Harry slept in late the morning after the party. So did most of his dormitory mates, except Neville, who apparently went alone for their usual run. It was Kali who woke Harry by clawing the inside of her crate. It took long, sleep-hazy minutes to determine the source of the persistent scritch scritch scritch noise. Harry reached under the drapes to unlatch her crate and lift her out. She scrambled over his chest, sniffing his clothes and fingers avidly with her tiny blue fox snout, little leather shell ears flipping forward and back. While she was distracted, he traced the stiff cords in her leathery blue-black wings. She had a matching leathery black tail that she kept folded up as a little seat when she wasn’t flying. Satisfied with his new scents, she peered at him, blinking her beady eyes.

Rubbing his own eyes, Harry reviewed the party from the night before. It had gone all right, he decided. That notion gave him the energy to sit up and get out of bed.

The eyes of his fellow students had gone a little reverent again, he noticed, as he made his way down to the Great Hall with only Kali as an escort on his shoulder. She took her job seriously though, hissing at Parkinson and Wereporridge when Harry passed them on the staircase. Harry tried not to grin too broadly as he patted her head.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said brightly when he reached the Grand Staircase.

He returned her greeting and stepped into the Hall, which was streaked with bright, late-morning light. Hermione and Ron were already deep in conversation over a letter when he sat down.

“Hallo, Harry,” Ron said without looking up.

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

Hermione sat straight and said with a twinkle of excitement in her eye, “I’ve an offer for an internship at a solicitor’s in London. It’s a firm run by two Squibs who do work for both Wizards and Muggles. They sound very excited at the prospect of having an actual witch on staff.” She looked over the letter again. “I have to find some courses or a tutor in policy, but this is a good start.”

“Sounds like fun,” Harry said, thinking it sounded actually a bit boring. Ron was silently doubtful as well, but they both hid it when their friend looked up from her letter to smile at them.

Classes were a little slow that week, even Defense, as though everyone was still groggy from the mead that many days later. Or maybe it was just the reminder that things weren’t quite as critical as they used to be.

“Harry,” Snape said as they all stood to leave class when the bell rang. Harry dropped his bag onto his chair and waited beside his desk while his friends remained nearby. Snape approached, giving Harry’s companions an impatient gesture as though to brush them off. Ron took the hint, tugging Hermione toward the door by the crook of her arm. “A word,” Snape said.

“Sure,” Harry replied. He stood casually beside his chair and waited for the room to empty out.

Snape stepped away to clean up the large marble blocks they had been using to practice anti-cursing charms. Even after they were alone, he was slow in speaking. He hovered a second block into the corner, stacking it on the first. “Minerva mentioned something to me, offhandedly, that made me suspect that she is helping you become an Animagus.”

“She is,” Harry replied.

Snape’s dark eyes came around to him, but Harry could not read what was behind them. “She also implied that you are having difficulty, still.” Harry dropped his gaze and thought about a response. Snape strode over in that sudden manner of his and said sternly, “This difficulty stems from where?”

“It’s a lot of things,” he hedged.

Snape hesitated, but finally said, “I am…concerned that it stems from my earlier rebuking of you.”

“I don’t…maybe,” Harry said when he decided that felt truer than expected. He ran his hand over the worn, thickly refinished wood of the chair back beside him. “Mostly it is just that I don’t really understand what I’m supposed to become.”

“You don’t know what animal it is?”

“I know what it is, sort of.” Harry’s tone took an annoyed turn. “From an old woodcut in a book Hagrid has.”

Snape’s brow went from furrowed to raised. “Ah.”

Harry ran his hand over his tangled head, tugging on the longer hair at the back as if to get himself in line with something.

Snape filled in the silence. “Not something normal then.”

“No,” Harry replied. “Something bizarre with claws like this…” He demonstrated with his fingers. “And long teeth, and too nasty to safely get a photograph of, apparently.” He tried to read what Snape was thinking. He looked to be balancing between amusement and dismay.

“Hm,” Snape muttered, appearing to change tactics.

Quietly, but needing to explain to his parent, Harry said, “Professor McGonagall thinks I’m uncomfortable with the notion of that much strange power unexpectedly inside me. She thinks if I can’t accept that, I shouldn’t be an Auror.”

Snape fell more thoughtful and rubbed his brow. Finally, he said, “I think, Harry, that I would find that heartening.”

“What do you mean?”

“Until now, acquiring power for you has been a matter of survival. I think now you are realizing that you have the luxury of getting by without continuing to increase it. Great magical power is not something to be acquired without purpose. Power for the sake of itself does tend to corrupt even the least corruptible.” He studied Harry while Harry thought that over. Snape interrupted his circular musings by saying, “But I must admit, Harry, that of all the wizards I know, power, even great power, worries me least in your hands.”

Harry’s jaw worked a moment. “Why?”

“Because you understand being the underling. Perhaps the second major reason Dumbledore left you with your aunt and uncle, if not the first. I am beginning to suspect that he was more often than not thinking farther ahead than the defeat of the Dark Lord.”

Seconds passed where Harry considered that without drawing a breath. When he finally did breathe in deeply, Snape asked, “So, what is your Animagus form?”

A little embarrassed, Harry said, “A Scarlet Mountain Gryffylis.”

Snape raised his eyes to the ceiling and lightly sneered, “Somehow, not utterly inappropriate.”

“Thanks,” Harry said in feigned annoyance. He moved his hand to his bag, and adjusted the straps for something to do. “It’s the difference between an O and an E on the N.E.W.T.”

“Minerva thinks you are going to do all right on the examination.”

With a light frown Harry hefted his bag. “It’s all easy for her—that’s why she thinks that.”

Snape held up a restraining hand. “There is something else.” Harry lowered his bag back down and listened as Snape said, “The Elders of the Wizengamot met this morning to consider Draco Malfoy’s situation.”

When Snape paused, Harry prompted with a sense of doom, “And?”

“They have scheduled his full hearing for after he finishes school and takes his N.E.W.T.s.” Harry made a sound of dismay. “It was argued that an immediate hearing had the potential to seriously limit his future.”

Harry grimly considered Snape’s words. His face must have given him away because Snape said, “I understand your dismay, because I am equally so. We are still dealing with the fallout of his father’s behavior, and his presence will cause further harm. But Minerva cannot override the Wizengamot on this.” Snape sighed. “It is less than a month and he is not his father. Yet, anyway,” he added darkly.

Harry lifted his book bag yet again. Flatly, he asked, “If he does something stupid and I put him in the hospital wing, how many points does Gryffindor lose?”

“I expect there will be a line ahead of you. He will be on a very short leash.”

Harry felt too mixed up to get angry. “Thanks for warning me. When does he get back?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Harry turned for the door. “Can I warn everyone?”

“If you wish.”

Harry stomped into the common room. The portrait hole felt much too small to easily step through. He expected he should be happy about that. Maybe it was just that his book bag was too heavy, rather than him being too tall. His friends were in the far corner near the windows, chatting amiably. As he dropped his bag beside Ron’s, Hermione said, “What’s up?” in a concerned way.

“Oh, only that Draco Malfoy is coming back to school tomorrow morning.”

“What!?” their corner of the room exploded.

Harry explained what Snape had told him. Ron was incensed but Hermione was more understanding. “It is better in the long run if he’s been able to take his N.E.W.T.s. Then at least he can do something useful with himself.”

Harry plunked into a nearby chair. “That’s an optimistic way to think about it,” he criticized as he pulled out his wand his thumb, as usual, finding the flat spot that was starting to wear smooth. Hermione frowned in his direction, but didn’t argue further. Harry Accioed Kali’s crate down from his dormitory to let her out. She climbed madly over him before settling on his shoulder and hissing at Hermione, apparently for good measure.

“You that angry?” she asked quietly.

“No,” Harry insisted. “Just annoyed at you for trying to be right, even for a Malfoy.”

Hermione’s eyes flickered over Kali expectantly, but the creature remained silent and eventually started grooming herself.

At breakfast Harry fed Kali bacon from his plate. Fatty food seemed to leave her groggy, making it easier to put her away for the day.

“Look who’s here,” Neville said grimly.

They all turned and watched McGonagall leading Draco in the main doors closest to the Slytherin table. A glance at the head table showed Snape eyeing the boy. The whole hall had fallen silent and turned to watch him walk to his usual place near Parkinson. He did not seem to appreciate the attention. Harry hated himself for it, but he felt just a tiny bit sorry for him.

As they departed at the end of breakfast, Ron looked like he was considering heading Malfoy off. Harry grabbed his robes and tugged him in the direction of the doors. “It’s only a month. Just let it go.”

“His dad kicked your arse. Twice.”

“His dad,” Harry reiterated. “Draco tries anything…” He quieted as the blond boy crossed their path walking quickly to the Grand Staircase, looking like he wished he were invisible. Penelope and Frina both eyed Malfoy suspiciously with deep frowns.

Double Potions was quieter than normal as everyone spent more than the usual amount of time eyeing Draco, who concentrated very hard on his brewing and ignored everyone in the room. Greer made her usual rounds and eventually stopped at the Slytherin table.

“You brew exactly the way your father does,” she marveled. Harry’s table all froze in various positions of pouring, reading, and stirring to turn their attention across the room.

“So?” Draco snapped at her.

“Well, it means your marks would be all the same anyway, does it not?” Greer asked in a forced matter-of-fact manner.

“That’s it,” Hermione breathed. Her stirring stick twanged as it struck the tabletop when she slammed it flat.

“Hermione,” Harry said in a warning tone.

“Uh oh,” Penelope said.

“Let her go, I want to see this,” Dean said in a darkly curious way.

Harry, thinking of the new points rule McGonagall had informed him of, grinned slightly. “Go on, then,” he urged his friend.

“No,” she breathed harshly as she hesitated, though she looked a little ill from the effort.

“Why not?” Harry asked. “Imagine how much you’ll regret later not saying—”

Hermione slapped her hand on the table before she yanked out her wand and waved her potion away. Neville peered into her empty cauldron in amazement. Greer, her attention drawn over by the sudden noise, strode their way. “Problem with your potion, Ms. Granger?”

“No,” Hermione replied firmly. “Just a problem with you.”

Greer noticed her empty cauldron and put her hands on her hips. “And how many points is your cheekiness worth, dear?”

“Don’t call me that,” Hermione threatened as she slid off her stool and stepped purposefully around the bench to face the teacher directly, rocking up on her toes to match her diminutive height. Neville made a small noise of discomfort or fear.

“You get a zero for the day, Ms. Granger,” Greer said, leaning over Hermione slightly.

“I don’t care. Your marks are no more than a useless exercise in stroking your sorry pride anyway.”

Everyone stiffened. Greer went a little purple around the edges of her face. “How dare you? Twenty points from Gryffindor.”

Hermione swung her arm and balled her fist. Harry for a moment feared she was considering going for her wand, instead she poked the teacher with her finger. Half shouting, she asked, “What have you got against us all? Do you miss Voldemort or something?”

Greer’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You, of all people, accuse me of consorting with dark wizards? You who are friends with that?” She pointed at Harry.

Hermione actually took a step backward, she was so surprised. “You think Harry is a dark wizard?” she blurted, half laughing.

Greer stalked to the other side of their bench, leaning forward in a vain attempt at looking menacing. “I’ve been watching you, Mr. Potter. Currying favor with those in power. Manipulating the rules to have things your way.” Harry actually leaned back from the force of her barely controlled fury. “I know what you are. I know you can speak to the vilest of creatures.”

Hermione interrupted her with a snarl. “The only dark wizard we’ve had in this class was Lucius Malfoy, and you treated him the best of all. You’re still treating his son the best of all!”

Swinging to lean over Hermione, Greer sneered, “There has never been a Parselmouth who was not a dark wizard, Ms. Granger, who struts her pretty little over-read self around this school.” When Hermione folded her lips into her mouth, Greer prompted viciously, “Am I right, Ms. Bookworm?”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Hermione said, although it was too quiet.

“How can that not mean anything?” Greer mocked.

“You’re a nutter,” Dean said quietly.

“Another twenty points from Gryffindor,” Greer stridently said.

Harry suppressed a grin, he couldn’t feel badly, because he hadn’t said anything about the ongoing change in point allocation. Nevertheless, they did have three weeks of classes to survive. “Hermione,” he said gently.

His friend swung on him. “This doesn’t bother you?” When he shrugged, she huffed in frustration.

“She isn’t worth it,” he explained. The whole class was watching, although a few were trying to brew at the same time. Oddly, Malfoy did not look on triumphantly, just exhaustedly. Harry addressed him, “So Draco, am I a dark wizard? You’ve probably seen more in the last month than everyone else here.”

The whole class spun their heads around. Draco hesitated, tilted his head to the side, then glanced at the ceiling in a fidgety way that reminded Harry very strongly of Sirius. “No. Hardly,” he finally scoffed. “Mr. Everybody-Loves-Me cannot possibly be a dark wizard.” When Greer narrowed her eyes at him, he added. “You’d know already if he were because he’s too chicken to take the Dark Lord’s place.” Draco turned to Harry with a piercing gaze. “Too chicken to control his followers, though I’m sure he could,” he added quietly in a knowing tone.

The room had fallen silent and no one worked on their potion while they waited for Harry’s response. Harry said, “I inherited more from Voldemort than anyone could want, but not that much.” The room shifted uneasily, reminding Harry that it was possible to unsettle his fellow students back to the way they used to treat him, which he really did not want.

Draco smiled crookedly, glancing around the room to check the effect of his words. “I think you have the ability and you’re just pathetically scared of it.”

Harry forced his shoulders to relax and his face to neutralize. “It had to work out that I was part of him,” Harry said calmly. “Otherwise I couldn’t have destroyed him and he would still be here. You wouldn’t want that, would you, Draco?”

Draco laughed lightly, though it sounded forced. “No, of course not.”

The room relaxed some with glances of consternation at Harry. A few people returned to their notes for the potion. Greer clicked her wooden heels hard on the stone floor as she strode away from them. “Claim what you will, Mr. Potter,” she insinuated darkly.

Harry rolled his eyes and returned to his copy of the potion instructions. Hermione grudgingly returned to her seat. As the legs of her stool shifted loudly on the stone floor, Greer turned and said, “And fifty points for your abominable behavior, Ms. Granger. And a week’s detention.”

Hermione seemed to not hear this as she opened her textbook to the next chapter and began taking notes. A minute later, she said, “Ron is going to kill me.”

“No he won’t,” Harry replied easily. He gave her a flash of a knowing grin which left her puzzled.r32;At lunch they met Ron and Ginny in the Entrance Hall. Harry leaned over to Hermione and said, “Don’t say anything.”

“About what?” she whispered back.

“Anything. You’ll see.”

“Hey,” Ron said in cheerful greeting. “Potions must not have been so bad today.”

Hermione opened her mouth, but then forcibly closed it again. She glanced at the scoring gems for the House Cup, puzzled. “Guess it did go okay,” she agreed. As Penelope and Frina arrived along with Neville, she shot Harry a look of confusion.

“I told you he wouldn’t mind,” Harry teased her as they walked in the Great Hall.

“So what is going on?” she asked in a whisper.

“My undue evil influence with those in charge,” Harry said with a wide grin. Leaning into her ear, he explained, “McGonagall is reversing every point assignment Greer makes.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open and Ron said, “What?” from across the table.

“Nothing.” She waved him off and fell thoughtful. “Good thing you didn’t say anything sooner,” she said quietly. “Goodness, is that tempting.”

No one else noticed the slight gain from the bottom Gryffindor had managed that morning. Harry watched his friend’s face as it went more thoughtful and strategic as lunch progressed.

Harry, sleeping well and feeling more fit than he ever had, was looking forward to his last ever Quidditch match. He listened with only half an ear to Ron’s pep talk before they flew out. The day was trying to be sunny, though at the moment the clouds were winning, but at least it was warm. Harry circled, eyeing Roody, the opposing Seeker. The black boy was considering him as well, but with a look of resignation. Harry wished he would just be determined and not look like Harry had beaten him already.

Ron gave them a thumbs-up as the crate of balls was opened. “Clean game—don’t really need to tell you that,” Harry heard Hooch say before the Snitch zipped free and he stopped following anything else. Roody watched it zigzag away as well and their eyes almost met, except Roody dropped his to stare at his broom handle.

The whistle sounded. Harry headed in the direction the Snitch had gone and began circling. Roody came up beside and paced him, dark eyes scanning all around them. Harry decided he better not underestimate him, even as defeated as he appeared, especially since he had been given the tricky task of stalling the game’s conclusion as long as he could without actually losing the Snitch.

Meanwhile, Ginny, Hickory, and Quinn were playing harder than Harry had ever seen them, flying repeatedly and heedlessly at the goals, so much so that the Ravenclaw Beaters seemed hard-pressed to aim. The new plays helped Harry as well, because they distracted Roody as the score marched upward. At forty to zero Harry spotted the Snitch, or he thought he did out of the corner of his eye, even heard the crowd murmuring in that direction, but he pretended he didn’t. Instead, he lazily changed course to circle the other way and Roody distractedly followed.

Harry, when Roody looked his way, took care to appear intent on his Snitch searching. At sixty to ten, which would be enough points, along with the one hundred-fifty for the Snitch, to get them out of last place for the House Cup, Roody turned suddenly. Instinctively, Harry followed, kicking his broom to top speed and aiming to cut the other Seeker off. The Snitch was feeling generous toward Ravenclaw though and dodged in Roody’s favor. Harry veered sharply to try to get between the other Seeker and the golden ball. Roody had his hand out, straining, following the Snitch in a wide arc, slowly gaining on it with a painfully hopeful expression. But Harry had a better broom and at top speed he just managed a body block in time to jar Roody’s arm off course.

The whistle blew. Harry braked his broom sharply and turned to see Madam Hooch signally a foul. At first he was certain it could not possibly be for him. Ron zipped over to argue with her, expressing disbelief. “Blatching, Mr. Weasley. I said a clean game. Free shot, Ravenclaw.”

As they waited, Ginny steered over to Harry. “Tsk, tsk,” she teased. Roody circled away, rubbing his upper arm and looking glum and frustrated.

“How many points does Ron want?” Harry asked her, feeling a little dark. Ron rushed up to defend the goals for the penalty throw.

She scoffed. “How far behind Slytherin are we?”

“Three hundred twenty, or something.”

“Well?”

“I can’t avoid the Snitch that long,” Harry pointed out as Ardent tossed the Quaffle at the left post after a successful feint to the right, making the score sixty to twenty. “Well, dragging out my last ever game isn’t the worst way to spend an afternoon,” he muttered and steered his broom around to find the opposing Seeker.

Roody began avoiding Harry, which only made sense when one considered it. Fortunately, in working to avoid Harry, he did less looking around for the Snitch, so again when Harry spotted it, Roody failed to. And when Harry changed course languidly toward it, Roody went the other way as Harry had hoped.

At hundred to thirty the crowd was getting restless and the Slytherins were revitalizing some old songs that had fallen out of favor.

Gryffindors ’r’s dumb as an ox

Can’t fly their way out of a box

Their Chasers are facing a Bludgering macing

Their Seeker is meeker than toads in a beaker

Roody came alongside then, much closer than before. “You are being meek, aren’t you?”

Harry sighed as they circled. “I’m trying to delay catching the Snitch. We need the points.”

“That’s sorry,” Roody complained. “Just play the game.”

“I wouldn’t mind, but it means a lot to my house. Quidditch Cup isn’t enough, I guess. No banners. You won the House Cup last year,” he pointed out at Roody’s rolling his eyes.

“I thought I was just lucky that you hadn’t come up with it yet, that you didn’t just take it away when you blocked me. I was so close.”

“You were,” Harry agreed. He slowed and turned his head to listen to a chant starting in the Slytherin section. It was only being carried on by a handful of voices, he was heartened to hear.

Potter’s a rotter

Kissed a hag’s daughter

Slept with eels, slugs, snakes and an otter

so did his mater

Roody cocked his head as well, brow furrowing as he listened to the repeat, which was more coherent. “Whoa, what is Professor Snape going to say to that?” he asked.

Harry shrugged but couldn’t help grinning. He didn’t get a chance to see what his parent’s reaction might be because the Snitch chose that moment to zip between them where they hovered. Both of them looked at each other and gave chase. As they swerved and bumped, Roody grunted, “Make me look good for my parents, that’s all I ask.”

The Snitch remained at its most elusive as they followed it across the pitch. Harry got a fleeting sense of the crowd rising up. The Snitch passed through the Gryffindor goal area and they each diverted in different directions to avoid the foul. Harry had guessed badly where the Snitch would reemerge. It headed almost directly for his opponent. Ron shouted something strident at Harry as he cranked his broom up and around the zone, thinking there was no way Roody would fail to catch the Snitch—he was right beside it.

Roody looked up at him bearing down, gave a smile, and took the golden ball out of the air before him. Harry veered right, which was actually up from the world view, to avoid colliding. The crowd groaned as the Ravenclaw stands erupted.

Harry flew over to where Ron hovered in stunned dismay. “I passed it up so many times,” Harry said to him. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Ron muttered.

“Trying too hard, I think,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Ron repeated emptily.

Ginny came alongside. The Ravenclaws were landing and leaping on one another. They looked exceedingly happy with themselves. The Gryffindors watched the celebration a moment before Ginny said, “Well, that game plan didn’t quite work.”

“Sorry,” Harry repeated. “You guys looked great. I should have held up my end.” He wanted to point out how uncooperative the Snitch had been, but didn’t want to make excuses.

“Yeah,” Ron repeated yet again.

Harry frowned as he watched Ron land and walk across the pitch dragging his broom. He followed with the others in silence. At the door to the changing rooms, Harry turned back to the crowd. He could see Roody in the center of the pitch, showing the Snitch off to a couple who were almost certainly his parents. They were all glowing rather radiantly with elation. Harry sighed again and stepped inside.

They removed their equipment in silence. Harry took off his wrist guards and stowed them in the basket rather than the locker, so they could be cleaned for next year. Feeling heavy and tired, he dropped onto a bench and watched Ron’s sad motions as he unstrapped himself.

“I should have ended it sooner,” Harry said, breaking the long silence. “I pushed it too far. We might have lost the Quidditch Cup too. We tied Slytherin on matches. It’s going to come down to points.” Harry tossed his pads hard into their basket. Someone else would be wearing them next year.

“It’s all right, Harry,” Ginny insisted. “We should have had a fixed score to go for so you didn’t have to wonder or wait for some kind of signal.”

Harry thought that over. “I had him easily—I just guessed wrong when it really mattered.”

Ron tossed his stuff toward the basket, missing with most of it, and walked out.

“Don’t worry ’bout him,” Ginny said. “Big dinner and he’ll forget all about it.”

Harry chuckled. “I doubt it.”

At dinner Ron was more amiable, despite staring for a full minute at the paltry pile of red rubies in their hopper before entering the Hall. “We were trying too hard,” he agreed, breaking his silence.

Vastly relieved, Harry said, “Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t have been nice to win.”

“What was the score, exactly again?” Hermione asked. She was serving her last day of detention with Greer and had not been allowed to attend.

When Ron didn’t reply, Harry told her the numbers with his fingers. The food arrived. Hermione pushed her plate aside to scratch away with a quill on a scrap of parchment. She frowned at it and folded it up, glancing at Ron to make sure he wasn’t looking. She met Harry’s gaze and frowned again, then shrugged and pushed the slip over to him. Harry unfolded it against the front edge of his plate where Ron wouldn’t see. It was a full accounting of every match. Slytherin’s total points were 580 to Gryffindor’s 510, which gave them the Quidditch Cup too since their houses’ overall records were tied. Harry bunched the slip up and put it in his pocket.

Frina joined them, jostling Penelope and Darsha. “We joined the wrong house, no?” she said with a smile at the rest of them.

“Sorry,” Harry apologized for what may have been the hundredth time. “I was trying to win it all or have a remote chance of winning it all, at least.” Roody’s annoyance at their strategy was seeming perfectly reasonable now.

“You did not play your best,” Penelope said, lecturing him.

Harry frowned and thought of the excessively tall cylinder of emeralds. “It would be nice not to lose to Slytherin, though.”

“Really?” Hermione prodded, “O honorary Slytherin.”

“Oy, that’s right,” Ron said accusingly with his mouth full.

“It’s not the same, believe me,” Harry insisted. “There must be something—”

Snape strode over at that moment, hands on hips, looking a bit too pleased. “Well,” he began airily. “It wasn’t as though Gryffindor was any threat to Slytherin’s dominance, but I did expect a better showing from this house, nonetheless.”

Ron swallowed a big chunk of his second serving of roast and sounding worryingly like he might be winding up, said, “You know, sir…” Ron gestured with his fork. “There are advantages to last place.” He smiled. “One just has to be willing to…uh…take advantage of them.” He gave their professor a nice smile.

“Oh, dear,” Snape muttered before turning to leave.

“What was that?” Harry asked his friend, but Ron just continued to smile.

Mental exhaustion was feeling routine as Harry rode the staircase down from the headmistress’ office. This endless cycle of revising, classes, D.A., and tutoring had now gone on long enough that he was forgetting what free time felt like. He rubbed his eyes, adjusted his bag, and crossed the gargoyle’s path, heard it move back into place before the doorway as he reached the center of the floor.

Another movement behind him caught his attention. Harry turned, feeling for his wand. Draco stepped into the large torch-lit alcove from the shadowy corridor. He stood haughtily with his light book bag slung over one shoulder. “Are you actually getting tutoring from the headmistress herself?” he asked, scoffing, lips glistening.

Harry dropped his hand from his wand pocket when he noticed the other boy wasn’t holding his. “What’s it matter to you?” he retorted.

“That’s pathetic. If you can’t cut it, you should just fail like anyone else would. Why do you deserve special help?” he sneered, disgustedly looking Harry up and down from his taller height.

Harry started to turn away and ignore the other boy. Draco took a hold of Harry’s robe and forcefully pulled him back. Harry got an inkling as he disengaged Draco’s hand that Azkaban had hardened something about the junior Malfoy. “You’re one to be talking,” Harry snarled, finding anger in him still from the memory of his own experience, “Mr. Delayed-Wizengamot-Hearing.”

Draco, mouth twisted sourly, said, “I’ll still manage better marks than you, without constant babying from the headmistress and a Head of House and who knows what other teachers.” He shoved Harry back and used a childish voice to say, “Poor little Potter, we have to help him set up for a nice little future.” Harry, knocked off-balance, let his heavy bag fall to the floor. Draco was continuing in the same grating baby-tone, “Even the headmistress has to help him with such easy-weasy spells otherwise he might fail his newtsies.”

Stung far more than he would have preferred to be, Harry again resisted reaching for his wand.

“What?” Draco obnoxiously asked in a overdone disbelieving tone. “No argument from the Hero of Wizardry?”

“Bugger off, Malfoy,” Harry breathed and leaned down to catch the straps of his bag.

“That the best you can do?” Draco asked breathily, sounding much too much like his father.

Harry released the straps of his bag and vaguely heard the sound of it resettling on the floor. Something inside himself was shifting, narrowing, channeling fury into determination and spell energy. Magical energy lifted his robes around him as though air had filled him. He recognized it, smiled slightly, and relaxed himself in the way Hermione had forced him to repeat so many times: relaxed and thought fancifully of his inner spirit, of paws, claws and feathers. His view of Draco twisted, bulged, accentuated by the blond boy stepping back suddenly and falling to his rear as he tripped on his own feet.

Harry was above Draco now, much too far above him. Harry moved a foot and felt it levered on broadly spaced toes, felt the way a stretch of tendon caused something beyond his toes to scrape the stones and catch on the mortar. Draco made a noise of fear which sounded almost musical. Harry felt the oddness of ears pulling forward to listen better straight ahead. He lifted a hand, but really a brightly colored furry leg and huge paw. The world tried to ripple downward again. He forced more membrane energy into the spell and Malfoy’s terrified expression re-solidified below him.

With care Harry placed a paw down on Draco’s chest. A tightening just there again, like stretching his fingers backward, made a row of four black claws appear and press their points into Draco’s uniform shirt. Draco whimpered again. Harry sniffed now, noticing the sharp scents coming off the body below him. Bitter sweat, ammonia, and the smell of cooked chicken skin battled for Harry’s attention. The last was the most disturbing, as it implied Draco might be edible.

“Help,” Draco yelped. His blue eyes were looking off to the side. Pulling himself to his internal sense, Harry stepped awkwardly back, lost his balance, and was startled utterly to find excessive limbs tossing themselves instinctively to the sides to right him. A sharp breeze accompanied this odd motion. Merlin, he had wings! He stepped back again on ungainly long legs that resisted getting behind him properly, rested back on his haunches since that was easiest. It still left him taller than everything around.

Draco scrambled away, pointing and trying to explain something to another figure. Harry turned his head and found Snape looking up at him, quite a ways up at him, brows raised in a considerate expression. “Most impressive, Harry,” Snape stated in a droll tone. When Draco moved to stand behind him, Snape asked in a falsely confused voice, “Problem, Mr. Malfoy?”

With a snarl Malfoy retreated, making a wide path around Harry before stepping rapidly down the corridor. Harry felt a little dizzy watching him retreat. He was seeing too much of both directions of corridor at once. But he was ready to return to himself, especially since even Snape, with the cacophonous overtones of pungent potion and wet charcoal ink clinging to his robes, also hinted at the scent of chicken. Harry remembered Hermione’s concerned and loud instructions to Ginny and relaxed again as he released the energy. The world corkscrewed distressingly before he could close his eyes on it. His knees hitting the floor jolted him fully back to himself.

Snape’s hand closed around his upper arm and hauled him to his feet.

“You were there all this time?” Harry asked, struggling to get balanced on two oddly round and clumsily shod feet.

“It did not seem that intervening would do your battered ego any good. Had Draco pulled his wand, it would have been different.” Snape looked him over as Harry brushed off his knees. “Was that the first time you have managed that?”

“Yes,” Harry said, heart racing as he thought about it.

“I am certain Minerva would like to see it, in that case.”

“Yeah, next session, maybe,” Harry said, thinking he would feel silly running back up there now. “Strange really—everything seems a little different: brighter and smellier. And shorter,” he added with a grin. Snape handed him his book bag, which he hefted over his shoulder as they walked. Waving his arms, he said thoughtfully, “I don’t know how to manage both arms and wings, though. That’s too many limbs.”

“There are no athletic requirements as part of the Animagus bonus section of the N.E.W.T.” Snape stated reassuringly.

“Good,” Harry said happily.

They stopped at the staircases where they would split up. After a group of Third Years went by, Harry asked excitedly, “Do you think I can fly?”

Snape hesitated replying as though having an internal struggle with the question. “Hagrid would know, I presume,” he finally said rather flatly.

Harry, thinking now he had been wrong to put such restrictions on Ginny and that he should apologize profusely, said, “I bet I can, at least short distances.”

Snape still appeared to be struggling. “Do consider that you cannot take your N.E.W.T.s from the hospital wing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said dismissively before heading along the balcony towards the corridor to the Gryffindor tower. He glanced back once to find that Snape wore a familiar expression, but only familiar from long ago. Thinking maybe he should not have been so offhanded, Harry almost went back, but Snape was already heading down the staircase.

In the common room Harry leaned over between Ron and Hermione, which was difficult given how close together their heads hung over their assignments. “Guess what?” Harry said. When they both turned curious faces up to him, he said, “I managed my form.”

“Harry! That’s great!” Hermione exploded. “During your tutoring?”

Most of the common room had turned their way. More quietly, Harry said, “After, when Draco was harassing me. I don’t think he’ll do that again,” he added with a cruel grin.

“Ha!” Ron said. “Well, let’s see, come on.”

Harry balked, glancing around at the crowded room. “Not here.”

His friends quickly put their books aside. “We can go somewhere else like the Room of Requirement,” Hermione said eagerly. “Neville,” she said across the room, “have a minute?”

“No, but I’m assuming it’s something I don’t want to miss?”

“I’d say,” Ron replied and gave Harry a shove toward the portrait hole.

“How about the lawn?” Harry suggested instead, thinking of trying a running start with some serious flapping.

“Really?” Hermione confirmed. She glanced at her watch. “It’s twenty to ten, but why not? Just make it quick.”

“And we’ve already lost the cup,” Ron pointed out as they started down the many staircases. “Might as well make the most of that.”

Hermione’s expression made Harry wonder what she had come up with to try and win it despite their firm last place position. She bit her lips as they continued on. Seeing a familiar redhead on another staircase that was shifting from one place to another, Ron shouted, “Ginny, come with us! Harry’s going to show us his form.”

Many students started following after that. Harry caught up to his tall friend. “I don’t need that much of an audience,” he complained.

“Oy. Why not?” Ron retorted and gave him a big grin.

“Oh, sure, why not,” Harry, feeling buoyant, gave in.

The large doors to the outside creaked open, letting in a breath of mild night air. “Beautiful night,” Ron opined grandly as they stepped down to the lawn. A knot of students surrounded the three of them as they stopped.

Gesturing with his hands, Harry said, “Clear a path to the lake.”

Glancing between each other, they backed up. Ron said, “What are you turning into, a whale?”

“Just give me some room,” Harry said, thinking that if he didn’t get airborne, the water would be a soft landing. He dropped his arms to his sides and tried to generate and channel the same rippling energy he had managed before. Breaths passed with just a slight movement of his robes.

“Any year now,” Parkinson sneered from behind him.

Harry turned and gave her a broad grin. “Thank you, Pansy,” he said sincerely. Extreme annoyance again forged the energy just the right way and the world twisted below him. He hoped he did not always need an insulting Slytherin around to manage this.

Expressions of surprise and fear echoed around him. Again, he was not balancing all that well, or perhaps didn’t know where the strength was in his limbs, and given how long they were, that would matter a lot more. He had to shift back on his haunches again to steady himself. His friends stepped in close before him.

“Wow, Harry!” Ron exclaimed. “Merlin, that’s really something.”

Harry moved his head around and tried to get used to the wide-angle view he had on the world. Stunned faces loomed in the lower corners of his vision. He twitched his nose. This many bodies around smelled like the Quidditch changing rooms at the end of a hot season. His wings shuffled, bumping a few students aside.

Ginny half-shouted with excited encouragement, “Try a flight over the lake where crashing isn’t painful. It’s not as hard as you think.”

Harry leaned forward a bit and found his wings with intention, which felt less like a second set of arms and more like some remote part of his back had taken on a mind of its own.

“Harry,” Hermione said in deep concern and a touch on his leg, “you aren’t really?”

Harry leaned forward down the lawn to lose the need to sit back when he lost his balance. He was grateful that he could not talk, since it meant he could avoid arguing with her. A few experimental steps forward went pretty well. He leaned downhill more and pushed off harder with his legs, learning when he clawed his front foot with his back that he had to change his gait when he began to run. His wings threw themselves out level on their own and his feet felt lighter. A pump of his mid-body back-limbs and he did not touch down on his hands as expected. When he did touch them down it was much too hard, jolting through his shoulders. His back legs, spry and leveraged came forward to help and he regained a running flow of limbs as if born to it.

The lake fast approached. Maybe he should slow to a stop and try again, he thought. The full moon lit the water, transforming the surface into mercury. He flapped harder, this time just as he leapt forward with his back legs. His feet did not touch down before he flapped again. Cheers receded behind him. He kept flapping, glad to find the motion easy even with his full weight off the ground. His legs felt dangling and useless, so he pulled them up as he passed the lake edge. This was how he discovered that they were essential for weight balance. Just over the lake edge, he stalled. Madly throwing his head down and his legs forward, feeling long feathers snapping back for rear lift, he barely managed to tilt in the air without losing too much altitude, to get his wings lifting again while coasting forward. Harry pawed into the lake surface as he flapped madly to rise.

A little altitude would give him some margin for error, he thought, flapping harder, and just slightly lifting his chin. That worked remarkably well, and the sudden easy rise on the air currents made him try to shout his glee. It came out as a very strange call that echoed off the hills.

Harry was most of the way over the lake and needed to turn. Not knowing any better, he tucked in and leaned like he would on a broom. The world slid around neatly, although it took some mad flapping at the end since he had lost too much forward speed coasting so long. There seemed to be a lot more people at the edge of the lake now. Harry hoped they had the sense to get out of the way, since he did not have much faith in a landing.

Something caught the corner of Harry’s vision. A bird flew along beside him, diving and turning to keep pace. Harry grinned as he recognized the red-tail hawk. When he returned his attention forward, the lake edge and lawn were coming up startlingly fast. Concerned about slowing enough, Harry lifted his head too early, wings shoving hard against a solid wall of still air, feet dragging over the water’s surface, sending plumes of lake water alongside him before his paws found the mucky lake edge and his legs galloped under him to manage a running landing.

The students were cheering and Ron actually ran up and hugged him in glee. An otter came up beside him, shook itself before transforming into Hermione, who also put her hands around him as far as possible. Their eager touch took away the uneasiness that still lingered at transforming into something so strange.

Harry glanced up and found the teachers beyond his friends, their expressions unclear in the twilight. He must have tried to speak because something vaguely like “Uh oh” came out of his animal throat, making nearly everyone laugh forcefully. McGonagall stepped forward, followed closely by Greer, who was making comments that implied they should all be tossed out that very night.

McGonagall turned to the Potions professor. “Gertrude, do back off or I may have you make the appropriate point assignments.” Greer, clearly confused by this, stepped back warily. Looking up at Harry, the headmistress said, “Looks like you managed, my boy.”

Harry shifted his feet, mud was clumping around his paws uncomfortably and pebbles and reed stems were stuck between his toes. Hagrid stepped over, strangely at eye level. “Well, look a’ you.” He brushed the feathers on Harry’s head back with an tender expression, then immediately pulled Harry into a bear hug. Harry put more membrane energy into the spell, afraid that if he transformed back now, he might be crushed.

Hagrid finally released him, sniffling and muttering how proud he was. Harry relaxed and released the transformation. His friends patted his arms and congratulated him. His hands were caked with mud. He stood still while Hermione cleaned them and his shoes with a spell. Her hair was wet from swimming, he noticed in amusement, although her robes were dry.

As they trooped past the teachers toward the main doors, followed by a circling hawk, Harry said to the headmistress, “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t miss us, Professor.” He smiled even more broadly at Snape, standing beside her.

McGonagall smiled faintly over her prim expression. “I do appreciate that, Mr. Potter,” she stated with high formality.

When the students were out of earshot, laughing and jostling as they stepped up to the main doors, McGonagall said to Snape, “I’ll leave their punishment to you, Deputy Headmaster.”

Snape drew himself up, spared a glance at Greer, and asked airily, “Punishment for what?” Greer’s eyes popped out slightly as she started to fume. Directly to her, he added, “Having read every one of this school’s regulations, I do not know of one that was violated this evening.”

Greer put her hands on her hips. “Curfew?” she snarled.

McGonagall interceded, “Ah, yes, well, all houses were represented out here this evening. No purpose in knocking them all down in points,” she stated easily before turning to head up the lawn. Greer grumbled as they all walked back at a sedate pace, enjoying the warm evening air. McGonagall finally said in admonishment, “Gertrude, they will be gone soon enough…just a few short weeks. Of course, others will take their place, as always happens.” She fell thoughtful and turned to Snape. “Although, I do not think they will have equals for quite a while.”