Chapter Thirty-One of 'The Art of Self-Fashioning'- Wings and Claws
Chapter Thirty.
Title: The Art of Self-Fashioning (31/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Warnings/Content notes: Angst, canonical child abuse, animal harm in the first chapter, AU, violence, gore, torture, gen (no pairings)
Rating: R (for violence)
Subject: In a world where Neville is the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry still grows up with the Dursleys, but he learns to be more private about what matters to him. When McGonagall comes to give him his letter, she also unwittingly gives Harry both a new quest and a new passion: Transfiguration. But while Harry deliberately hides his growing skills, Minerva worries more and more about the mysterious, brilliant student writing to her who may be venturing into dangerous magical territory. Ravenclaw!Harry, Mentor!Minerva.
Author’s Notes: This is going to be a fairly long story that will update every Thursday. The first few chapters will take place in Harry’s childhood and first year; then it will skip ahead to his fifth year. It’s heavy on the angst and gore, but heavier on the magical theory.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Thirty-One-Wings and Claws
“Give me a moment to do the unraveling.”
Harry waited patiently as Black attacked the protective spells on the hospital with a series of muttered charms or jinxes. Harry didn’t know the difference yet, and for this particular strategy, he didn’t need to care. He watched, instead, as small sparks of light dancing on the walls and pavement around St. Mungo’s began to melt away one by one.
The unraveling would only last a minute, Black had warned him; more than that and they risked alerting other alarms primed to note the absence of protections. Harry began counting under his breath the instant the last lights disappeared.
“Now.” Black sped forwards and leaped lightly across the invisible line that he seemed to have decided was the strongest concentration part of the protective spells. It might even have been, Harry thought, as he silently ran after. He wasn’t about to argue with Black if he said it was. It just wasn’t something Harry could sense.
Long before his count finished, they were inside St. Mungo’s, crouching by the reception desk. Harry opened his pockets without waiting for Black to assure him it was okay. Mice poured out and flowed over to hide in the darkest corners. Cross leaped down from his right shoulder and followed. Harry reached up and touched his left shoulder, where Yar sat on a leather bone protector.
Surprisingly silently for an eagle, Yar unfolded herself and flew down the corridor, and towards the stairs. Harry followed. The letter was right. The hospital seemed almost deserted, and they would probably hear any Healers coming long before they saw them.
“Remember that you can’t go charging in the minute you see your parents,” Black breathed behind Harry, and touched his shoulder.
Harry turned around and stared. What kind of child did Black think he was, anyway? “I know that,” he said. “The ambush might take place right at the door of my parents’ room, and trap me if I did that.”
Black’s mouth crooked as if he was trying not to laugh. “Right.”
He probably thinks I’m a normal child, Harry thought, and began to move after Yar towards the stairs, listening for the noises of her wings. Nothing had interrupted them yet. They couldn’t control themselves if they saw their parents in danger, so they would run right up and into whoever was going to ambush them there.
But if Black had started thinking Harry was normal, there was probably no hope for him, either. Harry decided that Black should get out and meet other people more, and then maybe he would have a normal life instead of being obsessed with Harry.
The corridor at the top of the stairs turned to the right to approach the Janus Thickey Ward, and to the left towards the Spell Damage Ward. Harry remembered that from coming here with Professor McGonagall, the way he remembered everything about his visits to his parents. He thought the place was too wide, without enough doors and corners, for an ambush, but he sent mice running down both corridors to make sure anyway.
They came rustling back that all was clear, and Harry cocked his head. Was it only that there was no good place for an ambush here? Or had the letter been real, the warning not feigned, and his parents really were in danger?
“I can see what you’re thinking, you know,” said Black, and actually shoved past him, rude and loud, to make his way towards the Janus Thickey Ward. “My charm wouldn’t have worked on the letter if it wasn’t Snape writing to you.” He paused and turned to look at Harry, his face insolent. “And where would Snape have heard about this plot against your parents?”
“The Death Eaters,” Harry said, but he knew his voice was low and uncertain.
“And he chose to tell you when he’s never cared for you or wanted to help you before?”
Harry shook his head silently. If anything, Snape would want revenge when he could remove the Memory Charm and realize that Harry was the one who had destroyed his potions and hurt him in the battle in Lupin’s rooms.
“Exactly,” said Black, as if reading his thoughts again. “Now, let’s not have any more silly worries that there won’t be an ambush or that we’re doing the wrong thing. That’s an undeniable downside of you becoming more human.” He sniffed at Harry and led the way down the corridor with a long stride.
Harry paused, wondering if he was strange for taking comfort in Black’s words, then shrugged and followed. They had come this far, and there was no reason to discard their carefully-made plans without more hard proof than Harry had.
And if it came to that…
Harry touched the robe pocket closest to his heart. He had sculpted a secret weapon when he was alone in his room, come to that.
*
“Where is Potter? I thought you said he’d be here by now, Snape.”
Severus closed his eyes and wished that he could rub his forehead. But Macnair was one of the most volatile of the Death Eaters. Severus had requested him for this mission for several reasons, but one of them, carefully unstated, was that he could leave Macnair to take the fall without regret and with plenty of justification should something go wrong.
“He will be here soon, Walden,” Severus said, and shifted his position carefully. They were just outside the Potters’ room, under a complex mix of charms and defensive spells that would blur the sight of them as well as the sound, the smell-just in case Potter had some of his animals or the werewolf with him-and the sheer sense of their magic. But there was no reason to take stupid chances. “It is not yet the time stated in the letter.”
“You should have told him to be here earlier, Snape.”
Severus made no reply to this one, only strengthening, with a wave of his wand, the charm that would muffle their voices. If Walden spoiled this ambush because of just talking, then Severus would gut him, and enjoy it.
The silence around them stayed quiet and neutral. Severus could almost lull himself into thinking nothing would disturb it, including the few Healers who had been left out of the Halloween celebrations to go on rounds. But his newly-recovered memories of the battles in Lupin’s quarters made him fiercely alert.
Potter must not be allowed to get away with humiliating him twice.
And he must fall into Severus’s hands. It would be a kindness to Lily as well as a kindness to his own pride. Albus wanted to use the boy, the Dark Lord to use, torture, and kill him. And he endlessly risked capture if he was on his own. He would be safer in Severus’s hands than anywhere else.
If he happened to pay for the damage he had caused in Severus’s hands…
Lily would still understand. Severus could never ask her, but he might be able to go, stand by her bedside, tell her, and imagine her response in the surrounding silence.
Severus glanced at the open door of the Potters’ room. Knowing she was there was a constant distraction and torment. He had already created a rippling silvery shield to ensure that no spell could get into the room if they happened to erupt into a full-scale battle.
The only way that would happen was if Lupin was with Potter, Severus was sure. Otherwise, Potter would attempt to flee. But it was better to be prepared, to guard his love from all manner of trouble.
“What’s that?”
Walden’s words made Severus snap around and pay attention to the corridor once more. There was a small shadow near the entrance where it turned to join one of the narrow staircases leading up to Healers’ offices.
Severus wanted to sneer when he realized it was a mouse. Of course Potter had brought his animals with him. They were the only trustworthy allies he had. But the spells Severus had cast on himself and Walden should keep them safe from even a rodent’s keen senses, and Severus watched with supreme indifference as the mouse moved closer.
It did sit up on its haunches when it was close to them and twitch its whiskers. Walden gave an irritable little snarl, but he hushed it when Severus nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. No sense pushing the limits of the spells when they could just as well be quiet.
If the mouse sensed them, it certainly gave no sign. It explored back and forth, running along the wall and even into the middle of the corridor as if looking for food, and circling in a broad ring that didn’t come close to brushing the bottom of their robes, the one unforeseen contingency Severus thought might occur. Then the mouse turned and headed back the other way, with a long swish of its tail.
Severus settled his wand arm comfortably against the wall and waited again. Potter would come around the corner soon, and Severus had dozens of spells prepared for all sorts of things. Albus said Potter had an eagle. Well, Severus could deal even with that.
And then Potter would pay. For being there on the night that the Lestranges had tortured his parents, and being part of the reason they had. For living when all that Severus loved best in Lily had died. For continuing his father’s vendetta.
He would pay, but not die. Severus considered himself a compassionate man. Even if Severus had to disable Walden and make sure that his spells went wide, Potter would live.
He might not find that the best thing.
*
Minerva hadn’t yet changed back from her Animagus form. She sat comfortably within the circle of the spells Severus had cast that kept him, and, yes, the other Death Eater from detection by most people and animals outside the ring. She hadn’t yet decided if she should complement Harry once he began to attack or if she should begin now.
But then she saw the mouse, and recognized it for one of the little creatures Harry had had with him that night they had met in the field. It would be battle soon, and Minerva would have to make her decision.
She chose. If Severus was doing this as some sort of cover or on orders for Albus, he could simply say that he shouldn’t be blamed, because he hadn’t known she was here, and so this wouldn’t affect his cover with You-Know-Who. If he was doing this for his own personal vengeance, then Minerva had an interest in stopping him.
She backed up, edging into the shadows that extended around a corner from the low lights that St. Mungo’s kept burning all night long. Then she dashed forwards, the soft sounds of her paws covered by the other Death Eater’s noisy breathing, and leaped lightly into the air.
She came down on the Death Eater’s shoulders, and whipped one paw across his face, ducking the clumsy swing of one arm. She hissed and spat, and felt his spell go past her, singeing her fur but not hurting her. Fighting as an Animagus, one of her biggest advantages was that all her enemies expected her to be bigger on her first attack.
Minerva’s paw did its work, and she dug her claws deep into his right eye, blinding him on that side.
His scream made her delicate ears twitch, and Minerva leaped into the air and twisted to avoid another spell, one she thought came from Severus this time. There was blood everywhere, a lot of it, and sweat, and leather from their boots.
The other great advantage of fighting as an Animagus was the keen senses and faster reflexes of an animal. Of course, when they were fighting an ordinary animal, the humans won most of the time, because they had the intelligence to compensate.
On the other hand, when there was human intelligence in an animal body…
Minerva landed, leaped again, and landed again, and leaped again, and let her momentum and her flexible spine carom her off the wall, straight back at the other Death Eater. She landed hanging on his belly, exactly where she wanted to be, and his robe was flapping open, because she had landed hard enough to knock it aside, and Minerva dug her front legs into cloth and raised her hind legs.
They came down in the raking disembowel movement that cats wouldn’t normally ever use on a human, because their instincts would deter them from seeing creatures so big as prey. But Minerva wasn’t a normal cat.
The other Death Eater shrieked. Minerva couldn’t cut all the way through to the entrails, as she would in a rabbit, but her claws were slitting flesh and muscle before they caught and she had to spring away, and the man wasn’t going to think about anything but his bloody slashes for a while.
Minerva spun on her hind legs, precise as on a Knut, and spat at Severus. He had his wand raised, but his curse halted as he stared at her.
Probably saw the spectacle markings around my eyes, Minerva thought, and bolted out of the protective circle of Severus’s spells as the other Death Eater sagged to his knees. On her way down the corridor, she shrieked and yowled for all she was worth, and few things could make as much noise as a cat determined to be heard.
Soon she heard the rush of paws coming towards her, and smelled the scent of her own kind as well as human, and the soft tempting meat of prey, and an alien avian predator that made Minerva crouch instinctively as a rush of great wings went overhead. Then she turned and ran beside the black cat that was striding with the light of battle in his eyes. He twitched his whiskers at her in welcome.
She had to flatten herself again as something leaped overhead. Her mouth gaped a little as she saw it was Harry, jumping with modified muscles in his legs around the corner. There was a roar of pain, and the mounting noises of battle.
Black wasn’t far behind, but he couldn’t match their speed as Minerva and Harry’s Cross joined the fight.
Well, he is only human, Minerva thought tolerantly, and ducked a curse.
*
Minerva. That was Minerva!
Severus had only a moment to work past the stunning realization and prepare himself for what it probably meant. His hand went into his pocket and withdrew two potions. One was a Blood-Replenisher for Walden.
The other was…special. Just for him.
He tossed the Blood-Replenishing Potion at Walden, and saw him catch it in a fumbling hand. Severus turned away with a sneer after that. Frankly, he couldn’t be bothered with those who couldn’t take care of themselves after such a start.
He lifted the other potion to his lips.
Something winged and wild and overwhelming swept around the corner, and Severus ducked the talons that he thought were reaching for his eyes. Too late, he realized he should have thought about how devious the little Potter bastard was.
The talons closed, casually, around his right hand, the one that held the potion.
Severus shrieked in agony as he felt the potions vial splinter and the glass sink into his palm. And then more than that, it was more than that, it was pressure unimaginable severing his tendons and driving through skin and crushing bone, and he sagged to his knees, staring at the ruin of his right hand, understanding in a second that he wouldn’t get any use out of it again without immediate Healing magic…
The fucking eagle screamed in triumph above him, and swirled on to Walden. Severus couldn’t see what happened next, couldn’t look away from the ruin of his hand, but he could guess, from the pathetic whimpering moan and the sound of wood snapping. A wand, it was Walden’s wand.
Potter was coming, and Severus and Walden had lost before the battle had even begun.
And then a rage so thick and deep that he had never felt its like except when James Potter humiliated him in front of Lily reared up in Severus. He reached out and deliberately picked up his wand in his left hand. He sat back on his heels and readied himself.
Potter came leaping towards him, as he had been leaping in that battle in Lupin’s rooms that he had taken the memory of away from Severus.
Severus looked at him and spoke the single word that most tingled and most burned in him. “Crucio.”
*
Pain took Harry out of the air.
He was flying one moment, he was falling the next. And long before his back actually hit the floor, he could feel the cramping madness in his muscles. They were jerking out of control, no longer his own, as if his legs were trying to transform themselves back into the human ones that he had been born with.
And then the agony.
Harry rolled to his side and tried to stand. It was impossible. Someone was stabbing bars of iron through his ribs. Someone was kicking his ribs in. Someone was preying on his heart, his liver, everything that mattered, with tongues of fire.
He knew he would go mad. He knew it, in a way he had never known it before. He could feel the panic burning right behind the flames, because all he could see, with his eyes screwed shut with the pain, was the blank look in his parents’ faces, who had been tortured with this same curse, and he knew would join them soon.
He heard, as if from a distance, a yowl, and then Snape’s voice, so blank that it was like hearing it from a further distance still.
“Stay where you are, Minerva. Tell the damn cat to stay where he is, too. And the mice. And Black.” Snape’s voice faltered for a second. “Come any closer, and I’m going to hit him with the Killing Curse. He’s not Longbottom. He’ll not survive it.”
Harry tried to think, he tried so hard to think, but the pain was ripping him apart. He knew he couldn’t stand more of it. He knew he couldn’t go mad like his parents, because then he would be useless in freeing them.
And he knew he couldn’t die, because the same thing would happen.
Those truths grounded him. He didn’t have to think about those truths, because he knew that they were so self-evident. He stretched out a finger and twitched it, and then managed to flatten his hand against the floor. He heard his claws digging in, screeching on the floorboards.
Snape was snarling something else. Harry paid no attention. The relevant facts were that the pain continued, and he wasn’t dead yet.
He flattened his other hand. At the same time, he flattened his feet, and a small action formed in his head, a sequence of images he had once seen in a book he read on birds forming in his head.
He looked up. Yar clung to a rafter, looking down at him with those strange, wild eyes. Harry tried to whisper something to her, but the pain controlled his mouth too much. And he couldn’t spring up and kick Snape as he’d been planning on.
But he looked from Yar’s head to Snape’s shoulders, and he hoped that would be enough.
Yar stooped. Snape was still saying something, but he must have heard the sound of her wings. She didn’t fly silently like an owl did.
On the other hand, Yar was so fast and heavy that Snape couldn’t stop her. She smashed into Snape and bound to him, feet to prey, wings mantling out, her screech so loud that Harry’s ears hurt from the echoes.
Snape shrieked, and the pain stopped.
Harry kicked himself up from the floor immediately, and took a hop forwards, and whirled on his heel to lash out. He could feel the power coiling in his muscles, how it felt so good to move, how they trembled but that was more than enough, he could overcome that easily enough, when he thought how Snape might have killed his parents-
He kicked.
There was the sound of a bone breaking.
Yar wasn’t letting go of Snape, even as he screamed. Harry knew she wanted to feed. She had done as he asked, had attacked the way he’d trained her to, and the reward of that was supposed to be food. But Snape was in bad enough shape that Harry didn’t think he would survive if Yar tried to eat his eyes or throat, and they needed some answers as to who he was here for and who he was working with.
Moving quickly enough to hold her attention but not to make her scream at him, Harry stooped down and picked up a shard of glass from the floor. It had blood on it. Maybe Snape had been holding it when he was attacked, or the other Death Eater. Harry moved it slowly back and forth, and Yar gave the snake-bob of her head that meant she was interested.
Harry concentrated as hard as he could and Transfigured it into a rabbit. Then he threw it up into the air, and it began to run down the corridor, bolting in sheer terror.
Yar released Snape and was airborne before Harry could comprehend it. Then she slammed into the rabbit, and this time she was feeding before it completed its tumble to the floor. Harry could see the kicks of the rabbit’s legs and knew it was still alive even as Yar ripped into the fur and the meat.
A soft spell went past Harry, and he turned to see that Black had drawn his wand and killed the rabbit. Harry nodded to him and started over to see how badly Snape and the other Death Eater were hurt, but Black caught his wrist.
“What?” Harry snapped, then winced as Black cast a spell that shone a bright light into his eyes. Even as he tried to get away, Black shook his head and cast another one that made a faint ringing sound show up in Harry’s ears and then dissipate.
“You’re not badly affected by the Cruciatus, then,” said Black, in a tone that made it sound like he was surprised.
“I thought about my parents suffering from it,” Harry said, not seeing any reason to hide that now that Black knew about the way he wanted to heal his parents. “And I decided that I wasn’t going to die like that.”
“Harry! Are you all right?”
Professor McGonagall had transformed back to human form and was standing in front of him with her arms spread out. Harry let her hug him, because she seemed to need it, and then smiled at her. “You were brilliant, Professor.”
“I was-rather on fire with the battle,” Professor McGonagall admitted. “That hasn’t happened in a long time.” She turned as Black stepped past her and began casting spells. “Are they both alive?”
“They are.” Black glanced over his shoulder. “Macnair is blind in one eye, has scratches all over, and has had his right hand crushed and his wand destroyed. Snape has a destroyed right hand, a broken right leg, and slashes on his chest that aren’t that deep. We should get them back to my house if we want them to be in any condition for telling tales, though.”
“I thought-well, I thought Albus might have sent Severus here to do something concerning the Death Eaters.”
“No.” Black laughed a little. “He sent Harry a letter mentioning an attack on his parents that would take place at midnight tonight. Even if Dumbledore knew about that plan, I don’t think much of him that he let it take place.”
Professor McGonagall turned around, while Cross and the mice came up and eddied around Harry. Harry looked at Yar, but knew calling her off her meal right now would probably get him a talon in the face.
“Why did you decide to come in force like this?” Professor McGonagall asked him quietly. “I can understand wanting to defend your parents, of course, but why like this? When you knew it was Severus?”
Harry looked at her, then at Black. Black turned his head away in a manner that suggested he wasn’t going to tell her anything.
And Harry turned back and said, “Why don’t you come with us, Professor? I’ll tell you.”
It’s time.
Chapter Thirty-Two.
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