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The Art of Self-Fashioning	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 26078 -:- 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 Thirty-Nine—Speed Her Paws
“We are not going to give her Boot’s wand.”
“Not even try to see if it’s compatible?” Harry knew the narrow-eyed glance he was bending on Black hadn’t worked yet, but he might as well try.
“No.” Black flattened his hands on the table and glared at Harry. “I am not willing to trust Bella with a wand, even under the Imperius Curse.”
“But you said the only reason you didn’t trust her with our wands is that they weren’t compatible—”
“I did lie about that.” Black suddenly dropped his voice in that way he had when he was trying to make some point he thought was important. “I care more about your safety than I do about you healing your parents, Harry. I won’t apologize for that.”
Harry closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath. Black would only continue to smugly believe in his childishness if Harry threw a fit. He reached down and stroked Cross, who was asleep on his lap. Cross made a muzzy, confused sound, but didn’t wake up, probably because Harry wasn’t projecting distress that would tell him he was needed in battle. He did curl around his tail the next moment.
“Then let me ask Professor McGonagall,” Harry said, when he was sure he could open his eyes and not shout.
“Minerva won’t agree to let my lovely cousin near a wand any more than I would. Or lend us hers to see if it’s compatible.”
“I mean that she knows more than I do about the theory of Transfiguring objects,” said Harry, and he really did think he was much more polite than the situation warranted. Maybe that was one reason Black was narrowing his eyes. “She might know something we could make into a wand. And then you could put those enchantments on it that you were talking about, which would keep it from harming us.”
“What kinds of enchantments are those?” Terry asked from his seat near the head of the table, between Harry and Black. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“I lied about there being such spells, too,” said Black between his teeth. “I didn’t want you to become discouraged, but I never intended to let you give Bellatrix a wand, Harry, even if one of ours would have served her. It’s far too dangerous.”
Harry studied Black for a second. His mind worked on the problem, while one hand petted Cross and the other used a fork to scoop up yet another helping of raspberries from the top of his porridge. Harry almost always ate more fruit than porridge, but that didn’t keep Black’s house-elf from trying.
Black knew Harry hated being lied to. And he knew that Harry would probably leave behind any ally he found untrustworthy. He wouldn’t have lied about something like this, when he could have just said he would refuse to let Bellatrix test his wand and then taken Harry’s wand away from him if he thought he was being too difficult.
Therefore…
“I think those enchantments do exist,” said Harry thoughtfully. “They probably exist and you think they would be too dangerous. So you’re lying now instead of lying before. And you might even think Terry’s wand is compatible—”
“I still wouldn’t let her use it!”
“I know, Terry, but we’re talking about what Black says, not what you say.” Harry continued to study Black, who was looking back fairly evenly, but a muscle had begun to twitch in his jaw. Harry nodded, satisfied he was right. “But you wouldn’t let it happen. So. It would be simpler if you just told me the truth.”
Black leaned back on his chair as though he was going to slide right out of it. It was something he did when he was relaxed, but given his locked teeth and tic now, Harry didn’t think he would. He swallowed some raspberries and petted Cross some more, waiting. The cat rolled over in his sleep and purred.
“You’re too damn smart for your own good,” Black whispered finally. “Fine, Harry. What I said a moment ago is the truth. I care more about your safety than I do about your parents returning to—sanity.”
“But I want them back. And you seem to care a lot about what I want. So you should help me.”
Terry made an incredulous noise and then buried his face in his own porridge when Black glanced at him, as if he thought he might have “said” too much. Harry only waited, staring at Black evenly, and nodded a little at Terry. He was right. It was ridiculous for Black to act as though healing his parents was a small goal, or one Harry would give up. Black was smart, too, sometimes. He should know better than that.
Black finally sat up and looked at Harry with a long, serious glance. Then he said, “I think we should have had this discussion a long time ago, Harry. But I don’t know if you want to have it now, in front of one of your friends.”
Terry bristled like any real Ravenclaw would on being ejected from the library. Harry just looked at Black and said, “I chose to tell him, and he still chose to be here. He can listen to whatever you have to say.”
Black nodded. “Fine. Then I’ll tell you I think you have a good chance of healing your parents, and I’ll support you in everything you want to do about that—as long as it’s not dangerous. Going on Transfiguring yourself would have been dangerous. Torturing people and experimenting on their brains would have been dangerous.”
“You also said it was a moral level I shouldn’t stoop to.”
“Yes, but the danger matters more. There’s always the chance that someone’s magic would act up when they know they’re on the verge of being tortured to death or driven mad. I didn’t want you exposed to it.”
“I’m not your godson,” Harry told him quietly. “My family wasn’t even on your side of the war. I know you knew them, but not well. You probably knew Snape better. And yet you’re letting me keep him locked up in the cellars—”
“What?”
“I thought I mentioned that in my letters,” Harry told Terry a bit irritably, and then focused on Black again. “So. Is this really all just loyalty to your brother, who I never even knew, or something else?”
Black spent a moment rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, like he had food on his lips he just couldn’t get off. Cross woke up and stood on his hind legs in Harry’s lap to play with the milk in the porridge. Harry let him.
“A blend,” Black said at last. “Because you relieved the boredom I told you about. And because you were Sirius’s godson. And because you somehow managed to make an ally of Augusta Longbottom.” He shook his head, eyes locked on Harry. “I barely know anyone who manages to work with her, even though she’s the legal guardian of the Boy-Who-Lived and all sorts of people have to go through her if they want to talk to him. I wanted to get to know this strange Slytherin who made allies of people like her. And now that you’ve been here for a while, it’s caring about you.”
“Then let me heal my parents. Let me do whatever it takes—”
“I care about you. Not them.”
“But I need them,” said Harry, and he hesitated before explaining this, because while he was sure Black knew it, he’d never put it into words before. “They’re the only ones I can be sure would just care about me because I was family, not for some other reason. Like being bored. So you have to let me have them back.”
“That’s what it was in the beginning. Not now.”
“Let me heal them,” Harry repeated.
"Not at the cost of your life."
Harry laughed, and only regretted it a little when he saw the way Black's mouth tightened. He ought to have expected this, he really should. "Who says it would cost my life? I've managed to keep Bellatrix completely under control so far while hardly using my own wand. I can always use the Wild against her, if she turns her makeshift wand on me."
Black clenched his hand under his chin. "And have you considered who you would have her cast the torture curses on? What human subject would you sacrifice so you can study how to unwind the Cruciatus Curse?"
"I never intended to have her cast that," Harry said in surprise. Where had Black got that idea? "Only Dark spells that are powerful, so I can see how to unwind them. I never meant to--"
"How can you know it's safe unless you unwind an Unforgivable?"
That was Terry. Harry smiled at him a little. He sounded more fascinated with the theoretical issues than concerned, which made it easier for Harry to reply to him than Black. "Nothing about this is safe. It's all experimental. I'm trying to make sure it's safe before I actually try removing her magic from my parents."
"Safe for them," Black repeated blankly.
"I never intended to kill her or harm her permanently. So yes, safe for Bellatrix, too, as much as we can make that happen."
"And for you?"
Harry sighed. "You've held me back from some risks. You've convinced me others aren't worth it. Please, though, stop trying to make me stop doing it. It's never going to be completely safe for me."
"And that's probably part of the attraction, you adrenaline maniac," Terry muttered.
Harry shrugged. He didn't think he liked living dangerously. He'd made his animals so they could help him during the summer and reduce the danger of the Dursleys, and then he'd practiced constantly so he could reduce the danger to his parents. But other people never saw things the way he did.
"If I can't make you reconsider this," said Black at last.
"You can't."
Black nodded. "Then we'll ask Professor McGonagall about Transfiguring an object into a wand. You will wait until she agrees."
"I can do that," said Harry. "There's a lot of theory we can work on until Professor McGonagall decides what she wants to do."
Black hesitated for a long moment. Harry simply waited. There was a certain degree of understanding between them, but he honestly didn't know what Black would say, as the moments passed and he still waited.
"Can I help you with the theory? Or did you and Terry want to handle it all yourselves?"
Harry found himself instinctively looking at Terry. He didn't think the addition of Black would make that much difference, but Terry didn't have a reason to like or trust him yet.
Terry's mouth was a little wry, but he shrugged. "He probably knows where most of the books in the libraries are, yeah?"
Harry hadn't thought of it that way. He nodded and said, "All right. We're looking for references to the Wild, for objects that can replace wands, and for any mention of unraveling magic from a calming Mark on another wizard."
Black beamed like the sunrise. Harry shook his head. He knew there were people who liked being helpful; Hermione Granger was one of them, although Harry held a quiet, private opinion that she hadn't always helped Neville. But Black had never seemed as if he was.
Does it matter, as long as he's not trying to stop you from accomplishing your goal?
And as all three of them went upstairs to research the strange, intertwined issues that would lead to the healing of Harry's parents, Harry reckoned it didn't.
*
Minerva slowly read through the letter Harry had sent her again, making sure she understood what was being asked of her.
Dear Professor McGonagall,
I hope you're still doing all right. I've found ways to use my Wild to interfere with the Dark Mark. I actually took the one on Snape's arm all the way off. I modified the one on Bellatrix's arm a little bit. But unwinding Lord Dudders's magic makes me think I could do the same thing to the magic of the Cruciatus Curse on my parents.
The problem is, we need a wand that can substitute for Bellatrix's, since I turned hers into a cat and neither of ours is compatible with her. And we need one that can be protected, so she won't just turn around and torture us the minute we release her. I might be able to prevent her from doing that with her Dark Mark now, but I haven't tested it enough yet to satisfy Black.
So. What material would make a substitute wand, or other magical focus, the best? What kinds of laws pertain to Transfiguring wands? I've looked up ways to Transfigure other magical objects, but they all seem to have their own set of rules, and different ones at that. Black would rather you created this object. I can see why.
But I'd still like to know the theory behind it. Can you write me back and outline it, and also set up a time to visit us so you can Transfigure this object?
Harry's name was written in smaller letters than usual, as if he'd struggled to get all his words on one sheet of parchment, but there was no doubt it was still him, not Black or someone else writing on his behalf. Minerva put the letter down with a soft sigh.
The plan was not impossible, she had to admit after thinking about it for a few minutes. She had never Transfigured a wand and would want to make sure that she studied the theory before she tried, but she could do it.
She was less sure that she should.
She had never heard of working with the Wild the way Harry was, or unraveling spells from someone so long after the casting of the spell in the first place. Harry seemed to believe that would cure James and Lily, as if they were wearing coats made of Cruciatus aftereffects that would come loose if he pulled on them hard enough.
Minerva believed it was far more likely the spell had caused its damage and gone. What was left was the madness and the effects of strained nerves, not the actual magic.
Then again, she had never known anyone capable of doing the things with the Wild that Harry had mentioned doing.
In the end, Minerva sat down and wrote her affirmative reply.
*
He had known, at least for a while, that he had lost Minerva's loyalty. But he had never had such conclusive proof.
Albus stared wearily at the letter he'd intercepted. Minerva had had her own owl at one point, but when he'd died, she hadn't replaced him. She more often used Floo than owl post, anyway. But now she had chosen a school bird who was friends with Fawkes and thus with Albus, and regularly brought him letters from professors and seventh-years who might be preparing to join the Death Eaters. Most of the time, Albus read the letter and sent it on its way, untouched, while he set plans in motion to foil the scheme if he had to.
This time, he could not allow that to happen. Not with Dolores still in the school and Albus planning to confront her. Not at a time when he needed all his professors behind him, not plotting against him.
And not when Minerva's letter strongly implied that she knew what had happened to Severus.
Albus read the letter again, shaking his head. Harry Potter was with Regulus Black? Albus had to admit he would never have thought to look for him there. The connection between Sirius and his brother had been so tenuous at the end of the war that Albus was honestly surprised Regulus had paid for a headstone.
There were too many concerns swirling around his head to allow this to be a factor. Too many. When he had begun to research Horcruxes, and Neville could not defend his mind from Tom, and Death Eater attacks had surged for a short time and then scaled back, and Slytherins came to school with the Mark, and the Order had battle plans in progress. Albus was only confronting Dolores now because she was investigating the school closely with the help of her Inquisitorial Squad, and stood a chance of uncovering the Order's secrets that way.
I have to concentrate on the war. Not the affairs of one woman, one child.
But Albus had built his way to a position of strength by meeting with one ally at a time, convincing them to donate money or time or their fighting wands. He only needed to explain matters fully to Minerva, and he would have her back again. And he could ensure that Harry Potter was a tied-up loose end, instead of the last, leftover one that had begun so frequently to bother him.
*
“We need to speak, Minerva.”
She barely paused before she moved to the front of the office and nodded. “Of course, Albus. Come in.”
She could say nothing else right now. She had to take the risk that he knew and she could still come up with some way to get around him. She did keep her back turned to him as she tidied up her desk and Summoned the pair of teacups she kept in the corner of the room, though.
Minerva needed some time to calm her expression. It would do nothing for her heart, which was pounding harder than when she’d last spoken to Umbridge.
By the time she settled behind her desk, Albus had taken the chair that Neville used when he visited, and was regarding her gravely. He’d actually come in fast enough that he’d left the door a little ajar. Minerva inclined her head and checked the clock for a moment. “Mr. Malfoy is arriving for his detention in fifteen minutes,” she said.
“I’m sure that he won’t mind waiting.” Albus had his hands folded on his knee, but they clenched as Minerva watched. “I read your letter to Harry Potter, Minerva.”
At least this letter wasn’t as damning as the last one, when I was talking about the Lycaon’s Syndrome. Minerva strove for an expression of mild indignation, although she didn’t know if she would get there. “And can’t a Transfiguration teacher write to her most promising pupil? I do think that he could be brilliant if he had more grasp of theory. Did you know—”
“Enough. I would have asked how you lied to me, but I can guess. By speaking edited versions of the truth and letting me make assumptions.”
Minerva only waited. She saw no need to nod or speak the words and concede more ground to Albus that way. If he wanted to hear what she was going to say, he would speak a question, not a demand.
Albus continued not doing that. “You know he’s dangerous. You know he’s holding Severus captive, or perhaps he’s torturing him to death. A mad animal could strike back in many ways, and still think it was doing right.”
Minerva touched her wand lightly. She knew what spells she would cast if she had to make a fast escape. She didn’t want to. She wanted to stay here and do research to help Harry and resist Umbridge in the limited ways she could and help Neville prepare to face You-Know-Who.
But she’d already had to do many things she didn’t want to, in part to make up for Albus’s mistakes. If she had to do more, then she would.
“And now it turns out he’s with Regulus Black, of all people, someone even more dangerous.” Albus shook his head in what looked like wonder. “He was a Death Eater, and he has no connection to Potter I know of.” He paused. Minerva waited. Finally a bit of Albus’s patience broke. “How could you?”
Ah, a question she could answer. “Because someone had to help Mr. Potter overcome some of the legacy left to him by his Muggle relatives, Albus. I didn’t do as much as I could have in the past, and now I can do more. Some of this is simply making up for my mistakes in the past. Some is making up for yours.”
Albus recoiled. “You know—there were no other relatives to take him. And they let him come to Hogwarts, they cared for him and fed him—”
“Not very much. Not based on what I’ve seen from Harry’s memories and heard from his words.” Minerva sighed a little when she noticed the way Albus was shaking his head. She had admired the way he ran the school, once. But he no longer dealt well with opposition. “Yes, Albus, it’s true. We’ve discussed it before.”
“You said you couldn’t help him.”
“I changed my mind,” Minerva said simply. “And now I’m going to help him. Consider this a formal request to let me stay here while I come up with ways to do that. If nothing else, I’d like to have access to the Hogwarts library.”
“You cannot, Minerva. I need you to concentrate on the Order of the Phoenix and the ways that we can fight this war. That’s the only reason I care at all about young Mr. Potter,” Albus added, with a faint smile that he seemed to think would win him points. “I wouldn’t mind you helping him if he wasn’t a distraction. But he’s keeping you from battle.”
“What?” Minerva nearly dropped her wand that she was holding beneath the level of the desktop, but in the end, paranoia kept it there. “What do you mean? The Order hasn’t had any battles yet!”
“But I’m preparing a confrontation with Umbridge for tomorrow,” said Albus. “I’ve left her alone to ruin things in my school for too long. I need the staff united behind me. If you’re gone…only consider what it would look like! As if Hogwarts couldn’t keep its professors. First we lost Severus, and now this. Don’t go join Harry and Black, Minerva. I need you more.”
“I consider it more of a matter for concern that the school is bleeding students,” said Minerva, and she knew her voice shook slightly. “Harry. Terry Boot, in Ravenclaw. And how many students in Hufflepuff and Gryffindor had their parents remove them in the last week, Albus? They don’t think the school is safe anymore, and I can’t disagree with them.”
“I’m going to make it safe.”
“You shouldn’t have neglected it for this long.”
“I know that. But to change it, I need help. Will you place Harry above the help that you could give other students in the school? Favor one boy that way?”
Once, that plea would have worked. Minerva prided herself on her fairness and her ability to treat students from different Houses the same as her Gryffindors. But now she had to shake her head. “You’ve been having me train Neville for years, Albus. That’s special attention to one student. It’s a little late now to say we shouldn’t pay attention to just one.”
“But that’s Neville! The only hope against Voldemort! Someone with Lycaon’s Syndrome could turn into another Voldemort, if given enough time—”
Minerva ignored her own flinching at the sound of You-Know-Who’s name and stood up. “I’m not even convinced that Harry has that disease, Albus. From what I know, it’s not reversible. Harry’s been making strides that convince me he’s listening and he’s not Transfiguring himself in the same ways anymore—”
“Regardless, Minerva, I need to know if you stand with me or against me.” Albus rose, his face as white as his beard.
“Neither,” Minerva said, and took advantage of his momentary confusion to cast a wordless Summoning Charm that brought the most precious of her belongings flying from her quarters, behind her office. “I stand apart.”
Albus stared at her, and stared again as the books and the clothes and the small keepsakes she had from her parents settled on the desk. Then his eyes flared and he drew his wand.
But Minerva had had hers drawn throughout the conversation, and she cast first.
The chair behind Albus shot out sharp, curving wooden talons, and curled them around Albus’s ankles. He stumbled hard, first to the side, then back into the chair. And of course he lowered his wand and he knew the charm that would release the Transfiguration and free himself, but Minerva was already casting others.
One that shrank her precious objects and packed them into a trunk. One that shrank the trunk. One that Transfigured the trunk into a collar, and she slipped the collar over her head as Albus was standing to face her.
Albus’s Stunning spell came at her at head height—human head height. But Minerva had already flowed into cat shape, and she sprang under the spell, ran beneath the chair, and ducked around the door. She caught a single glimpse of Draco Malfoy’s stunned face as he leaned against the wall next to the door. He had arrived for his detention.
She wouldn’t be there to give it to him, now.
Another Stunner struck the wall behind her. Minerva jumped over it and then reached the top of the staircase nearest her office. She leaped easily from the top step, soaring as if she’d done this all her life, and for a moment, her mind filled with the way that Harry would probably have jumped with the aid of his Transfigured legs.
Then she reached the tapestry she’d been aiming for, and jumped again, even as a corner of the cloth tore loose from the wall. She didn’t need anything to stay still for long, only for long enough. Tapestry to unlit torch sconce to window-ledge to upraised gauntlet on a suit of armor, she covered the whole of three corridors without once touching the flagstones.
And Albus couldn’t come as fast down the steps as she could, confined to human shape and wearing robes as well as a greater age.
Minerva swung onto another windowsill and winced as the collar banged against her chest. She wished she could have taken the time to shrink it, but there was no time. This window was open, and beneath her, winds swirled and spun, and the edge of a turret leaned out, and Minerva soared down before she could change her mind.
She caught herself more than once. Here, on the wing of a gargoyle. There, on the slanting, sliding edge of a tile roof that made her claws scrabble and dig for a greater hold and nearly lose out to the wind for a moment. This third time, on the edge of an old bird’s nest that she tipped and dislodged, and it plunged past her less than a minute later as she steadied herself on a much lower window.
The final leap, with Albus shouting so far behind her that it was a less interesting sound to her than the squeak of a mouse, carried her down from a first-floor window to the ground. Minerva fell with the silence of the wind in her ears, her spine flexing, spinning her to orient her paws—
And she landed on her feet, and ran as hard as she could for the shadows of the towers, and then the gates, and then the Forbidden Forest. Let Albus search for a cat there. Let him stop her before she made it to the point where she could Apparate.
She regretted leaving only Neville behind, and the rest of her Gryffindors. But she would not stay to be a tool in Albus’s war, and she would not stay if he was going to bind her and Stun her and make her more a tool in the war than a Head of House and professor. She would find another way to help them, as she had to help Harry.
The leaves were soft beneath her paws. The air was thick with the scent of prey. Minerva was the smallest hunter in the Forest right now, and she knew it, which made her pad quickly and take to the trees when she could, when a branch was low enough to offer a safe route upwards.
But if the smallest, not the least deadly.
*
Draco said nothing when the cat ran past him and the Headmaster came storming out after her. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, and what he had overheard.
What I can do with that knowledge. Potter is with Black.
Draco smiled deeply, and went to owl his father.
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The Art of Self-Fashioning