Second chapter of the day here for you.
Harry Potter and the Knowledge of a Mother
Pearl Drop Angel
Chapter 11: Code name: Marauders
It was an unseasonably warm, sunny afternoon of March, and, after having decided that he didn't wish for the company of his incredibly tedious House mates-which he used to enjoy very much, and for some unknown reason suddenly started finding annoying-Draco Malfoy sat with his back against a tree trunk facing the lake, in one of its most secluded spots, with none other than Ginny Weasley. He didn't know why lately he felt compelled to spend more time with her, but on that particular day, he'd felt the need to speak with her, and had sent his hawk to give her The Parchment, telling her that he wished to see her in that spot.
So there they were, watching the giant squid lazily tracing his tentacles on the lake's surface, not speaking a word. Not that it was uncomfortable, on the contrary, but there was something that had been nagging at the back of his mind for a while-maybe because soon IT would happen, and he didn't know whether to put a stop to it or not-and he felt the need to speak.
His voice seemed to become a part of the quiet, lazy day. "Do you remember the letter that I sent to you on Christmas? What I asked you?" He inquired in a whisper, his eyebrows knit in thought.
She looked at him calmly, as though she'd expected that the question would come sooner or later. "Yes," her tone was just as hushed as his, "but tell me again," it was almost a plea.
"Do you…" he started, but trailed off, almost scared to actually say the words out loud. He cleared his throat. "Do you still think I can be saved?" He saw a small smile borne on her lips.
"More than ever," she told him, her smile becoming a grin, yet her expression clouded over with a thought. "But do you…want to be…saved?" If he didn't wish to change his life, than it was a lost cause.
He didn't answer. Instead, he stood and began to leave with a quick, "I better go."
Worry began to claim her. "Draco!" She called to him urgently.
He stopped, and half turned to look at her, his expression pleading. "Don't make me answer that," he begged. "Answering…it would be betraying my family," and with that he walked off.
Ginny took that as a positive reply.
°*°
"Harry," Hermione said, her tone not very pleasant at all.
He flinched. For the past couple of months she'd taken that tone with him often, and he'd never given in to her, but he knew her to be very stubborn. He knew he couldn't avoid it forever, but he tried.
"Let's go finish the diary," his suggestion sounded actually far more like a quiet but firm command.
She, however, deliberately tried to disobey. "Harry," she began with a tone of reprimand, "we've had our ups and downs, you know that. But I wish you would have told me exactly what was going on."
There it was again. Still upset with him because he didn't want her to get worked up over the fact that he heard his parents die when he was around dementors, and, very often, in his sleep. He had told her, back in third year, yet he understood that when he'd confessed it back in those days, he hadn't quite made it out to be what it was. "What's the point?" He asked bitterly. "It would have only made you worry."
"No, Harry," she contradicted with a sad shake of the head. "It would have taken the burden off of you."
"You would have worried," he knew she would have.
"Yes," she relented. "But in our relationship, from the beginning, my job was to worry for you, because you never worried enough," there was a slight smile in her tone when she spoke that, and it reflected itself in her warm topaz eyes even if her expression remained one of reprimand.
He didn't want to argue anymore. "Let's just read."
"Alright," she gave in, knowing very well that she would have thousands of chances to pick the argument back up, like she'd been doing for a long time now. Finally, she was starting to break through his 'hero-trying-to-protect-friends' routine.
They hadn't even begun to read about the antagonism between James and Snape, when the portrait hole swung open so fast it nearly got thrown off of its hinges, letting in the twenty some crazy first years whose minds were filled with the one intent of ripping Harry's clothes to shreds. "There he is! I told you he would be here!" Shouted Mary Collins, a tall, thick, flat faced girl that had self nominated her person 'President of the Harry-Potter-Boy-Who-Lived-Quidditch-Star-and-all-around-totally-hot-guy-Fanclub', otherwise known as 'Potter's a babe'.
Harry gave one look at the portrait hole, blocked by the Stalker Mob, the windows-after having contemplated summoning the Firebolt to dash out into the afternoon sky-the stairs leading to the dormitories, and finally Hermione, all within a time span of two seconds. Noticing that the Stalkers were starting to move in on him, he shouted to Hermione, "Wait for me," while jumping over the couch and running up the stairs as quickly as he could. Considering that the staircase wasn't very wide, and that the obsessed pre-teens following him would be trying to deter the others ascent toward him, he should have enough time to duck into one of the younger wizards' dormitories unseen.
He dashed into his old second year dorm room, hid behind a particularly large trunk, and waited for the sounds of multiple heavy footsteps and panting breaths to pass. He heard them outside the door asking each other where he could be. Someone opened said door, glanced quickly inside-while he made himself small behind his hiding spot-told the others that nobody was in there, and followed the others in their stampede to the upper lever of the dorm.
The footsteps sounded far away enough for him to peek out. It looked as though the way was clear. Throwing the door open and dashing down to the Common Room, he reached Hermione within seconds.
"He's down here!" Shouted one of the smaller members of the 'Potter's a babe' Fanclub, who'd obviously been there as a watch guard, and soon they heard the sound of rampaging over-hormonal adolescence making their boisterous descent of the stairs as loudly as they could.
Harry and Hermione exchanged fearful glances, looked at the portrait hole-still open, and this time clear of senile young girls-and made their dash out of it before the others could reach the last landing. They ran down the stairs, Hermione clutching the diary to her, in hopes that they wouldn't ruin it in case they caught them, the Stalkers hot on their heels.
They were moving their feet as quickly as they could, and soon they found themselves in the dungeons, the Pursuers had fallen a little bit behind them. Harry had no intention of letting this opportunity pass him by. Grabbing Hermione by the wrist, taking her with him around the corner, he pulled into the first open classroom in sight, slammed the door behind him, and started placing every locking charm he'd ever learned from Hermione onto the thick wooden entrance of the room, Hermione adding a few more while she was at it.
They put their ears to the door, and heard them rampage pass the door and all the way down the hallway, to turn into another one without so much as a thought of them hiding in there. They both heaved a heavy sigh, placed their backs against the door, and slid down till they were sitting against the cold marble of the floor, flooded in relief.
They were so relieved, as a matter of fact, that they didn't even realize they'd locked themselves in the classroom adjacent to Snape's office. It seemed, however, that said office must have been unoccupied, because the acid professor didn't come to take advantage of the excellent opportunity to take point off from their house.
They sat there, heaving heavy breaths, grins wide on their faces from the successful escape, clothes torn from the various attempts on the Fanclub's part to hold them back, trying to regain their composure.
Hermione turned to give Harry one of her more radiant 'I-know-something-you-don't-know' smiles. He grinned back. "What?" He asked laughing, even though he had an idea of what she might say.
"We," she started, pointing a finger at his face, "were definitely NOT that scary when we were their age," she finished, poking her finger against his nose.
His grin grew, and, after having pulled himself up off the floor, held out his hand for her to stand as well. She took it, and a moment later the two were sitting in their usual Potions desk, where they usually took class.
Soon, they were engrossed in Lily's seventh year life. They were nearly finished with the diary, there were a couple of weeks left till her graduation. They read of her exams, of the antagonism between Snape and the Marauders, which seemed to be increasing daily, and the graduation fuss, and, of course, of the Grad Ball. Basically, if was the Hogwarts prom.
Lily described her time there with James as one of the happiest days of her life, yet it was very melancholy, because it meant that she was to leave a place that had become home for her. The place that had made her a witch. The place that had given her James. Her home.
Yet, there was something else that she wrote of regarding that Ball. She wrote of Snape.
I felt very sorry for Severus at the dance. He was there, with the Slytherins, and he looked angrier and more upset than ever. And he was sad. I could feel it radiating off of him so strongly, it was as though I could see it. Even though I know that I could never bring myself to love him, I couldn't stop myself from wondering if, during last, my going with him to the Solar Crowning Ball would have made a difference, if it would have pushed him to make different choices, and, conceited as it may sound, I think it would have. But, in all honesty, I couldn't have gone with him knowing what James and I had been mutually feeling toward each other for so long.
I loved James, and I love him more with every passing day, and dancing with Severus, knowing that I could have been with James, would have, to put it simply, killed me.
Not having James is like not having the best part of myself.
Silence ensued.
Hermione sniffed lightly, but with the quiet that had befallen them it was unmistakable, and Harry couldn't help but ask. "Did you ever feel that way?"
She looked at him, honesty openly revealed in her eyes. "Every day since my life here at Hogwarts started," she'd never spoken anything truer.
Harry asked another question. "Do you think it's possible to fall in love at eleven?"
She smirked. "I'm sure your fan club would agree," she told him mirthfully, trying to lighten the heavy mood.
He remained serious. His eyes honest, open, and searching hers. "Do you?"
She looked down at the diary in her hands, searching in Lily's words, hoping they would give her an answer, but it was already within her. "Yes," she stated firmly. "I'm sure people can fall in love at age eleven," a small smile graced her face. "It just takes them a while to realize it."
Another pause, and then Harry spoke again. "I should have told you," he said enigmatically.
Hermione's heart jumped in her throat. "What?" She asked, hope swelling in her heart.
"That, sometimes, I still hear my parents dying," Harry replied quietly, but she was glad that he was finally letting her in on this, even if he seemed reluctant.
"Yes, you should have," she told him with a desperate sigh, "but I understand why you didn't."
He couldn't keep the smile from growing. "Dinner's over by now," he told her suddenly. "Want to go to the kitchens before heading back?"
"Yes," she replied, a smile borne on her face as well, "but we ought to hurry to bed. Tomorrow we have training," she reminded him.
"Well," he told her impishly, "maybe it'll be the last time," he sounded hopeful.
She smiled at him. "May be."
And with that they proceeded to take off all the locking charms they'd placed on the door so they could leave. The task was hard and tedious, but the two were laughing and joking with the other, and once opened, they walked out the door with companionable giggles.
If they had looked back, their laughter would have died, because they would have seen professor Snape-who had been listening since they first entered, hoping to catch them doing something worthy of punishment-stone faced and angry as always, watching the now empty doorways with his arms crossed over his chest, and knit eyebrows.
°*°
"Mr Weasley," McGonagall reprimaned the redhead, voice stern and angry, lips thin, "I will not let you leave this classroom or move onto you fellow students until I see a full transformation from you," she finished in a huff.
"Oh, come on, Minerva," Sirius stepped in, trying to get her to go easy on the boy who looked ready to break down in a terrible crisis. He'd been using her first name since he'd come back to the castle. "It took us Marauders three years to do it!" He reminded her.
It seemed to anger her, though. "Yes, Mr Black," she snapped at him, letting him know that one more word would get him in trouble, thanks to the use of his last name. "But if I'm well informed, you were without mentoring and with a handicap like Pettigrew to slow you down." She humphed.
"Ah, well…" Sirius didn't have an excuse for that.
She wasn't done, however. "They have two mentors," she reminded him, "and will, therefore, transfigure fully before they leave this class." Her tone was final.
"Which may be never," Sirius informed her tartly.
She gave another humph, and turned to Ron again, looking more menacing than she'd ever looked before. Mr Weasley!" Her shout nearly made him faint. "Again!" She ordered, and for the world of her, she looked like a traded slave driver with whip in hand and in position.
Ron, not liking the idea of being whipped, even if it was only imaginary, decided to appease her, or at least try to. Finally, after five hours of incessant training with McGonagall on his back, he felt the world becoming bigger around him. He felt his mouth and nose lengthening, his torso becoming longer, his limbs becoming short and stubby, his clothes turning into fur. He kept his eyes closed for a long time after the transformation, when Sirius, Harry, and Hermione's giggles couldn't be contained anymore.
"What?" He asked confused, yet not sure that they heard him since he seemed to make an unusual animalistic sound, rather than form a word.
"Malfoy would love this!" Harry exclaimed, and, with that, picked up a hand mirror off the teacher's desk, and snooped down, since Ron was almost at floor level, placing it in front of his eyes so that he could se what he had turned into.
Ron was horrified. He was truly horrified. Out of all the creatures that walked the wizarding and muggle worlds, he had to turn into this! Something must have been absolutely wrong. Maybe McGonagall forgot to tell him something vital…maybe he had just seen wrong, maybe the world was coming to an end, but for the life of him, WHY did he have to turn into a WEASEL! Anything! Anything! But not a WEASEL! And a RED WEASEL to top it off!
Malfoy had better never find out about this or else.
"Very well, Mr Weasel," McGonagall punned, "you may transfigure back," she told him. Turning to Hermione, she told her to try morphing.
Ron, now back in his 'Weasley' form, was rather upset with her, not only did Hermione make in on her first try, as was her usual, she outdid his weasel by several long…long miles.
"Oh, good Heavens!" They heard McGonagall exclaim in shocked surprise.
Hermione did not expect that reaction out of her. It wasn't usually easy to surprise the Transfiguration teacher. She took to examining herself in an attempt to figure out what she might have been. Her mouth and nose had lengthened, and to her, looked almost canine, yet she couldn't be sure. Looking down, she noticed she must have been a rather large animal, thin, elegant and graceful, with a long neck, and lush golden fur. That was nice, but it didn't help her into figuring out what she was. And then she noticed them. The four long, plush golden tails with unusual black markings on the tip.
Oh, Merlin! She thought to herself. She couldn't see her own face, but she knew that if she were standing in front of a mirror she would have seen herself as a fox-wolf, with the irises of her topaz eyes fading to a nearly blind white around the pupil, her ears, shaped like the Elves, would be sleeked against the side of her head, and in between her eyebrows, with the same markings as her tail, she would see, small, and placed in the shape of a four-sided-star the symbols of the four elements.
She was a Volpegea! The magical creature capable of reading human thought and with the power embedded in her tail to control the elements-wind above all. Almost as though needing to try out her transfigured powers, she whipped one of her tails, making the locked room hiss with a strong, powerful gust of wind.
There was no doubt. She was a Volpegea.
McGonagall told her to transfigure back into herself, and she did so effortlessly. Her mind was blown. She was a Volpegea. She looked to Harry, who was proud and surprised with her amazing transfiguration. If she had turned into something that powerful, what would Harry be turning into? Oh, but a Volpegea! In all her studying, she had found out that nobody had ever managed to transform into such a powerful animal. At least, nobody who was registered. Oh, Harry, what will you turn into?
Still dazed, Hermione barely heard McGonagall issuing Harry the command to transfigure, but when she saw him concentrate, her attention was centred on him. For a second he seemed to struggle, unable to find the right amount of concentration, and then, like magic, his clothes turned into feathers, his hair following suit, his face and hands covering with them as well, his mouth and nose turning into a sleek, black beak, his legs became bird like, growing talons, his arms and back turning into gigantic wings.
He looked like a black hawk, except that he'd stayed his own size. He was still over two meters tall. There were white feathers drawing a circle around his eyes, looking very much like the round spectacles he'd worn before. His eyes themselves were a beautifully eerie, iridescent green, so bright Hermione thought they might blind her.
Since he'd stayed the same size, he was almost afraid he hadn't transfigured at all, but when he tried to raise his arms to look at himself, he found sleek, ebony, feather-covered wings extending more than twice his eight on both sides of him. They were so wide that, in the small classroom, he couldn't open them more than halfway.
"What am I?" He wondered out loud, not expecting anyone to understand him, since usually birds could only squaw and things. Yet they all heard him.
"A Wingadeus," McGonagall whispered, stiff as a board, falling backwards until she hit the floor with a loud and not at all graceful *thump*. She had fainted.
"A what?" Harry mumbled, or tried to without moving his beak, completely surprised that he'd received an answer.
"A Wingadeus," Hermione repeated, coming close to pet one of his wings, which were soft perfect and under her touch. "It's a magical creature believed to be extinct for several centuries now," she told him. "They're invisible in flight, even during day light, and they speak every language that was ever spoken on the planet, including animal. They're also telekinetic, and some people thought they could influence the weather," she wasn't sure about the last one, but everything else was absolutely true.
"Very good, Miss Granger," they heard Dumbledore's voice coming from one of the portraits in the room. It must have been connected to his office. "I couldn't have said it better myself," and, walking over to place a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder he told her, "I believe the Volpegea's power will be of great use to him."
How long had he been there? How did he know she was a Volpegea?
Sirius still seemed to be in shock as he brought McGonagall back to her senses by squeezing Cicciobello's stomach over her face so that the doll released the largest, most vile smelling amount of bodily gas they had ever smelt, right over the professor's nose. He'd been hiding the doll under his robes, waiting all day to be able to pull that one off on the teacher. McGonagall awoke instantly, trying to choke her way past the smell.
Harry transfigured back to his original form, noticing that his transfiguration teacher kept on looking dizzy whenever she looked at him. Dumbledore began to speak to them.
"As of right now, whenever referring to your animal counterparts, you shall use specific names. Mr Weasley," Ron stood straighter, "you are Whiskers," the redhead deflated instantly. "Miss Granger; your name will be Tailwinds," Hermione beamed. "Mr Potter, you are Falcospeak," Harry nodded.
"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione began to ask, "there was a precise reason for which we've undergone this training, isn't there?" It didn't really sound like a question at all, but rather like a statement.
"Precisely, Miss Granger," Dumbledore nodded. "You are to be…spies, so to speak. You will keep watch of the grounds when I ask you to, and, sometimes, investigate anything you can, taking advantage of your new possibilities. Is that clear, Marauders?"
"Marauders?!" The trio exclaimed in unison.
"That is to be your code name," he told them, his eyes twinkling.
Sirius couldn't keep the smile off his face.
To be continued.
Hope you liked. It's one of my fave chappies.