Unfamiliar Familiar by Eihwaz Ehwaz

Snape stepped through the floo to find the sitting room empty and devoid of any evidence that suggested the kinds of chaos that could be caused by an unsupervised child. This was something of a relief. Finding Harry's books abandoned at the kitchen table was less so. But it was when the child did not respond to Snape's call and was not found in his room, or any other room in the house, that he began to worry.

There were any number of horrible things that could have happened, and Snape's mind ran through at least a dozen as he ran out the door to the back garden, wand drawn. Alert as he was for danger he still missed the presence of the witch until it was too late to counter the spell she sent his way. A host of pebbles rose up and began swarming him, pelting him from every angle. There were several seconds of chaos before he could cast the counter to the oppugno jinx. As the rocks fell away, allowing him to uncover his face, he found himself staring down the wand of a very angry Minerva McGonagall.

"I ought to hex you into next month. What were you thinking to leave him alone like that? Anything could have happened!"

His first impulse was to defend his actions but it was overtaken by his need for information. "Where is Harry? Is he alright?"

The answer to his question came in the form of a loud squawk followed by a black and red form winging his way. Without thinking, he raised his arm and the great bird settled itself with the ease and familiarity of long practice, if not with any particular grace. "Erebus, I have missed you!" Snape said after a moment of stunned silence. He reached out to caress the parrot's head, giving an affectionate tug on a few crest feathers. Erebus leaned into the touch before climbing up to Snape's shoulder, his overlarge beak poking a hole in Snape's robes as he used it for leverage, and beginning to preen the man's hair. He turned to thank McGonagall and found that her furious glare had been replaced by a look of incredible smugness. The impulse to remove that look was irresistible.

"I never imagined anyone could be more stubborn than Harry is. I am glad to discover that I was wrong." Snape held his face immobile as McGonagall took in the backhanded compliment and her self-satisfied air vanished.

"If all it took was stubbornness, you would have managed on your own," came the sharp retort.

He was too relieved at this development to continue the verbal sparring that so often characterized their interactions, so he merely acknowledged the barb with a nod before turning his attention back to Erebus. He stroked the bird's breast feathers a few times before speaking again, this time to his avian companion. "I need to have a few words with Professor McGonagall. Would you like to fly some more or go inside?"

Erebus half spread his wings and bobbed twice before tilting his head at Snape.

"Very well. Off with you then, and be sure to return for dinner."

"Was that wise, Severus?" McGonagall asked as the bird winged his way out of sight. "Don't you think that he ought to be supervised, given his age?"

Snape sneered a bit, but refrained from rolling his eyes. "Erebus has always been free to fly about. I see no reason why that should change. Besides, the sheer joy he experiences while flying…" Snape closed his eyes for a moment and mentally sought the connection to his familiar, feeling that same joy was over his own mind. "No, I could not take that from him."

"I suppose, but what about Harry? He is certainly too young to be left alone at home. Even you must admit that you were concerned for him when you returned. Anything might have happened."

"I assure you, I was left to my own devices at his age for much longer stretches and never came to any significant harm."

McGonagall sniffed. "And, of course, you seek to emulate your parents, who were the epitome of sound parenting. I really don't think—"

Snape's glare must have penetrated McGonagall's self-righteous ire, for she stopped mid-sentence. "My father was a drunken lout, as you well know, but do not dare to speak another word against my mother in my presence." How dare she! Eileen Snape nee Prince had been far from perfect, Snape knew. Married to a brute in a time when divorce carried significant stigma in the muggle world, cut off from her family and therefore unable to return to the somewhat more tolerant wizarding world, and too prone to illness to hold any job for long enough to support herself and a growing boy should she dare to leave and continue life as a muggle, there were few options available to her. He might wish she had made different choices, but the clarity of hindsight had allowed him to accept that she had done her best.

The contrite look on McGonagall's face eased some of his ire even before she spoke. "Forgive me. Eileen and I were friends of a sort at school, and I have often wished I had worked harder to stay in contact with her after we left Hogwarts. Those were not easy days for me, and…well, there is little point wasting time wishing for what can never be. I apologize, Severus, I should not have maligned her."

It was several moments before Snape could gather his wits about him sufficiently to suggest they move inside to continue their discussion. They settled themselves at his kitchen table and Snape set about making and serving tea, his thoughts whirling all the time with this revelation. He had worked with McGonagall for eight years and had never known that she had been friends with his mother. If he had bothered to think about it he might have realized that they had been in school at the same time, but his mother had never spoken much of her own life before her marriage and estrangement from her family. Knowing that they had been friends prompted a strange tightness in Snape's chest.

With difficulty he shook off his maudlin reflections and took a sip of his tea, forcing himself to take a moment to observe the beautiful summer day, the fresh air blowing through the open window, and the relief of knowing that Harry could once again become Erebus. Calmer now, he decided to steer the conversation away from such sentimental topics and on to the business of the day.

"Dumbledore is aware now that I know Harry's location," he said, and then recounted the meeting briefly. McGonagall had several questions about the vow they had made, and Snape gave a more detailed account of that, answering her shrewd inquiries with a show of annoyance, though he could admit to himself that he was pleased with his co-conspirator's insight and appreciation for the subtleties of the situation.

At last she seemed satisfied with the information she had been given. "I do think you ought to tell the headmaster of Erebus sooner rather than later, but," she raised a hand, forestalling Snape's interruption, "but I can find no fault with your current arrangements."

Snape nodded at that. He did not need her approval, of course, but it was nice to have it nonetheless.

They shared several moments of silence then, though by the way she was tapping her thumb against her chin, Snape was sure McGonagall had something on her mind.

"When do you plan to ask Harry about his past?" she said at last. "Dumbledore is not the only one who is eager to know the circumstances that led us to this point."

"No, he is not," Snape acceded. His own curiosity on that topic had been like an itch he could not scratch, for he had yet to find the right way to begin the conversation, or even decide if it was a conversation worth attempting so soon after the shift in their relationship. "As for when, that is difficult to say. Erebus trusts me, but Harry…it is different with Harry. Our interactions are more strained, and I do not wish to disturb what little equilibrium the boy has gained on the off chance that he retains clear memories from when he was four."

McGonagall considered that. "He seems settled enough for this, I would think. When I arrived he spoke at some length about how you have set him a course of study and helped him with his reading. It is obvious to me that he thinks quite highly of you."

"Perhaps," Snape mused. It was not that he thought McGonagall was mistaken, but rather that she was not aware of the stressed overtones of some of the conversations he had had with Harry. It was natural that his interactions with Harry would be different from what he shared with Erebus, and Snape would prefer things to be more settled between them before testing this new relationship. Still, he did wonder.

There was another question that had occurred to him more than once over the last week that he had hesitated to ask Harry. The boy would likely take it the wrong way. "I have been considering something. I know that your form is nothing like his, but why do you think it was that Erebus never told us he was Harry, even after he knew we were looking for him?"

"I can only guess," McGonagall began but was interrupted by a gust of wind blowing through the kitchen window, disturbing some of the papers that Harry had left stacked on the table. A glance outside revealed a bit of a storm gathering on the horizon. With a flick of his wand, Snape spelled the window to block the wind but allow Erebus entry when he returned. Another gesture straightened the papers and relocated them to the counter, out of his way.

"As I was saying, it is only supposition, but I believe he didn't say anything because he was incapable of it," McGonagall said, more acerbically than Snape felt was necessary.

"I do not understand. Erebus has an impressive vocabulary, what would a few more words have mattered?"

"You really don't understand," McGonagall snapped. She took a breath and continued more calmly. "The mind and the body are two different entities," she said, as though that explained everything.

When she did not continue, Snape said, "Obviously, or else the dementor's kiss would kill the body the moment the soul was removed, but what does that…"

"Yes, that's it exactly!" She interrupted, becoming more animated as she continued, "A body can exist without a mind, you see. But you must also think about it the other way around: it is only through the body that the mind can be expressed. The human mind finds its fullest expression in a human body, and even then it can be limited in expression whether by the inherent weakness of the body, an injury, growing older, or anything else you might care to name.

"Now consider when a witch or wizard takes on an animal form. He or she retains her mind, but finds that mind constrained by the brain of the animal body. As a cat I can read, but I would not be able to write, not even by dragging my paw through dust. Perhaps with very extensive training I might manage it, but the cat brain simply cannot fathom the importance of the exact shape and precise positioning of the various lines and curves. If I tried it right now the result would be my cat form pawing at the ground leaving behind a meaningless mess."

That made an odd sort of sense to Snape. Harry had learned potions while sitting in class as Erebus, so his mind was there taking in information like a human child. However, instead of saying "don't do that" or similar when he spotted a mistake, he had needed to utilize avian behaviors to prevent it such as flying at students and knocking over their ingredients.

"So," he said slowly, considering his conclusion as he spoke, "that would mean that Harry knew we were searching for him, but was unable to find a way to communicate that as Erebus."

McGonagall gave him a pleased look as though he was still one of her pupils who had just answered a particularly challenging question. "Precisely. I imagine he learned words the way any parrot does: through repetition of the sounds he heard often and found interesting. If Erebus's instincts as guided by Harry's mind had been given more time, perhaps he would have learned his own name, but as it was he might not have heard it often enough or…well, I do not understand parrots very well, but I think you take my meaning."

Snape nodded but his mind was otherwise occupied with a disturbing idea. He needed confirmation from McGonagall, but he did not wish to bias her answer so it took him several moments to form his question. "Erebus already spoke a few phrases when he arrived at Hogwarts. How do you think he had learned those? Was it possible that the parrot brain essentially learned some common words and phrases from his childhood upon his first transformation?"

"Hmm, I never heard of such a thing," McGonagall said, but she continued before Snape could relax, "However, there are precious few published works recounting the first transformations of animagi, and none that I can recall at the moment involve a form capable of mimicking human speech." She stared into the middle distance, a habit of hers that Snape knew meant she was thinking deeply on something. Then she blinked and shook her head, "No, I cannot remember even one such account. I would imagine it is possible he could speak a few words upon transformation, though. My own experience, and that of others, was that the use of the new form was more or less instinctual. If I knew how to meow, why should Erebus not know common vocalizations and phrases he heard often as Harry?"

Very carefully, Snape set his teacup down. He was afraid he might hurl it across the room otherwise. Those muggles were more fortunate than they would ever know, for if it were not for his own intense desire to avoid Azkaban, he would not hesitate to apparate to Surry at this very moment and…. He would not even allow himself to complete the thought, lest it be too tempting. He realized that he had been silent for several minutes and McGonagall was staring at him curiously.

He took a deep breath and tried to explain. "He knew several phrases when he came to Hogwarts. Several. Not a single one of them included his name."

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

Ever since the visit to the Dursley residence he had known that Harry had been neglected by his family. Criminally so. But this was…inhumane on another level entirely. "He didn't hear his own name spoken often enough for Erebus to know it, Minerva."

She blinked. "I see," and her tone let him know that she did indeed see. Yet he sensed that her anger was a far cry from Snape's silent rage. "But you already knew he was not treated well. I heard your report of that initial visit. Neglect, you said, and likely emotional abuse beyond that. Are you really surprised by this development?"

Snape shook his head, unable to explain something he felt so intuitively. Names had power. Every witch or wizard worth their wand knew that. But the focus in school was on the power of names to enhance spells through personalization. For Merlin's sake, one of the reasons that the Dark Lord was afraid of Dumbledore was that Dumbledore not only knew his true name, but actually thought of him as Tom Riddle. That allowed the headmaster access to powerful spells that those who thought of him as the Dark Lord, Voldemort, You-Know-Who, or any of this other monikers would never be able to cast.

Yet what the Dursleys had done was on the other end of the spectrum of that same power. How could one truly explain the horror of denying a child his own name to such an extent? At the moment he had neither the energy nor the inclination to attempt to put it into words. He allowed that tiredness to seep into his voice as he replied, "No, I suppose I am not."

McGonagall gave him an understanding look. "You need to ask Harry about the circumstances that led him to transform and flee his aunt and uncle's house, Severus. Do so soon," she pleaded, "for both your sakes."