusionment charm on you, you could go just about anywhere overlooked and ignored."
"The girl's dorm?" Chris asked roguishly.
Hermione snorted. "Trust a boy to become an animagus for some perverted purpose."
"A boy my age interested in girls my age is considered normal therefore while the purpose might be immoral but it is not perverted," Chris lightly replied.
"Whatever," Hermione answered. "I'll simply squash any spider that I find in the shower from now on."
"That was a disillusion charm, Professor?" Chris humorously asked sitting back down beside Hermione.
"Disillusionment, Mr Gallatin," Professor Moody chuckled in reply.
"Why don't you go next, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said. "Perhaps your form will be an insectivore."
"With any luck," a smiling Hermione answered handing Pooh to Chris.
"Christopher Robin," she chuckled as he sat the bear on his lap.
"Go do your magic, Hermione," he replied shooing her to the room's centre.
As did Chris and Ron before her, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her well-disciplined mind quickly fell to the task following the techniques that she had learned over the last several months. The change when it came was not as she expected. It was not dramatic or earth shattering. There was only a tiny pop and her body collapsed in on itself.
When she opened her eyes, the world looked different to Hermione. Like Ron, she discovered that colours were far less crisp. Furthermore, much of the room was blurry. She was also looking up at nearly everything but her brain was analysing a flood of smells.
She trotted over to the looking glass. She was quite close before her reflection came into focus. Bright amber eyes looked back at her from a red furry face dominated by a sharp snort.
"I always knew that you were a fox," Chris quipped.
Hermione flicked her tail at him.
"Okay, message received," he laughed.
Hermione trotted around the room. She wanted to run but with her now poor vision, she was afraid that she would collide with the wall or some furniture. She contented herself with walking alternating with a few pounces before gracefully leaping onto the sofa next to Chris. She was about to change back into her human form when he began to stroke her fur. She thought that she would melt as he ran a firm hand slowly from the top of her head to her bushy tail several times.
Professor McGonagall knew what Hermione was feeling. She had been petted often enough as a cat.
"Mr Gallatin, if you would take your hand off of Miss Granger long enough for her to change back," she said knowing the younger woman probably hated her in that moment.
"Sorry, Professor," Chris said snatching his hand away. "She has very soft fur."
Hermione returned to her human form.
"Welcome back, vixen," Chris said with a wink returning Pooh Bear to her.
A small smile came to Hermione's lips but she could not bring herself to look Chris in the eye.
The others in the room clapped.
"Very, very good, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said.
"A fine piece of work, Miss Granger," the Headmaster added enthusiastically. "You should be proud of yourself."
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall," Hermione politely replied consciously trying not to sound too pleased. It was difficult. Since coming to Hogwarts, it was the one spell that she wanted to try more then any other. To be able to do so at long last was soul satisfying even with the visual limitations of the fox.
"And that leaves us with but one," Professor McGonagall said.
Henry nodded but did not rise from the couch. Maggie nudged him after a few moments.
"You can do it, Henry," Maggie said encouragingly.
"Yes, I know," he replied quietly slowly getting to his feet.
His disinclination was not rooted in fear of failure but of success. For weeks, he had a growing trepidation of this night. He knew, with a presignification that would have gotten him an OWL in divination if he had bothered to take the class that tonight would be a fateful step. It would be his Rubicon.
He bowed his head, casting the metaphysical dice. He simply emptied his mind as he did when he entered a trance. The transformation was almost instantaneous.
He scarcely felt his body change but knew that he had transfigured when he heard the gasps of astonishment. Even the unflappable Professor Moody cried out in surprise.
Henry nearly fell as an onslaught of awareness crashed into his brain. If the others suffered diminished vision, his only increased. Not only could he see everything with a clarity that reached an almost painful level, he could see auras as he did with Maggie when he linked with her and heat patterns as they radiated from everyone. He could see in the faces of the aged professors the faces they wore as children and young adults. He could feel the earth's magnetic fields as well as the enchantments that Professor McGonagall had placed on her apartment to ensure the privacy and security of the sessions. He sensed the spirit of the castle. Most unnerving of all was a single brief message sent to his mind from the height of Dumbledore's tower.
"Godric Gryffindor would have been most pleased," Fawkes said.
As he struggled to gain mastery over the incoming data, he looked to the mirror. The synthetic eyes had indeed changed shape accommodating his new skull but they remained an emerald green incongruous in his new face. Otherwise, he fit the classic description. Large golden beak, body and wings covered in crimson feathers, and golden talons and golden tail plumage. He was a phoenix.
Henry remained where he was, uncertain as to what to do next. Even as large as Professor McGonagall's parlour was, his great wingspan prohibited any attempt to fly and as a bird just walking about made little sense. Maggie solved his dilemma.
"Henry," she began in an awed voice. "Will you sing for us?"
The song of the phoenix came unbidden from Henry's throat. It was a song of hope, faith, and courage. Everyone in the room listened spellbound. Their fears and cares vanished, melting like ice before Zephyrus. Peace caressed them. Contentment hugged them. Love washed over them.
Henry's heart, however, was armoured against tranquillity. The looks of rapture on the faces of his friends froze his soul. The dread that Hermione's earlier words evoked came stampeding back.
"They will follow me anywhere now," he thought anxiously. "I have got to stop Voldemort at the first opportunity."
1. The Wonderful thing about Tiggers lyrics by Robert B. Sherman. (Music by Richard M. Sherman) From the Walt Disney Co. production of Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day 1968 (repeated in several subsequent films and television programmes)