“Miss Madison.”

Cat wheeled about, her eyes flaring as she set them on the Potions Master. His robes billowed about him atop the tower, his hair thrown aside and revealing much more of his thin countenance than usual. She edged closer to the edge of the tower, keeping her eyes on him.

“What are you doing, you stupid girl?” he hissed, stepping forward. She moved in tandem with him again, further toward the edge, and he got the message, so stood still on the spot; “Get away from there this instant!”

“I’m sick of it,” she said, “I want to get away from it all.”

“This isn’t the answer.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“I know what you are… what you were… You were one of His allies, you served Him, the Heir of Slytherin, the true heir to that sick house you call your own.”

“No, I am not His servant. Not any more. And not all Slytherins are bad - the Dark Lord pushed the boundaries of even Salazar Slytherin’s plans. And you know it. Only Hufflepuff was the truly fair founder, only she wished to teach all students, from all backgrounds - even your sacred Ravenclaw had her faults.”

“I know,” Cat nodded sourly, turning to the wind and feeling it toss and somersault through the tresses of her hair, “But she at least did not judge by blood.”

“No. She judged by brains. An almost equal fault.”

Cat glared at him again, shaking her head, “But she saw past that in the end. She joined with Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. It was only Slytherin who continued to defy them all, fixed on his own twisted student programme.”

“Miss Madison, we can argue about the history of the Four Founders in places much more comfortable than this - please, step away from the edge.”

“Why? One less Ravenclaw shouldn‘t bother you…” she sneered before she merely leant forward and let her own weight topple her from the edge of the turret. She heard Snape yell - he didn’t usually do that - and she felt almost guilty at herself for somewhat deceiving him as she plummeted, down, down, down…

As the ground hastened closer, she finally spread her arms wide and, the spirit of Ravenclaw rising within her, transformed into a bird, flying out over the grounds and screeching like the eagle that she was. She smiled within, loving the rush of the wind through her feathers and sensation of true freedom; oh, to be an eagle and live a life of no woe!

From on top of the tower, Snape withdrew his wand, having been prepared to cast some charm or other to prevent Madison’s fall. He was still in shock, half mistrusting his eyes as he watched the girl transfigure into a bird and soar happily over the grounds. Once it sunk in and he believed it all, he cursed - loudly - and stamped a foot upon the flagstones. It was more an anger of relief than an anger at her nerve, though he was taking that into account. Even so, he couldn’t help but feel some admiration toward her; it would seem that Hogwarts had proven to have yet another prodigy in its ranks - not a Boy Who Lived, A Parselmouth or a star Quidditch player, but an Animagus. How she could do it at such a young age, he knew not - but he would soon find out.

He watched her glide about and perch atop a turret to the west before he swept back into the castle and sought out their own resident Animagus - a tabby called McGonagall.

~~

Cat felt her wings shrink back to fingers, her feathers withdraw below the skin, and shook her hair out over her shoulders once her beak had morphed comfortably back into her visage. A smile played about her lips as she remembered the panic wracking Snape’s person when she’d ‘thrown herself’ off the tower. She felt as though she’d gotten one over him, but that satisfaction wouldn’t last, she well knew - as soon as tomorrow dawned, or he made the effort to find her, he would have her in detentions for several weeks or, worse, even expelled. Even that stunt hadn’t made her forget about her parents, though… She knew she never would, but finding a way to grieve was becoming increasingly hard. She didn’t know how to continue without doing the memory of her parents injustice, how to pretend nothing had happened when it had…

She sighed and trudged slothfully back into the castle via the Astronomy Tower, upon which she now stood. As she descended the spiral staircase, her feet resounding eerily against the old stone steps in the empty darkness, she thought of what Jo would say when she told her (‘Cat, you didn’t! You could have given Snape a heart attack!’; ‘A blessing to us all’ an imaginary Dale interrupted) when - speak of the Devil - it appeared that the Potions Master hadn’t even wanted to wait until tomorrow to berate her.

Footsteps thundered up the staircase and, as she rounded the bend, she found herself face-to-face with a dishevelled Snape, who was blockading the way with an even more dishevelled, nightdress-and-hairnet-clad McGonagall. Cat skidded to a halt and swallowed hard; oh dear.

~~

“How very irresponsible of you,” the Head of Gryffindor House murmured as she led the way to her study, walking obliviously through the Grey Lady in the process.

Cat blinked at the professor, unable to understand how one could walk through a ghost and not realise it - when it had happened to her, she’d felt like a block of ice. But McGonagall was on a mission and nothing would stand in her way.

Cat tried not to look at the disproving gazes of all the portraits they walked by; an elephant in one picture gave her a particularly disgruntled snort.

“An Animagus… it’s just not possible.”

Cat sighed. Reality was coming back to her and everything now seemed like such a bad idea. She was pondering on why this was always the case with retrospect, when the Transfiguration professor suddenly halted and opened the door to her office; “In,” she snorted.

Cat did as she was told, feeling the presence of Snape directly behind her. She suddenly took great interest in her feet whilst McGonagall sat at her desk and Snape loomed behind her.

It took Cat a while to register that Professor McGonagall was waiting for her to look up before any discussion began. When she finally did raise her gaze, she found McGonagall’s sharp, hawk-like eyes boring into her; “Please explain yourself,” she said.

Cat shuffled her feet and stared at them again, “I, er…”

“Do you know how complex the process is of a wizard or witch learning to be an Animagus?”

“Well…”

“Do you realise that it is far beyond your current level of skill?”

“Umm…”

“Do you have any idea how wrong it can turn out if not done properly?”

“Huh?”

“You frightened Professor Snape to death.”

“I did?” Cat said before she could stop herself, sounding all too pleased for McGonagall’s liking. Snape himself looked rather affronted at being labelled ‘frightened’, more than anything else, but said nought on the matter.

With a sigh, the Transfiguration professor removed her spectacles and stared earnestly at Cat; “My dear child, I don’t know what you were doing out of bed at this hour, nor why you thought making a thoroughly despicable suicide charade would help you at all, even though times are obviously difficult for you. But I would sincerely like to know why you’ve decided, against all aspects of common sense, to become an Animagus! What would we have told your relatives if something had gone wrong…?”

“I didn’t choose to be one!” Cat snapped, exasperated by it already, “Why would I choose?”

“Then why did you learn it?”

“Learn? I didn’t! I’ve never learnt anything about it in my life! It all just happened one day…”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow and Cat could see her exchange a glance with Snape, behind her.

“You can’t just ‘happen’ to become an Animagus,” she heard the Potions Master drawl.

Cat pursed her lips, finding the sudden urge to stamp on his foot; she restrained herself and said stiffly, “Well, I have. I never asked for this.”

“You lie,” he insisted.

Cat was desperate to step on his foot, and maybe ram her knee into his crotch in the process just to knock some sense into his thick skull; “How can you accuse me of lying?” she shrieked with utter disbelief, turning on him, “Why would I lie to you? Does it make you feel better if I tell you I‘ve learnt all this from someone or something, because that wouldn‘t make me feel better, ‘cause it‘s not true!”

Snape’s gaze tightened on her but a cough from McGonagall drew them both back to face in her direction; “We’re all tired and it’s very late,” she said calmly, “And I think you’ve caused Professor Snape enough anxiety” (He flinched at this second ‘delicate’ term applied to him that night) “for one evening. Catherine, please go to your dormitory and come see me first thing in the morning - before breakfast, if you will.”

Cat sighed, making a gentle nod and made to leave.

“But before you go,” she added before she reached the door, “Apologise to Professor Snape. What you did with full consciousness of his reactions was most shameful of you and I can hardly believe that a girl like you could do such a thing, even under the circumstances.”

Catherine threw Snape a glare; ‘It’s not hard when he does equally despicable things to you every other lesson’ she wanted to say, but knew when to cross the line and when not to. She swallowed and said, quietly, “Sorry, Professor.”

He made a very slight nod in a forced acceptance.

“What would your parents have thought?” McGonangall added in a most quiet but still incredibly clear voice.

That hurt, and Cat felt her heart pang. She felt extremely guilty again all of a sudden, that panic-stricken feeling of not knowing how to grieve coming back to her with a vengeance. She swallowed, feeling her throat constrict, and quickly made her exit.

She felt Snape watching her with his tight, black glare until she’d left the room and was scurrying off down the hall.

Tears were rolling down her cheeks by the time she reached the coat of armour on the third floor. It inclined its helmeted head in greeting; “Password, my fair maiden?”

“W- W- W-” she stuttered, before she wiped her eyes and cleared her throat; “Where Eagles Dare,” she finally managed.

“Aye, and no others,” the armour added, bowing her into the Ravenclaw common room as the bricks scrambled aside behind him.

Cat flopped into a chair before the fire, which was dying on the hearth, and remained there until she’d cried herself to sleep.