A/N: Here it is, the conclusion of the minor cliffie. A few reviewers actually guessed it, so congrats to you (or bad me for not making it a big enough shock...). I don't know when the next chapter will be out; once again I've written myself into a wall with this one. Something about this story keeps making me do that! Enough, enjoy chapter fourteen!

Chapter Fourteen: Psychoanalysis

Harry wasn't paying attention to the Ravenclaw, Patsy Campbell. He was whispering the spell under his breath, gripping his wand like a lifeboat.

And then he felt it.

A shiver of something ran down his spine, a sort of freezing cold that was oddly warming on closer inspection. Harry felt himself being sucked into a void and he struggled against the feeling of being ripped from his physical state. It hurt! He wasn't going to go, he wouldn't allow himself to die! No!

Then, just as his panic reached its climax, he landed, flat on his back in the middle of the entrance hall of Hogwarts. Relief flooded him as he stared up at the familiar architecture.

It took a moment for him to realize why it was so silent; for the first time in memory, the portraits were completely quiet and the halls were abandoned. Adrenaline seared through his veins.

"Who are you?"a voice without sound breathed into Harry's ear.

Harry jumped back, his heart in his throat. He was about to draw his wand, his hand already touching the smooth piece of holly, when comforting warmth enveloped him. Part of him wanted to fight the calming waves, but a bigger part snuffed it out.

"Relax," the "voice" ordered softly. "Show me who you are."

Harry found himself moving before he even comprehended the voice's meaning. He didn't like the lack of control, it was too much like being under the Imperious Curse, and forced himself to stop. "I'll go, but I'm walking myself."

The voice seemed oddly thrilled as it relinquished its grip. A wave of the same feeling he got when he pleased Dumbledore filled Harry. Harry ignored it and continued walking.

He'd been walking for about a minute before he stopped in front of a painting of a girl transfiguring a teacup into a miniature dragon, or at least, that's what he'd expected to see. What he really saw was his cupboard at number four Privet Drive, his "bedroom" before his first letter.

Harry blinked. How, no why, was there a painting of his cupboard at Hogwarts? No one knew about it, surely? He'd been so careful!

The surface of the painting shimmered and suddenly Harry was inside the tiny space under the stairs.

OOOOOO

Harry looked around. The colors were muted and the sound of his breathing echoed strangely, as if he were at the bottom of a deep cavern.

Then the door opened and a young Harry, no older than five, fell into the cupboard. Right through the teenage version.

"Stay in there, boy. Don't touch anything!" Teenage Harry shivered at the sound of his aunt's shrieked words. The younger didn't as much as react as look resigned to being locked in his cupboard while Aunt Petunia went to fetch "Dudders" from his friend's house.

The teenager watched as Harry listened for the sound of his aunt slamming the front door. That clicked in the sixteen year-old's memory. He remembered the day. He followed his younger self out the freshly picked cupboard door and to the back garden.

The five year-old hesitated, fearful, before creeping to the bushes growing on the edge of the Dursley's yard and making a beeline for the corner shrub. He crouched down and tenderly pushed the leaves aside to reveal a small nest of two small eggs.

One of the eggs was shaking and a crack appeared in the shell before Harry's very eyes. A smile transformed the young wizard's taut face.

"Come on," the boy whispered to the little egg. "You can do it."

As if encouraged by young Harry's gentle prodding, the egg rocked harder and then, slowly, a beak appeared, poking out of the shell to greet the world.

Future-Harry watched as his younger self greeted the baby bird, counting the seconds. Just as he reached fifty, he heard the noise he'd known was coming the moment he saw his past self waiting to pick the lock.

"Wha' you doing, Freak?" Dudley Dursley cried, waddling down the steps to the Harrys' positions in front of the corner bush. "Daddy says freaks don't belong outside unless they're working. You working, Freak?"

Young Harry had jumped at his cousin's voice and was now trying to block the nest and hatchlings from the thicker boy.

"What're they?" Harry's efforts were for not, Dudley had seen the nest. Memory-Harry froze.

Teenage Harry observed himself, not bothering to spare a glance for his cousin. He saw the debate in young Harry's eyes and the pain from landing on his wrist after Dudley pushed him aside. He saw the fire light in his bright emerald eyes as Dudley leaned in to touch the still-wet hatchling and its sibling's quaking shell.

"No! Don't touch them!" Harry cried from his position on the grass.

Dudley sneered in a perfect imitation of his father. "Why, Freak? They're just a couple a' birds!" He lifted his foot high to stamp hard on the little birds. He brought his foot down and it connected…with an invisible shield.

Dudley tried again, harder than the first, but to the same result. He seemed to remember his cousin as his eyes snapped to the boy. He opened his mouth to order the freak to stop doing whatever he was doing, but no words came out.

Viewing the scene from Dudley's perspective, the teenage Harry could understand the boy's fear. Young Harry was no longer sprawled on the grass but standing erect, eyes sparkling with emerald determination, jaw set in anger. "Get. Away. From. Them," he said slowly, his voice cold and sure. "Leave. Them. Alone!"

Dudley Dursley was thrown from the nest with a loud "AWW!" He scrambled backwards, his expression one of terror and multiple chins shaking in fear, but only future Harry was watching him. The other was tending to the new birds and didn't even look up when Dudley screamed for his mother and ran as fast as his fat, little legs could carry him back into the house.

Harry had seen enough. The voice didn't need to see his uncle's reaction to the day's events. Didn't need to see his younger self cry himself to sleep as Vernon hammered a second and third lock into the door of his cupboard. No, this voice wasn't going to see that.

"We are leaving!" Harry shouted upwards to the voice.

"We are not done," came the reply.

"We are!" Harry clasped his wand and lurched forward as if leaving a pensive memory. With a gut-wrenching flop, he was once again staring into the painting of his cupboard. "Thank you," he said to the painting, not feeling very cordial toward the voice that wanted to pry into his personal memories.

Harry stood there for a few seconds, wondering what to do, when he shrugged and continued his trek down the empty corridor of Hogwarts.

Harry soon realized that each painting was a memory, but there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason for their organization. He passed his first day of primary school; a particular potions class that ended with Neville blowing up his fifth cauldron in second year; a training session with Oliver Wood; his first birthday at Godric's Hallow—here Harry stopped and watched the memory he didn't even know he had; a younger self weeding the Dursley's front yard; and many more. He walked on and on, every once in a while taking a moving staircase to another floor.

It felt like hours later when he finally reached the abandoned Gryffindor common room (protected by a memory of James flying with baby Harry and Lily telling him to be responsible). For the first time, Harry felt completely safe. He breathed in the familiar smell of parchment, spilled ink, burning wood, and that certain unique smell all rooms have but you can never quite place.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter."

OOOOO

Harry opened his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to blink away the glowing fog obscuring his vision. No, not glowing, not fog, his inebriated mind revealed, but shimmering mist that was dancing as it molded into a figure. An animal. A panther.

OOOOO

"Did you see mine?" Ron exclaimed an hour later as everyone filed out of the classroom. "Wasn't it handsome? A greyhound…"

Hermione's lips twitched even as she said, "It is your patronus, Ronald."

"So what?" Ron replied. "That doesn't mean anything."

"Actually, it does," Harry commented. He shrugged at Ron's accusing stare. "Hermione could make an argument that it means that you see yourself as your protector."

"A bit narcissistic of you, ay Ronnikins?" Ginny replied, pushing herself between Hermione and Harry.

"Hey!"

"What about my fox? Wasn't it beautiful?" Ginny continued, ignoring Ron's indignant spluttering.

"It wasn't as wicked as mine," Ron persisted.

"I don't know," Harry whispered to Hermione. Raising his voice to more a stage-whisper, he said, "I thought Luna's bat fit her perfectly."

Hermione nodded. "Definitely."

The four Gryffindors continued to their common room, Ron still stubbornly defending his future shape. No one noticed Neville's absence.

OOOOOO

"Professor," Neville began as soon as the last student (Luna) had drifted out of the room.

James stopped transforming the pillows back into desks and dragged himself out of his proud thoughts about his son's animal form. "Yes, Mr. Longbottom?"

Neville stepped closer. "I think there's been a mistake. My form—"

James inhaled before Neville finished, and nodded slowly. He sat down and pulled a desk closer to his. "Sit down."

Neville closed his mouth and sat down. He looked at his hands at mumbled, "I think I did the spell wrong."

"Now that's wrong," James said firmly, looking the self-conscious wizard straight on. He contemplated calling for a house elf and having tea sent up, but decided against it. "You did it right."

"But sir, how can I be—I mean I'm not—" Neville tried to explain, but the words weren't coming out.

James recognized the symptoms. Remus had acted almost exactly the same way when they'd told him their plan to become animagi. Then, Sirius had cracked a joke and they'd gotten Remus to relax before turning the werewolf's skin green and forcing him to let them do it by holding the counter-charm hostage. Somehow James didn't think that was the way to go with Neville, however. Instead of pranking him, James pulled Neville's desk (and to Neville's surprise, him) close enough to reach his shoulder.

"Neville, look at me." James' voice was more serious than Neville had ever heard it, but even so, Neville could have sworn he'd heard the same power behind it somewhere before and recently too, but try as he might, he couldn't place it. He obeyed. "You are exactly what the spell said you were."

Neville looked his professor in the eye, searching the bright hazel for reassurance. Wait, weren't Professor Paxton's eyes a chocolate brown? It didn't matter. Neville still felt the sincerity and couldn't help but believe it. He nodded.

James leaned back and suddenly the professor who cracked bad jokes and turned too-slow students blue was back. "Now scat before mean ole Snape-kins catches you out past curfew."

Neville stood up. He was about to leave when he suddenly remembered James. "Professor?"

James looked up from transforming the last cushion.

"Thank you." He was gone before James could reply.

James stared at the door and shook his head, a small smile curving his lips. It was amazing how much Neville reminded him of Remus during their school days. The smile grew a bit. If Neville were like Remus, he would figure it all out. One day soon Neville would see the bear James did.

OOOOOO

Harry couldn't figure out what he was feeling. He wasn't sure if he was disappointed that he wasn't a deer or not, or whether he liked the thought of being a panther any more than a stag.

What would Sirius say at a time like this? Harry snorted quietly in the dark of his four-poster bed. He knew exactly what Sirius would have done. He would have made some crack about a panther being a woman's animal. He could see it in his mind's eye.

"A panther? Let's see…panthers, cougars, women. You're an old woman!"

He smiled as he imagined how Remus would have responded.

"Sirius! Panthers are noble creatures. They are jaguars. In divination, jaguars represent power and valor in future acts. Do you know what your shape represents?"

Yeah, that was Lupin. Harry snorted again. What would his father have said?

"You want the simplified version, Padfoot? You're death, buddy."

Harry's improvised Marauder meeting evaporated. Death. Sirius was death. Sirius was dead. So was his father. And he was the symbol of femininity and darkness. The powers that be hated him.