Chapter 20: Winter 1993
Harry sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of the dungeon, his cauldron gurgling sluggishly as he added diced daisy root to the dark grey concoction.
"Lower the flames," Harry instructed Grace, who dutifully jabbed her wand at the fire. Immediately, the potion turned a brilliant magenta, just as the instructions described. Truthfully, Harry didn't need the instructions to make this potion—this was the fifth time he had made it this year, and he was fairly certain he could brew it in his sleep—but he knew Snape would have kittens if he saw him brewing without a recipe.
"Have you blown yourself up yet?" Professor Snape asked as he swept into the room, tossing a cursory glance at their potion. He gave it a sniff, and a curt nod, which was the closest thing to approval Harry's potions had ever received from the man.
"Not yet," Grace replied. "But it's only noon."
Professor Snape scowled, though Harry thought the expression had less bite than it could have. "Pity."
Grace's grin showed far too many teeth. "At least it's Harry brewing it and not me. Or worse, Cedric."
Professor Snape nodded in concession. For all of Cedric's smarts, the subtly of potion making eluded him. "And where is the third member of your terrible triad?"
"Patrolling the corridors like a good little prefect," Grace explained as she passed Harry a jar of bat spleens.
The door swung open, and Harry nearly dumped the entire bottle of spleens into the potion. He froze just in time to keep himself from blowing them up and turned to glare at the newcomer.
Luna Lovegood wandered into the room, barefooted with a wreath of ivy perched precariously on top of her messy hair. She plopped down beside Grace and peered into the cauldron of Animagus potion curiously, although she didn't ask what they were doing. Instead, she picked up the recipe, her moon-like eyes flitting between the instructions and the potion before handing Harry the jar of scarab beetles he needed for the next step. Harry let her drop three of them into the potion.
Luna clapped with delight when the potion changed from scarlet to electric blue.
"What are you up to, Luna?" he asked. He stirred the potion six times clockwise and once anti-clockwise, satisfied when the surface began to froth.
Luna shrugged and gave him a vacant smile but didn't reply.
The door to the dungeon swung open for the third time. It crashed into the stone wall as Cedric stomped in.
"I've decided that this Animagus thing isn't for me," he announced.
"The fact that you are talking indicates this," Snape drawled, arranging himself at his desk and pulling a stack of essays towards him.
"I just swallowed my fourth mandrake leaf, Professor. My fourth!"
Harry sighed, placed his crystal stirring rod on the ground beside him, and considered vanishing the potion he had just spent four hours brewing. If Cedric didn't have his mandrake leaf to put in, there really was no point keeping the potion—even with a Statis Charm, it wouldn't keep for more than a week.
"If you had stayed silent, as you were supposed to, then this wouldn't have been an issue," Snape pointed out.
"I can't! Don't you think I've tried? I'm not like Harry," Cedric cried, pointing needlessly at his friend, who watched him over his cauldron of Animagus potion. "I constantly feel compelled to talk. It's like this bubbling in my chest that never lessens unless I say something. It's agony for me to stay silent for long periods of time. I can't even stay quiet in my sleep! In my First Year, my dormmates complained about my sleep talking so much that Professor Sprout had to put a silencing spell on my bed. And when I'm in class—"
"Diggory," Professor Snape sighed, "anyone who has taught you for more than a week is familiar with your inability to shut up."
Cedric threw himself into a chair, looking furious with himself. "How do you do it, Harry?" he asked. "You can go for months without speaking."
"You think I enjoy it?" Harry replied, a little annoyed with the question. "I don't do it for laughs. I don't choose to do it at all."
Cedric had the decency to look embarrassed. He sighed and sat up. "I know. Sorry."
Harry nodded and returned his attention to the potion. "I'll just get rid of this, I guess," he said, biting back the word 'again'.
If it was possible, Cedric somehow looked even more contrite. "I really am sorry. You could have finished your transformations ages ago."
"Well, not ages," Grace said. "We had to wait so Harry wouldn't blow himself up with his pernickety magic."
"We also had to wait for Grace to stop impersonating a statue," Harry replied drily.
Cedric gave them a weak grin. "When will you complete your transformation?" he asked.
Harry and Grace had imbibed their Animagus potion ages ago, although they had been holding out on their transformations in the hopes that the three of them could complete it together. Unfortunately, with each swallowed mandrake leaf, Cedric had been pushing that day off for nearly three months.
"Probably over Christmas," Harry replied.
"Mum's in Albania at the moment, so I'm going home with Harry. Mr Potter said he'd supervise the transformation process, so it'll be totally legal." She said this last part to Professor Snape, who looked more annoyed at being drawn back into the conversation than caring if they were complying with the law.
"Minerva will be disappointed," was his only response before returning to his marking.
Harry sighed heavily and reached for his wand to vanish the now useless potion, only for a tiny hand to still his wrist.
"Luna?" he asked, confused.
Luna produced a crystal vial that contained a long strand of her dirty blonde hair. She held it out to Harry with that vacant smile of hers.
"You want some of the potion?" he guessed.
Luna grinned and nodded.
"Harry, no!" Cedric yelped, alarmed when Harry siphoned a portion of the potion into Luna's vial. "She's twelve!"
Harry pursed his lips and gave Cedric a confused look. "So?"
"There is no way she can undergo the transformation!" Cedric snapped, looking at Harry as if this should have been painfully obvious.
Harry frowned. "The youngest Animagus was a four-year-old boy in Tibet."
"That was accidental magic, Potter," Snape interjected.
Harry nodded in concession. "Okay, but Uagadou teaches Animagus classes starting as young as seven. If Luna thinks she can do it, I don't understand why I should stop her."
Luna, either not caring or completely oblivious to the argument around her, spat a mandrake leaf into her vial.
"Look," Harry said over the shouts of protests, pointing at Luna's potion. "It's the correct shade of gold. She's clearly done her research."
"That's not the point!" Cedric's words turned into unintelligible shouts as Luna downed her potion.
"I think I'll go see Professor McGonagall now," Luna said, clambering to her feet.
Harry vanished the remaining potion and stood as well. "I'll come with," he said, insanely curious what animal the dotty Second Year would turn into. "Where are your shoes?"
"The nargles took them," Luna replied, unbothered by the prospect of thieving cryptids.
"That's quite rude of them. It's winter," Harry said, frowning. He still wasn't entirely sure what a nargle was or if the things were even real, but he found that there were more important things to waste his energy on. "Is that something they are accustomed to doing?"
"Oh yes," she said in that airy voice. "They're quite mischievous, you know. Besides, I imagine they're quite cold now that the snow's begun."
"I didn't," he admitted. "What else can you tell me about them?"
Luna chattered happily as Harry cleaned up his workstation, both pointedly ignoring Cedric's continued splutters and protests.
Before leaving the classroom, Harry conjured a pair of yellow bar shoes, which he presented to Luna. She complemented the colour before informing him that he had forgotten the bumblebees. Harry nodded as if this was the most sensible observation in the world. A moment later, animated bees buzzed around the shiny leather, emitting a dull hum.
"It's not safe to wander the dungeons with bare feet," he explained, charming the shoes to fit her feet.
Luna nodded and wiggled her feet, admiring her new shoes. "I don't want Professor Snape to steal my toes," she agreed with the utmost sincerity.
Behind them, Professor Snape sighed heavily.
Harry grinned before motioning towards the door. "Shall we?"
Luna nodded and skipped ahead. They all moved to follow—even Professor Snape, who had evidently decided that witnessing Luna's insanity was more interesting than marking essays.
"This is a terrible idea," Cedric grumbled as they followed Luna up to the first floor where McGonagall's office was located. "You shouldn't be encouraging this!"
"Luna, what are the three main steps of a successful Animagus transformation?" Harry asked.
"Visualisation of the intended form, confidence in your abilities, and a desire for wildness."
This was very much not the answer Harry had been looking for, but she said them with such confidence that he had to trust she knew what she was talking about.
"This is a disaster," Cedric muttered.
Grace threaded her arm through Cedric's. "Relax, she'll be fine. Harry's not even worried, and he worries about everything."
"Thanks, Grace," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Look, Ced, the potion wouldn't have changed if she wasn't ready to complete the transformation. She'll be fine."
"And if she isn't?"
"Then McGonagall and I can set her right," Harry reminded him. "But she won't need us."
Ahead of them, Luna knocked on McGonagall's door. She hummed softly to herself as she waited.
When McGonagall appeared, she looked stunned to see the small crowd assembled. "Is there a problem, Severus?" she asked, turning to the only other adult present.
"Miss Lovegood wishes to be an Animagus," he replied.
"I have the paperwork right here, professor," Luna said, pulling out a wad of parchment that had been folded into an origami swan. "I took my potion, and I haven't died yet. Will you ensure I don't explode when I release my inner beast?"
Harry was struck with a sudden appreciation for all of the professors at Hogwarts who had to teach Luna. He liked the excentric twelve-year-old well enough, but he could only imagine how infuriating it would be to teach her anything. She was just so… Luna.
McGonagall blinked and accepted the origami swan. "It smells like lavender."
Luna nodded. "For good luck," she explained with a nod. "Now, may I change? I can feel a second heartbeat in me. It's rather uncomfortable."
Professor McGonagall shot a glance at Professor Snape, as if waiting for the only other adult to point out the madness that she was witnessing. When he didn't respond, she pursed her lips and asked, "Are you sure about this, Miss Lovegood? The Transformation is not without risks."
"Few things in life are," Luna agreed. "What is life without risk?"
"Safe?" Cedric muttered under his breath.
Luna tactfully ignored this and gave Professor McGonagall a serene smile.
There was a dazed look about Professor McGonagall as she waved them all into her office. With a swish of her wand, the room expanded so it was large enough to fit an elephant. "On with it, then."
Luna smiled absently and closed her eyes. They watched her with tense anticipation, waiting to see if she would succeed.
And then Luna began to change.
She shrank and shrank until she turned into a… well, Harry wasn't entirely sure what she was, actually. She was clearly a mammal, with brownish grey fur and small ears. The limbs were connected by a weblike membrane, and her feet ended in sharp claws. Most interestingly, however, was that her animal form had retained Luna's protuberant silvery eyes.
"I think she's cute?" Grace said after a moment of stunned silence. "But also, a little creepy."
Which actually summed up Luna's entire persona quite nicely.
"What is she?" Cedric asked, disbelief in his voice. He crouched next to Luna, who awkwardly stumbled towards him and sniffed his hand.
Professor McGonagall, looking rather stunned, performed some sort of identification spell. "A Sunda flying lemur," she announced before writing it down on Luna's Animagus registration permit.
"Huh," Grace said, squatting down next to Cedric and running her fingers along Luna's back. "I had pegged you for an owl of some sort. But it works for you." She turned to Harry, her eyes glowing with excitement. "I can't wait for Christmas."
"You could do it now," Professor McGonagall said. There was an air of wistfulness to her voice as she said it. "It would be more than safe."
Grace shook her head and stood up. "Uncle Sirius will be disappointed if he misses it."
Harry wasn't sure when Grace had decided to adopt Sirius as an uncle, but he decided not to question it.
They clapped when Luna reappeared unharmed, her hair more tousled than usual. After passing around hugs and congratulations, Harry and his friends departed McGonagall's office. They stumbled across Marcus on their way to the dungeons, who, with uncharacteristically dishevelled hair of his own, looked like too he had undergone the Animagus transformation.
The five friends found themselves in Slytherin's study sometime later. Cedric was hunched over a table, experimenting with their (still) incomplete version of the Marauder's map. Luna, meanwhile, had reassumed her flying lemur form and was wreaking havoc as she soared above them, knocking ancient and priceless books off shelves. Marcus watched Luna with amused fondness and righted her messes whilst Harry was curled in his favourite chair, reading a Healing journal.
"Have you ever stopped to think how cool magic is?" Grace asked, breaking the comfortable silence. She was sprawled out on the couch by the fire, admiring her wand. "Like, we've got magic sticks in our pockets that can bend reality."
Having been raised in the magical world, Harry could only imagine how extraordinary Grace's life must seem to her. Even growing up as sheltered as he was, Harry at least knew what magic was. It wasn't the stuff of fairytales, but an everyday, mundane occurrence. Things he took for granted were viewed with childlike wonderment by Grace.
Grace sat up, scrutinising her wand as she rolled it between her fingers. "How do these things even work?" she asked, turning to Harry.
Harry wasn't entirely sure why he was selected to answer. He studied Healing, not wandmaking. "Wands help channel our magic," he explained. "I don't know how, but I'm sure the library has a book or two on the subject."
Unsatisfied with the answer, Grace rolled off the couch and crossed the room, picking up Marcus' wand from the side table and inspecting it. After a moment, she compared it to her own wand, which looked positively tiny in comparison. "I'm guessing there's some sort of height component at play here," she mused. She turned to Cedric, who was chewing on the end of his quill. "Ced, how tall are you?"
"Dunno. Maybe five foot eleven?"
"And how long is your wand?"
"Merlin, Grace," Marcus said. "At least buy the bloke dinner first."
Cedric turned a magnificent shade of scarlet and buried his face in his hands while the rest roared with laughter. Even Luna, who probably shouldn't have understood the innuendo, returned to her human form to cackle at Cedric's expense.
Grace ran her tongue over her teeth and accepted the teasing with grace.
"Fine," Grace said once their laughter had subsided. She turned to Cedric with a decisive nod, her hazel eyes glowing in the candlelight. "Will you go on a date to Hogsmeade with me?"
Genius Fratris
Harry would have thought it was weird that his two best friends were dating. But honestly? It was a bit of a relief. No longer did Harry have to listen to Cedric's pining as he tried, and ultimately failed, to ask Grace out on a date. His friend spent the next week practically walking on air and letting out happy, romantic little sighs as his and Grace's date approached.
Perhaps the best part of it all was that Harry was no longer required to fund Grace's sweet tooth. When Harry went around to take Honeydukes orders from his younger friends (and John, who still was not allowed to visit Hogsmeade), Harry cheerfully redirected Grace to her boyfriend when she requested jelly slugs.
"Whatever," Grace said when her wounded puppy-dog eyes failed to change Harry's mind. "Marcus will still get me some."
"Marcus will not," the man in question grunted, stabbing the potatoes on his plate with unnecessary force. "He's staying in the castle."
"You're not coming?" Grace asked, eyeing Marcus with suspicion.
Teddy frowned at the news and peered into his teacup with a betrayed look, as if it had purposefully hidden this news from him. "I thought we were sticking together," he said. "Now that the others are chucking us for dates."
Something dark settled over Marcus, who shook his head. "My father was seen near here last week," he explained in a low voice. "The Headmaster thought it would be unwise to leave the safety of the grounds."
A tense, awkward silence descended over the Slytherin table. No one knew how to react. The Daily Prophet had written about little else since late July, so they were familiar with Flint's movements across Great Britain. Marcus hadn't said anything about Aurelius Flint's escape from Azkaban, and Harry's friends had an unspoken agreement to follow his lead.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Harry hedged.
"About my Death Eater father that wants to kill me?" Marcus asked with biting sarcasm. "No, thank you."
Teddy pursed his lips. "If it helps, I haven't seen anything happening to you today."
Marcus shrugged. "Because I'm not going to Hogsmeade," he agreed.
"Do you want us to stay?" Grace asked hesitantly.
To an outside observer, the glare he sent her would have been withering. But Harry could see the warmth in Marcus' dark eyes as he grunted, "I do have more interesting things to do than entertain you." Harry could tell he appreciated the offer, even if he would rather cut off his tongue than admit it.
Grace seemed relieved by this answer, but she continued to challenge him. "Oh yeah? Like what."
"Homework."
"You're lying."
"I am. Are we done here?"
"At least let Harry buy you some jelly slugs," she insisted.
Marcus laughed. "I hate jelly slugs."
"I don't."
Marcus reached over to tug on the end of Grace's plait. "Stay warm out there, Cooper," he said before throwing his napkin down and standing. "I'll see you all later."
"Have fun not doing your homework!" Grace called before rounding on Teddy. "What is he actually up to?"
Teddy scowled. "That's not how my visions work."
Harry rolled his eyes and left them to their squabbling, which only paused when Harry stood and left the breakfast table. After collecting Katie from her friends, they wandered through the Entrance Hall, where a scowling Filch was checking Hogsmeade permission slips.
"I was thinking we could go ice skating on the Black Lake today," Harry explained. He cast warming charms on their cloaks and scarves as they stepped outside. "After we finish shopping, of course."
Katie grinned. "Only if you let me buy you a Butterbeer after," she said. "We need to celebrate!"
Harry ducked his head and blushed. "That's not necessary," he insisted.
"Harry, you just had an article published in Frontiers in Healing," she replied, looping her arm through his and giving it a gentle squeeze. "How many Fifth Years can say that?"
Not many, he agreed. It was one of the main reasons he had been hesitant to work on the article when Madam Pomfrey approached him over the summer. After all, who would take what he had to say seriously, even if he was a Healer's apprentice?
Frontiers in Healing, apparently. The journal had loved the article Harry and Madam Pomfrey had written about their study and treatment of petrification victims. It wasn't widely known yet, only having been published in their December issue, and Harry planned to keep it that way.
Don't get him wrong; he was damn proud of the accomplishment. He just wished Katie would stop bragging about it to everyone who would listen. "I only co-authored it," he reminded her.
Katie rolled her eyes. "Just let me be proud of you, yeah?"
Thankfully, their conversation moved on to less contentious topics, and they chatted about their Christmas shopping as they trudged through the dirty ankle-deep snow.
They passed friends and classmates as they walked, waving to them but reluctant to stop to chat. The wind had picked up, sending Katie's long curls swirling through the air. She scowled and unsuccessfully tried to pat them down. Harry grinned and conjured a hat for her to wear, which she accepted without hesitation.
"I didn't realise it would be this cold today," Katie muttered before her body was wracked with a powerful shiver. "I think the temperature is dropping. Do you reckon it will snow again?"
She was right, Harry realised, suppressing a shiver of his own. It did feel colder since they had left the castle. In fact, the temperature seemed to plummet with every step they took from the school.
A cold chill ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the weather. He froze, his muscles tensing and locking as panic and dread clouded his senses. Unnatural dread that left him weak in the knees and breathless with terror. Harry probably would have been fine if he had only felt the oncoming panic attack. He was used to freaking out and shutting down. What he wasn't accustomed to was the soul-crushing sadness and misery that flooded his chest. Feelings that Harry associated with only one being.
A dementor was nearby. His heart leapt to his throat, and his eyes darted to the wood that lined the road to Hogsmeade, wondering if one was lingering behind a tree, watching him. Could they have ignored Dumbledore's orders when he banished them from the grounds?
Katie walked several paces before she realised that he wasn't following her. She turned to face him with a frown. "Is everything alright?"
A strangled croak slipped past Harry's lips in response. His heart jolted, but with each breath and failed attempt to swallow away the lump in his throat, his anxiety grew.
"Harry?" Katie asked, walking back towards him. "What's wrong? You look like you're about to be sick." She reached out, but he flinched away from her touch. "You're shaking."
He felt like he was about to be sick. His stomach twisted, and little spots appeared in his vision. "I—" he managed to choke out before his throat seized painfully.
Not now, he thought. Under normal circumstances, he would have been furious with himself for his voice disappearing. As it was, he couldn't feel anything other than the growing panic in his chest. Not here.
He missed Katie's response, his ears ringing too loudly to hear anything else.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and Harry flinched at the contact. Something twisted in his gut, and in an instant, the piles of snow around his feet melted. He wrenched himself away from the grip, his wand pointing at the person's chest before he had made the conscious effort to draw it.
Uncle Remus raised both of his hands in a non-threatening gesture. He said something, but Harry couldn't comprehend what. When Harry didn't reply, Uncle Remus lowered his hands and nodded towards the castle.
A dim part of him remembered that he was supposed to be taking his girlfriend to Hogsmeade. He couldn't bring himself to care, though. If he had to choose between passing the dementors and skipping a Hogsmeade trip, he'd happily return to the castle. He lowered his wand and nodded in understanding. He moved to follow Uncle Remus before remembering Katie.
Turning back around, he tried to apologise to her. He couldn't even manage a strangled 'sorry.'
Despite her best efforts, Harry could tell that Katie was disappointed. She shook her head in what might have been understanding before giving him a sad smile. She didn't wait for him to attempt to reply, merely waving goodbye before hurrying to catch up with Angelina Johnson and George Weasley.
Without his friends or girlfriend around, Harry had no choice but to follow his uncle back to the castle. Not that he found that he particularly minded. Sure, he was disappointed that he couldn't hang out with Katie or do some Christmas shopping with his friends, but the larger part of him was relieved that he didn't have to brave the dementors. With every step he took away from the gates, Harry felt his mood lifting and his mind clearing. By the time they reached Uncle Remus's quarters, Harry felt almost normal.
He still gratefully accepted a cup of hot chocolate, though.
The nice thing about Uncle Remus was that he never felt compelled to fill the silence. He merely sat on the sofa across from him and marked essays, letting Harry stare into the crackling fire and collect his thoughts.
"What's wrong with me?" Harry asked after nearly an hour of peaceful silence. His toes had long since regained feeling, and his chest felt pleasantly warm.
"Nothing," Uncle Remus insisted. He dropped the essay he had been reading and summoned a pot of tea. The green paisley teapot filled Harry's cup before he could stop it, mixing his remaining hot chocolate with what smelled like Darjeeling.
"Nothing?" Harry scoffed. He dropped his cup on a rickety side table and pulled his feet onto his chair. He wrapped his arms around his shins and tucked his knees under his chin. "I lost my head."
Uncle Remus gave him a humourless smile. "You were scared," he corrected. "After what happened at the last Quidditch match, I would have more been surprised if you hadn't reacted to seeing the dementors."
"I didn't even see one this time," Harry reminded him.
"How you reacted today was perfectly normal," Uncle Remus insisted in that gentle, patient voice. It was the same one he had used when Harry was a child, mute and terrified of his own shadow. It was somehow comforting and irritating to hear it now at fifteen.
Harry scoffed in disgust and turned his head away, staring back into the fire.
"This may come as a surprise to you, Harry," Uncle Remus said, a hint of a smile on his lips. "But you are only human."
The words were meant to be playful and comforting, but something about them made Harry's blood run cold. "I never claimed I wasn't," he said, trying to keep his tone even.
"I don't know," Uncle Remus teased. "Most wizards can't perform silent spellcasting at eleven. Are you sure you aren't a changeling?"
Harry sighed and absently reached for his cup, pausing when he realised what he was drinking. He considered his cup of murky, chocolatey tea before downing the entire thing in one go. "Pretty sure," he grunted, scowling at his empty cup. The teapot whizzed across the room and poured more tea through its chipped spout. "What do I do?" he asked, redirecting the conversation.
Uncle Remus sighed, the smile slipping off his face. "There is a spell that would help—"
"The Patronus Charm," Harry interjected. He'd read about the spell in one of Marcus' old Defence textbooks, but he'd never felt compelled to learn it. After all, a Patronus charm couldn't reattach limbs or treat Mupplewupple. Harry had better ways to use his time than to learn spells that didn't apply to his apprenticeship.
Uncle Remus merely smiled at this interruption. He nodded. "It's a tricky bit of magic. Most grown wizards would never be able to produce one."
Harry pursed his lips and rose to his feet, drawing his wand. "How do I do it, then?"
"What? Now?" Uncle Remus looked thoroughly baffled by Harry's actions. Harry wasn't sure why. The man had mentioned the only spell that could help Harry with his problem. Why wouldn't Harry want to learn it?
"I can't think of a reason not to," Harry replied.
"I can think of several," Uncle Remus said, the lines on his prematurely aged face deepening. "Namely, you're in no state to be performing any advanced pieces of magic."
"I'm fine."
"Are you?" It was less of a question and more of a sarcastic statement, and it rankled Harry's nerves.
"I'm fine," he insisted, trying desperately to keep his temper in check. "I can do this."
"I'm not saying you can't," Uncle Remus said, responding to Harry's biting tone with the unflappable patience only a lifelong teacher could possess. "I'm saying you shouldn't."
The green paisley teapot shattered when Harry's temper slipped. "Why shouldn't I? I can do it. I know I can. I'm—"
"Fine?" Uncle Remus finished, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "Is that why you've broken my teapot?"
He was on his feet with no recollection of how he got there, and a wave of chagrin wormed its way through the haze of Harry's anger. "I'm in control."
Uncle Remus gave him a considering look before rising to his feet and gently squeezing Harry's shoulders. "I'm not refusing to teach you the Patronus because I think you aren't capable. My worry isn't your competency—it's for your state of mind. You've had a nasty scare today, Harry. What you need to do is rest."
"What I need is to—"
"Be in control of the situation?" Uncle Remus guessed. He smiled sadly when Harry stuttered, unable to think of a coherent reply. "I have a question for you, Harry. When was the last time you've taken a minute to process all of the terrible things you've seen in your short life?" When Harry tried to reply, Uncle Remus cut him off. "And I actually mean process. Not push down whatever emotion you feel so you can keep moving."
"Well, I—"
"Because I seem to recall that the last time you went toe-to-toe with a dementor, after it strangled you and almost sucked out your soul, that you were more concerned with John's well-being than your own." When he tried to look away, Uncle Remus grabbed Harry's clenched jaw and forced him to look at him. "It's truly a testament to your tenacity and willpower to suppress your emotions. But Harry, it won't work forever. These things can, and will, come back to haunt you. I fear they already have."
"I just lost my head today," Harry grunted, trying to wrench himself free from his uncle's grasp. "I was surprised. It won't happen again."
His words didn't seem to have the intended effect on Uncle Remus, who continued to regard him with a worried expression.
"The thing about control, Harry, is that you will always want more," Uncle Remus explained. His fingers squeezed Harry's shoulders. "And because you want more, you will never have enough. No matter how hard you try to micromanage every possible outcome of your life, there will always be things outside your power. I fear that you will never be happy unless you learn to relinquish some amount of control."
"I'm happy now," Harry growled.
"Clearly," Uncle Remus replied, raising a sardonic brow. A knock sounded at the door to Uncle Remus's quarters, interrupting the rest of his lecture. "We're not finished with this," he said before answering the door.
John appeared, looking glum, as he followed Uncle Remus into the room. To Harry's surprise, he wasn't alone: Medusa was curled around his shoulders, hissing angrily at Wobbles, who batted at her head.
"Save me," she commanded when her red eyes landed on Harry. "The furry beast tests my patience."
"Stop seeking it out," Harry suggested before crossing the room. Medusa launched herself at Harry when he drew close enough, crashing into his chest with a heavy thud. "I left you in my room."
"I was bored. And hungry," Medusa explained, somehow managing to give him a haughty look. "Your nestmate feeds me."
Harry rolled his eyes and wrapped her around his shoulders, refusing to dignify her statement with a response. He reclaimed his chair as Uncle Remus and John took the couch, listening to their conversation with half an ear as Medusa continued to hiss in his.
"I've never asked, Harry," Uncle Remus said as he conjured a cup for John. The newly repaired paisley teapot went to fill Jon's cup, though not before pausing to spit hot tea in Harry's face. "How is Medusa awake? I thought snakes hibernated in the winter."
"Reptiles brumate," Harry corrected, drying his robes with his wand. "She hasn't done it in several years, though. I think it has something to do with being a familiar."
"Is that why she can talk?" John asked, cuddling Wobbles to his chest. The three-legged cat was happily chewing on the collar of John's robe, unbeknownst to John.
Harry shook his head. "I've been teaching her English since First Year," he explained. "She's grown quite nosy over the years—I swear, she knows more gossip than Pucey."
They shared a laugh, though Uncle Remus didn't join in. He watched them, clearly confused, his lips pursed. "Medusa can't speak, John."
"Well, no," Harry agreed. "She doesn't have the vocal cords for it. Still, she can follow a conversation alright."
It was John's turn to look confused. "But you were talking to her just now," he said.
Now Harry was confused. "Yeah," he drawled slowly, trying to figure out where John was going with this. "I can do that. It's a perk of being a Parselmouth."
"But you were just talking to her," John said.
Harry and Uncle Remus exchanged baffled looks.
"Yeah," Harry said. "I was speaking to my snake. In Parseltongue. Because I'm a Parselmouth. Who speaks Parseltongue."
John frowned. "But you were doing it in English," he insisted.
"He was definitely hissing," Uncle Remus said.
John's confusion gave way to annoyance. "No, you weren't!" He snapped. "Stop it. This isn't funny."
"No one is laughing," Harry replied. "We're just—" he froze, his brain replaying their conversation before comparing it to an eerily similar conversation he had had several years ago with Cedric. "You could understand us?"
"Of course, I could understand you!" John cried, lifting a hand to tug at his hair in frustration. "Why wouldn't I be able to?"
"Because they were speaking in Parseltongue," Uncle Remus replied gently, catching onto Harry's train of thought. He placed a comforting hand on John's shoulder.
"I don't speak—"
"Medusa, say something to John," Harry hissed. He scrutinised his brother's expression as he spoke, waiting to see a spark of realisation in his brother's eyes.
"Something."
A bubble of hysterical laughter slipped passed John's lips.
"How long have you been able to understand her?" Uncle Remus asked.
John, who had gone very pale, shrugged. "I noticed over the summer," he explained, his voice faint. "I thought it was Harry's accidental magic mucking things up."
It was a logical conclusion, Harry agreed privately. His magic had done a lot of odd things over the summer.
Drawing his wand, he rolled it between his fingers as he considered his brother. He had come across a diagnostic spell in Slytherin's study the previous year that could identify Parselmouths. The spell had been created by the famed Healer Asclepius in order to discern which Healers he would take on as apprentices. Like all of Asclepius' inventions, though, this charm could only be performed in Parseltongue.
Harry had never had a reason to perform the spell, and he wasn't sure if he could perform it correctly. Parseltongue didn't have a written language, and the book he had found the spell in had been written entirely in an antiquated dialect of western Greek. It also didn't help that the spell was only mentioned in passing—either the spell was passed down between Healer and apprentice, or the author had assumed that the spell was common knowledge and didn't feel the need to elaborate. Either way, Harry could only guess he was performing the spell correctly when he raised his wand and hissed, "Oikos."
John's skin glowed violet, and Harry let out an oath that Grace would have been proud of.
"You've been speaking parseltongue since the Chamber," Harry corrected, dozens of pieces of information—observations that Harry had noticed but neglected to investigate—finally falling into place. "That was how we got out of there."
"But I'm not a Parselmouth!" John insisted, his pupils blown so wide only a sliver of hazel was visible.
"You are," Harry replied, pocketing his wand.
"There's nothing wrong with being one," Uncle Remus reminded him in that slow, even voice. "There is no need to panic."
"I wonder if you could speak it before, and we just never noticed," Harry mused, standing up and beginning to pace around Uncle Remus's cramped quarters. "Maybe it runs in the family?" He discarded this thought as soon as he said it. "No, you said you noticed it over the summer. Which means it couldn't have started before…"
His mind hiccupped and stuttered as it pieced together the timeline. Clearly, it had happened before they left the Chamber of Secrets. But what major event could catalyse the ability to speak to snakes?
The answer came to him at once, and his skin grew cold and tingly.
John had been possessed by Voldemort.
"Possessed by a Parselmouth," Harry muttered to himself. He wondered if it was possible to transfer magical abilities and made a mental note to look into it. "But how? You'd only written his diary…" which had somehow been turned into a dark artefact. He made another mental note to hunt down the diary remains.
Harry considered his brother and wondered if the possession had other lingering effects. Sure, there were the hallmark symptoms: memory loss, pale skin, outbursts of anger, aversion to mirrors. But those symptoms went away after foreign control was broken. He had never heard of possession having long-term effects. He certainly never had heard of it altering someone's magic.
If only he had another person to compare John's experiences to.
"Merlin's pants," Harry muttered. "Ginny."
Could she speak to snakes too? She'd been possessed, just as John had. Could possession by diary somehow mess with someone's magic? What even had that diary been?
He needed to investigate.
"I'll be back," he called over his shoulder as he dashed towards the door, his mind whirring. He took off down the corridor at a sprint, nearly knocking over Oliver Wood as he climbed out a broom cupboard looking decidedly rumpled. He barely had time to apologise before he had already turned the corner.
Harry took the stairs three at a time, his shoes echoing through the corridors as they slapped against the stone floors, his feet fighting for purchase as he whipped around corners and slipped on rugs. He didn't stop running until he skidded to a halt outside the Hufflepuff common room, his hands shaking as he pounded out the password.
"This is the Hufflepuff common room," a snotty-sounding First Year with an upturned nose informed Harry when he entered the room. Alice Tolipan, his brain helpfully supplied. Allergic to nettle-based potions and suffers from insomnia. Takes one teaspoon of sleeping draught before bed.
"I'm a prefect," Harry replied, tapping the badge pinned to the front of his robes. "Where is Ginny Weasley?"
"I don't have to tell you," Alice replied.
Harry forced down the wave of irritation and the desire to shout at her. "You do, actually. Where is she?" When Alice looked like she was about to object, Harry rolled his eyes and stepped around her. "I don't have time for this."
"You can't go up there! That's the girl's dormitory!" Alice screamed, chasing after Harry as he stalked towards the staircase.
Fortunately for Alice and Harry, Ginny appeared at the top of the stairs, a bemused smile on her face. She wore a pair of patchy corduroy trousers and an oversized green jumper that Mrs Weasley had no doubt knitted. Though judging by the large 'B' on the front, it had once belonged to Bill, her oldest brother.
"I thought I heard you shouting, Harry," she said as she skipped down the stairs. "Why aren't you at Hogsmeade?"
Harry waved away her concern. "Later. I need you to come with me."
"Don't do it, Ginny!" Alice pleaded, her brown eyes wide and full of terror. "He's—"
"My friend?" Ginny finished, looking distinctly unimpressed. "A prefect? The bloke who helps Pomphrey stitch us back together? Take your pick." She didn't wait for a response before grabbing Harry's hand and stomping away.
"Not here," Harry murmured, leading her towards the exit. "We don't want this to be overheard."
They left the common room and wondered until they found an empty room with a fireplace. Ginny took his odd behaviour in stride and didn't question why he was hissing at the snake engraving at the back of the fireplace. When the secret passageway opened, she stepped confidently through without waiting for Harry's instructions.
"What is this place?" she asked once her eyes adjusted to the low lighting.
"Salazar Slytherin's private library," Harry explained, ushering her towards a couch and instructing her to sit. "Ced and I found it in our First Year."
"It's creepy," Ginny replied. "I think I like it."
"It's a secret," Harry said. He crouched down in front of her and drew his wand. "I need to perform a spell on you. It won't hurt."
"I didn't think it would. But thank you for the reassurance," she replied. She didn't look at Harry as she spoke, instead staring around the room with fascination.
Despite the gravity of the situation, Harry couldn't help but grin. "You're more than welcome to come here," he said before casting the same diagnostic charm he had used on his brother. When Ginny's skin glowed the same shade of violet as John's had, Harry rocked back on his heels, his heart sinking to his stomach. "If you ever need to get anywhere in the school—including here—just find a fireplace. At the back, there'll be a snake carving. Think of where you want to go and ask it to open the secret passage for you."
"It's that easy?" Ginny asked, torn between looking delighted and disturbed. "So I could break into Snape's bedroom?"
"If you felt so inclined, I suppose you could. I wouldn't recommend it."
Ginny grinned, her expression eerily similar to the ones Fred and George wore before they played a nasty trick on someone. "This place is amazing. Can anyone get in here? Who knows about it?"
"Not everyone, no. Just my friends. "Harry tried to smile, his mind scrambling as he tried to figure out his next words. "You have to speak Parseltongue to get in."
Ginny frowned. "You didn't."
"I did. Only, it would've sounded like English to you." When Ginny tilted her head, her brow furrowed in confusion, Harry sighed. There was no easy way to say it, but knowing Ginny, she'd appreciate bluntness over being treated like a child. "Ginny, you're a Parselmouth."
Genius Fratris
Ginny took the news surprisingly well. Much better than John, at least. It took Harry summoning seven different snakes (all of which she could communicate with) before she finally believed him.
The first question out of her mouth was, "Why?"
That was an answer Harry didn't have, though he promised he would find it. He suspected it had something to do with the possession both John and Ginny had suffered last year. Which, according to his preliminary diagnostics, was still affecting their magic months after the possession was lifted. The spontaneous ability to speak to snakes was only the tip of the iceberg. Both John and Ginny reported increased power in all of their spells. Ginny admitted to having years of memories that didn't belong to her. The speed with which John could now read was dizzying. Their marks in their lessons had skyrocketed as they displayed a comprehension of the material that was unnatural for their age.
It was as fascinating as it was terrifying. For the remainder of term, Harry spent every available moment researching these new cognitive developments. He quickly exhausted the books in Hogwarts' library, both the public and the restricted sections. Slytherin's personal library wasn't much help, either. Despite Salazar's apparent interest in Healing, mind magics were relatively new areas of study; Harry doubted a wizard from the Dark Ages would have seriously considered studying the human brain and its intricacies.
He wished he had someone he could talk through his theories with. Madam Pomfrey was an invaluable source of information, of course, but she admitted that Dark Magic, such as possession, was far outside her area of expertise. Similarly, the few competent Defense Against the Dark Art professors (and, oddly enough, Snape) he had asked lacked the necessary knowledge of human anatomy and Healing to be of much assistance. When Harry lamented his struggles to his father, Mr Potter suggested he write to Healer Rodriguez for advice, which sounded brilliant, but by the time term ended, Hedwig had yet to return with a reply.
That was why Harry was both relieved and frustrated to return to Potter Manor for the Christmas holidays. Whilst he was excited at the prospect of two weeks of rest, his mind buzzed with theories about John and Ginny's odd affliction. His lack of work left him restless, and his inability to research gave him no way to channel his energy.
Fortunately, Grace's presence was an excellent distraction.
"I feel like we need to wear something special for such an auspicious occasion," she said on the third day of the Christmas holidays. "White gowns with flower crowns."
They were sprawled out across the parlour, waiting for Uncle Sirius to arrive. He had threatened to withhold Christmas gifts if they transformed without him, but he was running later than his letter had promised. Uncle Remus and Mr Potter were waiting with the impatient teens, seemingly less concerned with Uncle Sirius' tardiness.
Harry frowned. "We're not pagans," he reminded her. "There's also about two feet of snow outside."
Harry's father had considered enlarging the sitting room to allow them space for their transformation, but Acorn had grown anxious at the suggestion. Apparently, she was convinced one of them would turn into a rhino and destroy the china cabinet. To keep the peace, Harry and Grace agreed to transform outside.
"That's what warming charms are for," she said.
"We're not mixing warming charms with the Animagus transformation."
Mr Potter pursed his lips and considered Harry's words. "Theoretically, I can't imagine why it would matter."
"Theoretically, Cormac McLaggen shouldn't have been able to switch his hands with his feet after attempting to cast a summoning spell. I still had to spend a week fixing him." Harry scowled at the memories. Cormac McLaggen, with his quick temper and idiotic bravado, had earned himself a bad reputation in the Hospital Wing in the four years he had been at Hogwarts.
"Did you ever figure out how it had happened?" Uncle Remus asked, a faint smile on his lined and pale face. The full moon was a week away, and his uncle was already beginning to feel its effects. "Filius and Minerva have been debating how he had managed it."
"I think it had something to do with the botched Weedosoros he had imbibed that day."
"He willingly drank Weedosoros?" Mr Potter asked, looking faintly ill. "Weedosoros the poison?"
"It was for a dare, apparently." Harry sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes at the memory. "The boy is a menace."
"You sound like Severus," Uncle Remus said with a grin.
"I'm sure he calls all of us that," Grace replied.
Uncle Remus paused as he considered this before slowly shaking his head. "Not necessarily. If you read between the lines, he certainly has…well, not favourites. But he's quite complementary of some of you."
This was news to Harry and Grace, who exchanged flabbergasted expressions.
"Like who?" Harry asked, shifting closer to Uncle Remus on the couch.
"I really shouldn't say. It's—"
"Professor Uncle Remus Lupin, you're an incurable gossip," Grace interrupted. "Don't you dare find a conscience now."
Uncle Remus blushed. "I am no such thing!"
Mr Potter snorted. "Yes, you are. Now, who're Snape's favourite students?"
"I bet Cedric's one of them," Grace said. "He's everyone's favourite."
"He's certainly less maligned than others," Uncle Remus agreed, then froze as he realised what he had said. After a second of consideration, he slumped back against the cushions and sighed. "George Weasley is adept at brewing, although Severus thinks his twin is ruining his potential. Justin Finch-Fletchley is the best brewer in the Third Year, and he thinks Harry could make for a decent potioneer if he didn't waste his time with Healing. He would like you more, Grace, if you would stop talking during lessons."
"I'm paired with Cho Chang!" Grace cried. "You can't not talk to Cho Chang. She's the coolest girl in Fourth Year."
Their conversation was cut short by the sound of windchimes as the security charms at the gates were tripped. Harry stilled at the sound and shot an anxious glance at his father. It was rare for anyone who visited Potter Manor to use the main entrance—those with permission to enter always used the Floo.
To his surprise, his father merely smiled at the sound and rose to his feet. "Shall we, then?" He answered none of their questions as he led them onto the front lawn, merely drawing his wand and erecting an intricately carved stone monopteros.
His lack of concern was explained shortly when Uncle Sirius came into view, melting a path through the knee-deep snow. And on his arm was—
"Professor McGonagall?" Grace gasped, looking slightly ill at the sight of her Transfiguration professor.
Harry understood the sentiment. Uncle Remus notwithstanding, there was something inherently wrong about seeing a professor outside of school.
Uncle Remus grinned. "She was disappointed when you told her she'd miss your first transformation," he explained with a chuckle. "Even wrote James a twelve-page letter to express her displeasure."
"I had to invite her," Mr Potter agreed, conjuring a long stone bench inside the structure and adding a warming charm. "She was gutted when she discovered she missed Sirius and my first transformation. She still reminds me, twenty years later!"
"Well, we hardly could have told her," Uncle Sirius added, close enough to join in on the conversation. "We were breaking the law."
"Oh, yeah," Mr Potter replied with a grin. He jumped the steps of his monopteros and landed in front of Professor McGonagall, planning a noisy kiss on her cheek. "Glad you could join us, Minnie."
Perhaps it was merely the cold weather, but Harry swore he saw her blush. "Minerva is just fine," she said with an exasperated yet fond tone. Clearly, this was not the first time she had issued the correction. After she was settled on a bench, she turned to the two still gawking teens. "No Mr Diggory?" she asked.
Grace recovered first and shook her head. "Mrs Diggory wouldn't let him come. All of his weird relatives are visiting."
Nobody corrected this rude description. After all, Cedric did have a lot of weird relatives. Amos Diggory looked positively ordinary compared to his brother's family, who were all circus performers, and his sister, who sold…recreational potions.
Professor McGonagall nodded thoughtfully. "And where is John?"
The boy in question nearly fell out of the sky, his hair windswept and his Firebolt tucked under his arm. "Present!"
Harry sighed. "I didn't realise this would be such a spectator event. Do you think we have enough people?"
"The Weasleys, perhaps?" Grace suggested, seemingly less bothered by the rapidly growing crowd.
John shook his head. "Bill got in this morning and isn't keen to travel. They did send their predictions along, however." He thrust his hand into his pocket and withdrew a crumpled-up piece of parchment. "Percy suggested that Grace would be some sort of canine, particularly one with sharp teeth, and the family mostly agreed. Mrs Weasley is rooting for an Irish Setter."
"It's the hair, isn't it?" Grace said, tugging on a strand of her strawberry blonde hair.
John smiled but didn't confirm this one way or another. "They're less sure of Harry, though. Fred and George are, naturally, sure you'll be a snake. Mr Weasley disagrees and thinks you'll be a honey badger. Ginny wants you to be a horse, whilst Charlie will be disappointed if you don't have wings." He tucked the letter away. "No pressure, of course, but they have a wager going. Five galleons to whoever gets one correct, and seven if they get both."
Grace nodded. "Well, then. I hate to keep them in suspense." She left the warmth of the monopteros and strode several dozen paces away, where a large circle had been melted in the snow. She stood there for several moments, eyes screwed shut in focus, her wand clutched tightly in her hands.
For a moment, nothing happened. And then she began to shrink. Her nose lengthened into a furry snout, and her ears shifted to the top of her head, tipped in black. Fur the exact shade of her hair sprouted all over her body, except for her new paws, which had black socks. In a few seconds, Grace was replaced with a sleek fox, her teeth bared in what might have been a proud grin had she still possessed human teeth.
They applauded, and Grace somehow managed to do a backflip.
"A red fox," Mr Potter announced after performing an identification spell. He filled out Grace's permit as he mused, "I suppose the fur would be her identifying feature?"
Mr Potter and Professor McGonagall debated this as Grace returned to her human form, her cheeks flushed and joy glinting in her hazel eyes.
"Looks like Bill won five galleons," John said, making a note on his wager list. "Which is odd, considering you've never met."
"That was amazing!" Grace gushed. "Growing fur is bizarre, though."
"You get used to it," Uncle Sirius reassured her as he reached over to muse her hair. "Well done."
Grace practically glowed with pleasure. "Cedric is going to be sorry he missed this."
"I still stand by my assessment that he'd be a parrot," Harry said. "His defining characteristic could be his ability to talk."
Grace nodded. "He thinks you'll be an owl," she said, garnering vocal disagreements from Harry's family.
"He certainly won't be a horse," John said, peering down at the Weasleys' guess list.
"Ginny just likes horses," Harry explained, nervously rising, his wand clutched lightly in his right hand.
"I know he won't be a stag like James," Uncle Sirius laughed, giving Harry a little push off the monopteros.
Uncle Remus nodded. "Harry's too sensible for such a showy form."
"I think a cat would be suitable," Professor McGonagall said.
"You would think that, Minnie," Mr Potter teased before turning his attention to Harry. "Whenever you're ready."
His heart pounding, Harry trudged towards the clearing in the snow. Standing in the centre, he faced his family, eyes shut as he tried to block out external sounds and focus on the strange second heartbeat in his chest. It fluttered like a hummingbird's wing and warmed his chest like tea on a cold day.
Release your inner beast, Harry thought, recalling Luna's words as he focused on the strange thrum of magic that filled his body. He relaxed and let the magic wash over his skin, the hair on his arms standing on end. A tingle ran down his spine, and Harry repressed the urge to shiver at the odd sensation, trying to focus! on the magic to let it overtake him to change him to reshape him to—
His limbs shortened, his skin itching as tawny fur sprouted, his field of vision increasing dramatically when his eyes shifted. The world around him grew so, so loud. He could hear his family's breaths from where he stood.
At last, the magical pressure equalised, and he stood (sat? crouched?), facing the others, who watched him in stunned silence. Harry shifted, his muscles tensing, ready to spring, the longer they remained quiet. Had he bollocksed the transformation? Or had he become something so hideous he had rendered them speechless?
Harry twisted his neck to get a better look at his body, finding long, thin legs and a short white-tipped tail.
A loud shout startled Harry so badly that he jumped, quite literally, ten feet into the air.
"I could eat you for breakfast!" Grace cackled with delight.
John was no better, a wide grin splitting his face. "You're so cute!"
"Don't change back yet!" his father shouted, leaping to his feet. He clearly had interpreted the panic on Harry's new face. "We need to figure out your identifying mark."
"Don't laugh, John," Uncle Remus chastised when his brother joined Grace.
"He's a bunny rabbit!" John exclaimed, as if this was a perfectly reasonable reason to laugh.
"He's a European hare," Professor McGonagall corrected. Still, she held his registration permit farther up than was strictly necessary for her to record his form, no doubt to hide her grin.
Uncle Sirius tilted his head as he considered this. "It fits. Quiet, skittish…"
Harry's father approached, and it took every bit of willpower not to give in to the instinct to bolt. He crouched down in front of him and scrutinised Harry's form closely. "He's missing a patch of fur on his forehead," he declared after a moment. "It's shaped like his scar."
"He has a scar?" Professor McGonagall asked.
His father hummed. "It's shaped like a lightning bolt," he explained as he stood back up. "You can change back now if you'd like, love."
Harry found the reverse process just as disorienting as the initial change. "I'm never doing that again," he declared with a scowl.
His father grinned. "At least you don't have antlers?" he suggested sheepishly. "It's not that bad."
Behind him, Grace and John continued to roar with laughter.
Harry's scowl deepened. "Two years of study to turn into a rabbit. What a scam."
"A hare," his father corrected gently. "I'll admit, I was impressed when you jumped. I bet you could clear me."
Harry shook his head, unconvinced.
"At least do it for your Transfiguration OWL, yeah?" his father said, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry reluctantly allowed his father to drag him back to the covered shelter.
"Is the fur as fluffy as it looks?" John asked, half amused and half curious. "Can I pet you?"
Harry gave into the juvenile impulse to kick his brother in the shin when their father's back was turned.
"John, stop teasing your brother," Mr Potter said, ignoring John's yelp of pain.
"But he just—"
The sound of windchimes drifted over the grounds of Potter Manor, and everyone froze.
"Were you expecting anyone else?" Uncle Sirius asked Mr Potter, rising to his feet.
Mr Potter shook his head, all traces of amusement gone from his face. "Children, go inside."
Harry didn't question the order and grabbed Grace by the arm, bodily dragging her back towards the house. John trotted after them, his lips pursed with worry.
"Is everything alright?" Grace asked, picking up on the tense atmosphere and forgoing her usual smartass remarks.
"Do you think it's Pettigrew?" John asked.
Harry considered this before shaking his head. Nobody had seen his former uncle since he disappeared from Azkaban, but he found it unlikely that he'd show up at Potter Manor. If Harry were him, he'd rather face the dementors than his father's wrath any day.
"Probably just someone from…" Harry trailed off, not entirely sure who would be visiting them. Potter Manor was hidden behind dozens of layers of protective enchantments, many of which were of his father's own design. Nobody simply stumbled upon their home, not without a personal invitation. Whoever was at the gates was either insanely magically powerful or incredibly determined.
"Should we go to the panic room?" John asked when they slipped into the entrance hall.
Harry considered this. "If we see spellfire," he agreed.
Grace looked at him as if he had grown a second head.
They hurried into the parlour, and Harry instructed John and Grace to hide in the far corner of the room, which they did without arguing. Harry peered through one of the windows that overlooked the front lawn, watching his father, uncles, and Professor McGonagall approach the gates. Harry narrated their movements, nearly sagging in relief when the adults began to return to the house. "McGonagall is leaving, but someone's with them."
"Who?" John asked, appearing at his side.
"I don't know," Harry said softly, his gut twisting with nerves. The newcomer stood out against the white snow with their shock of red hair and spring green robes. They were noticeably shorter than Harry's father and uncles, and as they approached, he realised that the newcomer was a woman. Harry's eyebrows raised even further when he didn't recognise the woman. Why was she here?
Grace wedged herself between the brothers, standing on her toes to get a better look. "They look serious," she noted. "Do you think something's happened?"
They didn't have long to speculate as the group appeared at the entry of the parlour a moment later. The teens stared, wide-eyed and nervous, at the adults, waiting for them to speak first. Grace hadn't been wrong when she said they looked serious. Each adult wore a grim look, their lips pressed together, brows furrowed.
"Boys, go upstairs, please," Mr Potter said in a tone that left no room for arguments.
Harry and John shot uneasy looks at Grace but complied with their father's request. Before he could get too far, Grace's hand shot out at latched onto Harry's arm. She gripped it so tightly that Harry was sure it would bruise.
"Perhaps it's best if her friend stays," the woman suggested in a solemn tone incongruous with her high-pitched voice. "Miss Cooper, why don't you take a seat?"
"I'd rather stand," Grace replied through gritted teeth. "What's happened?"
Harry watched as his father and uncles ushered John out of the room before returning his gaze to the woman, who had taken a seat on one of the long sofas. She looked even smaller up close, though perhaps it was the large, owlish glasses that obscured half of her face and made her look younger than she was.
"Please sit, Miss Cooper," the woman insisted. "We shouldn't have this discussion standing."
"Who are you?" Grace snapped. Her face was flushed with anger. "What do you want?"
The woman sighed. "My name is Felicity Onions," she said in her girlish voice. "And I am a representative from the Department of Magical Minors and Welfare."
Grace watched her through narrowed eyes. "It's my mother, isn't it?" she asked. "Is she ill?"
Ms Onions cleared her throat, his brown eyes full of undeniable sympathy. "We've been informed by the Albanian Ministry that your mother was found dead this morning." The words were swift and brutal, although there was hardly a good way to inform someone of the death of a loved one.
All of the colour left Grace's face. "Dead?" she asked, her voice coming out in a croak. She turned to look at Harry, dozens of emotions playing across her face. Panic, confusion, anger, pleading, and then… nothing.
It was as if bees had taken up residence in Harry's body, making him feel tingly and light-headed. A mixture of shock and a lack of oxygen, no doubt. He took a deep breath and shook his head. Now was not the time to freak out. Grace needed him.
"The Ministry?" Harry asked when it became clear Grace wasn't going to speak. "Ours or the Muggle Ministry?"
Ms Onions shook her head gravely. "Aurors responded to a disturbance near Theth shortly before dawn this morning. Dr Cooper was found inside, most likely the victim of the Killing Curse."
Grace's movements were stiff as her head swivelled between Harry and the ministry official. "Dead?" she whispered.
Ms Onions continued to talk, but Harry didn't absorb a word of it. Neither did Grace, whose skin had turned ashen and waxy.
Harry managed to catch Grace before she hit the floor.
"Anything that's human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable." ― Fred Rogers
A/N: Thanks to my awesome beta, quis_quam, for making this more legible. Hope you aren't disappointed with everyone's Animagus forms. If you are... well. Sorry, not sorry :)