Animalexus

Marie woke up hungry in spite of herself. She'd repeatedly refused Dumbledore's offers of food last night, and unless Snape's potion counted--she had finally given in and taken it, so desperate was she for a few hours of unconsciousness--she'd eaten nothing in almost two days.

She knew exactly where she was, even before she opened her eyes. She'd never been blessed with confusion in the seconds after she woke.

The small table near the bed was laden with an astounding array of fruits, scones, meats, breads, even chocolates. And, of course, tea. The sight of it all startled Marie for a moment, and she could feel the adrenaline-induced pulse of blood through her veins even after realizing that the food must have been left by House Elves.

Marie fully intended to clean every plate, but it soon became evident that all her stomach would stand for was a nibble here and there and some tea. The liquid still rippled in her cup, but Marie was pleased to find that her hands were much steadier than they'd been the night before.

After eating, she dressed, taking care to avoid the mirror. New clothes had been laid out for her as well, and though they fit perfectly, Marie was disappointed. Robes still felt foreign against her skin, even after more than two years. Wizard or not, she'd been raised a Muggle, and all she really wanted was a good pair of worn-in jeans.

Her hair was little more than one massive snarl, and there was a brush laid out on the vanity near the bed, but to reach it, Marie would have to step in front of the mirror. She could tell herself she wouldn't look, she could tell herself she'd just grab the brush and step away again, but she knew herself too well to believe it. She glanced at the glass. From here, near the door, it reflected nothing but gray stone and a snatch of tapestry hung on the opposite wall. She took one step towards it, hesitated again. She hadn't had the opportunity to look in a mirror even once since...since before she knew what magic was.

Almost before she knew what she was doing--just as she'd dashed into that fireplace yesterday--Marie took a sweeping step and planted herself in front of the mirror, faced her new reflection. She did still look like herself, at least. Much thinner--gaunt, really, ugly as that word was--and her eyes seemed much deeper-set here than they did in the picture of herself Marie carried in her memory. Two narrow white lines above her eyebrow stood out sharply--few in the wizarding world had to carry their scars, she knew, but of course no DeathEater could have been bothered to heal these for her. The marks drew her attention to her eyes. Her gray eyes. She'd been so sure they were green.

So this was what she looked like at nineteen.

She picked up the brush and began running it through her hair, mechanically. That, too, was different. Longer, much longer than she'd ever worn it. A dull brown, none of the red highlights she remembered in evidence. She wrestled the hair into a single plait, and when she had finished it still reached nearly to the middle of her back.

"Very nice," the mirror said. "Much more beautiful than most I see in these rooms."

The voice startled her--she'd heard about wizarding mirrors, but never had occasion to see one--but she blushed despite herself. The mirror laughed like an adoring mother. "And more beautiful still. Modesty's such a wonderful quality."

Marie was saved from having to ponder the questions of etiquette presented in conversing with a mirror by another knock on the door, lighter than Snape's solid rap last night.

The older witch, McGonagall, smiled when Marie opened the door. "Good morning, Marie. You rested well, I trust?"

She nodded. "Thank you for the rooms. And for the food and clothes--"

"No thanks necessary." The witch hesitated a moment. "Although I do hope it wasn't too much of a shock. I wasn't sure whether or not you had any experience with House Elves?"

"I have. DeathEaters don't clean up the blood they spill themselves." The words were out before Marie thought about what they'd sound like, out in the air like that, and she had to wince at the suddenly stony expression on McGonagall's face. She'd never spoken so rashly before; what was wrong with her? "I'm sorry. I guess I--"

"Not at all," the professor said briskly, prim and proper--and distant--once again. She glanced sideways for a moment. "I would like to introduce someone, if you are willing...?"

Marie nodded. She was hardly in the mood to play at being sociable, but what choice did she have?

A girl only a year or two younger than Marie, smartly dressed in school robes, stepped into the doorway next to the professor. She was clearly itching to stare, but she forced her gaze politely down. Marie fervently wished she hadn't mentioned DeathEaters as loudly as she had.

"This is Hermione Granger, one of my Gryffindors. Hermione, Marie Llewellur."

Marie automatically put out her hand, and Hermione took it with a surprised but pleased smile. "Good to meet you."

"Likewise."

McGonagall watched with a satisfied smile. "Marie, Hermione is aware of your...history...but I trust her above all my students. I assure you, she has a perfect record when it comes to matters of discretion." Hermione blushed, and McGonagall paused before turning back to Marie. "The Headmaster would like to meet with you after lunch. Until then, I hope you'll allow Hermione to show you around a bit?"

"Thank you. Come in," she added, to Hermione, after the professor had left. She forced herself to pull the door open wider. The girl obviously noticed the hesitation.

"I hope you don't mind my being here," she started, uncertainly. "The Professor thought you might like another young--well, 'someone less than fifty years older' than you was how she put it--to talk to."

Marie smiled in spite of herself. Hermione radiated a definite confidence even through the momentary uncertainty. She wasn't exactly beautiful--though the grace of a grown woman was beginning to dominate over the awkwardness of youth, despite her wild head of hair--but she seemed genuinely friendly. "No, I'm glad to have you. It is nice to see someone my age. And I appreciate your willingness to serve as liaison of sorts...I'm not much of a conversationalist right now." She shifted. "Listen, please don't read too much into what I said earlier...about the House Elves. I certainly didn't mean to--"

"No, no." Hermione shook her head, but Marie wasn't certain whether she was brushing off Marie's apology or trying to stop her from bringing it up again. The other girl's expression darkened. "Vile practice really; I don't care if the Elves claim to want it."

"Yes, well." The awkward silences were grating on Marie's nerves, and her rooms were quickly becoming claustrophobic. She could only imagine what they looked like: a pair of girls in dark robes doing their best not to look directly at one another, fidgeting and shifting their weight nervously. "About that tour?"

Marie followed Hermione through the dark corridors of Hogwarts, listening to the younger girl rattle off an astounding litany of inane trivia about the architecture and past of the building, citing some work called Hogwarts: A History at least a half-dozen times. At least silence was no longer a problem. It didn't take Marie long to realize that Hermione was a fair representation of what she herself might have become had she been an ordinary wizard and come to Hogwarts for her schooling: an overeager student obsessed with being the best and, above all, with pleasing her professors. A walking encyclopedia of the 'right answer'. Marie could still remember that, the days when her name was at the top of the Headmaster's List at her school and her own instructors frequently bandied about the names of the most prestigious universities.

That was a lifetime ago, though, metaphorically if not literally, and she let Hermione's voice fade into the background. Marie was fairly certain they were taking only back routes, since they ran into no one but the occasional ghost. She knew it would probably be a long while before she could ever take a straight route anywhere, at least, not without a disguise or a rock-solid lie to protect her. She didn't know much about the wizarding world beyond the Dark Lord's realm, but it was fairly evident she was known.

Suddenly something dawned on her. "You're Harry Potter's friend, aren't you?"

Hermione stopped, and looked back, a question in her eyes. "Yes."

Marie nodded. "I've heard of you."

A note of worry joined the curiosity in Hermione's expression. "You have."

"Of course. You're Harry Potter's friend," Marie said again, by way of explanation. "Potter does occupy a fair amount of the Dark Lord's time, and the names of his closest friends are bound to come up." Marie shrugged as though it were no big deal, intentionally neglecting to mention that the names of Harry Potter's school friends tended to be mentioned only in direct connection with rather gleeful suggestions of kidnappings, torture, and/or murder.

Hermione, Marie could see, wasn't entirely convinced that the matter was as simple as that, but she simply offered an "I see" and let the matter pass.

She was in the middle of a long-winded explanation (as they all seemed to be) of the origin of a row of moving suits of armor--worn by wizarding knights on some sort of quest for one magical object or another under the cover of the Crusades--when a loud round of laughter broke out at the far end of the hallway, louder even than the ruckus caused by the clanking armor. A group of students dressed in cloaks and scarves pushed their way through a large set of double doors, and a slit of natural light cut sharply across the stone floor.

"Hermione?"

The girl seemed mildly perturbed at the interruption--she'd be a professor someday, Marie was sure of it--but she stopped her lecture and turned. "Yes?"

"Show me the grounds."

Hermione followed her gaze down to the doors, thoughtfully tugged at a lock of her hair. "Well. I suppose that would be all right, as long as we go out through the doors behind the Great Hall and avoided the courtyard. I think we could do that, yes."

It was overcast outside--the only surprise this time of year was that it wasn't raining, too--but to Marie it might have been clear, sunny skies. The first lungful of air she took in seemed only to hammer home the closeness and darkness of the last two years of her life. She shut out Hermione's endless chatter and followed her steps absently, reveling in simply being outdoors, in the daylight, no ropes around her wrists or guards at her heels. It wasn't perfect, of course, there was still a strong magical aura--the wards were especially oppressive--and she was all too aware that she was trapped on these grounds, but God, she was outside.

"...and of course, that's the Quidditch Pitch over there," Hermione continued, gesturing over her shoulder at a massive, brightly-colored stadium of some kind.

Marie snapped back to her senses. "Now, what is quidditch, exactly? Some kind of wizard sport, right?"

Hermione stopped, put her hands on her hips, and sighed. "First, I'd advise you to reconsider whether or not you really want to know what quidditch is--bloody boring, if you ask me, no better than football, but I'm not one for sport myself--and if you do want an explanation, I'm not the one to give it. I can turn you over to Harry or Ron--Ron Weasley, he's another--,"

"I've heard his name."

"Right. Well, the both of them are just absolute fanatics. I'm sure they could tell you anything you wanted to know about quidditch. Of course," she added, "You'd be trapped for at least several hours."

Marie offered a small smile. "I think that's explanation enough, then. I never could understand the fascination with that kind of thing, myself. I did ride, but team sports just weren't--"

"Rode? As in horses?"

"Mm-hmm."

"The school has a stable, you know."

Marie turned back to Hermione. "I didn't know that, no," she said, carefully.

"They use the horses at holidays, for sleighs and such. I think some of the students from the older families still ride. It says in Hogwarts: A History that it used to be much larger than it is now, and some historians think the foundation is even older than the school itself. I've never been there myself, but it's just right past the pitch." She pointed. "Do you want to go see it?"

Yes. Yes. Absolutely. "Okay."

Here, at last, was something that didn't look any different in the wizarding world than it did in the Muggle. The stables were divided into three connected buildings laid out in a rough U-shape around a rectangular riding ring. The wide doors on the end of what looked to be the main barn were drawn wide, and Marie could hear horses chewing lazily at their hay, but there was no one in sight. She stepped past Hermione and into the dark of the barn aisle. Neatly raked dirt floors, wood and iron stalls. It looked just like a thousand other stables in England. Most of the horses took no notice of her and Hermione, but a few glanced up, and Marie could hear them muttering.

"What the hell are they doing here?"

"Really. It's far too early for turnout."

"Oats. Feed me oats."

"It's not a holiday, is it? I am not in the mood to pull some bloody carriage."

"No! Bran mash! With molasses. Or oats."

"I don't see Hagrid. It can't be a class."

"I hope they don't want to ride. The last thing I need is some brat yanking at my face all day."

"Hello there," Marie called cautiously. Animals were often as surprised as other people were to find that a human could speak to them, and she wanted to be especially careful around creatures that could be as skittish as horses sometimes were.

"Bloody hell!"

"Please tell me someone else heard that. I'm only nine; I can't be senile yet."

"She understands us--oh God! Oats, oats, oats!"

"This isn't a normal wizarding thing, is it?"

"Oats oats oats OATS!"

A big horse in the nearest stall on the right leaned his blocky head over his divided stall door. He was easily sixteen hands, and looked to have some draft blood in him. His coat was dappled gray, going white on his face. His forelock hung long over his eyes, and alfalfa flakes dusted the bristly hair. He looked her over, then blinked slowly. "Who are you?"

Marie turned to face him. "Marie Llewellur. I--"

"So you're the Animalexus." It was her turn to stare. Animals generally didn't know about her, and if they did, they almost certainly had their own names for what she was. The horse noticed her confusion. "A professor mentioned you. Once. That is, not you specifically, just the fact that there was someone like you. Well, your name. Just in passing." He flicked his ears back and forth as he spoke, and Marie felt relatively certain he was lying about something. She could still hear the other horse further down the aisle, chanting 'oats' over and over again.

"Well," she said. "Yes. That's me." She dug the heel of her boot into the dirt of the aisle, digging a shallow trough. "I just wanted to come and, um, say hello, I suppose. I've just arrived here. At Hogwarts. I've missed horses." She hoped he wouldn't ask for an explanation, but in her experience, most horses weren't much for asking questions. They tended to be minimal conversationalists.

"Good to meet you, Miss Llewellur." He dipped his head. "I'm Rinnamash. Just go by Mash around here."

He threw his head up suddenly, pinned his ears, and bellowed an obscenity down the aisle. Silence dominated for the space of a few seconds, and then what little chatter there was rose up again. Mash sighed. "The brat halfway down the hall begging for food is Geoffrey. You'd think they were starving him. Eats more'n the rest of us put together. There's a green grain bin in the feed room behind you, would you mind giving him a handful just to, oh, SHUT HIM UP?" The last three words were hollered down the aisle.

Marie had entirely forgotten that Hermione was with her until she turned around and almost walked right into her. Hermione's eyes darted back and forth between Marie and Mash, and finally she breathed, "Absolutely fascinating." She shook her head and followed Marie into the feed room. "I went to the library last night to do a bit of research after Professor McGonagall spoke to me, but precious little has been written about Animalexi and their powers."

It was a clear invitation to lecture on the subject. Marie grabbed two generous handfuls of oats, headed out into the aisle. "I'm not sure how enlightening I can be. It's simply something I've always been able to do; I don't claim to understand the theory of it. That conversation I just had with Mash--the horse back there--what did that sound like to you?" She dumped one handful of oats into the feeder of a lanky chestnut, who cried, "Oh, GOD, thank you!" before shoving his muzzle into the feed.

"Well," Hermione said, considering the matter academically. "When the horse...spoke...it sounded like, well, a horse. Whinnies and nickers and so forth."

Marie walked back down the aisle to stand in front of Mash's stall, taking care to stay within the shadow cast by the roof. "See, to me, that sounded no different than this conversation does. I imagine that, to him, my words earlier sounded like 'horse talk', for lack of a better phrase. Most animals can understand humans, but they rarely make the effort. He understood me because when I addressed him I spoke his language, not mine. But what did my words sound like to you?"

"Certainly not like English. But not like a horse's sounds, either. More like a foreign language I could almost--but not quite--recognize."

Marie nodded. "I've heard people say that in the past. It's..." She looked down. "One of the things...the Dark Lord...used me for...was determining whether or not someone was an Animagus."

"Can't that simply be looked up?"

"There are a lot of unregistered Animgi out there." Judging by the sheepish look on Hermione's face, she knew at least one of them. "But to tell if someone was an Animagus, all I had to do was speak to him. He wouldn't even have to answer, because any Animagus, though he can generally communicate with the animal he models, adopts as his 'first language', so to speak, whatever it is his human form is most familiar with. English, in many cases. So although it all sounds the same to me--I can't actually say whether someone is an Animagus or not just by conversation--if a DeathEater conducting an interrogation were able to understand my question, he would know that the rabbit in front of him was really a wizard, and conversely, if whatever I said was gibberish, he knew he just had a rabbit. There are spells for that sort of thing, of course, but it was quicker to just use me, and sometimes the interrogation would continue even if we had a real animal. Pets, for example, see all sorts of things, overhear them if they choose to, and no one thinks to censor their behavior in front of them."

Hermione's brow was wrinkled, and Marie could almost see the thoughts rushing behind her intent eyes. "Then...can you speak to people from other countries? Can you speak another human language as easily as an animal one?"

"I can talk to foreigners, yes, but it's a tricky thing. If I were to speak to...a Russian wizard, for example, I'd understand the conversation and so would he, as would anyone listening in who spoke Russian. However, anyone who didn't speak Russian and happened to overhear wouldn't recognize my words as an actual established language. And if I were to just sit here now and try to say something in Russian, I wouldn't be able to. I don't really know a word of it."

Hermione drummed her fingers against her thigh. "I wonder...do you even have a native language, per se? That is, if you can--"

Marie did allow a brief smile. "You've picked up on that far more quickly than I did. I think that whatever language I frame my own thoughts in must be totally unique. It's a hard thing to prove, since if I'm speaking to a group of English-speakers, they'll all hear English, and the only people who wouldn't are the people who don't know it well enough to recognize it anyway. But I can understand animals nearby even if I'm talking to another human. Right now, for example, Mash is demanding to know whether I'm going to give him the oats in my hand or if, as he puts it, I'm getting a sick sense of pleasure out of standing here and not feeding him." Marie leaned over and let the horse take the oats from her palm. He muttered a thank-you between bites. "And no matter who or what I'm talking to, what I hear is the same language I think in."

"Fascinating," Hermione repeated. "Just fascinating. There's been so little research into this...the possibilities are just astonishing. I mean, if you were to talk to yourself while you were alone, without knowing that someone were listening in...what would they hear? And what do you suppose would show up on a recording device, magical or Muggle? And what if--oh, one could create some truly enlightening experiments, further explore it all...there are so many potential uses with this kind of a talent, I just--"

The anger flared suddenly in Marie, proving that what she'd considered dulled senses were more than capable of feeling rage, at least--she bloody well knew what kind of 'potential uses' could be made of her skills--and she whirled. Hermione seemed to flinch back from the flash of the silver lining against the black of her cloak as it spun behind her. Marie stormed out of the barn, ignoring Mash's concerned queries, ignoring Hermione's apologies, ignoring everything about the place. She stalked away, back the way they had come, since it had been so devoid of people the first time. She stared at the ground just in front of her feet, muttering to herself through clenched teeth, barely aware of what she said, her own ears catching only a halting refrain of 'Goddamn wizards. Goddamn wizards.'

She didn't wonder what language the words were coming out in.

She didn't notice the falcon circling high overhead.