A/N: I am delightedly ahead of schedule by 100k words. Until I decide if I'm posting twice a week, you all get two chapters.
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October 29, 1997 - Minerva and the Phoenix
Professor McGonagall stood at the front of the Transfiguration classroom, her presence commanding attention from every corner of the room. The atmosphere was charged per usual. It was no secret that she disagreed with the new regime. Andrael sat next to Daphne, bored.
Pansy and Millicent hadn't liked what Daphne had told her about their summers, but they had seemed to settle into a tenuous peace with Andrael. Millicent had been put at ease once Andrael told her she didn't care about who she liked and didn't like. Pansy still hadn't forgiven her for anything, but maintained that thin facade of Slytherin unity for her image.
"Today, we will delve into the intricacies of animagus transformation and its application in more complex transfigurative practices," Professor McGonagall began, her Scottish brogue crisp and unwavering. "I trust you are all familiar with the core principles of transfiguration, including the distinctions between reversible and irreversible transformations, but today we will explore the nuances that differentiate adept practitioners from mere dabblers."
With a flick of her wand, a series of diagrams appeared on the blackboard, illustrating the molecular structure of matter as it pertains to transfiguration. Andrael studiously took notes, her quill scratching out the images onto the parchment with care, despite being intimately familiar with the topic. Daphne was doodling something in the margins with no care for what the woman was saying. Andrael didn't blame her. She didn't need a transfiguration N.E.W.T. in this world anymore.
"As you know, transfiguration involves manipulating the magical and physical properties of an object. At its core, this practice hinges upon the understanding of the underlying magical essence. Each material possesses a unique magical signature, and it is your duty to perceive and manipulate these signatures to achieve your desired transformation." Andrael found magical signatures fascinating. It was what allowed aurors to track criminals and wards to detect friends from foes. Sensing magical signatures was the sign of a master. Dumbledore was said to have been extremely skilled at it.
McGonagall paced the front of the room, her sharp gaze locking onto individual students. Her scowl briefly found Andrael. "For instance, the transformation of a teacup into a pig, while seemingly trivial, requires a keen understanding of the principles of displacement and conservation of mass. You must consider not only the physical attributes but also the inherent magical characteristics of both the cup and the pig. This exercise engages the Laws of Magical Equivalent Exchange, emphasising that one cannot simply conjure matter from nothing; rather, one must ensure a balance within the magical continuum."
"Furthermore, I must stress the importance of mental clarity and emotional stability during such transformations. A chaotic mindset can disrupt the delicate equilibrium necessary for successful transfiguration. Emotional turbulence can lead to unintended consequences—instances of transformation failures resulting in partial transformations, grotesque mutations, or even catastrophic explosions are well-documented."
Pausing, she surveyed them again, ensuring they grasped the gravity of her words. No one dared speak back to her. "Additionally, mastery of the transfigurative process demands a comprehensive understanding of the theory of magical metamorphosis, which is intricately tied to the principles of magical essence manipulation. In your further studies, you will encounter complex transformations requiring multi-step processes and simultaneous manipulations of various magical elements."
McGonagall continued, her tone turning more intense. "Again, consider the animagus transformation: not only is it a testament to one's skill, but it also embodies the pinnacle of personal mastery over one's magical essence. The rigorous training and discipline required to achieve this form of transformation cannot be overstated. You must internalise your magical identity and align it with your animal form, a feat that requires not just magical prowess but profound self-awareness and introspection." McGonagall had just indirectly complimented her personal mastery. That was easily the highlight of her week.
Her expression hardened as she shifted the focus of the lecture to a more sombre topic. "While the animagus transformation is a remarkable achievement, it is not without its perils. The process demands not only immense magical skill but also a mature understanding of one's own identity and magical core. I cannot emphasise enough the importance of ensuring that your core is fully developed before attempting your first transformation." Oh. This wasn't a compliment, was it?
She began pacing the front of the classroom again, her footsteps echoing slightly against the polished floor. "The Ministry of Magic has established strict regulations regarding animagus transformations, primarily to prevent the devastating consequences that can arise from premature attempts. A wizard or witch whose core is still in a formative state, typically before the age of seventeen, risks severe repercussions, including a loss of control during the transformation. This may result in prolonged states of partial transformation, leading to permanent physical or psychological damage." That hadn't happened to her.
"There have been documented cases where young witches and wizards have attempted the transformation without the requisite maturity, only to find themselves trapped in their animal form. The psychological effects of such an experience can be profound, often leading to a disassociation from their human identity. Imagine waking up one morning, trapped in a form that does not belong to you, grappling with the instinctual behaviours of your animagus form while struggling to maintain your human consciousness. It is a fate I would not wish upon anyone."
She paused, letting her words sink in before continuing. "Moreover, the governing laws surrounding animagus transformation require the submission of a registration form to the Ministry prior to the first transformation. This is not merely a bureaucratic formality; it is a crucial safeguard to ensure that the transformation is conducted safely and with appropriate oversight. Attempting to transform without registering is not only illegal but also reckless, as it endangers not just the individual but also the community at large."
Turning to the blackboard, she conjured a diagram illustrating the stages of magical core development. It was familiar, as it was often used by Flitwick in Charms. Andrael didn't see the need to write it down, instead, leaning back to watch the Professor.
"As you can see, the development of your magical core is a gradual process that is influenced by numerous factors, including your emotional state, your environment, and even your relationships. If you force a transformation before your core is adequately developed, you risk creating a fracture within your magical identity. Such fractures can manifest in various ways: erratic magical output, unpredictable transformation results, fragmentation of thought, and in severe cases, a complete severance from your human consciousness."
McGonagall straightened, her voice firm once more. "I implore each of you to approach this subject with the seriousness it warrants. You have made it this far in your studies. The potential for greatness obviously exists within every one of you, but with that potential comes the responsibility to wield your magic wisely. As future practitioners of magic, you must respect its power and understand the consequences of your actions. The world is fraught with challenges, and you cannot afford to be reckless with something as significant as your identity."
Her tone softened slightly as she began to recount her own experiences. "When I was your age, I had the immense privilege of training under… a formidable mentor. It was a time filled with rigorous study and unyielding expectations. However, I can tell you with absolute certainty that I was not ready for the trials of animagus transformation until I was well into my late teens, well beyond the age of most of you here."
She paused, her expression distant as she reflected on those formative years. "Al- my mentor understood the intricacies of magic better than anyone, and he made it clear that true mastery comes not just from skill but from understanding oneself. At seventeen, I was still grappling with my identity and emotions, wrestling with the pressures of becoming a proficient witch. Only through patience and profound introspection did I eventually find the clarity necessary to undertake the transformation."
"Many aspiring animagi never find the discipline required for successful transformation. This is not simply a matter of skill or talent; it involves an intricate interplay of self-control, understanding, and resilience. The transformation process is as much about mental fortitude as it is about magical ability.
"To successfully complete an animagus transformation, one must first achieve that deep connection with their magical core. This connection is fragile and requires unwavering focus. However, countless witches and wizards struggle with this aspect. They may be distracted by external pressures—family expectations, societal norms, or personal insecurities—that hinder their ability to concentrate. The moment that focus falters, the transformation can unravel, leading to chaotic results."
McGonagall's voice grew more fervent as she continued. "Moreover, the emotional stability of the practitioner is crucial. Many individuals lack the emotional maturity to navigate the complexities of their identity. The transformation process exposes vulnerabilities, and if one does not possess the resilience to confront these challenges, they risk becoming overwhelmed. This emotional turbulence can create a feedback loop, further entrenching them in their inability to transform. Even some successful animagi can fall victim to this without the proper training."
She paused for a moment, letting her words resonate. "Another significant factor is fear. The animagus transformation is daunting; it demands a leap of faith into the unknown. Many potential animagi become gripped by the fear of failure or the repercussions of a botched transformation. This fear can be paralysing, locking them in a cycle of self-doubt that prevents them from even attempting the transformation in the first place."
"The process is inherently isolating. It requires a level of commitment and secrecy that many are unprepared to maintain. Hours of meditation and self-isolation, with only a mentor to confide in is alarming at first. This isolation can exacerbate feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt, causing many to abandon the path altogether."
With an air of finality, she concluded, "Thus, it is no surprise that many who yearn to become animagi find themselves unable to do so. It seems like a fun party trick, but it becomes a way of life. Should anyone attempt so independently… legal ramifications aside, it can leave lasting mental and magical trauma. The discipline required to navigate the complexities of one's magical identity, confront emotional vulnerabilities, and maintain focus is immense. It is not just about mastering spells or perfecting incantations; it is about embracing who you are and finding the strength to face your fears. True transformation is not merely a physical act; it is a profound journey of self-discovery, one that few can successfully undertake."
Andrael swallowed. She had followed the steps the Ministry recommended to a tee, but she wondered. She had not grown any taller since she had first transformed. Perhaps her diminutive thrush form had something to do with that. It was another problem to worry about. She thought herself so smart, didn't she? Now she needed to check her magical core for fractures and the like… how did one go about doing that again?
What did this even mean for her? It wasn't like she could come clean to McGonagall and ask for advice. Overtiring herself in her animagus form like she had last year probably wasn't wise either.
"As you advance in your studies, do not underestimate the significance of ethical considerations in transfiguration. You are the bearers of a great legacy of Transfiguration, and with that comes an immense responsibility. We have discussed ethical ramifications for previous spells before, but part of your N.E.W.T curriculum is to find those questions and answer them for yourself. How far is too far? The animagus transformation will only affect you, but other misuse of transfigurative magic can lead to grave consequences, not just for the caster, but for the broader community."
"Finally," she concluded, straightening up and addressing them with a fierce resolve, "I expect you all to engage with these concepts on a deeper level. As we move forward in this… uncertain era, remember: your abilities in transfiguration will not only define your academic career but also your moral compass as witches and wizards. Never allow the external pressures to compromise the integrity of your craft."
"Now," she turned to her cabinet of objects. "We will be revisiting something you all should consider simple." Opening it, she revealed a cage of mice. "Transform these mice into… something. You have the freedom to determine what you will create today. Do not abuse that privilege, or you will never do something like this again. I urge you all to focus on your mouse's magical signature. What is it saying to you? What object fits its signature? Most likely, it will be from one creature to another, like the animagus transfiguration. This detection of natural energies and transfigurative tendencies will be key to the last part of you N.E.W.T. curriculum, transmutation. Make an effort, or you will be quickly left behind."
She passed out the rodents. Goyle's mouse tried to escape the desk, but he slammed a hand down, capturing it in his cupped palms. How that boy had made it this far in Transfiguration was a mystery.
Andrael picked her mouse up gingerly, relaxing somewhat when it didn't immediately try to flee. What did this little bugger want to be…? She felt the mouse still in her hands, going slightly warm. She could feel something at the edge of her consciousness.
She closed her eyes like many of her classmates, reaching out to the edges of her senses, trying to feel for something beyond human perception.
A form began to take shape. It was something familiar, fluttery and soft… feathers. Andrael knew how it felt to be cloaked in flight, wings spreading towards the sky. Her mouse responded positively to this vision, the contented warmth emanating through her palms.
The contrast of scarlet against azure made Andrael take pause, the form slipping out of her mind's eye again. She had been so close! Sighing in frustration, she refocused, trying to make sense of the mouse's signature again.
Blurry bright colours, soft feathers, the strength of avian talons gripping a sturdy branch, diving straight down towards the ground and catching a mouse at the last minute…
A golden thread extended towards infinity. A steady thrum in her ears spoke of nurturing, soaring harmonies making her mind sing electric. The warmth felt like a glowing embrace of cosy embers, enveloping and guiding her ever back to the light.
A pyre rose towards the sky.
The cliffs surrounding her blurred into amber dawn.
Tiny pink, fuzzy heads poked out of the hollow of a large nest of thorns and hay.
A cavern was illuminated in a crimson glow
There was a flash of fire in the sky, and the form flickered out of existence as feathers dissolved into flame, and tears turned to a healing rain.
Andrael almost dropped the mouse, the heat nearly burning her.
She bit back a curse, blowing cool air on her hands.
McGonagall was actually going to kill her. It was just her luck that her stupid, naive little mouse wanted to turn into a phoenix, likely having heard Fawkes' song and been inspired. What if she had gotten it wrong, and was projecting onto the idiot creature?
But in her heart of hearts, Andrael knew this mouse's magical signature was tinged with the slightest bit of phoenix. She hesitated, unsure whether or not to grant its wish. She didn't want to lose points for an inaccurate transformation, but her professor would be inherently suspicious.
Stealing a glance at the woman, she could see her giving "advice" to the Gryffindors. Parvati Patil was assuredly not talking about transfiguration with her hushed voice and darting eyes.
Screw it.
Andrael was going to make a phoenix mouse.
It was rebellious tendencies like these that were going to get her killed one day, she thought to herself as she drew her wand with purpose. She whispered the basic words of the spell, her wand dancing through the air. Fur fell away, dissolving to feathers, arms fading and shoulder blades extending to wings. Feet lengthened into talons, scaly twisted shapes forming to support a light body. Whiskers and snout became a narrow beak, dull eyes sharpening to an amber avian gaze.
A wormtail became a plumage of crimson and gold.
The phoenix was juvenile, young and curious as it tested its wings. It coughed a single ember that Andrael hastily put out before it scorched her notes.
The creature wanted to fly, but everything it knew as a mouse seemed to make it hesitant. Giving an experimental flap, she could see the panic in its eyes. It edged closer to the center of the desk, gazing at the floor far below.
Professor McGonagall hadn't seemed to notice yet, still conferring with the Gryffindors. Andrael swiftly scooped up the bird, looking at it callously.
"Trust me…" she murmured, scathingly. "Once you fly, there will be no going back. I should know." With that, she gave it a gentle toss into the air, watching it careen back towards the earth.
It let out a strangled squawk, flailing and twisting through the air. For one terrifying moment, she thought she had made a terrible mistake watching it plummet like a stone, but at the last moment, the bird caught itself, strong pumping feathers soaring towards the ceiling.
She folded her arms, watching it glide higher and higher, the hint of a smile on her face.
"Cassowary, what the hell is that?" Pansy looked up from her mouse, following the bird's progress with tense eyes.
All the Slytherins in earshot immediately turned. That meant conflict. Conflict was more entertaining than Transfiguration.
"I think it's a phoenix…?" Millicent craned her neck to see it.
Andrael stood, ignoring all of them. The minute phoenix circled closer to the Gryffindors, waves of heat emanating from it. It was impossible to ignore now, as the students' attention all turned to it.
"A phoenix…?"
"Is that a phoenix?"
"Why would she…?"
"How did she…?"
"Is it even possible to make a magical creature…?"
Minerva McGonagall took one look at the phoenix, a second look at the small Slytherin defiantly standing with her jaw set, and then her features hardened.
"What is the meaning of this?" Her voice was higher pitched than usual, immediately silencing the room.
"How old is this mouse?" Andrael said flippantly, taking her time to respond. "Five months? Six? Apparently it was inspired by a phoenix's lament."
"What are you trying to say?" McGonall looked furious.
"I completed the assignment, Professor. Just as you asked. The mouse's energy matched that of a phoenix, so I granted its wish. This isn't complicated."
"You have released a dangerous creature into a classroom!"
"Is that the best excuse you can come up with? I almost didn't follow through on the transfiguration, but figured you would take off points if I didn't. If you don't want phoenixes in your classroom, don't hand students mice with big dreams."
It was a ridiculous statement, Andrael could admit that, but as she felt a surge of anger at the bloody unfairness of it all, she found herself not caring. She grabbed her bag, shouldering it.
"Where do you think you are going, Miss Cassowary?" The professor had turned the phoenix back into a mouse, and was brandishing it at her.
"I finished. I'm leaving." She spun on her heel, stalking towards the door. Andrael heard the click of a lock in front of her, but she cycled through three unlocking charms without breaking stride. The handle turned in her hand, and she floated out of the room, ignoring empty threats from the woman behind her.
Punishment and retribution meant the Carrows. Minerva McGonagall wouldn't subject a single student to their brutality, Slytherin or otherwise, if she couldn't help it.
The corridor was empty, the rest of the castle safely in class.
She began to laugh, a familiar broken sound. Trudging up the nearest staircase, her unhinged peals of laughter echoed off the stones. She needed to feel some wind in her face. Maybe that would snap her back to reality.
Why couldn't McGonagall just understand she was trying so hard? They didn't need to be enemies. Why couldn't she take the leap of faith and look at a Slytherin with anything other than suspicion? Why couldn't she have liked her?
The Astronomy Tower was deserted in the daylight, star study impossible with the weak rays of sunlight filtering through the fog. She could feel the chill of dementors, seeing their ragged forms drifting near the edge of the grounds.
A warm breeze ruffled her messy hair. She gazed across the grounds, the familiar and unfamiliar sight making her sad. She looked down at her feet, standing just in front of the door.
Snape had killed Dumbledore right here.
Andrael raised her wand experimentally, imagining what it would feel like to shoot a jet of green light at someone, if she could bring herself to take a life. Deep down inside, she knew she would be able to. That was scarier than the alternative.
Her wand swished down, as she mouthed the words to herself.
Avada Kedavra.
How much longer would she be able to escape the cost of those words? The waiting, the endless days at Hogwarts where she had to pretend to be an ordinary student were torturous. The time she spent here was too long, but not long enough. A part of her wanted to get her Death Eater plan done and over with. The other part wanted to run and hide in a secret passageway forever.
She walked to the far railing, looking back at the turrets of the castle grazing the base of the clouds, the sturdy walls, the courtyard in which she was expected to show up for drill in a half hour…
There was movement across from her in the headmaster's tower.
So Severus Snape was in today.
Andrael squinted, trying to make out what he was doing, the skeletal figure clothed in black making her feel uneasy. He stepped out onto the ledge she had seen him on before the Welcoming Feast, gazing out the window frame.
What was he doing…?
She continued to watch him, suspicions mounting like they always did.
He looked up and Andrael froze. If she could Snape, Snape could see her. Oops.
For an agonizing moment, they stared at each other, Andrael on the lightning struck tower and Snape in Dumbledore's Office.
And then he left. Just like that, he retreated back into the shadows of the office. Andrael let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. She closed her eyes, wondering how it would feel to tumble from the place Dumbledore did.
At the very least, he didn't have to worry about this war anymore.
Andrael clenched her fist. She was a creature fueled by spite. That was exactly what they wanted, the nebulous shadowy forces, hoping that all who would resist them would give up before they even had a chance to make a difference.
She was done staring off into space. She needed to finish her runes. She needed to continue to brew Felix Felicis and her myriad of potions. Wallowing was a luxury she couldn't afford.
But for now she needed to get to drill. She descended the stairs, tugging her hair out of her face. It wasn't long until the toll of a bell echoed through the school and she joined streams of children.
The corridors of Hogwarts pulsed with the sound of boots striking stone, students wordlessly funneling through the great doors and out into the chill morning air. Andrael moved with them, her face carefully blank, her breath even. She had learned not to hesitate, not to draw attention. The flow of bodies swept her forward, past the gargoyles and torches guttering in the draft, past the great oak doors yawning open like the mouth of a beast.
Outside, the courtyard was already filling, students assembling in tight rows on the patches of grass they had long since worn to dirt. The Carrows stood on the raised steps before them, their figures dark against the grey sky. Andrael slipped into place in her usual section, feeling the familiar press of bodies beside her. No talking, no fidgeting. Even the younger students, after weeks of this, knew better.
A hush fell.
The morning air smelled of damp stone and fading autumn. Somewhere, a crow called from the battlements, the sound sharp against the unnatural silence. Andrael kept her gaze forward, her spine straight, hands curled into fists behind her back.
Amycus shifted, scanning the ranks. His lip curled. "Took you all long enough."
No one answered. They never did.
The Carrows descended from the steps, Alecto prowling down one row, Amycus down another. Their sharp eyes flickered over each student, searching for anything out of place—an untucked shirt, a scuffed shoe, a slouching spine.
Andrael stood motionless as Amycus approached. His gaze slid over her, lingering for a moment too long, but she was careful—everything about her was careful. Her uniform was immaculate, her posture rigid, her expression blank. Satisfied, he moved past.
A muffled sound snapped through the silence.
Alecto had stopped beside a Ravenclaw boy two rows over. "Shirt untucked," she hissed, her voice slithering through the morning air. The back of her hand lashed out, striking him across the face. He flinched but didn't make a sound. He knew better.
Amycus found his next target—a Hufflepuff girl whose hands trembled at her sides. He seized her wrist, inspecting her nails, then wrenched her arm back. "Dirt," he sneered. "Like a bloody animal." His hand came down hard across her knuckles. She bit her lip, eyes glistening.
Andrael kept her gaze forward, staring straight ahead as the reprimands echoed through the courtyard. Every flinch, every drop of blood that smeared a cheek or hand, was noted but ignored. That was the only way to survive.
Amycus paused, glancing over the assembled students, his lips curling in distaste. Something had caught his attention.
"Where's Longbottom?" His voice cut through the silence like a rusted blade.
Alecto, who had just backhanded a fourth-year for wrinkled robes, snapped her head up, eyes narrowing. She swept her gaze over the ranks, her sneer widening when she, too, noticed the absence. "Gone missing, has he?" she said, voice thick with mockery.
The students remained silent. No one moved.
Amycus chuckled darkly. "Oh, I do hope he hasn't forgotten his place. It'd be a shame if we had to remind him."
Alecto stepped forward, letting her fingers trail over her wand as she looked over the students. "He's got friends, doesn't he? Ones who might know where he's skivin' off to."
The unspoken threat hung heavy in the cold morning air. A few younger students shifted uneasily, but the seventh-years stood rigid.
At the edge of the courtyard, the professors stood in their customary positions—watchful, silent. Flitwick's lips pressed into a thin line, his nostrils flaring, but he did not speak. Slughorn's hands were clasped behind his back, though his fingers twitched at the edges of his sleeves. Sprout's gaze flickered briefly over her Hufflepuffs, then back to the Carrows, her face carefully blank.
None of them moved. None of them could.
As the threat hung heavy, the courtyard's heavy silence was broken by the measured click of heels against stone. Professor McGonagall approached, her expression carefully schooled into something neutral—almost polite, even—but Andrael didn't miss the rigidity in her shoulders, the flicker of distaste in her eyes as she surveyed the courtyard.
And trailing just behind her, looking utterly unbothered, was Neville Longbottom.
"Professor Carrow," McGonagall said crisply, coming to a halt before the siblings. "I do hope I'm not… interrupting." She very much knew that she was, indeed, interrupting. "I kept Mr. Longbottom after class to discuss his latest transfiguration project. I deeply regret that it ran long."
Ah, such deep regret. Andrael felt a jolt of interest.
McGonagall was many things—strict, stubborn, uncompromising—but she was not the sort to "lose track of time," nor was she the type to offer explanations where none were required. For her to provide this excuse so readily, and for Longbottom of all people to emerge from it unscathed, set off an alarm bell in Andrael's mind. Perhaps Dumbledore's Army was getting a silent sponsor.
Amycus gave a derisive snort. "Is that so?"
McGonagall met his gaze with unwavering poise. "It is."
Alecto's lips curled. "And what, exactly, is he workin' on that's worth missing drill?"
McGonagall tilted her head slightly, as if considering the question. "A rather ambitious attempt at transmuting larger objects. He has potential. I wished to ensure he understood the fundamentals before proceeding further."
Andrael caught the faintest twitch at the corner of Neville's mouth—gone in an instant. The lesson should not have been one that would have had him stay after.
Amycus let out a short, barking laugh. "You always were soft on yer little Gryffindors, Professor. Ought to be careful about that."
McGonagall's expression didn't change, but her fingers tightened ever so slightly around the edges of her sleeves.
"Last time I checked, Professor Carrow," she said coolly. "It was not a crime to foster talent."
Alecto stepped forward, glancing Neville up and down with open suspicion. "Lucky for you, Longbottom," she muttered, though her tone suggested luck had nothing to do with it.
Amycus waved a dismissive hand. "Make sure it never happens again. Get in line next time, boy, or you'll regret it."
She was going to say something else, Andrael thought, but she didn't. Dear Minerva was already living on borrowed time. Another argument with the Carrows was the last thing they needed.
Instead, McGonagall inclined her head as though this was a reasonable response, then turned sharply on her heel, striding away without another word. Andrael caught the unbridled fury in her eyes. Neville quickly followed suit, his posture easy, but Andrael could tell from the set of his shoulders that he was equally angry.
As they began to march, Andrael's mind was far away.
That woman was never going to be able to restrain herself and play along as a teacher for long. A cataclysm was approaching, whether it be in a month or a year. The Dark Lord's patience never remained for long. Andrael looked up, seeing exactly who she expected. The headmaster loomed large, watching the students like always did.
This school was a mess.