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The Art of Self-Fashioning	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 26077 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Nineteen—Running

            Harry leaped out the front door of Hogwarts and headed in comprehensive bounds for the Forbidden Forest. He was holding up his wand a second later, whistling as hard as he could for Yar. Sometimes she ignored him and went hunting somewhere else. He could only hope she wouldn’t do that now.

            He was breathing hard enough to make it feel like a hand was closing around his lungs. He wanted to vomit. He had thought—he had thought he was in control, that no one suspected him, that he would get to heal his parents and no one would interfere because no one would know or they wouldn’t care if they found out—the Dursleys wouldn’t have cared—

            And then Professor McGonagall was right on the verge of finding out. She would care, Harry knew. She had tried to take him away from the Dursleys even when it was already okay. She wouldn’t listen to him. She would frown and cluck and shake her head, and then she would probably take him to someone who could read his mind or make him confess the truth with Veritaserum.

            Not really. Not her.

            But she had more dangerous weapons even if she never used Veritaserum, Harry thought. He was under the branches of the largest trees, and he hopped along more quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of centaurs. He could see Yar’s wings flickering now and then above his head. She would follow him to a clearing where she could land.

            Professor McGonagall could look at him with those critical, compassionate eyes and make Harry want to confess. She could make him think he was weak, the way Harry knew himself to be. Sometimes he resented all this endless effort he put in. Sometimes he thought his parents were never going to get better. Sometimes he just wanted to be normal and grow up and visit his parents in hospital but not worry about making them better.

            The clearing was ahead, then here. Harry came to a stop in the center and held up his arm for Yar, not flinching as she landed on it. He’d long since hardened all the skin on that arm.

            Those thoughts came to him in the middle of the night. Harry lay awake and thought them, and then woke up shuddering. He never wanted them to come true.

            Yar turned her head towards him and watched him with wild, wise eyes that knew more than he did, for all his expertise in Transfiguration magic. Harry wished for a second that he’d been born an animal. They had it so much easier.

            Then he shook his head and reached out, turning her slowly around. He had to find the Tracking Charm Dumbledore had on her and take it off. Only then would it really be safe to run.

            The slim band around her leg disgusted him again when he saw it. It was white. Harry might not spend a lot of time looking at Yar’s legs, but he still should have seen it. And he hadn’t paid enough attention to protect his friend from a threat.

            When he touched his wand to the band, it sparked and made Yar screech and lift her wings to fly away. Harry turned sharply to the side, re-balancing her and taking a piece of raw meat out of his pocket. Yar focused on the food, and Harry handed it to her. While she munched, he examined the band again.

            It was enchanted to resist any tampering, evidently. Harry closed his eyes and ignored the panic that wanted to rise and consume him. So far, he didn’t hear anyone coming after him. They must not know where he was.

            He could figure this out. He would figure this out, and then he and Yar and Cross and his mice would leave.

            Harry bent down to study the band more closely.

*

            Minerva rounded the corner with a hard step that made her wince and wish she was younger. Her heart was laboring in her chest, and she hadn’t known where Albus was at first, meaning she’d headed for his office and then towards the Great Hall. Completely opposite directions, she thought as she bent over for a second and clasped her hand to her chest. And of no help in finding Harry.

            Finally, she’d decided the situation was serious enough to send Albus a Patronus. It had asked him to meet her in the third floor corridor that had once housed the Philosopher’s Stone. Minerva didn’t think anyone would be there. And if she happened to see Harry on the way there because she was taking such a circuitous route through the castle, that was all to the good.

            “Oh, dear. Is something wrong, Professor McGonagall?”

            Minerva straightened in an instant. Standing in front of her was Dolores, her smile and eyes both wide and guileless. She reached out a hand as if to steady Minerva while shaking her head a little.

            “You shouldn’t be working so hard. You should be in bed. Why don’t you come with me to my office? It’s not far. You could have a nice cup of tea.”

            Minerva wanted to scream in frustration. Albus had told them all not to antagonize Dolores, so that the Minister wouldn’t suspect the extent to which the Order of the Phoenix was already involved in opposing You-Know-Who. That meant not showing “suspicious attitudes” and doing what she requested as well as not getting upset when students had detentions with her or she made a complete hash of the Defense classes.

            But the longer Minerva stood here, the closer she came to losing Harry.

            “I’m all right, Dolores,” she said, and forced some humor into her smile. “Just countering a student prank, as usual.”

            “Oh, tell me all about it,” Dolores suggested, taking a step closer and turning her smile to winsome. “They should all be punished. I’m sure I could give you some tips!”

            And now Minerva was caught in her lie, and she had to figure out what the hell she could say that would still persuade Dolores to let her go in time.

            Even as she opened her mouth to speak, though, a ghostly wind seemed to travel down the corridor, and the tapestries on the walls leaped up and down. Minerva couldn’t feel a trace of the wind, but from the way she let go of Minerva’s arm and grabbed her own with a violent shiver, Dolores could.

            “Madam Umbridge,” said a hissing voice that came from the tapestry’s weave, or sounded like it.

            Dolores gave little sob and ran towards the stairs Minerva had just come up. Minerva stood where she was and smiled faintly as she saw Albus step out of his hiding place the minute the other woman was gone. That spell had once been one of his signatures during the war, when he wanted to frighten enemies away more than he wanted to corner them.

            “What is it, Minerva?” Albus asked.

            Minerva swallowed, her heart suddenly feeling as if it might burst again. “The Transfiguration master we were looking for is Harry Potter, Albus. And he’s about to run away.”

*

            He couldn’t get the Tracking Charm off.

            Harry closed his eyes and retreated again into the calm he’d been working on, the calmness that he should have shown when Professor McGonagall had talked to him. If he’d looked her in the eye and come up with excuses for his claws and the other things—he wanted to protect himself from Dudley, and he liked learning Transfiguration but didn’t want to show off in class—she would have believed him.

            But he hadn’t.

            Harry opened his eyes and looked again at the white band on Yar’s leg. If he couldn’t negate the charm and he couldn’t get it off, then he would transform it into something else. He ought to have enough time for that.

            He spent a moment calling up in his imagination exactly what he wanted to see, and then reached out and touched the white band. “Commuto fasciam columbam,” he murmured.

            The band seemed to flare with an inner light, and then sag to the side as though someone was pushing it from within Yar’s leg. Then it unfolded, and the white sides of the band became white wings. A dove sat staring near Yar’s feet for a second.

            It probably would have flown away in the next second, but Yar slammed it to the ground with one strike of her swift feet and bent to tear at it as it struggled.

            Harry nodded. He had to admit to some satisfaction that Dumbledore’s Tracking Charm had died that way. He turned and looked around the Forbidden Forest, considering it closely.

            He had thought for a minute about staying here, but it was too close to the school. There was the chance that Dumbledore had already oriented on the Tracking Charm, before Harry destroyed it, and decided to come this way. They wouldn’t hesitate to come into the Forest, not if they really wanted to take him down.

            But what other sanctuary do I have?

            Harry opened his eyes. What kind of sanctuary were his friends always telling him they had? With their families. If he could move fast enough, he could get what he needed from them and then be gone before Professor McGonagall or Dumbledore or anyone else could come looking for him.

            But he would need to move faster than he could even by springing on his legs. He drew his wand.

            “Accio Cleansweep Six!” he called, the name of the best broom the school had. Then he settled against the tree next to him and waited for it to arrive. He had a few preparations to make before he could fly, notably tying his pockets shut so that the mice wouldn’t fall out and persuading the reluctant Cross to climb into the deepest one. Cross hated flying. Well, now he would have to make do.

            Yar, of course, he didn’t need to worry about. Her snapping and gulping and tearing made a suitable background music for his wait, Harry thought.

*

            “Where did he get that kind of skill?”

            Minerva shook her head as she led Albus towards Ravenclaw Tower. Harry would have gone to get clothes, at least.

            “I don’t know. He was doing well in class, but I don’t know how he taught himself so much outside it. I didn’t know he could Transfigure living animals with that sort of skill until he gave a kitten to Neville last year…”

            “You should have questioned him then.”

            Minerva turned around and glared, and after a moment, Albus sighed. “You’re right, Minerva. I’m sorry. But the thought that a child’s been doing this kind of illegal Transfiguration under our noses, and no one noticed—I don’t know what that indicates. That I’m getting so slow I might lose the war?”

            Minerva privately thought that more people than just Albus were fighting the war, but she nodded in understanding and led him on.

            She found two of Harry’s fellow Ravenclaws near the tower door, and sighed in relief. “Miss Patil, Miss Chang,” she said, as they turned around in surprise. “We’re looking for Harry Potter. Have you seen him?”

            “Not since Transfiguration, Professor.” Patil looked puzzled.

            “I thought Roger was going to talk to him again about recruiting,” said Chang, and rolled her eyes a little. “I told him it was useless. Sorry, professors,” she added, maybe seeing that neither Minerva nor Albus had any idea what she was talking about. “Harry’s really good at flying, and Roger keeps thinking that he’ll join the Quidditch team. But Harry doesn’t care anything about the game. I don’t know why Roger thinks he has a chance of convincing him.”

            “Do you think he might be on the Quidditch pitch, then?” Albus asked, sounding interested. Perhaps it was only finding someone else who enjoyed flying more than the game, Minerva thought. Albus had often told her that he believed he was the only one with that opinion.

            “Yes, maybe.” Chang shrugged, gave them another curious glance, and turned back to Ravenclaw Tower.

            Minerva wanted to charge back down the stairs. Albus took her elbow and constrained her to a walking pace until they were out of sight of the Tower, and then cast a spell that filled Minerva with a wave of refreshment and energy. She sighed as she stood straighter.

            “Did you notice another interesting thing?” Albus asked, quickening his pace, too. Minerva assumed he had used the same spell, although Albus was strong enough at a hundred and fifty to put most other wizards to shame.

            “What?” Minerva’s mind was on Harry, and the loneliness and fear he must be feeling, to make him run from her.

            “Neither of those two students seemed concerned about young Harry. Does he have many friends in his House?”

            “No,” Minerva said shortly. She wanted to save her breath for moving. But Albus continued to look at her, so she gave in. “Only Terry Boot in his House. And of course he’s close to Neville, but you knew that.”

            “Of course,” Albus murmured, and then fell silent.

            Minerva wondered what he was thinking, but it was only a fleeting thought in the midst of all that she had to worry about. Especially when she tried to make Albus pick up his pace, and he wouldn’t. They settled for floating down the stairs and around corners, all the time heading steadily for the Quidditch pitch.

*

            Harry stepped back with a sigh. There had been a reasonable explanation for why the broom couldn’t come to him after all, one that had nothing to do with his Summoning Charm failing, as he’d feared. The door on the broom shed had been locked so firmly, including with magic, that the broom hadn’t been able to make it out.

            But now it was open, and Harry swung a leg over the eager Cleansweep Six and touched his pockets one more time. Cross, mice, shrunken trunk with his clothes. He nodded and pushed off into the air.

            “Mr. Potter!”

            “Harry!”

            Harry’s head whipped around. It was really Professor McGonagall calling him by his first name that did it; he didn’t recognize the other voice.

            But there she was, with the Headmaster, and they were both running fast and looking anxiously up at him. Harry wondered for a second what they would do if he went back down. March him to the Headmaster’s office? Arrest him? Tell him he shouldn’t be doing this and send him to Ravenclaw Tower without dinner?

            But then he saw Dumbledore’s face. Professor McGonagall might hug Harry and try to help him. He wouldn’t.

            Harry curled his legs around the broom and shot into the sky.

            “Harry!” Professor McGonagall sounded devastated.

            A spell was coming at his back when Harry glanced over his shoulder. It was bright white and it hummed like a hundred of the wasps he had once conjured to bother Aunt Petunia. But Harry knew how to beat it. He was glad, now, that he’d never showed anyone except a few students and Madam Hooch how well he could fly.

            He leaned to the side, and the white spell sped past him. Another one was going to hit his head, but Harry ducked and swooped like Yar when she had seen a particularly tasty rabbit. It missed him, too. And soon Harry would be over the Forbidden Forest and away from the school, and away from any spell that Dumbledore might send after him.

            “Mr. Potter.”

            Dumbledore’s voice boomed around him. Harry didn’t look over his shoulder to see whether he was on a broom. He knew no one could have caught up with him that fast. It was probably the Sonorus Charm.

            “We only want to talk to you. We want to know why you have made the changes you have. You will not be harmed.”

            Harry ignored that, and kept flying. Adults said that a lot. Aunt Petunia used to say it when Harry didn’t want to come out of his cupboard to be punished. And Harry had believed her, like a fool, several times.

            No more.

            “You will be stopped, Mr. Potter. Please come back willingly.”

            Harry lifted his head and looked forwards at a sound of grating and clanging. The front gates of Hogwarts were swinging shut, and above them was a pair of huge gates made of dancing fire. The magical protections that made Hogwarts safe in times of war, Harry supposed. They were one of the very few things other than goblin rebellions that Professor Binns had ever talked about in History of Magic.

            But Harry wasn’t going that way. He swung out in an even broader curve, and sped above the Forbidden Forest before they could stop him.

            “Harry!”

            He did glance back, compelled by that sound, even though he knew he couldn’t make out Professor McGonagall’s features from this distance. She was standing with her arms raised up to him, though. He saw that.

            If she had been alone, he might have gone back. If he hadn’t panicked when she saw his claws, he might have been able to talk to her. But she’d brought Headmaster Dumbledore. And he had tried to imprison Harry and cast spells at him that might have any effect. While he was flying.

            He might have made me crash. He can’t care that much.

            The Forbidden Forest bent to the south and west, and Harry followed it away from the gates of Hogwarts, aiming for the place where he would be able to circle past that protective magic. He kept his head tucked and turned. Looking back would be bad for him now. He might yield to the weakness that told him to trust Professor McGonagall and return to the school after all.

            Better to keep going, and spend the night in the Forest, and then make his way to the Longbottom home where Neville’s grandmother lived, which Neville had told him was in Lancashire. Neville had sent him detailed instructions the summer before last, under the impression that Professor McGonagall might Apparate Harry there.

            Harry couldn’t Apparate, and wouldn’t dare use his wand now anyway, since the Ministry could use the Trace to find him. But Neville’s house had a few landmarks nearby that he knew would be distinctive from the air.

            And he had a few plans for what would happen after he was able to land and rest for a while. Several of them involved the Lestranges.

*

            “Did you know that we would lose him, Minerva?”

            Minerva closed her eyes. “No, Albus,” she said dully. “I had no idea that he was so determined to leave.”

            She rubbed the side of her face, which ached. She had spent so much time casting spells, ones that would let them walk safely through the Forbidden Forest and search through the eyes of birds above it and Transfigure small creatures that might find Harry before they did, that her jaw hurt. She was more than happy to sit back in Albus’s office and eat the biscuits and other treats that the house-elves had provided.

            But Albus was brooding, and Minerva knew that meant she was going to hear about it. With a tiny sigh, she set aside the teacup and opened her mouth to explain what she knew about Harry and his magic.

            Albus cut in before she could, looking sightlessly at his phoenix, who was mature now and probably soon to crumble into a small hatchling again. “We must have overlooked him. I will never understand how, but he became a master of Transfiguration despite his lack of formal instruction. And his goals are probably Dark.”

            “How do you know that, Albus?” Minerva asked sharply. “He ran away when I confronted him. That’s not the action of a Dark wizard. He might have tried to hurt me, or Obliviate me, or even cast a spell that would have made it impossible for me to tell anyone else about him. But he did none of those things.”

            Albus looked up with a faint, weary smile. “But in the last half-hour, Minerva, Severus has broken through a Memory Charm barrier that he might have remained ignorant of if not for the surprising news of Mr. Potter. There can be no doubt that Mr. Potter is the one who cast that charm. It covers a battle in Lupin’s rooms in his third year, the night that Remus turned into a werewolf. Harry was there, apparently, listening to Remus tell stories of his parents. He managed to hurt both Severus and Remus, badly, and then modified Severus’s memory so that he wouldn’t know Harry had been there.” Albus hesitated, looking vaguely disturbed. “But Severus didn’t remember him doing the same to Remus. I wonder why Remus never told me. Not even the shock of transforming into a werewolf should have erased such events.”

            Minerva said nothing. She felt as if someone had slammed her in the chest, and it was hard to do anything but let her breath labor along for a minute. She had to put a hand over her heart and close her eyes.

            How did Harry learn the Memory Charm?

            But she knew that, too, when she thought about it. Harry had managed to learn a lot of Transfiguration on his own that she hadn’t taught him. It made sense for him to have studied the Memory Charm.

            Which argues that Albus is right, and he always intended to cover up his tracks and do something that would make others think him Dark.

            “He doesn’t care about inflicting pain on other people,” Albus continued, his voice gentle, persuasive. “I think we need to warn others about him, Minerva.”

            “I think you’re wrong,” Minerva said, opening her eyes. “He’s fierce in defense of his friends. And he cares about animals with a ferocity that…”

            Her voice trailed off in the face of Albus’s implacable silence. “What else did you see from Severus’s memories?” It had to be something then, as his interview with Severus and dinner were the only times she’d been away from his side.

            “He created Transfigured animals to help him in battle,” said Albus. “And do whatever he told them to, evidently. That was there to see in Severus’s memories, although I doubt he knew exactly what I was looking for.” He hesitated. “He nearly broke Severus’s wand. He had the mice gnaw on his genitals.”

            Minerva shuddered again. That didn’t fit with the quiet boy she knew, carrying a kitten into the hospital wing for his best friend to have…

            But it might fit with the boy who had claws and wild eyes and claimed that there was no problem with going back to his abusive relatives, not now that they “understood” each other.

            “Have you thought of something, Minerva?”

            “His relatives abused him, Albus—”

            “So you told me.”

            The coolness in his tone made Minerva pause. But she pushed on a second later. She owed Harry more than giving up because Albus opposed her once.

            “I don’t think he’s on his way to join You-Know-Who or anything like that. He doesn’t seem impressed by the man. He loves his parents, I know that. He wouldn’t join anyone who’d ordered people to hurt them.”

            “But he might help him inadvertently, for example by distracting Neville from his studies or causing chaos that Voldemort could use to his advantage,” Albus pointed out, ignoring the way Minerva jumped, as usual. “I think we need to prepare for the worst, Minerva. And that includes finding Harry and giving him an ultimatum. Even if his intentions are absolutely altruistic, he would still need supervision.”

            Minerva bowed her head. She couldn’t argue with any of it. For Harry to change his own body had shaken her deeply. She knew only a few Transfiguration masters in history who had done that. Most went through the training to become an Animagus instead.

            But she also couldn’t believe anything evil of Harry, even if she didn’t have the rational basis for an argument. Her beliefs and feelings were stubborn, wordless, but there.

For now, she would do what she could to find Harry. And when she did, she would go and talk to him, instead of bringing him in for questioning.

Maybe that will finally be necessary. But I do feel I owe him more than that.

*

Jester: Even more of his secrets got out, but Minerva wasn’t fast enough.
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The Art of Self-Fashioning