Trapped

Author's Note: In case anyone is curious or confused, Laird S. McKinnon is an original character. In my efforts to bring him to life, I am researching the Scottish language and manner of speaking. My research is a work-in-progress kind of thing, so if my attempt is less than perfect, I wholeheartedly confess, I am not Scottish. If you find him difficult to understand, I highly recommend you view the article on Wikipedia regarding Scottish jargon.

Seanair (pronounced Sha-nair) is Gaelic for Grandfather

Also, if any reader is not familiar with McGonagall's official backstory, I highly recommend you visit the official Harry Potter fandom website and read up on it, as it will heavily color this story.

For a long moment, they each sit silently. Firstly because, Harry had expected that convincing McGonagall to make such a binding arrangement with him would take considerably more effort on his part. Secondly, there was no denying the magnitude of the moment.

At length, he draws a deep breath saying, "Well then."

McGonagall nods. "After you've returned."

Harry rises to his feet, but before he can cross the small room, the doorknob turns suddenly, and when the person on the other side of the door realizes that it is locked, they began pounding with both fists so vigorously that both Harry and McGonagall jump even before Neville Longbottom is heard shouting from the other side, "Professor! Professor McGonagall, you've got to come quickly!"

Harry raises an eyebrow and McGonagall nods tersely as she steps out from behind her desk.

Opening the door, Harry takes in his friend's bright pink face and his dusty disheveled clothing as he inquires, "Hey Neville, what's…"

"Hiya, Harry, not just now okay? Sorry to interrupt but I need the professor."

"What seems to be the trouble, Mr. Longbottom?"

"Parents here at the castle." Neville turns his gaze to McGonagall, panting breathlessly as he pats his chest.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific. There are many parents here at Hogwarts today."

"Yes ma'am. Students. First years, possibly three of them, and one second year. They've gone missing, and their parents are here looking for them."

"All of the underage students were escorted safely out of the castle before the fighting broke out, Mr. Longbottom. You know that."

Yes ma'am, I do, but Susan Bones and a few of the others are saying some of the younger students sneaked back in night before last during the fighting. Their parents are here, and we think we've found them, but they're trapped in one of the portrait galleries on the third floor. The ceiling came down. We can barely hear them, and I'm afraid if somebody doesn't do something soon, Seamus might start blowing things up again."

McGonagall reaches for her walking cane at once. "Is he mad?"

"Well you did give him permission to blow up the viaduct the other night, Professor."

"Yes, I did!" McGonagall speaks sharply; clearly enunciating each of the words in her next sentence. "In order to make it harder for the enemy to get in, Mr. Longbottom! I did not, however, give him permission to unleash his passion for anything of an incendiary nature so that he might kill his junior classmates!"

"Most of the fallen debris is too big, too heavy, to move manually. "He wants to clear the area."

"But if he can't see them, if you can barely hear them, it's not safe. One poorly placed charge and he could kill them all!"

"That's why I came to get you, Professor. if we move one piece at a time, even with magic, it's going to take too long. Plus, move the wrong piece first - same result, right?"

Harry and Neville watch with extreme curiosity, as McGonagall, once again, steps around behind her desk and begins opening drawers.

Muttering to herself without really caring who's listening, she stammers irascibly, "Children… Wax for brains!" and hastily places collected items in the pockets of her robes as she continues to whisper loudly. "quill… parchment… wand."

When she is done with her searching, McGonagall steps toward the wall behind her desk with her hand outstretched and a door suddenly appears where there had been none before. Putting only one foot over the threshold, she commands, "Wordsworth, come!"

When a large white and brown male cat with dark stripes around his legs and over his back strides out of the usually cloaked room behind her office with his head and tail held proudly high, and takes the lead as they leave McGonagall's office at a trot, Neville whispers to Harry, "Have you ever, in your entire life, told a cat what to do and actually had them do what you say?"

Harry shrugs even as he shakes his head and, mindful of the narrow distance between themselves and the professor's back, he whispers in reply, "Not me. Never. I've seen that cat around the castle, but I didn't know his name. I didn't know he belonged to her either, but it's really not all that surprising."

When Neville raises an incredulous eyebrow, Harry continues, "When was the last time you didn't do what McGonagall told you to do."

Neville shrugs and offers the obligatory nod.

When they reach the third-floor landing most directly connected to the transfiguration department, McGonagall pauses. Leaning heavily on the balustrade, she collects information as she also uses the necessary moment to rest her throbbing ankle. "Longbottom… The names of the missing students, please."

"Misti Rivers, her younger brother Ripley; along with their friends, Magnus Thorne, and Cordelia Drakes."

McGonagall's face pales. "Magnus Thorne?"

"Yes ma'am. "The short little first year who really likes hip hop music – and he can dance really well."

The transfiguration teacher doesn't dare to smile. "Yes, thank you. I've seen him do so. Now then, go and fetch Hagrid for us. I believe you will find him in his vegetable patch with Professor Sprout. They should be collecting herbs and saps of a medicinal nature to aid Madame Pomphrey in her care of the injured - and while you're at it, I suppose you should let her know to expect a few more in hospital."

Neville nods. "Back in a flash." He bolts away, taking the stairs three at a time, just as the color in his face was starting to return to normal.

Rising once more to her full height, and squaring her shoulders, McGonagall puts purpose back in her faltering stride and somehow, despite her own injuries, manages to stay three paces ahead of Harry.

Just through the northern entrance of the portrait gallery, she stops abruptly, causing Harry to nearly collide with her. She points her wand and commands, "Silencio," just in time to stop a seventh-year student who is merely a syllable away from casting the Sonorous charm on his own throat.

Annoyed, and glaring, until the forcibly muted student turns to realize who has stopped him, he taps his closest classmate on the shoulder and points at McGonagall. His chosen spokesperson stammers, "Professor, he only wanted to make certain the trapped kids can hear us through all the debris."

McGonagall looks around at the tense faces of students and adults alike. She takes in the destroyed room that is more than half filled with jagged and daunting heaps of collapsed stone and mortar and murmurs, "Saints preserve us!" before demanding, "I don't suppose it occurred to either of you that a bullhorn, or the effect of one, might not be the most practical option available to you?"

Both boys shrug.

Taking charge, McGonagall reaches out and removes the wand from the outstretched hand of the now silent boy. "I want every student, be they past, present, or future, out of this room at once - and quietly, please."

When she is met with incredulous and resistant stares, she raises a formidable eyebrow. "There are three exits to choose from, pick one and go through it. Now! Parents – if your child or children is walking out of this room at this moment, please go with them." Mr. and Mrs. Drakes, Mr. Rivers, Ms. Pierpont… All of you, with me, please.

The four frightened parents gather around her, ashen-faced and hopeful.

"I'm going to get your children out."

Mr. Drakes looks her over, head to toe and back again, before asking doubtfully, "Shouldn't we call some sort of structural specialist."

"I understand your asking, believe me, I do. However, at the moment, the name of a structural specialist who also happens to be a witch or wizard doesn't come readily to mind, and there are very strict rules by which muggles are allowed on castle grounds. I cannot invite just anyone. I know of only one and, to the best of my knowledge, at this moment, he's on the most northern shore of Caithness. I fear, it would take far too long to go and fetch him. I don't want your children to wait that long."

"Lady, if you think we give a damn about the rules right now…We sent our little girl to you and…"

When his booming voice falters and catches in his throat, his wife puts an arm around him. "Sweetheart don't shout at her. She's trying to help us."

Penelope Pierpont steps forward, and McGonagall knows, without asking, what her most prevalent concern for her brother is, so she asks. "Do you know when Magnus last had his insulin?"

The delicately featured blonde shakes her head. "Not precisely, no. I can only take a good guess. I know he's only 11, but he's been taught to be very responsible about his medication. She presses a small bright red nylon dop kit into McGonagall's hands. "Magnus doesn't like taking his medication in front of his friends. He thinks it makes him look weak. He would've had insulin with him when he left the castle, but if he only had one injection pen with him - well, if he's not in trouble already, he soon will be. He needs an injection as soon as possible. He can tell you how to do it. If he's not conscious or if he is conscious but incoherent, talking nonsense or behaving erratically, just jab the lance into his thigh or the fleshy part of his belly and press the plunger. It's very easy to use."

McGonagall nods fervently. "Understood." She turns her gaze to the remaining parent in the group who has yet to speak. "Mr. Rivers?"

"I don't care who gets them out. I've already lost their mother. Just bring me my children."

She nods succinctly.

"Professor?"

McGonagall turns, a frown already emerging on her battered face. "Mr. Potter, I believe I was quite clear. All students, out!"

"He only wanted to let you know that I am here." Lee Jordan steps forward. "My fiancée is outside with her grandfather."

McGonagall nods erratically. "How nice for you, Mr. Jordan. If you'll excuse me." She steps toward the massive hole in the ceiling and the pile of rubble that towers below it.

Jordan perseveres, trying to get his point across. "My fiancée's name is Karolyn McKinnon. She graduated the year before I did."

The professor's head snaps around as his words grab her full attention. "You're telling me that Laird McKinnon is outside this castle at this very moment?"

"He is. Karolyn went home. When she told him what happened here, he insisted on coming at once." Lee adds more quietly, "It seems, he's quite concerned about you, Professor."

McGonagall shakes her head in silent, but unmistakable exasperation. Stepping quickly to one side of the room, away from the others, she pulls Harry along with her; her hand wrapped around his upper arm. Lowering her voice to a confidential level, she says, "You'll have to let him in. He can't come in without a proper escort. He's a muggle who is not related to a current student. And you'll need to use your second wand. The one made of holly will not do. You must be holding his right hand when the veil is lifted, and it must be a silent incantation. One spoken aloud will have no effect."

Harry nods. "The incantation?"

"You must not be distracted. You must think very clearly; Castelleum Revelio." She points her own wand at his chest and does not speak, but a soft spark of deep purple flame pierces his chest and causes his heart and lungs to fizzle pleasantly. "And you will only be able to do it for the next four minutes. Do you think you can handle it?"

Harry nods. "I'll be back in less than five. What should I tell him?"

"Just get him in here, Potter. He'll figure out the rest for himself."

His mission clear, Harry sprints away.

Before McGonagall can turn, another student, a sandy-haired seventh year with large expressive hazel eyes is beckoning from the doorway that Harry only just exited. "What is it, Mr. Benjamin?"

He dares to put a foot halfway over the threshold and she snaps harshly, "Curtis Benjamin, use words. There is absolutely no need for you to set foot back into this room!" Keenly aware that other students are listening just beyond the door, she adds, "The next student who disregards that will be spending their final hours here in detention!"

Outside in the hallway, a few students can be heard groaning quietly as the voice of one calls out above the others, "Professor you should let Benji help you. He's an animagus, his animal form is a Norwich terrier. They're built for burrowing."

Interpreting the scowl on her face, the boy affectionately dubbed Benji says quietly, "She knows that Dean. Who do ye think taught me how to transform myself?"

Laughter rises in the corridor as Dean Thomas mutters, "Oh yeah. Right then. Sorry about that, Professor. Just trying to help."

"While I do appreciate the offer for help, gentlemen, I will not endanger the life of one student to save another. Furthermore, communication between witches and wizards in their animal forms takes a great deal of practice. As such, I will be better off with my own cat."

Nodding his understanding, Benji holds a small shortwave radio receiver, no bigger than a pack of playing cards, in the palm of his outstretched hand. "At least take one of my handhelds, Professor. When you reach the students, if you're able to resume your human form, we will be able to talk to you without shouting."

Stepping quickly back to the door and accepting the item, she looks it over.

"I have the other one. You can talk to me. Just press this button here on the side and hold it down while you are speaking, then, when you're done talking, let go. Just try to keep it within arm's length."

McGonagall almost smiles. "I know how the contraption works, Mr. Benjamin, but if I carry it on my person it will be transformed with me. I've rarely practiced with electronic devices from the muggle world. They are full of wires and circuitry. If I muddle the transfiguration, it is highly likely the thing will become useless."

Benji thinks this over momentarily. "Wordsworth is a fairly big boy. He's probably directly descended from tigers. I don't think it will be too heavy for him to carry if he has a proper harness of some kind."

McGonagall lifts her wand into the air. Without speaking, she calls for the deep emerald green harness her cat rarely wears unless leaving the castle. In a matter of seconds, it comes floating up to the door of the portrait gallery and hovers there just above Curtis Benjamin's left shoulder

Purely to spare the badly bruised transfiguration teacher the discomfort of kneeling, Benji falls to one knee long enough to take care of the necessary task for her. Holding out an inviting hand, he waits for the cat to approach and sniff his outstretched fingers.

Wordsworth rubs his own head against the palm of the boy's hand with intent; effectively self-petting, until Curtis takes the hint and voluntarily rubs the cat's ears.

"Hiya Wordsworth, remember me? We're old pals, right? I'm gonna put this thing on you so that you can help us. I know you're not fond of it, but don't bite me okay, buddy?"

As soon as he tries to slip the cat's harness into place, Wordsworth arches his back and hisses menacingly.

Knowing it would go this way, McGonagall sighs with resignation. Just as she begins to transform, Madame Pomphrey, Professor Flitwick, Hagrid, and Neville – every bit as pink-faced as before - all rush into view in the corridor outside the room.

"Professor McGonagall, don't you dare! You're in no condition to tr…"

The deed is done before the words are completely out and Madame Pomphrey sighs in disgust as the silver tabby cat on the floor at Curtis Benjamin's feet shudders in unmistakable pain.

"I keep trying to tell you, Minerva."

Now, incapable of putting her lack of interest in Madame Pomphrey's objections into words, the silver feline with spectacle shaped markings on her face instead, chooses to focus on the male cat at her side. Limping badly, now in possession of two injured legs instead of just one, the slender silver cat circles the larger male who is easily more than twice her body weight.

All those capable of watching, do so with wide curious eyes and, in some cases, gaping mouths as the two cats touch noses, their whiskers brushing together in ways that only they understand while their ears twitch and pivot, sending and receiving additional undecipherable messages.

The silver cat vocalizes softly, hitting an oddly mismatched assortment of almost musical notes that human beings are not capable of replicating in their own throats, much less understanding. Wordsworth makes a loud tisking noise that isn't one, but still sounds very much like a sneeze, and it is generally accepted to be a sound of disagreement, but when the silver feline yowls, a high-pitched whine that comes ominously from deep inside her chest, Wordsworth relents and steps to the boy's side once more and allows his harness to be slid easily into place and fastened securely around his body.

Next, Benji takes the handheld two-way radio receiver and tucks it securely under the wide chest strap of the harness. When he is certain that it will not be jostled free by the cat's natural movement, he returns to his full height and gives the silver tabby cat two thumbs up. "He's good to go, Professor. Be careful. I've got mine." He jiggles the twin of the two-way communication device now held in Wordsworth's possession. "We'll be right here. Uh… In the corridor with Professor Flitwick and the others."

The charms teacher nods to her, and the silver tabby cat walks slowly, limping, toward the base of the massive pile of stone, masonry, and other unidentifiable debris. Mindful of the fact that, presently, her balance is less than 100% cat-like, she carefully tests the stability of the rubble underfoot before venturing farther on to the next piece. She circles the downed ceiling twice in the company of her own feline companion, both of them climbing higher with each rotation.

Mr. Drakes is a lean man with a narrow face and an ebony colored buzz cut. Staring after the cats as they disappear through a minute opening in the pile of rubble, he runs his fingers over the top of his head in frustration and demands with undeniable disbelief. "Are we really doing this? Someone please explain to me why we're relying on a couple of cats to rescue our children, who may or may not have just been buried alive."

Benji tries to be the voice of reason. Making eye contact with each of the parents, he says calmly, "Sir, you aren't relying on a couple of cats. You're relying on the headmistress of this school, who happens to be able to transform herself into a cat. She can make herself small enough to get through an opening in that mess that nobody else would have a prayer of getting through. If anyone can reach your children, it's her. She can use cat's eyes to see in what, I'm sure, must be near total darkness. As a cat, she also has both a heightened sense of smell and hearing which will only make it that much easier for her to locate your children. When she does find them, if she has enough room to do so, she will resume her human form, and she will get them out."

Mr. Drakes shakes his head in uncertainty. "This is my fault. I told Dana it was too far away. I should've put my foot down. I should've said, 'No absolutely not, we are not sending our daughter that far away from home." He reaches for his wife and hugs her. "There's absolutely no reason why I couldn't have just taught her myself."

"Mr. Drakes, this is not anybody's fault. Things just happen, and sometimes, when they do, children get excited. We do things we know we're not supposed to do. My friends and I certainly did our share of things like that our first couple of years here."

"What if she needs help?"

Flitwick replies genially in his squeaky voice. "Then, she will ask for it."

"Oh, it's as simple as that, is it?"

"Yes, sir. It is. Help always comes to those who ask for it at Hogwarts, but honestly, Mr. Drakes, of all the people at this school, Professor McGonagall is the one least likely to need help."

"There's a giant hole in the ceiling, and she just disappeared from sight beneath a massive pile of collapsed stone. How will help come?"

"That remains to be seen, but I promise you, if she asks for it, it will come."

"What if you all are just wrong? What if that old woman can't get them out?"

Benji smiles but has the good sense to refrain from laughing. "Mr. Drakes all parents meet with Professor McGonagall before their children ever attend their first day here at this school. Therefore, I know this is not your first meeting with her. I know you trusted her. Otherwise, you wouldn't have sent your daughter to Hogwarts. Please, don't forget that now. I really don't think any of you need to worry that she's not equal to the task. The night before last, I saw her step in front of someone else to protect them. I saw her duel Lord Voldemort. Obviously, she survived. After that, I really don't think that pile of rocks, even if it is twenty-five feet high, is going to present much of a challenge for her but, if I am wrong, and she can't get them out, then someone else will. Until that happens, she will be with your children. She will make sure that they are not alone."

Harry nearly runs right through the fat friar on his way out of the castle.

"I'm sorry sir."

"No worries, dear boy, no worries. What's your hurry?"

"Sorry, I don't have time to explain. It's an emerg… Hang on! Friar, can you round up the other ghosts in the castle?"

"But of course."

"Great, get as many of the other ghosts as quickly as you possibly can and go to the main portrait gallery on the third floor. There's a situation there that I'm pretty sure you all can help with. Some kids are trapped and may be in trouble. Professor McGonagall is there already."

The fat friar nods. "Count on me." He shoots up through the ceiling and out of sight.

Still running, Harry leaves the castle through the entrance closest to the whomping willow and shields his eyes against the glare of the sunlight as he sprints across the grounds to the castle's main courtyard and the decimated viaduct beyond.

It takes him no time at all to spot the pretty girl with a mulatto complexion, as she steps out of the passenger-side door of an exceptionally well looked after classic American Ford painted forest green that doubtlessly rolled off the assembly line sometime in the fifties.

She waves to Harry, and when he has come as close as he can, standing near the edge of the yawning gap in the middle of the viaduct, she calls out. "Hey, Potter, we can't get across. My grandfather can't apparate, and I don't think I can fix this by myself."

"On my way." Harry assures and points the wand he is already clutching. "Pontem Reparo."

Even as massive chunks of the felled bridge begin to rise and settle themselves into a state of repair, Harry walks, keeping pace with the edge as it expands in length and mends. All but heedless to the ground-rumbling vibrations he's causing, he moves as quickly as he can. When he's near enough to them, he points his wand at the opposite side of the gap and repeats, "Pontem Reparo." Thus, causing the bridge to mend from both ends simultaneously.

When the gap is still more than six feet from closure, a man more than 6 feet 2 inches tall, who looks, from a distance, to be in his early fifties slips out from behind the wheel and slams the driver's door of the truck. In possession of a lion's mane of graying dark red hair, a full beard, and a mustache, he walks with the agile gait of someone much more his junior. Without any visible traces of fear, he approaches his side of the mending bridge and, taking wide steps, sometimes small jumps, he rushes easily across the raised sections of stone in the gap even before the viaduct is completely repaired as though he were simply crossing a country stream courtesy of slippery stones, as opposed to being 100 feet above certain death should he fall.

"Nicely done lad!" He declares with a heavy Scottish brogue. Reaching Harry, he offers a handshake courtesy of a three-fingered metal prosthetic that resembles an eagle's talon, and when Harry accepts without flinching, his gray eyes twinkle with merry appreciation.

"You're pretty impressive yourself, sir. I don't know that I would've hopscotched across that gap half as well."

"Spend more than half your life trodding the planks of narrow scaffolding hundreds of feet above solid earth, and the other half being knocked about by the storm-tossed sea, you ken a thing or two about keeping your balance."

Harry nods enthusiastically. "Yeah, I bet you do. I'm Harry, Harry Potter. Professor McGonagall sent me out to be your escort. That is, as long as you are Mr. McKinnon?"

"That's what they tell me."

When his granddaughter steps to his side after waiting for at least a narrow section of the viaduct to mend, providing her with a complete path that requires no hopping about before she dares to cross, he drops an arm around the girl's shoulders. "Karolyn tells me that ole What's-His-Ugly-Face is no more."

Chuckling, Harry concurs with a brisk nod. "I'm happy to report that's true, sir but I'm afraid I really don't have time to talk about it just now. I've probably got less than 2 minutes to get you inside before my escort privileges are revoked. So, if you will take my hand, we'd best be on our way. There's a situation in the main portrait gallery, that Professor McGonagall seems to think you might be of help with."

Benji toggles the microphone on his two-way and asks hopefully, "Professor McGonagall?" When he receives no reply, he shrugs and adds, "I know you may not be able to answer yet, but Harry ran into the fat friar on his way downstairs. The ghosts are here to help. So, expect company."

Unable to respond, the silver feline, who is crawling on her belly through an impossibly narrow opening between slabs of stone and mortar, is grateful for the information that comes a little too loudly through the handheld radio harnessed to Wordsworth's chest a few inches behind her. When she realizes that the tail end of the message is significantly more quiet than the first part, she looks back over her shoulder and realizes that Wordsworth is a few feet away and, due to his larger size, unable to follow. She is torn, tempted to proceed without him, but common sense wins out, and mewing in resignation, she crawls backward through the blackness. Narrowly avoiding painful contact with jagged pieces of stone, with one ankle and one shoulder aching miserably, she returns to his side. Allowing him to take the lead, and locate a passage large enough for himself, they resume their search making soft cat noises that only they understand.

When Nearly Headless Nick's head suddenly pops into view atop its ruff and he instructs, "Down and to your left the first chance you find, Professor." The silver cat chuffs softly, and he adds, "but there are only three of them. We're looking for the fourth."

The bespectacled cat shoots a grim look at Wordsworth and the pair of them plod onward. A moment later, the radio squawks again and a familiar voice announces, "Professor? It's Harry. We're here. I've got Mr. McKinnon with me."

The silver cat purrs with relief, but it's a response that only Wordsworth hears.

Standing next to the downed pile of rubble in the portrait gallery, the redheaded Scotsman takes the two-way radio from Harry and complains genially. "And me daughter thought I was more than a bit touched in the head for wantin' to drive half the night to get here." When he gets no reply, McKinnon looks at Harry with the facial equivalent of a shrug and speaks into the radio again. "Quick as you can, find a place where you can talk to me, Professor. I need to know what it's like in there."

He speaks to his granddaughter as he surveys the structural damage. "Kara, my gear, from the truck – in case I need to find a way in there."

Karolyn nods dutifully and steps away, calling over her shoulder. "Back in a wink, Seanair."

Having been moved to the safety of the corridor, the parents of the missing children are afforded the spot just beyond the doorway, out of respect, so that they might be there to catch the first glimpses of their children once they are freed.

More than one person groans aloud when Peeves, the poltergeist, glides into the room above their heads, chanting inanely, "Why is everybody here, staring at a dirty old pile of castle ceiling? You should fix it. It has certainly looked more appealing. If I were you, I would do it before those three little kiddies start squealing!"

Penelope Pierpont shutters visibly, and Madame Pomphrey scolds, "Peeves, that is not helpful!"

"It's not unhelpful either." Peeves giggles.

Looking at the face of Magnus Thorn's clearly distraught sister, Harry barks, "Peeves, you bloody menace! If you don't get out of here right now, I'm going to sic the Bloody Baron on you!"

Purely on reflex at the mention of the Bloody Baron, Peeves shoots up through the hole in the ceiling beyond the reach of any person. He looks around nervously but then swoops back down acrobatically. Sticking his tongue out, he cackles madly, "Voldy's gone all moldy. So, now Potty thinks he's a hottie!"

When his taunt doesn't draw even one of the usual sniggers, Peeves looks offended. "Bunch of sourpusses."

Both Harry and McKinnon jump slightly. Startled, when the handheld radio that the older of the two men is still holding gives a static-filled screech and the disembodied voice of McGonagall echoes angrily through the war-torn portrait hall. "Peeves, if you don't leave those poor people alone, I will spend the rest of my days making sure that the rest of your eternity is nowhere short of purgatory, even if it means I have to come back here and haunt you myself!"

The threat appears to give Peeves a moment's pause. "McGona-ghoul?"

Someone in the hallway whispers loudly, "Like she's not scary enough already?"

Harry chuckles. "Peeves, I think you better clear off."

The radio squawks again, and when McGonagall finds herself seized by a sudden coughing fit, the channel closes just as quickly as it opened.

The fine creases around McKinnon's gray eyes deepen with concern. "Judging by the sound of that cough, it's dry and dusty under there."

When her reply comes, it is breathy and tinged with pain. "Try wet – and somehow still dusty, not to mention, uncomfortably hot. Breathing is a chore. Everything's damp. There's water coming in from somewhere, but, at present, I can't think where. There's no lavatory directly overhead."

"No plumbing directly above on the fourth floor? What about the fifth? From where I'm standing, it looks as though the initial collapse may have begun there with enough force and momentum to take out the fourth floor with it. Have you got blueprints for this drafty old shack?"

McGonagall nods, then, mindful of the fact that no one can see her doing it, she adds, "They are locked in a cabinet in the headmaster's office, but the cabinet itself is invisible, even if it weren't, I can't show them to just anybody. I'd have to get clearance from the ministry first, and we don't have time for all that. Have Potter find Mr. Filch, have him shut off the castle's main water supply. Will that do?"

"That'll do it."

Mr. Rivers beckons from the doorway of the portrait gallery. "Excuse me for interrupting, did that ghost thing say that there are only three kids in there?"

Harry nods, then answers verbally. "That's right, Professor McGonagall, Peeves did say three kids; not four."

"Nick said the same thing to me a few moments ago. The ghosts know where the kids are. I sent them back to be with the kids and to let them know that I am coming. I've got a pretty good idea where they are - just having a hard time getting there. There are some places where I just can't get through."

McKinnon questions. "Tight fit?"

"Like an elephant crawling through a straw."

McKinnon nods and mutters to himself, "Bloody tight." Then asks, "You need some light in there?"

"No, I can see. Just slow going."

Harry points toward the door, indicating that he is going to go in search of Filch and McKinnon waves in understanding as he trots away.

Still talking to her, McKinnon instructs "Take your time. Don't rush. Better to go slow than risk moving the wrong piece of debris and bring the whole house of cards tumbling down around your ears." He turns away from the door and lowers his voice to a more discreet level. "next time you talk to one of those ghosts, tell them we could use an update out here. The natives are getting restless. Any news about their kids might help."

"Will do."

"Minerva" He says barely above a whisper. "how are you doing in there, really?"

It takes her a few seconds to answer. "I'm alright, Laird. I think I'd rather have my teeth pulled without the benefit of anesthetic - but I'm okay."

"Alright, but you let me know if that changes. I sent Karolyn out to the truck for my gear. If you need me to, I'll come in there and get you."

"I know you will. Good to hear your voice."

"Good to hear yours, too. I've missed you."

There is another weighted silence before she replies quietly, "And I, you."

"Maybe we can do something about that."

"I'd like that."

"You gotta get yourself out of there first, woman. And I know well enough, you're not coming out without those kids."

She breathes heavily. "I'd better get back to it."

Sensing the shift in her focus, he says, "This may not make a lot of sense, but you may have to go up to get down."

"It makes sense."

"They may not be at the bottom either, Minerva. They might be trapped somewhere in between. If that's the case, getting them out will be exponentially more dangerous."

"Understood."

"Check back with me in another half hour or so. You are our eyes and ears. We don't know what's going on in there if we don't hear from you."

"Cross your fingers. Hopefully, I won't still be here ½ hour from now."

Fifteen minutes later, McKinnon has pulled a pair of coveralls on over his clothing along with a high-grade nylon safety harness. Having ventured to the fifth floor to inspect what he now knows, is indeed, the point of origin for the collapse, he sweeps a high intensity torch beam over the jagged dome of debris. Squatting on his heels a safe distance away and muttering to himself with his voice dripping sarcasm, he declares, "Oh, good, I thought this was going to be hard."

In response to his whispered comment, just below the surface of debris, barely visible through the tiniest of cracks, he catches a glimpse of movement that he might of missed all together if it hadn't suddenly ceased in response to his voice. Panning his torch beam a second time; he catches the glow of animal eye-shine and inches a tiny bit closer to the site of collapse. "Minerva?" He questions in uncertainty. He can just make out the head of a cat.

Without so much as a mew of recognition the cat's face disappears and is replaced by another. It takes a moment for him to be certain, and then he smiles. Although she's dirtier than he's ever seen her, this cat, he recognizes.

"Well, long time no see, lady."

She squints in the beam of the torch and he moves it aside, understanding that it is far more light than she needs, and that suddenly finding herself in it's glare is likely causing her pain.

"This is a bit of a mess."

The silver cat squeezes her eyelids together into little more than slits.

"Well, you made your way to the top. Want to come out and sit a spell?"

He receives no response, verbal or otherwise.

"What's the matter? Afraid if you come out, you won't go back in?

Again, her eyelids narrow into slits.

"You come out. I'll go in. When he receives no response for the second time, he shakes his head. "And, me da called me Stone. You are twice as stubborn and three times as mule-headed, you know that?"

The silver cat huffs softly.

"Fine, have it your way, Professor. You came up one side. Are you going down the other?"

The cat tips her head from one side to the other, nearly touching both shoulders, but before McKinnon can ask for any sort of clarification a very loud disruption is heard from two floors below courtesy of the massive hole.

One person says, "What the…" Another exclaims, "Hey kid!" and Penelope Pierpont demands, "Magnus Josiah Thorne!"

Downstairs, on the third floor, young Magnus cycles through curiosity, confusion, and wide-eyed alarm in rapid fire succession. "Uh, what?" He swallows a mouthful of the thick chicken and ham sandwich he is holding. "Why is half the school standing here in the hallway? Hey Pen… We talked about this. Didn't we? I don't go around calling you Penelope Jane. Can't you just call me MJ? Is that really so hard?"

McKinnon whispers jovially to the cat. "Uh oh! I'd say one of them has been found."

"Boy! Get over here!" Stepping toward him, Penelope yanks her brother into a crushing hug that he finds awkwardly embarrassing.

"Ugh, Pen! Gross, get off! Why are you hugging me when you look like you want to kill me? What'd I do?"

"Because half the bloody school is looking for you! I thought you were trapped in that big giant pile of…" She points erratically before wiping away tears of both frustration and relief.

Magnus peers into the portrait gallery at the towering jumble of broken and collapsed ceiling; his eyes going wide in amazement, "Whoa! What happened in there?"

"Never mind that! What the devil are you doing here?"

Magnus shrugs. "Hardly nobody's moving around the school, Pen. I came up here looking for everybody. This place is never this close to empty. It's always full of people."

"Magnus, I'm not asking what you're doing here on the third floor. I am asking what are you doing here at all? Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you? You were supposed to leave the school night before last. They sent me an owl and told me that I needed to come pick you up, because the school was under attack. Only I got to Hogsmeade, and you were nowhere to be found!"

Magnus squints; looking guilty. "I figured I'd see you when you got here."

"Magnus, I could kill you! Do you have any idea how scared I've been! What the devil have you been doing? Where have you been? "

"I've been walking around the school looking for the lot I came back with. I can't find them. I only went down to the kitchens to get a sandwich. I needed to eat."

Taking hold of his shoulders, she turns him around to face the pile of destruction. "The 'lot you came back with' are trapped under that mess, young man!"

"Oh boy!" He shakes his head. "That's no good!"

"You're damn right that's no good!"

"Are they hurt?" He looks genuinely worried for the first time. "They're not dead, are they?"

"The ghosts say no. Professor McGonagall went in there to get them out. You best hope she can manage it before that whole mess collapses!"

Now, less worried, Magnus sighs with relief, "Oh good! Everything will be fine."

"I hope you're right. We all do."

"I am. Nobody messes with Professor McGonagall. Did you know she can turn into a cat? Plus, the other night, she dueled Professor Snape down in the Great Hall in front of everybody. Kids are saying that he used to be a death eater, and she handed him his own arse, and then she tossed him out the bloody window."

"Magnus!" His sister chastises.

Magnus shrugs undaunted. "Well, she did. Pen, you should have been here. It was the coolest thing I've ever seen!"

"I'm still not clear on why the four of you came back here after you were escorted out of the castle - specifically for your own safety. You had better start explaining that!"

Magnus looks confused again. "Explain what? I came back to fight death eaters. After what happened to our mum, and my dad, why do I need to explain? My mates came with me. You know, for backup. I didn't mean for them to get trapped in there though. That wasn't supposed to happen. I'm sorry for that."

"You, you, you…" She stammers ineffectually, seizing on the first thing she heard. "Came back to fight …"

"Death eaters." Magnus nods. "I got one, too."

"Are you out of your…. Hang on! What do you mean you got one?"

"I got one." Magnus repeats, not comprehending why his sister suddenly doesn't seem to understand plain english. When she looks near to meltdown, he starts explaining rapid-fire style. "See, there's this weird cool girl. Her name is Luna. She's in year seven, and she's in Dumbledore's Army. Harry Potter taught her to do a bunch of defensive stuff. She's a bit odd. But she's nice. Anyway, right after term started, these daft clowns from Slytherin were hassling me. They put frog soap in my bath and stole a couple of the packages you sent with biscuits and things from home. One day, they were trying to put my head in the toilet. Luna made them stop. She stunned them so I could get away. She told them that if they ever messed with me again, she'd turn them into blibbering humdingers. I don't even know what those are, but after that, they didn't mess with me so much anymore. I wanted her to teach me how to stun people, but she wouldn't. She said I was too young for that. Instead, she taught me the jelly-legs jinx. Night before last, one of those guys almost hit her in the back with the torture curse. What a sleaze! Getting people in the back, that's just lousy - but he missed, and before he could try again, I made him dance good – but not as good as me. He went all wobbly. He just couldn't stop until Luna petrified him. Me and Rip - we tied him up. He's in my locker in my dorm room. All petrified. I hope somebody gets him out of there before next year. If not, he's gonna start to smell!"

McKinnon chuckles. "The lad's got heart."

The silver cat simply looks at him.

"At least you can't accuse him of being a ruddy coward."

Making absolutely no attempt at comment, the cat walks out of sight.

He waits a few moments, and when she doesn't re-appear, he returns to the third floor.

Ripley kneels and brushes damp, sweaty hair away from his sister's dirty face. "How're you doing, Missy?"

"Okay, I guess. My leg doesn't hurt so much anymore. As long as I don't try to move."

"Then be still. They will come for us soon. I don't know how long it's been, but a long time for sure, I'm really hungry. I think it at least has to be tomorrow already. Dad must be looking for us by now. He was supposed to come get us in Hogsmeade. Want me to try and move the stone again.

His sister shakes her head. "Every time you try, something else moves. I don't want something else to fall and land on my face. Besides, when the stone moves, even just a little, my leg hurts really bad."

"Well, if we could move it out of the way, so you can stand up, it might hurt really bad at first, but maybe it's asleep. Maybe it just needs some blood. You know, like when you sit on your own foot too long and it goes all tingley. The hurts bad until you get up and move around. You gotta walk it off."

Misti shakes her head. "Thanks Rip, but I don't think it's a walk-it-off kind of hurt. I think it's broken."

Having been nearly asleep in one corner – as far away from the other two as she can get in the less than cozy space they occupy, Cordelia Drakes opens her eyes and sits up straight with a sympathetic whimper. "Oh, Misti don't say that. That's really bad."

Ripley frowns. "If she thinks it's broken, then she thinks it's broken, and she can say anything she wants."

The dark-haired girl across the space instantly tears up. "Well you don't have to yell at me."

The boy with a headful of sooty ash blond hair that matches his older sister's in both shade and length, groans with mounting exasperation. "I'm not yelling." He raises his voice. "This is yelling…" He lowers his voice to a near growl. "and don't you dare start crying again! That doesn't help anything."

"Well-ll…" Her voice trembles. "I'm tired, I'm hot, I'm dirty, I'm starving, and we've been here forever! I want to go home! I don't like being stuck in here, I don't like wars, I don't like death eaters. I d..."

Ripley cuts her off. "Well, join the club. None of that makes you special just now. In case you haven't noticed, Delia Diva, you're not alone in here. None of us is having a swell time."

"That is not my name, and I'll cry if I want to!"

"Fine, cry! Cry all you want. Just be quiet about it! I swear, you make more noise than Misti, and she's the one laying in a puddle of water with a giant piece of stone crushing her leg."

Cordelia wails in misery, "If we get out of here, I'm never coming back."

Misti rolls her eyes and whispers, her voice steeped in pain, "Don't be silly, Delia. Of course, you're coming back. We haven't even finished our first here yet."

Cordelia crosses her arms over her chest. I mean it. I'm not coming back. I hate Hogwarts!"

Shocked into momentary silence, Ripley stammers and looks at his sister with incredulity.

Knowing his thoughts as surely as she knows her own, Misti argues, "That's ridiculous! Nobody hates Hogwarts!"

Cordelia unzips her small black shoulder pack with the vibrant turquoise straps that allow it to be worn and/or carried in a variety of ways. The pack is just big enough to hold a large thermos or bottle of water, but it is currently packed so tightly with other items - all of which Ripley finds utterly useless - that the various zippers are strained to the point of nearly bursting. She fishes out her compact mirror and then uses lumos to provide enough light from the tip of her wand so that she can inspect her own reflection. "Yes, someone does hate Hogwarts. Me! And, I don't care what you say. I'm not coming back."

Although neither of them speaks, brother and sister exchange a look that clearly says, "Honestly!"

Misti tries again. "Delia, trust me, you'll feel better when we get out of h…"

Hey look!" Ripley comes to his feet, suddenly pointing with excitement. "It's Professor Binns!"

But the ghost disappears as quickly as he arrived.

"Wait Professor! Come back!"

Still fixated on her reflection, Cordelia sighs. "Ripley, you're seein' things."

"I am not seeing things, Cordelia. I saw Professor Binns… You know, the ghost professor. The one who falls asleep in class all the time."

She rolls her eyes. "I know who Professor Binns is. It is not my first day here – and stop calling me Cordelia. I told you, everybody here just calls me Delia."

"Why should I? You won't stop calling me Ripley."

His older sister moans as she makes the mistake of moving slightly. "Stop it. It's dumb to fight – especially over your names. Look, it's easy. You call him Rip. And you call her Delia. How hard is that? At least neither of your names is Misti. I don't know what Mum was think…"

Delia shrieks in fright when she sees Professor Binns make his return.

Ripley sniggers. "See, I told you I saw Professor Binns!"

"Oh, do shut up, Ripley Rivers!" She turns imploring watery eyes on the ghost. "You've got to get me out of here before I kill him."

Half an hour later, Harry returns with Filch and another small group of people.

Drawing looks of shock and disdain from everyone, but especially from the parents of the endangered students, Argus Filch takes one look at the vast structural damage, and grumbles loudly, "I'm not cleaning this one up! Limey little prats tear apart the castle and they think old Filch is going to clean up their mess. Just like always. But, oh no, not this time!"

As if on cue, the radio squawks again, and McGonagall says plainly, "You'll clean up whatever I require you to, Mr. Filch, and if I ever again hear you badmouth another student at this school without due cause, you'll find yourself in need of a new situation."

Several of the students in the hallway snigger or whisper in appreciation.

Startled and at a loss, Filch looks around. "Headmistress?"

Harry points as he steps through the doorway, "She's under there, Filch."

This confuses Filch all the more. "How did she…"

Stepping into the room beside Harry, Ginny takes a wild guess and vocalizes her thoughts in a simple but effective way; her eyes widening at the sight of the collapse. "Meow!"

Holding her right hand in his left, Harry grins as he reaches out, and takes the two-way radio from McKinnon once more. "Professor, this is Harry. The water's shut off now. I'm sorry it took so long. The release valve was rusted. It took quite a bit of coaxing to close it properly. It probably won't make things any drier in there, but at least things won't get even wetter than they already are."

"Thank you, Potter. Turn the volume on the radio down and give it back to Mr. McKinnon, please. You can tell the parents, I'm with their children. They've been playing charades with the ghosts."

"They can hear you, Professor. The kids, they're alright, then?"

"They have some injuries, but all three are in far better shape than I expected to find them."

Relief floods the tense faces of the waiting parents and Mr. Drakes drops to one knee, releasing some of his anxiety as McKinnon takes the radio back from Harry and walks out of the room, lowering the volume further still.

On his way back to the fifth floor just to have somewhere to go, he asks quietly, "What are you leaving out, Minerva? I can hear it in your voice."

"We are in a kind of pocket between debris - I'm only guessing, but probably about 2/3 of the way up. There are maybe half a dozen slabs of stone positioned in such a way that they're keeping the rest of it from crushing us. Misti Rivers is trapped. Apparently, she hasn't been so the whole time. A short while ago, some debris shifted. She became pinned underneath at that point. I can get her out, but.." Mindful of the children, and trying to keep them calm, she says as quietly as possible, "I don't know if I can do it without bringing the whole mess down on our heads. Her father's going to have to be told. I didn't want to do it over the radio in front of everyone else. Find the Weasleys – Molly Weasley. She's a parent, and a sensible sturdy woman. It'll be best coming from someone like her. You find me a way to get the other two out safely, I'll do what I can for young Miss Rivers."

"How is she?"

"Well, she's conscious. Which, at this point, is both a blessing and a curse. It's her left leg that's trapped. She's managing well, but I'm certain she's terrified. She's lucid, and I'd say fairly determined. The other two tell me that she has bad moments, but as of now she's relatively calm. That's likely the shock setting in. We need to get them out of here as quickly as possible, Laird. She's also lying in a puddle of water. Her head isn't under and her airway is clear, but something tells me that's as good as it is bad."

"It is. The water may be cushioning the damage to her leg, if the puddle is deep enough, but if she stays in that position for too long, skin damage may start to occur. If they've been there overnight, or longer, pinned down or otherwise, they're all three dehydrated. But, don't let them drink anymore of the water than they already have. It's not clean. I've got to figure out exactly where you are; or at least a very close approximation of your location. I'm also going to need a crew, and some heavy equipment. Only, I'm not sure any cherry picker's going to reach all the way to the fifth floor, and it's not coming up this staircase either."

"No cranes, Laird. No crew of burly construction men either."

McKinnon scratches his head. "Minerva, I cannot do this by myself. I've gotta have some lads. And some big strong ones at that. Some of the slabs probably weigh in excess of 300 pounds."

McGonagall coughs badly. "Well, you're not going to get them. Even if the minister is still somewhere downstairs, - someone needs to find out for sure. If he is still here, he needs to be told. I need to talk to him - but either way, he can't approve that kind of operation quickly. There are channels he has to go through. We don't have that kind of time. Take the radio back downstairs. I need to talk to some people."

Only halfway to his destination, he nods his head and does an about face without complaint. "Yes ma'am." Just to keep her spirits up, he asks, "You're sure? No lads, no cranes?".

Aware of what he's trying to do, and appreciating the effort, she nonetheless answers dryly. "I'm sure."

"I have to tell you, Madame Professor, we don't need any more challenges."

"Laird, stop flirting and get to work."

He laughs. "I hear you. I just don't ken exactly how you'd like me to do that without a crew."

"Good god, man! Stop whining. I'm going to get you a crew. It'll just be one like you've never worked with in all your life."

"Hey… Hold up! You got in, can't they come out the same way?"

"No, Laird, they cannot!"

"OK, tell me why not."

"You do understand, I have two 11-year-olds and a 12-year-old in here with me. Even if Miss Rivers wasn't pinned down, each of them is significantly larger than a cat. And, believe me when I tell you there were some places that were roomier than others, but it was pretty much a tight fit all the way in."

He shrugs. "So, can you turn them into mice or something."

"Not an option!"

"Why not?"

"Even if I could do it. Wordsworth would kill them before they got out. It took me more than an hour to find them. A transformation for that length of time -they are already stressed, Laird, and not one of them is a trained animagus. I can't just go around turning human beings who have had no training, and no preparation, into animals. It would drive them mad."

"Okay, understood. No mice."

"No mice!"

"Okay, third-floor. Hallway outside the room with all the ancient paintings. Where's this unparalleled crew you promised me, woman"

The smirk on McGonagall's face is evident in her voice. "Turn the volume back up so they can hear me."

After complying with her request, he says, "You're live, Professor."

"Who all is present out there, please?"

When everyone answers at once, and all she hears is a loud blurb of indistinguishable noise, she says, "Let's try this a different way. Pomona?"

"I'm here, Minerva."

"It's your first responsibility to go and find out if the minister is still on the premises. If he is, make certain he knows what is going on. If he's not, an owl needs to be sent. Before you do either of those things, confer with Mr. McKinnon privately but, if you will, please wait until I'm done delegating."

When Sprout nods because she's unfamiliar with two-way radio receivers, Curtis Benjamin coaches patiently. "You'll have to speak your answer, Professor. McGonagall cannot see you right now. She needs to hear your voice."

She nods again and then adds, "Of course. Understood."

"Good. Filius?"

"Flitwick squeaks, "At your service, Headmistress."

"We're going to put together a team to aid Mr. McKinnon with his job. We'll need to include adults - and students – in possession of quick reflexes who are also particularly gifted at charms and/or healing." She coughs dryly. "I suggest yourself, Madame Pomphrey, Molly Weasley, Mr. Lovegood. Mr. Potter, Miss. Granger, Ms. Lobosca, Mr. Thomas, and Miss Lovegood, provided of course, they are all present and you agree with that assessment."

"I do and, if I may, I will also add Miss Katy Bell to this team."

"Let it be so. All other students are to leave the third-floor corridor immediately. You are to be escorted out onto the castle grounds, or down to the Great Hall by Professors Vector and Trelawny. From this point forward, until otherwise notified, no student is to venture any higher inside this castle than the ground floor. This is for your own safety. The team we've just assembled is going to start moving some of this debris around to help free the students and myself. While I certainly hope for the best, in the event of further collapse, I want this floor and the two immediately below it evacuated. No one is to remain on the second or first floor of this building. Any student, I repeat, any student caught disregarding this directive will be expelled. Any parent, not related to our endangered students, or not expressly asked to stay behind, please leave the immediate area with your children. The ghosts are to patrol the school. Sir Nicholas will report back to me once the ghosts are certain the evacuation is complete. You have 20 minutes to get yourselves to safety, and I would like you all to do this as quickly and as calmly as possible. Begin now."