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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.

Chapter List
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Terry knew he made a greedy snatch at the owl when it flew past him, but he could hardly help it. With none of the other Ravenclaws in the know about where Harry was, they would hopefully think it was news from his parents and nothing more.
He still didn't read the letter in the open, though. One had to be careful, with Umbridge around. He looked at the outside and rolled his eyes as if recognizing the handwriting pained him, then stuffed it into his satchel and flopped back in his seat with a huff.
"Okay, there, Terry?" asked Roger Davies, with a sympathetic smile. He hadn't put Terry on the Quidditch team, but since Terry spent so much time around the players and helped cast spells to do things like pull the Snitch back in when they were done, they were friends of a sort.
"Yeah, just a time-consuming letter to answer," Terry said with a sigh, and reached for the pudding. Now anyone listening would have their explanation.
"I have a great-aunt like that. She always wants to know about the Kneazle kitten she gave me when I was six. I keep telling her it ran off years ago, but she never remembers that from one letter to the next..."
Terry found himself relaxing as Roger rambled on, and he only had to nod and grunt and give a little chuckle in the right places. He was more intrigued by something he could see over Roger's head: Cho Chang and her friend Marietta Edgecombe whispering to each other. Now and then they darted glances at the High Table.
By itself, that wouldn't have caught Terry's attention, because all sorts of students looked at Umbridge to figure out what kind of mood she was in today and which way they'd have to jump. But what really mattered was that at one point Marietta gave a little nod, and Umbridge nodded back.
Terry stood up and left breakfast, intent on reaching Longbottom before his next class started. While he wouldn't say they were close friends, and he didn't know for certain that this affected the DA, there was too high a chance that it did for him to feel comfortable. Umbridge went after no one the way she went after Longbottom.
And Terry owed him, a bit, for explaining how to reach Harry.
The letter rustled in his satchel, maddening, but Terry had learned patience since the pink frog invaded the school. He heard what was probably the noise of Gryffindors ahead, and lengthened his stride.
*
Dear Terry,
I know this is probably going to shock you, but I honestly never thought you would want to write to me. I know I haven't been a very good friend. I ignored you and lied to you and took off without a word. I've dropped people as friends for less than that.
But now that you did decide to write to me and ask questions, I'll give you the explanation you wanted.
I didn't know that magic existed or that my parents were alive until Professor McGonagall came to bring me my letter. I grew up with Muggle relatives I hate. They told me my parents were killed. And suddenly they were alive, and I saw them in St. Mungo' s, and I wanted to cure them. Professor McGonagall told me that was impossible, but I thought maybe it was just that no one had tried hard enough to find the cure before that.
I wanted to try Transfiguration. It's the best kind of magic. I thought that ever since Professor McGonagall told me what it was. The first thing I did was start studying Transfiguration harder than anything else.
That's why I can make animals the way I can. Animals that last. They're permanent. It takes me longer, but it means that my Transfigurations never run out or come undone. I chose animals because I thought that would help me, practicing with living things to get ready to practice on my parents, and because I knew I could sneak some small animals into my relatives' house. Then I could get food during the summer and scare them into leaving me alone.
My animals have also been useful in battle. I've been in several fights now, and it's brilliant to be able to crush someone's hand or scare them into dropping their wand when they least expect it.
I've also done some Transfiguring of myself. My hands, to have claws, and my legs, to have muscles that enable me to jump. And a few other things, but those are the main ones.
Black and Professor McGonagall both think I could become an animal and lose any chance at curing my parents forever. I don't want that to happen, so I've stopped Transfiguring myself for now. But I'm still working on a way to cure my parents. I might have a way to make that happen now, with the Wild. I'm not telling you anymore, but not because I want to lie. Just because I really don't know what the next step is going to be.
Don't show this letter to anyone.
Harry.
*
Terry lay in his bed staring up at the curtains, and tried to run Harry's letter through his mind. But there seemed to be something new he hadn't thought of every time he did that. Some new, disturbing thing that would show up and present itself for his consideration like an exam answer he'd remembered long after he sat the exam.
Harry was so good at Transfiguration that his Transfigurations were permanent. Terry had never heard of anyone who could do anything like that. There was Transfiguration, and it didn't last. That was the way things were. A law of magic, if you thought about it like that.
Harry had been sneaking around changing himself and making animals all the time, and no one had ever caught him at it. Well, Terry had sometimes had his suspicions about where Harry went when he sneaked away from Ravenclaw Tower, but either Harry's lies had convinced him or he had been so angry that he was just trying to ignore Harry by that point instead of pay attention to him.
He's so sneaky he should have been in Slytherin.
Now that Terry thought about it, he had no idea why Harry wasn't. He knew Professor Snape hated Harry, but that wasn't something Harry would have known about before coming to Hogwarts, if the only wizard or witch he'd met was Professor McGonagall. And he might have made friends in Slytherin that would be more to his taste...
Anger was stirring again. Terry shoved it down. He'd got a lot more than he'd expected with that letter, and he needed to think about it, instead of act like a big baby and ignore most of the information.
Analyze it rationally. Think like a Ravenclaw. What reasons would make Harry avoid Slytherin?
His parents were in Gryffindor. And he might have heard that Gryffindors and Slytherins hated each other. That's even something Professor McGonagall could have told him if she was thinking about his parents.
Terry sighed. His own family had no particular tradition that way. As it happened, he had plenty of relatives who'd been in Ravenclaw, but one of his cousins was a Hufflepuff, and Aunt Melinda had been a Slytherin, and Father's two brothers--one of whom had died very young, in the war--were both Gryffindors. Terry reckoned he could see why someone would hate the thought of ending up in a particular House.
But that wasn't the strangest thing Harry had done. That he had run away...well, he hadn't explained why, which Terry was going to task him with, but it probably had something to do with curing his parents. Terry supposed that Harry had reached his limits with either the books in Hogwarts's library or the professors. Maybe he thought they would interfere if he tried to practice Transfiguration that could cure a brain.
I would have, if I knew what was going on.
It sounded like Black and Professor McGonagall had, though, which made Terry relax. They both knew more than Terry did, and it sounded like Harry would listen to them.
But it was still an insane quest, in Terry's point of view. Oh, you could probably do it, but only after years of study and learning Healing magic and working with some of the best Mind-Healers on the planet--none of whom were in Britain. That meant it was fairly useless for a quick cure, which seemed to be what Harry wanted.
And if he brought back his parents, who was to say they would have the same personalities? Maybe they would start all over again as children, who had to relearn and grow their brains the way Muggle science talked about.
Terry nodded and rolled over to reach for parchment and ink. Since he couldn't sleep anyway, he might as well use the time productively, the way Mother had taught him, and tell Harry what he thought.
*
The length of time that had passed since Father broke Potter's Memory Charm and revealed the truth to Draco still hadn't calmed Draco's nerves. He walked on his toes like a cat around Hogwarts, and half-expected to see Potter around every corner.
That was all right, though, he thought as he relaxed in the Slytherin common room, letting his head fall against the chair and his mind drop its guard. Father had a plan, and Potter was going to pay.
"Draco, what's wrong? You've been different the last several days."
Draco lazily turned his head. Pansy was leaning forwards so far he could almost see down her robes. Draco considered what he could tell her. She was a more intelligent conversationalist than Crabbe and Goyle, at least, even though she was as loyal as they were. He could hint.
"Father found out that someone cast a Memory Charm on me," he told her in a low tone, and watched in satisfaction as her eyes widened. "They hid it pretty well. It's over a year old. But he hired a Healer that broke the Charm, and now I know the name and face of my enemy. Father's making plans to punish him."
"Oh, Draco," said Pansy, with a blend of sympathy and shock that Draco had to admit he liked. "Who is it?"
Draco hesitated. "You can't tell anyone else if I tell you."
“I’ll swear by whatever you want me to.”
Draco nodded, satisfied. Pansy couldn’t swear an Unbreakable Vow without a Bonder, and Draco was not about to involve someone else in this. But she could make a promise on her blood, and that would be more than enough to content Draco for the moment.
Besides, he was bursting inside. He wanted so badly to tell the revenge that Father was planning, but he couldn’t without an audience.
Pansy waved her wand and a Privacy Charm sprang up around them. She’d always been rather good at those. That done, she leaned forwards, and Draco eyed her with a chuckle bubbling at his lips. He thought she’d stopped breathing.
“It was Harry Potter.”
“That…” Pansy didn’t seem to know an epithet bad enough for him. “That odd boy?” she finally asked, while her face and eyes said she wanted to say a good deal more. “Why would he do that? I thought you weren’t ever near him!”
“I learned that he was working old spells in the dungeons,” Draco said. “I saw him coming out of a classroom that he didn’t want me seeing he went into, and first he threatened me with being eaten by rats.”
“He could do that? Is he a Ratspeaker?”
Draco rolled his eyes a little. Parselmouths were the only kind of animal speaker that existed in the wizarding world. He had always found the other legends, that each species had its own language and various people could speak to them, to be a bit of wistful thinking. “No. He’d made the damn thing. Father’s been asking around, and apparently there are people who remember that Professor McGonagall called him a prodigy in Transfiguration. So he probably Transfigured it.”
Pansy shivered. “Goodness. And then he Obliviated you?”
Draco nodded, enjoying the way she looked at him. “I suppose he thought his threat wasn’t enough to keep me quiet.”
“Oh, Draco,” Pansy breathed, her hand at her throat. “What are you going to do now? I mean, is your father going to have Potter brought before the Wizengamot?”
Draco sighed, disgruntled. “No. Apparently the laws are pretty strict about Memory Charms, but only when adults cast them on each other or children. Students can get away with it, just barely, because it might be a spell gone wrong.” He sat up and let the grin he’d been having to suppress for days out on his face. “But that doesn’t prevent Father from going outside the law.”
“Of course he has to,” Pansy agreed, even though she looked a little nervous. “His son has been threatened.”
“Exactly. Malfoys don’t let a threat stand.”
“So what is he going to do?”
“He’s going to make sure that Potter comes back where he can be properly punished,” Draco purred, and reveled in the way Pansy’s eyes widened. Now and then he thought her attentions tiresome, but if she gave him this level of attendance at all times, then he might find her an acceptable wife after all. “And that means threatening his friends. Potter doesn’t care about most people. He doesn’t have a family. He does have friends here, though.”
“His parents…”
“You can’t threaten mad people, Pansy.”
Pansy let her eyes drop and nodded instead of disputing, and Draco smiled with more and more approval. “Of course, Draco. I’m sorry. So it’s Longbottom?”
Draco laughed. “Do you know anyone else he was close to during his time here? Yes, it’ll be. It fits in well with some plans that Father was making anyway.” And then he slammed his mouth shut, because while Father hadn’t mentioned not telling anyone about Potter and the Memory Charm and the plans for revenge—not explicitly—he had told Draco to hold the Dark Lord’s business close to his chest.
Luckily, Pansy seemed to have missed the clue. She was smiling. “If you want any help when your father comes to the school, Draco darling, do let me know.”
“I will,” Draco said. Really, this conversation might decide the course of my future. I’ll have to owl Father and tell him to encourage the Parkinsons after all.
*
Harry stepped back from Bellatrix, sweating and shaking. He had been practicing in manipulating the Wild around her once more, after Black had Stunned Rabastan and Rodolphus and moved them to another room. Their screams and threats of vengeance were getting more and more tiresome.
He could make Bellatrix drool and look blank-eyed, like his parents. He could make her twitch and move her hands and arms when he was concentrating on the Wild around them. He hadn’t tried her legs, but only because she couldn’t walk, bound, and he wasn’t about to undo the bindings, for all his talent.
And today, he had found something new.
Harry eyed Bellatrix. She was asleep on her pallet now, in a slumber Harry had made her fall into. When he concentrated on what felt like a bubble of the Wild near the back of her skull, then she went out. It was almost like snuffing a candleflame.
He thought Black would have been panicking, except Harry could still feel the burning Wild there. It was just a little dimmer right now.
That meant he could affect the brain. This might be the first step to putting his parents into a healing sleep while he worked on them.
Harry took a deep breath and shuffled back to the chair Black had insisted he have waiting for him. Black was right that this was exhausting. When Harry had asked him why he thought it would be, Black had only shrugged and muttered something about wandless magic always being exhausting.
How does he know that? I’ll have to ask him.
But Harry thought he could try something else as long as he was sitting down when he tried it. He leaned forwards and focused on that flickering ball of Wild at the back of Bellatrix’s skull, pressing on it a little.
Wake up.
Bellatrix shot straight out of sleep, picking up in the middle of the same sentence she’d been shrieking at him before. Harry blinked and stared at her, wondering if that meant something.
“—can’t do this to me! The Dark Lord is faithful to his chosen! He will find me, he’ll find me, and make you pay!”
“What makes you so sure of that?” Harry had to ask, because he was curious. “I mean, he hasn’t found you so far, and he wasn’t especially loyal to his followers in the last war. What makes you so loyal to him?”
Bellatrix laughed and tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder. She seemed more cheerful already, and she was smirking at Harry as if he had done her a great favor. Then again, she always seemed happy to talk about Lord Dudders.
“I bear his Mark,” said Bellatrix in a hushed voice, and tilted her head to her left arm. Harry frowned thoughtfully at it. It was a disturbance in the Wild, a dead zone that he’d never noticed before. Then again, he hadn’t started trying to feel the Wild like this until recently. Snape and Rodolphus and Rabastan probably had one, too. And Black. “That means that I am loyal to him, beyond death. He will bring the old ways back. He will make sure the old houses reign supreme. He will get rid of the Muggles.”
“Get rid of them,” Harry repeated, feeling his way, trying to understand. “Do you even know how many Muggles there are? Does he?”
“The Dark Lord’s vision is grand. Those who join us will be spared, but they will be few. A chosen few. An elite. They, we, will walk through the corpses of dead Muggle cities and watch the shadows give birth to the future. Muggle houses torn down and pure-blood manors built in their place. Magic used freely in every corner of Britain, as it once was. Our people no longer having to hide.”
Harry shook his head. “I suppose that sends impressive when Lord Dudders spouts it, but—”
“What did you call him?”
“Lord Dudders. After my cousin, Dudley. Dudley’s big and fat and impressed with himself and a bully. I don’t know if Lord Dudders is fat, but otherwise, everything else sounds the same.”
Bellatrix stared at him with her mouth open, a line of drool sliding down towards her chin. It was the longest she’d ever been silent, at least when she was conscious and not gagged. Harry waved a hand at her, getting concerned, and she lunged forwards and tried to bite him.
“He is not Lord Dudders!” she shrieked, and drummed her heels on the floor. “Not, not, not!”
“Oh, I’m sure screaming makes it so.”
Bellatrix went off into an incoherent rant that had the words “blood traitors” and “Mudbloods” and “future” mixed in, and Harry got bored. He reached out and quenched that light at the back of her skull again, and then got up and walked towards her where she lay collapsed. He was going to touch her Mark when she was asleep and couldn’t use any magic against him. He wanted to figure out if Lord Dudders had actually managed to suck up some of the Wild or destroy it around her arm, and why he would want to do that.
Harry crouched down next to her and drew her sleeve back. He felt several mice thrusting their heads out of his pockets, and nodded, heeding the way their whiskers twitched wildly. He wouldn’t touch the Dark Mark directly, just in case it had some sort of defenses. If it did, that might explain why the guards in Azkaban hadn’t tried to do something to deface them on the Death Eaters’ arms.
He reached out and felt the Wild around it instead. It wasn’t that it was missing, he finally realized, after several minutes of discreetly palpating the air and listening to the hum in his ears that the Wild always made. It was as though something else had replaced it.
Something dark and velvety and rumbling with threat. Something that made him think Lord Dudders had partially Transfigured the Death Eaters’ skin and replaced it with something of his own. A magical connection? That was possible. Neville had told Harry a little about how Lord Dudders had summoned the Death Eaters to the graveyard last year. It would make sense if he had a connection and could sense them and pull them across distances.
Although it must not work all that well or he would have taken the Lestranges and Snape out of here by now. And no one would ever have lived to betray him.
Harry sat back and pondered it for a moment. Then he nodded. He was going to try something, and be prepared to move fast if it didn’t work. He wasn’t going to try to hurt the Mark or wound it, but he would try to Transfigure it.
He picked the spell that Professor McGonagall had been having him practice so much when he wanted to create plants to turn into objects. “Commuto cicatricem florem.”
There was a large, confused, blurred moment when Harry thought his head was ringing and being stretched in a few directions, and then he was tumbling his way off the pallet, his mice covering his arms and tugging on his hair, while something shot straight out of the Dark Mark at him.
Harry flung up his wand and shouted, “Protego!” That was one of the charms he’d been working on with Black. But he pulled on the Wild in the air, the Wild in the black hole shooting at him, to cast it.
There was another complicated moment, and Harry thought he saw a snarling face and a green skull and serpent version of the Mark in the black hole before him. And then it faded from sight completely.
And when Harry forced his way back to his hands and knees and crawled towards Bellatrix, her Mark had changed.
There was a small faded patch of it that hadn’t gone back to normal skin, the way Harry would have thought there would be if he’d successfully Transfigured the Dark Mark. But it was grey, and when Harry reached out and carefully felt all around the Wild radiating from it, he realized that it was—
His. His Wild.
Thoughts unbraided themselves in his head, moving more quickly than the thing that had arisen from the Mark to hunt him.
He could pull on people’s magic. Someone could influence someone else’s Wild. He could do that. If magic lingered in a person’s body and affected them, affected their Wild, then—
He’d already thought he might be able to heal his parents by concentrating on their Wild. But now he wondered something else. If he could reach in and tug out Bellatrix’s magic from them, and the other Lestranges’ magic, the way he’d tugged Lord Dudders’s.
If he could…
Harry sat there for a full ten minutes dreaming about that “could” before Black knocked on the door and Harry had to get up to let him in.
He wanted to experiment with Snape’s Dark Mark next.
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The Art of Self-Fashioning