Up, Up and Away
A/N: This fic was inspired by a prompt from Kittyknighton. I've set it during Cassandra Claire's A Lot to Be Upset About, one of my enduring favourites from the days when I lived and breathed Harry Potter. It's not necessary to have read her fic to follow this one, but if you've read it, you can play a little game of spot-the-homage while you read.
Part 1: Something's Rotten in the Halls of Hogwarts
"I'm worried about Mister Potter."
"Harry?" Albus smeared an unhealthy dollop of Devonshire cream over the centimeter thick strawberry jelly already coating his ginger scone.
"No, the other Mister Potter." Minerva snapped. Albus had been in the infirmary for three days and she was already at her wits end. Her Gryffindors needed her. A week ago she'd walked in on Ginevra Weasley doing a strip tease in the third floor stairwell and yesterday someone, though no one seemed to know who, had burnt down the Quidditch shed. And instead of being there to guide and discipline her charges, she'd been tried up with board meetings and so much paperwork she was beginning to wonder if Albus hadn't sent himself the Exploding Snazzbomb just to get a little holiday. The contented smile on his face as he smeared another bite of scone with jelly and cream did not ease her suspicions.
"What's wrong with Harry?" Albus' blue eyes held concern despite his blasé tone and continued munching of scones.
"He seems to be in…" She paused for a moment, trying to find the right words to describe Harry's change in temperament since the previous year. "…a bit of a strop."
Albus washed down the last bite of scone with a swig of tea. "Go easy on Harry, Minerva, he's got a lot to be upset about."
Minerva ground her teeth together. Certainly she felt for Harry. The year hadn't been easy on any of them, but wanted-killer-godfather or not, there was no excuse for the boy's behaviour. "Thank you for your help," she said stiffly, brushing imaginary specks of dust off the front of her robes as she stood. "When do you expect you'll be back?"
"Poppy assures me I'll be good as new by Christmas." He said cheerily.
Minerva nodded, afraid to open her mouth because of what might pour out of it. Two months! She might have to do this for TWO MORE WEEKS?! She turned sharply and practically fled to the safety of the hallway.
And almost ran right over Severus Snape.
"Headmistress." He inclined his head politely, stepping aside to let her pass.
Minerva eyed him suspiciously. There was something profoundly unsettling about the deference Severus had been showing her of late. It must be the beginnings Cruciatus madness, that was really the only explanation. She inhaled deeply through her nose and immediately wished she hadn't. It smelled like something had died in the corridor many, many days ago and been rotting there ever since, which of course was impossible. Peeves! she thought angrily. Not even the Bloody Baron seemed to be able to keep the poltergeist in control these days. "He's just finished his breakfast," she said to Severus in a strangled voice.
The potions master grimaced, although it may have been a smile, and disappeared into the infirmary.
Minerva walked as quickly as she could, holding her breath until she was three corridors away and promptly collapsing against the wall panting in a decidedly undignified manner. Thankfully the students were still in class so no one was there to witness the deputy headmistress standing outside of Flitwick's classroom gasping for air like a fat kid on a treadmill. She didn't notice the paint, lurid yellow and still dripping wet, until she pulled away from the wall and it seemed to hold on to her robes for a moment. A sinking feeling in her stomach, Minerva turned around.
Her mouth dropped open, though in shock, horror, or awe she couldn't have said. In letters as tall as she was someone had painted the words FUCK THE DARK LORD.
x x x
"Albus!"
"Shhh!" Poppy glowered at the deputy headmistress. "He's asleep." She whispered harshly.
"Well wake him up." Minerva snapped. "This is urgent."
Grumbling under her breath the medi-witch did as commanded. "Sir, Professor McGonagall is here to speak with you." She said in a soft mothering sort of voice. When Albus' eyes snapped open, Poppy smiled down at him. "Here, drink this." She handed him a vial of bright pink potion that smelled strongly of strawberries.
Minerva tapped her toe impatiently. "He's fine Poppy, give us a moment, will you?"
"He needs his rest." Poppy replied icily. "I'll be back in ten minutes with his next dose." Giving Albus one last motherly smile, she turned and disappeared into her office.
"Minerva, so good of you to stop by."
"Albus—"
"Lemon drop?" Albus produced an oval shaped yellow candy from Merlin knew where and held it out.
"Albus!" Minerva took the candy from force of habit, but thankfully wasn't distracted enough to put it in her mouth. "The castle is out of control!"
"Certainly not, Minerva. Why Severus was just telling me of the marvelous progress our Mr. Malfoy is making under his special tutelage, and I haven't heard such enthusiasm for Quidditch in a decade as I did the other day. You're doing a marvelous job."
"The students were talking about Quidditch because someone lit the equipment shed on fire." Minerva said through clenched teeth, "And today someone vandalized the hall outside the Charms classroom."
"Surely they were just sharing their creativity."
"Albus, they wrote 'Fuck the Dark Lord' in yellow paint at least two meters tall."
"Well, the profanity is regrettable, I'll admit, but come now Minerva, we really can't fault the sentiment, can we?"
"Th-the sentiment?!" Minerva clenched both hands into tight fists and took a long slow breath in a desperate attempt to control the sudden urge to strangle the headmaster with his own beard. "Albus, the students are out of control. We need to do something."
"This is a difficult time for them. Perhaps we should give the students something to look forward to besides exams, relieve some of the tension."
"Something to look forward…?"
"Yes! I think it's the perfect solution. We'll have a Yule Ball. A fun way for the children to let out their youthful exuberance."
"You can't be serious!"
"You can announce it tonight at dinner so the children can shop for dress robes this weekend in Hogsmeade…"
The Headmaster continued to prattle on about how in his days at Hogwarts there had been a Yule ball every other Christmas, but Minerva tuned him out. A pounding had started in her temples. She needed out, she needed air. "Certainly Albus, thank you." She muttered, turning on her heels and nearly running from the hospital wing.
Between corralling her Gryffindors, who seemed to grow more rambunctious by the semester (Thank Merlin Molly Weasley had finally stopped reproducing), and her duties as Deputy Headmistress and Transfigurations Master, Minerva rarely had five minutes to herself from September to June. When she did, she liked to get as far away from the castle as possible, in the vain hope that if she was out of ear shot somehow she could make five minutes into ten or even fifteen. It never worked. She invariably spent three of her five minutes trying to find a suitable hiding place and the remaining two worrying that someone would ferret her out.
Today she didn't bother to try and think about a good place to hide, in fact she wasn't thinking much at all as her legs carried her at breakneck speeds through the corridors and out into the crisp autumn air. There was a thin dusting of snow on the ground and she cast a quick charm on her boots to keep them dry without missing a step. It wasn't until she rounded the crest of a hill and the great lake came into view that she slowed.
There was someone standing on the shore. Wait… no… She took a few steps, squinting her aging eyes against the unusually bright afternoon, not on the shore.. the person was standing in the lake. Up to his or her knees in frigid lake water, black robes billowing out, looking every bit like a parachute just hitting the ground. A few more steps, and Minerva came to a dead stop. The figure turned just enough that she caught a glimpse of sallow skin, black eyes and an unmistakable hooked nose. Severus Snape? What the blazes is he doing?
It was an excellent question. By all appearances, Severus could have been conducting an orchestra. Except there were no musicians and his timing was atrocious. Not to mention the utter lunacy of standing in a freezing cold lake when there were perfectly good spells to keep him above the surface of the water. Minerva almost turned away, her day was strange enough without investigating this latest sign of lunacy from the Potions Master. She really needed to have a chat with Albus about the poor boy. Enough was enough! War or no war, there came a point where whatever information Severus was retrieving from his monthly meetings was tainted by the madness he displayed in between. No point in letting him suffer yet another bought of Cruciatus when he was mad as a hatter and only someone equally mad would listen to his advice… although come to think of it, Albus had been looking rather mad of late.
Sucking in a lungful of cold air and putting on her best supportive, non-threatening facial expression, Minerva walked steadily towards the lake. She could hear what sounded like children screaming and shot a glance towards the Quidditch pitch, making a mental note to return to the castle that way. Whatever troublemakers were flying when they should be in class would come to regret it.
She was still a good twenty meters away when she realized the other worldly high pitched squealing she had attributed to childish screams echoing off the woods and castle walls were actually coming from the Potions Master's open mouth. Her steps slowed and almost without conscious thought she turned and walked back the way she'd come. Something needed to be done about Severus Snape… just maybe not right this moment.
