Chapter 43

SHAPESHIFTING

When Harry opened his door, he saw Remus and Sirius already settled in comfortable chairs, sipping steaming drinks. Between them stood what looked like the same tea trolley, still overflowing with iced Christmas cookies.

Elves. Just as Harry started forward to wish his friends the last Merry Christmas of the year, he saw the fire flash green and silver. Bête Noire leapt off Remus's lap and scuttled under Neville's bed. Recognizing the dark, imposing figure forming in the swirling flames, Harry skirted the chairs until he was standing behind Sirius. Already, his godfather's back was tensed.

"I'm here," Snape muttered, shaking out his robes and scattering embers across the flagstones. "Let's get this over with."

"Severus, sit down," Dumbledore soothed.

The Potions master looked up from knocking soot off the sole of his boot. His dark eyes flickered over the assembled group. "I didn't expect an audience."

Remus smiled. "What you're doing for Sirius is such a breakthrough in the art of magic that maybe you deserve an audience—an applauding one, too."

"That remains to be seen," Sirius growled under his breath.

Snape didn't hear him, or perhaps just disregarded him. "Merely an extension of existing principles. And we've yet to learn how the concentrate will work on a human subject."

"Harry, could you fetch the professor a drink?" Dumbledore asked as Snape claimed the spot on the sofa beside him. "In a moment, we'll be toasting."

Frowning, Harry turned to the cart. Human subject? He didn't like the sound of that. As he began filling a cup, he discovered that the jug was now brimming with thick, syrupy rum. Evidently, Sirius and Remus were not sipping cocoa. Slowly, he walked the steaming drink over to the sofa.

Snape ignored him, rummaging through a leather case he'd pulled from his robes. Slanting his eyes at Dumbledore, the Potions master murmured, "So, he's been told?"

The headmaster sighed. "Yes, Severus. The time had come."

Snape's face betrayed no emotion. Not bothering to raise his head, he muttered, "Don't expect me to act avuncular."

As if I'd want you as my favorite uncle. Harry set the rum on a side table and retreated across the room.

At last, Snape seemed to find the object he'd been seeking—a small, gray medicine bottle. Without warning, he pitched it straight at his rival's face.

Sirius, his senses sharpened by a couple of years on the run, caught the bottle easily before it could crack him on the nose. His face grim, he popped the plsatic top and tapped a tiny, gray pill onto his open palm. He eyed it skeptically. "That's it?"

Snape clicked his tongue in irritation. "It's condensed. You'd prefer guzzling from a flask?"

Harry's lips parted as he recalled Barty Crouch the year before, constantly swigging from a hip flask to maintain his Mad-Eye Moody guise. So! Snape made Sirius some polyjuice. A shape-shifting potion would be invaluable to a man wanted by both magical and Muggle authorities—and having it in pill form would make it practical.

"Not only is it concentrated," Professor Dumbledore added. "Severus tells me that its effects will last for 28 days."

"Nearly a month!" Remus enthused. "Fabulous."

Snape's expression remained impassive. "Get on with it. This doesn't have to take all night."

With a grimace, Sirius swallowed the pill. Suddenly, he let out a long, agonized moan. Alarmed, Harry took a step forward. Then he saw his godfather's face melt. The rugged chin receded, the flat cheeks grew fat and round, and the chiseled nose swelled to the point of being bulbous. The wild, black hair seemed to grow backwards, retreating into the scalp until only a fringe surrounded a shiny, bald dome. Then the color bleached out to a dirty, dishwater blond. Shudders wracked Sirius's narrow shoulders, and his tough, stringy muscles went flabby. His lean belly bloated, stretching his new shirt to the limit. Abruptly, a thunderous fart startled everyone. The transformation was complete.

Nervously, Sirius's newly blue eyes darted from one dazed face to another. "Don't leave me hanging. How do I look?"

Harry gulped. "Uh—I don't know how to say it. You look, well, kind of—"

"Ordinary," Dumbledore finished.

Snape shrugged. "Exactly as promised."

The uncharacteristically pudgy Sirius rushed over to examine himself in the back-of-the-door mirror. He tugged at his cheeks, stuck out his tongue, and pulled on his nose. At last, apparently satisfied that the mask wouldn't come off, he turned back around. "Who's my model? What places do I have to avoid so I won't surprise my double?"

"You're worried about doppelgangers? A potion so mundane as that would hardly have needed me to make it." Snape lifted his pointed chin. "You look like no one in particular because you look like everyone in general." He waved his hand dismissively. "Basically, your face is the product of the sweepings of the barber shops of Stepney."

When his godfather scowled, Harry had to smile. So that's what Snape had been doing last fall when he wasn't computer shopping—collecting specimens.

"No warts, I'll grant you that." The unfamiliar blue eyes narrowed in a way Harry recognized as pure Sirius. "I suppose you planted them on my bum."

Snape snorted softly. "I'm a Slytherin—above such Marauder pranks as that. But that's exactly the sort of gratitude I might have expected."

Remus jumped up. "He didn't mean it. Did you, Sirius? Come now. Isn't this marvelous? With me to create you a new Muggle identity via the Internet and Dumbledore to handle the magical one, you'll be able to move freely anywhere."

Sirius grunted and shifted his unaccustomed weight from one foot to the other. "My wizarding powers—are they still intact?"

"Such as they are." Snape returned his attention to his leather case. Nonchalantly, he added, "Even that presto-chango trick you're so proud of. Turning into a dog, isn't it?"

"Only one way to find out," Dumbledore encouraged.

When Sirius squeezed his eyes shut, Harry leaned forward. To be an animagus—that was a skill he wouldn't mind learning. He observed how Sirius took three deep breaths to immerse himself in his spell. Once again, he trembled, but this time, he shrank. Harry watched, expecting the process to stop when Sirius reached the size of the great, shaggy Padfoot. Instead, he kept getting smaller.

Puzzled, Harry glanced sidelong at Snape. The Potions master had abandoned all pretence of being interested in anything other than his rival's transfiguration.

Apprehensively, Harry switched his attention back to his godfather. Then his jaw dropped. Sirius had not become a magnificent, untamable hound. He was a poodle—a prissy, skittering white toy poodle, complete with shaved belly, fussy fur puffs on his head, shoulders and haunches, and a cute little pom-pom tail.

Remus took one look at his old friend, bouncing on the floor like a windup toy, and fell back in his chair, overcome with hysterics. Dumbledore, more discreet, hid his mouth with his hand—but his quivering cheeks and twinkling eyes showed that he, too, was chuckling. The man responsible for Sirius's predicament merely raised an eyebrow.

Then Sirius let out a string of high, excited yips and Snape lost it.

Harry watched in astonishment as the Potions master's eternal indifference dissolved into a fit of snickering. Snape clamped his lips shut and clutched his arms as if determined to regain control. Then he exploded into laughter so raucous, he grabbed a bedpost to keep from falling.

Harry folded his arms indignantly, glaring from Snape to Remus to Dumbledore. "This isn't funny. It's s-serious. Sirius is-s-s a-a-a—" Unable to stop himself, he sank to his knees in stitches.

Clearly perturbed by the commotion his doggy appearance was causing, Sirius scampered to the door and put his front paws on the mirror. One look, and he yelped. The next moment, the poodle blew up and Harry saw a human Sirius—the ordinary, tubby version—glowering at them.

A sly smile quirked Snape's thin lips. "All wizarding powers . . . intact."

Sirius sucked air through gritted teeth. Harry wondered whether he was counting to ten. At last, his godfather retorted in a painstakingly careless tone, "A poodle. Thanks. In that form, I should be finding my way onto a lot of pretty ladies' laps."

"Or," Remus managed between gasps of laughter, "the leash of some elderly witch in Ipswich."

A vision of the dainty poodle skipping along in a rhinestone-studded collar, cosseted by an old lady like Mrs. Figg, danced into Harry's mind. Again, he collapsed into chortling helplessness. Dumbledore slapped his thigh, and Snape howled.

Sirius's round cheeks reddened. "All right. Enough. Snape's had his little joke."

Harry took a moment to catch his breath and struggle to his feet. When the hilarity finally died down, everyone was still grinning.

With a rueful sigh, Sirius admitted, "You got me. No doubt about that. Maybe now, finally, we're even."

At Sirius's words, Snape's good humor chilled so quickly, it was hard to believe he'd ever cracked a smile. Harry glanced uneasily from Remus to Dumbledore. Their eyes had become wary, as well.

"For the Whomping Willow?" Snape responded coolly. "Yes. We're even for that."

When the Potions master turned his back to once again hunt through his leather case, Sirius exchanged a look with Remus as if to say, I'm trying.

In a moment, Snape pulled out a second bottle—yellow, this time. He tossed it over his shoulder without looking. "Reversal pills—in case you require restoration to your original state before 28 days have expired."

Again, Sirius caught the bottle. Untwisting the cap, he said, "I guess I'd better try this out while the expert's still here to fix any mistakes."

Harry saw Snape purse his lips, evidently focusing on Sirius's choice of the word mistakes rather than expert.

Showing amazing trust for a man who'd just been the butt of a practical joke, Sirius tipped back his head and popped a yellow pill into his mouth. Immediately, his body began to vibrate. Harry saw with relief that the return to normal was fast and painless. Once more, his godfather stood before him—in all his fierce-eyed, tangle-haired, weather-beaten glory.

Snape snapped his leather case shut. "As I thought, no mistakes. I'll be leaving you celebrants on your own. I have different business to attend."

Sirius blew out his breath. "Stay awhile. Put your feet up. Have some rum. We're big boys and can stay up late. For once, can't we put our schoolboy differences behind us?"

Snape stiffened. "Is that all you think stands between us sharing a toast?"

For a moment, Sirius just stared. Then he put his hands on his hips. "I can't believe it. You still blame me. Why? You know Peter Pettigrew was the traitor."

Snape sniffed. "Because you handed that cringing rat the key to my sister's life. If James had followed my council, Lily would be here with us today. But not James. He couldn't be bothered to listen to a Slytherin. Too arrogant to believe he might be mistaken in putting his trust in his hooligan Gryffindor pals."

How dare Snape talk like that? Everyone else in the room—including the headmaster—was a Gryffindor. Harry braced himself for what he was certain would be an eruption of his godfather's righteous, affronted rage. He didn't know if he could keep from erupting himself.

Instead, Sirius cocked an eyebrow in a manner that Harry could only describe as amused wonder. "You still don't get it, do you? James wasn't too arrogant to listen to you. In fact, he took your advice. And that's what got him and Lily killed."

"Absurd." Snape's dark eyes narrowed dangerously. "You know I advised him to make me their secrets keeper. But no, he used my undercover work as an excuse to disqualify me. He said my proximity to the enemy made using me too risky—as if any torture on earth could have compelled me to betray my sister."

Sirius's smile only grew wider. "That's not all you said."

Snape's hands became fists.

Remus glanced at their old school rival. Then he shot Sirius a look that pleaded with him to stop.

His friend ignored him, slowly, ironically shaking his head. "You really don't remember, do you?"

Well, chapter 43. So far, about 430 hours worth of work has been posted for this story. To post and not receive feedback feels like a musician would who's finished playing a song, only to stare out at a silent audience.