Chapter 2
* / * / *
It was nearly two o'clock in the morning, and they were still debating in hushed whispers in Madam Pomfrey's office ― Madam Pomfrey, Professor Sprout, and Professor Flitwick. No one had told Neville to leave, so he stayed, sitting silent and out of sight. He thought that if they noticed him, they'd probably try to send him to bed or something, but he'd made up his mind that he wasn't going anywhere until he knew what was going to happen to Professor McGonagall.
It had become clear that she remembered nothing ― not her name, not her occupation, not Hogwarts, not the war, none of her colleagues. Her magic appeared to be intact, but it was instinct only; when they'd asked to her to recite a spell or perform a specific transfiguration, she couldn't.
The professors and Madam Pomfrey had tried charms and spells and potions; nothing had worked. Finally they had given Professor McGonagall a Dreamless Sleep potion, and then the talk had turned to damage control.
"Yes, I can keep her sedated here," Madam Pomfrey was saying, "and we can think up some story to put off the Headmaster ― for a day or two. But sooner or later, he's going to demand to see her, and we can't risk that."
"No," Professor Flitwick agreed. "I fear Snape would use this as an excuse to send Minerva off to the Janus Thickey ward."
"As if he'd need an excuse," sniffed Madam Pomfrey. "But you're right, Filius. And we'd be lucky ever to see her again."
Images of his parents' grey lives on the Janus Thickey Ward flashed through Neville's mind, and he clenched his teeth. No. McGonagall would go to the Thickey Ward over his dead body. He'd hide her in his dorm room if he had to; hell, she could use Harry's empty bed.
"Well, maybe she'll be herself again in a day or two," Professor Sprout said, with more hope than conviction.
"Maybe," said Madam Pomfrey, who clearly didn't believe it. "I'll have to do some further research."
"But. . ." said Professor Sprout, "it's only a matter of time, surely? She will be herself again, Poppy. Won't she?"
Neville had to strain to hear those last words, so softly did Professor Sprout say them. She seemed no more eager than Neville to voice what he was sure they all feared: that the Professor McGonagall they had known was gone for good. It was possible, Neville knew - - few understood the permanence of Cruciatus damage better than he did.
There was a silence before Madam Pomfrey answered. "She might," she said finally. "But usually, there's no telling with amnesia cases. Her memory could return all at once, or gradually. Or not at all. Only time will tell."
"We'll have to hide her," said Professor Sprout. "Until her memory comes back or we can find a cure. Horace and I can put our heads together about potions and ingredients, and Filius, you ―"
"Hide her where?" interrupted Madam Pomfrey. "You know Snape has the castle covered over with tracker charms; he'd be alerted the second she left the grounds. And we can hardly keep shifting her from one of our quarters to another. It would be like one of those French bedroom farces."
"And I wouldn't be able to charm her to stay invisible indefinitely," said Professor Flitwick.
"Where, then?" cried Professor Sprout, throwing out her hands in frustration.
"I know where," Neville heard himself say. "The Room of Requirement."
* / * / *
It took Neville nearly half an hour to get the professors to agree even to look for the Room. His unexpected announcement had been met with a babble of argument, surprise, and objection.
"Neville, dear," Professor Sprout had said gently, "I'm afraid the Room of Requirement is just a myth. You know, wishful thinking."
"No, it isn't," Neville had insisted. "I've been in it. A lot." He'd explained about Dumbledore's Army and Dobby, and finally Professors Flitwick and Sprout had accompanied him to the seventh floor. Once they'd been standing in front of the blank wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, though, Neville's nerve had almost failed him.
"Please," he'd said to the wall, feeling foolish. "Please, we need a place for Professor McGonagall to stay for a while. She's in real danger. The Room is our only hope. Please."
The Room must have heard his desperation, for after a few seconds of (to Neville) painful suspense, the door had appeared. Behind it was what looked to be the interior of a small house - - a sitting room, a bedroom, a tiny bathroom and loo, and a narrow kitchen with an old-fashioned dresser and a well-scrubbed deal table. There were even windows that looked out onto a flat, grey expanse of moor.
"It's her cottage!" said Professor Sprout in surprise. "In Caithness. The one she inherited from her gran. You've been there, Filius. Of course, she doesn't spend much time there now. . ."
She chattered on, wandering through the little rooms, touching a book here, a chair there, and stopping in confusion in front of a hand-operated water pump over the kitchen sink. She moved the handle up and down experimentally, and water gushed forth.
"That's odd," Professor Sprout said. "This is the way the kitchen looked in her Muggle gran's day, but Minerva had all the magical mod cons put in. . ."
Neville suddenly understood. "It's the Room," he said. "Somehow it knows she can't make use of her magic right now. So it's given her Muggle tools."
"Fascinating," said Professor Flitwick, taking out his wand and murmuring complicated diagnostic spells, his eyes shining with the same light that Hermione's always had when she was immersed in research.
"Oh, stop it, Filius," said Professor Sprout. "There will be plenty of time for that later. We need to get Minerva safely installed before everyone starts waking up, and it can't be far from dawn now."
She shooed Professor Flitwick and Neville towards the door, but paused to give one last look around the little cottage, a broad smile on her face.
"I'll fetch her clothes and books from her quarters. And we should leave her wand on the mantel, don't you think, for when her magic starts to come back? Yes, I do think Minerva will be happy here."
* / * / *
Back in the hospital wing, they made their final plans.
"Obviously it's best if as few people know about this as possible," Madam Pomfrey said. "We can't risk Snape and his Legilimency, so I think just myself and one other person. The rest of you can leave your memories here in my pensieve, and I'll give them back to you on an as-needed basis. Pomona, you're Minerva's best friend on the staff, so probably you should know ―"
"No," said Professor Flitwick. "No offense, Pomona, but I think it should be young Longbottom here. We need someone who can easily get into the Room of Requirement, and Mr. Longbottom appears to be our resident expert. He and the Room clearly have a strong connection." He paused to beam at Neville. "In addition, he's probably the last person Snape will suspect of involvement."
Neville's stomach plummeted. "But. . ." he stammered. "If he tries. . .I mean, I'm pants at Occlumency. . ."
"We'll remove your memories if necessary, Neville, just temporarily, you know," said Professor Sprout. "Meanwhile, when Professor McGonagall turns up missing, you just keep your head down and act as baffled as everyone else." She patted him on the back and then suddenly looked distressed. "Oh, no, Filius! We'll probably have to Oblivate that little girl. . .your Ravenclaw who came to fetch Neville."
Professor Flitwick looked grim. "Yes, I think it's justified," he said, and Madam Pomfrey nodded. Then Flitwick's face softened. "Poor little thing, at least she'll have one fewer bad memory. . ."
"I'll wake Minerva and explain things to her," said Madam Pomfrey with a brisk change of subject. "Filius, you can charm her and Longbottom to be invisible for as long as it takes them to settle in. Longbottom, if I know your professor, she'll ask you a million questions and won't take 'no' for an answer. But try not to tell her too much, will you? Let her remember on her own."
"I'll get Minerva's things from her quarters right now," Professor Sprout said, heading for the door. "And we can shrink them for you to carry with you, Neville."
"I ― wait!" said Neville. It was all moving far too quickly for him.
Everyone stopped and looked at him expectantly.
"I ―" He swallowed and started again. "I don't think I can do this. I mean, I want to help, of course I do, but I'm. . .well, I'm practically a Squib, and - - "
"Neville Longbottom!" It was Professor Sprout, and she was livid. Eyes blazing, she advanced towards him and shook her wand in his face. "I never want to hear you say such a thing again. You're a good wizard and an excellent boy ― no, I lie, you're a man now ― and it's time you understood how impressive you are!"
She gazed up at him fiercely (when had he got taller than she was?) and then suddenly flung her arms around him. "I'm sorry, my dear," she whispered. "I know it's frightening, and we're asking a lot of you. More than we should. But you ican/i do this. Minerva will be in good hands with you, I have no doubt of it."
"I'll try," Neville said, and Professor Sprout gave him a watery smile before heading to the door again.
Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat. "Right. Well. Let's get Professor McGonagall ready, shall we?"
She went behind the screen, and Neville could hear the murmur of voices. Professor Flitwick, meanwhile, Summoned a chair and sank into it gratefully. He sent another zipping towards Neville as he said, "She's right, you know. Professor Sprout, that is. About you. You've got the goods, young Longbottom." He nodded sagely. "Oh, yes. You've got the goods."