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: OK, given my bad karma when it comes to Divination predictions, it seems that this is not the last chapter that I promised previously. Harry et al are proving to have a little more to say and do before getting to my conclusion. I love to see characterization as much as plot in a good story, so bear with me. I won't give a hard and fast prediction, but they seem to need another couple of chapters, so I'll oblige them.
And thanks to my writing compatriots: Wishweaver and Full Pensieve for their reviews and inspiration.
Chapter 9 - More than Human
Revelation and Disillusionment
A fortnight after the fight in the Forbidden Forest, Harry rubbed tired eyes in a vain attempt to focus on the text before him. The intricacies of changing an Animagus form's basic coloration to blend into an environment were extremely complex and he felt more than a bit inadequate to the task at the present moment.
Blinking hard, he glanced up and around at the rest of the class for a moment. The majority of the advanced Transfiguration students were working on completing their vision-quest presently, though on his right, Ron looked as if he might be dozing rather than vision questing.
Hermione on his left side radiated nervous tension and she was perspiring, even though the classroom was by no means over warm. McGonagall prowled the aisles to assist the students and stopped to help a Hufflepuff sixth year two rows behind.
"Oi! What the bloody…!"
The loud exclamation snapped Harry's attention back to Ron, who was gazing transfixed at the back of his hand. A band of what appeared to be striped grey and white feathers ran along the back of it to disappear beneath his shirt sleeve.
Ron's outburst caught the Professor's attention as well and brought her sweeping up to the desk where the three friends sat.
"Congratulations, Mr. Weasley," she said, raising Ron's hand to examine the change. "And your form is what bird?"
Ron looked flummoxed by the question, and Harry could hear an exasperated hiss from Hermione on his left. McGonagall tapped her foot impatiently before requesting Ron review his personality chart and probable animal reference traits.
As Ron stumbled through a recitation of his scroll, Harry heard a soft murmur from Hermione which drew his attention. She was staring at their friend as the Professor listened to Ron recite his possible forms, but something dark moved in her eyes. He tried to catch the expression, but Hermione caught his eye then and it vanished.
"Well, I would believe that the last creature on your list is the form, Mr. Weasley," The Professor's crisp tones pulled Harry's mind back to Ron's predicament.
Ron's face reddened. "But, it's a bloody bird!"
"Language, Mr. Weasley!" McGonagall frowned sharply.
Ron still appeared greatly distressed. "But what good is a Perry-ring? It's a small bird!"
McGonagall lifted one eyebrow before replying. "Peregrine, Mr. Weasley, as in Peregrine Falcon. It is a raptor, smaller cousin to hawks and eagles. Also, this particular bird is the fastest bird in the world when it swoops down on its prey and its ability to intercept prey in motion is unparalleled. Strangely fitting given your Keeper abilities, I would daresay."
Ron brightened at that statement considerably before the final realization that he was able to become an Animagus hit him. His face grew pasty, freckles standing out across his cheeks and nose, before turning to look behind him.
Glancing over his shoulder, Harry followed Ron's gaze back to the half-dozen students who were working independently at the rear of the classroom. He felt a pang of discomfort now that he recognized that his red-haired friend would now be required to join those other students who had completed the vision-quest to determine if the change could be integrated and accepted by the wizard. One part of the quest was done, now came the final part. The hardest part of all.
Of the class so far, only Harry had completed the full change and integration, though Professor McGonagall had wryly commented that this particular class was turning out to have the most potential of all the classes she had taught to date.
Those who had not found an animal form had moved on to other complex transfiguration projects to complete the class time. They had taken over the left side of the classroom and were working their projects.
The class time drew to a halt as McGonagall dismissed the class soon after her discussion with Ron. The students began to depart the classroom quietly, murmuring amongst themselves. Harry gathered his things into his bag while lending a half-an-ear to Ron's excited prattling about the possibility that the animal form might help give him an edge in playing Keeper for Gryffindor.
"Miss Granger, a moment of your time if you please."
Hermione seemed to flinch a bit at her Head of House's request, but acquiesced quickly enough. Harry and Ron both tarried at the door to wait for their friend, but McGonagall arched her eyebrow and directed them to get to their next class.
Harry shot one last look at Hermione's tense back before he closed the door and promised himself to ask what was bothering her later that evening.
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Harry wearily trudged up the Grand Staircase to Gryffindor Tower later that evening. He had just finished an intense Occlumency training session with Dumbledore. At the end, they had discussed some of Dumbledore's theories regarding the nature of his mother's protective charm and what it had really done.
Harry knew that of the three of them, only Hermione could understand the bulk of the theories and facts of which Dumbledore spoke, but his last statement still echoed in Harry's mind.
"Magical energy has many aspects similar to muggle electricity, you know," The old wizard had said softly, his hands steepled in front of his chin. "Voldemort fears his own death very much; this you already know. But in order to make oneself immune to a thing, you must also create an equal vulnerability to its opposite. A Phoenix's power is neutral in nature, but your parent's sacrifice was of that of ultimate love; the love of those who willingly lay down their lives for another. That sacrifice appears to have shifted the polarity of the power of the Phoenix form and, based upon what I observed in the Forest, I believe it continues to affect it even now."
Mumbling the password to the drowsy portrait, he crawled through the hole behind to find the Common Room was deserted by this late hour. Harry sighed wearily, and trudged to the empty table in the nook next to the fireplace and slumped into a chair.
The late night sessions were something to which he had become accustomed, but now added to his training regimen was a great deal of extra-curricular transfiguration work with McGonagall regarding his Animagus forms.
Harry had learned the basic clothing transmutation quickly enough to surprise the dour McGonagall; the memory of his embarrassing experience acting as a spur to his efforts. It still haunted his dreams occasionally.
Scrubbing his hand through his disheveled dark hair, Harry spotted Ron's book bag and its contents spread across on the table top and he smiled wryly. It looked like a small bomb had exploded in it. As he looked about the Common Room, Harry's thoughts wandered to the rather stilted and difficult discussion with Ron regarding the rift in their relationship the night after Harry's return from the Forest.
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Ron watched from his bed as Harry made sure all his things had been brought from the special suite. The other boys had already welcomed Harry back happily and had headed to the Common Room to try to get an impromptu party going. Ron fidgeted in the quiet of the others' departure. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Ron's face contort into a series of grimaces before he spoke.
"Harry, about the…erm…," Ron ground to a halt.
Harry encouraged him to continue, "Yes? What about..?"
Ron's cheeks began to flush a bit. "Well, I…er, it's good to have you back, mate," he blustered.
Harry remained calm but held his ground. "'Mate', is it?" he said. The iron emotional control that the Animagi forms had taught him came into play and felt correct at this moment.
Ron's brow furrowed. "Of course it's 'mate'," he blustered. "How could it ever be anything... else...?"
"Exactly," Harry said. He thrust folded trousers into his bureau, and did not bother to give Ron a glance.
The silence stretched like a rubber band until Ron broke under the tension.
"I'm sorry I didn't believe you at the beginning of the Tri-wizard tournament! I never thought you would be one to hold a grudge for that!" Ron spat.
Harry spun about. Did the daft prat think he was sulking over events more than two years past?
"You think I'm angry about that?" Harry asked. Anger rose behind his control and he found himself clenching his fists. Ron's obtuseness was aggravating, but Harry reminded himself of Ginny's discussion with Hermione about Ron's experience with his uncle. He jammed his hands into his pockets and forced his ire down.
Ron saw his reaction, and a deeper flush spread across his cheeks. "I've already apologized for that, you know." His tone reminded Harry of Percy's pompous utterances.
Harry's eyes narrowed. That tore it. With a sudden spring, he changed form and pounced on his friend, who yelled dramatically as he was bowled over. Pinning Ron's shoulders to the floor with his paws, he went still and gave his red-headed friend a penetrating stare.
Ron recovered quickly from his shock, and thinking Harry was horsing about, was trying to wriggle free. Ron seemed determined to act like his normal self, but Harry worried that it was a façade for his benefit. Discomfort still lurked deep behind Ron's eyes.
With his superior strength, Harry resisted Ron's attempts to break free. After a few moments, Ron caught on that Harry intended something other than rough-housing and he stilled.
Harry backed up a few paces and deliberately sat down to continue staring. He could see Ron's complexion change and his eyes flinch from Harry's gaze. The fear that Harry had smelled before was present, but altered into something that made Harry's cat instincts uneasy.
Ron scooted back against the side of his bed and began to finger his bedspread nervously; eyes downcast and it seemed to Harry that his friend was determined to remain silent.
With a heavy sigh, Harry shifted back to human form and started back to his trunk when he caught the faint whisper behind him.
"It wasn't your fault, you know…it was me…"
He spun about to watch Ron gulp down a hard breath before continuing. "I don't…Really, can't… I know I was mental about your, erm, change…I'm sorry."
Harry knew that his friend was expressing something painful from deep within and it made Harry uncomfortable to watch. His red-haired friend had always been his benchmark of being normal, not just a normal wizard, and seeing him struggle now threatened Ron's idealized position to Harry's mind..
"It's alright, Ron," Harry said quickly to halt Ron's agony. "Really."
Ron looked up hopefully. "Are we alright then?"
"Sure. Mates, even." He answered with a grin before returning to his unpacking.
Ron shuffled to his feet and sat on the edge of the bed as Harry continued his unpacking. After a few inconsequential comments regarding the upcoming Quidditch matches and the generally dismal prospects of the Cannons, Harry felt confident that things were going back to normal.
The rising commotion from the Common Room indicated that Dean and Seamus had been successful in their impromptu party attempt, and Harry finished emptying his trunk with some speed to turn and suggest they go down when Ron said quietly, "My uncle, he tried to be an Animagus, you know. But my uncle's change went wrong, Harry; really wrong."
How could he respond to that? Did he tell Ron he already knew the story from overhearing Ginny and Hermione discussing it? Harry decided against that tack immediately.
"Uncle Leo, my dad's younger brother, well, he tried on his own to do the change and it…it…was horrible, Harry," Ron's voice was ragged. "Really awful."
Harry sat down on the edge of his bed, humbled to hear Ron speak of his personal demons. "I'm sorry about your uncle, Ron."
Ron looked up with a lost expression. "Might have been better for him if he had died than…" A furtive look crossed the red-head's face and he looked away.
"He didn't die then?" Harry blurted out before he could stop himself.
Ron looked torn for a moment then asked softly. "Harry, you can't tell anyone about what I'm going to tell you. Can you swear not to tell?"
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Harry sighed and shook himself free from his reverie. He had hoped to find Hermione still up studying; he wanted to tell her what he had learned from the Headmaster as well as ask her to review his last Potions essay. It had been her wont of late to stay up and wait for Harry to return from Dumbledore's sessions, but the room was empty tonight, with only a candle burning on the far table and the fire slowly burning down in the fireplace.
Trudging over to the far table on the left of the fireplace, Harry hefted his bag into a chair and rummaged through to find his Potions text. Snape, being his usual self, had assigned extra work to Harry for having the temerity for finding a way to avoid his detention with the Potions Master. The extra work had required a good deal of effort on Harry's part, but now the essays were almost complete.
Harry flopped down into a chair and put the work in front of him with a sigh. He could almost hear Hermione's voice telling him not to put off finishing the essay. With a chuckle, Harry set to work on the last foot of essay regarding the standard method of obtaining Diricawl feathers (which entailed using rather elaborate ruses to convince the bird it was in danger so it would disappear and leave a puff of feathers behind), and the uses of said feathers as a potion ingredient.
For a time, the only sounds were the scratching of his quill and the occasional turning of a page. The fire died down further as he worked; the common room grew dimmer as the candle burned down as well. He reached the bottom of the scroll and punctuated the last line with a flourish.
Stretching the stiffness from his neck and shoulders, Harry read over his work for a few moments before putting his head down on his arms to rest for a moment.
The loud slam at the portrait hole woke him from his doze with a jerk. He could barely make out the protests of the Fat Lady about the rudeness of some people before he made out the bushy brown hair of his friend. The candle had burned out while he had slept, and the only source of light was the glowing embers of the fireplace.
She flopped down on the couch before the fire without once glancing in Harry's direction. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he hesitated to speak for a moment; he watched from his shadowed position as Hermione stared into the dying fire.
Wondering how to best approach his friend, Harry did not catch the sound of her crying at first. The sobs were soft and muffled; she did not intend to be overheard. The tone of her weeping was different from what Harry had ever heard from her before. Different for her, but oh so familiar to him. Despair.
He was used to tears of temper or frustration from Hermione, but these soft sobs tore him from deep inside, because he knew the emotions. They were the same tears Harry had wept while locked in the cupboard as a young boy.
Harry closed his eyes against the onrush of his memories; the desolation of never being able to succeed in pleasing his relatives; never being able to win any acceptance. In Hermione's sobs, Harry heard the echoes of his younger self eerily overlaid.
She shouldn't cry like that, Harry thought. She has a family that love her…Has something happened to them?
Standing silently, he crept to the back of the couch. She did not react to his presence, and Harry had to steel his courage to keep from sneaking off up the stairs. Why did emotional girls have to be so frightening? This was Hermione after all! Be a Gryffindor, Potter, and get on with it!
He took a deep breath, steeled his courage and reached over to lightly lay his hand on her shoulder. Hermione let out a single shriek of surprise and whirled about so quickly that Harry's cat reflexes instinctually kicked in and he leapt back and shifted form to crouch defensively against the table leg.
Hermione's widened eyes peered over the back of the couch, and even in jaguar-form, Harry could see they were reddened. Her nose and cheeks were flushed and damp as well.
For a long moment, neither moved, then her face disappeared from view and he heard a soft whisper. "Go away, Harry."
A part of him wanted to do just that, but Harry knew that he could not leave his friend like this. He needed to know what had happened.
He leapt lightly to the back of the couch before hopping down onto the seat cushion beside her. Concentrating on shifting back, he spared a quick glance at himself to be sure his clothes had transformed back in place before he focused on Hermione.
She averted her face and stared at her hands in her lap. The overlay of sensory perception from the shift lingered, and he almost flinched from the scent of despair that she exuded.
"Are you going to tell me what's wrong, or should I guess?" Harry inquired.
Hermione's shoulders hunched a bit, but she did not respond. He sighed. "I'm not going to leave until you tell me, you know."
She lunged to her feet, and Harry stood up as well, blocking her escape. With an angry growl, Hermione tried to slip around him and reach the dormitory stairs. He caught her hand in a light grasp which stopped her instantly.
"What is it, Hermione? Please, talk to me," Harry pleaded.
"I - can't, Harry…I can't do it…I can't - ch - change!" Hermione cried, tears running down her cheeks.
"Change? What are you talking…oh?" He trailed off when his brain caught up to his mouth and supplied an answer. Hermione turned her face away but did not try to pull away from Harry's hold.
What should I say now? He wondered.
"Hermione, it's not horrible if you aren't an Animagus," The disbelieving look she shot him was clear and he desperately cast about for a new approach. "Animagus transformation isn't all it seems. Take the Ministry's `Registry' for example." Harry finished darkly. His experience with the Ministry's Director when his form and markings were added to the roles had been unpleasant to say the least.
Hermione's eyebrow arched and she shot him a look that made it clear that he was failing miserably at reassuring her. As he cudgeled his brain for something better, Hermione's face crumpled.
"If I don't change…if I can't change, then how can keep up with you…a-and Ron, of course… I'll be a liability then, won't I? Useless…" she whispered.
Stunned, Harry could not think of a reply. She pulled loose from his grasp and slipped away up the dormitory stairs.
Harry flopped down in to the depths of the couch and tried to think of what to do next. If this was a normal problem, he would have taken it to Hermione for advice and options, but now he had to find an answer for this situation by himself. In that moment, Harry recognized how much he depended on Hermione for such things, and that he felt sure he would only mess up trying to help on his own.
First thing tomorrow, Harry was going to organize some help, and for once, Hermione's dilemma would become his problem instead of the other way around.
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Harry tried to broach the subject of Hermione's situation with Ron at breakfast, but soon recalled why trying to discuss anything with Ron while there was food present was a bad idea.
"Ron, I need to talk to you about something. It's very imp -" Harry started.
"The Quidditch practice schedule, right? We're going to need some more time if we're going to get sharp for Ravenclaw, that's for sure. Can Katie get more time on the pitch, do you suppose?" Ron replied, reaching for some more rashers of bacon.
"No, Ron, it's not that, it's about Her -" Harry tried again.
Seamus chimed in then regarding the relative strengths of the Ravenclaw chasers, or really about the "talents" of the star chaser, Sarah Fawcett. The discussion went off on that tangent as others chimed in on the subject. Harry impatiently waited for topic to be exhausted before trying to broach the problem with Ron once more.
As he opened to his mouth to try again, Harry caught sight of Hermione heading down the aisle to their section of the long table. He snapped his mouth shut and suddenly concentrated on his breakfast.
Hermione took the seat across from the boys and was careful to avoid Harry's eyes, after her first sharp glance at him. He smiled with forced cheerfulness, but she did not respond in kind. He kept shooting furtive glances but she kept her head down over her small breakfast and ubiquitous book and only responded absently to the greetings of the other Gryffindors.
"So, what did you want to talk about that's so important, mate?" Ron asked innocently.
Harry closed his eyes and prayed that the floor would suddenly open up and swallow him. Daft git needs to really work on his timing, he thought sourly.
Hermione's head shot up at Ron's question and in a sudden stroke of inspiration or rather, desperation, Harry said. "Having the extra Quidditch practices, of course. Katie should be able to schedule something this week hopefully."
Hermione's face showed instant relief, and she returned to her book and breakfast while Harry wondered if he could be dropped from Gryffindor House for such an abject display of cowardice. It was clear to Harry that he was going to have to be a bit sneakier to have any hope of avoiding the wrath of his female best friend.
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After his first class, Harry took a chance on catching Professor McGonagall in her office. Unlike breakfast, his luck held good and his Head of House ushered him into her office immediately and offered him a biscuit that he politely declined. His stomach was in nervous knots already, and he did think he should risk possibly making his situation worse.
"Well, Mr. Potter, to what reason do I owe your visit?" Professor McGonagall inquired.
Harry drew a quick breath. "I'm here because of Hermione, Professor. She's, erm, well…see, it's like this-"
"She's been unable to complete a vision quest," McGonagall interrupted impatiently. Harry winced as she continued. "Miss Granger has refused to select any project to complete for the class work requirement. At such a point, I have informed her that she stands in jeopardy of failing the course if she does not choose something else within the next week."
Harry did not like the sound of that. Hermione fail a class? "She needs help, Professor. Is there anything we can do? Hermione's the smartest witch in our class, but surely there's something -"
McGonagall's stern demeanor softened a touch. "Mr. Potter, there is no way to make an animagus. The ability must be present and then the witch or wizard must integrate the form within themselves. Most people can not complete both steps, which is why the skill is uncommon." She lifted her hand in a silencing motion when Harry opened his mouth to protest.
"Mr. Potter, it is very likely that Miss Granger does not have an animal correspondence form, and is not able to become animagus. Both you and she will need to come to terms with that fact if this is the case."
Disappointment lanced through Harry. What could he do then, if McGonagall thought the chance for Hermione's being Animagus to be slim at best already?
"Maybe I shouldn't have destroyed the potion Hermione was going to use on herself then," he said regretfully.
McGonagall's eyebrows rose sharply. "Potion, Mr. Potter? To which potion are you referring?"
Her tone was edged, and it put Harry on edge as he replied. "A hypnotic potion. Hermione was going to use one herself to try and help me."
The older witch's face blanched visibly, and she lowered her face into her hands for a moment. Harry was nonplussed by McGonagall's atypical emotional response.
"Miss Granger may very likely owe you a life debt, Mr. Potter," The Professor's voice was muffled until she lifted her face once more to face him. A silvery trace of a tear glistened on her cheek. She straightened her posture and her features became composed into familiar lines.
"A hypnotic potion can be used, but only as a therapy device for a witch or wizard trapped as you were, Mr. Potter, but it would not help Miss Granger substantially in her quest unless it was altered in a particular manner." Professor McGonagall's voice held a note of self-reassurance despite her now confident manner.
"She did alter it. I saw her add her blood to it and cast a spell over it," Harry responded instantly, and regretted it when McGonagall's face whitened even further. Whatever Hermione had been doing, now Harry suspected it was something very dangerous.
Professor McGonagall rose and uncharacteristically began to pace anxiously behind her desk. "Do you know where she gleaned that knowledge, Mr. Potter?" She rapped out. Harry shook his head.
She continued to pace, alarming Harry with the intensity of her reaction. "Professor, Hermione is the best of our year. Surely she could have found the information in the Library or through class…?"
McGonagall spun on her heel and narrowed her eyes at him. "No, Mr. Potter. The information regarding such alterations is highly restricted, not only by Hogwarts but by the Ministry as well. Miss Granger would require access to Professor Dumbledore's personal library or the Department of Mysteries to find this specific usage."
She shook her head and went to gaze out the mullioned window that overlooked the main courtyard of the castle. Uncomfortable in the following silence, Harry fidgeted. He had not meant to get Hermione in trouble with McGonagall, but as the silence stretched, Harry felt more and more certain that he had.
"I will have Professor Snape restrict all the critical components needed for hypnotic potions immediately," Professor McGonagall stated. "I must make a request of you that you may not appreciate, Mr. Potter. I would prefer that you volunteer to assist in revealing how Miss Granger obtained this information."
Harry was taken aback. "Professor?"
She sighed heavily and turned from the window. "I require you to find out how Miss Granger got the knowledge to alter the potion, Mr. Potter. If there is another source for the procedure, then I need to know where it comes from as soon as possible."
"I can't…spy on Hermione, Professor!" Harry protested angrily. "She was only trying to help me! She's my best friend…"
"I understand her motives very well, Mr. Potter. My request is not made with the intent of punishing her or anyone else. The knowledge must be restricted, and immediately."
Harry held her stare defiantly for a long moment, but McGonagall's face did not change other than she simply arched an eyebrow imperiously and waited. The pit of his stomach dipped lower with each passing moment. He had no intention of giving in to this demand, and he would make sure that his Head of House understood that fact.
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Harry was still thinking about his meeting with McGonagall as he sat in the Common Room after dinner that evening. He had been firm and direct, explaining why he could not betray one of his oldest friends and that such a thing should be unthinkable by any honest Gryffindor worth his or her salt.
McGonagall had listened to his arguments, her expression calm and open. Then she cut the legs out from beneath him without a shred of remorse.
If she had to investigate Hermione's knowledge, it was very likely that the Ministry would learn of it from their spies here at Hogwarts and demand to know the full particulars of the situation. The damage that could be wrought to Hermione's reputation and future could be catastrophic. Given Harry's own experiences with the Ministry in general, he could certainly imagine the worse occurring to his friend.
So here he sat, trying to figure out how Hermione had researched something and feeling absolutely bewildered on how to approach the question without access to Hermione's assistance. The other students loitering around the Common Room went about their business and he felt resentful that they could go along without care while he was tied into knots.
He slouched down on the couch a little further and grumbled to himself internally. Hermione might tell him about the potion if he could catch her unawares, but did not have the faintest clue how to approach her that would not make her suspicious of his questions. Professor McGonagall counseled him to be subtle; a suggestion which Harry did not find especially helpful at the moment.
Frustrated, Harry pulled out his Charms text and tried to concentrate on his homework as a distraction. He read the assigned chapters twice, and then gave up when he realized that he was not retaining anything. Only a few stalwart students were still studying in the Common Room by this hour, and Ron was already upstairs in the dorm.
Harry placed the text back into his bag and scrubbed a hand through his hair. The tension knotted the muscles in his neck and shoulders. What he really needed right now was a good hard run in his jaguar form, but he had promised to keep his wandering to a minimum and to be inside by the curfew, which had tolled almost an hour ago.
Climbing up the steps to the dorm, he fished out a meat stick from the front pocket and took a bite. The changing of form increased Harry's appetite, which was already large given his age, to a greater measure. The increased caloric need would taper off in time, so McGonagall had arranged for Dobby to keep Harry supplied with snacks in the meantime.
Harry put away his things and prepared for bed quietly. The other boys were already abed and snoring. He sat down cross-legged on his bed and snagged his meat stick back to finish it when an imperious meow came from the floor at the foot of his bed.
Crookshanks leaped up onto his bed and blinked piteously. Harry snorted and then growled softly. "She has you on a diet again, eh?"
The half-Kneazle hissed. "I am not fat!"
The ginger tom stalked forward to stand with his front paws on Harry's knees. "Meat please," he entreated.
Harry snorted. "Hermione will peel me if she finds out that I've been sneaking you stuff, so watch the breath around her." He tore a chunk off and the cat quickly devoured the morsel.
He shared the rest of the stick with the tomcat in amicable silence. Crookshanks purred loudly and curled up into a neat ball beside Harry, who stretched out and placed his hands behind his head.
"Going to sleep it off over here are you?" Harry chuckled. Crookshanks shot him a superior look and curled up with his back to the boy.
Settling into the covers, Harry checked that the dorm door was ajar for Crookshanks to use if necessary before removing his glasses and snuggling down into his pillow to sleep.
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Harry woke with a start and sat bolt upright in the bed. Crookshanks protested the sudden interruption of his sleep with a drowsy mew, but Harry paid no mind. He threw back the covers and hurried over to his school trunk.
Digging to the bottom, he extracted a wooden box roughly the size of a shirt box and flipped the catch open. Inside the box was a rolled up parchment and the shattered fragments of a silver mirror and its frame. Harry rolled back from his knees to sit on his heels as he contemplated the contents of the box.
He had dreamt of the single visit to Grimmauld Place after Sirius' will was finalized and gathering the separate items that Remus has given him as per Sirius' instructions. Harry could still hear the echo of Hermione's comment at the time from his dream… "It looks like an old school journal, Harry…you should read it when you get the chance."
It was Sirius' school journal which dated from his days at Hogwarts when he, Harry's father and Peter Pettigrew had become illegal Animagi to help their friend Remus. And it was now missing.
Harry inhaled sharply and a whiff of familiar scent that clung to the latch reached him. Looking up, he pinned the sleepy Crookshanks with a hard look. "Where's the bloody journal?" he snarled softly.
The orange tomcat uncoiled himself from his spot on Harry's coverlet and stretched leisurely. Harry waited impatiently for the creature to slowly amble down the bed and perch at the foot; the young wizard hissed loudly at the insouciant attitude of the feline, who was assiduously grooming his face and whiskers while ignoring the boy's question.
Harry's hiss was loud enough to cause Ron to jerk and mumble in his sleep, while Seamus turned over restlessly. He remained still until the boys settled back down into deep sleep before turning to the half-Kneazle familiar once more.
"I know she took the thing," Harry spat. "I can smell her scent on the box latch."
The cat continued his ablutions without comment. It was obvious to Harry that he needed to bring some real leverage to bear to get an answer from the tom. He grabbed his schoolbag and extracted another meat stick from the front pocket. Biting off a sizeable bit, Harry locked eyes with the cat as he slowly chewed. He had the cat's full attention now.
Crookshanks' eyes narrowed in vexation. Harry bit back a smile and took another bite as the tomcat watched. "Where does she have the journal stashed?" Harry asked.
"She is my mistress," the cat responded, gazing longingly at the food. "I cannot betray her secrets." Crookshanks turned about and headed back to his spot on the coverlet.
Desperate, Harry pleaded, "I need to find that journal before Hermione gets into trouble. She's really in danger of getting into very big trouble."
The ginger cat turned back and leapt to the end of the bed. "Danger to my witch, fang-brother?" he hissed, beginning to pace anxiously. Harry nodded solemnly.
The cat leapt down to the floor and sat beside the boy. "I will help you for her sake…" he meowed, his eyes still on the food. "And for a share of your food."
Harry gave the remainder of the snack to the tomcat and scrambled to find his Invisibility Cloak. The tomcat had finished the meat by the time that Harry had changed his clothes and grabbed his trainers.
Crookshanks darted from the room and Harry followed him down the stairs as quietly as possible. It was Harry's good fortune that the Common Room was completely deserted by this time.
The cat had begun to climb the stairs to the Girls Dormitory when Harry called him back. "I can't get up these stairs, Crookshanks. They're warded against boys."
"But the thing you seek is in my mistress' room," the tom replied, turning at the first landing to look back at the young wizard.
"Can you bring the journal out to me?" Harry queried hopefully.
The tomcat gave him a disbelieving look before responding. "The book is in her storage place near her bed. I cannot open the thing."
How could he get around this problem now? Harry plopped down onto the back of the couch and remembered Ron's ignominious attempt to go up and get Hermione during fifth year. He did not want to alert the entire Tower to his activities.
Crookshanks hopped down a few stairs and cocked his head questioningly at the young wizard. "Why do you stalk the stones?"
Harry jerked his angry glare away from the stairway and looked askance at the cat. The ginger tom bounced down to the bottom and leapt onto the couch to sit down next to Harry.
"You cannot eat the stacked stones," Crookshanks continued curiously. "They do not move, so they are not useful for a game. Why do you watch them so?"
Harry huffed. "Because I need to get past the blasted things, but I'm a boy!"
Crookshanks cocked his head a moment, considering the problem. "I am a tom, as are you, fang-brother. The steps recognize you as a wizard, but maybe not as a cat."
Harry was about to brush aside the cat's reckoning, but he stopped. An animagus' change didn't depend on time and in all other aspects was as if the witch or wizard was born the animal in question. Perhaps the stairs would not recognize Harry-the-wizard in Harry-the-jaguar.
As Crookshanks bounded ahead, Harry began a stealthy ascent of the stairs, cringing at the dreaded fourth step, eyes closed and shoulders hunched, waiting to hear the loud claxon to sound and the stairs to change into a slide. But on the fifth and sixth step, the silence remained unbroken, and with a sigh of relief, Harry bounded up the stairs after the ginger tom.
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