The Ghost of You

A/N: BUAHAHAHA—bet you did not think I would update again so soon, did you. Well, it’s term-break so I really don’t have much studying to do except for Latin and Japanese…yes I take Latin AND Japanese—I’m weird like that… any who, back to the story.

The next morning was a tense affair. Harry entered the great hall to find he was the last professor to take his seat. He sat in between Remus and Hermione who were each reading their copies of the Daily Prophet in silence, sipping tea. Harry served himself some eggs and a bit of toast and began to eat. He chanced a glance at Draco who was resting his head on one hand, humming silently to himself, while pouring himself what must have been his third cup of coffee. While Harry himself could see a flicker of pain and discomfort in his eyes, he expected very few people would have been able to notice. Five lumps rose from the sugar dish and dove gracefully into Draco’s mug at his mental command. Harry laughed despite himself—the amount of sugar and caffeine Draco ingested daily never ceased to amaze him.
Draco, without looking at Harry who was now determinedly shoveling down eggs as if to make it seem as though it was Remus who had laughed at Draco’s antics, and not he said, ~how’s your foot?~
Harry swallowed and said casually, “how’s your rug?”
Draco smiled and replied, ~I’ve managed to get most of the blood out, but there’s a spot that just won’t budge—I think you’ve subconsciously cursed it when you bled all over the place.~
“What’s this about blood, now?” enquired Hermione without looking up from her paper.
~Oh, nothing; Harry just bled all over the very rug that Cleopatra and Marcus Antonius shagged on before the Battle of Actium. ~ He said sighing dramatically.
Harry paled, “what? You never told me that! How the hell was I supposed to know the rug was priceless?!”
~Well, you never bothered to ask, did you? ~ said Draco, as-a-matter-of-factly, pouring another cup of coffee and sugar for himself.
“Harry, you really ought to know better than to bleed on priceless artifacts.” Hermione said as though he had just run with scissors.
Harry opened and closed his mouth soundlessly for a few moments when Draco laughed. ~well, seems as if my furorivocis is catching. ~
“Be nice, Draco.” Hermione scolded (but, was smiling all the same).
Harry rolled his eyes and stood. “I’m going to go prepare for my first class.”
~Yea, it can talk again! ~ Draco projected with feigned enthusiasm.
“Fuck you, Malfoy!”
“Professor Potter, Language!” Snapped Headmistress McGonagall, scandalized.
Harry had the decency to look abashed. “My apologies, headmistress,” McGonagall nodded, her nostrils flaring slightly, and Harry left the great hall. The few students, who remained in the hall, stared and whispered as he left.
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Harry strode into his classroom, only to find all of his fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins chatting amongst themselves, waiting for him. He sighed and entered, shutting the door behind him louder than he had intended to, causing everyone to straighten in a very military manner and silence immediately. One student, he noticed, continued to speak as though nothing had happened. The person he was speaking to was doing his best to ignore him, shooting Harry, I-tried-to-stop-him-don’t-hurt-me looks.
Harry smiled and thought to himself, “Slytherin, pure-blood, probably rich, probably with family on the wrong side of the war—typical.”
The skinny blonde boy stopped talking when Harry reached the front of the classroom, if only for lack of something to say. He pulled out his wand and began flicking it up and down, writing in a smooth golden script upon the chalk board, several separate words: werewolf, animagus, animorphmagus, metamorphmagus, omnimorphmagus,.
Harry pointed to the first word with his wand, causing it to spin and flash on the board. “Who can tell me what this is.”
The blonde boy he noticed earlier snorted loudly.
“Yes, mister…” he hesitated.
“—Black.” He said proudly.
Harry laughed. “Ah, an inbred family—that explains the involuntary snorting; because I know you would never make light of one of my lessons, especially considering that in an owl level DADA I have clearance to do anything short of killing and maiming you in order to properly demonstrate the correct means in which to defend yourselves in the face of dark and/or nefarious forces.” Harry said in one breath, slowly inching toward the boy’s desk until their noses were inches apart. “Shut up!” Harry straightened himself and returned to his post in the front of the room.
“Now then,” Harry began, polishing his wand on his robes, “Black, you seem confident in your abilities to answer the question—care to venture a guess?”
Black’s left eye twitched, his smirk gone, and said, “a—a werewolf is a person who, once a month, turns into a wolf-like creature…?”
Harry smirked, “Just as I thought, incorrect. A werewolf is a special kind of animagus. Who can tell me what an animagus is?” no one made a move to answer.
“Right then; an animagus is a forced animorphmagus. An animorphmagus is a kind of metamorphmagus. A metamorphmagus is a branch of omnimorphmagus. Get it?”
Everyone in the room shook their heads.
“Okay then… I’ll go through step by step. An omnimorphmagus is a person who can change their form and genetic composition into anything—a tree, a dog, a table, your best friend…” he paused ominously, “and are practically impossible to discern an omnimorphmagus from what it is they are morphing into. Here in lies the danger—there is no spell that could detect an omnimorphmagus, except under very special circumstances. Say, for instance, the person being imitated has bonded with a soul or life mate or whatever; then, their life partner can discern the two. Also, there is the classic cliché of the ‘if you really are… “Dave” then what did I get you for Christmas’.”
The class chanced a laugh and Harry smiled. “There are, of course, devices—magical rocks and swords and junk that are rumored to be able to detect such a deception… personally I don’t think it’s true but there you are. Next; a metamorphmagus is someone who can change their appearance into any other of the same species—I say that because there have been records of metamorphmagi who were dragons, owls, and… a penguin.”
At this the class burst out into laughter but silenced when Harry put up a hand. “And then there is the animorphmagus who can change into various species of animal, however, it cannot mimic a specific animal like the omnimorphmagus or the metamorphmagus. It has an internal catalog of what every species of animal will look like when it chooses to turn into it. No one really knows how it is that this internal catalog works because it holds animals that the person may, or may not have, heard of before, though not all animals. Like I said, no one knows why this is. That catalog can contain anywhere from 1 to 1000 species of animal.”
A short girl with curly black hair raised her hand. “Yes miss…”
“Phillips.” She said, smiling broadly. Harry smiled warmly at her, “Yes, miss Phillips?”
“Do animorphmagi and the other kinds of …magi have to be registered like animagi?”
Harry visibly brightened. “Excellent question; what house are you in?”
“Slytherin,”
“Five points for Slytherin. Though there are laws that require them to register, it is impossible to do so. There are a few that register solely out of the principal of the thing… but like I said, it is impossible to force them to register. Thank you, Miss Phillips.”
She nodded, beaming.
“Right, where was I… oh, yes. An animagi is a person who, using transfiguration, forces himself to become an animorphmagus, most often gaining the ability to change into one animal alone, but there have been wizards known to force multiple transformations.”
“Like whom?” a boy in back asked.
“Like Lord Voldemort. A were-animal is a person much like an animagi, the only difference being that the change was forced upon them. Most were-animals are not in control of their abilities because of the cultural stigma associated with them; they repress their abilities. Because they do not exercise their abilities to the point they can control them. Of course, you can’t cage such a thing, so it is gathers up and explodes—usually once a month, typically during the full moon (especially for werewolves) but many were-animals have a date that pertains to them alone. Questions?”
Harry looked around at his students who were staring at him intently.
“Well, in that case, that’s really all I have to say… so…” Harry looked at his watch. There was an hour left to go in his class. “I have an idea!” he shouted. The class jumped. “Let’s go meet an animorphmagus!” The class chattered amongst themselves excitedly and followed Harry as he jogged out the door. “The special abilities that I have just explained, like wizardry,” Harry explained as he walked briskly through the castle, “is passed down through blood; the family. Again, like wizardry, there are cases in which it appears somewhat randomly. This particular metamorphmagus was passed the ability from his mother’s side of the family.” Harry stopped in front of the closed door to a classroom in which a man’s voice could be heard. Harry grinned as he gripped the door handle. “Let’s observe him in his natural habitat, class!” He swung open the door to reveal Draco Malfoy standing in black trousers and a black silk shirt, reciting to his class. ~Agricola, Agricolae, Agricolae, Agricolam, Agricola—Potter, what the hell do you think you’re doing here, storming in on the middle of a class like this?!~
Draco’s second year students turned around excitedly. “We’re observing a metamorphmagus in its natural environment.” Harry said, crossing his arms.
“Right.” Draco rolled his eyes and continued his lesson. ~Agricolae, Agricolarum, Agricolis, Agricolas, Agricolis: repeat with me. Agricola—POTTER!~ Draco (seeing that Harry was making no move to leave) projected so loudly the room shook, and with a wave of his hand threw a desk at Harry. Harry laughed and dodged it, running out of the room with his students close behind. As a group they all continued to run until they reached the great hall.
“Nasty little blighters, metamorphmagi.” He said, leaning against the doors, panting.

A/N: I didn’t really put much thought into the word for Draco’s condition—I just meshed the Latin for Voice and Stolen. I’ll try and make Hermione’s more meaningful.