Harry Potter and the Secret of Gairech

14. Animagic

By Monday morning, Ron's agonized expression was beginning to get on Harry's nerves. He slammed down his glass of pumpkin juice on the table and looked pointedly at his friend, who seemed to be going through the most excruciating mental anguish.

"Ron, can you do me a favour? Stop pulling faces as if it were you who had to kill Voldemort."

Ron whimpered, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh come on! You've really got to get used to people calling Voldemort by his name."

"But I don't want to hear his name," Ron wailed.

"I'll make you write it out. Enough times to fill three rolls of parchment, if I have to," Harry growled.

His friend looked back at him defiantly. "You seem to have forgotten who's the prefect here."

"I guess I have." Angrily, Harry collected up his things and stuffed them into his schoolbag. "But I've got other things to do."

He stood up. Hermione tried to catch his arm, and Ron looked at him with wide eyes. "Aren't you scared?" he asked quietly.

Harry was still angry. "What for? You're scared enough for both of us."

Determinedly, Hermione pulled him back down onto the bench. "Stop arguing!" she commanded. "You two of all people!"

Ron dropped his eyes, while Harry stared grimly ahead of him. Hermione glanced pointedly at her watch. "Okay guys. You have three minutes. Then we have to go to Transfiguration."

"Three minutes for what?" Ron asked.

"To apologise to each other." She disappeared behind her book.

Harry and Ron looked at each other. "Wait a second... you decide when, and how, and how soon we're supposed to get on again?" Harry frowned.

"Of course," came the cool answer from behind the book.

"And what happens if we don't?" Ron asked.

Hermione turned a page. "Then I'll chain you to these benches. You both know that I can." As if to emphasise her words, she drew out her wand and laid it next to her on the table.

Ron stared at it. Harry stared at it. Then they looked up and caught each other's eye. "Now she's gone completely nuts," murmured Ron.

Harry scratched his head. "I'm afraid she really means it..."

"One more minute." Impatiently Hermione caught hold of her wand and pointed it at the two of them. They hastily slid away from the table.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, stop that!" Ron gasped.

"I've stopped shouting at him!" Harry said hastily, raising his hands in defence.

Hermione put away her wand and collected up her books. "Great. So we can go."

On the way to the classroom, Harry and Ron kept a respectful distance away from her.

***

"Today we're going to be studying one of the most significant forms of transfiguration." Professor McGonagall weighed her wand in her hands as she walked between the rows. "Animagic."

A murmur of approval rose up from the class, drowning out Harry's quiet sigh. He glanced uncomfortably at Ron and Hermione.

"I will have to bore you with a lot of theory, as practical work is normally impossible with this subject. Not all witches and wizards have the talent or the determination to become an Animagus. Who can tell me anything about Animagic?"

Everyone looked more or less openly at Hermione, but today she hadn't raised her hand. She knew plenty about the subject, but she felt uncomfortable about saying any of it aloud.

"Mr. Longbottom?"

Neville jumped. Trevor had just escaped from his pocket, and he had been busy trying to stuff him back in. "Er..." he hedged, hastily dropping Trevor into the pocket of his cloak. "...um, they're people who can turn themselves into animals."

Minerva McGonagall raised her eyebrows reprovingly. "I had expected a bit more detail," she said coolly, running her eyes over the class. "Mr. Potter?"

Harry had bent over his book, hoping McGonagall wouldn't notice him if he avoided meeting her eye. He thought he would go red if she looked him in the eye with that stern, enquiring look of hers. When she called his name he looked up, and sure enough he felt his cheeks start to burn.

"Could you perhaps contribute something more than Mr. Longbottom?"

"Well..." Harry hedged.

Professor McGonagall approached his desk and looked at him expectantly. To Harry's astonishment she was regarding him less sternly than she had Neville.

"There are two types of Animagic." Harry burst out. "One type you can learn, and the other you can inherit. Learning Animagic takes years and requires a lot of concentration and practice."

Minerva McGonagall nodded approvingly. "That's correct, Potter. Very good." She turned her back on him and walked slowly back to her desk as she spoke. "Could you also tell us anything about inherited Animagic?"

"There are no definite genetic links..." Harry felt a little hot under the collar. Even his voice sounded strange to him - very hoarse. However, his classmates seemed to put this down to nervousness. Normally Harry didn't contribute much in class. He spoke seldom, and when he was asked he usually hadn't been paying attention and was consequently unable to answer the question. At any rate, the teachers only seemed to pick on him when they wanted to make him pay attention to the lesson.

"A general comment will do," Professor McGonagall answered.

Harry cleared his throat. "Well, the ability can be inherited... like talent for music or sport... But it's not guaranteed. If one parent is an Animagus, it's possible that the child will have the ability too, but that won't always happen."

"That will do." Professor McGonagall gave Harry a small smile. "I hadn't expected any more from you. Thank you, Mr. Potter. You've clearly read up on this topic. It would seem that Miss Granger has finally had a good influence on you. Five points for Gryffindor."

A few people giggled. Harry's cheeks were now so hot that he was afraid they were the colour of ripe strawberries.

"Now then, is there anyone here whose mother or father is an Animagus?" Professor McGonagall looked around the class again. There was a long pause. Most students were shaking their heads or looking doubtful.

"My great-uncle was," said Seamus Finnegan. "But no one else in my family. Seems to have got lost along the way. Pity, that..." He gave a wistful sigh, and his neighbours grinned.

Minerva McGonagall gave a brief smile, walked past his row to stop again in front of Harry, who looked up at her uncomfortably. She looked back at him calmly, but challengingly. "So no one here is a potential Animagus? That's a pity - I'd have liked to have had another one in this school."

Harry dropped his eyes. Why couldn't he get rid of this feeling that Professor McGonagall knew full well that he was an Animagus? He looked up again and met her eye. She didn't look stern. She even looked unusually friendly, and she still seemed to expect something from him. She gave him a nod and turned back to her desk.

"My father was."

"Sorry?" McGonagall turned to face him.

Harry took a deep breath and repeated, more loudly: "My father was an Animagus."

The sudden silence in the classroom made him feel giddy. If only he'd kept his mouth shut!

"Ah, James? I didn't realise." McGonagall put her head on one side. "I must have missed it. Or he learnt Animagic after he left school, otherwise I would have known about it. There's always a lot of tiresome administration involved in registering a new Animagus. But that's the way it has to be."

"Why, Professor?" Dean asked, puzzled.

McGonagall turned to him. "Many dark wizards use their ability to harm others. That's one of the reasons. And all Animagi are registered so that they can be recognised in the animal form they assume. Unregistered Animagi," she straightened her glasses "are sent to prison."

Seamus sighed dreamily. "I'd still love to be an Animagus. Although... my great-uncle could only turn himself into a boring tortoise..."

"Oh, it makes no difference what animal your direct ancestors were closest to, Mr. Finnegan," McGonagall interrupted, returning to her position behind her desk. "Every Animagus develops his own, personal animal identity. And that's exactly what we're going to be studying in our theory classes. So please open your books at chapter twenty-three."

As the pages began to rustle, Harry relaxed again. It was lucky that McGonagall hadn't pressed him further. He found the chapter, then paused for a moment. Maybe she didn't need to ask, he thought. Maybe she's known all along...

***

Minerva McGonagall looked up as Harry entered her office that afternoon.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. I was expecting you." She pushed aside the exercises she was correcting. "Sit down."

Harry did as he was told. He looked enquiringly at his Head of House. "So you do know?"

McGonagall nodded. "Yes. Albus informed me." She passed him a plate of pastries, and Harry took a biscuit.

"So I have to be registered?"

"I'm afraid you do, unfortunately. Although..." McGonagall took a wafer from the plate, "I think that we can leave it a while before we let the Ministry know. I only want to keep this official within the school, among a certain number of teachers who will be bound to secrecy."

Harry looked at her uncomprehendingly.

"I'll write a declaration in which Dumbledore and I testify that you are an Animagus - and we'll make a note of what animal you can change into and all its physical characteristics. Signed by us as witnesses - and as the adults responsible for you - it will allow us to postpone an actual registration. And if you're caught, which we all hope you won't be, we'll have a document which will prevent you from being sent to prison. In that case you would only have to pay a fine, and register straight away. So please be careful, Potter, as to whom you let in on the secret. I take it Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley are aware of it?"

Harry nodded.

"Anyone else?"

"No," he answered honestly. "Apart from you and Dumbledore, obviously..."

"Fine." McGonagall stood up, took a camera from her desk and locked the door. "Then let's get this done before anyone notices. Close the curtains. We mustn't let anyone see you when you transform."

Harry did as he was asked, and checked that the windows were completely closed so that no one could see in. McGonagall pushed aside her chair and looked over to a small area of free space. "Over there should be alright, I hope. Or do you transform yourself into a Shire horse?"

Now Harry couldn't suppress a grin. "No. A...er...normal horse, I think. I don't know much about the different breeds."

"Fine." McGonagall pulled out parchment and quill. "We need to take a photo and measure your height. Off you go - but try not to kick my display cabinet by mistake."

***

To their chagrin, Tuesday began with a Potions class. Snape's instructions were becoming more and more complicated. Harry was cutting up his portion of amhluadh roots as carefully as he could when Professor Leroux came into the classroom. She set down a bottle of brown liquid on the desk.

"The Siabre Potion you asked me for, Severus."

Ron and Harry exchanged surreptitious glances. Now she was even calling him Severus!

"I'm sorry to have troubled you for this, Professor," Snape said, but his voice was as cool and oily as ever. He looked past Leroux to his students' bubbling cauldrons, frowned, and hurried through the second row to Jolante Kilic, whose potion had now turned bright pink.

"Can't you read, Kilic? Or is it just that you can't weigh accurately?" Snape shouted at her, pointing at her potion. "How much demun plant did you add? More than four grams, I'm sure."

Jolante went red and looked down in embarrassment. With a rough movement of his wand Snape cleaned the spoiled potion from the cauldron. "You should take this recipe more seriously," he snapped. "You might need it very soon if I decide to poison one of you before Christmas!"

There was complete silence in the classroom, broken only by Leroux's hearty laugh. As Snape walked past she gave him a light tap on the arm. "Oh Professor, I do like your sense of humour!" she giggled, and left the classroom.

It was hard to say who looked the more surprised - the students, stunned by Leroux's idea of humour, or Snape, who rubbed his arm in bewilderment and seemed to be wondering what in the world he could have said that could be taken as a joke.

***

The next few weeks passed by peacefully. At the end of November the next Quidditch match was on the cards: Ravenclaw against Gryffindor.

Harry and Terry Boot, the new team captain for Ravenclaw, shook hands at Madam Hooch's signal.

"Let's make this a good game," smiled Terry.

Harry smiled too. "Yep, a good game."

When the whistle sounded, both teams shot into the air. The game was quick, but very fair. Both teams had scored some good goals and had an equal number of points when Harry finally caught the Snitch before Cho. She pulled up her broom just in time before she hit the ground. "One day I'll give up trying to catch up with you," she called to him, but she was grinning.

Instead of leaving the pitch straight away, the players congratulated each other. Madam Hooch looked very pleased. "I haven't seen Quidditch played so fairly for a long time," she said, giving both team captains a clap on the shoulder. "Well done to all of you."

That evening the Gryffindors celebrated together with the Ravenclaws. Most of the Slytherins watched the scene with a mixture of suspicion and disgust. But no one looked as bad-tempered as Draco Malfoy.

15. The Pack

Professor Sesachar sent the chalk skidding energetically across the blackboard. "Creato Armatus," he said, and the chalk danced about, underlining the words, "is a very interesting spell. And I'm looking forward to seeing what you're capable of..." He walked slowly up and down along the front row while the chalk hovered expectantly in front of the board. "With this spell you will be able to produce your own personal weapon to defend yourselves. You can't choose which one you'll have. You have no control whatsoever - the weapon chooses the person who is worthy of it. Swords and daggers are the most common, besides spears, clubs, lances..." The chalk flashed across the board, drawing objects corresponding to each word he said. The class began to giggle and Sesachar paused in his recital. "What's so funny?" He turned to look at the board and grimaced. "You stupid thing!" he growled at the chalk, which had just finished drawing a pitchfork and flail and was now putting the finishing touches on a carpet beater, complete with carpet. "Consistero!"

The chalk froze at the top fringe of the carpet and twitched in protest. The giggling had now become a roar of laughter and Sesachar raised his hand. "Silencio, silencio. This is a spell that you should take very seriously. So, let's begin."

Ron leant past Hermione to Harry. "What would be the perfect weapon for Crabbe and Goyle? Sausages or skewered meat?"

Hermione pushed him back onto his chair. "Oh Ron, you're so childish!"

One after the other they stepped forward and Professor Sesachar showed them the correct, energetic movement of the wand which went with the spell. Dean stared in delight at the crossbow which appeared in his hands.

"A very nice weapon," said Sesachar. "But don't get into close combat with it.. um, I hope there's a safety catch?"

Most of the students ducked down hastily behind their benches. Sesachar laughed and made Dean's weapon disappear. "A request to all of you: this is a practical lesson in which you are learning this spell, but it's strictly forbidden to use it outside this classroom, if you're not in danger. If I catch any of you running round the castle with a crossbow, I will put a curse on the weapon and see to it that its owner has a very disagreeable week. And writing lines every day will be only a minimal part of that. And of course I will take off house points too. I hope that's clear?"

The students, who had now returned to their seats, nodded.

"Fine. Next - Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco swaggered over to Professor Sesachar and raised his wand. "Creato Armatus!"

Pithormin gave a low whistle through his teeth. "The flail of Igor Benzelius. Quite beautiful. Do you know the story, Mr. Malfoy?"

"No." Draco didn't seem to care about the story. He was staring triumphantly at the imposing weapon in his hands.

"Well, our friend Igor used it to kill two dozen men," Sesachar folded his arms, amused, "and he was so hotheaded that he ended up killing himself with it too."

There was the sound of suppressed laughter from the front row. Enthusiastically, Ron slapped his thigh. "Give it a good swing, Malfoy!"

A rough elbowing made him fall silent. He glared at Ginny.

One by one they were called to the front. To Ron's disappointment, Crabbe and Goyle's weapons were clubs, not sausages.

"They're just as clumsy as their owners," Hermione murmured. Her special weapon was a finely curved silver dagger.

Harry was the last to be called out.

"I'm looking forward to this, Mr. Potter." Sesachar stepped aside and Harry raised his wand. "Creato Armatus!"

The air began to shimmer as if under intense heat, and a sword materialised out of nowhere. Harry seized it with his free hand and examined it in surprise. The gleaming ruby on the handle of the slim weapon was unmistakeable.

"By Merlin!" Sesachar beamed. "The sword of Godric Gryffindor." A murmur of admiration went up around the class. Only Draco gave a contemptuous snort. "So that's your personal weapon..." Sesachar had taken the sword and was examining it closely. "Fascinating... Take a look at that, Mr. Potter."

"I've seen it before," Harry answered.

The Professor looked up. "You've seen it before? Where? Ah, of course, in Dumbledore's office."

"Yes, there too." Harry reached out for the sword. "I killed a basilisk with it."

"Ah!" Sesachar nodded. "I forgot. Salazar Slytherin's basilisk. So you did that with this sword? That's why it's come to you." He looked pleased. "Thank you, Mr. Potter. Go and sit down. Excellent, excellent. Today's homework: chapter thirty-six, questions three to seven, in as much detail as you can. See you on Thursday."

With a lot of rustling the class packed up their things and left the room. Draco Malfoy, with Crabbe and Goyle at his side, passed the front row on his way out. He gave Harry a withering look.

"I've heard that a lot of swords have been smashed to pieces by flails," he hissed.

Harry looked back at him coolly. "Oh yeah? And a lot of heads too, I guess?"

Ron burst out laughing, and this time his sister didn't feel the need to prevent him.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Just you wait, Potter..." he growled, and swept out of the classroom, so quickly that his two warhorses had difficulty keeping up with him.

By this time Ron had turned red in the face. He tried to stand up. "I can't wait to see his stupid ball thing come crashing down on his head," he spluttered. "He didn't seem to like the story of that Igor bloke."

"But it would be good if you could calm down a bit now," Hermione answered. "You're swaying around as if you were drunk."

Together she and Harry pushed Ron out of the classroom.

***

The Quidditch match against Slytherin was fast approaching. Harry arranged extra practice sessions, but his team didn't complain. They all seemed to want to be as well prepared as possible.

The storms were growing colder, and the evening before the match the first snow began to fall.

"We're going to freeze to our brooms tomorrow," Ginny grumbled, looking out of the window.

Ron shrugged his shoulders. "At least that way we can't fall off them," he tried to joke.

The meadow was covered in hoar frost when they marched out to the Quidditch pitch, even though it was already afternoon. The air was icy, and the sky was grey and heavy.

Despite this, all the spectator stands were full. Madam Hooch was waiting in the middle of the field.

"Would the captains please shake hands," she said, waiting with her whistle in her hand.

Draco and Harry stared at each other with the deepest loathing. Reluctantly they shook hands. Ron could clearly hear a cracking sound, but neither captain moved a muscle. Their faces were as icy as the wind howling above them.

"You're supposed to shake each other's hands, not break them!" Madam Hooch scolded. "Let go."

The two captains stepped away willingly and flexed their fingers as they turned away from each other. The whistle sounded and the game began.

Harry circled above the field, keeping a close eye on his team and on his surroundings. As occupied as he was looking for the Snitch, he didn't miss the fact that Craig Reamons, the new Beater for Slytherin, had hit a Bludger directly at Ginny, who could only just avoid it. He, his colleague Pierre Dascontez and Malfoy would not stop fouling. When Craig tried to hit another Bludger at one of the Chasers in the opposing team, Violetta diverted it as she flew past. "Won't you stop that!" she shouted angrily at the Beater.

The next moment she crashed to the ground. Malfoy had seized Pierre's baton and sent a Bludger flying into her neck. Violetta hadn't fallen far, but Madam Hooch blew her whistle immediately to stop the game.

"Slytherin is disqualified!" she shouted, beside herself with rage, as she hurried across the field to Violetta, who was struggling to sit up on the cold ground. The Gryffindor team landed immediately. Robert and Max, the other two Slytherin Chasers, did the same and ran over to Violetta.

Harry knelt down next to her and stared up at Malfoy, who was still circling the sky. He was looking down at the Chaser with grim contempt. Max and Harry helped Violetta to her feet.

"Are you okay?" Max asked, concerned.

"That son-of-a-bitch!" Robert snorted, clenching his fists. "Fouling against his own team!"

Madam Hooch was still pale. "That is absolutely intolerable! I haven't seen anything like it for decades. Potter, Tefarikis - take Miss Ziob to the hospital wing. The match is suspended."

Harry and Max nodded, took Violetta between them and helped her back into the castle.

"I can't believe it... I just can't believe it!" Max was beside himself with fury. "How dare he?!"

"He wanted to win," Harry growled. "No matter what."

"But could anything justify him turning on his own team?" Max thundered.

Violetta groaned. "Can't you argue more quietly? My head's splitting..." She clutched her forehead, grimacing with pain.

Madam Pomfrey sent her straight to bed and hurried backwards and forwards preparing ointments and potions. She shooed Max and Harry out of the hospital wing and they went silently down the staircase to the entrance hall, just as the rest of the school streamed into the castle. The mood was sombre. At dinner the Slytherin table divided. Most students moved along to the far end, leaving Malfoy and a group of about a dozen others by themselves. The looks exchanged between the two groups were hostile.

Max, Robert and Amber sat at the Gryffindor table. Everyone moved up willingly to make room for them.

"I'm not sitting at the same table as him," Max snorted, looking in disgust at Malfoy and his group.

"How's Violetta?" Hermione asked, passing him the rice bowl.

"She'll be released from the hospital wing tomorrow morning," he told her. "She has concussion.... I could strangle Malfoy."

"Exactly. Because of him we're disqualified from the rest of our matches." Robert looked furious. "I'll never forgive him for that."

"And that he hit that Bludger straight at Violetta's head!" Max snorted. "He's going to regret that!" He mixed sauce into his rice. "I'll..." he left the sentence unfinished.

They glanced up at the teachers' table. Snape was seething with rage. It seemed that he could only just control himself. Harry wondered if it really was Malfoy's cold-hearted treachery that infuriated the Head of Slytherin so much. He had never openly disapproved of fouls committed by his students before - in fact he'd always turned a blind eye. But the disqualification of his house from the Quidditch Cup was enough to make him furious. Harry imagined him jumping up and hauling Draco over the coals in front of the watching school.

But unfortunately it didn't quite come to that.

After the meal they left the great hall and made their way towards their common rooms. Max, Robert and Amber, along with many others, were avoiding Malfoy and gave him and his supporters a wide berth. One Slytherin, whom Harry didn't know by name but who was in the seventh year with Violetta, stopped and looked at the group of Gryffindors in front of him, and then said in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, "I'm sorry that I've always jeered at you during your matches." He looked grimly at Malfoy. "Unlike some people here, at least you seem to understand what team spirit is about." Then with his chin in the air he swept past the infuriated Malfoy towards the dungeons.

Ron cleared his throat. "It's hard for me to admit it... But the Slytherins aren't all that bad... Once you get their heads on straight."

***

Harry was the last person to fall asleep in the boys' dormitory that night. He sat and looked out of the window. Ron, Dean, Neville and Seamus were already deeply asleep. Harry was still thinking about the outcome of the Quidditch match. Lots of Slytherins who had previously scorned the members of Viribus Unitis were now nodding to them or even giving them friendly, almost apologetic smiles. One thing was clear: most of them were ashamed of what Malfoy had done.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw something move. He turned his head. Below him, at the edge of the forest, silver shapes were appearing and hurrying across the meadow. Near the walls surrounding Hogwarts they stopped, and sprang up and down in a strange sort of dance.

It was the silverfurs.

Harry watched them. They could easily be identified in the darkness of the open field. He counted eleven animals.

How big must the whole pack be, if six of them had already been crated off to the Ministry?

After a few minutes the silverfurs disappeared back into the forest. Harry sighed, slid off the windowsill and crawled into bed, wondering where these animals had actually come from...