A/N -- This chapter comes with a tip o' the wand to my friend the Real Snape. My sincere apologies, my dear, for what you're about to read. I'll make it up to you, I promise, with a fic of your choice.
Chapter Four -- The Grandchildren, Part II
Eventually Professor McGonagall slowed and turned towards them. She didn't look happy, but her face had lost the terrifying grimness that had marked it when she left the café.
"Thank you, Miss Granger," she said, giving Hermione the death parchment. "You said this list contained. . .the known dead. How are they known?"
"Someone reliable has to have actually seen their bodies," Hermione replied. "Mr Weasley won't trust rumours."
"But has there been. . .less-reliable word. . .on others?"
"There are conflicting reports on Ginny," Harry said, before McGonagall could ask or Hermione explain. He'd got so that he didn't like to hear others speak of her.
"Longbottom?"
"He's fine," said Hermione.
"Sinistra?"
"No word."
Then McGonagall asked, perhaps a little too carefully, "Hooch?"
Or maybe Harry just imagined the slight change in tone because of a rather cryptic remark of Mr Weasley's. He saw Hermione's eyes flick towards him and knew she was remembering as well. "If Minerva asks about Madam Hooch," Mr Weasley had told them, "don't give her any false hope."
"No word," Harry said, speaking carefully in his turn.
They turned off the main road and walked in silence except for the light tapping of McGonagall's stick. Harry had no idea where they were going, but trusted that the professor did. After a moment, she said, "Tell Arthur. . ."
And then more firmly: "Tell Arthur to add Poppy Pomfrey to the list."
You've seen her body? Harry nearly questioned but then stopped himself. Of course she had, or she wouldn't have said anything. He closed his mouth; he didn't want to know more.
But Hermione did. "Oh, no! Where did you see her?"
Some of the grimness returned to the professor's face, and when she answered, her voice was expressionless. "We were in the forest, Miss Granger, if that matters. There were Death Eaters. I saw the Killing Curses hit her in the back, I saw her collapse."
Her usual dryness returned with her next words. "I didn't actually check her pulse, but I trust my evidence will be sufficient for Arthur."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Hermione said, but the professor wasn't listening; Harry was certain that in her mind, she was back in the forest, watching Madam Pomfrey fall.
"How did you get away?" Hermione asked next, but it was too soon. McGonagall turned on her.
"I'm a bloody Animagus, Miss Granger, have you forgotten?" she snarled. "It's instinct now; I transformed before I even consciously registered what the curses were. So, yes, I saved my own life and let Poppy die. But at least you can have the satisfaction of updating your damned list."
Pushing past them, she strode off down the path without looking back.
Hermione stared after her, stricken. "Oh. . .I didn't mean. . .But, Harry, it's not her fault."
"I know," Harry said. And most likely, he thought, so did McGonagall.
But he also knew that knowing didn't help. Not when you felt guilty just for being alive.
---///---
The professor stopped at the next corner and stood with her head tilted back, one hand behind her neck. She looked fierce and frustrated. And alone.
Harry and Hermione waited a minute and then headed up the road to join her.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," she said as they approached. "That was uncalled-for."
"It's all right, Professor, really," Hermione said.
McGonagall seemed about to say more, but then she nodded and changed the subject briskly. "Well, here we are. My lodgings."
Harry turned to stare at the dilapidated old house, once a Victorian family villa but now apparently a warren of run-down flats. Muggle music thumped from somewhere upstairs, and moss grew on part of the walls. Rubbish overflowed the bins near the back. Greyish net curtains hung unevenly in some of the windows; others were bare.
Hermione was clearly horrified, and although Harry tried to keep his face blank, he must have failed, for McGonagall looked at them both and her lips twitched, as if she were trying not to smile. "Come now, it's not as bad as all that," she said. "There's a mix of students and old-age pensioners, so you see, I'm quite at home."
She seemed determined to make the best of things, at least in front of them, so for her sake, Harry tried to play along and act as if he didn't find the house more depressing than Number 12, Grimmauld Place had ever been. Hermione was doing the same, he could tell. They followed the professor up dim and creaky stairs to the first-floor front.
The single room was spotlessly clean but spartan. A two-bar electric fire stood in the original fireplace. A table under the window contained a neat stack of student reports with several Muggle biros lined precisely alongside. There was a lumpy-looking settee with a faded orange cover that Harry assumed doubled as a bed; he could see no other. At an angle to the sofa was an equally uncomfortable-looking armchair. In between, a small table held a Muggle electric lamp and, oddly, several issues of the Sun tabloid. The only other furnishings were an ancient wardrobe and a scarred kitchen dresser containing an electric kettle and a few mismatched plates and cups.
"Sit," McGonagall ordered, pointing at the settee with her stick. She settled herself into the chair and carefully switched on the lamp; Harry was somehow relieved to notice that she'd first made an abortive gesture towards it, as if intending to wave it alight magically. It was reassuring to know that underneath her Muggle façade, the witch remained.
Hermione had her eye on the walking stick. "Are you all right, Professor?" she asked, nodding towards it. "Have you been injured?"
In answer, McGonagall lifted the stick and pointed it at the table near the window. Several brightly-burning candles appeared, and the Muggle lamp flickered and went out. "My wand," she said. "Transfigured."
Hermione was amazed. "But. . .but how can you use it like that? In a different form?"
"It is rather an adjustment, I admit. But it's safer this way. I can have my wand in easy reach without attracting the Muggles' attention. No one is surprised to see an old woman with a walking stick. In any case, I do as little magic as possible; we can't afford to leave traces of ourselves."
"You're not old, though," Hermione told her loyally.
And just now, she didn't look it, not with her face sculpted by the candlelight and her body lean in the old Muggle clothes. She looked ageless and wise, and Harry was suddenly ferociously pleased by her very existence.
She caught him staring at her. "Is something wrong, Potter?" she asked, a trifle sharply. He was pleased to hear that, too.
"No, it's just. . .you look so different, Professor," he said. "Almost like a real Muggle."
She lifted an eyebrow slightly, but let the "almost" pass. "Well, that's the idea, Harry -- to look different. And to hide in the Muggle world as best we can. We're not invisible, though, you know. You-Know-Who's minions might live in darkness, but they aren't blind. They could be anywhere. But I think I'm safe enough for now."
McGonagall stood up abruptly, as if she'd made all the personal revelations she could bear. "It's getting late," she said. "You must be hungry." She frowned at the few shelves mounted near the dresser. "But I'm afraid there's not much food here at the moment." As far as Harry could tell, "not much" translated to "none," unless he counted a tin of tea and a bottle of Muggle whisky.
"We can't stay, anyway," said Hermione regretfully, getting to her feet as well. "Mr Weasley arranged a portkey for us near the school. We should start back; it's almost time."
"Can you find your way?" asked McGonagall. "You'll be less conspicuous by yourselves."
Hermione nodded, but Harry could tell she was reluctant to leave. She looked at the professor. "Will you be. . . " she began.
"I'm fine, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, in that school tone that put an end to all discussion. She returned Hermione's parting hug quickly but tightly and answered Harry's one-armed embrace with one of her own. It still surprised him, the fact that he was now taller than she was.
"Goodbye, Professor," he said.