Author's Note: I am extremely grateful to Jezebel Jai-Braxlin for beta reading the following story and providing many helpful remarks.
"Hot like a Horntail"
"What are you insinuating, Albus?" asked Armando Dippet, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, wandering nervously around his office. As the conversation progressed, he was losing what was left of his patience. For the last half an hour, he and his Deputy had been talking about the latest events having occurred in continental Europe. Grindelwald's army enforced a reign of terror in the Third Reich by overthrowing the Ministry and gaining control of the majority of the Nazi Party. However, there was no indication Grindelwald was planning to widen his influence outside the borders. On the contrary, it seemed the situation in Germany had quieten down. It was possible that the Dark Wizard had focused all attention on the construction of his headquarters - a high jet black fortress at the top of Zugspitze.
Apparently, Dumbledore thought otherwise and was trying very hard to convince Dippet to his rights. The Deputy Headmaster shifted slightly in the chair in an attempt to make eye contact with his employer.
"I am trying to tell you," said Albus, fully articulating every word, as if he was explaining something utterly obvious to a stubborn child, "we are in greater danger than you think."
Armando rubbed the hand over his face. He'd never thought there would be a moment he failed to understand the wizard sitting in front of him. Dumbledore's train of thoughts was usually very clear to him, as the wizard tended to provide solid arguments to support his opinions. However, the outbreak of two wars seemed to make this train run off course. The Transfiguration Professor became enigmatic and mysterious, sharing many observations but explaining none.
"But what danger?" nearly shouted the Headmaster. "If you want me to notify Spencer-Moon, I need to know the details. Why would Grindelwald be leaving Germany?"
Albus closed his eyes and breathed out heavily. Of course he knew the answer. Years ago, he and Gellert were working together on a plan of wizards' domination and enslavement of Muggles. At first, these were just pure speculations. By the end of the summer, however, the boys had elaborated every single detail. Albus's input was crucial to accomplish their common goal. Therefore, it was obvious that certain parts of the plan had to be altered. But the core, it seemed, remained unchanged.
"I can't tell you that," whispered Professor Dumbledore, examining the carpet beneath his feet.
His boss wouldn't have understood, the Deputy Headmaster was sure of it. Armando was a good wizard and a dear friend, but Albus had always feared his reaction. Finding out that his closest colleague had nearly become the second Grindelwald might have been too much for the Headmaster to take in. Even Nicolas didn't know why his young apprentice had left Godric's Hollow in such a hurry. Albus wasn't ready to face the demons of his past. At least, not yet.
"Then what makes you think," asked Dippet, taking deep breaths in an attempt to remain calm, "that our war is connected to the Muggle war?"
Albus didn't dare to look in the Headmaster's direction.
"I can't tell you that, either," he said, even more quietly than before.
Professor Dippet was getting angrier by the minute. His face turned scarlet, his hands were clenched tightly into fists, his nostrils widened. The dark brown eyes were on fire.
"Then how, on Merlin's butt, are you expecting me to believe any of this?!"
His shouts would make many wizards flinch, but all Dumbledore did was challenge his friend with such a fierce ice-cold gaze that the other wizard had to look away.
"I thought you knew me well enough to trust me, Armando," he whispered in a hoarse voice.
"If you wanted to make decisions of this significance," said Dippet sharply, "why didn't you become the Minister? You were the first choice after Fawley had resigned."
When Albus didn't answer, Armando thought it better not to press the subject. He sighed heavily. He was getting too old for all of this.
"Listen…" the Headmaster continued a bit calmer, putting his hand on the Deputy's shoulder. "I can't take certain measures based on a hunch. So, unless you give me a proper explanation, I'm afraid I'll have to turn down your request."
"I see…" stated Dumbledore, unhappy with the outcome of the meeting. He stood up, swept past his boss and headed to the door. "Sorry for wasting your time."
"Albus," Dippet stopped him on the doorstep. "I'm sorry. I hope you understand my position."
The Head of Gryffindor House nodded, left the Headmaster's office and walked silently towards his private quarters.
Lying in bed and watching the dark ceiling above him, Dumbledore was thinking bitterly over his conversation with Armando. Could he have played the cards differently and achieve the desired result? Albus wasn't sure. Since he got the recent issue of the Daily Prophet, he'd been looking forward to his talk with the Headmaster, as every other staff member had neglected his suspicions. Only to find that his employer didn't take him seriously, either. All he could do at the moment was hope for his assumptions to turn out to be wrong. Why the hell didn't anyone even try to listen to what he was saying?
But before he could answer himself, his eyelids became too heavy to keep his eyes open any longer. He hugged one of the pillows and fell into a shallow restless sleep.
Then, he heard voices.
"Albus…" sounded a short whisper. It kept getting louder. "Albus!"
He rolled over to one side, covering his ears with a duvet.
"Albus!" There it was again. But this time his name was followed by, "Oh, for heaven's sake, wake up!"
The Transfiguration Professor slowly turned to face a painting of an angry-looking middle-aged wizard who, for the time being, was supposed to be napping in the office.
"I've heard you the first five times, Henerick," Dumbledore said, yawning loudly. "What is it?"
Henerick straightened his bizarre-looking hat, a nervous habit he couldn't get rid of even after his death.
"You have a student trying to break into your office," he informed the Head of House, pointing toward the door. "She says it's urgent."
"Tell her I'm on my way."
A rush of adrenaline made Albus practically jump out of bed. He put on his shoes and a dressing gown, tying it on his way out. He wondered about the type of emergency he was about to face this time. Was it a broken bone, an uncontrolled use of magic, a sick student? Or maybe his oldest Gryffindors got drunk and charmed the common room beyond recognition? No, they couldn't have, it's not Friday yet. What could it be, then? Having unlocked the entrance door, he didn't need to keep guessing.
"Miss Hooch!" said the professor, surprised to see a person who was not a Prefect. "I wasn't expecting you. What happened?"
"Sir," the girl began in a voice shaking with emotions. "Please, come with me. Quick! There's something wrong with Minerva."
Mere minutes later, Rolanda stormed back into the girls' dormitory. She was followed by a very underdressed Head of House, who was whispering words of apology to the rest of the girls for disturbing their sleep.
"Professor!" said Minerva from one of the four-posters, her eyes wide with shock and fear. And anger, as she added, "Rolanda!"
"I've warned you," the blonde girl stated matter-of-factly.
Indeed, she had. "Go get checked in the Hospital Wing or I'll make Dumbledore drag you there," were her exact words. Minerva was sure her friend wouldn't have the guts.
Apparently, she did.
"How are you feeling, Miss McGonagall?" asked the professor, approaching his student's bed. He looked really worried. Minerva didn't even want to think what Rolanda must have told the wizard to upset him that much. Probably that his star student was dying from an unidentified, very contagious disease. She'd have to settle the matter with her friend later, when her head would stop aching this badly.
"I'm fine, Professor," she replied, pretending that nothing had happened. What gave her away was a loud throaty cough, which she failed to suppress.
She wasn't fine, Albus had noticed at once. She hadn't moved an inch since he came in, making no attempt to sit up, or as much as lift her head. The girl was unnaturally pale. Her lips formed a straight thin line. Every muscle of her body was tense, which indicated she was in pain, although she was doing her best not to show it.
Professor Dumbledore approached his student's bed and kneeled beside it. Minerva felt a huge palm delicately placed on her forehead, which was withdrawn after a while.
"You're hot like a little Horntail," stated the Head of Gryffindor House, his brows furrowed. "We need to get you to the Hospital Wing."
Minerva wanted to put on another protest, but then she felt her head make a sweeping swirl. Involuntarily, she shut her eyes to make the red and blue spots disappear. When they did, she glanced at the professor with an unfocused gaze.
"Sir, come on," she said, trying very hard to coherently voice her thoughts. "I don't want to go. They're overreacting."
She indicated Augusta and Rolanda, who were watching her carefully from a certain distance. Her other roommates had no idea anything had happened, having fallen back to sleep behind the curtains. Or pretending to.
"Your friends are worried about you," whispered Professor Dumbledore in a soothing voice. "So am I."
Minerva closed her eyes again. Her breaths were short and shallow. The conversation must have tired her.
"I'll tell you what," suggested Albus, slightly leaning forward. "We'll walk together to Madam Maius, who will cast a quick diagnostic spell to confirm you're alright. Having put our minds at ease, you will calmly go back to sleep. What do you say?"
She didn't know whether it was the tone of Dumbledore's voice or her body giving into the condition she was in. Nevertheless, the girl felt she'd already lost the argument. Admitting defeat, she got out from under the blankets, still fully dressed due to the cold chills she was having. Letting no one support her, Minerva walked slowly towards the Hospital Wing in a close company of Rolanda, Augusta and their Head of House.
When the group arrived at the entrance, they noticed that the room was dark and locked. It seemed as if there was no one inside. Albus knocked vigorously.
"Marion!" he called from behind a massive wooden door. He knocked once more. "Marion, open up! It's urgent."
He could hear steps from the other side. Someone put a key into the lock, which grated in response. The door stood open.
"Finally," stated Dumbledore, wasting no time for greetings. "Let us in. We have an emergency."
"Which of you is the patient?" asked Madam Maius factually, having moved from the doorway.
"Minerva is," informed Albus, allowing the girls to enter first. Then, he whispered, "She doesn't look good, Marion."
"I'll see what I can do," the mediwitch replied in a hushed voice. "Wait in my office, you may need to inform the parents."
Then, she approached the hospital bed the two students had already sat on.
"Girls, out! Leave me alone with the patient."
With reluctance, Rolanda and Augusta left Minerva, who was coughing so hard she had troubles to catch her breath. They sat on the floor, their backs to the wall, and waited silently on the corridor, near the entrance door.
Ten minutes later, they were joined by Professor Dumbledore.
"It would be best if you went back to your dormitories," he informed them, crossing his arms on his chest. "I don't suppose Miss McGonagall will be able to receive any visitors until morning."
"No, Professor!" Rolanda protested. "We won't go anywhere. We're not…" she yawned widely, "sleepy yet."
"I fully understand your concern," he said kindly. "However, I would highly appreciate if you got some sleep. You have classes tomorrow."
"So do you," Rolanda muttered under her breath.
"Can you guarantee," said Augusta, suppressing a yawn, "we'll be allowed to see Minerva first thing in the morning?"
"I certainly can, Miss Finch," the Transfiguration Professor replied seriously, making a note to inform the mediwitch about the girls' early arrival.
"Alright, then," stated Augusta, lifting from the floor. "Come on, Rolanda."
Rolanda wasn't particularly thrilled with her friend's decision. She listened, nevertheless. The girls bid their teacher goodbye and left him in the semi-darkness, alone with his thoughts.
Dumbledore had no idea how much time had passed before Madam Maius finally came out to the corridor. She stood next to him, leaning heavily against the wall. She looked exhausted and weary, but reacted to Albus's interrogative stare.
"She's stable," the mediwitch answered an unasked question. "There's been a serious case of acute respiratory failure. The tissue surrounding her trachea had been damaged, which caused an internal bleeding. The liquid gathered in the lungs, and this resulted in slow suffocation."
She made a short pause for her speech to sink in. Then, she continued.
"I stopped the bleeding, cleared the respiratory tract and gave the patient several anti-inflammatory potions. She should feel much better in a couple of hours, but I would like to keep her for a day or two to make sure she's fully recovered."
Albus heaved a sigh of relief. Again, he felt grateful to work with such a dedicated witch.
"I don't know how to thank you."
"Stop it," Madam Maius scolded him, waving her hand with neglect. "I'm just doing my job."
The wizard smiled sadly, watching the tips of his joined fingers. The next question he brought up with an unexpected difficulty.
"Are you able to tell what could have caused Minerva's condition?"
The witch thought for a second.
"It looks like an ill-placed spell to me. I'd name a human transfiguration gone wrong. But I don't want to believe that any sixth or seventh-year would dare to practice on a little girl."
Albus licked his dry lips. He was almost certain this was not the case. He had four N.E.W.T. level students, and not a single one of them would purposely hurt another student. Dumbledore knew only one other witch or wizard who was talented and stupid enough to perform complex spells on herself.
"May I see her?" he asked hopefully.
If Marion was surprised by his question, she didn't show it.
"Of course," she answered in the affirmative. "I put her to sleep for the time of the procedure, which means she may be a little confused when she wakes up. She's resting now, so please do not disturb her more than necessary."
"Thank you. I won't take long."
Professor Dumbledore came back to the Hospital Wing. He watched his every step, cautious not to make any noise. In the far corner of the room he saw a dark shadowy figure lying motionless in white bedclothes. He approached it and wordlessly conducted a chair for himself.
His student was sleeping. She was breathing with more ease now, although one could hear a quiet whistle every time she breathed out. Her black hair matched the dark circles around her eyes. The contrast between them and her white skin was striking.
Albus put his head in his hands and sighed shakily. From what he had learned, he deduced that Minerva's self-transforming spell must have backfired, and because of that she'd nearly drowned in her own blood. Terrible thing.
There was something that frightened him at the moment. The spell Minerva had supposedly performed could be easily found in the book he gave her. The girl wasn't ready to use it in practice. She couldn't have been, not at this age. The Transfiguration Professor couldn't help thinking it was all his fault. He should've known Minerva well enough to tell she'd try pursuing her dream of achieving the Animagus transformation with or without his help. Once again in his short life, Albus had unintentionally hurt someone close to him, focusing all of his attention on Gellert. Lately, he'd been making the worst decisions possible.
He almost jumped when he felt a hand on his forearm and heard a hushed voice saying,
"Professor?"
Looking up immediately, he met a worn-out expression of his young Gryffindor. Her grip was very weak. He took her hand into his and squeezed it lightly before placing it back next to her.
"Miss McGonagall," the wizard replied, drawing nearer in order to hear her better. " My apologies. I didn't mean to wake you."
"Oh no, you didn't," Minerva assured him. "You didn't wake me, sir," she corrected herself almost immediately. Then, she looked around. "Where am I?"
"You're lying in the hospital bed. Madam Maius had successfully fixed you. She wishes to observe you for a while, just in case."
"I see," said the young witch, slowly taking a deep breath to make sure nothing hurt her. "I hope I'll be able to attend tomorrow's classes."
Professor Dumbledore rose his brows in surprise at the change of subject. Minerva seemed to be totally unconcerned with the state of her health. Wasn't she curious what had caused her symptoms? Perhaps she'd already known. He had to be sure, though.
"Madam Maius decided it was advisable to tell me what had caused your illness."
In response, Minerva lowered her eyes and shifted uncomfortably under the covers.
"I'm sorry, sir," she whispered. "I shouldn't have done that."
"Indeed, you shouldn't have," he stated, carefully observing her reactions. "Yet, you did. Did you know the effects this particular spell might have on you?"
"Yes, sir," the girl said in a slightly hissing voice. She hated to admit she was wrong. "But still, I wasn't expectingserious complications. Especially that everything seemed fine at first."
As Minerva didn't give away too many details, Albus was forced to think twice about every word he spoke.
"Haven't I warned you students should be supervised when casting certain spells?"
"You did, Professor," she answered, suddenly feeling like a little girl being lectured by her parent. "But I'm quite good at transfiguration. I thought I could handle it."
And then, he knew. Albus forced a big lump down his throat. So, it was his fault, after all.
"You were reckless to transfigure yourself without letting anyone know," said the Transfiguration Professor, his voice turning out unexpectedly sharp. He didn't want to yell at her. There will be time to reprimand his student later. Trying to meet her gaze, he asked quietly, "Why didn't you let me know?"
Minerva was determined to look everywhere but at him.
"Well… I don't know…" she stated, no sign of confidence in her voice. "Maybe because you disagreed to train me."
"That wasn't my wisest idea," he admitted after a while. He didn't plan to make the same mistake twice. "Maybe we could renegotiate the matter tomorrow. What do you say?"
Albus's proposition was rewarded with Minerva's faint, but happy smile.
