Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any characters or situations that are unknown in the HP series are the author's intellectual property and should not be used without permission.
Author's Note: This fic is written for Full Sail Nate's Challenge on Portkey involving Harry in an Animagus transformation gone wrong. The genre is drama/ romance with H/Hr as the pairing. Warning: there will be humor as well...All Animagus background information used here is simply the humble author's own invention.
I've noticed a trend developing in my writing as I continue…the chapters are getting longer and longer! Sorry about that, folks.
Enjoy and Please Review!
More Than Human
Chapter Three - Pillows and Potions
How long Harry had lain in his cot staring at the ceiling after McGonagall's departure he could not say, but when Hermione finally returned with his books and a change of clothing, Harry was grateful for her company. The last thing he wanted to do was to be alone with his own thoughts.
"Here, Harry. I've brought all your books for your classes tomorrow." Hermione had them neatly stacked on his bedside table in a trice. Sighing and without much interest, Harry glanced over the pile until one tome riveted his attention…
"Oh, no! We've got Potions in the afternoon tomorrow!"
Hermione looked up from the nearby bed where she had been settling her own books and parchments. She was planning to keep Harry company until dinner. She frowned at his obvious dismay. "Well, yes, we do, Harry. You do realize if you can't miss a class in NEWT Potions and not expect Snape not to retaliate somehow."
Glaring angrily, Harry motioned to his furry torso, from which he had removed the increasingly irritating pajama top. "The Slytherins will make my life hell, Hermione. Especially Malfoy and his goons. And Snape! They'll never let an opportunity to cause me misery like this pass. I'm not going."
"Yes, you are going. Snape is just looking for an excuse to drop you. McGonagall was specific, Harry. You have to go to class."
"Like this? The changes to my hands make holding a quill tricky not to mention my now having claws" He held his right hand up and watched it flex it until the razor sharp claws extended, " So how will I managed the delicate stuff in Potions, huh?" He glanced up from his displayed claws to find Hermione's attention riveted on them, a strange expression present in her brown eyes. Harry, fearing what her reaction might mean, quickly retracted the claws and lowered his hand.
Hermione was slow to resurface from her preoccupation, staring into space where Harry had held his hand. Curious as to what she was thinking, Harry made a question of her name. "Hermione?" With a surprised jerk, she came back to the conversation, and quickly stuttered, "W-w-what did you say?"
"How can I do the Potions work given what my hands are now?" Harry waited anxiously for her answer, while mentally wondering how he could avoid the class without drawing Hermione's ire.
Hermione smiled, "Because, you'll be working with me."
"What, how? That greasy git would never let you help me." Harry bitterly stated.
She sat on the neighboring cot and tucked her legs underneath as she pulled her Arithmancy text from her bag before she answered. "McGonagall and Dumbeldore have made sure that special… dispensations have been made by Professor Snape for your regular class attendance. They don't want you to miss any lectures if at all possible while you're temporarily in…flux, so to speak."
Harry began to be suspicious now. "How do you know all that?"
Hermione had the grace to blush slightly and admitted, "Professor McGonagall spoke to me before I left Gryffindor Tower to bring you your books."
"Spoke to you?" He was becoming angry at the thought of being discussed about instead of being talked to directly. He'd had enough of that during his last school term.
Hermione recognized his growing rage and quirked an eyebrow at him. "Who else do you think is going to help you, you prat?" Harry's anger subsided. He should not take out his frustration on one of his best friends. Friend…
"Where's Ron?"
A flash of anger and annoyance crossed her face before she composed her expression. "He's studying right now. He said he would try to visit tomorrow morning."
There was something amiss between Ron and Hermione, Harry could feel it; but in his current state, knew there was little he could do to address the problem. Giving in with some reluctance to Hermione's insistence, Harry started to read his Potions assignment. Hermione returned her attention to her Arithmancy.
They passed a quiet hour at their respective tasks. Hermione's scent or small motions she unconsciously made occasionally distracted Harry, but he forced himself to stay focused on his work. McGonagall's warning about becoming feral continued to play over and over in the back of his mind.
He completed the Potions scroll with a couple of inches to spare, though he noticed the effort to write was steadily increasing. Shaking out the cramp from his hand, Harry put the Potions textbook aside and grabbed his Charms text. Luckily enough for him, Harry had only been assigned a reading selection for Professor Flitwick's class.
Rolling over onto his stomach, he opened the book and began to read the section on enchanting gems to create enhancements for jewelry or weapons. Harry had read the text section once and was returning to reread the parts that had not made sense previously when Hermione sat up with an exclamation.
"You have a spot pattern in your fur!" Harry looked over at his friend and raised an inquiring brow.
"So?"
"So? Do you know what animal you're changing into then?" Harry wrinkled his brow, perplexed by Hermione's question. "Hermione, you told me you spoke to Professor McGonagall."
"Yes, but only in general about your change. She warned me about the slowness of the transformation and the danger of becoming feral. Not in the specific…so, what are you? A big cat surely, but what kind? A Leopard?"
Harry shook his head. "Professor McGonagall identified me as a Black Jaguar"
Hermione blinked, her face going blank as she digested that statement, then frowned disappointedly. "Interesting. I don't really know much about Jaguars."
"I don't believe it, there's something you don't know?" Harry snickered.
Hermione scowled darkly. "I may not know now, but I will as soon as I can get to the Library."
Harry nodded in mock seriousness. "I understand. Such a deficit in knowledge is not to be tolerated, of course, completely unacceptable in a young woman such as you, Miss Granger. No dinner for you tonight." Harry's put-on stuffy tone was belied by the twinkle in his green eyes. Hermione inhaled sharply as she prepared to rebut him, but then caught the humor in his gaze. She settled on simply sticking out her tongue at him, instead.
"Oh, that's mature, Miss Prefect." Harry chuckled, and returned the gesture. He tried to go back to his work, but could feel his attention wavering and Hermione's scent kept making him glance over at her. Desperate for distraction, Harry started to read out loud from the Charms text with funny running commentary.
At first, she just ignored him, but as he continued she asked him to stop. Harry just shook his head and continued. The campaign of annoyance finally came to an end when Hermione, frustrated, tossed the pillow from her cot into his face. Harry, amazed at her response, gazed wide-eyed at his friend, who had both her hands covering her mouth in shock at what she had just done.
Of course, that started the full, all-out pillow fight.
They pelted each with their respective weapons, laughing and groaning in turns as hits were scored and ducked. They circled around Harry's bed, trading pillow blows. To Harry's chagrin, he was the one having to avoid the remarkably accurate shots from Hermione's pillow.
Neither teen noticed Madam Pomfrey stick her head out from her office to see what was causing the ruckus in her Hospital. She seemed ready to order them to stop, but then just smiled and withdrew back into her office and quietly shut the door.
Finally exhausted, Harry fell back onto his bed and cried for mercy. After a few more swats just to ensure her victory, Hermione relented and also collapsed. They panted a bit before the laughter began. Harry could not stop the hilarity bubbling up from within him. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from his the center of his chest and all the gray feelings were swept away. Hermione at first stared at him as if he had gone mad, but soon caught giggles as well.
The release of tension and stress for Harry was amazing, almost similar to the feeling of flying on his broomstick. When that thought crossed his mind, he recognized now that flying was his way of relieving his stress. He smiled as he lay back and imagined himself to be flying. At the corner of his perception he could hear Hermione gathering her books and quills together and placing them in her book bag.
He turned his head to smile at her as she began to tell him she would see him in a few hours after dinner. "And remember, Harry, you have to attend Pot-" Her voice had been growing softer and farther away, and Harry was puzzled as to why that would be since he was staring directly at her and she had not moved. Then suddenly, his world went black with pain.
Distantly, Harry could hear someone screaming in abject agony, but could not identify who the pain dominated his entire mind. His hands and feet felt like glass shards were being driven in all the way to bone. Internally, the snaps and crackles resonating in his head corresponded to sharp pain peaks. Breathing became difficult as pressure built around his chest and abdomen. Rolling over in an effort to escape the pain, a final ripple of torment tore down his spine and then seemed to pass beyond his tailbone.
Harry came back to consciousness to find Hermione and Madam Pomfrey hovering above with identical looks of deep concern for him. In a small corner of Harry's mind, he thought the similar expressions on the two women were amusing as it made them look more than a bit alike. The ache as his tailbone became persistent and instinctively, he reached back or at least tried. The physiological changes now had changed his flexibility and the changes to his skeletal structure were hampering his range of motion. Pomfrey, deducing that he was experiencing discomfort in the region of his posterior, began to palpate the area.
Thankful for the dark fur on his face that hid his blush, Harry glanced over to catch Hermione's expression, which did not seem to carry any humor or embarrassment at the situation. Yeah, of course not, Harry thought, she's not being felt up by a teacher!
He was grateful when Pomfrey, finally, stopped her examination and said, "Ah, that's the problem." She tapped her wand on the back of Harry's pajama bottoms. "Ab vestimentum"
A slot appeared and through it came the most recent change in Harry's form. It was his tail, swishing back and forth quickly, communicating Harry's anxiety and discomfort. The pain continued to swell and ebb through Harry even after his tail was released from its cloth binding.
"It still hurts, Madam Pomfrey. Can I have a potion?"
Madam Pomfrey looked distressed as she shook her head. "I'm afraid I can't give you anything for the pain, Potter." He stared at the older woman in shock, curling into a fetal ball to ward off the pain. She sighed, then reached out to place her cool hand against Harry's brow.
"The pain functions as a gauge for the change, Mr. Potter. For me to remove the pain might complicate further an already complicated problem." Hermione shook her head in disbelief.
"You can't let him just suffer, Madam Pomfrey! Why won't you help him?"
"Be quiet, Ms. Granger." the older woman spoke sternly as she helped Harry roll back onto his back. "If the pain is removed the changes may go astray or even too far for his body to handle. It would be like removing the pain from someone's broken leg and then letting him or her walk around on the limb. The pain serves the function of telling the body when an activity is dangerous or detrimental. In the case of Animagus, it helps them guide the change into specific pathways that become permanent with time and practice."
Hermione's face showed her flash of understanding. "The botched transformations in the text…the ones where the change became monstrous and killed the wizard or witch. Those were the ones that took pain relief potions?" Pomfrey nodded, her brows arched in surprise at Hermione's perception.
As they had talked, the agony had receded to manageable levels, and Harry uncurled slowly. Pomfrey began a firm massage on his calves to reduce the knotting in the muscles. After a few moments, the sore stiffness began to melt away and Harry sighed in some relief. Pomfrey finished on his lower legs and was about to move to his back and shoulders when the sound of loud approaching footsteps caught Harry's attention and directed to the outer doors.
The nurse saw Harry's gaze directed toward outside the ward, and turned to look herself before the double doors burst inward with a group of Hufflepuffs and their anxious Head of House, Professor Sprout.
"Oh, Madam Pomfrey, I have a very bad case of bubotuber pus exposure here. The poor boy, nearly the complete container spilled over him." Professor Sprout wrung her hands and the other Hufflepuffs withdrew to a safe distance once their housemate was placed on the cot. His outer robes had been partially eaten away by the strong compound, exposing enormous blisters covering his chest, neck, face and arms.
Pomfrey swept through the gathered Hufflepuffs like a ship through water, leaving them to eddy in her wake. A few cast surreptitious looks in Harry direction, but most stayed focused on their stricken fellow Hufflepuff. From the scattered muttering and whispering of the students, Harry gathered that the Slytherins, and particularly Malfoy, had had something to do with the accident.
Harry now discovered that his now sensitive hearing had some drawbacks when it came to multiple sources of sound like the conversation among the Hufflepuffs. He simply heard too much all at once and was having trouble following any one particular voice. Finally, he simply flattened his ears to his skulls to reduce the input and gave up on listening any longer.
Hermione must have noticed his discomfort, for she reached over and put her hand on his shoulder comfortingly. The Hufflepuff were directed to leave Madam Pomfrey to her work and their Head of House shooed them from the ward, while Pomfrey pulled screens around the bed of the stricken boy.
"Who was it, Hermione? Did you see?"
"Wayne Hopkins. He's in the same year with us. Poor boy, half his body is covered in the blisters." Harry remembered in his fourth year that Hermione had gained an intimate knowledge of the agony bubotuber pus could inflict from a tainted letter sent from an irate reader of Rita Skeeter's gossip column.
Harry tried to arch his body off the cot to gaze over at the screened cot where Madam Pomfrey's soft tones were trying to soothe the now weeping Hufflepuff boy, but the muscles in his back were as stiff as boards and he groaned in defeat and slumped back. Hermione turned back to him at that and arched her eyebrows in question. For a moment, Harry's sense of the ridiculous was tickled by her resemblance to Pomfrey again.
"My back is stiff and aches quite a bit is all." Harry turned back onto his stomach and draped his arms over the sides of the cot in a vain attempt to stretch out his abused back muscles. He was startled by a sharp nudge on his left hip, followed by Hermione's most bossy tones.
"Oh, move over. You'll never get anywhere that way."
Harry, accustomed by long exposure to what the results would be if he did not obey this particular tone in Hermione's voice, shifted over so she could perch on the side of the cot. Wondering what she was about, he turned his head to ask, but her hands were already kneading the muscles of his shoulders and neck. The sense of well being flowed from her ministrations and Harry forgot any questions he might have had and simply chose to bask in the moment, burying his head into his pillow as he sighed.
Hermione's massage of his tortured back continued as she commented. "My mother always did this for me when I was ill. I especially had a really bad case of the flu once, and this was the only way I could get any relief from the body aches."
Harry merely grunted, wordless and becoming progressively more boneless as she continued rubbing and kneading. Harry had never really been comfortable with physical contact with people given his early life with the Dursleys, where any contact equated to pain in Harry's lexicon. He had been getting more at ease with Ron and Hermione's hugs and touches, but had not allowed anyone else to cross into his personal space willingly. This type of physical contact, he realized suddenly, he would actively invite in the future.
Before he became uneasy at the strange feelings burgeoning at his best friend's touch, she shifted the massage to his mid and lower back, and all thought ceased. His world narrowed down to Hermione's healing touch and warm darkness began to envelope him. How long the massage continued, Harry could not say, but when he surfaced from the comfortable trance, Hermione's hands were not kneading, but rather were stroking his back.
He then became aware of a vibration, rhythmic and soothing, passing through the center of his chest. What was that? he wondered. Hermione's hands were now bestowing long soft strokes tracking from the back of his head all the way to his lower back. Almost like she was petting…
Petting? And the vibration, periodic and rumbling…he was purring!
He turned his head to look back over his shoulder at Hermione, who was still stroking him with a strange, dreamy look on her face. Her touch was so soft and gentle that Harry was loath to disturb the peaceful moment, but he felt a little uncomfortable about watching her without her knowledge. So after a few minutes and when she still had not registered Harry's gaze on her face, he spoke questioningly, "Hermione?"
With a startled jerk, she snapped to attention and blinked owlishly at her friend for a long moment, her hand stopped mid-stroke on his back. Harry could not find his voice in the confusion that filled his mind. What was going on here?
"Oh, look at the time!" Hermione glanced at her watch ostentatiously, and then jumped up to gather her book bag. "I've got to get to dinner." She kept her face turned away from Harry as she said this, pretending to be engrossed in arranging the contents of her bag, but Harry was not fooled by her actions. His heightened senses told him Hermione was upset and troubled. Her scent became muddied, her heartbeat was racing and Harry could detect a flush of embarrassment on her cheeks.
Hang on, her heartbeat? Before he could come to terms with this new information, Hermione had made good her escape from the ward, leaving Harry wondering why he felt a keen need to pursue his best friend. Unknowingly, he growled in frustration and flopped onto his back to gaze up at the ceiling.
The moans and whimpers of the injured boy on the other side of the ward trailed into silence as the pain-killing sleeping potion took effect. The scent of the bubotuber pus was strong in Harry's nostrils, sharp and stinging like hot pepper. Another scent underlay the scent bubotuber, a strangely familiar one.
Pomfrey came from behind one of the screens with the remnants of Hopkin's robes and carefully laid the contaminated clothing on a hospital table before swishing back behind the curtains. Harry could hear her casting inflammation reducing spells. Given the number of times he had been in the Hospital wing, he was gaining a good amount of knowledge in the healing spells. The familiar scent came more strongly now, emanating from the robes, causing Harry to roll out of his cot and stiffly walk over to them.
The closer he came, the bubotuber sharpness began to cause his eyes to water, but now Harry knew that combination of scent. The dankness of mushrooms overlaid by an artificial green musk and patchouli. Malfoy.
Pomfrey was finishing up with Wayne and not wanting to be caught snooping, Harry rushed back to his bed. Much faster than he had thought possible in fact, since instinctively he moved across the room on all fours. In just three silent bounds he covered the distance of more that 20 meters to reach his cot before Pomfrey came out from behind the curtains. He sat on his bed and held up his hands to examine them carefully.
He could see that heavy sound deadening pads now covered his palms and his fingers had shrunk in length more that they had previously. His claws were a touch longer but just as sharp. As he flexed them, he wanted to scratch them over something. His feet had shifted as well, with claws and pads matching his hands, but their structure was still mainly human. His spine had become more flexible and his chest had narrowed as his mass had shifted.
Madam Pomfrey caught sight of him examining his hands and asked matter-of-factly, "Do you require a scratching post, Mr Potter?"
Harry was dumbfounded at her question but shook his head vehemently.
"Well, when you do, please let me know. You should probably need to perform marking behavior before long."
Again, Harry was thankful for the fur that hid his blush. He had studied several animal groups for the Animagus class and was well aware of what "marking" activity consisted. Pomfrey moved toward him and requested him to lie down for the rest of his therapy. Harry hurried to tell her Hermione had assisted with a massage and that he felt quite better now.
The school nurse nodded with a small smile. "Ms. Granger is indeed very perceptive and helpful. I trust that you appreciate those attributes in her character."
"Yes, I do, Madam Pomfrey."
At that moment, a suddenly "pop" occurred at the foot of the bed and Harry and Madam Pomfrey saw the multi-hatted head of Dobby appear above the foot rail.
"Dobby has Harry Potter's dinner, ma'am." Madam Pomfrey thanked the little house-elf, whose ears waggled in pleasure from her praise. He set the tray of triple portion of roast chicken, potatoes and green beans on Harry's table and asked, "Does Harry Potter require anything else? Dobby will fetch anything Harry Potter needs or wants."
Harry shook his head. "No, Dobby. I don't believe I need anything. Thanks for asking."
Dobby leaned forward and with an air of someone daring to do some fearful task, laid his hand on Harry's leg.
"Dobby is most concerned, sir. Harry Potter is in danger. Dobby must help Harry Potter for Harry Potter freed Dobby and Dobby is most grateful."
Harry carefully patted Dobby's hand to comfort the little House-elf who was becoming alarmingly emotional. "I'll be fine, Dobby. Please don't fret." The house-elf seemed unsure, but Harry made every effort to impress on Dobby that he would be fine and that under no circumstances was Dobby to assist him.
Madam Pomfrey bolstered Harry's claims and Dobby was sent away, mollified for the time being.
"Now, finish your dinner and then a nap, young man. Slow shifts take a great deal out of a person, and I expect Ms Granger and Mr Weasley will be here this evening to study with you as well."
Harry, starved, was already making in-roads on his dinner and simply opted to nod in agreement with Madam Pomfrey's dictum since his mouth was full. The nurse retreated to her office with a satisfied sniff.
The chicken smelled heavenly, and almost before Harry realized, it was totally consumed. The potatoes were fine enough, but Harry found he could only tolerate maybe a third of the portion he was given. When he reached the green beans, he ended up spitting out the very first mouthful with a disgusted snarl. It seemed his changes were more that simply external at this point.
His appetite appeased for the moment, Harry found it easy to curl up and start to drift off, but a flash of motion near the door that caused Harry's eyes to open and fixate on a small creature heading across the room towards him.
Crookshanks.
The ginger marmalade tomcat picked his way silently across the floor to Harry's side, and placing his front paws on the side of the bed, put his head up near Harry's to sniff curiously at the young wizard. Harry put his head down closer to sniff at Crookshanks as well, mirroring the other feline's actions.
The smaller cat's scent did not trouble Harry's territorial instincts, much to Harry's amazement, since he had expected some difficulties with those parts of a big cat's nature. Crookshanks' own scent was blended with Hermione's distinctive one, and Harry responded by rumbling deeply. The tomcat meowed and hopped up onto the bed beside the young wizard and curled up in the classic pose with his front paws turned under and began to purr in earnest.
The sound seemed to envelope Harry and he fell into a contented sleep beside the ginger cat.