Harry Potter and the Keys of Light

Chapter Six: "The Animagus Transformation"

Harry went early to the Room of Requirement, to find the Professor waiting for him.

"Where were you yesterday, Mr. Potter?" he snapped.

"I just had some things to do," Harry replied just as sharply. The Professor smirked; he had a look on his face that said he knew much more than Harry could even imagine.

"Very well." His mouth turned into an actual smile and he added, "Your aggression, while undesirable in many of the fields I will be teaching you, is extremely useful in Occlumency." Harry stared at him--he had never met anyone that changed moods so quickly, and he wasn't sure how to respond.

"Yes, sir," he said finally.

"In Occlumency, Mr. Potter, the real study is to master your own mind, to strengthen it to repel attack without magic. So far all you have been able to do is concentrate long enough to disarm me, breaking the spell that way. That, while a means of fighting Legilimency, is not the surest, nor the wisest, option. Think, Mr. Potter," he said, pacing the room, twirling his wand idly between his fingers, "If you are in a room with multiple enemies. Fighting your attacker with magic wastes energy to use on the rest, or, if you are being attacked without direct contact with your enemy--say, if you are asleep, miles from the one penetrating your mind." He stopped and looked Harry directly in the eye at the last remark. His look was intimidating, but Harry forced himself not to break away. How had he known about Voldemort's attacks? The Professor, he realized, was an extremely powerful wizard; his look resembled the one often on Dumbledore's face, authoritative and wise, as though he knew everything about Harry, and about everything.

He smiled again. "A strong will, Harry, that is good." It was the first time he had used Harry's name, catching the young wizard off guard. The Professor started pacing again, and it felt as though everything had been stopped, only just returning to motion.

"The way to truly fight a psychic attack is to allow your mind to be completely accessible."

"But I thought--"

"Mr. Potter, whatever you thought of this practice is irrelevant," the Professor snapped. "It is what I teach you that you should hold as factual. Now, as I was saying, you must allow your mind to be open. The true skill lies in what you do with the intrusion. You must be in control of what your attacker sees, you must decide where he will go. In time, you will be able to take him to the darkest parts of your mind, locking him there, and that, is how you defeat him." Harry was confused, but nodded. He was sure he would find out soon enough what the Professor meant. "I will perform the attack on you, and I want you focused on one specific thought--any thought will do. When I enter your mind, make sure I go directly to your thought. When you can do this with proficiency, then you may advance." Harry nodded. He thought about winning the House Cup in his third year--because of his Patronus, it was easy to picture a happy memory.

"Are you ready?"

"I think so."

"You think, or you know, Mr. Potter?"

"I am ready, sir," Harry said firmly, the image of the cheering Gryffindors filling his mind.

"Legilimens!" The crowd immediately faded from his mind, changing into a dark hall, lined with candles...No, he thought desperately, think about the match, think about the match... The hall faded into a large room filled with racks of wizard robes, and a small blonde boy on a stool next to him...he was working as hard as he could to return to the Quidditch pitch, trying to recall the sound, the exuberance and triumph...the harder he tried, the more the memory faded from him, like trying to hold water in cupped hands. The memory of Malfoy faded to an image of Uncle Vernon hitting him, a broken dish on Petunia's neat kitchen floor...

Exhausted, Harry felt himself falling and a sharp pain from somewhere around his knees. The room came dizzyingly back into focus, the Professor looking down at him with a muted expression.

"Not so easy, is it?"

"No," Harry said bitterly, pulling himself up from the floor.

"You are a strong wizard, Mr. Potter, no doubt about that; if you weren't, I wouldn't bother with you. But you must learn to master something by struggling with it. A fight is a powerful thing--it teaches you your limits, how to push harder...Are you ready to try again?" Harry nodded.

Harry was so tired by the time he left the Room of Requirement, that it was all he could do to make it up to his bed before collapsing. He had worked for nearly three hours, trying over and over again to concentrate on a single memory, and he couldn't do it. He had tried other memories, had tried allowing the first to surface and hold onto it...nothing had worked. His head ached from the constant onslaught against it, his body from hitting the hard stone floor every time he fell from the effort, and his mood was decidedly soured. The only consoling thought he found, as he was drifting into sleep, was that he at least didn't have to demonstrate his difficulty in front of Snape. He managed a smile at the thought of depriving the Potions Master of the satisfaction and pulled his blanket up around him.

It was his stomach that awoke him; it was three o'clock when it began growling uncomfortably, and he got up to find food. He went down to the kitchen entrance, the portrait of the fruit dish, only to realize that he didn't know what to do. Did the way to enter the kitchen change, like the passwords to all the other rooms? Experimentally, Harry reached forward and tickled the giant pear. Nothing happened. Sighing, he tried one of the other fruits, and still, nothing.

"Just open up!" Harry said in exasperation. And, to his very great surprise, the portrait swung forward. Inside, the house-elves were busily washing dishes, standing in a sort of assembly line, each with a rag to take one swipe at a wet dish before handing it to the next in line; others were busy at the stoves, hurrying back and forth from the pantry and refrigerator to the large pots on the stove, apparently preparing for dinner.

"Mister Potter, sir!" squeaked Dobby, running forward, bowing. "What do we owe the honor?"

"Um...I missed lunch you see," Harry said apologetically, "and I was wondering if there was anything left..."

"Of course, sir!" Dobby said, smiling, and disappeared behind the line of dish driers. He was back in a moment with a large mug of butter beer, followed by at least ten other elves, each sporting a tray of sandwiches and salads, pasta and soup, and a variety of deserts. "Please, Harry Potter, sir, take what you wish. The house elves is most readily at your service!" The other elves nodded eagerly, and Harry sat down at one of the four large tables, where the trays were placed before him. The elves watched as he bit into a sandwich and took a drink from his goblet. They seemed to be waiting for something, though Harry wasn't quite sure what. Afraid that they would bring out more food, he said,

"Thanks, this is really wonderful." They grinned satisfactorily and bowed back to their duties. Dobby was back soon, however, holding a smaller tray, with several envelopes piled on it.

"These arrived at breakfast, sir. Dobby is saving them for you, sir, so the owls wouldn't bother you." Thanking the elf, Harry took the letters and read the addresses. They were replies from members of the D.A.--one each from Dean Tomas, Seamus Finnigan, the Patils, Lavender Brown, Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Zacharias Smith, Terry Boot and Justin Finch-Fletchley. They all contained similar messages--an eagerness to continue the D.A., suggestions of other students that might be interested, and that they didn't believe anything the Ministry was putting in the papers, encouraging the mass populous that the situation was completely under control; Harry felt a sense of pride and gratitude at the commitment--he understood the risks well enough to appreciate those brave enough to stand up to them.

When he left the kitchens, Harry was laden with armfuls of pastries the elves had pressed on him. He secretly wished Hermione were there to see the desperate boredom the elves felt without anyone to serve; they told him that he was welcome in the kitchens an time, and that no order at lunch was too much work. He won the favor of several of the higher-level chefs by agreeing to poach salmon and angel hair pasta at dinner.

He went to owlery where he gave Hedwig one of the pastries, and then back to the dormitory. Leaving the food on his bed, Harry finished with his presents from the night before. He had received a new pair of dragon-hide work gloves from Hagrid, as well as a tin of home made biscuits--which Harry knew better than to bite into; there was a watch from Tonks that not only told the date and time, but was enchanted with a Compass Charm and was nearly indestructible; Neville and Luna had both sent presents, a telescope that automatically found whatever you asked it to and a ring in the form of a large serpent with a round green gem in its mouth. The latter had a note attached to it:

Harry-

I found this when I was last in London. It's supposed to be good luck against malice because the snake is choking on the emerald. Daddy says it was originally kept in a Ministry of Magic Vault as a dangerous dark artifact, but since it was with Druid Priests with a booth in Diagon Alley, he believes it isn't harmful anymore.

Luna

Smiling, Harry put the ring on his forefinger. It fit well, but he wouldn't wear it during term--what would Ron and the other Gryffindors think if he was wearing a snake ring? He decided to write to Luna and explain this to her, in case she noticed he wasn't wearing it the first day. For the moment, however, he left it on. To his very great surprise, he had a small, thin package from Alastor Moody. It was scarlet wax for sealing envelopes and a stamp with in the image of a phoenix. The short note that went with it told him the stamp had been his parents' when they were in the Order ("It's how to identify a friend; every one of us has a seal like it.") The final gift was from Lupin and the rest of the Hogwarts staff, and Harry almost laughed aloud when he tore the paper off. It was a new leather bound copy of Hogwarts, A History. An image came into his mind of looking Hermione directly in the eye and saying "Has no one here read Hogwarts, A History?" Smiling broadly, he stacked the book atop the rest of the things, and then put it all in his trunk in the dormitory.

Looking at the pastries on the bed, he sighed resignedly, wishing Ron was there to help him with it all. He took the book Hermione had given him, and sat on the bed, choosing a cherry topped cupcake.

The introduction to the book was quite dull, discussing the history of Animagi and the importance of registering with the ministry once you became one; Harry skimmed past most of it to the section on the various types of animals wizards could change into.

"There is a wide spectrum of creature options open to the wizard attempting this complex transformation. It is very possible for a wizard to chose the animal he is transfiguring into, but the actual form is usually determined based on the wizard himself--his strengths and weaknesses, his appearance, etc. For example, one of great valor and bravery might become a lion, bear or canine, and, in some cases, birds of prey like the eagle or falcon. It is often easier to not attempt to force transformation into a specific shape, and simply allow the magic to decided for itself."

Harry frowned; he had been hoping he would be able to become a stag, like his father, or a dog, like Sirius. He wondered what animal he shared the most qualities with--was there still a chance he would be a stag? He was a lot like his father, after all.

"Each animal itself has unique qualities, listed in the next pages of this book. Likewise, each has its flaws and associations. Most of the popular transformations are chosen, and considered extremely useful in fields relating to defense and stealth; a small mouse is considerably less noticeable than a full grown wizard."

Harry thought about Wormtail a moment, a nasty feeling entering his stomach. Determined, he banished the thought of that traitor and continued reading.

"There are many transformations for which there seems no use, such as the hippopotamus (only once recorded in a witch banished from her African tribe, who had to find a means of surviving in the dry climate) or the platypus, which itself draws a great deal of attention."

There were fifty different species listed in the book, some of which Harry agreed were useless--who in their right mind would want to become an ostrich? Any domestic forms of dog were extremely common, as were cat transformations. After the descriptions of the animals, there was a long chapter on exercises to help prepare the transformation. These included things like imitating animal sounds, mentally pushing to feel more with the senses, imagining fur/feathers/scales to erupt from the skin...Harry tried, but with no luck.

"What'd you expect on your first try?" he scolded himself. This time, he looked at his skin, and visualized it changing...a funny feeling began in the pit of his stomach, like something was wriggling within it. The fine dark hair on his arm began to thicken, lengthening, a prickling pain coming from every pore as though the hair was being pulled by an invisible force from his body...he lurched over, trying to clear his thoughts, thinking about the image of himself he last saw in the mirror that morning. The pain continued, only different, something being forced into him. He groaned, clutching his stomach, and fell back against the bed. The intensity lessened gradually, so that after a minute or so there was only a slight discomfort in his limbs, similar to what he felt after a rigorous Quidditch practice. He opened his eyes, and looked down at his arm, completely normal now. He shook his head a moment to clear it; he must still be tired from his Occlumency lesson to have let his imagination get the better of him. Deciding sleep was all that he needed, he put the remaining pastries in the tin with Hagrid's biscuits and went to sleep.

When Harry again awoke, the dormitory was filled with the pinkish light of the setting sun. It was six o'clock, and he would have time to go to dinner. He ran a comb through his hair and put on a pair of fresh robes. He had had a very strange dream. He had been chasing a snake through tall grass, only he was considerably shorter than he really was, shrunken down, his body moving in different ways, more gracefully, more quickly than he himself could. His instincts were driving him to keep going, to attack, to fight, as though it were in his very nature to hunt the snake...

The Great Hall was filled with the lull of the teachers' talk; Harry was rapidly adjusting himself to the castle, so that now he could distinguish most of the professors' voices. It was sort of strange, really, he mused, that he in the few days he had been in the castle, he had become so used to it, gotten to know the stone walls and empty classrooms in ways he hadn't, in all his years at the school, before. It seemed sometimes that there was some sort of hum to the castle itself, a living magic within the very structure. He felt the warmth of the Great Hall before he had even walked off the staircase, and caught the Headmaster's rich laughter. Upon entering, he saw that Professor Flitwick was sitting opposite Dumbledore, Sprout, McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey around him, their faces flushed with laughter. Smiling, he took his place next to Lupin; Hagrid's seat was unoccupied, and Snape sat only three places away, casting Harry a cold glare.

"And where were you all day?" Lupin asked, his tone lighter than his words. "I hope not out flying again?"

"No, I was sleeping mostly. And reading."

"Reading?" said Professor McGonagall from down the table. "Why Mister Potter, should you actually be applying yourself, you may give Miss Granger some competition."

"I doubt it was anything of merit," Snape said, looking at the transfiguration teacher. "Even Longbottom reads, and his reputed incompetence has not improved in the slightest." McGonagall's smile had become a tightlipped frown, one Harry often associated with her utmost agitation. With the Headmaster occupied, there was no one to divert the two from arguing, which seemed very likely from the look Snape was receiving now.

"Perhaps, Severus," she said, "You should be more attentive with your students. Then, perhaps, you might realize that Neville Longbottom is one of the best Herbology students this school has ever seen." The potions master glared fiercely, and Harry cast Lupin a wary look.

"We all have our strengths," Harry said, catching the icy stares from both teachers. He wasn't bothered, though. It was perfectly easy for Snape to be insulting him, but Dumbledore needed the teachers allied. "While I wish I was better at Potions, I know there is no way I may improve unless I learn. The same for Neville. There is nothing wrong with anyone who tries." McGonagall's features were loosening, as she nodded in approval at Harry's words. Snape however, had taken on a self-satisfied smirk, as though triumphing that Harry had opened the possibility for ridicule. Harry anticipated it, and was prepared; his instruction with Lupin had not been lost, and he had taken well to Potions in the absence of the loathing potions master.

"In your case, Potter," Snape snapped, "your attempts at 'trying' are enough to kill someone or worse. How can you expect to learn anything if you seem above learning basic material? You can't even brew a simple Calming Draught--"

"Actually, he can," Lupin interrupted, looking down at Harry with a smile. "He's quite good with potions, really. He simply needed a little instruction." Snape stared daggers at the both of them and turned away. McGonagall shot Lupin a flash of a smile, and returned to a conversation with Professor Sprout. "That was close," Lupin said, so that only Harry could here him.

"What's got between them?"

"This summer," Lupin replied, his voice dropping lower, "It was McGonagall that insisted you be placed in Potions. Ever since, they've been on edge." He took another but of scalloped potato from his plate, and chewed it with a reflective look on his face. "That was a dangerous thing you did," he said finally. "But the right thing. Thank you for preventing an argument."

"Death Eaters are trying their best to scatter us," Harry said seriously, "why make it easy for them?"

The rest of dinner passed uneventfully. Professor McGonagall talked a while with he and Lupin about his progress with transfiguration. She seemed pleased with his tutoring and offered her assistance in anything he required. Harry climbed the solitary path to Gryffindor Tower. He would work harder with Lupin, and prove Snape wrong; he wasn't going allow himself to be miserable at the potion master's hands this year--there was too much he had to do. He had, as part of his empathy training, been working on controlling his emotion. If there was one thing he had ever envied about Slytherins, it was the undeniable fact that they were skilled in hiding their feelings from everyone; he was determined to master this, not only for his power, but in general. He already knew he had grown up, and it was time he acted it. His mind was heavily occupied as he fell asleep, and the night passed restlessly.

The only sound in the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom was the gentle bubbling of the electric blue potion. Harry carefully dropped the final paper-thin Doxy wing into the cauldron, stirring the mixture in a clockwise direction. There was a small puff of orange smoke and the potion became a dark navy. Smiling, Harry took a vial from the desk and filled it with the solution.

"I'm done," he called, and Lupin emerged from his office.

"Only thirty-seven minutes. Excellent Harry," he beamed, taking the vial. "I believe Mr. Filch will find this extremely useful. I'll take this down to him, and then we may continue your Pathology lesson." He conjured a larger beaker, depositing the cauldron's contents, and left the room. Smiling, Harry packed away the ingredients from his Scouring Solution. August was nearing its end, just a week and a half away. Lessons with the Defense Professor had improved Harry's skill greatly; he was proficiently transfiguring larger animals, and brewing potions, and he had spent the better part of three weeks with Madame Pomfrey, in whom he found a surprising ally; She seemed to have become fond of him, complimenting his skill at healing, and Harry wondered if any student had ever offered to help her before. He had successfully avoided the potions master since that night at dinner, and was easing into his control over his powers. Empaths, Lupin had told him, were very quick magical learners but Harry received the distinct impression, from more than one teacher, that he was still improving above expectation. This pleased him; he would have a vast store of information for the D.A. members, with whom he communicated almost daily, that would be essential to their next year if they were to lead the rest of the school.

Lessons with the Professor were not going as well; he had once managed to repel the somber dark-haired wizard, but never once since. He greatly feared he might never master Occlumency, but his stubborn will drove him to the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy every day at four o'clock. The Animagus practices were working at a similar pace; he tried to change himself, but the most he had done was to occasion a tremendous headache.

And still, the dreams of chasing the snake continued. He wondered if he should inform Dumbledore, or at least Hermione, but he had felt none of the side effects of Voldemort's presence, so they must simply be dreams.

"Are you alright?" Lupin had returned, and was eyeing Harry with concern.

"Yes," he replied, "just thinking."

"You look so serious," Lupin said, cracking a relieved smile. "You've seemed a lot more serious, really. I was just wondering..." He let his remark trail off, smiling again, and pulled out his wand. "I think it's time we put your powers to some use," he said. The professor turned and walked out of the room, Harry following curiously behind. They went down the hall to a door Harry was sure he hadn't passed that morning, and entered. It was quite large, resembling a sort of gymnasium, with padded floor mats and what appeared to be exercise equipment in the far corner. With a wave of his wand, Lupin illuminated the room.

"Do you like it?"

"What is this place?" Harry asked, looking around with interest.

"Dumbledore's just approved it. It used to be a storeroom, but I've had it converted into a gym. The Headmaster thought you might like added physical training to the work we're already doing. And, it is a perfect place to duel." Harry felt an enormous grin erupting onto his features, but he quickly masked them.

"It will do," he said, nodding in approval as he looked about him.

"The center mat is marked, you see," Lupin said, pointing, "for dueling. Your progress with Pathology is ready to be tested in a hostile situation, I think." He took his place on the left of the mat. Harry stood facing him, but when he reached for his wand, Lupin stopped him. "No wand. I want you attacking with your powers alone." Harry felt his heart jump into his throat; he had only just started using his abilities defensively, so how did Lupin expect him to fight without his wand? Still, his expression remained impassive, trained to do so over the last few weeks--rule one, never let the enemy know you're afraid. He handed his wand to the Defense teacher, and resumed his place, preparing for an attack. He and Lupin bowed to each other, then turned and marched in opposing directions.

"Three...two..." Lupin said, "...one...Now!" They whirled around. "Avertus!"

"Recoil!" Harry felt the charm hitting his invisible shield, an odd sensation as though the air around him was rippling with the impact. And then, his shield charm threw the attack back at Lupin who flew into the air, landing with a resounding thud on the mat, five feet from where he had been standing. Harry looked at him worriedly, and almost ran over when the professor stood, smiling.

"Where did you learn that shield charm, Harry?" he asked. Harry was speechless; he hadn't even known he knew the charm until the words had come from his mouth.

"I just...knew," he said hesitantly. Lupin nodded and resumed his place on the mat.

"Try attacking me first this time." Harry nodded, still feeling strange. It wasn't an unpleasant sort of feeling, just...different. His powers were responding to him, but it was as if they had taken on a life of their own, using spells as they saw fit. Lupin counted their paces, and then Harry was again facing the professor.

He felt as though a wind had caught hold of him, his unruly locks being blown in all directions. The wind passed into his hands, which absorbed it like a dry sponge. His skin prickled slightly, and his hand rose automatically into the air, a small glow sphere appearing before his palm. The blood in his veins seemed to roll in a wave towards his hand and he watched as the little energy ball flew towards the unsuspecting teacher. This had all happened in a few seconds, Harry realized, as he saw that the professor had only just turned around when the energy ball hit him, stretching itself into a band that circled his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. Alarmed at what he had done, Harry flicked his still raised hand, and for some reason, the energy disappeared; he wasn't sure how he had known how to stop it, he just had.

Lupin was looking him over, as though analyzing a thing he had never before seen.

"Do you realize what you just did, Harry?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"No! I didn't mean to do anything! I just...it just..."

"Don't worry, you've done nothing wrong," Lupin said, quickly changing his features to a reassuring look. "I was just...I am, astounded. You tapped into your own magic, Harry, and formed it into a corporeal thing. Most Empaths aren't able to master that until they've had at least a year of training." Harry felt a flush of pride, but apprehension quickly replaced it; he hadn't meant to do anything--what else would his powers make him do? Could he really control them?

"All right, let's try again," Lupin said, resuming his position. "I'll try to be more of challenge to you," he added with a smile. They marched off, Harry this time concentrating on what he wanted to do. Just stop him from attacking, he thought, that's it-- don't hurt him...please, don't hurt him.

"Two...one...now!"

Lupin's attack came speeding towards him, and Harry threw out his arms in front of him, shouting "Protego!" He felt the energy hitting his shield and bouncing off into nothingness.

Lupin was ready, replying with, "Eos!" A ball of yellow light erupted from the end of his wand, sailing towards Harry with a swish of the wand. Harry had no idea what the little light would do, and his brain fought desperately to think of something that would block it. Would a shield charm work?

With no time left to think, Harry forced his fear into a knot inside his head, and felt himself pushing with his mind.

"Pathos!" he cried, and a red spark appeared in the attack's path. The two made contact, and erupted in a blast of scarlet and gold fireworks. Lupin was beaming, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief that his attempt had worked--as he did when moving objects with his powers, he had pulled Lupin's attack in different directions until it was torn apart.

"Excellent, Harry, really excellent."

"Thanks Professor," Harry replied, using the sleeve of his robes to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "What was that thing you hit me with the last time?"

"A Sun-Fire Charm. It creates a ball of flames that essentially creating a ring of magic around whomever it is used against, blocking them from using magical attacks. It isn't taught until seventh year Defense, as it forms a ring of fire, that, should an unable person attempt it, can burn out of control."

"Will you show me how to use it?" Harry asked eagerly--he could think of times he could have used a spell such as that...

"Sure. But for now, I say we go down for some lunch."

They left the gym-room, and Lupin sealed the door with his wand. They went over the basics of the Sun-Fire Charm as they made their way down to the grand staircase, but as they approached the entrance to the Great Hall, there was a commotion that attracted their attention.

There was a young witch with several large trunks standing in the middle of the hall, a disgruntled looking house-elf before her.

"Master Dumbledore is busy, as Tandle is telling Miss. If you could please wait here," the elf was saying.

"And I am telling you," The witch replied, her pale blue eyes narrowed in frustration, "that Dumbledore told me that I should come to him directly, whether he were busy or no."

"Brenna?" Lupin said, stepping forward. "Is that you?" The witch looked up from the elf, and cracked a brilliant white smile.

"Remus Lupin! What are you doing here?"

"I'm teaching here this year, as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. What are you doing here?"

"I'm the new Divination professor. What a great joke this is!" She threw her arms around Lupin, giving him a hearty hug. The elf had disappeared in the direction of the kitchens, apparently glad at the opportunity to escape. Harry stood staring at them, confused.

"Erm...Professor Lupin?" Lupin turned around, as though only just realizing Harry were there.

"Of course, Harry, sorry. This is Brenna Tavisham, Dumbledore's niece."