cxix. in the spirit of things to come

For the next several days, Harriet and her friends returned again and again to Ravenclaw's Aerie, spending as much of their free time as they could delving through the quiet, sprawling halls of the Founder's archive. Any subject they could fathom learning about leapt forward—references, encyclopedias, dictionaries, biographies, indices, all just a thought and a few steps away. Hermione had to be physically torn from whatever tome she'd buried her nose in every evening, lest she fall asleep there and never be found again.

Harriet spent hours wandering the area, familiarizing herself with the details and small quirks of the Aerie. Her anxiety lessened as she explored, but she couldn't deny it remained rather creepy, given how sound didn't travel in predictable ways and the silence pressed close enough to become its own tangible being, like a second heartbeat hovering at her ear. She spoke with Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw—what little she could manage—though both Founders proved their brilliance when they started to assimilate bits and pieces of the modern language the longer they conversed. She also learned, perhaps unsurprisingly, that Salazar Slytherin loved to talk about himself—and that Rowena Ravenclaw loved to make fun of Slytherin talking about himself, resulting in Slytherin stomping off in a huff more than once, chased by Ravenclaw's gentile laughter.

For the most part, Harriet sat on a stool at Ravenclaw's work table, tracing the lines of Hogwarts' design with her fingers or quill, studying those spots of carefully made illustration and embellishment. Kevin and Rick would inspect the old instruments shuffled off to the map's extremities, and Livi would wrap himself around the stool and Harriet's legs, occasionally peeking above the desk's edge to converse with Slytherin.

"We almost don't need the Weasleys' map," Hermione muttered one afternoon, partially hidden behind a tower of moldering tomes. "We have a better, if outdated map available to us—and it seems so limited! The potential for more—." She pouted and spun her wand in her hand. "If only we could figure out how it works."

Unfortunately, figuring out how one might go about making something like the Marauder's Map was more difficult than Hermione, Harriet, or Elara expected. Two successive attempts at the Protean Charm resulted in two spectacular fires, the latter of which led to a rather awkward conversation with Madam Pomfrey where Harriet tried to explain how she'd misplaced her own eyebrows. Hermione tried for a third go, but Elara put her foot down.

Beyond their peaceful escape of the Aerie, Hogwarts continued to bubble with speculation over Sirius Black—how he'd gotten inside the castle, if he'd actually gotten inside, where he could have gone and if he'd come back again. Harriet admitted to herself she was leery of the deeper, darker parts of the dungeons now, never entirely sure what might come crawling from a drafty crevice or the damp mush. Surely Fred and George would go to Dumbledore if they saw Black strutting about on the Map—but how often did they actually look at it? If they were ready to hand it off to Harriet, how much use did the Marauder's Map actually see these days?

Life continued despite all murmuring of escaped convicts, Dementors, and accidental face-singeing. The arrival of November meant Quidditch season was about to begin, and nothing proved more gossip-worthy than speculations on upcoming Quidditch matches. Not even Sirius Black could compete. Flint assigned more practices later in the evenings and Harriet savored her time in the air, the sharpness of the cold wind against her skin, the heady feel of the world dropping away. She could do without being subjected to additional time with Malfoy—a new Chaser—or the Beaters aiming Bludgers at her head.

Friday evening provided a rare chance for Harriet and her friends to relax, waiting for Astronomy to start later that night. They gathered at their preferred table in the common room, holding their cold hands close to the jar of Bluebell Flames Hermione had conjured for them, talking about nothing specific. Hermione's familiar, Crookshanks, sat in her lap, the top of his ginger head barely visible, and Kevin wound about Harriet's wrist. Elara twirled her wand over a matchstick, idly changing it from one material to another, the soft winnowing of magic almost loud against the common room's stillness. Their dormmates had all gone off to bed, and only a few upper-years remained by the main hearth, discussing Quidditch or reading books.

"I still don't believe Professor Slytherin needed to bring in an actual Matagot to lecture about them," Hermione said, a look of consternation on her face as she scratched behind Crookshanks' ears. "Poor Dunbar might never get rid of the scarring."

"At least it's on her leg," Harriet said, tilting her chin to the side so the blue light could illuminate the markings on her neck. "That's easy enough to cover-up."

"That may be true, but it's not the point I'm making. She shouldn't have been injured in the first place."

"I know."

Light flickered in the periphery of their vision, diffused and muted, piercing the thick, liquid gloom lurking beyond the adjacent window. The light caught Elara's attention and she stopped fiddling with the matchstick to instead look out into the lake. A few moments later, thunder boomed in the distance, almost too far for the fine tremble of it to reach their ears.

"Oh," Hermione commented. "It's a storm. I had wondered when it would finally make it past the mountains."

Elara suddenly stood and startled Harriet, who jumped in her own seat and banged her knee on the table's underside. "Ow—! What are you on about?"

Lightning flickered again and Elara's eyes widened. "It's an electrical storm."

"Yeah? They'll probably cancel Astronomy unless Sinistra decides to lecture instead."

"I've been waiting for this," Elara continued as if she hadn't heard Harriet. "It's the first lightning storm of the season. The first since—."

Hermione gasped. "The first since I made the Animagus potion! Does that mean—?"

Nodding, Elara leaned on the table's edge. She looked out the window, and against the lightning tinged green by the water came, setting Elara's bright, determined eyes ablaze. "It's finally time."

x X x

They had only just departed the dormitory, the box holding the Mandrake potion cradled in Elara's careful hands, when they encountered their first problem.

The Aerie, as Hermione pointed out, was remote and all but inaccessible to the majority of the school's population. At first glance, it seemed an ideal place for attempting an illegal Animagus transformation, but further consideration illuminated a complication they couldn't overlook. The actual transformation bit in learning to be an Animagus was the most dangerous part, and though Elara assured them she didn't foresee having any issues, there still existed a chance of something going terribly wrong.

"If you need Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said, "We'd either have to bring her into the Aerie or find a way to get you to the infirmary. And what if you're too injured to move? What if you're bleeding out or—?!"

"Thank you for the imagery, Hermione. Truly."

So they ruled out the Aerie or any of the other secret, isolated places Harriet had charted over the past months—but Harriet knew much more about the school than she had at the beginning of the year, and she was able to list several quiet, out of the way locations that were still perfectly accessible in the event of an emergency. They decided on an old, closed dueling hall on the fourth floor, a room that had seen little to no foot traffic in recent years, given the thick layer of dust covering the floor and the cobwebs swaddling the unlit torches. Old banners hung on the walls between the shuttered windows, but time and Doxies had eaten away at the color and patterns, leaving barren rags on iron bars behind.

They ventured deeper into the room past the raised, narrow platform marked with old carvings and spots of spell damage. Harriet's eyes traced the patterns and lines, wondering when Hogwarts last had a proper dueling class or club. Elara chose a spot of floor made moderately clean after liberally applying some household spells she'd learned from Andromeda. The three witches settled there, another jar of Bluebell Flames positioned in the middle of their loose ring, providing the only spot of light in the otherwise drab space. The storm roared louder here than it had in the dungeons, and Harriet flinched when the wind screamed.

"Bloody eerie, that is…."

Elara opened the latch sealing the little wood box, revealing the velvet lining and comparatively cheap, student-issue potion bottle inside. She didn't remove it quite yet, instead opting to smooth her skirt over her crossed legs and take out her wand, considering it for a moment before turning it toward her chest. Elara took a breath and slowly incanted, "Amato Animo Animato Animagus." She set her wand aside, picked up the potion, pulled out the cork, and downed it in a single gulp.

Nothing happened. Elara returned the empty vial to the box, sealed it again, and then shut her eyes.

"Is that it?" Harriet whispered to Hermione.

"Shh," Elara said, opening one eye. "That's not it. I have to concentrate."

"D'you know what you're going to become?"

"Part of the risk is not knowing what the transformation entails," Hermione stated, lowering her voice to suit the quiet, stormy atmosphere. "It's a very esoteric magic. Some reach this point in the process and can't find the 'inner spirit,' or so it's called. Most of the pure-blood tosh the Malfoys have on the subject defines it as an intrinsic magical force. Being unable to access it is seen as a sign of 'inferiority in the bloodline,' which is absolute rubbish, seeing as only a select number of witches or wizards ever even attempt the transformation—."

"Shh."

Hermione subsided into silence, muttering a brief apology.

Minutes ticked by, rain battering the windows, brief, ghoulish flashes of lightning pierces through the narrow slits on the shutters. The castle itself remained quiet as the grave. Feeling a mite uneasy, Harriet traced slow, mindless circles over Kevin's coils, the snake's inquisitive nose rising to inspect her fingertip. Life at the Dursleys' had taught her how to be still and silent without any kind of mental stimulation—but Hermione started to struggle after the first half-hour, fidgeting where she sat. Elara didn't move, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

In the distance, the clock tower tolled the hour and Harriet swallowed a yawn, rubbing her eyes. Hermione finally gave in to the need to pace, walking quiet circles around the dueling platform with her lit wand held in front of her. Harriet thought about joining her—when Elara emitted a small, stricken gasp, and disappeared.

"Ah!" Harriet yelped, leaping to her feet, kicking the jar of flames over. The blue light went out. "Elara!"

Hermione dashed around the platform again. "What's happened? Is she all right—?"

She held her wand up, and the renewed light revealed that no, Elara hadn't actually disappeared; in her place sat a rather baffled dog. At least, Harriet thought it was a dog. It could have been a wolf, or perhaps something else entirely, but what Harriet did know was that Elara—normally tall, bordering on statuesque—had become undeniably…small.

"Merlin's knickers," Harriet said, breaking the quiet. "You're a puppy!"

The dog's head whipped in her direction, large, pointed ears quirked. The face was expressive, especially for an animal, and Harriet couldn't contain the giggle that escaped when Elara's nose wrinkled. A displeased huff left her in a woof, and Harriet's giggles turned into outright laughter.

"Elara, can you understand me? Are you all right? Harriet, stop it—." Hermione jabbed Harriet in the ribs. "If you need me to, I learned the Charm to turn an Animagus back into a human—?"

Elara woofed in negation, startling herself. She looked down at her large paws—ears swiveling forward—and lifted one leg, peering at the pads under her foot. Her coat consisted of thick, pitch-black fur—which explained why Harriet thought she'd disappeared into the shadows surrounding them—except for a patch of white over her heart. She tried to stand and toppled over like a newborn fawn.

"Oops, let me help—."

Harriet reached for her, and suddenly Elara appeared again, sprawled and disheveled. She blinked wide, stunned eyes up at Harriet. "A puppy? Really?"

The sheer indignation in her tone had Harriet clasping a hand over her mouth to stifle her amusement. Hermione cleared her throat—though her mouth twitched as if trying to grin. "Well, what did you expect? You are only thirteen! It's an impressive feat of magic, but it doesn't exactly make you fully grown, does it?"

Elara exhaled, aggravated, and sat up. "Yes, but a puppy? What am I, exactly?"

"I'm not certain. A canine, for sure, but beyond that? I couldn't say."

"She looks kind of like those drawings of the Grim in the Divination text," Harriet said, crouching to Elara's eye level. "Maybe we can put you in Gryffindor Tower and give Longbottom a heart attack. Trelawney sees the Grim in his tea leaves every class."

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione chastised. "Elara, are you feeling well? Anything injured? The books say the first transformation is the worst."

"I believe everything is well." Elara turned her arms over, glancing at her legs. "It's more difficult to hold the second form than I anticipated, but I assume it's easier with practice." She pulled in a deep, orienting breath—then scowled at Harriet. "Don't pet me."

"Aw, c'mon…."

Elara changed—and immediately collided with the floor when she attempted to rise, yelping. She accepted Harriet's help getting up onto all four paws—though not without a rather miffed bark—and ambled about, stumbling like a drunkard coming out of a pub. Harriet and Hermione watched until she tripped a final time and changed again, careening on unsteady legs. Elara caught herself on the raised dueling platform and perched on its edge, her breathing heavy but her smile radiant and unexpected. Harriet didn't think she'd ever seen Elara smile like that.

"I did it," she said, voice soft. It was the culmination of months and months of research, dedication, and perseverance—a quest she'd started when she'd been a nervous first-year on the train clutching an old family journal. Suddenly, Elara lurched forward and grabbed Harriet and Hermione by the front of their jumpers, jerking them forward into her embrace. Harriet could barely breathe past Elara's grip, and yet she hugged her back just as fiercely. The three witches laughed—the sound of their muffled amusement at odds with their grim, dirty location, but Harriet didn't think any of that mattered. In fact, she hardly noticed.

Outside, the storm continued to rage, and in the eaves of the darkened forest, a black dog turned his silver eyes to the gleaming outline of the castle. He sighed.

A/N: Yay, Elara's an Animagus! I chose her form based both on her connection to Sirius and the symbolism behind the dog spirit—which includes loyalty, constancy, friendship, and fierceness, if the dog is crossed. There are also many cultures wherein the dog represents a guide and a guard to Death or his messengers.

Harriet: "Number one doggo."

Elara: "…"

Harriet: "Best pupper."

Elara: "Sirius isn't the only Black who wants to murder you."