Official Fine Print: Nope. Not mine. The brainchildren of the mighty pen of JK Rowling. Just playing with them. Honest.
Here With Me
Chapter 8
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"So the whole Ministry Regulation of Animagi thing is a complete sham, is it?" Ron said as the three sat in the infirmary that morning awaiting Madam Pomfrey's verdict on when Harry could leave. The Ministry had sent aurors for Malfoy when Dumbledore notified them of the events of the night before and Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt had been most congratulatory of Ron's zeal with the fire poker.
("It's especially nice when you don't have to listen to them go on and on about what Voldemort's going to do to you when he realizes you've got his most loyal servant," Tonks told them with a laugh when it became clear that Malfoy was still out cold. "They can't all be the most loyal, can they, and he's never cared enough about any of them to try and get one back, except for that one break from Azkaban.")
"I mean we've come across six animagi now that we know of and Professor McGonagall's the only one who's actually registered," he pointed out. "Harry's Dad, Sirius, Pettigrew, that Skeeter woman and now Malfoy, all illegal. How many more are creeping around?"
"They've got a point though, don't they," Harry mused. "What's the use of being able to transform yourself into something else if everyone knows what you are anyway?"
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, bandages undone. If Madam Pomfrey's testing confirmed the centaur's poison to be at last eradicated she would use healing charms on the wounds on his arm and chest and he would be allowed to go. Lucius Malfoy's snake fangs had become entangled in Hermione's thorough re-bandaging of his arm and only nicked the skin. Madam Pomfrey had insisted on testing for a range of snake venoms as well, but Harry was actually starting to feel quite himself again and frankly just wanted some breakfast.
"The point is to be able to make use of the abilities of your animal form, like flying, or exceptional hearing or instinctive behaviors. It's not meant to be a cheap disguise." Hermione admonished them.
"Speaking of flying, Harry, we've got to make sure Pomfrey vets you okay for Quidditch next week. We've got our first match against Ravenclaw." Ron reminded him.
Hermione rolled her eyes but said nothing.
"I'm fine. I'll be ready," Harry told him with a grin, but he made sure to find and hold Hermione's eyes a moment with his own. She smiled back and he felt positively optimistic. Except for the fact that he was now definitely going to have to have a little talk with Ron about what was going on between them. To borrow a phrase, bloody hell!
Madam Pomfrey returned from her office looking quite pleased. "All clear then, Mr. Potter. I must say you've been extraordinarily lucky, young man. I would like you to keep that arm in a sling at least for the rest of today to allow the healing charms to finish their work, but you should be completely mended by tomorrow."
Harry felt the warm tingling of the healing charms she performed on his arm, the almost itchy ticklishness of the arrow wound beginning to close in his bicep.
"Miss Granger?" Madam Pomfrey questioned, making Hermione jump guiltily. She'd been allowing her mind to wonder over the possibilities of a completely healed Harry and not really paying attention. "You have really done a quite excellent job caring for such an uncommon injury, and under most unusual circumstances. Perhaps you'd care to try closing the last wound? A simple curatio should suffice by now."
Hermione glanced quickly at Harry. She could see no obvious signs of apprehension and he smiled at her encouragingly. She moved closer, nudged his already healed arm in the sling gently forward and concentrated on the jagged hole the arrowhead had left in his side. She could see that it had met Harry's rib cage and skidded slightly at an angle toward his back. She had a moments' vertigo at the thought of what might have happened if the arrow had not pierced his arm first and instead hit the ribs with force enough to pass through to what lay protected within. 'But it didn't,' she reminded herself. 'Don't go borrowing trouble, as Hagrid always says.' She angled her wand and murmured "Curatio!" clearly visualizing the wound healing itself fully from the inside out, smoothing the surface of Harry's skin in her mind's eye.
Hermione was quite accustomed to performing acts of magic; her propensity to do so was what had gained her entrance to Hogwarts in the first place and she had been practicing for more than five years now. Never, however, had it felt even remotely like that. Usually magic felt like an extension of her resolve, a bending of the forces around her to her will. Something she simply did. Performing the healing charm on Harry felt… different. Wonderfully, satisfyingly different. A warmth that seemed to start in her chest suffused throughout her body before flowing through her fingers to her wand in a heady rush. The sensation abruptly brought to mind the feelings she had experienced when Harry first kissed her; an intuitive letting go of a piece of herself, a giving up that brought back a thousand-fold. She stifled a soft gasp, saw Harry's eyes widen.
"Nicely done, Miss Granger. Very nice work, indeed! If you do decide to dedicate yourself to the healing arts I would be most happy to recommend a course of study to Professor McGonagall for you."
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," she stammered. "I'll… I'll think about it."
"Does this mean we can go to breakfast now?" Ron asked plaintively.
"Yes, Mr. Weasley," Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Mr. Potter, please be careful. I don't want to see you again until at least after the holidays. Understood?"
"Yes Ma'am. Thank you," Harry said, choosing not to remind her that unless Dumbledore had found a solution to his little possession problem he'd likely be back that evening. He doubted they'd let him go back to Hagrid's again. Or, for that matter, that Hagrid would want him.
He pulled his shirt on and slipped down from the bed, buttoning it as the three departed the Hospital Wing. They joined the flow of sleepy-eyed students making their way along the corridors to the Great Hall. He found his tie in his robe pocket and slid it round under his collar while they descended the last staircase. Hermione turned toward him while they waited behind Ron in the backed-up queue at the door, watching as he attempted to knot it one handed. "Did you remember to take notes for me in History of Magic?" she asked. "It feels like weeks ago somehow." She reached up and gently straightened his fringe, leaving the bit above his scar the way he liked it, then frowned slightly as she tried to fix his tie. Harry briefly closed his eyes, trying to preserve the sensation of her touch in his memory. It was almost Patronus fodder, that. She'd hugged him, grabbed his arm, pushed him away from danger… he'd even kissed her now. How was it then that something about those ordinary gestures, accompanied as they were by the simplest of questions, made him feel… loved? She'd just used some fairly complex magic to heal a painful wound in the infirmary; how was it that the simple act of neatening his hair or straightening his tie could make him feel so much for her?
"Yes," he told her. "I did."
"Thanks." She smiled, pleased.
The clog ahead resolved itself and they entered the Hall, settling at their usual seats at the Gryffindor table. They began the comforting routines of breakfast, passing, pouring, trading butter for marmalade, sugar for cream. Harry took several long, grateful pulls at his pumpkin juice before he began to notice it. He lifted his gaze from his cup to find a fourth year Hufflepuff blatantly staring at him in a most unfriendly, almost Slytherin-ish way. He narrowed his eyes slightly and glared at the boy, who abruptly looked away.
'Jerk,' he thought absently. 'What's his problem?' His eyes shifted across the room… only to meet a similar reception at the Ravenclaw table. From most of the Ravenclaw table, as a matter of fact. With the few exceptions of those in the DA that Harry named among his friends, the balance of Ravenclaw House seemed to be glaring at him with looks ranging from distinctly uneasy to outright hostility. A quick glance back at Hufflepuff revealed a similar situation at the rest of the table. No point checking out Slytherin, then!
"Hermione…"
"Ignore them. It's shocked them out of their little ostrich colony and they'd rather try and blame you than deal with reality."
"Ignore what?" Ron asked.
"What, you can't feel the heartwarming welcome back I'm getting?" Harry muttered bitterly. "Quirrell had Voldemort growing out the back of his head and no one looked at him like that." He pushed his nearly untouched plate away.
Hermione pushed it back. "You need to eat. You've been hurt and your body is still healing. Don't let their ignorance drag you down. You didn't really think you'd only be fighting Voldemort, did you? Why do you think he's so powerful? He feeds off the worst in people, even otherwise perfectly nice, well-intentioned people. Everyone has fear inside them, Harry. He knows just how to find it. You've either got to inspire something else in them or stay well clear of the ones who fall for it until it's over."
Harry stared at his breakfast, hurt and rage battling the common sense of Hermione's words. Let them feel what it was like to have that filthy, slimy, evil git inside of you, forcing you, fighting you, hurting you and getting off on it. Who'd choose that? Did they think he wanted it? Let them take a turn! He tried a small forkful of egg and almost gagged on the combination of anger and soreness that tightened his throat. He was so tired of this… all of this.
Ron was gazing around the Great Hall, dumbfounded. "They couldn't really be thinking…"
Whatever he thought they couldn't be thinking was cut off by the approach to the Gryffindor table of an emissary from Ravenclaw. Cho Chang.
Merlin, but Harry was not in the mood for that.
"What?" he sighed.
"Is it true? What Malfoy said?"
"Well if Malfoy said it, it must be true. Why ask me?"
"He said that Voldemort possessed you in the Forbidden Forest last night. Fully possessed you. He saw it happen. And she was there, too." Cho answered, pointing accusingly at Hermione.
"No, last night his father turned himself into a big ugly snake and tried to kill Ron. It was the night before you're thinking of," Harry said, reaching across the table with his left hand and gently pushing her finger away from Hermione's face. "And your point would be?"
"Don't touch me!" She stepped back, clearly repulsed. "You… you don't belong in this school anymore. You don't belong anywhere near here until He's defeated. You were trying to teach us defense spells when you can't even defend yourself! You're a menace, Harry. Cedric died just because he was with you and it's only a matter of time until…"
"Shut up!" Ron snarled, leaping to his feet. "Stupid cow. He never asked for any of it. You were happy enough to snog him when you thought he could help you. What is it you want him to do now?"
Ron's voice carried across the Hall where Cho's and Harry's had not. There was a sudden silence, unfortunately timed for the moment Cho said quite clearly, "Leave. Leave Hogwarts and go where he can't hurt anyone else until it's over."
"Miss Chang!" Professor Flitwick cried out angrily from the head table. "It pains me to do this to my own house, but that will cost fifty points from Ravenclaw and I will see you in my office immediately!" A low groan arose from the Ravenclaw table, but Cho simply turned and began to follow the little charms professor from the Hall without a backward glance, head held high.
"Well spoken, Filius. Mr. Weasley, my regret is as great as Professor Flitwick's to have to penalize my own house, particularly as that would in fact punish the individuals I believe you thought you were defending. However your behavior is beyond admonishment. Forty points from Gryffindor and five night's detention." McGonagall's voice sounded oddly unlike her usual forthright tone. Hermione thought she might be close to tears. The moment needed Dumbledore to call them all to order and administer calming words as only he could, but Dumbledore had not been to breakfast and was no where to be seen.
Harry squeezed her restraining hand gently, rose without speaking and made his way to the door, eyes downcast. Hermione followed him without a backward glance, although she sensed Ron behind her. When she reached the door however she paused before passing through it, allowing Ron to precede her. She turned back then and allowed her eyes to scan the room, friend and foe alike. She made sure each of them saw exactly what she thought, and without a word she dared them to cross her to get to Harry.
No one moved.
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The enormous advantage to sixth year was dropping subjects they'd never liked, such as Divination and Astronomy. ('The class hours were ridiculous, but the tower's still quite useful,' Dean had pointed out with a grin.) Hermione had only convinced Harry to keep on with History of Magic because she felt that he needed to understand the events that had shaped the Wizarding world and left them vulnerable to Voldemort. Ron signed on for it because they had, and it was a good nap besides. Beyond that their schedules were more varied than they had been before. Harry and Hermione suffered Snapes' N.E.W.T. level Potions together while Ron happily indulged in Muggle Studies, Hermione had Arithmancy while Ron and Harry had Care of Magical Creatures ('I love Hagrid and he knows it, but the only magical creature I've ever remotely cared for was Buckbeak and he still scared me to death. I just have too much else to do!' she defended herself.) Harry had been pulled from DADA this year to work individually with Dumbledore himself, and, Hermione suspected, keep quiet exactly the scope of his growing abilities. The only other classes they had together were Charms and Transfiguration.
This morning's class was Advanced Transfiguration and they knew McGonagall would stand no excuses for absence. Harry seemed to be finding his quill absolutely fascinating and Ron was keeping a distinctly low profile in the face of his Head of House's wrath. ("As much as I agreed with your assessment of Miss Chang's nature and behavior, Mr. Weasley," she had told him quietly as they filed into class, "that was quite simply far more than any of us wanted or needed to know.") Hermione was still trying to mentally clean house and make sense of all that had taken place in the last forty-eight hours; she was only half listening when she suddenly heard McGonagall begin to talk about their term projects.
"It is at this point that I usually begin breaking my classes up into somewhat smaller groups depending upon the ultimate goals for your knowledge of Transfiguration. While we will continue to meet as a class, you will be working for the most part with your peers and I will spend most of my teaching time with you in these groupings, so I am expecting you each to be able to undertake a much more mature and responsible view of your class time and to continue to practice and study independently while I am with other students. Is that quite clear? Good. Now I should explain that this is the point in your training when if you should ultimately wish to attempt animagus transformation we begin to teach the theory of the process so that you may one day safely do so. Only a handful of the students that sign up each year choose to continue when they understand the complexity of the study, and of those that do continue there is no guarantee of ultimate success. I say that you might one day safely do so because it is highly unlikely even for those who stick through the training to manage a transformation before the end of seventh year, so this is not the choice for those with brief attention spans or anyone desirous of instant gratification."
She aimed her wand at the black board and 'Group One - Animagus Candidates' appeared. This was followed by 'Group Two - Transfiguration for Magical Law Enforcement (Auror Candidates)' 'Group Three - Legal Use of Transfiguration in Commerce and Trade' and 'Group Four - Ministry of Magic Transfiguration Standards and Practices'.
"You may use the rest of this class period to confer amongst yourselves while I talk to each of you individually about your choices. I will call you up one by one to discuss your placement. Miss Patil, I shall start with you, and take the rest of you row by row."
"Erm, Hermione?' Ron asked slowly.
"No, Ron, I can't make the choice for you. It's simple enough, though. You'd be bored out of your mind doing the animagus study and you've already ruled out being an Auror. You just have to decide whether you're leaning toward going into business like Fred and George or working for the Ministry like Bill and Charlie and your Dad. And, well, Percy, but remember he was a prat before he started, working for the Ministry only made him worse."
Ron turned to Harry. "What are you thinking of, Harry?"
"Let's just say doing anything involving the Ministry of Magic doesn't hold much appeal at the moment," Harry told him. "I figure if my Dad and Sirius could manage to become animagi on their own I should be able to hack it in class. If Pettigrew could do it, you'd think anyone could. What are you going to do, Hermione?"
"Well, I'm not going to be an Auror, and I'm not really interested in commerce or trade, but I wonder if I shouldn't do the Ministry Group. I understand how you feel about the Ministry, Harry, but it's not going to change itself. Someone has got to get inside and change it from within."
Harry's nod and slow smile warmed her heart with a rush. "If anyone can, Hermione, it'll be you."
She knew at once he didn't want her to, wished that she would choose the animagus training as well. Even a week ago she would have expected him to argue about the worthlessness of the Ministry as it stood; they had certainly never made life any easier for him. Standing trial for the use of underage magic while saving his despicable cousin Dudley from the Dementors two summers ago had left scars of mistrust in Harry as clear as the 'I will not tell lies,' Umbridge had caused to be etched on his hand while Fudge's appointee as High Inquisitor to Hogwarts. His "If anyone can, Hermione, it'll be you" was a gift of the sort she had so long craved from him, more precious than gold. An acknowledgment of her ability to make her own choices coupled with acceptance that making a different choice for different reasons wouldn't make her any less loyal to either Harry or Ron. She felt tears prick the back of her eyes and tried to think of something, anything to say that would convey her appreciation when Professor McGonagall called her name.
Professor McGonagall accepted her choice with a smile, marking her down under the fourth group. "You would have fit quite successfully into any of these categories, Miss Granger," was all she said.
Ron was called next, and Professor McGonagall seemed entirely unsurprised when he declared himself still undecided. "I shall put you down for the Ministry group, Mr. Weasley. I think you should be quite safe there. Mr. Potter?"
"Ministry," Ron sighed as they passed in opposite directions.
"Least you'll have Hermione. Guaranteed pass." Harry muttered back.
He started to tell her what he'd chosen when she shook her head in a barely perceptible movement. "You will be in the Auror group, Mr. Potter."
"But I…" he started.
"You will be in the Auror Group."
His jaw tightened. "Why? Why does everyone get a choice but me?"
Professor McGonagall handed him a folded piece of parchment and called out "Mr. Longbottom?"
Harry passed Neville without really seeing him, furious with McGonagall, with himself, with Dumbledore and Fudge and Voldemort as well. Everyone else had choices, chances to control the direction of their lives. All he wanted was one stupid choice. Why was he always doomed to being told what would happen, what he would endure, what he would have to do. Bloody freaking hell. He slammed into his seat ignoring Ron and Hermione's anxious looks. He dropped the parchment and had to feel around under his desk to find it, half tempted to just forget the damn thing. His fingers closed on it and he drew it up and opened it.
Blank. It was blank. McGonagall gave him a blank piece of… He looked up. Ron and Hermione were staring at him, but the rest of the class was thoroughly involved in making their own choices or discussing their options with their neighbors. He pulled out his wand and muttered "Aparecium."
Slowly McGonagall's elegant spidery writing crawled across the page.
Dear Mr. Potter,
Considering both my discovery during your third year of your Father and Godfather's success in becoming animagi in secret and knowing you as I have for these five years, I am certain you have at very least some curiosity in regard to the process yourself. Should you be successful, however, it would be most helpful if your animal form were unknown to those who mean to harm you. While I can not therefore in good conscience accept you as an anamagus candidate in Advanced Transfiguration (where you would be monitored by the Ministry for registration purposes) I should be pleased to work with you Tuesday evenings from 7:30 to 9pm to further explore your aptitudes in this area. I know I need not remind you of the extracurricular nature of this assignment. You may call this training 'Remedial Transfiguration' if questioned about its nature by anyone you do not already deeply trust.
Best Wishes,
MM
Remedial Potions, remedial DADA and now remedial Transfiguration. Clearly he was the stupidest student at Hogwarts! No wonder everyone thought he was an idiot and Voldemort would walk all over him.
He slowly let go of his anger. Clearly he was the luckiest as well; he knew what a chance Professor McGonagall was taking for him just because she believed it would help him in the end. He was an idiot. He waved his wand over the parchment to blank it again and tucked it in to the bottom of his book bag. The hour was ending and he rose to follow Hermione and Ron toward the hall.
"Okay, Harry?" Ron asked quietly.
"Yeah," he said. "I'll tell you later, but yeah."
Hermione's relief felt like the sun peeking from behind a cloud, and he was almost certain Professor McGonagall actually winked at him as he left the room.
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