The next day at breakfast Harry listened to Hermione’s résumé of the the Daily Prophet. He had been up early and had his first breakfast with Simmings who watched him shuffle in food with awe and amusement. Harry was now having his second breakfast with Ginny and Ron and was on his fifth toast and third helping of egg and bacon.

Hermione was updating Harry on the print of the previous day, where Rita Skeeter had delivered a pretty faithful transcript of Harry’s conversation with Voldemort during the battle.

“Except she didn’t get that part about the horcruxes, which I believe is a good thing. That‘s something that should not be spread, because some individuals might get ideas to copy-cat their Dark Lord. When relating what you said to him, instead of There are no more horcruxes, she wrote: There are no more trickses. A bit ridiculous, really, and ascribing you bad grammar on top of it. Hopefully, though, that’s what most people thought you said, because if you haven’t come across the word horcrux before, it would be hard to hear the difference. So far, so good,” said Hermione.

“Do you think we should buy her book, Harry? Just to know what she’s on about?” asked Ron.

“Yeah...” Harry hesitated, “We probably should. Know your enemy and all that...”

“Well, the thing is,” said Hermione, “that the Prophet promises another exclusive from her book before it’s released. In a couple of days.”

“They just love to be secretive! And to promise big revelations! I’m sure they’re doing it on purpose to sell more copies,” said Ginny and no one disagreed with her. Hermione continued her summary.

“Today’s paper has an article on mercy killings, how rare they are and the ethics concerning them. It’s a good article, really - that’s what makes it so difficult. The Prophet mixes high and low. The article is combined with a number of short interviews with people who claims to have witnessed Snape’s indifference and callousness in front of suffering persons,” Hermione said irritably.

“His mastery of Occlumency makes him look callous,” reflected Harry. ”Always hiding his emotions - except when he gets mad at me - no restraint there…” Harry grimaced wryly.

”All and one of us can give evidence to his general unpleasantness and downright cruelty at times. The man’s awful!” exclaimed Ron.

“A despicable, but innocent man. Not the easiest task to take on for a not-even-yet-accepted-to-her-Magical-Law-program defence lawyer...” said Hermione dryly with a side-glance at Harry who pulled an apologetic face back at her. “In short, they make it seem unlikely that Snape would have been involved in a mercy killing. They make him seem the type who cannot feel compassion at all.”

“He still might have done it out of loyalty, or duty,” objected Ron.

“This is only one way of undermining his credibility,” said Hermione grimly, “They’ve just started, remember?”

Harry sighed deeply.

***

For the last few weeks, Harry had had trouble in Transfiguration class where they were doing animal transformations. Professor McGonagall was an Animagus herself, which meant that she could become a cat and live as a cat for an unlimited length of time and transform back by willpower. Like Grief Swallowers, Animaguses were rare and officially listed by the Ministry of Magic. One of the purposes of Professor McGonagall’s lessons was to detect if there was any student with an Animagus aptitude. But even if it was unlikely to find an Animagus among them, Professor McGonagall had told them that they should at least be able to transform into an animal for a short, but defined amount of time - not necessarily to be able to move about as the animal in question, but to be able to take on its appearance. Ron was now, after a few weeks of practice, quite good at a rabbit transformation. Hermione did well as a cat.

“But I’ll never be an Animagus,” she said evenly. “It was not to be expected. I won’t despair over it.”

Most students of the class had made approved transformations, except Harry who was able, but only for seconds, to take on appearances of a wide range of animals, but not to withhold them the required amount of time for passing an exam. He had struggled for many hours to transform into an owl. He thought it would be brilliant to become one and ideally to be able to fly. Professor McGonagall had tried to dissuade him from it.

“There has never been a single Animagus in the shape of a bird,” she said. “The flying part is tempting, though, I understand.”

Failing his attempts of becoming an owl, Harry had worked on a deer, thinking that maybe, since his Patronus was a stag, he would succeed better in that form, but last lesson had only showed a blink of a solid deer, with defect antlers, before Harry was back on his fours again.

“You haven’t found your animal yet,” explained Professor McGonagall. “You need to search your mind and figure out what animal you feel akin to. And it might not necessarily be a fancy animal, Potter.” She looked at him pointedly. “Try something smaller for a start. And it doesn’t need to be a warm-blooded animal either. An insect, maybe? No shame in that.”

Harry tried out both butterflies, caterpillars and wasps, but he turned out too clumsy in shape, even if he could sustain them for a longer period of time. They were soon to move on to another subject in class and when Harry failed yet another lesson at the end of the day, despite having practiced, his teacher asked him to stay behind. Some fellow students who had begrudged him his good marks until now, leered at him as they left the classroom.

“Mr Potter,” said Professor McGonagall when they were alone, “This will not do and I don’t understand it at all. You’ve shown remarkable progress this year so far and you’ve always had forceful magical powers. Why are you not able to do a proper animal transformation? This is something that frequently comes up in the practical NEWT exam. It’s essential that you learn it. Now tell me, what’s wrong?”

Harry hung with his head and squirmed uncomfortably.

“Are the writings in the newspapers getting at you? Is Professor Snape giving you a hard time? Because if he is, if he lets his bad temper out over you, I’ll just have to rapport him to the School Board...” Harry’s head of house spoke shrilly.

“No, that’s not it, Professor,” Harry hastened to say, “Professor Snape’s not in a great mood these days and it does show in class, but he’s not targeting me in particular. He mostly ignores me, which is a good thing. No, it’s not that...”

“What is it then? I want you to tell me, right now,” Professor McGonagall said sternly. Harry turned his head away and looked out into the darkness of the closing day outside the window.

“I think that… I would do quite well... as a snake,” he said desolately. He met Professor McGonagall’s gaze and made an unhappy grimace. “I hate it,” he said in a low, thick voice. “I don’t want to.”

“You speak the language...” said Professor McGonagall slowly.

“Not only that,” replied Harry. ”Voldemort often chose to possess snakes. When I was connected to him, I entered his mind and saw through his eyes. I know how it feels when a snake moves.” Harry made a pause. “I don’t want to transform into a snake, please Professor. It’s not my choice. It has been forced upon me. Voldemort has taught me, but it does not belong to me,” he continued.

“Have you tried it?” asked Professor McGonagall.

“I don’t dare to, I don’t want to know,” whispered Harry. “What if I attacked someone?”

“You’re underestimating your self-control, Mr Potter,” said his teacher. “This is a transformation we’re talking about. Not someone possessing you. You become a snake, but you decide which kind of snake, small or big. Give it whatever colour you want and decide whether the snake has poison in its fangs or not. I would like you to try it out now, in front of me.”

Harry looked doubtingly at her.

“I have confidence in you and your magic, Harry. I know you won’t attack me!” said Professor McGonagall firmly with a kind, encouraging look.

Harry still hesitated.

“I’ll transform into my Animagus form and supervise you as a cat,” Professor McGonagall said.

Reluctantly Harry ascquiesced and watched his teacher transform. Harry drew a deep breath. He knew the procedure: you should picture the animal in your mind and focus strongly on one chosen characteristic before you did the spell.

A small snake without poison then, Harry thought. 

Suddenly his view changed and he saw a huge cat stand at a little distance from him. A long tongue moved back and forth in his mouth, tasting the air. He turned around and moved down to the wall where he coiled up. Harry could not stand it anymore so he transformed back and his human shape rose from the floor. He panted slightly and looked back at his teacher who also transformed back. She was composed, except for the eyes which had an exultant glimmer to them.

“Well done, Harry,” she said, “that will be largely enough for you to pass your NEWT exam. Now, I want you to try something a little bit more difficult.”

“I don’t think so, Professor. I don’t think that I can manage.”

“Your transformation was very swift and genuine, Mr Potter. You must explore this further. I’ll conjure up a mouse for us to play with – that will give you an incentive to stay longer in the animal form. Try again please; try to catch the mouse,” she commanded and very reluctantly Harry did as she said and transformed again.

As a snake, he felt a tickle of excitement and launched after the small, grey mouse that she conjured up. It ran under the chairs and the snake chased it along. It hid under the teacher’s desk and the snake serpentined slowly, taking aim and attacked. He felt his fangs sink through the furred skin and tasted blood. He had no poison in his fangs, however, and the mouse wriggled out of the small snake’s bite and tried to run away, blood dripping from its neck.

At that moment the cat jumped on it with a loud miaow, catching it between its paws.

Harry had panicked at the taste of blood in his mouth and transformed back. With rising bewilderment he watched his teacher shuffle the mouse about most cruelly between its paws, playing with it.

“Professor!” Harry exclaimed.

The cat turned its head towards Harry and the mouse escaped, limping and still bleeding from the neck, apparently severely hurt but refusing to die.

Seized by panic, Harry cast an Avada Kedavra on it and it went still at the same time as Professor McGonagall transformed back, with red spots on her cheeks from excitement.

“No need to do a killing curse,” Professor McGonagall said disapprovingly. “You should simply have Evanesced the mouse with magic!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to suffer,” exclaimed Harry. Professor McGonagall made a sympathising grimace. “Where does it go, anyway, when you Evanesce it - how can you be sure it does not continue to suffer?” asked Harry.

Professor McGonagall stared at him.

“That, Mr Potter, is a question wizard children ask their parents when they’re about six years old,” she said.

“Yeah... well, I...” Harry blushed.

“The point is...” Professor McGonagall interrupted him. “That you might be an Animagus, my friend, whether you like it or not.”

“Even if I didn’t kill the mouse?” asked Harry.

“You’re very close to qualify for an Animagus. You need to explore it further. You’ll need to practice.”

“I won’t. I can’t. I’ll never again transform into a snake if I can help it. I’ll do the required animal transformation for my NEWT, but not a second longer than required, I’m sorry, Professor McGonagall.”

“I understand your predicament.” Professor McGonagall hesitated. “But I’m forced to report to the Ministry when I discover an Animagus. I haven’t done so in twenty years, Harry. It’d be an amazing discovery!”

“I can’t,” muttered Harry, miserable. “Not even for you, Professor. And I don’t think I’m an Animagus. I couldn’t kill the mouse.”

She looked at him for a long while before she finally sighed and nodded. Harry prepared to leave, but turned before he reached the door and asked defiantly:

“What’s the answer then, Professor, to the question wizard children ask their parents? Where does the mouse go and does it continue to suffer?”

Professor McGonagall looked at him with a curious expression.

“The answer, Mr Potter, which parents give their children is that no one knows and that you should not bother your pretty little head with questions like that. It’s just magic,” she answered.

“And that answer is not altered as you grow up, is it? It’s not known whether Evanesced things dissolve into nothingness or whether they continue to exist somewhere in a Magical Limbo? You can’t take for granted then that the mouse won’t continue to suffer. In that case it was more merciful to kill it.”

Professor McGonagall looked perplex.

“It’s true that no one knows. There’s an obscure subculture of wizardry which is trying to find out more about magical existence. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a group of wizards and witches working in France, who are obsessed with finding the smallest element of magic. Their reputation is quite blackened, I’m afraid, even if they’re extremely intelligent persons. People simply think that they should leave magic for what it is and not try so hard to explain it. It’ll only take the beauty away, they argue.”

“I can see why some people might be afraid of that,” said Harry. “Although I believe it’s nice to understand the underlying principles of magic. It might even strengthen and focus your magic to know the theoretical details. Professor Snape often emphasises the importance of learning the underlying theory. I don’t think it removes anything of its beauty, actually, do you, Professor McGonagall?”

“I... I haven’t really thought about it, Harry. I’m sorry. Under different circumstances, Severus might have enjoyed to discuss the matter… I realise, however, that you two are not exactly… Never mind… If you want to read something about the Magical Limbo, you need to go to the fine Journals of Magical Existence, which usually require some advanced Arithmancy to be understood,” she said, “I’m not sure, though, whether someone has posed the problem of suffering in this context.”

“I’d better not even try to read them. I’m not that advanced in Arithmancy,” answered Harry. “Thank you for answering anyway, Professor.”

                                                                         ***

After finishing her classes, Professor McGonagall had a cup of tea together with Professor Flitwick in the teacher’s common room. They agreed on the impression that this year’s NEWT students were unusually alert and motivated.

“They have a critical spirit and ways of questioning things that are very stimulating. Those discussions on the ethics of magic that we’re having frequently in class are so interesting. Maybe it’s because some of them have redoubled a year and are older and, having lived through a war, they have life experiences out of the ordinary for so young people,” said Professor Flitwick.

“Probably... Afflictions can subdue and destroy people... or it can lead to understanding and development,” answered Professor McGonagall. She smiled to herself. “They’re so sweet though, so clever and mature one moment and yet, they’re children... Why, only this afternoon, I... Oh, maybe I shouldn’t tell you this...”

Professor Flitwick looked inquiringly at her.

“Oh well, it was funny really. I found myself completely bewildered. It was Harry Potter. You know he’s a favourite of mine, I cannot deny it. With his history and everything that has passed, I really do... He conquered Voldemort after all! But he’s so uneven, have you noticed? He has progressed tremendously this year, but still, at times, his knowledge is on a child’s level... Today...” She laughed a little embarrassed and leant forward to Professor Flitwick. “Today he asked me where all the things Evanesced by magic go.”

Professor Sawman, Mme Sprout, Miss Cork and Mr Burgess who sat nearby and listened to their conversation lifted their heads and chuckled.

“Did he really?” exclaimed Professor Flitwick. “Well, he was brought up in a Muggle family, wasn’t he? The Muggle-raised can at times be a little... But, by Merlin, he’s eighteen!”

“Oh, wait to hear the rest. The context was that we had... well we had conjured up a mouse that had been hurt by mistake, during an exercise. Potter killed it and I reproached him for doing so, arguing it’d had been enough to Evanesce it. Then he asked me how I could be sure that the mouse would not continue to suffer in the Magical Limbo and if it wasn’t more merciful to kill it.” Professor McGonagall made a gesture with her hands, showing amusement and exasperation. “What answer would you have given? You see, one moment I feel like a mother answering the existential questions of a six-year-old, and the next moment I find myself in deep water, discussing the essence and the ethics of magic with an equal or superior wizard. And that’s so typical for Potter. You never know with him.”

The other teachers laughed appreciatively with her and agreed that adolescents were indeed strange creatures.

“What were you doing with injured mice in the classroom anyhow?” asked Mr Burgess with curiosity. “Was this after class?”

“Oh, it was only an exercise,” said Professor McGonagall evasively and coloured a little.

From the dark corner of the room where Professor Snape’s armchair was placed, his deep voice was heard and the teachers jumped.

“You should be careful with what you reveal about our students, Minerva, especially those who are liable to make the front page of the tabloids,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Severus. Of course you’re right. But surely I can trust you all in here not to pass it on?” said Professor McGonagall and her colleagues nodded solemnly.