Piles of scrambled eggs, stacks of toast, mountains of bacon, sausages, fried tomatoes, and mushrooms spread across the Gryffindor table. Harry spun his plate round, imagining sugar-dusted croissants and sweet pastries. A sigh slipped from his lips.

'What's wrong?' Katie offered him the bacon. ‘I can share bacon, you know.’

A stab of frustration lanced through him. What’s wrong is I’m stuck here and Fleur is all the way over there.

'Nothing.' Harry wiped the frown from his face and pinched a rasher of bacon before Katie whisked the plate away. 'How was your first day back?'

'Boring,' Katie groused. 'Apparently being quidditch captain means I have to organise everything myself.'

'That was a surprise to you?'

'Yes,' Katie grumbled, helping herself to everything Harry had left. 'McGonagall wouldn't let me delegate responsibility.'

'Really?'

'She said that referring to my teammates and subordinates as minions wasn't how a captain should act.’ Katie pouted. ‘But they are my minions.’

Harry laughed. 'You're not supposed to let them hear you refer to them as minions, that's poor Dark Mistressing.'

'I cry your pardon, your Supreme Darkness,' Katie said.

'Where's Nev?' Harry asked.

'Room of Requirement,' Katie answered. 'He and Hannah have been bribing the house elves to bring them breakfast up there.'

'He's growing so sneaky.' Harry sighed. 'I remember when he was a shy, stuttering chubby thing.'

'He still is sometimes.' Katie’s grin turned wicked. 'You just have to say the right sort of things when Hannah's nearby.'

'Like what?' Harry smirked. ‘Something suggestive?’

'Oh, just a few questions. Ones like… How far have you gone? Do you still get all shy taking your clothes off? Does Hannah like it if you pull on her pigtails?'

'You're a cruel girl,' Harry said, stifling a laugh with a mouthful of bacon.

'You taught me well,' she beamed. 'I convinced Luna to ask him the last one in front of Professor Sprout.'

Harry choked and coughed on his bacon, eyes streaming, until Katie offered him her drink, and patted him on the back.

'You ok?' She giggled.

'Wait until I'm not swallowing next time.’ Harry stole a gulp of orange juice. ‘Where did you get this?’

Katie snatched the goblet back. 'I had to bribe a house elf myself to get that,' she growled. 'Next time, I'll poison it.'

It won't work. I’m immune.

'Don't you have a class to go to?'

'Charms,' Harry said, 'then Potions, and Transfiguration.'

'A full day,' Katie remarked.

'Very.'

'Think any of them will let you take the subject early?'

'Flitwick and McGonagall, hopefully. I'll have my Transfiguration NEWT before you do.'

'You can help me at the end of the year, then.' Katie leant across him to retrieve a toast rack. ‘But just with Charms.’

'If I'm still here,' Harry said.

'Where else would you be?' Katie asked. ‘Don’t say France…’

'France is nice,' Harry teased. 'I know a beautiful spot with a willow tree.'

She slapped butter onto her toast and scraped it back and forth. ‘Go away, then.’

Harry watched her snap a bite out of the toast triangle with a raised eyebrow. 'Don't you have any classes of your own?'

'Not this morning.' She sighed. 'I might as well organise the quidditch practices and plays. All my friends are younger than me and have fewer free periods.'

'I'll have a lot more than you after today.’

'You think Flitwick and McGonagall will just let you stop coming to classes?' Katie lowered her toast and stared at him with wide eyes. ‘Really?’

'Hopefully. I'll probably not go anyway if I'm honest. There's no point in me being there.' He poked her shoulder. ‘That means I’ll be about to keep you in check, budding Dark Lady that you are.’

She beamed. 'You can come and keep me company in the common room.’

'On second thought… maybe I could jump off the Astronomy Tower.’

Katie slid across to elbow him, dropping her hand onto his thigh and munching on her toast, showering them both in crumbs. 'If you have to jump off something, try and land on Romilda Vane. That girl needs a wake up call. Who'd choose a normal girl over someone like Fleur.'

'I'm sure she's a nice girl.' Harry wrinkled his nose. 'But she needs to learn how to do the buttons on her blouse and realise that she's grown up too much to keep wearing her second year uniform.'

Katie snorted. 'Like that's going to happen. If she puts on any more eyeliner, she'll look like she gets as little sleep as Hermione.'

'She can put on as much makeup as she likes. It’s not going to change anything.' He slid himself out of the bench and patted her on the cheek, smothering a stab of unease as she caught his fingers, but left her cheek pressed into his hand. ‘Time for Charms. Catch you later.’

‘Come find me after,’ she murmured.

Harry nodded and set off through the corridors, slipping through groups of students. They moved in huddles of house colours, whispering in low voices and clutching their wands.

No unity here. He kept his wand ready in his sleeve. The war’s just a few heated words away.

Flitwick hovered just inside the door to the class when Harry got there. Everyone else chatted in small groups upon the rows.

'Harry,' he squeaked, waving a thin piece of parchment in the air. 'This is for you, if you can perform a quick example for the class.'

'Is it a permission slip, sir?' Harry asked.

Several of the Ravenclaws narrowed their eyes and muttered to each other. Anthony Goldstein sneered into his hand and shook his head.

'It is indeed, Harry.' Flitwick ushered him to the front to stand by a crystal wine flask.

Wine to vinegar.

Harry grinned. 'It's a bit early for me.'

'You can drink it after the example, Harry,' Flitwick replied.

'No thanks, sir. Non-verbal?'

'Of course.' Flitwick bobbed his head. 'Wouldn't be a perfect example otherwise.'

Harry drew his wand and tapped the flask on the side. The deep, burgundy transitioned to dark brown with a clear, crystalline chime.

'Still thirsty, Harry?' Flitwick proffered him the note.

'Not even a little bit, sir,' Harry said.

'That is a perfect example of how to turn wine to vinegar using a nice little non-verbal charm you'll all be learning toward the end of this year.' Flitwick stepped up onto one of the stacks of books beside his desk so he could see all the way to the back. 'You will note that Harry, unlike myself, does not bother with the proper wand motion. This is because Harry has power enough not to need the extra precision and can afford to waste a little magic to save time. It is not something I expect you to be trying until next year, since it requires a very intimate understanding of what you're trying to accomplish and a supreme level of focus.'

'So it's better to use the full wand motion?' Hermione asked.

'In principle, using the full wand motion and incantation is the most efficient and safe method for every spell, Miss Granger,' Flitwick replied. 'However, in practice, it’s often preferable to save time and to conceal the nature of the spell by casting it without the motion or incantation. It is crucial when duelling, for example.’

Hermione's eyes flicked to Harry, to the flask and back again. She chewed her lip, fiddling with the slim silver chain around her neck.

'There's no point in you wasting your time doodling at the back of my class, Harry,' Flitwick squeaked. 'Go find Professor McGonagall, she wants to discuss a few things with you.'

'Thank you, sir.’ Harry grabbed his things and swept out.

Two down, two to go. Progress. He knocked upon the door to McGonagall’s office. And transfiguration should be a sure thing.

'Come in,' McGonagall called.

Harry opened the door and stepped in. 'Professor Flitwick said you had some things you wanted to speak with me about?'

McGonagall pulled her wand out and swept back the furniture to the edge of the room. 'I do. Professor Flitwick and I have come to the conclusion that there is little point in keeping you in our classes. It has been evident for some time you are well ahead of most of your peers… and also that you won’t attend lessons you don’t feel are a worthwhile use of your time.’

'I do have other things to worry about, Professor.'

Her lips thinned. ‘You did, to Madam Pomfrey's dismay, demonstrate sufficient knowledge of our seventh year syllabus to satisfy me during the Triwizard Tournament’s second task. Quite impressive for a fourth year, Mr Potter.'

'So I can take it early?'

'Indeed you may.' McGonagall sent a piece of parchment sailing across the room from her desk into his hand. 'I wish to discuss the project the headmaster suggested you replace him for.'

Three down. He smothered a faint ray of hope and the soft ache that sprang up at the thought of leaving and returning to Fleur. Just a few more months, then I’ll be free.

'Dumbledore didn't go into a great deal of detail,' Harry said. 'Just mentioned I needed to be able to sustain a partial, human transfiguration for a while.

'A very basic description of your role.' McGonagall frowned. 'I will not burden you with too many details, Mr Potter, but the aim of my project is to try and study the point at which a partial transfiguration of one's self into an animal becomes a full one. It is my goal to try and better determine, and maybe even affect, the mental effects of such a transfiguration.'

'I take it that would have wide-reaching implications?'

'An animagus, Mr Potter, as you are well aware, is able, once they are fully capable of using their form, of retaining most of their faculties even if they are influenced while within their animagus body. Ordinary human to animal transfiguration leaves the altered wizard or witch with no more intelligence or understanding than the animal they have become. A partial transfiguration can have either effect, depending on the part of the body altered. Should I be able to affect this then the result will be any gifted transfiguration user could, in effect, have an infinite number of animagus forms.'

'You're an animagus, aren't you, professor?'

'As you may well be by the end of this project,' McGonagall replied. 'We will delve far enough into the principles behind it that you may well be able to take great strides toward following in your father's footsteps.'

'It might be fun, I suppose,' Harry murmured.

And useful. A small smile spread across his lips. At the very least, I might be able to surprise Fleur.

McGonagall pursed her lips. ‘We may as well get started, Mr Potter.’

'If you like, professor.’

'You used to have to hold a mandrake leaf in your mouth for a month,' McGonagall recalled, a faint smile playing across her face. 'But simpler, more ingenious ways to influence the body to change have been devised since then. Your father and his friends stole all the leaves from the mandrakes in the greenhouses, causing a whole class of first years to faint in their next class when they mistakenly emptied out the apparently empty beds without ear guards.' She handed him a small, green pill about the same size as his thumb nail. ‘The transfiguration is easier and more sustainable if you use the form most compatible with your own, so at the very least you will learn the creature you could become as an animagus.'

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Harry picked the pill out of McGonagall's palm, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. ‘What is it?’

'Eat it, Mr Potter. I have not poisoned it.'

It wouldn’t matter if you had. He slipped it into his mouth and choked it down, grimacing at the strong, bitter taste of wood.

'What now?' Harry asked.

'That pill, Potter, has saved you two months of preparation for learning your form. As it is, you should close your eyes and let your innermost thoughts guide you.'

'Will it be the same form as my Patronus?'

I would very much enjoy being a fire-breathing, giant eagle. He let a faint smile spread across his lips. And Fleur would definitely like it if my form was an Anzu.

'Sometimes,' McGonagall said. 'Most often it is not. A patronus embodies your positive emotions. The animagus form is the most suitable creature for your soul.'

'Interesting.'

Souls again. He closed his eyes. They crop up in all the best bits of magic, it seems. I should learn more about them, when I have the time.

A slim, black body shimmered in faint sunlight, slender scales tapered away, and dark eyes gleamed like gimlets. The dispassionate, distant curiosity of the hunter; its patience, its power. Playful, whimsical intelligence lurked behind a long cruel-edged beak, curving talons, and sleek feathers.

A raven.

The curiosity caught hold of him like a baited hook and the sense of the raven slipped closer, permeating his mind, twisting his thoughts over and over in loops as the world loomed larger and the ceiling rose away from him.

Old-cold-living-stone.

It rang under his talons as he tapped them against it, intrigued that what was not-alive felt so strange. He clacked his beak, hopping from the floor to the warmer, dead-wood-once-trees, and surveyed the room. Dipping his beak into his feathers he tilted and tipped his head to take in as much as he could.

Two-legged-no-wings-no-feathers. He studied the grey hair and wrinkled, pale skin. Not prey. Not threat. He clacked his beak at it, hopping closer.

The creature moved with sudden speed and the desk crumpled underneath him, pitching him onto the floor. He released an indignant squawk, then found himself staring at his fingers on the stone, and the sense of the raven faded away.

‘Are you ok, Mr Potter?’

'How curious.' He patted himself down and checked for feathers. 'I truly was the raven.'

If I’m stuck with feathers, Fleur’s never going to let me hear the end of it. He smothered a burst of laughter. All my bird jokes are about to come home to roost. He snickered under his breath. Bawk. Bawk.

'A raven.' McGonagall's lips pursed. 'Nobody is ever how we quite expect them to be, I suppose. At least I know you have not been studying to become an animagus alone. Your father, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew were at least able to look after each other.'

A sudden certainty struck him. That’s why Dumbledore volunteered me. Harry flicked his wand into his palm and back into its holster several times. He wanted to know if that was how I was leaving the castle unnoticed.

'How do you not become the raven?' Harry asked.

'You do not,' McGonagall said. 'The reason the animagus is able to distinguish themselves from their animal form, is because the animal form is similar enough to them to conflate the two. You will become the raven and the raven will become you.'

'It sounds… complex.'

'It takes a great deal of self-study, understanding, and thought to be able to see the similarities between yourself and the form, and even more to bring them together.'

Harry nodded. The animagus form might be useful, but it sounds like it’s going to take too much time to be a priority.

'So what will we be doing next time?' he asked.

'We are not done, Mr Potter,' McGonagall remonstrated. 'Now we know which form suits you best, I can devise the optimum partial alterations to use. In the meantime, focus on transfiguring your hair into the feathers of the raven. Just your hair, mind you.'

Harry flicked his wand back out, imagining the feathers he had felt over himself, losing himself in the strange, stilted memories of the raven.

'Just the feathers,' McGonagall chided.

Harry frowned, clearing his mind of all the thoughts of feathers and the raven. He rose two inches, regaining his usual height, and the dark feather tips covering his arms retracted back into fine hairs.

Just the feathers. I wonder if Fleur will know anything about this. She grows cute little white feathers when she gets mad.

Tiny, dark feathers spread across his skin, cascading down his neck and along his arms, and rising from his head in a sleek, ebony crown.

'How do you feel?' McGonagall asked.

'Like Harry,' he said.

'No raven?'

'None.'

'Try changing all your skin now,' she suggested, then wrinkled her brow. 'No. Spend some time studying the anatomy of the raven, we'll continue on when you have a firmer grasp of what you're transfiguring yourself into. It will be a more reliable study if you're not just relying on your innate instincts from when you were the raven.'

'I should go?' Harry raised an eyebrow.

'Yes,' McGonagall said. 'It’s nearly time for your next class. You were the raven for a while.’ She raised a finger. ‘That is something to be wary of, Harry. Animals do not always perceive time quite the same way we do. Do you have any questions before you leave?'

'Not that can't wait until next time,' he replied. 'I can understand why my father, Sirius, Lupin and Pettigrew named their animagus forms now.'

'It is not quite the same as being yourself to begin with,' McGonagall murmured. 'Though I felt no need to name my own form. The further you progress to becoming a true animagus, the less separate you will feel from your other form.'

'I won’t name mine,' Harry decided. 'It might actually detract from the process.'

'Yes.’ McGonagall smiled a faint smile. 'I daresay it might.'

'Thank you for letting me assist you, professor,' Harry said.

And now I know Dumbledore doesn’t know how I enter and leave the castle without triggering the wards. Harry grinned and set off in the direction of Slughorn's class. Let’s hope Slughorn changed the decorations. I can’t imagine he likes to teach in the dark.

Steam, smoke, and the swirling storm of sweet scents assaulted Harry’s nose as he pushed open the door to the lesson. Slughorn sat on the front of his desk, his belly protruding out into the class beneath a box of crystallised fruit. Round tables and collections of velvet-backed chairs scattered the lab where Snape’s rigid, neat rows of desks had run.

'Welcome, welcome.' Slughorn chuckled, chins wobbling, and beckoned Harry into the classroom. 'Take a seat.'

A dour-faced Malfoy, the older Greengrass sister, and the other Slytherins took the table around a small cauldron of bubbling Polyjuice. The Ravenclaws huddled around the clear cauldron of what Harry presumed was Veritaserum. Harry glanced into the cauldron on the remaining table as he was joined by Hermione, Ernie Macmillian, and Ron. An iridescent liquid gave off soft, white mist in gentle spirals.

He stiffened. Amortentia. Love potions. A little ball of unease knotted in his stomach. I hate love potions.

'Well now!' Slughorn clapped his hands together. 'Who can identify these potions?'

Hermione's hand shot up.

'Yes, Miss Granger.' Slughorn's eyes passed over the others who had raised their hands, then returned to her.

'Polyjuice, Veritaserum, and Amortentia.' Hermione gestured to each cauldron in turn.

'Quite right, Hermione,' he said. 'You don't mind if I call you by your first name, do you? You can call me Horace at my little gatherings, of course.'

‘No, sir.' She smiled and the bags under her eyes lightened a touch.

No nightmares, huh? Sure there aren’t. Harry shook his head. I wonder what she dreams of. He smothered a flash of the shadow beside Fleur, the burning ring of bronze, and the withered branches of the willow, swallowing hard and staring into the shimmering Amortentia. I guess we all have things that terrify us.

Harry crushed the knot of anxiety in his stomach and leant forward to inhale the mist. A flood of pleasant aromas washed over him: the subtle, sweet smell of burnt holly, a faint hint of almonds and sugar, a whiff of broom polish, coffee, and a soft tang of tomato soup and old paint.

'Ah.' Slughorn set his box of sweets aside. 'Harry knows a thing or two about Amortentia, it seems. Care to tell us what you smell?'

Hermione’s eyes bored into Harry.

They’ll all know soon. He swallowed down a stab of panic. Too many people have seen Fleur and I for it to safely stay a secret.

'Broom polish and marzipan,' Harry said. ‘Quidditch, I think. And I have developed a bit of a sweet tooth over the last couple of years.’

Slughorn’s lips twitched, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes softened. ‘A sport we all love, my boy!’

Hermione's lips pursed and her brow creased. ‘You stopped playing quidditch ages ago.’ She held his gaze.

Harry touched her thoughts and found a twist of fear and derisive disbelief. A flash of him standing over the fallen troll from First Year and a tear-blurred silhouette of him in the Hospital Wing in Second Year flickered across the eye of his mind drowned in endless soft sadness. Hermione flinched away from his gaze and jolted the cauldron, soaking her book in Amortentia and flushing red.

‘But I’ve not lost my love for it. I just need to get my Firebolt back off Katie.’ He shot the class a bright smile. ‘Easier said than done, I’m afraid.’

'What about that one?' Malfoy pointed at a small cauldron on the corner of Slughorn’s desk.

‘Ah,’ Slughorn breathed. ‘This one.’ He shuffled off the desk and picked the tiny cauldron up, tilting it a fraction to show off a shining, bright gold liquid. ‘This one’s a little bit special.’

'Felix Felicis,' Hermione gasped, dropping her ruined book. 'That's liquid luck; it's really valuable and almost impossible to brew.'

And very useful, I’d imagine. Harry watched the gleaming potion swirl like molten gold, bright sparks burst like fireworks above its surface, falling like showers of shimmering stars. The little bit of luck needed to find the last horcrux…

'To liven things up on our first day together, I've decided we shall have a little competition.' Slughorn set the cauldron down and pulled a slim bottle of Felix Felicis out of the breast pocket of his plum and cream-chequered waistcoat. 'Whoever brews the best version of the Draught of the Living Death shall find themselves the owner of twelve hours of the best fortune they will ever have.'

That would be very useful. He glanced at Hermione and Malfoy, who were both staring at the bottle. But I’m going to have competition.

'Have you ever taken it, sir?' Terry Boot asked.

Harry flicked through the pages of his textbook to the Draught of the Living Death while everyone else looked on, making a careful note of the ingredients. What did Snape say about the importance of what you’re adding and how you’re adding it affecting the potion?

'Twice.' Slughorn's eyes turned a little distant. 'Two of the most perfect days you could ever wish for, but, since it is banned from being used in any professional or competitive activity, you can only take it on an ordinary day. Better get started, now, there's not long left to brew in.'

Harry strode across the class and selected the best looking ingredients from the cupboard while the rest of the class opened their books. Hermione hurried across to rummage through the stack of spare textbooks.

He assembled his ingredients beside his cauldron and studied the recipe. Things are clearly meant to go into the mix slowly and easily, like falling asleep, but it’s not intended to be that benevolent. Harry drummed his fingers on the desk. Which makes sense, given it’s the Draught of Living Death. Snape said how it was added is important, so presumably the slower, the better, but with a little bit of an edge to it.

Using the edge of the knife, he stripped off the hardened outer skin of his roots and sliced them along their length. Hermione glowered at him, almost jumping to force her weight down on the knife she was pressing against the desk.

She's crushing the beans. He watched her for a moment. That’s actually a good idea, they’ll go in more easily, and the crushing probably helps with the intent a bit. Harry shrugged and mimicked her. Either way, if she’s doing it too, it won’t matter .

He dropped them in. His potion turned a perfect, blackcurrant and faded to a smooth lilac. Stirring in sets of sevens, his potion shifted toward a pale pink. Hermione threw in an extra stir in the opposite direction every now and again.

Not entirely sure if that will help. Harry watched her for a moment. In theory, it might reverse a little of the effect of the seven clockwise stirs and slow down the formation of the potion, which could help its potency, but equally, it might just ruin it.

'I think that's time!' Slughorn tucked away a splendid silver pocket watch and shuffled around the cauldrons, nodding and tutting until he came to Hermione's. 'Oh,' he cried. 'Oh vey well done, Hermione, very well done indeed. This is almost perfect. We may have a winner!'

Malfoy dropped his silver spoon with a disgusted sneer and flopped back into his chair.

Slughorn drifted round the table, wincing a little from the dark fumes of Ron’s cauldron, and paused before Harry’s. 'Oho, but what's this? Competition, Hermione!' He glanced between the two of them and a faint shadow passed across his face. 'It seems you've inherited your mother's talent for potions, Harry. Well done, quite remarkably well done, even if Hermione gave you a run for your money.'

'Thank you, professor,' Harry accepted the little bottle of gold and slipped it into a pocket. Hermione stared at the lump in his pocket and chewed at her lip so hard a smear of crimson marked her teeth.

'Don't go using it for something silly,' Slughorn said. ‘And be warned, while it will grant you fabulous luck, it only helps you get what you think you want. You may change your mind once you have it.’

'I think I’ll save it, professor.' Harry caught the fleeting shadow in Slughorn’s eyes. 'I'm going to have to get you a gift now, sir. For your next little gathering and the one you hosted on the train.’

'Oh there's no need for that, Harry!' Slughorn beamed. 'It's your prize! Still, if you’re going to insist, get something the two of us will both enjoy. You’re not the only one with a sweet tooth!'

Hermione snorted and started to tidy up her things.

'Clear away and then off you go.' Slughorn strolled a little further round and leant on the side of the table beside Harry. 'I have heard from the grapevine you intend to take your NEWTs early?'

'I do,' Harry said. 'It will let me pursue my other interests sooner.'

'Severus implied as much and even implied it might be a good idea, which is no small praise. I can’t say Severus and I are close, but he is a most talented brewer.' Slughorn's chins bobbed down onto the brass buttons of his waistcoat. 'I'll evaluate your progress before deciding myself. Can't have you leaping too early and wasting all that talent when a little patience might’ve produced a perfect pupil.'

Damn. Three and a half. Harry smothered a knot of frustration. But I’ll get there.

'You probably know best, professor,' he said.

'I have spent a lot of time teaching.' Slughorn gestured to the photos lining the walls of his office. 'If there's anything you want to know, or even if there’s something you’re just curious about, feel free to come and ask. I’ve picked up a fair bit over my years, and if I can’t help, then I'd be happy to direct you to the right place. I do my best to do it for all my students.'

'That's very generous of you, professor,' Harry said.

'Nonsense!' Slughorn shuffled back around to his desk. 'It's what any good teacher should do. If I can help someone on their way to a glittering career somewhere, then I should.'

'As long as they remember your help,' Harry replied, smothering the dryness before it seeped into his words. 'It's not fair that your important assistance should be forgotten.'

'I do get a lot of birthday presents,' Slughorn confessed. 'Crystallised pineapple, Harry? It's my favourite.'

'Thank you.' Harry selected a small piece and bit it in half.

A thick sweetness coated his tongue with the faintest hint of pineapple.

Fleur would probably like these. He chewed on the second half of the sweet and let the sugar dissolve in his mouth. I should buy her something from Hogsmeade. Now she’s quit her job at Gringotts, it’s not so easy for her to feed her sugar addiction.