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The Art of Self-Fashioning	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 26077 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
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Chapter Twenty-Nine—Meeting the Semi-Opposition

            “Ah. It seems we’re going to have company we didn’t anticipate.”

            “What?” Harry turned around. He had Yar on his arm and several mice in his pockets. Cross and Spellmaker, as he’d named the new cat formed from Bellatrix’s wand, had been left behind in the house; they still made the mice nervous, and Harry had no convenient way to carry them with Yar riding him.

            “Not just Minerva and Longbottom. Two others Apparated in.” Black had his eyes closed and his fingers splayed across the surface of a diamond-colored sphere he had found in Grimmauld Place. Harry watched the colors follow his fingers. He hadn’t trusted Black’s explanation about how the sphere worked, not completely, but he trusted that it would alert them to the presence of magical signatures. “I don’t know them.”

            Harry winced a little. He couldn’t work the sphere because he wasn’t a Black, and he knew Black himself only recognized the other two because he’d studied under Professor McGonagall and apparently Neville shared his family’s common magical signature. No chance of knowing who the other two were until they approached them here.

            “Here” was a long meadow, a narrow patch between two stands of trees, studded with short grass. Harry approved of both the trees and the grass. Enemies might approach them unseen, but they’d have to Apparate in first, and Yar would see movement near the trees and warn him. And it was hard to get across the grass without being seen.

            “How much do you trust Minerva, Harry?”

            Harry was slow to answer. It was still strange to him to hear Black call both him and Professor McGonagall by their first names. “A lot. I would have let her do something about the Dursleys if she’d offered earlier.”

            “And Longbottom is the same age you are. I will allow them to approach. But have your animals ready.”

            Harry raised his eyebrows a little, thought about saying that Neville had received a lot of extra training, and then left it alone. He was learning the right way to get along with Black.

            Soon enough, the four figures came through the trees. Harry relaxed right away when he saw the size of the ones who trailed behind Neville. Not large enough to be adults, and right now that was all he cared about.

            Not all Black cared about, though. He made a noise like Cross when Black had accidentally stepped on his tail. “That red hair means Weasley. Why would a Weasley have come with them?”

            “Ron Weasley is Neville’s best friend.”

            “That isn’t enough explanation for why he’s here. And who is that other one with them?”

            Harry knew a strange, short surge of joy that he could say something that would irritate Black. He obediently squinted as if he didn’t recognize the other person either, and then said, “That’s Hermione Granger. His other best friend.”

            “Both in Gryffindor. Both students, I assume.” Black paced slowly back and forth as the others came nearer and nearer.

            “If it comes to that, Neville is in Gryffindor, too,” Harry pointed out. “And Professor McGonagall is the Head of Gryffindor. And I should have gone to Gryffindor, if the Sorting Hat hadn’t wanted to play some sort of game.”

            Black glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “You were never meant for that House. It would have been Slytherin, if certain people hadn’t been stupid.”

            He turned to greet Professor McGonagall before Harry could ask who had been stupid in this case. But it was probably him, in which case Harry didn’t care to hear the answer. He would rather to talk to Professor McGonagall and Neville, anyway.

            Professor McGonagall nodded to Black, but she had her eyes on Harry. “You’re all right,” she whispered, and it was more than blatant that she was not talking to Black.

            “I told you I was,” Harry said, a little confused. He had known she would be glad to hear from him, but he hadn’t thought she would doubt him so much. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing a professor who liked a student should do.

            For a moment, Professor McGonagall stood still, and then she smiled faintly. “You did indeed. I’m afraid that when I’ve gone so long without hearing from someone I—care for, then it takes longer for the news to sink in.”

            Harry nodded. He could relate. He had gone so long thinking his parents were dead that the implications of them being alive had taken time to sink in. If Professor McGonagall hadn’t taken him to see them in hospital and to visit Sirius’s grave, it would have been even longer.

            “Harry.”

            And then it was time to turn around and smile at Neville. Harry was glad to see Dapple was still perched on Neville’s shoulder, and that he even glared suspiciously at Harry when he came near. Maybe Black was right about Harry only creating animals that did what he told them to, instead of acting independently, but this was at least proof that Harry could create animals that didn’t obey him. “How have you been?”

            “I’m fine.” Neville reached out and shook Harry’s hand, and then suddenly grabbed him in a hug. Only a quick motion with Harry’s arm prevented Yar from descending on Neville to try to wrench his eyes out of his head. As it was, she flapped off in disgust and screeched at them from the top of a tree.

            “I was so worried. Even Gran said she hadn’t seen you, and then…”

            “I’m sorry. I would have told you where I was earlier, but I wanted to hide from Dumbledore.”

“Did he threaten you or something?” Neville pulled back so he could look Harry in the eyes, but someone else answered before Harry could.

“Professor Dumbledore is a great man! This must be a misunderstanding.”

            Harry looked coolly at Granger. He didn’t dislike her, and he knew she was a good friend to Neville, but it irritated him that she didn’t see the obvious. “Who else would I have run away from? Snape doesn’t frighten me enough, and there are no other enemies hunting me. Not like Voldemort is hunting Neville.” He would refrain from using the name “Lord Dudders” for now, but only because no one else would understand it. It was still the way Harry felt about him.

            “Well, a terrible misunderstanding, then.” Unlike Weasley, who was watching everyone as if time would tell him the right away to feel about Black and Harry, Granger had leaped into things with both feet. She brushed her hair away from her face and moved closer to Harry. “But Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t want to hurt you. He wants all his students to succeed.”

            “In this, Miss Granger, I’m sorry to inform you that you are wrong.” Granger turned with a little gasp to Professor McGonagall, who was frowning. “He did want to try and corral Harry, largely because he was worried about his mastery of Transfiguration. Whether that would have meant doing something more permanent, I can’t say.”

            She shot a glance at Harry, who nodded back. She could have said, but it would take time to talk Granger and presumably Weasley around. Take the soft tack first and let them believe what they wanted for now, but work on influencing them subtly.

            “The Slytherin way,” Black muttered behind him.

            Harry had a lot of practice now in resisting the urge to argue with Black. He just looked Neville in the eye and saw the way Neville nodded back to him. Neville probably had to trust Dumbledore more than Harry did. He still wouldn’t say anything to Dumbledore about Harry.

            It would cause problems that he’d brought his friends along, but probably it was better than having them sneak along behind—which Harry knew Gryffindors had a tendency to do—and cause trouble when they got caught, or sent an owl to Dumbledore, or something.

            Harry paused at the nature of the thought. It was the first time he’d thought something that was so uncomplimentary about Gryffindors.

            Maybe Black is right and I don’t really belong there.

            But Harry shook that thought out of his head as he and Black went about setting up the Shield Charms and various spells that would prevent anyone from overhearing them. His House placement didn’t matter right this instant. What did was keeping the meeting safe and secret and deciding what they would do next.

*

            Minerva realized, only a minute after she began evaluating Regulus Black, that he was evaluating her in much the same way, and for much the same reasons.

            We both want to know if the other will treat Harry right.

            It might have been amusing in other circumstances. For now, Minerva could only hope that her initial impressions were correct, because Harry could become so badly damaged if they weren’t.

            Black seemed to know where Harry was at all times. He turned his head a little now and then to keep him under observation as Harry raised the spells, which Minerva could only be impressed by; obviously Black had made Harry focus more on his studies in Charms and perhaps Defense. And Black didn’t look contemptuous or fascinated.

            He seemed interested, that was all. Watchful.

            He kept an eye on Minerva, too, which Minerva couldn’t blame him for. They didn’t know each other well outside interactions more than fifteen years ago as professor and student. And she had been Head of his rival House and fighting in the Order of the Phoenix. Black must know that now, whether or not he had at the time.

            Black finally turned and conjured a bench. Minerva Transfigured several taller clumps of grass into chairs. Harry didn’t bother using his own skills, but simply took one of the chairs. They sat in a circle, Black close to Harry, Minerva on his other side, and Neville, Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley across from them.

            “So,” said Minerva. “You wanted to speak with us as allies.”

            “Yes,” said Black. “Several days ago, we captured my cousin and my in-laws.”

            Neville turned a sick white; his friends merely looked puzzled. Harry nodded in a way that told Minerva her first, stomach-churning impression was correct, and the “we” meant Black and Harry.

            “You let a schoolboy face Bellatrix Lestrange?” she asked, and knew her voice had gone as cold as it had during first year when she caught Neville and his friends with a dragon.

            Black laughed, sounding enough like Sirius for a moment that Minerva couldn’t speak. “It was more a question of letting dear Bella face him.” He reached out and put a hand on the back of Harry’s chair. Harry’s eyes followed the motion, but that was nothing different; he had always looked at Minerva in much the same way when she was close to him.

            I fear that Harry will never trust any adult moving near him without a close look.

            “Harry is an accomplished fighter,” Black continued. “He needs to broaden his spells repertoire and work on mastering other disciplines than Transfiguration, but he’s formidable.” He looked at Neville. “And I understand the young Savior has received some specialized training, some of it from you.”

            Miss Granger spoke. “That’s the second time someone’s said that Potter’s a master of Transfiguration. What do you mean? And why is it important enough to irritate Professor Dumbledore?” She turned to Minerva.

            Minerva sighed. In truth, she hadn’t been thrilled with Neville’s plan of bringing his friends along. They got in more trouble, all three together, than Neville ever did on his own. But it was true that they were loyal to him and added to his confidence. “Can you show them, Harry? If you would,” she added, as Harry’s eyes seemed to shutter a little.

            But Harry nodded and stood up. He looked around for a second, then focused on another clump of grass and murmured, “Commuto graminem felinam.”

            Minerva caught her breath as she watched the shadows on the grass twist into tiger stripes, the edges of some blade-like leaves become claws, and the bright green all flood into the center of its face, where they became brilliant eyes. The cat that leaped out of the air a second later and strolled over to Harry’s feet was compact and assured, a hunter and killer.

            And it absolutely glowed with the tingling edge of the Wild.

            “How did you do that, Harry?” she whispered.

            Harry stared at her. “You were the one who asked me to show them, Professor McGonagall.” And you’re a Transfiguration professor, were the words that he didn’t add but Minerva knew were brewing in his mind.

            Minerva smiled at him and ignored the sound of Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley exclaiming over the cat. They had seen Neville’s Dapple. It must be the process of this one forming in front of their eyes that they found strange. “I mean the exact technique that you used. I know your imagination formed the cat and called it forth. But did you use a strong Will? Were the Words so important to you?”

            Harry paused thoughtfully, and, for some reason, exchanged a glance with Black. Then again, if what Black said was true, he had been encouraging Harry to focus on other forms of magic besides Transfiguration. While jealous for her art, Minerva could see the need for that. Perhaps Black and Harry would both permit Minerva to pick up Transfiguration lessons again with Harry, while Black handled whatever other skills he thought Harry needed to know, like combat magic.

            “I see what you mean. The Words are important because I studied Latin. And I wanted the cat to form because I wanted to show you what I could do—”

            “Why?” That was a change from the Harry Minerva knew, who kept so many of his abilities a carefully-guarded secret.

            He looked at her in much the same way as the cat was doing. “Because you asked, professor.”

            He has changed. But so much is still the same. Minerva tucked away the sense of a dangerous power and added, “But for you, most of the art is in the Wild.”

            “Yes. That’s why I couldn’t improve my object-to-object Transfiguration, Professor. I can only mostly do animals.”

            Minerva kept herself from smiling, because she knew Harry well enough to know he would take it the wrong way. His body was abristle now with expectation. He thought she would scold him, and try to get him to do things he didn’t want to, and make him equally expert in all branches of Transfiguration simply because she wanted him to be.

            But while Minerva still might not understand Harry’s facility with Transfiguration completely, only a fool would deny that he could do certain things beautifully. She nodded. “Then we must teach you a different way.”

            “Professor?”

            “Teaching the Wild is difficult, sometimes useless, for theoretical reasons that I suspect you know already.” Minerva paused in expectation.

            “Because no one feels it in the same way, and some people can’t feel it at all,” Harry said back, sounding like the textbook. Well, she had probably used exactly those words in the past. If Harry didn’t memorize the textbook, he probably memorized her.

            Minerva nodded. “It’s hard enough to motivate someone to tame their imagination and really think about what they’re imagining and what the practical limitations of creating something, especially an animal, are. It would become impossible if I also tried to get students to feel the exact same Wild as I do.

            “But for a student who already focuses most of his magic through the Wild, that’s a different story. I can teach you a few techniques that will help you feel the same kind of life energy I do. And you can try practicing joint Transfigurations with me. That may improve your ability with objects, because I have more experience at performing that kind of spell than you do, and it might allow me to become better with animals.”

            Harry blinked, and blinked again. “But I thought you were already good at turning things into animals, Professor.”

            “I can’t make my Transfigurations permanent, the way you can,” Minerva told him softly. “I would very much like to learn how to do that, Harry.”

            Harry sat there and blinked some more. Minerva held his gaze. She didn’t fear to. It was nothing less than the truth. Harry could fear the lies adults fed him, and Minerva would even encourage that behavior when she thought it would keep him safer, but he would find no lies in her. She meant every word she said.

*

            I don’t know exactly what’s going on. But I want to know.

            Neville watched both Professor McGonagall and Harry closely. Ron was watching the cat instead, but in the way that meant he was trying to figure his way through an unexpectedly difficult trap that his chess partner had almost trapped him in. And Hermione was still muttering Transfiguration theories to herself and pointing her wand at the new cat, which responded by hissing.

            Dapple hissed back.

            I don’t know anything about the Wild. What does it mean that Harry can use it? Why does Professor McGonagall want to help him so much?

            It hurt, a little, to see Professor McGonagall smiling at Harry the way she had never smiled at Neville. Neville thought Professor McGonagall was the one person who could stand up to Gran if she wanted to. And she was the Gryffindor Head of House. That her favorite student was a Ravenclaw stung a little.

            But Neville bit his lip, and reminded himself that Harry had been through a lot in the last few weeks, and Professor McGonagall had even thought he might be dead. It only made sense that she would be concerned about Harry and want to train him more. Neville wanted to train alongside him and make sure he was safe.

            So he listened, and tried to discover even more.

*

            Harry turned to Black. He was the one who would have to make the final decision on Granger and Weasley remaining. He had looked at Professor McGonagall with neutral eyes, at least. And Harry could make his own decision on that. Even if Black disagreed with the one he made, he couldn’t actually force Harry to do anything.

            Black caught his eye and nodded once. Harry spoke to Professor McGonagall while he listened to Black discussing things with the Gryffindors.

            “I’d like to learn with you, professor. It’s just, how would we do it when you have to be at Hogwarts, and I can’t be there?”

            “There’s always letters, Harry…”

            “You understand why I want to have you here, Longbottom. But bringing your friends argues you can’t keep secrets very well. Why did you invite them along, when you ought to have known this was a very private meeting?”

            “Because I’m actually the one who’s in the most danger of betraying you.” Harry knew from the sound of Neville’s voice that he would be shivering, but he would also meet Black’s eyes. “Professor Dumbledore is more likely to read my mind than theirs. Or Professor Snape. So I’m the one who could tell them more.”

            “But exposing the secret to more people makes it more dangerous. And what happens if your friends don’t approve of what we’re doing? Would they betray us to the Order of the Phoenix?”

            “I’d like it if we could meet for lessons, too,” Harry told Professor McGonagall. It was time to explore something Black had told him, that people wouldn’t get upset if he told them what he would like. It didn’t mean they could do it, but they might at least be inspired to try.

            “We can do that,” said Professor McGonagall. “At least, we can meet through the Floo. That would let me see what lessons you’re working on, and I think I could see the Wild operate even through flames.” She smiled hopefully at him.

            Harry cocked his head. “So you want to learn from me, too, Professor? You think I could teach you more than just making your Transfigurations permanent?”

            “Even that would be something wondrous, and something that would probably take me a long time to master. I don’t know the Wild as well as you do. But there are definitely more things I want to learn after that.” Professor McGonagall hesitated a moment, then reached out and squeezed Harry’s hand. “I can’t envision wanting to stop learning from you, Harry.”

            “I won’t tell anyone anything you don’t want me to, mate.”

            “And Professor Dumbledore is a great man. I mean, would it be so bad to tell him?”

            “You don’t listen,” said Black, in a voice that told Harry how tired he already was of speaking to Granger. Or maybe both Granger and Weasley. Weasley made promises of eternal loyalty, but all Dumbledore had to do was glance at him, and he could read the truth out of his head. “No, we won’t tell him, because he wants to bring Harry under his control. Possibly use him as a weapon. Even kill him.”

            “Why would he want to do that?”

            “Because he fears what he doesn’t understand, little witch. He always has. He thinks the Dark Arts are a complete and unmitigated evil, which means anyone who uses them even once is suspect for a lifetime. He thinks wizards are more dangerous than Muggles, and so he doesn’t take any threat Muggles present seriously. He doesn’t try to understand opposite political viewpoints from his own. He destroys them.”

            “Excuse me for just wanting to be included in the wizarding world! V-Voldemort wouldn’t do that.”

            Professor McGonagall caught Harry’s eye, and nodded a little towards the Gryffindors. Harry nodded. He thought they’d said what they needed to, which meant he could attend fully to the other conversation.

            He turned to look at Black just as he cast a spell Harry had never seen before. The air in the middle of the circle of seats swirled and turned grey. Harry leaned forwards. He had read about Dementors, and he thought he was seeing them now, darting around a building that could only be a conjured image of Azkaban.

            Black homed in quickly on several cells. Harry didn’t recognize the white-haired witches and wizards who lay in them. He didn’t think they could be Death Eaters, though, or Lord Dudders would have broken them out with the rest.

            “Julius Rosier.” Black spoke with his eyes fixed on the images, not looking away or at Granger, even though she had her mouth open to ask questions. “Henrietta Crouch-Kellen. Thomas Lestrange—a bastard son, in fact. Deirdre Cyan. All people accused of being Death Eaters during the last war, and imprisoned without a trial.”

            Black flicked his wand, and the image vanished. He turned to a pale Granger. “In his position as head of the Wizengamot, Dumbledore could have demanded trials for them. He didn’t. I know Rosier, Lestrange, and Crouch-Kellen had opposed some of his policies in the past. I’m not sure about Cyan, but I know she was considered a practitioner of the Dark Arts.

            “He left them to rot. Maybe they were guilty. But the point is that I don’t know. No one knows. Dumbledore could have found out, and he didn’t bother. You should think about that, and whether or not Dumbledore would sacrifice you for his goals if it became politically expedient. The answer, by the way, is yes.”

            Black leaned forwards with his hands braced on his knees. “I wanted to discuss a political alliance with Longbottom, who’s necessary, and Minerva, who has a good reason to be wary of Dumbledore after the way he treated a prize student of hers. I didn’t ask for you, and I don’t know what you can contribute to the alliance. If your only idea is telling Dumbledore, then I’ll Obliviate you and you can go back to Hogwarts and think you were studying in the library for the past hour. And the same thing applies to you, Weasley,” he added, turning his head a little to look at the other wide-eyed Gryffindor.

            There was silence. Harry was tense, thinking Neville might back out because Black had threatened his friends. Harry didn’t know what he would do, in that case. Neville was his friend, but he wouldn’t trot tamely back into Hogwarts and surrender to Dumbledore to appease Granger.

            After a moment, Granger swallowed and said, “I’ll listen. I’ll—make up my mind before I do anything.”

            Black watched her for a second, maybe gauging her sincerity in a way Harry didn’t see, before he nodded and said, “Then we can get on with the talk.”

            Harry watched Black thoughtfully as he started outlining the plans he and Harry had come up with. He wondered if Black might have a better idea of the prisoners’ guilt than anyone else here. After all, he’d been a Death Eater. He might not know who every other Death Eater was, but he could probably make good guesses.

            And if there were innocent people in Azkaban…

            It might make a weapon for them, later.

            Black glanced at Harry, eyes glinting darkly, and Harry knew his thoughts tended in the same direction. Harry just raised an eyebrow in response. In this, at least, they were of the same mind.
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The Art of Self-Fashioning