"You are safe now, Harry," Snape said several minutes later, once he felt everyone had had sufficient time to come to terms with the revelation of Erebus's identity. "Will you transform back?" It felt strange and wrong to refer to Erebus as Harry, but Snape considered that it had been long enough since the child had been addressed by his given name.

The great black parrot tilted its head and stared at him a moment before shaking his head violently side to side.

"Should I leave?" McGonagall asked. "Perhaps he will be more at ease with only you here."

Snape paused, considering the emotions he felt seeping through their bond, "No, he's not afraid. Not anymore. He's…he's confused. Hardly surprising, I suppose. How could a four year-old child raised by muggles have possibly understood what had happened? I think you may be of more use to him at the moment than I could be. Perhaps you can explain the transformation."

"I have not mentored a animagus in nearly a decade, and never one so young or who had achieved the transformation through accidental magic. The normal process involves keeping a mandrake leaf in your mouth for a month, you know."

"Minerva." Snape cut off what he expected was about to turn into a rambling lecture. "Perhaps a demonstration to begin with?"

"What? Oh, of course." She rose from her chair, giving herself a little shake, and then shifted, her form blurring until a moment later she stood before them as a tabby cat, spectacle markings around her eyes. Snape had not known how Harry would react and was unprepared for the wave of shock that he felt through their connection. After a breathless moment, the child in parrot form raised his crest to its full height, screamed, and leapt off Snape's lap, hopping toward McGonagall.

It was amusing to watch the bird inspect the tabby cat first with one eye, then the other, before lifting one leg and beginning to open and close his foot around her ear.* For her part, McGonagall bore the attention with aplomb, at least until Harry took it into his head to climb onto her back. In a motion that epitomized feline grace, she rose, stretched, and twisted all at once, dislodging the parrot. She sauntered a few steps away before transforming back.

She knelt then and addressed Harry directly. "You achieved the hardest part of the transformation, child, when you first took the form you currently wear. To reverse the transformation, you need only concentrate on your human form."

Harry clicked his beak irritably.

"Can you explain how you did that for your first transformation? Did you picture yourself as human, perhaps, or was it something else?" Snape suggested.

"It has been a while since my first transformation, but it wasn't an image so much as it was focusing on what it feels like to be human and how that was different from what I felt as a cat," she answered Snape and then turned back to speak to Harry, her voice shifting from its normal tones to something that was nearly hypnotic. "You have two legs, but they're not made for gripping things. No your toes are short and not very flexible, and your feet are set up for walking. Imagine the feel of your legs swinging back and forth as you run, first one heel hitting the ground then the other. As you run you pump your arms. It's strange to see them without feathers, but while you know they would be useless for flight, they are excellent at gripping things. Your hands each have five fingers and you clench those fingers into a fist, feeling your nails dig into your palms before relaxing them. You reach out with one hand and close those fingers around…"

Her words were cut off by a horrible sound, one that had Snape at Harry's side in a flash. The last time he had heard that pained squawk was when Erebus had managed to get his foot stuck in the gap between two student desks and had broken two toes in his struggle to get free.

"I was under the impression that the animagus transformation was painless," Snape bit out, worry for Harry voicing itself as an accusation.

McGonagall's lips thinned in the way they had when she was fighting some strong emotion. "It is. Or it should be."

When Snape glared at her, she gave him a significant look, eyes flicking down to Harry for just a second. That was all it took for Snape to recall that this situation was far from what one might normally encounter. He inclined his head to her in silent apology and she nodded.

He inspected Harry quickly, but there was sign of actual injury. "Harry, are you still in pain?"

The bird shook his head.

It took several minutes for Snape to convince Harry to try a second time, but when the result was the same he forebore to suggest any further attempts. For his part, Harry had screamed a few times—in frustration rather than in pain, if Snape was any judge—and flown to his perch above the fireplace. He sat there unmoving in the position he normally adopted while sleeping, his head turned toward his back and beak buried in feathers, but Snape did not need their bond to know that Harry was upset.

"There is a spell," McGonagall suggested in a near whisper.

Snape nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off the headache beginning to build there. "I know of it." The Dark Lord had been extremely paranoid and Snape had seen the spell used more than once on innocent animals that had the misfortune to wander too near a meeting of Death Eaters.

"Muffliato." He felt the slight pressure of the privacy spell settle around them. This was not a conversation he wished Harry to hear. How many times over the past few years had he unknowingly allowed the child to listen to unsuitable conversations? Too many, certainly.

"Is it painful?" he asked.

"It can be. It is uncomfortable but not painful if you do not resist; if you fight the change however, it can hurt, though the pain is over in a scant few seconds. What is a few seconds pain when compared to being trapped in a body that is not truly your own?"

"The transformation itself should not be painful, yet for Harry it is. I am hesitant to add more pain into the equation if it can be avoided. What if we use a sleeping potion to ensure he remains unaware of the worst of it?"

The blood drained from McGonagall's face, leaving her paler than the Bloody Baron and Snape thought for a moment that she was on the verge of being sick. She swallowed several times before speaking. "Both thought and will are involved in the transformation. If the magic is left unguided by the conscious mind, the results are…let us just say that when it was attempted the witch only lived for two days and all who saw her agreed that it would have been better had she died during the process."

"A potion for the pain, then?"

"I wouldn't recommend it. The ones strong enough to potentially be of use against any significant pain are also strong enough to alter the consciousness of the patient."

Snape considered the situation for a moment before coming to a decision. "We will try, but only if Harry agrees."

"He's only a child, Severus, it is unfair to place the decision on his shoulders. Think of what he will miss as a cockatoo."

It was difficult for Snape not to roll his eyes at her angry protest. "I am hardly suggesting we give up and allow him to remain a parrot for the rest of his life should he say no. If he is reluctant today, I can see no harm in allowing him a few days to get used to the idea before bringing it up again. Can you? He has, after all, been in his animagus form for four years, I cannot imagine there is any real urgency."

McGonagall could be a typical Gryffindor at times, stubborn and excitable, but Snape had to give credit where it was due, she was also quite capable of sound reasoning. "No, you are likely correct on that account, although we have no way of knowing for certain. There have been several cases of individuals evading the law by remaining in their animagus form for years at a time without incurring permanent harm, but none of them have been children. I simply cannot say for sure either way, but if he is having difficulty now, we might reasonably assume it will grow worse. A short delay might not cause a noticeable difference, but I would counsel against waiting too long."

"At the moment, we are borrowing tomorrow's trouble. I will ask him and he may very well say yes given his distress at his failure just now. If he is not amenable, then we can discuss alternatives."

"You must do as you see fit," McGonagall said with a small smile. "After all, you are his father, now."

Snape froze. Earlier he had thought of Harry as his ward, but the book had not talked about assuming a guardianship, it had spoken of adoption.

Father. He was a father now.

He had never expected to embody that word, and even now he could not clearly articulate how he felt in thinking of himself as a father. Uncomfortable might cover it. Uncertain and unprepared as well. But not unwilling; no, he would do right by this child.

McGonagall was watching him, Snape knew, and he suspected she might have been trying to unsettle him with her choice of words. Well, he was too Slytherin to be bested that easily by a Gryffindor. "Quite right. And I think it is time I had a conversation with my son." He cancelled the privacy spell and made his way to where Harry was perched, suppressing his smirk at the surprise on his colleague's face.

It took a moment to be certain that he had the child's attention, and then he explained the situation about the spell, ending with, "Unfortunately, it must be done without the benefit of a potion to dull the pain, but should you choose to try this, I will have some ready to give you immediately after, in case it is necessary; we can hope it will not be."

Harry had looked eager at first, but flattened his crest and hissed at the mention of pain. Snape considered several things he could say, several manipulative, Slytherin things not least of which was addressing the child as his son to deliberately play on his emotions. But he could not bring himself to utter them. He had no way of knowing what kind of pain the spell would cause Harry when the transformation itself was supposed to be painless. This choice, he felt, must be made freely.

"Would you like to try the spell?" Snape held up his arm in front of the perch, a clear invitation. Harry cocked his head, considering, Snape thought, but making no move.

"Perhaps another time, then. I will ask again tommo—" Harry interrupted him by jumping from the perch onto the arm Snape had just begun to lower. "You wish to make the attempt?"

Harry bobbed his head, wings half-spread.

Snape smiled then, and stroked the excited bird's head. "That is very brave of you." Those words were normally not a compliment when spoken by the Head of Slytherin House, but today he meant it as such.

After retrieving three analgesic potions of differing strengths, Snape knelt and put his arm near the floor, allowing Harry to step down. Then he looked at McGonagall. Snape was proud of his abilities, but he recognized McGonagall's superiority when it came to transfiguration. "Might I impose on you to cast the spell itself? I have only cast it once or twice myself."

"Of course," she said, rising from her chair and moving to stand next to where Snape was still kneeling on the ground so that they were both facing Harry. "If you are ready?"

Harry bobbed again, less excited this time, but still willing. A flash of blue-white light streaked from McGonagall's wand to Harry, who froze. Another flash, and the bird began transforming into a boy. It was a scant second into the transformation that the squawk of pain began, causing Snape's breath to hitch and then speed up. It was much worse this time, if the sound was anything to judge by. He had to fight not to cringe away as the parrot's cry morphed into a human scream which became a hoarse gargle. And then it was done, and Snape stared into bright green eyes, glassy with pain for a second before the boy raised both hands to his neck and promptly collapsed in a heap.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest, stuttering in time to the short, pained gasps that were the only sound in the room. What had they done? A glance at McGonagall showed her face to be a mirror of the horror Snape felt.

No more than a dozen heartbeats later rational thought returned and he sprang into action, grabbing the strongest of the analgesic potions and pulling out the stopper with his teeth while moving to Harry's side. He rolled the child onto his back to administer the potion when he noticed Harry's hands still at his neck clutching at something.

Fool! Thoughtless, dunderheaded, fool! Snape called himself that and worse as he shifted the open vial to his left hand and drew his wand. He flicked it several times, first to vanish the child's clothes and then to summon a blanket from his bedchamber to cover him. Snape caught the blanket that he had summoned and wrapped it around the child—his child, he reminded himself—before taking Harry into his arms. Harry was now taking great shuddering gasps of air and Snape felt—and was grateful for—each one as he rose and settled them both on the couch.

"Severus what happened?" McGonagall asked, finally breaking free of her horrified stupor.

Snape shook his head; he would explain later. Right now, he had to attend to Harry.

How could he have overlooked the issue of clothing? When an animagus transformed, their clothes transformed with them, in either direction. And the last time Harry had transformed had been four years-old, not a well-grown child of nearly nine, of course the clothes he had been wearing would no longer fit. There was an angry red line encircling Harry's neck, and only the fact that he had been wearing tracksuit bottoms with an elastic waistband prevented there from being a matching line around Harry's waist. As for his neck, it was practically a miracle the child's windpipe hadn't been completely crushed.

Harry's gasps had become hoarse sobs.

"It's all right now. It's over," Snape said, keeping his voice low and soothing. "Here, drink this, it will help with the pain." He held the vial to Harry's mouth and the child swallowed the liquid without protest. As Harry sagged against him in relief, Snape felt the tension flow out of his own muscles. Wordlessly, he summoned a salve from his bathroom, grateful that he had left the cabinet open earlier in case of some unforeseen need.

Harry gasped when the cool salve made contact with his injured neck, but he did not pull away. "This will help the tissue heal. The potion numbed the pain, but it did not repair the damage," he explained, more to have something to say than anything else. "Are you alright? Does anything else hurt?" he asked when he was finished applying the salve.

"No," Harry whispered, and then closed his eyes, relaxing further in Snape's arms.

Snape, shaken to the core by the events of the last hour, could only watch as Harry Potter, a boy once more, fell asleep in his lap.