A/N: I'm fully aware that Animagus forms are not attained in the way I've described in the following chapters. For the sake of storytelling and character development, let's just say that a new method was introduced after the war. Also, I love movie Neville way more than book Neville, so I'm replacing the book narrative—where Dobby gave Harry Gillyweed—with the movie plot from Goblet of Fire because it gave Neville a bit more recognition.
Yesterday, McGonagall had posted a note on her classroom door that class was canceled, so Harry woke up wondering if today would be the same. It was a humid morning with surplus heat, making the Hogwarts greenhouses stuffy.
The panes of greenish glass showed no reflection of the lush plants beside them due to thick condensation. Neville was waiting by the Mandrakes, clipping dead leaves as he saw fit until he caught a glance at his old friends.
"Nev!" Ron greeted. They laughed when Pomona Sprout said from her corner, "That's Professor Longbottom, to you!"
Professor Sir Honorable Longbottom grinned brightly, "Harry! Ron!"—Miss Sprout corrected him with "Mr. Potter" and "Mr. Weasley"—"It's so good to see you guys."
Harry smiled, "It's crazy that you were a student only a year ago!"
"I'm still technically a student, though. Professor Sprout is mentoring me in a work-study program. It's really a dream!" Neville enthused, putting down the clippers after waving them in the air as he spoke, causing Ron to flinch.
Sprout corrected him once again, but this time with a light heart, "It's Miss Sprout, now! I'm a semester away from retiring, and Longbottom will take my place. I must make sure he's prepared before I go."
"I'm happy for you, Nev," Ron congratulated him. Pomona shuffled out of the greenhouse to greet the newcomers and advise them of their new instructor.
Neville chimed like a bell with glee, "Hermione is in my 8 am class. She left a note for you two where she sits—it's under the potted Fluxweed." Ron and Harry gave a blank expression, showing they had no clue what that was. Neville sighed, "Front row, far right."
With that, the boys nodded and took Hermione's seat. There was, in fact, a piece of parchment under the potted plant. Neat and legible script read:
I owled McGonagall after she didn't show up for Transfiguration yesterday. Apparently she hadn't quite figured out her curriculum yet, but she has now! She wants to teach a lesson on Animagi!
—Hermione
"Animagi? Isn't that potion magic?" Ron sputtered.
Harry remembered the sign tacked beside the Transfiguration classroom yesterday saying that classes were canceled. "If I'm being honest, I hope it's not," he admitted.
Ron drifted back to the lovely handwriting of the note. He read it once more and got excited all over again, "This is so cool!"
"But . . . why would McGonagall encourage us to learn magic that's likely to get us into more trouble?"
"Because we'll get into trouble either way," Ron said matter-of-factly.
Harry tried to find another reason to dismiss the idea, but couldn't. "I guess we'll just have to see how it goes."
Students of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, first years mostly, filed into the greenhouse. Neville was noticeably nervous, but the enthusiasm in his voice disguised it from people who did not know him as well as Ron or Harry.
"Welcome to herbology, everyone. Sit wherever you'd like. Since it's the first day, I reckon just a bit of a refresher will do nicely? Let's discuss flora in relation to water, rain, and the sea—maybe even name a few . . . ?"
A girl's hand shot up the instant she said "Kelp!"
"Borage?" said a Ravenclaw boy.
"Explain to the class what Borage is, please," Professor Longbottom encouraged.
"Well . . . it's an herb native to the Mediterranean . . . that's all I really know about it," he admitted.
"That's why you're in herbology—to learn. Don't be afraid of what you don't know. Five points to Ravenclaw."
The boy shot his fist in the air with a whoop. The welcoming atmosphere caused more students to chime in, working up the nerve to add their input.
There was talk of Banyan trees growing in the Fijian rainforest, giant water lilies and sea lavender flourishing in coastal areas of Wales and England. Harry remained quiet, as he had no knowledge about those plants or magical plants in general.
Why, again, did I take herbology this year? he wondered.
Professor Longbottom was pleased with the class participation thus far. He put a question out on the table: "Can anyone tell me what Bulrush is or anything about it?"
A boy squeaked in the back row, "It's the Puddlemere United logo!"
Neville turned to his mentor, Sprout, trying to maintain his composure, but it was a fruitless effort. "Yes, I suppose that's true . . . and that I should have been more specific."
A few laughs bubbled from the class until a girl raised her hand halfway. She was a Ravenclaw. Her dark complexion complimented the shade of blue in her robes. "Bulrush is a reed-like plant that grows in marshes, under the genus Typha. Muggles call them cattails," she said with a pronounced voice.
"Very good, Ms. Pike. Five points to Ravenclaw," Neville smiled. Sprout nodded her approval as she tended to the ivy.
Pike whispered something to her friend and they giggled.
"What about Gillyweed? Can anyone tell me what it does when ingested?" Neville asked with a tone of finality.
The class was dead.
For once in Harry's life, he raised his hand with the intent of answering a question presented to the class.
Sprout waved him away, "Yes, Mr. Potter, you may use the restroom."
"No . . . I-I know the answer," Harry muttered.
The whites of Pomona Sprout's eyes became highly visible as her brows lifted to a comical height, "You do?"
"Really?" Neville inquired.
Harry and Neville exchanged a brief glance of comprehension, and suddenly Neville wasn't so shocked.
The Tournament.
Harry swallowed the slight anxiety he felt, speaking in front of twenty piercing gazes. He said plainly, "Gillyweed, when ingested, allows the witch or wizard the ability to breathe underwater for an hour, though its effects in seawater versus freshwater are still debated among herbologists."
Sprout clapped in amazement, "Brilliant!"
"Terrific, Harry—er—Mr. Potter. Five points to Gryffindor!" Neville congratulated, with a subtle wink.
Most things Harry knew on an academic level were due to his experience in mischief and management of said mischief. Now, more than ever, that was his escape. He wouldn't have to think about the war if he kept himself busy with light-hearted mischief.
The nostalgia of innocent adventure had always lingered in the back of his mind, yearning for the chance to explore a new fantastical mystery and not have it cost the lives of his friends or those he cherished.
-x-
After lunch, Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed to the Transfiguration classroom, empty as it was. McGonagall gave them a swift grin, "So you've made it!"
Harry looked around the classroom, perplexed by the vacancy of it. "Are we the only ones in your class?" he inquired.
She smiled in anticipation, "No, we are still waiting on a student."
"Four students hardly seems like a class, Professor," Harry critiqued light-heartedly.
McGonagall pursed her lips with pride, "Only for advanced Transfiguration classes such as this, Mr. Potter. I hand-selected each candidate myself."
"Sorry I'm late—" An out-of-breath Draco barreled into the classroom, preoccupied, trying not to bend the pages of his Arithmancy textbook as he shoved it into his bag. "I had to clear up with Professor Vector that I cannot have Arithmancy at 1 pm. I'll have to switch—"
He stopped talking when he saw Harry, who seemed to just be casually staring at him again; Hermione, who was glaring; and Ron, who looked as if he had just stepped in a wad of gum.
McGonagall broke the tension, "Mr. Malfoy. I trust you've gotten my owl, then?"
"I have," he said, sizing up the inseparable golden trio. He straightened his posture to appear taller.
McGonagall continued, addressing the whole class as one: "I assume you all are aware that any misconduct will cost your House an egregious decline of points, yes?"
The class seemed to grumble in unison, acquiescing to the professors humble request.
"Good."
Rather than let them chat for a bit, McGonagall dispersed the unease in the room by diving straight into her lecture. Ron and Harry sat on either side of Hermione. Draco distanced himself decently from The others, sitting to Harry's far right.
"The Ministry has decided to finally allow the teaching of experimental Transfiguration magic at advanced levels. I'm sure some of you are aware that an Animagus form is attained through diligent potion-making,"—Harry groaned—"however, as the need for Animagi spies increased during the war, so did the frustration with state-of-the-art methods of becoming an Animagus. A skilled Transfiguration witch by the name of Windy Barcrook found a much simpler way to achieve Animagus status."
McGonagall flicked her wand and enchanted a nearby piece of chalk to write on the blackboard behind her:
PER VOLUNTATEM BELUAM CONSILIO FIO
Harry leaned behind Hermione to whisper to Ron, "Thank Merlin."
McGonagall continued, "This is the incantation you must memorize. You don't need your wands for this, either—just practice and diligence."
Hermione raised her hand to ask if they would need to repeat the incantation each time they wanted to transform.
"No, Ms. Granger. Think of it like training wheels. Once you've mastered your Animagus transformation, you won't need it anymore. It will come naturally to you." McGonagall proceeded after a pause, "Any witch or wizard with an Animagus form will tell you the key to success in this regard is a clear mind, suitable for meditation."
Harry internally grumbled, knowing how rubbish he was at clearing his mind, thinking back to when he practiced Occlumency with Snape. Harry wasn't even decent at it.
Occlumency skills would probably be essential for this type of magic, as the ability to create mental barricades could allow for undisturbed focus.
"Mr. Potter, perhaps your dissatisfaction in learning meditation with Professor Snape can be accounted for, due to your mistrust of him?" McGonagall proposed.
Harry thought to himself, knowing McGonagall would hear him, I told you I was bad at Occlumency.
McGonagall tittered while the small class exchanged looks of mystification. She continued, "You must be comfortable when you meditate, otherwise it will not work. Knowing and feeling you are safe is a valuable asset when meditating." McGonagall sighed, pulling out her fir wand of nine and a half inches. She pointed it at Draco. "Thus. . ." She cast a silent charm that encased Malfoy inside an invisible barrier. "Until you are more comfortable with one another, this will be necessary."
"What happened?" Ron asked, thoroughly confused. The wards surrounding Draco only became apparent when he brought his hand to the edge, embers of light blue sizzling at his touch and falling like cinders to the floor.
"That's . . . that's a little much, don't you think?" Hermione pleaded.
"I don't think so." Draco admitted, "It was my idea."
She was taken aback, "But why?"
Draco scoffed, "Because I'm not stupid. I knew other student wouldn't feel safe enough to meditate with me in the room. I just didn't expect those students to be you lot."
McGonagall raised a question to Draco: "Would you like me to dispel the enchantment?"
Draco furrowed his brow. "No. I'm still certain about this, Professor."
McGonagall sent him an empathetic look, then cast a charm to darken the mullioned windows, draping the class in a pitch void while their eyes adjusted. The darkness was alleviated only by the faintest rays of light still bleeding through the veiled windows.
McGonagall instructed them diligently, "Clear your mind, feel at peace, and focus on an animal—any animal which you may personally connect with." She noticed Hermione's anticipation. "If no progress is made in the slightest, consider that perhaps you are imagining the wrong animal."
Harry walked away from his desk and sat with his back against a wall. He felt the desks to be too unnatural a place to meditate. Hermione and Malfoy didn't seem to share this mentality, as they remained seated. Ron, however, found a more comfortable place to lay down among the wooden bleachers.
Harry imagined an array of different animals. He couldn't decide which one suited him best. His mind wandered to the subject of the Chamber, and eventually he settled on a snake for his animal. He was a Parselmouth, after all.
The best he could do to clear his mind was the trance he tended to fall into while staring off into space. He watched the muddled darkness over the high windows for what only seemed like a few minutes.
When McGonagall announced that class was over, the barrier surrounding Draco dispersed into small glittering particles and vanished.
McGonagall did not expect miraculous results on their first day, so she was not disappointed. Hermione was. "But we haven't made any progress!" she cried.
"It is very hard to clear the mind, Ms. Granger. It is only your first class," McGonagall lectured.
Hermione acquiesced to her advice but was still visibly upset. Draco left the classroom as if he wanted to get to the Slytherin common room as soon as possible. When the door shut behind the Slytherin, Ron stormed up to McGonagall's desk. Hermione followed close behind him, whispering pleas for him to not make a scene.
McGonagall stopped them with just her hand, "Before you say anything in objection, be sure to keep it respectful."
Ron swallowed the words he so desperately wanted to shout, in fear of being reprimanded further.
Harry spoke instead, "Why us, Professor?"
McGonagall had a feeling Harry would ask this. "That is your question, isn't it?" She chuckled lightly, "You ought to know the answer to that already. Do Prongs, Moony, Padfoot, or Wormtail ring a bell?"
Harry half-smiled.
McGonagall continued, "Becoming Animagi brought them closer together than ever."
"I suppose Malfoy is Wormtail," blurted Ron.
She tutted at him disciplinarily, "No, Mr. Weasley, not necessarily. I put him in this class because I know he has potential—"
"—He's a Death Eater, Professor. I don't think teaching this magic to someone like him is a good idea."
"I could say the same about you three." McGonagall retorted, "Always in trouble, no matter the consequences we enforced."
"But we couldn't be more different from Malfoy." Hermione argued, "We would never betray the school in exchange for more power."
"You think Mr. Malfoy had power?" McGonagall inquired.
"His parents did." Ron answered, "And he sided with You-Know-Who, just like them."
"Out of fear, yes? Do you think he had a choice in the matter?"
"Yes!" exclaimed Ron.
"I see. Have you considered that, though he may have made that choice willingly, he did not know all it might entail?" The golden trio did not have an answer to her question. "Either way," McGonagall began sweetly, "I believe you all could be great influences on Mr. Malfoy. Especially if what you think is true, he needs friends like you three to steer him in the right direction."
"To babysit him?" Ron smirked contemptuously.
She pursed her lips, "Now, I think that's a bit of an exaggeration."
"We'd be doing just that, though—keeping an eye out for him until he stabs all of us in the back when it most benefits him!" shouted Ron.
"He can't be trusted, Professor," Hermione concluded, politely.
McGonagall cut through their frustration with her cool tone, "Can you say with conviction that he's never done anything at all which surprised you?"
Hermione looked to Harry, knowing they both were thinking the same thing.
They remembered that time at Malfoy Manor. Draco could have easily ratted them out to Bellatrix and turned them over to Voldemort. He surely knew it was Harry whom the snatchers captured, even with Hermione's face-altering stinging hex. It was painfully obvious, looking back on it. Part of Harry now wondered if his error was more akin to intentional sacrifice. If so, why?
Hermione shook her head, "I'm going to be late for runes—and Ron? Don't you have a class with Hagrid at two o'clock?" Ron's expression made it obvious that he had forgotten.
They both waved goodbye to Harry and then to Headmistress McGonagall. Harry watched them leave, as if waiting aimlessly for something to happen—something that would introduce a solution to his nagging ambivalence.
"Do you have a class you're supposed to be in, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked expectantly.
"No, Professor . . . I'm done for the day." Harry sighed with relief.
"There's still something on your mind?" McGonagall postulated. She used a summoning charm on a nearby chair and ushered Harry to take a seat.
Harry shifted awkwardly. "I guess I'm just a bit confused is all . . . Malfoy has always been this . . . nuisance at the back of my mind, but the more I think about it, the less it bothers me. Does that make sense?"
"You two might make a better team than you think."
Harry snickered dismissively, "What gives you that idea?"
"If you must know now rather than make an effort to find out, Mr. Potter," McGonagall narrowed her green eyes delicately, "Mr. Malfoy is quite gifted in Transfiguration! And . . . he is a boy who knows as little about himself as you know about him. Animagus transformations can reveal mannerisms and values we have hiding just below the surface, however unsure of them we may be."
"Becoming Animagi could help us understand ourselves better?"
"Very much so, yes," she nodded.
After a pause, Harry asked, "What animal do you think I am, Professor?"
"I think the better question is . . . what animal do you think your Animagus form will take?"
Harry thought for a moment, "I imagined a snake at first, but I felt nothing . . . so a stag, maybe? Like my Patronus?"
"You don't sound very sure."
He shrugged, "Well, I'm open to anything."
"Good. Keep it that way," she said cheerfully. "You are free to go, Mr. Potter."
Harry left the classroom with his head in the clouds—so much so that he didn't notice someone was at the door until they put a sharp hand on his shoulder to grab his attention. Harry jumped.
"Scare you, do I?" Malfoy laughed derisively.
"Just your ghastly face," Harry jeered.
Malfoy brushed off the insult, annoyed with the realization that it was quite good. "Are you going to the Chamber tonight?"
The question caught Harry off guard, as did Draco's non-icy expression.
He hadn't planned on doing such a thing, but he could certainly be persuaded. He had time to kill, anyway, and the Chamber study wasn't a bad place to catch up on assignments. "Hmm . . . weren't there books on Animagi in the study?" Harry postulated.
"Yes." Draco lowered his voice, "And . . . I think Jarik Lowen is a name very much worthy of our time."
Harry raised a brow at Draco's ominously vague statement but decided not to press further. He made up his mind, "Okay. Meet me outside Myrtle's bathroom at five o'clock."
Draco was happy with that offer.
-x-
As they walked into the lavatory, Draco gasped at the full-bodied apparition floating over the stalls, "Moaning Myrtle!"
Harry elbowed him in the ribs, "Call her Myrtle. She doesn't like that alias."
"Oh . . . my apologies, Ms. Myrtle." Malfoy's posture stiffened at his embarrassment.
Myrtle giggled, "That's quite alright, Mr. Draco." She turned to Harry, blushing. The ghosts of Hogwarts had no flesh to turn red, but the sudden opacity around her cheeks made it obvious. "Oh, and I'm absolutely overjoyed you've come back to see me, Harry."
In Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts, Myrtle had finally stopped flirting with him, occupied by the company of none other than Draco Malfoy. It seemed that after the war, a switch had flipped, and now she had a tendency to invade Harry's personal space, once again.
He looked at the Slytherin beside him whose eyes were filled with judgment, one eyebrow lifted. Draco whispered sourly when Myrtle turned her back, "I hate to break it to you, but she's way too old for you."
Myrtle recognized the blond boy as the same one she comforted years ago, but she no longer approached him with gentle understanding. Word of Draco's betrayal spread quickly among the ghosts of Hogwarts, and now she only regarded him with contempt.
Myrtle squealed, "Oh! I heard one of the prefects talking about you, Draco!"
He pretended not to care.
"What did they say?" asked Harry.
Myrtle chuckled, "I don't think you want to know." Harry looked back to Draco, who was fidgeting impatiently. "What brings you to the Chamber again, Draco?" Myrtle pressed.
Draco didn't realize he had been caught, following Harry the first time. He shrugged inward, "No reason of importance."
Myrtle squeaked, "I assume it's no Death Eater business, since you're with Harry—I trust Harry." She hovered uncomfortably close to the Gryffindor, who gave Draco a "this happens a lot, and I know it's weird" straight-lipped smile.
Malfoy changed the subject hastily, and he almost wrung his words together when he spoke, "Open the Chamber, already! I need to get to that library."
-x-
When they crossed the stone threshold, Draco rushed through the doorway in a hurry. He made a beeline for the bookshelves, running his fingers along the book spines in search of something specific.
Harry confronted him about his insufferable behavior. "Why are you being so pushy today?"
"Because I did some research in the restricted section."
"They let you into the restricted section?"
Draco pointed a pale finger at Harry, saying, "Watch it." He rushed to where he left his things, pulled Experiments of the Sullen Wizard from his bag and handed a loose piece of parchment decorated with elegant, uniform cursive to Harry. "We should do this potion for our assignment instead of Polyjuice."
Harry took the parchment and carefully read the translated ingredients list with exasperation. "This is the one with unicorn blood, Draco." Harry sighed. The name sort of slipped out in the manner of a father telling off a misbehaving child, but Malfoy paid it no mind.
"You're welcome for the translation, by the way," Draco sassed, "and I can get that in Knockturn Alley—in fact, I already did."
"You didn't. . ." Harry winced.
Draco fetched a phial containing a silvery substance like quicksilver from his blazer's inner pocket.
"You did." Harry pinched the bridge of his nose from under his circular glasses to mitigate the headache that spun between his eyes.
"It's not like I slaughtered the unicorn myself," Draco said defensively.
"But someone did," Harry braced, "and that means this potion. . ."—Harry hesitated—"Well, I dunno what it means for the potion—potions aren't really my thing."
Draco sneered, "Literally everyone knows that."
Harry raised his voice over Draco's: "But I know it means nothing good!"
Draco maintained a collected rictus while swirling the contents of the phial, "It means the potion is volatile. Not following the procedure could result in dire consequences—but that won't be an issue, as I will be in charge of brewing it."
Harry stopped arguing, knowing it would get them nowhere. "You said you did research. What did you find?"
"Jarik Lowen was a wizard jeweler from the Middle Ages. Legend has it, he created an enchanted pendant that would allow him to speak to his late mentor for guidance." Harry thought for a moment, wishing that such a thing wasn't so far out of reach. He didn't understand the legend's relevance just yet, so Draco continued, "He gave the pendant to Salazar Slytherin in exchange for his indifference, as Lowen married a Muggle woman. Therefore . . . the pendant must be here somewhere!"
Harry had a lot to process in the silence that so rarely followed Malfoy. "But where would we even begin to look?"
Draco rolled his eyes, "The bookshelves, obviously."
They scavenged through the covers for a clue. Even another book by Jarik Lowen would suffice, but they combed through every shelf and found nothing.
"This is a waste of time." Harry huffed. He walked off to the Transfiguration shelf to grab a book on Animagus transformations. He brought it with him to the grand sofa that faced the large, empty fireplace that Harry thought connected to the Floo network. It was easier to concentrate without the dancing flames in his peripheral vision, despite their pleasant warmth.
"Potter?" Draco called out, concern weaving into his voice.
Harry rolled his eyes, "What do you want now?"
"I'm concerned you might be ill, seeing as you're keen to read a book for once in your life," Draco teased. Harry knew this was the Slytherin's attempt at humor, so he gave a very forced "Ha-ha."
Draco never averted his gaze. Though he had questioned Harry facetiously, his body language betrayed the uncaring air of his remark.
"I want to progress in my Animagus transformation, but I think I'm doing something wrong," Harry admitted.
"Like what?"
Harry stared off into space, at a loss: "I have no idea."
"Are you meditating properly?" Draco harped.
Harry reiterated, "I don't know."
This time, Draco seemed less patient, which Harry could spot from a mile away. Malfoy was not the most patient person in the world, and neither was Harry. "Are you clearing your mind at all?" Draco asked, a little accusingly.
"I don't know."
Draco threw his arms up in aggravation, "Then how do you expect me to help you?!"
Harry said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the entire universe: "I don't."
Draco was offended, to say the least. In his silent tirade of umbrage, portrayed with dramatic gestures and horrendous facial expressions, Harry continued, "You've never seemed the helpful type to me, Draco. What makes you think I wouldn't expect an ultimatum from you?"
Draco shuffled in his polished black shoes, conspicuously shifting his eyes away from Harry's.
"There is an ultimatum," Harry said exhaustedly.
Draco returned his eyes to Harry with a supremely fake, quite blinding smile upon his face. "That word has a tarnished reputation. Think of it as . . . we both want something, and we can just as well provide it to one another. I want to brew this cure, and you want to find your Animagus."
Harry scoffed at his proposition, "Even if I said yes, how would you be of any help to me in Transfiguration?"
Draco smirked, "I can tell you exactly what you're doing wrong."
Harry pointed an accusatory finger at Malfoy, "But you wouldn't know; we're at the same point in our transformations."
"Are we . . . ?"
Harry called Draco's bluff until the Slytherin folded back his sleeve to reveal spots of muted green scales.
"Merlin!" Harry exclaimed, "Why didn't you tell anyone about this? McGonagall would've been over the moon! You could've earned Slytherin a good twenty points."
Draco's accomplished smile turned sour, "Don't remind me. I didn't find out until after I left the classroom. And you were in there, talking to McGonagall. I couldn't just barge in." Draco bitterly murmured that he had anticipated the changes to be more prominent.
"What animal are you?" Harry asked, genuinely thrilled, though he denied the plausible reason why—that he cared.
Malfoy seemed to bask in the reverie like merfolk in the sun: "I thought of a dragon, originally."
"Why a dragon?"
". . .It's in my name, Potter." Draco raised his brow at him, "I thought that would be obvious."
Harry punched him lightly on the shoulder, mocking him back: "Then shouldn't it be just as obvious that a name isn't all that determines your Animagus?"
"Of course. I just identify with dragons, anyway."
"Okay," Harry sighed, "and how would you go about helping me?"
A sly smirk curled up at the ends of Draco's mouth, "Through Legilimency."