Gryffindor is for the Brave

Thank you to my lovely betas, Danaki and Arianrhod, for making me take a second look at everything and catching things that never occurred to me.

Prologue

Minerva couldn’t taste her breakfast. Tibby, the McGonagalls’ house-elf, had outdone himself preparing porridge, eggs, bacon, and tea for her first day home, but Minerva mechanically shoveled food into her mouth without looking at it or even registering that she was eating. Across the table, her father occasionally glanced up at her from behind his spectacles, which were charmed to hover in midair just past his nose, but he didn’t break the silence. He probably didn’t even realize they weren’t talking; though it might have frustrated her on another morning, the emotional distance her father projected didn’t disturb Minerva today. She was too distracted with her own activities -- namely, those she would begin after breakfast was over.

Often while on vacations from Hogwarts she’d try to engage her father in conversation, more to give herself something to do than for any other reason, but today Minerva simply ate. She made each spoonful as deliberate as she could, chewing and swallowing everything in her mouth before touching her fork again. Funny how she could do that without trying most of the time, but when she had a reason to go slowly the length of each bite was interminable. Then she looked down, and noticed that her porridge was half gone. “More, please,” she requested of Tibby, without letting herself think about how she was planning to eat more when the food she’d already had was forming hard lumps in her stomach.

Far too quickly for Minerva’s liking, second helpings were gone, and though Tibby pressed, insisting that she should eat as well at home as she did at that -- school, Minerva carefully rose, and began to walk toward the stairway. Her father would be in his study all morning, she knew, and there was no one else in the large house aside from Tibby. Neither one would come looking for her, at any rate, unless she was late for lunch. No reason not to do it this morning, then.

She’d decided in the long line for Portkeys home that the south balcony would be best; it was on the second story and trees screened it from the grounds. Minerva’s heart began to pound and her footsteps sounded heavy and thudding on the stairs. Listening to them was almost enough to send her into a panic attack. What was she thinking? Choosing a graceful animal like a cat. Why didn’t she remember she was clumsy?

A little late to change anything now, she reminded herself savagely. Minerva passed two rooms and went down a long hallway, coming into a sunny room that had served one of her great-uncles as a painting studio. She stepped gingerly out onto the balcony.

The book said all I had to do was think about it, she told herself. It’ll be a relief after trying not to for the past week. Minerva scowled. Why hadn’t she tested the spells right away? Why all the buildup, the stress? Because she wanted privacy, in case it had gone wrong, she reminded herself with a gulp. Or in case it had gone right, for that matter. And because the book said the longer she gave the spells to meld with her being without trying them, the better it was likely to work.

Minerva shut her eyes and set down her wand. Cat, she told herself. Think cat.

Her eyes still closed, she felt a strange sensation, like a curtain being drawn across her consciousness. Suddenly she realized that her left ear was extremely dirty. Her right foreleg was in an uncomfortable position, so she shifted -- but that ear. She sat down and settled in to wash it before she realized -- it worked. She held one paw up to her face and looked at it, eyes wide. She took several steps, experimenting with the new sensation. Then she settled back -- the ear! It needed washing. She sat up straight, licked her paw, and began to rub it against the ear.

In one way the sensation was entirely new to her; in general, humans didn’t go about licking their hands and rubbing them against their ears. But in another, it felt like it was precisely what she should have been doing. Minerva was more aware and in control of her cat body than she’d ever been of her human one. Kittenish concerns took precedence even over her excitement at having completed two years’ work. The ear clean, Minerva settled back into a more reclining pose -- before immediately jumping up again and taking prancing steps. She jumped off the balcony and into the yard, watching the grasses weave around her and absently scratching her flank.

Suddenly Minerva bounced back into her human form. She did a quick check -- clothing still in place, even her hat; glasses still on, shoes still laced and tied neatly. She still felt full, and not the least bit sick from Tibby’s breakfast. All her memories seemed to be intact, and she wasn’t still thinking as a cat would. She rubbed her left ear. Dry, and clean. Merlin’s toes. She’d done it.

Confident in her ability, Minerva deliberately transferred back into animal form, intending to do checks there as well. But her cat sense took over, the curtain came back, and Minerva suddenly found chasing a butterfly to be far more interesting than making sure this morning’s porridge hadn’t disagreed with her. If it had, she thought absently, following the brightly colored wings, I wouldn’t feel like chasing the butterfly.

It was a merry race, the tiny red and white insect always a few seconds ahead. She heard sounds she’d never registered before -- a badger out in the woods; a rabbit nearby; a rat in a ditch. Her sense of smell was better as well, she noted. She could smell the trash in the back, and the kitchens; she could smell each blade of grass around her and each tree in the small wood. The earth felt different under her four paws.

She changed back briefly, and caught her breath. Merlin’s toes. Merlin’s bloody TOES. She’d have to wait twenty-four hours to be sure everything was really all right; some problems didn’t show up right away. And the book said that she should keep doing checks for the next three to six months, just to be sure. But the hard part was over. Five weeks before her seventeenth birthday, not yet old enough to Apparate, and she’d done something few grown witches and wizards had ever accomplished. She was an Animagus!