Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The figure on the bed lay flat on his back, in the standard recovery position, with a relaxed, placid expression on his face.  In the background, monitoring spells traced soundlessly on the translucent glass mounted on the wall near the bed, oblivious to the young man in the chair next to the bed, clinging to the patient’s hand.

Dean Parker stared at his father’s lax features, searching them intently for any sign of life.  Beneath his thumb, a pulse throbbed in an even beat, right in time with the steady rise and fall of Greg Parker’s chest.  At least the pained grimace was gone – all the broken bones had finally been healed, along with the aftereffects of the severe concussion his father had gotten during the T-South riot.

The Healers were still keeping him in a coma, though – Dean didn’t understand all the nitty-gritty details, but according to his cousins, the Healers were worried about the connection between his Dad’s brain and magical core.  They couldn’t get a mind-healer to check his father because of his Wild Magic, so they were left treating his magical core.  Something about how repairing the core’s side of the mind-core connection would make it easier for his Dad’s mind to rebuild its side.  At least, that was the idea, but there was no way to tell until they finally let his Dad wake up.

A quiet sigh echoed in the room; though Dean was determined to stick by his Dad as long as it took for him to wake up, he couldn’t deny that he was getting a little frustrated – and bored.  Besides, it wasn’t like his father was going to wake up, not when the Healers kept pouring new potions down his throat every day.  But his cousins and his father’s best friends were insistent that his Dad couldn’t wake up alone, so there was a whole schedule set up.  Despite the boredom and endless tedium, Dean wasn’t about to be the weakest link in the vigil chain.

The whistle from the door brought his head up and Dean’s hands snapped up to catch the book his cousin tossed to him.  Confused, he turned it over and blinked – the book he’d picked out a couple weeks ago when Aunt Sophie took him and Clark to the bookstore.

Lance strolled over, hands in his pockets, and Dean tossed him a glare for the nonchalant expression on his face.  One corner of Lance’s mouth twitched up in a smirk, but the stroll dropped down to an amble and the younger boy pulled his hands out.  “Uncle Greg won’t mind if you read a book.”

Glancing down at the book, Dean tucked it between his leg and the chair, then grabbed his Dad’s hand again.  “No thanks.”

His cousin sighed and perched on the opposite side of the hospital bed.  “Dean, seriously.  You don’t have to spend the whole time just staring at him.  He’s gonna be fine.”

“Then why won’t they let him wake up?”

Lance snickered, earning a furious glower.  “ ‘Cause Uncle Greg got voted Worst Patient Ever by the Healers.”

Dean felt his jaw twitch and a tiny snort erupted.  “Worst Patient Ever?”

The younger boy nodded with as much solemnity as he could muster.  “Keeps pullin’ crazy stunts with his magic that land him in the hospital – and they work.”  Tilting his head to the side, Lance added, “Honestly, I think Healer Travis is getting back at Uncle Greg for getting hurt after she pulled an all-nighter to get him back on his feet after T-South.”

Shaking his head, Dean pulled away from his Dad’s limp hand.  “Aren’t you kinda early?”

His cousin shrugged.  “Figured you needed a break.”

The brunet eyed his cousin suspiciously.  “You’re supposed to be here tonight.”

Lance nodded.  “Healer Queenscove said I could use my gryphon form.”

Dean blinked.  “What?  Why?”

The other boy huffed and flopped down, draping himself over their guardian’s blanketed legs.  Dean arched a brow, but he’d long ago figured out that St. Mungo’s was more laid back than most hospitals.  So long as it didn’t actually hurt his Dad, none of the Healers would say a word about the teenagers curling up on the hospital bed.

“I’m usually okay, but my Animagus form is acting up a little,” Lance admitted.  “If I go gryphon overnight, should calm my magic down again.”

“I’ve never seen you do that before,” Dean pointed out.

One shoulder lifted.  “Like I said, I’m usually okay.  The last time my Animagus form started getting antsy, I just spent the night in my room.”

“Was that before I came?”

“Yep,” Lance confirmed, shifting so his upper torso was on Dean’s father’s stomach and sapphire gazed upwards into Dean’s brown eyes.

The older boy considered, then grabbed his book, pulled it up, and started reading.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lance pull out his modified Nintendo DS and heard the chime of it turning on.

His Dad slept on.

* * * * *

Lance nibbled his lip as he navigated through the maze to his next objective.  A group of monsters popped up, sending the screen to a fight scene and he input the fight commands on autopilot as he debated what he could do.  Not with the game – he’d played it before and even beaten the thing – but it served as decent cover and kept his fingers busy while he plotted.

The first night…that had been a surprise, although, in hindsight, he should’ve known.  Oh, sure, he’d known that Healer Queenscove was putting Uncle Greg back on the core-healing potions, and sure, he’d known the reason they were overnight potions was ‘cause the core-healing potions would go right through Uncle Greg to hit the ‘team sense’, but he hadn’t quite made the connection between the ‘team sense’ and his link to Uncle Greg.  Not until that link had come to life, sending tingles through his body only moments before his core began to hum – he was just lucky he’d already been in bed, ‘cause fighting that magic…

The second night, he’d tried, but it had been so laughably futile that he’d only tried the once before giving up.  The potion was just too fast.  Too powerful – like a keyed spell.  Actually, it probably was a keyed potion; would make a whole lotta sense.  Not that it made him any happier.

But that wasn’t the problem at the moment.  He might not like this particular consequence of his magical link to his uncle, but Lance was pragmatic enough to know that magic like that always came with downsides.  That first night might’ve caught him off-guard and unprepared, but once he knew, he’d been able to deal.

No, the problem was that Healer Queenscove’s potion wasn’t just stimulating rapid magic generation in his uncle’s core – it was stimulating his, too.  And all of Team One’s magical cores.  It wasn’t the first time Uncle Greg had been on a regime of core-healing potions, but the last time, Team One hadn’t been Animagi.  Plus, their cores had probably needed the extra boost, so they hadn’t been affected near as bad as they were this time.

Dean hadn’t noticed and Clark prolly hadn’t either, but Lance had been watching them intently and he could see the signs.  The way the adults were getting more and more jittery, how they were having trouble standing still, even the way their eyes were starting to glow at odd moments, showing sparkles of their native magic.

He’d talked it over with ‘Lanna and they’d both come to the same conclusion – Team One needed to burn off the excess magic in their cores.  The quickest, easiest way for them to do that would be to shift into their Animagus forms for a couple hours every day.  Heck, they’d prolly be fine if they just slept in their Animagus forms each night – that would burn off the magic right as it came in and let them get used to the feel of their animal forms.

‘Lanna had suggested just telling them and he’d considered it, but he had a feeling they were still in denial.  Yeah, they’d transformed into their Animagus forms and gotten registered and everything.  Even gone through all the retraining to use their enhanced abilities to best advantage – but they still didn’t understand just how much an Animagus form changed someone.  Add in the Wild Magic and Team One didn’t have a clue.

So…he had a different plan – and he really hoped this one worked.  Well, he mused, if nothing else, he’d burn off the excess magic in his magical core.

* * * * *

The overnight Healers were dubious, but a combination of Cruppy-eyes (1) and his Head of House ring convinced them to help him reinforce the hospital bed and move Uncle Greg over to one side of the mattress.  With the wary Healers looking on, the teenager blurred and Illishar hopped onto the bed; curling up next to his uncle, he rumbled a squrrr and settled in place, one wing flaring out to drape over the older man like a living blanket.

Nuzzling into his uncle’s shoulder, the gryphon huffed a contented sigh and let himself drop into a light doze.  Seconds later, his link to Uncle Greg tingled and his core vibrated before letting out a low hum.  His muscles relaxed, all at once, and his mind echoed the core’s hum as golden magic pulsed, soothing him to sleep.

* * * * *

Wordy arrived a bit early for his shift at St. Mungo’s; as he walked through the hospital, his steps slowed and a grimace emerged.  He was not looking forward to the hours of alternating between fidgeting in a chair and pacing from wall to wall in Sarge’s hospital room.  It wasn’t so bad when he was on-duty; there was always something that required movement.  Action – whether it was the workout room, running laps, drills in the training buildings, or even a foot patrol for some up close and personal Team One PR, there was no lack of activities that didn’t involve sitting still.

The situation wasn’t as bad as it had been right after Fletcher Stadium, when Sarge had gotten dosed with a potent magic booster that had flooded the ‘team sense’ with power and nearly ended with Team One addicted to their Sergeant’s magic, but Wordy had found himself wishing, off and on, that there was some way to temporarily shut down the links.  Keep that core-healing potion of Baird Queenscove’s from sending their cores into overdrive.

Scrubbing at his buzz cut, the big constable checked his watch, shook his head, and strode into Sarge’s room.  Just inside the door, he came to a halt, gaping at what he saw.  Deep inside his gut, something lurched, seething jealousy and desperate longing twisting together.

“The overnight Healers said he insisted.”

Wordy jumped a foot, whirling as he landed.

Healer Susan Travis smirked at him, tipping her quill away from the clipboard she used for her parchmentwork.  “Situational awareness,” she chided.

Checking his watch again, the constable groused, “Too early in the morning.”

“No coffee either,” Susan drawled, her smirk deepening when Wordy glared at her.  “Too early for that, too?”

He hesitated, then admitted, “Too wired for it.”

The blonde straightened, frowning.  “Your magic is acting up?”

He tilted one shoulder up in a shrug and turned back to the bed.  “Why?”

“You’ll have to ask him,” the Healer replied, her tone heavy with meaning.

Blinking at that, the brunet looked closer at the pair on the bed inside the room.  One was Sarge, of course, and the other was Lance.  Except, for reasons known only to himself, the kid was in his gryphon form.  The gryphon – Illishar – was curled up next to Sarge, leaning into him with his wing draped over Sarge’s torso.

At first, it looked like the gryphon was still asleep, but then Wordy noticed a slit of sapphire watching him from the dark-brown feathered eagle head.  Crossing his arms, the broad-shouldered constable arched a pointed brow.  One furry, feathered ear flicked back, then Illishar huffed and raised his head, folding his outspread wing as he did so.

Wordy caught a flash of red as the wing moved.  “Wait – what was that?” he demanded.

Illishar turned towards him and tilted his head, confused; Wordy felt his breath catch.  “You’ve got facial markings?” he hissed.

Yeah…?

The brunet jumped again, eyes going wide.  “You can talk?”

“Constable?” Susan asked, somehow managing to sound both tart and concerned at the same time.

The gryphon let out an amused squarrr and hopped off the opposite side of the bed.  Ranging to the side, sapphire eagle eyes looked up, laughter shining in their depths beneath the deep blue streaks of feathers that ran above his eyebrow ridges, ending just a bit behind them.  A second flash of blue appeared in small dashes of color just behind his eyes, and deep blue feathers outlined the back of his jaw, creating a solid distinction between Illishar’s head and neck.

Wordy moved closer, examining the young gryphon closely.  Turning, Illishar swept out the same wing he’d had draped over his uncle; the red reappeared on the top feathers, right at the tips of the primary and secondary coverts (2).  Beneath and behind the wing, the gryphon’s lion fur was a deep tan, with a lighter shade of tan on his belly and the inner fur of his legs.

The feathers on his upper back and the leading edge of his wing were a very dark shade of brown, darker even than his hair color.  The covert feathers were a slightly lighter shade of brown and tipped with a solid red hue, while the primary and secondary feathers sported a rich shade of brown that matched with the color of his tail feathers, though the latter darkened to black where they joined the hidden tuft of the gryphon’s lion tail.

Flexing casually, Illishar shifted to sit, allowing Wordy to inspect his chest, head, and the underside of his extended wing.  The constable’s eyes trailed over that wing, marveling at the differences.  Oh, the underside of the wing had the same basic look as the backside – dark brown at the leading edges, a slightly lighter shade of brown on the coverts, and a rich shade of brown on the primaries and secondaries – but all of those browns were paler than their counterparts.  Curiously, the underside coverts also lacked the red tips of their counterparts.

He flicked a glance at the gryphon’s foretalons, absently noting that they shifted from eagle claw to lion leg right above the wrist, but the transition from fur to feathers at the gryphon’s chest and shoulder area was far more interesting.  Feathers draped the gryphon’s chest in a V-shape reminiscent of a lion’s mane, and Illishar’s head feathers were all flared out, as if the teen’s roguish personality had translated itself into his Animagus form’s appearance.  On his head, the rich yellow beak and blue facial markings stood out, right along with the lion ears tucked in the gryphon’s head feathers.  The outside of the ears was all fur, of the same shade as his lion fur, but inside the ears, a row of feathers ran up the inside edge, flaring out towards the outer edge.

Shaking his head, Wordy scrubbed at his jaw.  “How the heck did we miss that?”

Huh?

Waving a hand at Illishar’s wing, he elaborated, “Red on the wings, facial markings – how the heck did we ever think Sarge was you?”

Finally getting it, Illishar squarrred, wing folding as he laughed.  Straightening, he blurred back to human, still snickering.

“And how’d I understand you?”

Lance sniggered again.  “I’ll give you three guesses and the last two don’t count.”

Travis chortled.  “Wild Magic.”

Grinning, the teenager flashed her a thumbs up.  “Yep.”

Wordy rubbed his eyes, closing them in realization.  “Of course.  Universal translator.”

“Yep.”

“You’re an incorrigible brat, you know that, right?”

“And you love me anyway.”

Reaching out, Wordy snagged his nephew.  “We love you no matter what, kiddo.”

Lance flushed, but didn’t fight the brunet constable’s hold.

Shaking his head again, the big man asked, “So what gives, kiddo?  Why’d you give the overnight Healers kittens?”

Mischief gleamed up at him.  “Don’t you mean kneazles, Uncle Wordy?”

Smirking, he ruffled Lance’s hair, swallowing his chuckle at the yelp and immediate retreat.  “Too early for semantics, kiddo.  Spill.”

Lance huffed, but shrugged and replied, “My magic was getting kinda antsy, so I asked Healer Queenscove if I could sleep in my Animagus form.”

Wordy blinked.  “That uses up the magic?”

“Sure does,” Lance confirmed.  Shrewd sapphire met his gray, the two of them almost on the same level.  “Wanna try?”

Eagerness welled up and he almost said Yes before he bit down and clamped his jaw shut.  “Prolly not a good idea in here,” the constable remarked.

The teenager arched a pointed brow and gave him an unimpressed Look that sent a shiver down Wordy’s spine.  It was a dead match for Sarge’s ‘do-you-really-think-I-didn’t-think-of-that’ expression, right down to the way Lance was shifting back and crossing his arms.

“You do know St. Mungo’s has to be able to treat centaurs, minotaurs, and half-giants, right?”

“They do?” Wordy asked, turning towards Healer Travis.

“We do,” she confirmed.  “I’ve never seen any centaurs or minotaurs come in, but sometimes we’ll get a half-giant in the Emergency Ward.”

The image of his form flashed in his mind’s eye, coupled with fierce longing; his skin itched and stallion instincts prodded at him, as if the Animagus inside of him was begging to be released.  Magic pulsed, in a steady beat, and he knew shards of it was gleaming in his eyes.  It took an iron effort to pull back and wrestle his animal side back in line.

“I’ll be fine,” he promised both of his companions.

Lance gifted him a skeptical look and Travis shook her head, expression tart.

“You’d better get going, kiddo,” Wordy added, stepping towards the open chair tucked deeper in the room.

“Wait.”

The constable turned his head, arching a questioning brow.

Biting his lip, Lance hesitated, then asked, “Could you take tonight instead?”

Wordy frowned, crossing his arms.  “You’re not staying here all day.”

“No,” Lance agreed at once.  “But ‘Lanna’s supposed to be here tonight.”

“And?”

The teen fidgeted, glancing away as a light flush rose.  Looking back up, he explained, “She’s got a big test tomorrow in one of her harder classes.”

The brunet constable’s frown deepened in thought.  “And she could use the extra time tonight to study?” he guessed.

“Yeah.”  Another fidget.  “I, um, I wasn’t supposed to ask, though.”

Wordy smirked.  “No problem.”  He nodded to Travis.  “You mentioned it to Susan here and she spilled the beans.”

The blonde twitched a smirk of her own at Lance’s grateful expression.

Smirk fading, the big man asked, “So who takes today’s shift?”

“Mindy.”  At the blink, Lance tilted his head.  “Uncle Greg knows her.  Not that well, but if he starts waking up, she can come running for one of us.”

Wordy mulled that over, then nodded.  Not ideal, but if ‘Lanna needed some cover for her test, he could do that.  Plus, it meant he could go to work and spend the day moving instead of sitting still.  Ed wouldn’t be thrilled, but all of them knew what Sarge would say.  The kids came first – they always did.

“Uncle Wordy?”

Glancing up, he waited.

“Could you, um…”  Lance shifted.  “I know you don’t wanna try your Animagus form, but…”

He considered, then lifted one shoulder in a shrug.  “Sure, kiddo.  I’ll tell ‘em.  Just don’t expect any takers.”

Lance didn’t look happy, but nodded, accepting the answer.

* * * * *

Just as Wordy’d expected, Ed wasn’t happy with him showing up for work instead of taking his shift at the hospital.  But once he explained, Team One’s Sergeant nodded, then shook his head in amusement that ‘Lanna had tried to hide her test from them, only to be ratted out by her brother.

With a full team on-duty, Team One snapped up a patrol route, all of them picking locations where they could park their trucks and do a foot patrol instead.  It wasn’t common – and hindered a quick response to any potential hot calls – but the team was too agitated and on-edge to tolerate being confined to their vehicles for an entire shift.

By the end of the shift, Wordy was happy to note that the worst of the jitters had worn down enough that he felt tired, the tension in his gut easing right along with his shoulders.  He still felt warmer than usual as his core continued to churn out more magic than he knew what to do with, but he was no longer wound up and constantly on edge.

His teammates were the same – tired, but content in the face of what usually would’ve been a long, punishing day.  Especially since they’d taken on their foot patrols in full gear, carrying more weight than most cops on foot patrol did.  It was worth it to finally calm the agitation and walk off the stress from the past few days and weeks.

* * * * *

For the second time that day, Wordy trekked through St. Mungo’s towards his boss’s room.  His feet dragged, but more from exhaustion than anything else.  He did grimace – he’d walked off the excess magic today, but in only a few hours, Healer Queenscove’s potion would be flowing through Sarge’s system, sending their cores into overdrive and wiping out all the gains from that daylong foot patrol.

He was tired of it – tired of the magic inside him going crazy every time Sarge needed that extra support.  If only there was some solution, something that would let them burn off the magic without going to extremes on the job.  Or, even better, something to cut off the ‘team sense’ and keep that potion from getting to them in the first place.

Maybe, in the morning, he could ask about that?  Sure would be nice, particularly since there was no way he could go back in time and warn his younger self about all the downsides to keeping that intangible bond with his boss and best friend.

Inside Sarge’s room, he found Healer Travis, looking more tired than he felt, and a new addition to the room.

As he frowned at the cot, Travis cast him an amused look.  “If you tried to spend the night in the chair, you’d probably crack your head open on the floor.”

Wordy blinked, then flushed as he remembered.  Oh, yeah…there was a reason they’d wanted Sarge’s kids, Clark, Shelley, and Sophie to take the overnight shifts.

“Thanks,” he said, tone sheepish.

“Of course, Constable Wordsworth.  The house elves will be up with dinner soon and I’ve let the overnight Healers know you’re subbing for Lady Calvin, but you’ll need to be at work again in the morning.”

The brunet nodded, understanding Susan had set up his cover story for why he’d be fast asleep as soon as the potion hit Sarge’s system.  “In other words, have dinner and just go to bed.”

“That would be the idea,” Susan agreed.  “I’ll check with you in the morning, Constable.  If you’re still feeling the effects of Baird’s potion, I’ll have a talk with him.  See if we can find an alternative.”

“That would be great.”  Relief shone in gray eyes, backing the depths of the big man’s gratitude.

Travis’s jaw twitched in a smile and she nodded.  “Have a good night, Constable Wordsworth.”

“You, too, Healer Travis.”

* * * * *

The cot was more comfortable than it looked – yet another commonplace magical miracle.  Wordy shunted aside the faint jealousy in his chest, the part of him that looked at the wizarding world and saw so many things that could make life better on the techie side of the fence.  Maybe someday, if they could ever get the wizards to admit that the Dark Ages were over.

He rolled over, squinting as the light from the hallway hit dark-adjusted eyes – apparently wizards hadn’t figured out how to keep hallway light out of hospital rooms.  Or maybe that was deliberate, to help the overnight Healers who had to check on all their sleeping patients.  On the other bed, Sarge was still, breathing slow and steady as he lay on his back, too deeply asleep to roll over on his side like he preferred.

From outside the door, he heard footsteps, coming closer, and his gut clenched.  Right in time with a swirl of power from his magical core, still brimming with energy, even after that all day foot patrol.  Something inside him tensed in anticipation and a shiver of dread danced up his spine.  Along with a last-second thought that maybe, just maybe, he should’ve listened to Lance that morning.

An overnight Healer ducked into the room, not even glancing in Wordy’s direction.  A potion bottle was set on the bedside table and the wizard flicked his wrist.  A wand dropped into the man’s hand and he took a step back, dipping his wand at the potion before muttering something with a flourish that ended with the wand pointed at Sarge.

On his cot, Wordy stiffened, waiting for the inevitable.  Tingles came from his link to Sarge, but they didn’t go directly to his core as usual.  Instead, he felt the tingles spread from his chest up to his shoulders, arms, hands, and fingers, and down his torso to his legs, calves, feet, and toes.  Dread rose and he clawed at his core, trying to fight, trying to push the potion back, but the tingles spread farther, tracing up through his neck to his head.  He felt the tingles reach his brain, resonating inside his skull so strongly that his mind went blank.  All desire to fight drained out of him, replaced by a strange anticipation that sent a thrill through his soul.

His core thrummed, magic racing through his veins and muscles like lightning, and something inside him snapped.  Breathing lengthened and deepened as his body relaxed into the potion’s hold and sleep claimed him.

[1] A Crup is a magical canine resembling a Jack Russell Terrier, with a forked tail.  As per the Harry Potter Wiki, Crup puppies are known as Cruppies.

[2] Covert feathers are the second layer of feathers on a bird’s wing, above the primary feathers on the outer edge of the wing and the secondary feathers which run from the end of the primary feathers to the bird’s body.

Chapter Text

Warmth.  That was the first thing she registered as she lay in bed, cuddled into her mate, and content with the world.  Jules exhaled a sigh, well used to the sensation of waking up with her magic already active and eager.  At least it didn’t seem to be as bad today as it had been most of the week.  In fact…  She wriggled closer to Sam and curled just a bit tighter.  …the magic had died down enough that she might even be able to manage a short doze before the work alarm went off.  That would be a nice change.

A purr rumbled through her chest and her head tucked down, only to startle as something brushed her unexpectedly.  Jerking her head up, Jules opened her eyes, scanning for whatever had snuck up on her.  But nothing looked out of place.  Her pillow was right below her chin and her covers were up – though her movement had made them tumble down a bit.  Under the covers, she could feel the smooth cool sheets against her fur.

Frowning, she closed her eyes again – to listen for the unknown something; her ears swiveled, right in time with a twitch from her whiskers.  She could hear air moving around in the room, a slight breeze from the overhead fan, but nothing sounded out of the ordinary.

Grumbling to herself, Jules shifted down again, scooting back under her covers to curl up for a few minutes more.  Her whiskers brushed the fabric, sending another shivery sensation up her muzzle, and she huffed.  So that was what it was.  Tucking her head under the blankets, she rumbled a fresh purr as her tail and paws completed the partial circle.

Then she turned her head just a little farther – and froze.  There was a blond wolf sleeping in her bed.  Alarmed, Jules lurched up, purr shifting into a growl.

The wolf shifted, stirring as the growl rattled the air.  Blue eyes opened, peering up at her.  Jules?  Something wrong?

Sam?  The growl eased, her ears swiveling forward towards her mate.

The wolf yawned, shaking himself a little.  ‘Course it’s me, Jules.

Leaning forward, Jules touched her nose to his in silent apology.  He whuffed, wriggling forward, then stilled as she came to him, curling into his chest and forelegs with her head against his; her purr rose again, sending soothing vibrations through them both.

As she fell back into a doze, something prodded at the back of Jules’ mind, as if there was something still off, but it faded in moments as her magic swirled, happy and content.

* * * * *

Sophie Lane murmured to herself, then cast a glare at the alarm clock on her bedside.  Early enough that she wasn’t happy about being awake, but there wasn’t enough time to go back to sleep before the blasted thing went off.  Grumbling anew, the dark-haired woman worked herself upright, then turned to glance at Eddie.

Her shriek echoed through the whole house.

* * * * *

He was diving, talons snapping out as he bore down on the prey – when a shriek cut through his head and Ed jerked upright, flailing as he realized he was under blankets.  His wings beat against his pillow and only the bad angle kept his talons from slashing any fabric.

He turned his head upwards, automatically picking out every single hair plastered to Sophie’s forehead.  Soph?  What’s wrong?

She didn’t respond as she stared down at him, eyes wide as she shrieked again, louder than the first time.

Ed winced, ducking his beak and trying to heft his wings up enough to cover his ears.

“Mom!”

The bedroom door bounced off the wall as Clark thrust through it, already searching for whatever had scared his mother.

Sophie scrambled off the bed, pointing at Ed – the hawk stared helplessly at her, stung by her fear of him – and Clark froze in his tracks.

“Dad?”

The hawk flared out his head feathers, glaring at his son.  Of course it’s me, Clark!

“Clark?” Sophie questioned, high-pitched with fear, but there was a gleam in her eyes that Ed shivered at.

Clark started to reach out, then paused.  “Gimme a sec, Mom.”  Without waiting for a reply, he hurried out of the bedroom, leaving the hawk and his wife behind to stare at each other in bewildered bemusement.

It took a minute or two, but Clark reappeared with blue leather gloves on – the gloves from his Narnian armor, Ed was pleased to note.  The teenager carefully pulled the covers and sheets off the hawk, waiting for his father to hop upright before holding out a gloved fist; Ed made another hop up to the leather glove, hoping the leather was thick enough to protect his son’s hands from his talons.

“Clark, what is going on?” Sophie demanded.

The curly-haired brunet groaned as he straightened, lifting his opposite hand to his eyes.  “Seriously, Dad?  You never told her?”

Told her what? Ed asked, thoroughly confused as he looked from his son to his wife and back.  Talons reflexively closed around his leather perch and he hastily opened them again – just enough to keep from hurting Clark without losing his balance.

Clark let his hand and head drop a moment before he drew in a deep, fortifying breath and looked up at his mother.  “You remember Texas?”

“Yes,” Sophie confirmed, a clipped note in her voice.

The teenager squirmed.  “Well, um, the witch who kidnapped them…”  He trailed off, wincing.  “She turned them all into animals.”  He nodded to Ed.  “And Dad ended up as a hawk.”

Open-mouthed horror stared back at both Lane men and Ed cringed, resisting the urge to hide under one wing.

“Lance and ‘Lanna got them back,” Clark blurted.  “But after we came home, Lance told me they all got registered.”

“Registered?” Sophie echoed, still confused, but an undertone of fury creeping in.

“Yeah.  As Animagi,” his son replied.

The temperature in the room dropped.  “You mean to tell me that your father has been able to turn into a hawk for months and he never told me?”

“I thought he did!” Clark yelped.

Livid dark eyes pinned the hawk.  “Ed.”  Anger and expectation and command, all in one.

The hawk hunched down, shame draping him as he looked down at the carpet, picking out every strand of yarn.

A finger touched the top of his head, stroking through the feathers.  “Dad?”

Ed shrank down a little more – there was a distant part of him that knew what Sophie wanted, but he couldn’t quite grasp that thought.  He was a hawk – that was how it was supposed to be.  Except, Sophie and Clark couldn’t understand him and that felt wrong.  They should be able to understand him, but what was the difference?

He peered up in time to see his son frown.  “Mom, I think something’s wrong.”

Sophie puffed up – and Ed cringed down again – but reined in her temper.  “Do we need to call Lance and Alanna?”

“Yeah, I think we do,” Clark said.  “If Dad’s stuck, they can help him change back.”

Change back?

* * * * *

Lance exhaled slowly as Clark wound down, glancing up at his sister and cousin, all of them huddled around his phone, which he’d put on speaker phone at soon as Clark told him that Uncle Ed was stuck in his Animagus form.

“Didn’t you tell them?” Alanna asked.

The brunet sighed, scrubbing his free hand through his hair, and nodded.  “Not last night, the night before, I went Illishar ‘cause I knew Uncle Wordy was comin’ in the morning,” he replied.

The redhead frowned, then her eyes widened.  “So he’d ask.”

“Yeah.  They’ve all been getting edgy, but I figured they’d clam up if we just came at ‘em head on,” Lance explained.  “And he did ask, but, um…”

‘Lanna’s shoulders slumped.  “But he didn’t listen,” she filled in.

Lance nodded miserably.  “I got Uncle Wordy to go to work, pass it on, and I was hopin’ one of us could try again today.”

“Wait a sec, cuz, tell them what?” Dean cut in.

Brother and sister traded glances before Alanna replied, “We should check on the rest of them.”

Dean’s eyes widened.  “You think they’re all stuck?”

“Even if they aren’t, they’re prolly right on the edge,” Lance countered.  Handing his phone to his sister, he headed into the living room and called, “Mindy!”

The house-elf popped into the room, long ears perked up as she gazed up at the teenager.  “Master be calling Mindy?”

Crouching down, Lance nodded.  “Mindy, could you please check on every member of Team One except Uncle Ed?  We think they might be stuck in their Animagus forms.”

Mindy let out a squeak of alarm.

“Easy, Mindy – they won’t hurt you,” Lance promised.  “If they’re stuck, tell ‘em we’re working on it.  Don’t bring them here.”  Turning, he craned up at his cousin and sister, “If they’re all stuck, we’ll have to figure out where we can take them.”

“Can’t you just turn them back?” Clark asked, his voice a bit faint, but audible to the gryphon Animagus.

“We might be able to,” Alanna chimed in.  “But not until we know what’s going on.”

“ ‘Lanna, anything else we need Mindy to do?”

His sister frowned, then nodded.  “Mindy, is there an owl perch you could bring us?”

The house-elf returned the nod.  “Mindy bring,” she promised before popping away.

“Okay, she’ll come back here, but we can get ready to go,” Lance remarked, pushing himself upright.

“Clark, we’ll come right over after Mindy comes back with the owl perch,” Alanna said to the phone.

“We could send her over with that,” Dean suggested.

Alanna nodded agreement.  “Shouldn’t take her long to check on Team One and come back.”

“Thanks guys,” Clark replied.  “Need me to do anything?”

“Yeah, we do,” Lance replied before Alanna could say ‘no’.  “Could you or Aunt Sophie call Aunt Shelley?  Uncle Wordy took the overnight shift at St. Mungo’s.”

“We don’t know if he’s trapped,” Dean pointed out.

“If he’s not, I’ll eat that chili sauce ‘Lanna won’t touch,” the brunet replied flatly.  “I saw him yesterday, ‘member?  And he’s got the biggest magical core outta all of ‘em.”

The other teenagers fell silent, all of them with grave expressions.  Then Alanna giggled.  “At least Aunt Shelley didn’t wake up with a horse in her bed.”

* * * * *

He started at the sharp pop in the air, head swinging up.  Then he paused, confused by the sight in front of him.  A small creature with big eyes and longer ears, clad in what looked like a cross between a toga and a pillowcase.  It took him a moment to recognize the house-elf as Mindy – she looked smaller than he was used to.

Lowering his head, he whickered, blowing air at her; her eyes went even bigger as she stared at him.

Wordy shifted to rise, but paused at the creak from underneath him.  Turning his neck, he angled down carefully and fought back a wince.  The cot had been flattened under his weight and the sheet had somehow gone from covering his whole body up to his neck to merely covering his hindquarters and lower back.  Equine ears flicked back in displeasure.  He could’ve sworn the cot was strong enough to hold him when he’d gotten into it.  Had someone pranked him overnight?

“Constable Wordsworth?”  The stallion jumped, snorting at the sudden appearance of a blonde Healer who was staring at him with eyes just as big as Mindy’s.

What?

The house-elf turned to Healer Travis.  “Master and Mistress is asking Mindy to be checking on Master Greg’s friends,” she squeaked.  “Master Greg’s Ed is also being stuck.”

Stuck?  Why would he be stuck?  Why would I be stuck?

“Oh, dear Merlin.  It’s all of them?”

“Master and Mistress is thinking so, Mistress Healer,” Mindy replied.  “Mindy is needing to check Master Greg’s other friends, Mistress Healer.”

The blonde nodded, a grim expression overtaking the shock.  “I’ll see if I can get Wordsworth on his feet,” she promised.

The house-elf bobbed her head and popped away.

Turning from where the elf had been to the stallion eyeing her nervously, Healer Travis drew her wand.  “Next time,” she hissed, “When one of Parker’s kids suggests you use your Animagus form for a few hours, just do it.”

The cream-coated stallion shrank back at the venom in her voice.  He still wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong, but there was no doubt in his mind that he was in big trouble.

* * * * *

Waking up in the darkness wasn’t anything new to Spike after several months of blindness, but waking up to a pop, a squeak, and a foxy yip was.  He was still pushing at the covers with his nose and shoulder when the bed creaked, ever so slightly, and a thump came from nearby.

Spike?

He pawed the covers away, craning around with unseeing eyes.  Lou?  What’re you doing here?

Mindy checked you first, the fox informed him, nuzzling his muzzle into the wild dog’s.  Asked if I’d mind stickin’ with you till the kids figure out what to do next.

What to do next? Spike echoed, confused.  Is something wrong?

Lou let out another yip, low and somehow puzzled.  Guess so; not sure what though.

The wild dog nodded, then felt his ears flatten.  Hope it’s not Sarge.

Shouldn’t be.  Wordy took the night shift, Lou replied.  At Spike’s pricked ears, he added, ‘Lanna had a big test today, so Lance asked Word to cover for her.

Gotcha, Spike acknowledged.  Then he nipped at Lou’s foreleg, grinning to himself at the fox’s immediate backpedal.  Then his best friend let out a low growl and came surging back at him.  The fight was on!

* * * * *

It was entirely too early in the morning for this sort of nonsense, Commander Anne Locksley decided as she surveyed the young Family Lord in her office.  “All of them?” she asked.

“All but Uncle Greg,” Lord Calvin corrected.

The witch sighed heavily – the difference hardly signified when Parker was still in a coma anyway.  Reaching up, she massaged the bridge of her nose.  “For Merlin’s sake, why?”

Lord Calvin fidgeted a moment, his shoulders slumping.  “Will you come with me to Commander Holleran’s office?  He needs to know, too.”

Lowering her hand, Anne gave the boy an unimpressed Look.

He squirmed, then admitted, “I know why, but it’s hard to explain to someone who didn’t grow up with magic.”

The witch considered, nodding thoughtfully.  “Would I be wrong to assume that Wild Magic has something to do with this?”

“It does, but…”  Lord Calvin trailed off, glancing away.  “I told you the first part, but the second part’s easier if I tell you both at once.”

Suddenly, Anne understood.  For all that Lord Calvin had spent more time in the Muggle world than she could even dream of, for all that he was technically overage – the Head of his House – for all his magical power, he was still a boy.  A teenager, facing a situation that truly needed an adult – a mature, knowledgeable adult with the background to understand what was going on.  Certainly, he needed something from her specifically, hence why he had come to her rather than Giles, but he was also extending a trust rarely offered beyond family.

Rising, she inclined her head to the youth.  “Very well, Lord Calvin.  Come with me; Commander Holleran should already be in.”

Pure relief shone in sapphire eyes flecked with gold.

* * * * *

Three sentences into the explanation and Commander Holleran was already rubbing at his temples, wondering when insanity had become so…commonplace…in the SRU.  Probably about the same time his Sergeant had turned up in his office to announce that he’d become the proud father of two orphaned teenagers at the ungodly hour of three in the morning.

“I was under the impression that Animagus forms can only be transformed into at will or by spell,” the tall black man ground out.

“Most of the time, that’s true,” the brunet teenager replied, perching warily in one of the guest chairs.  “There’s times it can happen involuntarily, like if an Animagus is experiencing extreme emotions.”  He winced.  “That’s basically what happened with me and Alanna, back when Mister Rangford almost committed suicide.”

Holleran’s head came up at once, narrowing in on the boy.  “You were so frightened that you transformed?”

Lance flushed, but nodded.

“That can’t be what happened this time,” Commander Locksley argued.  “Not unless all of them were terrified in their sleep.  At the same time.”

“It’s not,” the teenager conceded.  He paused, thinking for a long moment.  Without looking up, he began, slow as he chose each word with care.  “You already know that Team One became Animagi after Morgana le Fay kidnapped them and Uncle Greg.”

Both adults nodded and Holleran leaned back in his seat, determined to wait the teenager out.

“Uncle Wordy and Uncle Sam are both Squibs, so they already had some magic, but their magic couldn’t have made them Animagi, not by itself.”

“No?” Commander Holleran inquired.  “Then why does Wordsworth have a different type of Animagus form?”

Sapphire came up.  “You mean, why is he a horse when everyone else is a predator?”

“Yes.”

Lance considered that, frowning to himself.  “Even if he had a latent Animagus form, he couldn’t access it,” the brunet explained.  “His core isn’t built right for it – same reason why he’s not a wizard.”

Norm found himself intrigued despite himself.  “So because his magical core is…limited…he couldn’t be either a wizard or an Animagus?”

“That would be correct,” Commander Locksley replied for the teenager.  “Most of the wizarding world believes that Squibs do not have any magic at all.  It was not until Lieutenant Parker’s first coma that I myself learned differently.”

“Part of that was Uncle Greg’s magical core,” Lance jumped in.  “Something – we still don’t know what – just about destroyed it.  The goblins basically had to rebuild it from the ground up.”

Ah.  Commander Holleran carefully did not ask what would’ve happened if the goblins hadn’t been able to rebuild his then-Sergeant’s magical core.  He had a feeling he already knew the answer, distasteful as it was.

Shifting back to the topic at hand, Norm briskly recapped.  “So.  Braddock and Wordsworth, despite having magic, could not have become Animagi.  Lane, Callaghan, Young, and Scarlatti didn’t have magic at all.  How on Earth did they become Animagi, then?”

Lance sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair.  “Because of my uncle’s first coma,” he replied, tone blunt.  “The goblins did everything they could, but it still wasn’t enough.”

Holleran froze, dread rising.

“Then how did Sergeant Parker recover?” Commander Locksley inquired, tone shrewd.

Soft, Lance whispered, “They wanted him to live.  They wanted him to live so bad that his magic was able to latch onto them enough for his core to stabilize itself.  But something like that, it goes two ways.”  Lifting his head, the boy admitted, “They have magic because my uncle gave it to them.”

“Parker is a Squib, just like Wordsworth and Braddock,” Anne protested.  “How could he give them enough magic to become Animagi?”

“He could because he’s not a regular Squib,” Lance explained.  “Anyone with Wild Magic will have an Animagus form; it’s part of our magic.  Since Team One was getting magic from Uncle Greg, that means they have Wild Magic, too, even Uncle Wordy and Uncle Sam.  They still aren’t Calvins, so they couldn’t get a gryphon Animagus form, but I bet that’s why everyone except Uncle Wordy has a wild predator form.”

Norm Holleran’s brows rose.  “What happened to the magic that Wordsworth and Braddock already had?”

“They still have it,” the teenager said.  “But it’s probably not regular wizarding magic anymore.”

“It would have converted into Wild Magic?” Anne questioned.

Lance tipped his hand back and forth in a so-so motion.  “Not really.  Magic doesn’t change once a wizard’s core has generated it, but if the core changes…”

“So does the magic,” Anne finished, nodding.  Gray eyes narrowed.  “So they’re not just Animagi, they’re Wild Mages.”

“Squibs, but yeah,” Lance agreed.  “Your average Animagus, they could probably go their whole lives without using their form if they wanted, but once a Wild Mage transforms, we gotta let the animal out every so often.”

Holleran frowned.  “Lieutenant Parker hasn’t.”

Anne snorted before the teen could reply.  “Parker treats the word impossible as nothing more than motivation,” she retorted.  “And if memory serves, he has gotten forced into his Animagus form several times.”

Lance hiked one shoulder and pointed to the Auror Commander.  “What she said.  If Uncle Greg isn’t landing himself in St. Mungo’s from whatever stunt he pulled on-duty, he’s comin’ home with magical exhaustion.  Believe me, even if his gryphon wanted to act up, half the time, he doesn’t have the magic to actually transform.”

Commander Holleran made a mental note to have a long discussion with his second about limits and pushing them.  “And you?  Your sister?”

“Every four, five months, we need to transform,” Lance replied.  “Six if we hafta push it a little or we were too magically exhausted to do it earlier.”  He shrugged.  “Usually, we just tuck in for the night in our bedrooms, same as always, only in our forms.”

“And that’s enough?” the commander pressed.

The teenager nodded.  “Yep.  If my magic’s acting up a lot, sometimes I’ll need two or even three nights, but that’s it.”  He hesitated, then added, “ ‘Lanna and I saw it coming.  We’ve kinda been tryin’ to talk to Team One about it, but, um, well…”

“They didn’t listen?” Commander Locksley suggested, tone dry.

Lance slumped and nodded.  “They did everything right, Madame Locksley.  Got registered, retrained, and everything, but they still wanted to treat it like a bad nightmare.  Not something they have to deal with for the rest of their lives.”

Holleran stifled a groan.  “And now it’s backfired on them.”

“Yes, sir, it has,” Lance confirmed.  “If we had to, ‘Lanna and I could change them back, but that’ll just kick the can down the road.”

The commander noted Locksley’s confused expression and made a second mental note to explain the idiom to her later, but focused on his lieutenant’s nephew.  “Understood.  What is your recommendation, young man?”

“Leave them like they are for a couple days,” Lance said at once.  Turning, he glanced up at Holleran’s counterpart.  “Madame Locksley, if they could stay at your estate, that keeps them here in Toronto, on familiar ground, but close to magical help if we need it.”

“And in a day or two?” Commander Holleran pressed.

Shifting back, Lance met the older man’s gaze steadily.  “Right now, their Animagus forms are so desperate to be used that they’re trapped.  A day, two, maybe three if it’s really bad, they’ll have burned off a lot of magic and their animal forms will settle down again.”

“Which will enable them to transform back,” Holleran concluded, earning a nod.  Glancing up, he asked, “Anne?”

“It makes sense to me, Norm,” the witch replied.  “As much as anything to do with Wild Magic does, anyway.”  She nodded to herself.  “The manor stable and paddock needs some cleaning, but my house-elves could use a change of pace.”

Sighing to himself, the commander visualized the duty schedules, making yet another mental note to keep the worst away from Team Two.  “All right.”  Flicking a glance at the boy, he said, “I’ll make the arrangements on my end, but once this is over, I’ll expect a full report from Sergeant Lane.”

Lance’s jaw twitched.  “Just as long as you don’t mind waiting until Aunt Sophie resurrects him a couple times.”

Both commanders stared, then Anne Locksley groaned.  “Don’t tell me Sergeant Lane was foolish enough to hide being an Animagus from his wife.”

“Okay, I won’t!” the teen chirped.

Commander Holleran’s temple throbbed and his hand twitched towards the drawer where he hid his extra-strength aspirin.  Or perhaps, on second thought, Commander Locksley might be kind enough to lend him a potion for migraines?

Chapter Text

Was it possible to die from embarrassment as a horse?  Because having his wife and all three of his daughters vying for turns to groom him was utterly mortifying.  Almost as bad as Lilly, Ally, and Claire arguing over what to name him!  He had a name, thank you!  Even a nickname – he did not need another name.

“Ginger!”

“Nuh-uh, that’s a girl name!”  Ally declared, jutting her chin in the air.

Lilly pouted back at her.  “Well he can’t be Black Beauty, he isn’t black.”

“I know that!” dummy.

“Tsornin?” Claire proposed in her best diplomatic tone.  “It means Sungold.”

“Bullseye!” Ally insisted, drawing an alarmed look from her stallion father – he wanted nothing to do with being named after a Toy Story character.

“It’s gotta be a cool name,” Lilly retorted, still sore over her sister’s refusal to consider ‘Ginger’.

“Bullseye is a cool name!”

Wordy huffed, dropping his equine head into Shelley’s hands.  Head down, he let out a whuffle/snort in an attempt to groan in dismay.

She laughed, rubbing behind his ears; he shifted, resting his head against her chest, and both ears lowered to half-mast as he enjoyed the attention.  “That’s what you get for waking up as a horse,” she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

He snorted, stomping a rear hoof.  He…really didn’t remember that…  Oh, he believed Shelley, the kids, and Healer Travis, but it was like there was a block in his mind.  He literally couldn’t envision himself as a man instead of a stallion.  It might’ve scared him if his magic hadn’t been flowing so strongly through him, constantly whispering that everything was normal.  He hadn’t been able to help himself; he relaxed into that reassurance, letting it soothe away all his anxieties and reach out to his herdmates through that amazing, intangible bond they all shared.  His friends, even if they were meat-eaters.

* * * * *

Sam’s shoulder was pressing into his, staying steady at his side as the wolf and the wild dog made their way around the small area that Commander Locksley’s house-elves had set up as an African habitat.

The other canine was guiding him, sticking close as Spike’s magic marked out the obstacles he couldn’t see.  They were fenced off from the others – Jules in a jungle-like habitat and Lou in what Sam described as a flat area with grass around the perimeter and a large span of dirt for the fox to burrow into.

With so little time to prepare, the house-elves hadn’t been able to set up a zoo-standard habitat, but they’d found a number of African plants and brush that they’d been able to set up in pots around the perimeter.  The scent of Toronto mixed with the tang of Africa and the air was much colder than the African desert, but Spike’s instincts hummed with delight.  The wild dog wished he could see; he felt more at home here than he had at his apartment, his Mamá’s house, or even that dog park Gwen had taken him to once.

He heard a soft whine from the wolf’s direction and halted, pricking his ears towards the sound.  Sam?

The silver outline around his friend had wilted, both ears tipping down as his tail tucked between his legs.  But at the question, he strove to perk his ears up again.  I’m okay.

The wild dog allowed one high-pitched bark and growled low.  Right…  I believe that like I believe Ed’s ‘I’m fine’s.

Sam swung his muzzle away, one foreleg lifting to drape over it an instant.

You worried about Jules? Spike asked, smug when the wolf snapped around, silver flaring with surprise.  Seriously, buddy, stop it.  No way she’ll dump you now.  He let that hang, then added, Even if you are a dog.

His friend growled and sprang, nipping at the other canine’s flank; Spike danced away, then took off at a run, barking loudly to get Lou’s attention – the fox had to be lonely, all by himself in the next habitat over.

* * * * *

Jules lounged in the tree that formed the center for the makeshift jungle-like habitat the house-elves had set up for her.  Her ears flexed forward and the jaguar snorted as she watched her mate chase Spike around the African habitat.  He was worrying over nonsense – wolf or not, he was her mate and nothing would ever change that.

Lowering her head again, Jules focused inward, doing her best to visualize herself as a human.  It wasn’t working – it felt strange, wrong, to see herself as anything other than a jungle predator.  A low growl built in her chest; she knew she was truly human.  Why would a jaguar fall in love with a wolf?  And how would a jaguar work as a cop?  It didn’t make sense, didn’t really fit with her memories, no matter what her instincts were telling her.

But the more she fought to reclaim her humanity, the harder it was; her magic surged through her, stronger and stronger, blurring her memories until a part of her was half-convinced that she really was a jaguar who worked with a whole team of wild animals – and one horse – to keep the peace.  It was stupid; she was embarrassed that her own magic would come up with such an absurd story.

Deep inside, her power lapped at her mind, sullen, but resigned in the face of the crystal-sharp logic she was wielding against it.  Jules felt her eyes burn with her native pink, along with the quiet admission from the magic that she was right.

Then why? Jules demanded.

For a moment, she thought it wouldn’t answer, that it would just shunt aside her question and try to convince her that it was right.

Then an image rose, pressing into her mind.  The figures were human-shaped, but blurry – yet she knew that was her and her teammates.  All in their human forms, just the day before.

* * * * *

“…kid thinks maybe we should try using our forms,” Wordy said, nonchalant, yet strung tight as a tripwire.

“And how’s that gonna work?” Sam asked, doubt ringing loud.

Wordy twitched.  “He said it can burn off the magic.  Even if it’s just for a couple hours.”

“No thanks,” Lou muttered, a sentiment they all agreed with.

As handy as their abilities were in human form, none of them would ever forget the pain of their first transformations.  The way their minds had been wrenched away and buried underneath their animal instincts.  If not for Sarge, they would’ve happily ripped each other to pieces and never known what they’d done.  What they’d lost, to that witch.

Quietly, to herself, Jules swore that if she never transformed again, it would still be too soon.

* * * * *

Her magic flooded her, calming her even as her body fought to heave.  Let me go! Jules cried, struggling against that unstoppable tide inside her soul.  I’m human!

Never again can you choose the other, her magic replied, as clear as if one of her teammates had said the words.

What…?

Pink hesitated, then surged forward, pulling her back, to that moment when she’d chosen to keep her connection to Sarge, come what may.  And as she stared at the memory of her past self, looking into keen brown eyes in a slim, petite woman’s face, she understood.

It wasn’t Morgana who made us Animagi, was it?

No, her magic replied, firm and sure.

Then who?

Her eyes were drawn ‘round, to the great Lion, and she gasped aloud.  Even in a memory, He seemed to gaze into the depths of her soul and she heard His deep, rumbling voice echo through every fiber of her being.

“Courage, dear heart.”

* * * * *

“A few days?” Sophie demanded.  “Can’t you change them back now?”

Lance sighed, crossing his arms as he looked at the black and dark-brown feathered hawk sitting on the nearby wooden perch.  “No,” he finally admitted.  “Their magic would fight me, Aunt Sophie, and it prolly wouldn’t last long.”

“A day,” Alanna agreed.  “If we’re lucky.”

Soph bristled and Ed let out a sharp cry of rebuke, partially spreading his wings.  This wasn’t the kids’ fault and he wouldn’t allow his wife to treat them like the enemy.  Especially when they both looked utterly miserable with their own conclusions.

Sapphire shifted briefly to Dean Parker, then back to Ed.  “You believe us, right?”

The hawk nodded.

“But you don’t remember?”

Ed hesitated, cocking his head to the side.  I remember, he finally said, but I just can’t see myself.  The hawk fidgeted, shifting from claw to claw.  I know I’m really human – doesn’t make sense any other way – but couldn’t tell you what that’s like.

“Why?” Dean asked, glancing towards his cousins.  “Wordy said the same thing – he knows he’s human, but whenever he tries to remember, it’s all hazy.”

Lance frowned, nodding agreement, though he cast a sharp glance towards the nearby stable.  “I bet the others are the same,” he mused, flicking his eyes towards his sister.  “You think maybe they went way too long?”

For a moment, Alanna’s forehead furrowed, then violet widened.  “I think they did,” she exclaimed.  Looking up, she focused on Clark and Sophie.  “You remember when I had my aneurysm?”

Soph flinched back and Clark sucked in a sharp breath.  “Yes,” the brunette confirmed.

Alanna’s gaze dropped and she shuddered a moment.  “The year after that, I had to get a surgery for Moyamoya – you remember that – but then the next year, Doctor Lopen said the coils in the aneurysm were being pushed back.”

Dean gulped, but his cousin nodded.  “He had to go back in, right, sis?”

The redhead nodded sorrowfully.  “He called it a Pulse Rider – they put it in, right at the aneurysm site, added more coils to fill up the aneurysm, then they soldered the coils to the Pulse Rider so everything would stay put.”

Lance cocked his head a hair.  “Didn’t the Healers want you to avoid using too much magic for a couple weeks after that?  Make sure your core adjusted to the new stuff?”

“Yeah,” Alanna replied.  “But I didn’t think to use my Animagus form before the surgery, so by the time the Healers cleared me, I was getting really jumpy.”

“Just like them,” Clark breathed.

Ed wished he could wrap the girl in a hug, even if that would ruin his ‘tough guy’ image, but hugs didn’t exactly work with wings – or talons.  How bad did it get?

A shiver worked its way up Alanna’s back.  “That night, after we got home from St. Mungo’s, my magic wouldn’t let me alone.  No matter what I did, I couldn’t focus on it.  And my fingers were letting off little sparks of violet, so I couldn’t even touch my laptop.”  She managed a shrug.  “I went to bed really early and set up the big perch I keep in my closet.  Spent the whole night as Flamewings, but the next morning, it took me awhile to visualize my human form.”  A second shrug.  “I was still jittery the whole day, but after a couple more nights, I was okay again.”

The hawk blinked.  You almost couldn’t change back? he ventured.

Alanna opened her mouth, but Lance cleared his throat, then repeated Ed’s question for Sophie and Clark.  Then he swept a hand towards the redhead.  Alanna glared at her brother and tossed her head.  “Animagi have to visualize their forms to transform,” she explained.  “Moffet’s Animagus spell can draw out a latent form and force it, but that’s the exception.”

“What about the reversal spell?” Dean asked.

“That will force the change, too,” Lance admitted, “But one of the reasons it works is because we know what we look like at a subconscious level.”

“Can that be blocked?” Clark questioned.  “Like, could my Dad’s magic stop the reversal spell from working?”

Both Calvins considered the question and Alanna finally nodded.  “I think it could,” she said.  “Temporarily block the subconscious self-image and the Animagus Reversal spell won’t work.”

“Which means our best option is waiting it out,” Lance murmured.  “Once the magic burns off and their inner animals calm down, they’ll be able to visualize again.”  He twitched, turning towards the stable and paddock again.  “Dang.  Might have to remind Uncle Wordy’s girls that he can still spook.”

Alanna groaned, burying her face in her hands.  “Are they trying to name him?”

The teenager tilted his head to the side, jaw furrowing.  “Sounds like it.”

At the intrigued look on Clark’s face, Ed declared, No!

“No?” Dean echoed, frowning at the hawk.

Beating his wings a moment, Ed snapped, No Animagus names!

His redheaded pseudo-niece snickered, mischief appearing.  Glancing up at her brother, she asked, in a would-be casual tone, “Should we tell Aunt Sophie and Clark about the Marauders?”

Lance’s grin was slow and wicked.  “You mean Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs (3)?”

“Who?” Clark asked as the bottom dropped out of Ed’s stomach.

No! he insisted as loudly as he could.

Grin growing even wider, Lance ticked off each name in reverse order.  “Prongs was James Potter, Harry Potter’s father – he was a stag Animagus.  Padfoot was Sirius Black; he was a black dog Animagus, but big enough that sometimes he got mistaken for the Grim.  Wormtail was Peter Pettigrew – definitely lived down to his rat form – and Moony was Remus Lupin.”  The teen paused.  “He wasn’t actually an Animagus; werewolves can’t become Animagi, but they can’t turn ‘em either.”

Dean and Clark’s eyes went wide.  “You mean, the other guys became Animagi to help their friend?” Clark asked.

“Yep, pretty much,” Lance confirmed.  “The four of ‘em were legendary pranksters at Hogwarts.  Wormtail’s name might be mud these days, since everyone knows he betrayed the Potters, but between the Marauders and the Weasley Twins, pranking’s pretty much an art form at the school.”

Ed hissed at the speculating, eager gleam in his son’s eyes.  “Is that why you guys named your forms?”

Both siblings nodded.

Greg didn’t name his, Ed argued.

Alanna giggled.  “No, he didn’t,” she agreed, glee ringing loud.  “Miss Marina did!”

The hawk’s beak dropped open in utter horror.

“Who didn’t do what?” Clark asked, confused.

“Your Dad said my Dad didn’t name his form,” Dean replied.  “Cuz?”

“Elias,” Lance said before his sister could respond.

The hawk squalled loudly, wondering if he could get away with banging his head against his wooden perch.

Lance snickered.  “Don’t worry, Uncle Ed, we won’t use Tweety.  Or Scott.”

You’d better not!

“Sis, go help Uncle Wordy,” the teen added.  “Ally shouts Bullseye any louder and he’s totally gonna spook.”

“On my way,” Alanna agreed, hurrying towards the stable area.

“Dean, can you help Clark and Aunt Sophie?  I gotta tell the house-elves that they don’t hafta keep Jules and Lou all by themselves.”

“And name them?” Dean inserted slyly.

Lance smirked right back.  “Better me than Ally.”

Ed sulkily admitted to himself that the kid had a point there.

* * * * *

Prancing back and forth on his front hooves, the stallion snorted uneasily, wishing he could escape his stall for the open – and quieter – paddock beyond.

“Bullseye!”

“Ginger!”

“Bullseye!”

“Ginger!”

“Girls, enough,” Shelley ordered, swooping down.

“Bullseye!” Ally screeched.

“Ginger!” Lilly howled right back.

“Silencio Locus.”  The Silencing Charm snapped up around the stall; the stallion whirled, eyes wide and starting to roll as he reared up, snorting hard and pawing the air.  The redhead behind him leapt backward and blurred; a violet-plumed bird hovered in the air, piping a soothing song that seemed to echo inside the stallion’s very soul.

He half-reared again, but already the tension was draining out and the draft horse’s ears flicked forward and back before settling in a half-resting pose.  One back hoof stamped twice and he whickered at the bird, stretching out a velvety nose towards her when she blurred back to human and landed with a soft thump on the straw.

“You okay, Uncle Wordy?”

For a moment, the name was strange, then he whuffed at her, lowering his head into her hands.  I lost it again, didn’t I?

“You spooked,” ‘Lanna murmured.  “Can’t say I blame you, not with Lilly and Ally screeching up a storm over there.”

Swinging his head to the side, Wordy stiffened at the sight of his wife and daughters staring at him with fear in their eyes.

‘Lanna sighed, then her eyes glowed and he could hear the rustle of wind and the creak of the building around them.  Reaching up, the redhead rubbed Wordy’s equine head and gave his daughters a stern look.

“What’s the first rule about being around horses?”

“Don’t yell,” Shelley replied before any of her daughters could.  “Thank you, Alanna; that could’ve been bad.”

“Yes, it could’ve,” Alanna agreed, fixing her eyes on the girls.  “Your Dad can spook in his form.  And if he spooks, he’s going to act like any other horse, understand?  He could hurt you without even meaning to.”  Violet narrowed.  “Don’t you dare do that to him; don’t you dare make him live with knowing he hurt any of you.”

Three little shame-filled faces gazed up and Lilly sniffled, right on the edge of tears.  Wordy whickered, reaching out his nose for his daughters.  He jumped when Lilly slammed into the stall wall.  “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Alanna opened up the stable door and ushered Lilly inside, coaching her to hug Wordy’s head and not try to hug him around his chest.  For his part, the stallion held still, letting his daughter whisper apologies as she wrapped her arms around his long equine muzzle and neck.

Outside, Ally was still pouting, her lip jutting out.  “Bullseye,” she insisted, though much softer than before.

“No,” Alanna countered, frowning down at the little girl.  “Not Bullseye and not Ginger, either.  Not after you got so loud you spooked your Dad.”

“Tsornin?” Claire suggested, shy and hopeful.

“Maximus.”  Alanna grinned at both girls in front of her and Lilly’s curious gaze.  “He’s the horse in Tangled.”

Wordy threw up his head, snorting.

“Did I mention he’s, like, the best cop in the whole movie?”

One ear pricked forward and the other swiveled back.  Cop?

“Well, more like a guard horse, but he’s still the best one in the movie.  All the human guards are idiots.”

He blew air at the redhead and stomped his rear hooves.  Both ears flicked back.  I’m not getting outta this, am I?

“Nope, but neither is anyone else,” Alanna informed him cheerfully.

The draft horse heaved the largest, most resigned sigh he could.  You just had to pick a Disney movie, didn’t you?

Shelley giggled when Alanna translated for him.  “Look on the bright side, Kevin,” she suggested.  “At least it’s not Toy Story.”

He huffed, but his wife had a definite point there.

* * * * *

The Locksley house-elves were a bit dubious at the idea of letting all the wild animals – and the horse – interact without any barriers in between them; they’d only put Uncle Sam in with Uncle Spike because they were both canines from Africa.  But once Lance called Uncle Lou over and cast the Animagus Detection Charm on him, the elves agreed.

As they popped away, Lance crouched down on the other side of the fox’s enclosure.  “Thanks, Uncle Lou.”

Any time, kit.

He snickered.  “Gryphon Animagus, Uncle Lou.  Not a fox kit.”

The small black fox yipped at him.

“You got any ideas for you and Uncle Spike?”

Tilting his head, Uncle Lou asked, For?

“Your Animagus names.  ‘Lanna had to go rein in Uncle Wordy’s girls ‘fore they spook him and Clark’s totally coming up with a name for Uncle Ed right now, so…”

Fox ears pricked forward.  And what about Sarge?

“Elias,” Lance replied at once, grinning at the startled yelp.  “So if you got any ideas, now’s the time.”

Uncle Lou’s ears flattened and he let out an unhappy noise.  You sure ‘bout this, kit?

“Yep.  Speak now or forever hold your peace when Ally finds out you’re a fox.  She gets to you and you’re totally gonna end up as Robin.”

The black fox shuddered from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail.  Then he turned, gazing towards where Uncle Spike was wrestling with Uncle Sam, the two canines nipping at each other as they played.

Autolycus.

“Okay.  Which one?”

The fox grunted.  Spike.  Autolycus is the King of Thieves.

“Ah.  Smart and wicked good with disarming traps, right?”

Uncle Lou yipped amusement and craned back to look up at the black jaguar in her tree.  Jules should be Xena, the Warrior Princess.  She’s got an all-black color scheme going, plus those silvery spots.  Kinda like Xena’s chakram.

Lance snickered, “She’s totally gonna kill you, you know?”

The fox turned his head, tongue lolling out.  Sam can be Argo, Xena’s horse.  The pointed ears flicked back.  Just don’t tell him Argo was actually a girl.

“You are so dead.”

A foxy grin joined the lolling tongue.  I’ll be Iolaus.

“Same show?”

Uncle Lou made a noise, rocking his head back and forth.  There were actually two, he explained.  Hercules: The Legendary Journeys and Xena: Warrior Princess.  Iolaus is Herc’s best friend, so he’s mostly in the first one.  Autolycus kinda bounced between ‘em and Xena started off as a villain in Herc’s show, but she was so popular, she got her own.

The brunet teen nodded thoughtfully.  “And Argo went with Xena, huh?”

Waving his tail, the black fox yipped an affirmative.

“What about Uncle Ed?”

The fox let out a chortling sound. I try to name Ed after somebody from those shows and he’ll kill me.  ‘Specially after we cast him as the gardener for our Lord of the Rings prank.  Spike’ll think it’s funny, and Sam and Jules won’t care.

“Copy that, Uncle Lou.”

* * * * *

Clark rolled his eyes.  His Dad had shot down Silverwings, Hawkeye, and Tobias so fast it hadn’t even been funny.  So now he and Dean were looking up hawk names with their smartphones.

“Gwain means hawk in Welsh,” he offered.

His Dad let out a short cawing noise and Dean shook his head.  “Nothing that sounds like something from Camelot, Clark.”

Ooops.  “Sorry Dad,” Clark apologized.  “No messing with Team Four’s shtick, huh?”

The red-tailed hawk dipped his head.

“Squall?” Dean suggested.  “Tempest?”

Two sharp caws answered him.

“How about Horus?” Clark proposed.

“No Egyptian gods,” Lance interjected, pulling all eyes to him.

“You name the others that fast?” Clark asked, arching a brow.

“Uncle Lou had some ideas.  Uncle Spike laughed, Uncle Sam groaned, and Aunt Jules kinda liked it, so…”  Glancing at his Dad as if he’d said something – and he probably had – Lance snickered.  “Nah, I asked, but Uncle Lou said you’d have him for lunch if he tried comin’ up with your name.”

The hawk stood a little straighter, a smug gleam in light blue eyes.

“Hey Lance?” Clark began, waiting for the other teen to look over.  “Didn’t you say your Dad taught you falconry?”

The brunet frowned, a flicker of pain appearing before he looked up again.  “Yeah, he did.  You wanna know what my bird’s name was?”

Both his friends nodded.

“Aeolus,” Lance replied, tone soft.  “After the Greek god of the wind.”

Arching a brow, Dean asked, “What about the no gods thing?”

The brunet grimaced.  “Major gods tend to be different incarnations of demons,” he explained.  “No way I’d use Zeus, Hera, or Ares, but the minor gods are more likely to be made up.”

“Does that matter?” Sophie inquired, still unhappy with her husband, but curious.

Shifting back on his heels, Lance considered.  “Maybe not,” he conceded.  “But names do have power.”  Shrugging, he added, “There are enough names out there without tempting fate.”

“So…Aeolus, huh?” Clark remarked, glancing over at the attentive bird listening in.

The hawk tilted his head to the side in interest, but something about the look on Lance’s face…  The other boy wouldn’t protest if they went with it, but every time he heard that name…

“How about Zephyr,” Dean suggested after a quick search on his phone.  “Greek god of the west wind.”

“Sounds kinda cool,” Clark remarked, watching his father closely.

The red-tailed hawk’s feathers flared out and he cast Clark an imperious glare.  But, after a few moments, the feathers smoothed back down and he let out a – relatively – soft screech.

His friends grinned and Clark tossed them a thumbs-up before leaning forward.  “So?  What’re we callin’ Lou, Spike, Sam, and Jules?”

Lance snickered.  “You know, I never realized before.  Uncle Lou’s a bigger geek than Uncle Spike is – he just hides it better.”

“That bad?” Dean groaned.

The snicker grew louder.  “Ever heard of a TV show called Xena: Warrior Princess?”

[3] Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aid to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present The Marauder’s Map  ~Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Chapter Text

The blond wolf lay on a bed of straw, listening to the patter of rain as it hit the stable’s roof.  All over again, he silently thanked Sarge’s kid for insisting that the six Team One Animagi could mingle, instead of being locked up in five different locations, only one of which had any shelter.

Sure, it had been a little nerve-wracking when the rain started coming down and he, Jules, Spike, and Lou scrambled for the stable – only to nearly run right into the spook-prone draft horse within – but Ed had come through in a pinch, managing to calm down his best friend even in his red-tailed hawk form.

* * * * *

Sam, at the head of the pack, slid to a halt inside the stable.  Inside his stall, Wordy was already prancing, blowing and snorting, eyes beginning to roll with equine terror.

Wordy, it’s us, Lou cried.

The stallion let out a scream, rearing up and pawing the air.

Wordy, calm down, Jules urged, padding forward to gaze up at the draft horse.  Wordy, we will not hurt you – you’re our friend, our pridemate.

A second equine scream cut the air as Wordy backed away, rearing up again; the ears on his head were pinned back, flat against his skull.  As soon as his front hooves touched the ground, he whirled, kicking out in a buck.

Get in here, Ed ordered, pulling all their eyes over to an open stall with a free-standing perch set up inside.  The red-tailed hawk atop the perch let out a hiss when they didn’t immediately move.

The four predators obeyed, sprinting for the stall and ducking behind the wall.  Sam felt a pang in his heart – if Wordy lost it whenever they got close, then who knew what might make the rest of them lose it.  And if they did…  Sarge wasn’t here to save them from themselves this time.

Ed waited until the movement inside the stall halted before he looked up at their packmate.  Word.  Get it together, buddy.

The stallion reared, nostrils flared wide, hooves thrashing, and snorting angrily.

I know, buddy, I know.  They came runnin’ in here and scared you.  But they aren’t gonna hurt you, any more than I would.   The hawk bobbed his head.  I know you can feel the links, Word; we all can.  What’s that telling you, pal?

Wordy reared again, but not as high as before and the eye-rolling was beginning to subside.

That’s it, buddy.  Keep calming down; we got all day.  How ‘bout some water?

The snort sounded suspicious, but the draft horse moved to his water trough nonetheless.  Sam heard him lapping and then chewing, and dared to sneak a glance around the stall’s wall.

Not yet, Sam.

Both ears pricked up at Ed in silent question.

He freaked when I flew in here, the hawk explained.  Once he calmed down, he was okay, but he never got introduced to us in our forms.

Hope peeked through.  And then he won’t freak on us?

That’s the idea, Ed replied.   Haven’t been able to test it out yet.

It took another few minutes for the stallion to completely calm down, but then…  Ed?

Right here, buddy.

There was a long moment of utter silence.  Not again… Wordy groaned.

Easy, pal.  Spike, Jules, Lou, and Sam came runnin’ in here just a minute after I got you calmed down.

Sam winced, cringing back behind the stall’s front wall.

From his stall, Wordy let out a lusty, resigned-sounding whicker.  Guys?

We’re here, Wordy, Jules replied, though she remained where she was, safely out of the stallion’s line of sight.

We can stay in here, Sam offered, glancing up at the patter on the stable roof.  At least we’re outta the rain.

Wordy stamped a hoof, frustrated.  Why do I keep freaking on you guys?

Because you’re a horse in a sea of meat-eaters? Lou suggested.

Another stamp and a whinny of agitation.

Word, stop, Ed ordered.   You’re gonna drive yourself nuts again.   Turning his head, blue hawk eyes focused on the four predators.  Lou, walk, don’t run.

The fox whined, but obeyed, slinking out of the stall with his head and tail down.  In the other stall, Wordy let out a grumbling neigh and Sam heard him back away.  The next few minutes hung, tension stringing tight around the three hiding in the stall.

Finally, a happy fox yip rang out, mixed with the stallion’s deeper whicker.

Okay, Ed breathed.  One down.  What do you think, Word?  Spike or Sam?

Sam, Wordy replied.  Last thing I want is to kick Spike in the head.

The trio in the larger stall winced, but Sam nodded up at the hawk and carefully padded out into view.

* * * * *

Spike had gone after him – both introductions had been fraught with anxiety, but they’d gone about as well as they could go.  Jules had been the hardest and she’d had to retreat several times before Wordy could clamp down on his fear enough to let her close, but once he’d touched his muzzle to theirs, he didn’t spook again.

Sam had a feeling his packmate’s magic had marked them, allowing recognition to bypass the part of Wordy’s equine brain that was hardwired for fight-or-flight.  He wondered idly if that would last or if they’d have to do it every time they transformed.  He also wondered what it would take for Wordy’s horse form to let Sarge close – with wings, claws, and talons, the gryphon was probably right out of a horse’s worst nightmare.

At any rate, by the time the Locksley house-elves turned up, it had been raining hard.  Hard enough that between Spike’s mournful, pleading whimpers, Jules’ light hiss, and the puppy eyes that Lou managed to adopt, the elves had bowed to the inevitable and allowed the four predators to bed down in the larger stall that Ed was already using.  The straw they laid down for bedding was a little scratchy against Sam’s fur, but far preferable to being cold, wet, and miserable.

Curling just a little tighter on the straw, the wolf cocked his ear towards the patter of rain and dozed off.

* * * * *

That night, Sam dreamed.  Running in a pack, racing through the African brush in pursuit of a lone, terrified gazelle.  The predator inside him slavered for fresh meat, yet his human soul couldn’t help but slot a familiar draft horse in place of the gazelle.  The wolf howled, racing ahead and leaping for the prey, oblivious to Sam’s yell of denial.

The dream twisted and Sam fell through nothingness, crashing into water so cold that he gasped involuntarily – liquid rushed in and he clawed for the surface.  Reflexive coughing only brought more water sweeping into his lungs and his fingers brushed pebbles.  Looking up, he opened his eyes and they burned from the feel of the water around him.  He realized, dimly, that he was upside down, clawing deeper into the water, but he couldn’t seem to figure out which way to turn.

Around the edges, sight dimmed and his struggles grew fainter.  He heard a loud sound from below him – or was that above him? – but as his air ran out, he was slipping away.  Couldn’t think, couldn’t focus…

An arm wrapped around his chest, pulling him…somewhere…  It felt like he was being dragged down, but the water ripples didn’t match what his instincts were telling him.  He closed his eyes, only to jerk as something hit his face.  Hard.

Water erupted around them and he inhaled automatically, gagging as air fought with liquid.  The other pounded on his back, triggering great wracking coughs and sputters as he hacked up the water that had nearly drowned him.  He thought he sucked in another breath, finally getting oxygen, but his vision blacked out too fast to tell.

* * * * *

The crackling of a fire formed the background for his return to the land of the living.  Sam groaned, clutching his head as he lay on his side.  It throbbed, adding to the raw feeling in his throat and a stinging sensation in his eyes.

“All right there, Sam?”

Sam jolted up, twisting around towards the fire.

Matt sat at the edge of the fire on a fallen log, a long stick in his hand.  He looked just like Sam remembered, albeit with a casual gray shirt, blue jeans, and brown hiking boots instead of his soldier’s uniform.  The eyes gave him away, though – they glowed silver.

“You’re not Matt.”  A low, furious hiss that rasped and scraped his throat.

The other cocked his head to the side, unconcerned.  “You trust him.”

His fists clenched.  “Yeah, I trust him.  That doesn’t mean I trust you.”

Before his eyes, ‘Matt’ blurred, turning into him, pitch-black with yellow eyes.  “You prefer this?”

Sam shivered, a lump forming – even the voice had changed from Matt’s to his.  Mute, he shook his head.  It took a moment to get enough air and indignation back.  “We have nothing to talk about!”

His magic shifted again, back into Matt’s form, and gave him a chiding look.  “You chose to accept me.  Just as you chose your team over the memory of your friend.”

The lump grew bigger and tears stung his eyes.  Sam swallowed with an effort and ignored the way his voice shook as he spoke.  “You almost made me hurt my friends.”

For a moment, ‘Matt’ looked confused, then silver eyes cleared and he broke eye contact to look down at the stick he was prodding the campfire with.  “I was not supposed to come out like that.”

The blond sniper blinked, shifting on the ground as hard earth dug into his hip.  “You weren’t?” he questioned.  “We had no idea we had Animagus forms; we never woulda even tried to shift.”

‘Matt’ rested his chin on his free hand, pondering as he stirred the fire.  “I do not know how we were to come out,” he admitted.  “Only that we were forced out before it was time.”

Sam stiffened up even further.  “Does that mean if Morgana had waited a couple more days, we wouldn’t have lost our minds?”

The other shrugged, an unhappy expression on his face.  “I don’t know.”

Deep inside, Sam seethed, but the logical, rational side of his mind reached his tongue first.  “Why’d you force us into you?”

“Because,” the wolf replied, “We are part of you.  You cannot survive without us.”

Sam’s jaw dropped open.  “We need to transform?” he blurted.

‘Matt’ nodded and cocked his head to the side.  “Why do you think it’s called Wild Magic?”

* * * * *

“Do the Animagus forms go back to Narnia?” Jules asked, curiosity ringing.

Next to her in a tree loft that reminded her of the Swiss Family Robinson Treehouse, her companion nodded.  Aside from the glowing pink eyes, her magic had transformed into a near-perfect copy of Mercia Callaghan, although the magic’s stilted, formal speech wasn’t at all what Jules remembered of her mother.

“All of us are of Narnia,” her ‘mother’ explained.  “Of old, transformations were not needed, not while our wielders stood on Narnia’s land and soil, and sailed upon Narnia’s waters.”

“But Earth is different?”

The jaguar let out an assenting rumble.  “Jadis drove them out quickly.  The land was still new enough that decay had not yet touched it.”

Jules frowned.  “Decay?  What decay?”

Sorrow shone in the depths of glowing pink.  “The Creator makes all things good.  Perfect and pleasing in His eyes.  But always Evil seeks to twist the Creator’s good works.”

“Trying to destroy them,” Jules murmured, earning a nod.

“Once Evil touches a world, its song will dim over time as decay creeps in.  It is why all things must perish.”  Her ‘mother’ looked away a moment before continuing.  “But that is not the end, Julianna.  Once a world has perished, the Creator remakes it anew, redeeming what the Enemy sought to steal from Him.”

“He redeems everyone?” Jules asked, hope ringing, only to feel it fade when the jaguar shook her head.

“No,” her magic admitted.  “He has granted His creatures Free Will, the greatest Gift He could give.  For Love is only Love when given Freely, Julianna.”

Jules swallowed hard, understanding.  “But if you give someone the freedom they need to love you, you take the chance that they’ll hate you instead.”

“It is so,” her ‘mother’ agreed.  “Your world has lived many ages longer than Narnia.  Its song grows dimmer by the year.”

“So Wild Mages have to transform to keep their magic under control?”

Her ‘mother’ shook her head.  “No.”  She shuddered.  “You live closed in.  Surrounded by metal and things forged by man.  No trees, no meadows, no swift running rivers.  We are wild, we must be free.”

The brunette’s breath caught.  “We have to transform to keep you from dying?”

Miserable, the jaguar lost her hold on her mother’s form, shifting into a pitch black mirror twin of Jules herself, with vivid yellow eyes instead of glowing pink.

“We must be free or we will be wild no longer.”

Horror pulled the air from her lungs – for all the struggles Sarge had had with his magic, she couldn’t imagine him not having it.  Or worse, losing the very essence of who he was.  And if that went for all of them now…

“You weren’t just protecting yourselves, were you,” Jules said numbly.  “You were protecting us.”

A simple, “Yes,” had never sounded so terrifyingly final.

Chapter Text

He lifted his head, scanning his surroundings as he stood on top of a hill tall enough that he wondered if it could really be called a hill any more.  There were trees, but scattered and distant – most of the ground was coated in grass, some patches taller than others.  A breeze flitted around him, bringing the scent of the outdoors to him, and he resisted the urge to laugh giddily.

This…this was his real home, he knew it in the depths of his soul.  But not yet – it wasn’t ready, he wasn’t ready.  There was much yet to be done, yet to be built.

“Not bad, huh?”

He turned, eyes widening at the voice.  “Mack?”

Behind him was his old training officer, dressed in street clothes, with a wry look on his face.  Taller than Spike, a bit on the hefty side, with dark-brown hair and a clean shaven face.  Except…  The real Mack had been too focused on his wife and daughter to spend much time away from the city.  In fact, Mack hadn’t liked the woods at all, a fear he’d passed onto his born-and-raised city-slicker rookie; Spike had never been truly comfortable with the outdoors until he’d become an Animagus.

And the real Mack sure hadn’t had glowing emerald eyes.

Spike’s own eyes narrowed.  “What do you want?”

‘Mack’ sighed, hands slipping into his jeans’ pockets.  “I’m not your enemy, Spike.”

“If you’re not, how come you keep forcing me to transform?” Spike demanded.  “This is the second time you did that!”

‘Mack’ cast him a sharp look.  “The first time was your own fault.”

“Say what?” Spike demanded incredulously.

Without turning a hair, his magic nodded.  “You were feeling too many things at once.  Everything building and feeding on itself, in an endless spiral.”  Another sharp look.  “Despair.  Anger.  Depression.  Self-hatred.”

His throat bobbed up and down in a gulp.  “I transformed because I lost control?”

“Yes and no,” ‘Mack’ replied, rubbing a hand through his short hair.  “Simply losing your temper or falling into depression is not enough.  I cannot save you from your own destructive behavior.”

The raven shivered.  “But if it happens too thick and fast?”

Without glancing towards him, the wild dog nodded.  Then his expression cleared and glowing emerald met Spike’s brown.  “Do you remember Danny Rangford?”

“Of course, I…”  Spike choked off, brown widening.  “The kids lost control,” he breathed.  “Transformed involuntarily.”

‘Mack’ nodded once.  “Any Animagus might’ve,” he said.  “We are more sensitive because we are wild, but it’s not unheard of for Animagi to transform while under extreme stress.”

Casting the other a skeptical glance, the lean man asked, “And you just know that?”

“I do,” ‘Mack’ confirmed, unruffled.

He scowled, but…  “Okay, fine, the first time was my fault.  But you came out and I even transformed to help out Sarge, so how come this time happened?”

‘Mack’ shifted back on his heels, considering.  “For your friends,” he began, “they have not transformed for many months.  We cannot be caged; we must be free.”

Spike nodded unconsciously, remembering how strongly the woods had called to him, the day of the dragon attack.

“But that is not the only factor,” ‘Mack’ continued.  “Magical cores can only hold so much magic at once.”

His breath caught.  “Queenscove’s core-healing potions?  That’s why it happened?”

A grunt and a nod.  “Some magic is always in use,” ‘Mack’ informed his attentive listener.  “As with blood and air, so it is with magic.  It circulates, so that it never grows old or stale.”

“And the core keeps generating new magic?”

Another grunt.  “Before, all of you needed healing,” the magic explained.  “Your leader was the worst, but your cores were new and fragile.  Every scrap of power was needed to stabilize them and ensure they developed correctly.”

“But now, all our cores are good, so they’re getting over-charged?” Spike ventured.

“Yes,” ‘Mack’ confirmed, a sour note to his tone.  “You have used me but rarely.  The others have not used us at all.  We needed to be free and you needed to use up the excess.”

“And what would’ve happened if we didn’t use up the excess magic?”

‘Mack’s’ smile was grim.  “Magic must be used, one way or another.  Even for Squibs.”

Spike felt a chill up his spine.  ‘Mack’ hadn’t really answered his question, but the reason was obvious.  How could he, when it was really anyone’s guess how their excess magic would’ve gone about finding an outlet.

* * * * *

Lou crossed his arms as he glowered at his magic.  “Lis is off-limits,” he snapped.  “So are my parents and Spike!”

The form in front of him shifted until he was looking at his pitch-black mirror twin.  Vivid yellow eyes met his.  “You prefer this?” it asked in his voice.

“Nope, but I’m guessin’ you’re not just gonna go away ‘cause I asked nicely.”

The Shade squirmed, but nodded.  “Need to talk.”

“About what?”

The fox cringed away.  “Can give you answers.”

The constable shook his head.  “Look.  The kids tried to warn us; we didn’t listen and that’s why we’re stuck right now.”  He stopped, forcing himself to breathe.  To calm down a bit.  After a few minutes, he said, “I don’t need the nitty-gritty.  You don’t have to talk me into using my form more from now on.  Just…  Don’t do that again.  Don’t hide the truth from us!”

Yellow eyes studied him doubtfully.  “Would’ve panicked,” the Shade pointed out.

“Yeah, we prolly would’ve,” Lou admitted.  “But Ed said he couldn’t figure out why Sophie was freaking, not till Clark came in and helped.  You did that to him!”  His fists had balled again and he uncurled them with an effort.  “So, seriously,” he growled.  “Don’t do that again.  We’ve had enough of getting manipulated by our own magic!”

The shout rang out and the Shade took a step back at the vehemence in Lou’s voice.  For several minutes, neither of them spoke as they stared at each other, one with righteous anger and the other with misery written all over the pitch-black form.

At last, the Shade nodded.  “No more lies,” it promised.  “Cannot promise more; we are meant to help our bearers, even if they do not want help.”

Lou’s eyes narrowed.  “You mean, there are times when you’re gonna act on your own?”

“Yes,” the Shade confirmed.  “We are wild – free and independent.  We cannot be controlled.”

Marginally, the lean, tan-skinned man relaxed.  “You fight back against mind-magics.”

A nod.  “And…”  The magic considered.  “We…nudge.  Comfort…  Guide?”

Fists began to curl again, then a thought darted through Lou’s mind and he jerked.  “What, like when Lance got De-Aged?”

The Shade nodded eagerly.  “Guide,” it emphasized.  “Did not remember…magic helped.”

Thoughtful, Lou tilted his head.  “And like Sarge’s sixth sense, too, right?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that mean you could’ve let us remember the truth and just helped us calm down?”

The fox flinched, but shook its head ‘no’.

“No?”

The magic shifted uneasily.  “You did not hear us,” it pointed out.  “We were crying out, but you would not shift.”

Lou frowned.  “We were gettin’ jittery, but I don’t remember hearing anything.”  He stiffened.  “That’s your point, isn’t it?  We have you, but we couldn’t hear you.”

A sorrowful nod.

The constable swallowed.  “Will we be able to hear you now?”

The fox tilted its head the opposite way Lou had.  “Not know.  Hope so.”

Looking down at the ground, Lou considered, then nodded to himself and came to a decision.  “Okay.  Let’s say this doesn’t fix the problem.  What do we gotta do to start hearing you ourselves, so we don’t got to wind up here again.”

His magic perked up with a hopeful smile.  “Can teach you how to listen.”

“Copy that,” Lou acknowledged.  “Better get started then, yeah?”

“Yes,” the other agreed.

Chapter Text

Where he found himself was beautiful, he did have to admit that.  The tall man looked out at the large lake in front of him, its waves lapping against the banks and a small beach visible further along the shore.  Behind him, there was a stand of trees bridging the gap between the lake and a large meadow beyond.  Grass grew in the meadow, sprinkled with wildflowers, and what looked like some sort of animal trail winding through it.

A breeze nipped around him and he heard birdsong from the direction of the woods past the meadow.  The trees creaked, their sound intermixing with the bird calls and the wind moving through their branches.  An oasis of wild tranquility, meant for him and him alone.

Something tugged at his sixth sense and he turned, half curious and half wary.  As soon as he saw it, fury bubbled up, outrage fueling him.  How dare it come around here – after everything it had done to him.  To them.  He was inside its guard in a split second, fist swinging right into its jaw with every ounce of his strength.

It went down hard, but he felt not a lick of regret.  “Get lost,” he snarled.  Whimpering, it looked up, but he cut it off again.  “I said get lost!  And don’t come back!”

It whined.  “Not…want…?”

“No, I don’t,” he growled.  “After what you did to me, did to my friends, if I could get rid of you, I would.”  A sharp gesture and the creature cringed.  “I know it doesn’t work like that.  I said ‘yes’ back then and I can’t take that back.”  Gray narrowed dangerously.  “That doesn’t mean I gotta put up with you!”

“Don’t want to hurt,” the creature pleaded.  “Just…talk…?”

“Oh, gee, now you wanna talk?”  Sparks fairly shot from the big man’s glare.  “Well, too bad; I don’t.  Get lost and don’t come back!”

Whirling, he stalked away, along the bank in the opposite direction of the beach without a second glance at his pitch-black mirror twin curled up on the ground behind him.  He was so sick of magic treating them like they were pawns.  Puppets, to be led around by the nose and manipulated by invisible strings.

So sick of being afraid of what could happen if he ever lost control of his own strength.  What could happen if he spooked at the wrong moment and hurt one of his friends.  His wife, his daughters.  If he’d known that night what would happen, he would’ve looked Aslan in the eye and said, ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’

A tear slid down and he shook it away, dragging up his anger as a shield.  He was tired of it all, sick of it all – and getting forced into his stallion form was just the straw that had finally broken the camel’s back.  He’d put up with so much ever since finding out about magic and now…  Now he was done.

The Squib Auror, the Squib Lestrange – born of rape and fear and manipulation.  Hurting the people he cared about just by existing.  If he hadn’t been at the hospital, if he’d been at home…  Could he have crushed Shelley by accident?  If not for ‘Lanna’s intervention earlier, could he have kicked one of his daughters?  Even the possibilities haunted him and he hugged himself as he walked, shivering.

He couldn’t live like this, with the fear of losing control, at the beck and call of something born of his sire’s dark, blackened and blighted soul.  No matter what, he could never truly escape the fact that he was a Lestrange.  Maybe it wasn’t that much of a surprise that his magic was so adept at twisting him…look where it had come from, after all.

Around him, the sunlight slipped away and Wordy halted, looking up at the full moon rising over the lake.  He shivered as its light fell on him, as if that light could awaken the evil in his blood just as surely as it woke a werewolf’s curse.

Then his eyes fell on the lake.

* * * * *

Just as he joined ‘Matt’ at the campfire, reaching out to take a marshmallow skewer, Sam snapped up straight, something inside him screaming in terror.

* * * * *

Jules, about to ask her ‘mother’ another question, froze in place for an instant before whirling and launching herself for the tree house’s exit.

* * * * *

“Wordy, no!” Spike blurted, catching ‘Mack’ off-guard.  Desperate brown focused on the image of his mentor.  “We gotta get to Wordy!  Now!”

* * * * *

Magic howled warning and Lou paled, skin going almost as white as his teammates’ usual skin tones.  Without a word to his pitch-black twin, he started running, instinctively focusing on his team leader’s presence inside his soul.

* * * * *

He plunged into the water, gasping a little at the coldness of it, then started stroking out.  Away from the shore and towards the full moon that beckoned.  He focused on that light, letting it drown out everything else inside of him.  Rationality shrieked and he slashed back at it with guilt.  He could have hurt Shelley.  He could have hurt Ally.  Lilly.  Claire.  He’d nearly hurt ‘Lanna and totally gone nuts when his teammates got close.

He wasn’t gonna let it happen again, no matter what.

* * * * *

“Where is he?” a voice snarled, yanking the figure up from the ground.

The figure whimpered, shaking its head.  “Not want,”  it wailed.  “Hates now.”

“So you just let him go?”

The wailing grew louder, more despairing.  “Hurting.  Always hurting.  Can’t change.  Right to hate…”

Hissing disgust, the other hurled the figure back down and stepped over it, scanning along the shoreline in either direction.  There wasn’t much time.

* * * * *

Almost…almost there.  He kept swimming, a sure freestyle, turning his head to catch a breath of air with each alternate stroke.  Kicking steadily through the water.  His muscles were quivering – no way he could make it back in.  That was fine, he wasn’t planning on turning around anyway.

Dimly, he wondered what would happen.  After all, this was just a dream, so it wasn’t like he could actually drown.

Shaking away the thoughts, he put his head down and kept swimming.  Just a little farther…

* * * * *

“I can help you.”

Whirling, a glare boring into the newcomer.  “No thanks.”

The other crossed its arms.  “Don’t be stubborn.  You and I both know what he’s doing.”

“Yeah, but why?  Just tell me why.”

The pitch-black figure with vivid yellow eyes shook its head.  “The why must wait.  He is almost past the barrier.”

Dread slithered down his spine.  “The barrier?”

“The barrier that guards this place from Tash’s servants.  You won’t catch him in time without my help.”

* * * * *

The moon seemed to tug at him as he panted, exertion slowing as weariness set in.  Almost…almost…  Just a little bit further and he’d be free.  He didn’t know how he’d be free, just that he would be.  Something inside him tried to pull back – that…  It wasn’t right.  Why would freedom take him away from those he loved?  Those who cared about him.

He shifted in the water, glancing over his shoulder at the distant shore behind him.  Doubt assailed him and he slowed his forward movement.  Maybe…maybe he needed to stop.  Tread water a little while he got his breath back.

Then his eyes were dragged forward again, locking on the moon as his weary limbs kicked into motion.  That was when he realized – he couldn’t stop himself any more.  And the moon was laughing at him…

“Just a little further, little knight,” something sneered.  “Then you will be mine, as you always should have been!”

He knew he should fight, but he was just so tired.  Weary to the depths of his soul and so very sick of magic controlling his destiny.  Maybe it was about time he admitted the truth.  He had been born a Lestrange and he would always be a Lestrange.

But the something was wrong.  No, he couldn’t escape his own destiny, but that didn’t mean he was going to let the Darkness use him to hurt the people he loved.

Drawing in a deep breath, he dove, swimming downwards even as the moon dragged him forward.  He kept going, even as his lungs began to push at him.  As his ears popped, bubbles escaped, and his brain began to scream for air.

He ‘heard’ the something howl, forcing him to swim up again.

Closing his eyes, he let the last of the bubbles escape.  Then he inhaled.

* * * * *

A distant sound.

The feel of water buffeting against him.

An arm wrapping around his chest, hauling him upwards.

Water spraying as they broke the surface.

A pounding on his back, forcing him to hack and cough.  Water spewed out and he reflexively inhaled in the open air.

Then darkness took him.

* * * * *

“Why?”

The familiar snarl dragged him from the prison of his own soul.

A sigh, curiously from the very same voice.  “It is a dangerous thing, to reject your own identity.”

“Word wouldn’t do that!”

“No?” the same voice drawled, insinuation thick.  “I suppose, once upon a time, you would’ve said the same about Greg.”

“Don’t you dare say his name,” Ed growled.  “None of you have any right to talk about him.  Not after what you did to him!”

“I was not referring to him rejecting his own magic,” the other countered.  “Though he certainly did that as well.”

Ed fell silent for a long, horrible minute.  Then, “Wordy isn’t Greg.”

“No,” the unknown agreed.  “But they both have a very deep-seated fear of hurting those they care about.”  A pause.  “Thrice today, your friend spooked and lashed out.  Each time was in the presence of his loved ones.”  Another pause.  “And he is keenly aware that it can happen again.”

“Because of his Animagus form.”

“Yes.”

There was a heavy sigh, then the man on the ground felt a presence near him.

“I know you’re awake.”

Wearily, Wordy worked his eyes open to see Ed crouching next to him.

“Kevin.”

He blinked at Ed’s deliberate use of his first name.

“We’re going to figure this out and we are going to get through this,” Ed promised.  “But if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll kill you myself!”

He cringed and rasped, “Copy that, Boss.”

“Good,” Ed hissed, sounding just like his hawk form.  “Now come on, buddy.  Let’s go have a chat with your Animagus form.”

Groaning, he closed his eyes and slumped back into the dirt instead of moving.

Ed sucked in a breath and Wordy felt a light hand check his pulse before moving to his forehead.  Then his best friend shifted and sat down on the ground next to him.  The hand moved from his forehead to his arm.

“Okay, Word.  Go to sleep; we can figure it out in the morning.”

He managed a nod, thrusting down the distant wish that Ed would hug him.  Ed was a great guy, but he usually wasn’t all that tactile unless it was with his family.  And for all that their team had become family in all but blood, there was still a line between team and family.

But though Ed simply left his hand on Wordy’s arm without any hugs, as the brunet relaxed, he felt the ‘team sense’ itself wrap around him, radiating joy and relief for his mere presence.  Murmuring reassurance almost too soft to hear.

He might’ve been born a Lestrange, but he hadn’t been raised as one.  That meant…  Blood or no, he was a Wordsworth at heart.  Firmly anchored in the light and under the Lion’s watchful eye.

And nothing could ever snatch him out of the Lion’s Paw.

Chapter Text

Jane Locksley sighed as she gazed out the window at the rain.  Of course it was raining, right as she’d been hoping to go out and see her cousin – and his friends – in their Animagus forms.  She wished she could’ve gone out earlier, during the day, but she hadn’t even known about the visiting Animagi until she got home from work.

“They’ll still be here in the morning,” her mother reassured her.

“I know, Mother, but…”  Jane traced the condensation on the window.  “I didn’t even know Sam had an Animagus form!”

Anne Locksley let out a sigh of her own, drawing her daughter away and to the nearby sofa.  Once the two blondes were sitting, the elder Locksley shifted to gaze directly at Jane.  “From what Lord Calvin told myself and Commander Holleran today, your cousin hasn’t been an ordinary Squib for quite some time.”

“Mother?”

Reaching up, Anne pinched the bridge of her nose.  “He’s a Wild Mage Squib, Jane.  That’s how he managed to become an Animagus.”

“But we aren’t Wild Mages, Mother; how could Sam be a Wild Mage?”

“The details are confidential, Jane, but you’re correct.  Sam and your uncle are both Locksleys and we do not have Wild Magic.  However, Samuel’s boss, Lieutenant Parker, is a Wild Mage Squib-born.”

Jane nibbled her lip.  “Sam…  he somehow got Wild Magic from his boss?”

Her mother’s jaw tightened and her brow furrowed, but she nodded once.

Recognizing the look on her mother’s face, Jane didn’t press any further on the how.  Huddling in on herself, she asked, “Will people think we have Wild Magic?”

“No, Jane, they will not,” her mother reassured her.  “It is a matter of medical record that we are not Wild Mages.  At any rate, outside of the Auror Division, there are few who will connect Samuel Braddock with our family.”

The blonde nodded reluctantly.  “He’s a Squib-born, too.”

“Yes,” Anne Locksley agreed.  “We need not worry until he fathers children – they will most certainly be Wild Mages.”

“You’re not going to tell people, are you?” Jane demanded, sitting up straight.

“It is not at issue now,” her mother replied.  “Sam does not have any children.”

“But what about when he does?”  Gazing up at her mother, she said, “I know you have to follow the law, Mother, but what about when the law is unjust?  At least the Calvins were teenagers!”

* * * * *

Anne Locksley looked away, a tear slipping down.  She had followed the law all her life, but Jane was right.  What about when a law was unjust?  What about when the law put children at risk?  For, truly, Jane was wrong there – she never should’ve exposed the Calvin siblings to the nonexistent tender mercies of the wizarding world.  Parker didn’t know, but there had been a concerted effort to locate his charges in the days after her announcement that they were Wild Mages.  And more than a few fanatics who had demanded that the Auror Division find the children and hand them over – as though Wild Mages were so inherently dangerous that if they weren’t locked up by the Unspeakables, they ought to be put down.

Drawing in a breath, she returned her gaze to her daughter.  “That is a problem for another day, Jane.”  Rising, she added, “Wait until the morning, dear.  With the rain, the house-elves put all of them in the stable for the night, but I’m sure they’re tired after the day they’ve had.”

“Yes, Mother,” Jane replied, completely demure and obedient.

Anne shook her head, knowing the elves would be drying out her daughter’s night-things come the morning, but leaned over and kissed Jane’s forehead.  “Don’t be up too late,” she murmured.

An impish smile curled Jane’s mouth, pulling at one of the sunburn scars, and bright blue eyes rose.  “I won’t be, Mother,” she promised.

* * * * *

Jane crept out the manor’s side door; it was closer to the stable and the house-elves had lit up the path.  Her mother’s silent blessing on her nighttime trek – she knew her so well.  Jane had always played the dutiful, obedient daughter for Father, but Mother knew just how much of rebel she was behind his back.  Sometimes, Mother said no, and Jane had to live with that, but this time, she’d only warned Jane not to stay up too late.

Smiling to herself, Jane hurried along the path, dodging puddles and grateful for the house-elves.  She would’ve dared the dark, not wanting to miss a moment of Cousin Sam as a wolf, but the dark still reminded her of him.  The monster who’d kidnapped her as a pawn against her mother.  Early on, her own room had given her panic attacks, even though she knew it like the back of her hand.  Mother and the family elves had come to her rescue, setting up a little nightlight next to her bed and installing night-adjusted crystal lights in all the manor rooms.  She was better now, but treasured the nightlights, knowing they represented the love of her family and their quest to keep Jane from ever having to face the dark without a light.  They were so good to her – the best family one could ever have.

As she reached the stable, Jane pulled out her wand and murmured a spell – the tip lit up in a variant that would only shine for her.  Yes, she wanted to see Cousin Sam and his friends, but if they were sleeping, the lithe young blonde didn’t want to wake them up.  Sleep was precious to Aurors and every scrap of slumber counted.

Stepping inside, Jane looked around; it was the first time she’d been in the stable for many years, ever since Father had decided she was too old for the pony she’d had as a child.  Inhaling, she caught the scent of barn and her smile grew.  Maybe, once Cousin Sam and his friends were back to human, she could ask Mother about getting a few horses.  They were too close to the Muggle side of Toronto to have any Pegasi breeds, but it would be good to go riding again.

A creak came from further in and Jane’s head snapped up, her wand shifting towards a defensive motion.  She advanced slowly, a prickle of alarm crawling up her back as she realized how many shadows were inside the stable.

Then she spotted a dark figure, standing in front of the stable’s second-largest box stall.  His attention was focused on the animal inside the stall – a horse.  The animal looked big, much larger than Jane’s old pony and even bigger than some of the horses she saw pulling carriages in the city.  His head was hanging down and his body in a stance she knew well – her pony had often slept while standing up, something that had never failed to perplex her little girl self.

The man started at the sound of her footsteps and turned, blue eyes widening as they met hers; she caught a flash of dark hair before his wand came up.

Bang!

Jane slashed across, shouting a shielding spell; she felt something strike the shield, but it didn’t feel like an attack.  Smoke surrounded her, drowning out what little light had made it through the stable windows.  With precise movements, she cast an Air-Freshening Charm and re-lit her wand tip, peering towards the horse stall for any signs of the intruder.

He was gone.

Frowning, Jane’s attention shifted to the horse – he should’ve woken up.  Horses were very sensitive to any loud noises, so she was rather surprised that he’d slept through that racket.  Hurrying over to his stall, she took a moment to admire his sculpted head, sleek cream chestnut coat, and the feathering (4) on his legs before lifting her wand again and casting a quick diagnostic spell.  Her eyes widened at the results – it had detected something, but couldn’t identify what it had detected.

“Popsie!” Jane cried.

Pop!  “Mistress be calling Popsie?” the house-elf asked, bowing in his tea towel.

“Get Mother,” Jane ordered.  “Tell her it’s urgent!”

Pop!

While she was waiting, Jane located the other Animagi sleeping in the stable’s largest stall and nibbled her lip anxiously until all of her diagnostics on them came back clean.  Then she exhaled relief – whoever that was, he’d only gotten one of them.  And it wasn’t Cousin Sam.

“Jane?”

Turning towards her mother, dressed in a long satin nightgown, Jane pointed towards the horse.  “There was someone in here, Mother, and they did something to him!”  Hurrying back to the stallion, she waved her wand in the same diagnostic as her mother joined her.

Anne Locksley took one look at the results and went deathly still.  Then she drew her own wand and waved it in a different diagnostic.  Jane gasped when the second diagnostic came back with nothing – what was this, that not even her mother’s Auror-level diagnostic could identify it?

“Popsie!”

The house-elf popped in.  “Mistress?”

“Go to the Queenscoves and get Nealan,” Mother ordered.  “Inform him that Auror Wordsworth has been poisoned, but we can’t identify the potion.  Then go to Auror Sciuto and tell her to get her cauldron and all the potion ingredients she has in her kit.  We need her here, on the double!”

“Yes, Mistress!” Popsie squeaked before popping away.

“The others?” Mother asked, turning towards their stall.

Jane shook her head, feeling her long locks fly back and forth.  “It’s just Auror Wordsworth, Mother.  I checked.”

Her mother exhaled in relief and turned back to the stallion.  He was beginning to quiver in his sleep, but there was nothing they could do until help arrived.

* * * * *

Nealan Queenscove grimaced as he surveyed the results of the Healer-level diagnostic spell.  “Damn Lestranges,” he muttered under his breath.

“Queenscove?” Locksley demanded, intimidating even in her long, flowing pale pink nightgown.

“Two potions, Madame,” Neal reported.  “Both Switched right into his stomach.  One’s a mind-healing potion, the other’s a potion right outta the Lestrange Family grimoire.”

His superior went still.  “What is it doing to him?”

“Poisoning his magical core,” the brunet Auror replied in a flat tone.  “The Black Family was into darker magic, but the old Lestrange family specialized in magic that manipulates, Commander.”

“Meaning?”

Brushing back his fringe, Neal explained, “It’s not poisoning his core in the sense of killing him.  It’s designed to twist his magic and make it more susceptible to Dark influences.”

Locksley swore and Neal nodded grimly.

“Yes, ma’am.  Twist the magic and the wizard follows, one way or another.”

“Can we purge it out of his system?”

The Junior Auror nodded again, brightening a smidge.  “Lucky for us, ma’am, the Lestranges always made sure they had an escape hatch in case they ever snared someone they didn’t want to snare.  I’ll get Amy on the counter-potion right away.”  He hesitated.  “May I check your stock of Healing potions, ma’am?”

“Of course, Neal,” Commander Locksley replied.  “Use anything you need; just make me a list so I can restock.”

“Thank you, ma’am.  We’ll need to wait until we get the counter-potion into his system, but there’s a couple other potions that can clear out the damage that first one did.”

The dark-blonde witch inclined her head, but frowned.  “Why a mind-healing potion?”

“I’ll need to look that one up to be sure, Madame Locksley, but most mind-healing potions will pull memories to the forefront of the mind, so the mind-healers can help their patients work through old trauma.”

Dark gray eyes narrowed.  “Old trauma?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the brunet wizard confirmed.  “You can take them outside of a mind-healing session, but it’s not recommended.  One of my old buddies from school, he’s a mind-healer now.  Says every so often, he gets a cheapskate patient that gets it in their head that they can just take the potion and deal with their own trauma.  Always makes it worse.”

The commander’s eyes narrowed even farther and she cursed under her breath.

“Madame Locksley?” Neal asked, confused.

Her gaze skewered him for a moment.  “This goes no further than you,” she ordered.

Straightening to his full height, Neal snapped off a Muggle salute.  “On my honor, Madame Locksley,” he promised.

She considered, then nodded.  “The details are confidential, but Wordsworth has Wild Magic.  All of them do.”

Neal’s emerald eyes widened.  “All of them?” he demanded, right on the edge of an unmanly squeak.

“Yes,” Commander Locksley affirmed.  “And as you know…”

Horror widened Neal’s eyes even further.  “Wild Mages can’t be seen by a mind-healer,” he breathed.  “Their magic would fight it.”

“Precisely.”  The dark-blonde witch considered for several long moments.  “Find out if the mind-healing potion has a counter-potion.  I need to contact Gringotts and arrange for them to ward the stable against any more uninvited guests.”

“Yes, Commander,” Neal replied.  “Amy and I will do our best.”

Pausing in the middle of her turn towards the door, Commander Locksley glanced back at her Junior Auror.  “Nealan.”  She waited for him to straighten.  “Not a word about my nightgown.”

She watched him survey the nightgown in question, swallowing hard at the unyielding expression on her face and the direction of her wand.  “Yes, ma’am,” he acknowledged, face beet-red and a subtle squirm working through his body.

“Excellent,” Anne purred, sliding her wand away and ignoring his exhale of relief.  “I’m so glad we understand each other, Junior Auror Queenscove.”

* * * * *

Ed snapped awake, fury vibrating in his chest as he glanced around, searching for his target.  How dare he?!?  After everything they’d gone through, how dare he pull something like this now?!?

“Dad?”

Letting out a shriek of surprise, the hawk jumped on his perch, wings spreading automatically.

In front of him, Dean Parker and Clark stood at angles to each other, watching each other’s backs; it reminded him so much of himself and Greg that Ed’s heart skipped a beat.  Dean was giving him a rather jaded glance and Clark’s expression was sheepish.

Settling himself, Ed let his ruffled feathers smooth back into place and turned his head to preen the ones that had fallen out of alignment.  One eye focused on Dean and his opposite wing lifted a smidge in silent demand as he worked.

Dean sighed.  “Lance and ‘Lanna are at the Wordsworths with Shelley and the girls, but they called me, Clark, and Sophie.  Somebody got in here last night and poisoned Wordy.”

Poisoned!?! Ed hissed, head jerking up and feathers flaring out again.

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed sorrowfully.  “Jane Locksley caught the guy in the act, but he got away.  Commander Locksley thinks she interrupted him, but he managed to get two potions inside Wordy’s stomach.”

What kind of potions? Jules asked, though the jaguar stayed put on her bed of straw, wary of scaring either boy.

“They wouldn’t tell us,” Clark reported unhappily once Dean translated Jules’ question.  “Jane met us when we got here; said her mother called in help and Wordy’s gonna be fine.”

The five Animagi let out sighs of relief as understanding swept through them.  Even without the details, they could hazard an educated guess that Wordy’s ‘suicide attempt’ had been magically induced, if not something their teammate had been outright Compulsed into.

Much calmer now, Ed bobbed his head and let his feathers smooth out again.  Copy that.  Turning his head towards Clark, he added, Thanks, fledgling.

Dean snickered.

“What?” Clark asked as Ed glared at his best friend’s son.

“He called you fledgling,” Dean chortled, mischief dancing in his eyes.

You got a problem with that, kit? Lou demanded, but there was a playful undertone in his voice and the fox yipped happily when Dean laughed harder.

“What?”

“Lou called me a kit.”

Finally getting it, Clark pushed Dean’s shoulder, smirking.  “Thought you were a gryphlet.”

“Nah, that’s a baby gryphon,” Dean retorted.

“Says the guy who can’t transform yet.”

Ed let out a warning hiss before Dean could come back with the obvious counterattack.  His son did not need to be reminded of his status as the one non-magical in the midst of Team One’s teenage magical offspring.  Roy’s jealous streak was bad enough.

Crossing his arms, Dean huffed, but obeyed Ed’s order to stop.  “Cuz said to let you guys know that Healer Queenscove’s keeping Dad under for the rest of this week, but he thinks that’ll be the last day.”

Copy, Ed acknowledged.  What about Wordy?

“He’s asleep right now; guess they didn’t want him moving around too much till they can get the bad stuff outta his system.  Commander Locksley said you guys are gonna have to go outside till the goblins can get the new wards up around the stable, but they put it in as a rush job, so you should be good by tonight.”

The hawk nodded, skewing a glance towards Jules, who nodded back.  With any luck, Word’s guilt trip wouldn’t last much beyond the revelation that he’d been poisoned, but on the off-chance that Wordy pulled a patented Greg Parker Guilt Trip on them, they could plot just as easily out of the barn as in it.

Then his stomach grumbled.  Ducking his head, Ed asked, And, um, any chance of breakfast first?

Dean bit back a snort and whispered in Clark’s ear.  Clark’s eyes widened.  “Sure thing, Dad!”

Thanks, kiddo.

The boys snickered again.

[4] Feathering refers to the extra fur that most draft horses will have on their lower legs.  While American Cream Drafts do not have as much feathering as the famous Clydesdales, they do have some.