Harry opened his eyes for a moment. That was a very familiar looking ceiling up there, and he felt that this would not be the last time he saw it,.or the rest of the infirmary There was a bundle of warmth curled up on his left side, purring lightly, much as he was now he thought of it, that he knew was Hermione. Flicking his ears upright, noticing his mate's ears doing the same, he strained to hear the noise that had woken them.
Sobbing. Someone was crying, actually, several people were. The two felines struggled upright, leaving the bed behind as they sought the source of the weeping. It didn't take long, as the sounds were coming from a curtained-off bed on the far side of the hospital wing. Sliding silently forwards, the kitty couple strained their ears to hear.
The crying, consisting of ragged sobs and constant weeping, was coming from the people within. Seven redheads, almost all of Ron's family, to be precise, were gathered around the bed holding the last Weasley, Ginny. With them were the headmaster, the deputy headmistress and the school healer.
"She's dying." Poppy Pomfrey's voice was flat, bereft of hope. "There's nothing physically wrong, between my healing and Fawkes' tears, she is as healed as we can manage. The real problems are in her mind, her soul and her magic."
"What do you mean?" Arthur asked. He was holding his wife tightly, rocking her back and forth as she moaned as if she were the dying one.
Dumbledore spoke up, sorrow in his voice. "Soul magic is not very well understood, Arthur, and the human mind is not something easily defined. A person's magical core relies to a great extent on the strength of one's mind and soul. As strong as young Ginevra's were, this violation of her spirit has caused more trauma than she can deal with."
Pomfrey once again took up the explanation. "With this possession, her mind has retreated deep into her core, and her soul has suffered a great deal of trauma, almost being shredded. If Harry and Hermione had not saved her, it would have been too late for even saying goodbye." She bowed her head as the phoenix on the head of the bed crooned gently, then continued. "At the rate her soul's lesions are growing, she only has about a week. There are only a handful of treatments that mightsave her life, and all of them require time and resources we don't have." The gentle healer broke down and joined the Weasleys in their grief. Outside the curtain, the feline couple clung to each other, grieving with them, wishing fervently for some answer, some way to save their friend.
Hermione, as was her habit, was scouring the books in the library for the solution. Harry, despite his preference for practical work, was helping as best he could. It was late the next night, and the two of them were under Harry's cloak in the restricted section, poring through every book, tome and journal they could find that might help. They ignored the urge to sleep, and worked long into the night. Harry was delving through the books on soul magic, there were far fewer of these, while his mate scoured those that involved mind-healing.
{It looks bad, Harry,} Hermione hissed to him. Parseltongue was far quieter than lingua felinarum when it came down to whispering. {From what I can understand, the only two ways to bring her out from where she is are both impossible until the soul damage is repaired. Since that's what she's dying from...} She bit back a sob. {We can't wait for her to get better on her own, and we can't go in to get her, either.}
Harry nodded glumly as he turned the pages of his book. {It's not looking good on this end, either,} he hissed back, picking up the next tome in his pile, a silver-bound volume with gold letters proclaiming the title: Bindings of the Soul. As they struggled through the weighty reading, they became aware of the sun rising far enough to shine through the library windows. As Hermione stretched, Harry's eyes noticed the words on the next page: Of these bonds, many and varied as they seem, the book proclaimed, only two have the power to knit up the unravelling of the injured soul. First,there is a true soulbond, but a single soulmate will not suffice, instead merely being dragged into the darkness with the first. Rather, an existing soulbond must care enough to risk their very souls in an all-or-nothing ritual with no guarantee of success. The second is a bond with a powerful magical creature, such as a phoenix or unicorn. Once again, the bonding ritual is rare, hazardous and has no guarantee of success.
From here, the book went on to detail both rituals, comprehensively.
Forgetting himself somewhat, the green-eyed catboy yowled in triumph. YES! Look, Her-my-honey, I found it! This should give us a chance to save her! As he sprang to his feet, the Cloak fell to the floor, revealing them both to an impatient and rather upset looking Madam Pince.
The cat-children sat beside each other in Dumbledore's office as the headmaster perused the book in which they'd found the two rituals. To one side of the room were Arthur and Molly Weasley, clinging to the desperate hope that their Ginny could be saved. On the opposite side sat Professors McGonagall and Snape, and Madam Pomfrey, although the latter had a monitoring charm active, to keep an eye on her last patient's health. All the petrified victims of the basilisk's gaze had been restored that morning, leaving Ginny alone in the hospital wing. Well, not entirely alone as her brothers were still by her bedside, and Penelope Clearwater had joined them, clinging to Percy as if she'd never let him go. Even the oldest of the Weasley children were notified, and would be present in no more than a couple of days.
"So," Dumbledore mused aloud, "We are in need of either a soulbound couple, who are willing to risk their own lives for the love of Miss Weasley, or a powerful magical creature that is willing to bond to her. The former is exceptionally rare, although I have my suspicions as to where such a couple can be found... but I doubt their bond is ready for such an intrusion. As for the second..."
The old wizard was interrupted by Fawkes cry, a trill that inspired hope. The phoenix flamed out, disappearing in an instant, leaving all those in the office stunned for a few seconds. When Madam Pomfrey's monitoring charm began screeching at her, they all moved as quick as they could in order to get to the hospital wing. Harry took the lead, with Hermione close behind him, taking the stairs in leaps and bounds, bursting through the infirmary doors to see the Weasley brothers throwing aguamenti on the inferno that had been Ginny's bed. The spells had little, if any, effect on the blindingly intense flames, which died down after a few moments to reveal a massive pile of ashes where the 'littlest Weasley' had been.
No-one could move. The only sound was a horrible, high-pitched keening, the precursor to wrenching, grief-filled howls, emanating from the throat of Molly Weasley. Hermione moved to plant her face in her mate's chest, and McGonagall dropped her head, silent tears beginning to fall.
Then the pile of ash... moved. Ginny sat up from the fine grey powder, absolutely coated with it, a scrawny baby phoenix tumbling from her chest to her lap, squawking indignantly at the movement. Silence reigned. As the young girl turned and opened her eyes, Harry noted that her hair wasn't hair anymore. Rather, it was now an array of incredibly fine feathers, although since it was the same red-gold colour as before, he could see most humans missing the difference. Her eyes were also different, more like Fawkes' eyes now. As everyone else stared, he grabbed a blanket off the nearest bed and threw it over the girl's shoulders.
As Molly Weasley crushed her daughter to her in a bone-creaking hug, joined by those of her family who were present, the kitty couple ducked under Harry's cloak again while all attention was elsewhere and began to quietly leave.
They were almost through the doors when Professor Dumbledore spoke. "Mr Potter, Miss Granger, we still need to talk about many things. Once you're both rested, would you come to my office, please?" He paused for a moment, and looked directly at where they stood, concealed by the cloak's invisibility. "I am sure you have questions for me, much as I have some for you."
Once again, the feline couple sat in Dumbledore's office. As tired as they'd been, they had spent the past six hours asleep in each other's arms. They hadn't made a conscious decision in regards to this, and hadn't even realised it until they woke up spooned together, with Harry nuzzling at his mate's neck. It was obvious they'd been too exhausted for any other... activities, as they were still fully clothed. The couple had hurried to Dumbledore's office and met the headmaster there.
As the old wizard lowered himself into his chair, he ran through all the questions he had in his mind. "I shall make the two of you a deal," he began. "For each question you ask, I shall ask one. If I feel unable to answer a question, you may ask another. The same, of course, applies to you. If you wish to go first, Mr Potter?"
Harry considered carefully. "How come Hermione can speak Parseltongue now? For that matter, how can I speak Parseltongue? I thought it only ran in Slytherin's family. I'm not related to Riddle, am I?"
"Three questions for the price of one, hmmm? Very well, Harry. A little-known facet of Soul Magic is the transference of mystical gifts, such as Parseltongue. It can happen to pass, if two souls are in prolonged contact, that they will come to share their innate gifts. Not their memories, mind you, that would involve a soul merge, a very hazardous event indeed. There are three types of soul contact that could spark such a transference. The first is a familiar bond, such as I had with Fawkes."
Hermione interrupted. "Had, sir? I thought the familiar bond was unbreakable."
"Heavens, no my dear girl," Dumbledore answered. "If that were the case the bond would be little better than slavery. No, the only unbreakable bond is a true soulbond, and that is because the souls involved chooseeach other, over and over, through lifetime after lifetime. This, incidentally is the second connection that can trigger a transference."
"And the third?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore sighed. "I truly wish I didn't have to answer this, but... the third form of contact is a form of possession, wherein a powerful soul, or fragment thereof is placed in a... container, if you will. Such a soul or fragment brings with it the gifts it originally possessed, pardon the pun. If the host survives, and later drives out or is freed from the soul or fragment, the gifts sometimes remain." Here, the old wizard pointed at Harry's brow. "Your scar most likely contained a fragment of Riddle's soul, broken loose when his curse rebounded when you were a baby. The only way that Miss Granger would acquire the gift, is if the two of you are soulmates, you see?"
Turning to the bushy-haired feline witch beside him, Harry mewled. This raises more questions than it answers. You want the next question?
It's Professor Dumbledore's turn first, Harry, she replied. I get the question after that, though.
After the cat children had finished mewing at each other, Dumbledore continued. "I have to ask, Harry, what exactly happened in the Chamber of Secrets?"
It took a few minutes for the kitty couple to explain the events that took place beneath the school, and the headmaster listened well. Although he was a bit concerned for them, as almost no-one had ever survived basilisk venom, even through the application of phoenix tears, and even he had no idea what side effects might come from it. Although if he didn't know, then Voldemort certainly couldn't...
Momentarily side-tracked, the old wizard almost missed Hermione's question. "Is there some way, other than the Parseltongue, to detect a soulbond, Professor? If such a thing is true..."
"Of course, Miss Granger. It is generally recognised that in a soulbond the whole is greater than the sum of its parts." So saying, the headmaster summoned an odd device. It looked like a silver spire, with three spheres,one each of gold, red and black, in constant orbit about it. "I'm quite proud of this device. It measures one's magical core, of the Emryddian scale. You simply touch your wand to the apex, thus, and incant: Metire magiae meae."* As he pronounced the final syllable, the three orbs spun faster, until it was harder to make them out individually. A number appeared above the device, scribed in blue flame on thin air: 742. "And there you have it. If you wish, you may test it yourselves."
It was at this point that the miniature Gargoyle on Dumbledore's desk spoke up. "Professors Snape and McGonagall to see you, Headmaster." At the same time, its larger counterpart downstairs slid away from the doorway with the grinding of stone on stone. As the other two staff members entered, the kitty couple tested the device. Hermione's attempt registered a total of 700, while Harry scored a remarkable 750. From what the catgirl remembered, the Emryddian scale was based off the power levels from 1 (muggles and squibs) to 1000 (Merlin Emrys, himself, hence the scale's name). Then they tried it at the same time.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore stared at what was left of one of his priceless magical tools. The device had been capable of measuring at up to 2000 Emryddian. Had was the operative word. When Harry and Hermione had taken each other's hand, the artifact detonated, with the three orbs scattering about the room. One orb embedded itself in the desk by the miniature gargoyle, spinning rapidly in place and causing a trail of grey smoke to rise from it. Another had whistled past Dumbledore's ear to smash a window on its way out of the castle, and the last passed so close to Snape's hair that the greasy locks parted, and so fast that they caught fire. Harry's hurried Aguamenti doused the flames before too much could be burned. The device belched forth a gout of smoke, and died.
"Electrical engineering?" Harry asked his mate.
"Most likely," she replied.
"Would you kindly explain that?" the headmaster asked, somewhat confused, both by the detonation of his device, and by the nervous banter of the kitty couple. Electronics didn't function well too close to the wards around Hogwarts.
"Well, the theory is," began Harry, "that electronics must run on smoke." He looked to be having a hard time not laughing.
Hermione took over for the next line. "Because when the smoke escapes the device, it no longer functions." Both of the feline students were actually laughing out loud, now. As McGonagall and Dumbledore looked at each other, seeking some answer, they missed the smile on Snape's face. Everyone did, as it didn't stay there long.
Harry's next question had the headmaster's full attention. "Professor, why did you put me with the Dursleys?"
"For your safety, my boy," Dumbledore answered. "Due to the wards I used to enhance the protection your mother gave you, while you call that house home, you are safe."
"Excuse me, Professor," Hermione said. "I need to clarify this. When did you place the wards?"
"I spent the week after placing Harry emplacing them," the old wizard replied.
"So the wards were useless from day one." The flat and factual manner in which she said it brought a shocked silence to the room.
"If I may, Miss Granger," McGonagall asked, "what leads you to that conclusion?"
"A baby can't call anyplace home, Professor. At best, it needs a sense of warmth and belonging."
Harry muttered. "Blessed short supply of that at the Dursley house." He raised his voice a little. "By the time I could call anyplace home, that house wasn't it. As I told Her-my-honey, this place, hazards to my life and all, is still more home to me than the Dursley house."
"I take it you don't wish to go back, then?" Dumbledore enquired.
"Not unless you want the three largest scratching posts you've ever seen. They're bad enough with just my normal level of 'freakishness', imagine what they'd be like dealing with this. You'd really have to drug me to get me back there."
Snape remembered Petunia Evans, and had once met a much younger Vernon, though he preferred not to recall encountering such a buffoon, although imagining them as scratched-up lumps of meat held some appeal... he also began thinking about what potions and drugs might affect the felines, and startled, if not outright scared the others in the room by laughing.
As they stared, he spoke, in a voice buried in sarcasm. "I can see it now: The Dark Lord's New Ultimate Plan to Eliminate Harry Potter: two bags of catnip and a ball of yarn. It'll do wonders for his reputation at the next Evil Overlords Anonymous meeting."
Chuckling to himself, the potions master swept from the office, his smiles and good mood scaring several students as he passed.