Rescue

(Part II)

McGonagall gently touches the tip of her wand to Misti's neck and uses a slight upward sweeping motion. It takes her a second to do so, but when the girl turns her head slowly to one side and then the other, the professor smiles apologetically.

"I can move my head – and I can talk." Misti whispers hoarsely and almost smiles. "I still can't move anything else though."

"I decided to try this. I hope it feels alright. I've never reversed just a portion of the Immobulus charm before. I imagine it's awful, not being able to move your own body at will, but it's best if you stay still. I'll be able to help you better if I can talk to you and you can respond."

Misti wrinkles her nose. "It's alright. A bit odd, but alright. I'm sorry I freaked out a few minutes ago."

"Don't you dare apologize girl. I don't know that I would do half as well as you have, if our positions were reversed."

"That's nice of you to say, Professor."

"It's nothing more or less than the truth, and while I am busy telling truths – you're not doing too well. It also might be a while before they get here. If we leave you the way you are now, I don't think you're going to make it. I want to move the stone. Your father wants me to do that as well. If I can treat your injuries, your condition will improve."

Misti nods adding with weak, but unmistakable enthusiasm. "I'm all for that. Especially if it means I get to get out from under here."

"I'll need you to go on being just as brave as you've already been, and then some. It might not be pleasant, but I am here, and I will not leave you."

"Gray-faced and gasping for her next breath, Misti nods with determination.

"Good. Now then, do you have your wand?"

Tears instantly well in the corners of Misti's eyes. "I do. But it's probably useless. It's in the pocket of my robes beneath the stone. It's probably snapped."

Her demeanor softening slightly, McGonagall pats Misti's shoulder. "A wand can be replaced. You cannot."

"I know… But Professor, it was my mum's first wand. I was so happy when she said I could use it, and it worked really well for me too. Mum's gone now and, if it's broken, so is her wand."

"Well then, I can certainly understand your attachment to it, but you shouldn't cry over it until you're certain you must. Perhaps it is not broken. Even if it is, at present, you have more important things to worry about. I'm quite certain your mother would agree with me. Besides, I don't know about you, but I can never have a good cry without becoming congested at the same time. You have problems enough to deal with just now, I think it would be best if you didn't go borrowing another."

Misti nods and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand as McGonagall pats the pockets of her own robes and removes a second wand. "I relieved one of your fellow classmates of his wand moments before coming in here. I don't think he will mind if you borrow it temporarily." Lighting the wand tip with Lumos Maxima before she slips it into Misti's grasp, she says with encouragement, "Here, hold it for me. I need my own wand available for other things."

McGonagall looks around their cramped inhospitable space, and when she brushes dust off the surface of a flat piece of stone, and sits down; her gaze continuing to travel, Misti asks with quiet curiosity, "Professor, what happens next?"

"We think."

"Think?"

"I find it helpful to do that before I act, Miss Rivers. I can move the smaller stones first without any foreseeable problem. They're too small to do very much weight bearing. But once I start to move the larger ones, I will need some kind of plan in place for what to do if things start shifting."

Misti whispers the first thought that comes to mind. "Well, you're quite good at transfiguration."

McGonagall almost smiles. "So, you're saying, go with my strengths?"

"I'm saying, if it's easiest to transfigure two items that are kind of alike in some way, I guess that means we can't transfigure all this stone into great big giant cotton balls. At least it wouldn't hurt if those fell on us."

"To the best of my knowledge there is no spell for turning, granite, flagstone, and marble into cotton balls, but keep thinking."

"Can you create one?"

"Create a new spell? Here, in our present location?"

"Yeah… I mean, yes ma'am."

"That's not advisable."

"Why not? Somebody had to say the very first incantation for the very first time, didn't they? I mean, they probably didn't do it by accident. They probably did it because they needed something, right?"

"That's very likely. But new spell work requires absolute clarity of mind and no small amount of reverence. It can be extremely dangerous, and I think we have enough of that on our hands already."

"OK, so no giant cotton balls." Misti tries to shrug and then remembers that she can't. "That would be cool though."

"No giant cotton balls. I can, however, use the stone that is present to…" Her mouth becomes a thin line of grim determination. "Oh dear, this isn't going to make Mr. McKinnon very happy."

Misti's eyes widen with curiosity as McGonagall picks up the radio that is resting at her feet.

"Laird?"

It takes a moment, and then his deep baritone fills up their small space. "Ah'm here. How's the lass fairin?"

"She's holding her own for the moment. We're brainstorming – trying to come up with a plan of attack from the inside."

"Just dinnae get ahead of yerself. Run it by me first."

"That's why I'm talking to you. I have a question."

"Fire away, lady."

"When you build a house, or any structure, I suppose - what do you do first?"

McKinnon stops fiddling with the viewfinder on one of his cameras and gives her his full attention. Ah'm not sure I ken what ye mean."

"Which part do you build first? The frame for the walls, I'm guessing the floor, and then the roof?"

He chuckles. "Dinnae go quittin' yer day job, Professor."

"Okay, so I'm wrong. Teach me."

McKinnon scratches his beard, uncertain what this is leading up to, but he launches in anyway. "Broad strokes without any of the finer points. First, ye lay the foundation, next comes the frame fir the walls, then the roof. After that, ye enclose the structure. The floor goes in dead last."

McGonagall wobbles her head side to side. "Okay, that sort of makes sense. The foundation comes first, and the floor comes last because basically all it does is cover the foundation."

"There's a wee bit more tae it, but that's the simplified version, Aye. You're askin' fir wye?"

"It's going to take you awhile to get in here. I need to move Miss Rivers. I can't do that without moving some of the stones in here, and if I follow what you're telling me correctly, basically we've got the enclosure without the necessary support for it."

"Brass tacks, Aye."

"Where are the green sparks coming out? Top, bottom, or middle?"

"About 2/3 way up the middle. Closer tae the eastern side, I think. Ah'm guessin' yer at the center of aw the green bangers."

"That's logical. So, the worst place possible?"

"Pretty much."

"Because at any given moment what's underneath us might collapse and we could fall, or the walls could fall in, or what basically is the roof – from our point of view."

"Yer certainly nae havin' a good day."

"Okay, now it's your turn. Pay attention. Gamp's Law of elemental transfiguration has five principles. You don't need an in-depth understanding of all of them, but barring exceptions, the foundation of the law states that - I cannot create something from nothing. I can take what I have and, in some cases, I can change it into something else - I can transfigure it, or I can take what I have and make more or less of it. With the exception of water, I cannot conjure something from thin air. The things I do have in absolute abundance as of this moment are flagstone, sandstone, granite and marble."

He nods and, aware that others in the room are listening in, he turns up the volume on the radio. "Ah'm hearin' ye."

"Can we switch your current focus from getting us out, to stabilizing our location so that I can get Misti out from under this pile of stone without bringing the whole thing down on her head? Instead of working down from the top one piece at a time, have your crew go down to the third floor and stabilize our foundation. While you do that, I will work from in here to stabilize the walls and what's overhead as best as possible. If we do it that way, it'll take you longer to get in here, but it will minimize the physical danger she's in, and give me time to stabilize her medical needs as well."

"Ah'm following along, but I missed a step somewhere. Whut exactly is it ye want us tae dae?"

Catching on, Harry grins as he whispers. "Bloody brilliant!"

McKinnon's gaze pivots his way. "Whut was that, Harry?"

"Tell her I said she's bloody brilliant!"

Harry turns to his friends. "C'mon, you lot! We're going back downstairs. We've been doing this backward."

Hermione squints in confusion and raises her hand as if she were in class. "I'm sorry, but I'm lost. What are we doing?"

Harry approaches and drops an arm around her shoulders. "Remember our third year – when McGonagall taught us how to turn things into stone?"

"Harry, you're not making any sense."

"Instead of taking stone away, we should be adding it."

Hermione and Dean express dire incredulity at the same moment. "Adding it, are you mad! We're trying to dig them out, not bury them."

Harry turns to McKinnon. "I know you've probably never done it this way before, but If we go downstairs and expand the stone, or fill the gaps between the stones with more stone, it will stabilize their foundation and keep them from falling. If we keep the walls from tumbling in on them, Professor McGonagall can get Misti safely out from under the stone, treat her, and then we can figure out how to get them out."

McKinnon opens the mic on his radio. "Ah ken fir why ye want us tae dae this, but if we leave things the way they are noo, it's still going tae take us hours tae get in there. If we go addin' more stone, Minerva, it might take days tae get ye oot of there."

"Understood." Just have someone tell the house elves to leave food and clean water in the center of the third Gryffindor table in the kitchens."

McKinnon squints. "Ah've seen ye use yer wand fir food afore."

There's the smallest hint of wry amusement in her voice when she says, "I told you to pay attention. I cannot conjure something from nothing. The reason I can pull water from the air, is because water is literally two parts hydrogen, one-part oxygen. It's literally in the air. However, the air in here is not clean which means any water I pull from it, won't be clean either. Food is one of those five exceptions I mentioned. When it comes to food, I can make more or less of what I already have; or I can move food from a precisely known location, which is what you've seen me do with my wand. I cannot, however, turn stone into manna."

He laughs. "Are ye sure aboot that?"

McGonagall answers dryly. "I'm good, but I'm not that good."

Harry taps McKinnon on the shoulder and whispers, "We turned off the castle's water supply."

McKinnon shrugs easily enough. "There's more than a building on the grounds." He looks around, raising his voice. "Dae any of the oot buildings have a direct water source?"

Professor Sprout steps forward. "All of my greenhouses have their own water supply, and there's Hagrid's hut and vegetable patch as well."

McKinnon nods. "There lies her clean water. Whut was she saying aboot the center of the third Gryffindor table?"

"We should have the house elves in the kitchens put food and water – and possibly medical supplies- there. If she knows the precise location of something, she can use her wand to call for it. She just has to know exactly where it is, otherwise, it won't work."

"Can you make that happen?" McKinnon queries

Professor Sprout steps toward the door. "On my way."

"Laird." McGonagall calls out.

"Yes ma'am."

"I know they're going to find this request odd but tell them a bucket of ice would be lovely."

"Still a bit warm in there, is it?"

"This place is always been a bit too old and drafty to need things like electric lights and air conditioning. That being said, Miss Rivers and I would truly love some just now."

"Ah hate tae tell ye this, Professor, but even if ye did have it, it wouldn't be working at the moment. The power would have to be shut off for safety reasons."

Suddenly excited, Harry interrupts, his voice dripping with self-recrimination. "The house elves are back."

Unsure how to interpret this, McKinnon releases his hold on the radio's transmission button and stares at the boy in puzzlement. "Whut does that mean fir us, lad?"

McGonagall responds to Harry's statement. "Of course, they are, Mr. Potter. They returned to the castle this morning. It is their home."

"But that's it!" Harry exclaims, trotting for the door. "That's how we get you out!" Sticking his head out the door, he calls the Herbology teacher back. "Professor Sprout! Come back, please. You don't need to go down."

By the time Sprout retraces her steps, Harry is talking animatedly to Professor McGonagall courtesy of the radio still held in McKinnon's good hand. "Professor Dumbledore could apparate despite the ban on apparition on castle grounds. I just assumed it was a privilege extended to the headmaster, but if you could do that with Misti, you would've already done it."

"That is correct, Mr. Potter.

"It's okay, Professor. You don't have to. I think I've got a way to get you both out of there in just a few minutes. I'm sorry I didn't think of it before."

"If you've got a way to make it happen, don't waste time apologizing."

Grinning broadly, Harry raises his voice slightly as he calls out, "Kreacher?"

He waits 3 seconds and tries again. "Kreacher, this is Harry. If you can hear me, please answer."

Picking up the thread of his thoughts, Hermione smiles and mouths, "Oh Harry, yes!"

Feeling daft, Harry whispers, "I forgot he was here!"

McKinnon frowns, asking dubiously, "Who or whut is dis Kreacher?"

It is at this precise moment that the entire room is filled with a loud cracking noise as the stoop-shouldered, and disgruntled-looking elf materializes six inches in front of Harry, beady-eyed and glaring, even as he bows his head so low that his elongated hooked nose nearly touches the floor.

Frowning at the crowd, Kreacher intones drolly. "Harry Potter called Kreacher. Kreacher has come."

"Kreacher, I have a really important favor to ask of you."

"Kreacher has kitchen work to do," He sneers. Someone left filth in the kitchen. "Some disgusting blood-traitor…"

"Kreacher!" Harry scolds in irritation. "I thought you were done with talk like that!"

Kreacher frowns and grumbles quietly, "Kreacher cannot even call death eaters blood-traitors?"

Harry's eyes widen noticeably behind his glasses. "Oh!"

He glances at Hermione who shrugs and then nods approvingly. "If anyone deserves to be called a traitor to their own kind, it's them."

Harry nods his agreement. "Alright Kreacher. It's okay to call death eaters blood-traitors."

"One of the vermin relieved himself in Kreacher's favorite soup kettle."

Katy Bell sticks out her tongue, gagging in revulsion. "OK, I'm never eating soup in this castle again."

Hermione instructs, "Kreacher, just throw the pot out. Harry will buy you a new one."

Harry nods eagerly. I'll buy you all the soup pots you could possibly ever use if you help me today Kreacher."

Reminded of their changed regard for one another, the sour-faced elf relents. "Harry Potter and his friends were good to Kreacher before Kreacher was good to them. Harry Potter proved Master Regulus was noble and worthy of honor. What Harry Potter asks, Kreacher will do."

Turning, Harry points at the huge pile of stone. "Professor McGonagall and one of the students, a girl named Misti, are under there. We need to get them out before the whole thing collapses and crushes them to death. Getting in is very dangerous for us. We can't apparate on school grounds, but you can, and Misti is trapped. She needs help now. Will you go in and help Professor McGonagall bring her out safely? Will you use your magic to help them?"

Clayton Rivers groans with irritation. "If the elf answers to you, boy, then just order him to do it!"

Kreacher suddenly looks worried and twice as hostile.

Before he can start grumbling under his breath again, Harry calmly shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Rivers. I won't do that. A short while ago you expressed concern for Professor McGonagall's well-being even though your daughter is the one trapped in there. Kreacher is entitled to the same courtesy. His life is not worth less than either of theirs just because he's an elf."

Kreacher's gaze travels slowly from one man to the other before his dark angry eyes return to the pile of stone and mortar. Turning once more to face Harry, he mutters curiously, "Professor McGonagall?"

"That's right."

"Tall old witch? Likes to wear outstanding hats? Hard face, but still kind to students and house elves?"

Harry can't help but smile just a little. "Yeah, that's her."

Kreacher shuffles uncomfortably and mutters quietly. "The other elves were not happy when Professor Snape took over. Dumbledore invited Kreacher to come and stay at Hogwarts. Kreacher liked Hogwarts until Snape was in charge. Snape said the Carrow's could do dark things to the elves. They were going to cast the imperious curse on Kreacher. Kreacher wanted to run away, but Harry Potter said Kreacher was to stay at Hogwarts. Kreacher did not run, and McGonagall said no. She would not let them do dark things to Kreacher."

"So, she helped you. Will you return the favor?"

"Kreacher will help McGonagall. Kreacher will do whatever she says."

The elf disappears with another echoing crack.

An instant later, Misti yelps in surprise when the elf magically appears with another loud crack at McGonagall's left side.

"It's alright Miss Rivers. It's only Kreacher. He works in the kitchens. He helps prepare your meals and provides you with housekeeping."

Misti eyes the elf with the disgruntled countenance with a noticeable amount of doubt present in her own eyes. "Why is he here?"

Kreacher answers for himself. "Harry Potter bade Kreacher to come. Kreacher came."

"You are Harry Potter's elf?"

"I am Kreacher. I serve the most noble House of Black."

Misti's eyes widen in alarm. "But I thought the Black family was full of dark wizards and witches."

Kreacher grumbles, trying not to snarl. "Not all of them were dark. Master Regulus was not. Master Sirius was not always kind, but he was not dark, and neither is his godson. Harry Potter is his heir. He has slain the Dark Lord. He has brought honor to the Black family. Kreacher is proud to serve. Kreacher will help you, but you must not speak ill of his masters."

"But how can you help us? We don't need someone to clean or cook dinner just now."

"Kreacher can take you out of here."

"You can?"

McGonagall nods. "He can. If that's what he chooses to do."

"I'm sorry." Misti implores. "I didn't mean to be rude. All our house elf ever does is cook and clean. I didn't know you could do other things."

"Miss Rivers, all beings are capable of more than just their occupation. To Kreacher, McGonagall says, "We need to do more than just apparate. I need to move the stone holding her down. I can do it, but I need you to make certain that what is above us doesn't topple in on us, and that what's below doesn't collapse while I work. Can you do that, Kreacher?"

"It would be easier not to split focus. Kreacher can keep the bottom from collapsing. Before that, Kreacher should just vanish the top and the sides. McGonagall cannot do this?"

"Were I in here alone, I would attempt it in a heartbeat, but it's a lot to manage on one's own, especially when my safety is not all that needs to be considered. And the truth is, at present, I am not at my best. If the bottom falls out from under us at the same moment, there will be a very loud thud when we hit the ground a story and ½ below."

Kreacher ponders this for a moment, nods slightly, and then snaps his fingers.

McGonagall and Misti watch in appreciation as the floor beneath them, made up of countless pieces of jagged stone - all of them jutting this way and that with several sharp edges - begins to fuse and mold together, melting and hardening into one solid base of stone.

As if he has performed no major feat, Kreacher declares, "It will not fall now. It is safe."

"And, you're certain you can vanish the top and the sides without incident?"

When Kreacher scowls in response to the perceived slight, McGonagall offers, "Forgive me for doubting. My first responsibility is Miss Rivers' well-being."

Kreacher snaps his fingers again and the walls and stone above them also solidify.

The radio at her feet instantly squawks and McKinnon complains loudly, "Whut the bloody hell! If that ugly little imp has just sealed ye in…"

McGonagall tries to interrupt, causing the radio to screech horribly for those in the room outside her current confinement. She waits a second, and then tries again with much more success, even though the radio does now crackle with poor reception. "Relax Laird. He's an elf, not an imp. That's an entirely different species, and he's likely to find the comparison offensive."

I dinnae bloody care if he's offended. He's just sealed ye in there. Ye noo have a very limited oxygen supply."

"He breathes oxygen too, Laird. He needs it just as much as we do. It's easier to vanish one solid piece of stone than it is to vanish hundreds of pieces simultaneously. He knows what he's doing. I'm guessing there's about to be a very loud noise. You might want to prepare yourselves, but you shouldn't be in any danger out there."

McGonagall puts the radio down again and speaks to Kreacher. "He's normally a very kind man. I hope you won't hold it against him. He's very worried about us and he's a muggle. He may not know the difference between elves and imps."

Kreacher mutters snidely. "Or perhaps he does. Perhaps he chose his words with deliberation."

Because she cannot make a sound argument against the supposition, McGonagall simply shrugs. "So, show him what good you can do."

Kreacher snaps his fingers again, and a horizontal crack begins to form at McGonagall's shoulder level in the thick walls encircling them.

The resulting horrendous noise is deafening and terribly unsettling. So much so that, even though she resists the urge to duck and cover her own head, McGonagall moves to stand directly over Misti and casts a protective charm around the girl, just to be on the safe side.

The horrifying noise continues for more than a solid minute, but, once they are completely encircled by the crack in the stone walls, the upper portion of their enclosure vanishes from sight like the top of an eggshell being removed from a soft-boiled egg and discarded.

Light and cleaner air instantly permeate the place and, after nearly 36 hours of darkness, Misti squeezes her eyes shut against the resulting pain, but she can't keep herself from smiling.

Another loud roar of celebration fills the room.

McGonagall tries to make herself heard above the din.

Once again, unable to compete, she says drolly into the radio, "Laird, at present, I don't have the lung capacity. If you wouldn't mind…"

Barely able to hear her beneath the tumultuous racket, he still understands.

Placing the thumb and forefinger of his good hand into his mouth, he whistles loudly enough to nearly pierce eardrums. Thus, causing multiple people to wince, cover their ears, and in some cases, even duck as though expecting to be hit over their heads."

He roars, "There is still work to be done here. Postpone the party!"

McGonagall declares dryly, "Thank you. I need Madame Pomphrey in here first."

"Alright, gie's me a wee minute tae figure that oot, Professor. The opening is between floors. We'll have tae lower her doon."

Even before he's finished speaking, Hermione points her wand made of vine at a pile of stones that had been moved safely to one side of the room and says quietly, "Duro Ponte."

McKinnon watches with equal parts fascination and appreciation as bits of stone flow into the air and merge into a haphazardly constructed narrow, but solid-looking sort of stone gangplank that runs down from the fifth floor to the opening of the enclosure. He nods as proper support for this makeshift bridge forms beneath it and he smiles when she then uses her wand to call for the braided rope tie backs that hold open the dust-laden drapes in the room.

The draperies fall over the windows shutting out the sunlight and the room momentarily falls into darkness, but Katy Belle is quick to use Lumos along with a delicate flick of her wrist. Turning a slow circle, she sends jets of light streaming into the few wall sconces that remain undamaged and are generally only lit at night inside the portrait gallery.

With more than enough light to continue her work, Hermione offers Katy a smile of thanks before she magically elongates the black and gold tassled pieces of braided rope and secures them at either end of the bridge. Nodding, she declares, "There, those ropes won't keep anybody from going over the edge, but they will give you something to cling to, if need be."

Having already picked up an armload of bandages and other first-aid items she is likely to need, Madame Pomphrey sets them down again, opting to keep her hands free, and stows her wand in the pocket of her apron so that she might call for them as they are needed. "Is now the wrong time to mention that I'm not particularly fond of bridges… of any sort."

"Noo is actually the best time tae let us ken that sort of thing." McKinnon holds up his good hand to momentarily halt her progress as he secures the safety line of his harness once more before stepping out onto the narrow bridge, walking to the halfway point and deliberately bouncing on the balls of his feet a few times, testing its integrity before allowing anyone else to venture forward. When the narrow walkway doesn't collapse under his weight and send him plummeting to the end of his safety lead, he walks back the way he came and offers the matron his arm. "Shall we?"

Madame Pomphrey takes his arm willingly, but ten steps across and she has second thoughts. When she tightens her grip on his arm and her eyes start casting about in fear, he smiles and gently applies a light pressure to the underside of her chin with his grifter, forcing her to make eye contact. "Oh no me dear. Dinnae go looking doon there. There's nae a single thing doon there that ye want tae see just noo." He loops his good arm discreetly around her lower back and pulls her to his side. "Ye just keep yer eens on mine and we're just going to waltz ourselves right across here like we have nae a care in this world."

Madame Pomphrey huffs with indignation. "You make it sound like we're gliding across the dance floor at some grand ball, but we aren't. If I'm looking at you, how am I supposed to watch where I'm going."

Still unable to see them, but listening in, McGonagall calls out to assure her, "Poppy, you don't need to see where you're going. It's alright. You can trust him. He won't let you fall. Just let him lead you. I know he's big as a bear, but he never misses a step, I promise."

"What happened to his right arm?"

Distracting her as they move, McKinnon smiles. "That had nae a thing tae dae with falling oof bridges, or dancin' Madame. I had me a wee fishing accident is aw."

Momentarily distracted from her worries, Madame Pomphrey squints doubtfully, "Oh really? And what sort of fishing accident takes a man's arm off?"

"Is nae completely oof, thank the almighty god fir that. I still got me own natural elbow."

"Yes, I can see how that would be of great benefit to you, but how did you lose the rest of it?"

"Shark. Took It right oof, he did."

Madame Pomphrey pales. "That must've been horrifying."

McKinnon shrugs. "Ah dinnae take it personally. Ah'm guessin' he was just hungry."

She stares incredulously, momentarily at a complete loss for what to say next, until she realizes that his eyes are alive with laughter. "You're having me on!" Suddenly relieved to look down and find that she's reached her destination, she grimaces at McGonagall and declares, "Minerva, He's having me on!"

"Of course, he is." The transfiguration teacher declares dryly as she waves her wand and neatly transfigures the healer's customary ankle length skirt and apron into a pair of trousers. "Trust me, you will thank me in a few minutes after you've climbed down in here."

"You're still in your usual attire, sans the strange looking hat."

"Yes, well, our skulls can be cracked by giant falling slabs of stone. And as for my robes, I didn't crawl in here wearing them, and I'm not planning to crawl back out wearing them either. I came in as a cat. I'm going out the same way. I can't use my arms to hoist myself up out of here, especially not with my shoulder in this sling, but I should be able to climb out on four legs."

"You need to rethink that. Transforming isn't a good idea right now, I'm almost positive you've cracked those ribs again."

"Trust me. I definitely have. I can feel it with every breath, not to mention every move I make, but you can worry about me later." McGonagall reaches up with the arm that's not tethered to her side and helps guide Pomphrey down.

Mindful of each move she makes, the matron descends slowly. When her feet find solid stone, she squeezes herself in between the headmistress and the house elf and offers her young patient a stiff but encouraging smile. "Don't you worry now girl. We'll have you out of here in a trice."

Misti offers her half a smile. "I'd really like not to be here."

"You won't be for much longer. You've been exceptionally brave so far. You're a strong girl, and I promise, we will get you out. You needn't worry about that."

"I know that. I've known that since Professor McGonagall turned up." Misti declares weakly.

Madame Pomphrey checks her pulse.

Purely to distract herself, from the pain she suspects she's about to feel and maybe because she's stalling, just a little bit. Misti turns her eyes back to McGonagall. "That man you're talking to on the radio…"

"His name is Mr. McKinnon. I don't know if you can see him from where you are, but he's right up there. I'll introduce the two of you soon enough."

Wishing not to be impolite, Misti whispers curiously, "What's wrong with his arm?"

"He wears a prosthetic. He's missing his right forearm and hand. And I'm afraid I don't know what happened to them."

"How long have you known him?"

"Almost 18 years."

"And he's never told you?"

McGonagall smirks. "Not truthfully, no. He seems to enjoy entertaining people with tall tales regarding the loss. I personally suspect he was somewhere doing something he shouldn't have been doing. And I don't believe for a single second that it had anything to do with a hungry shark."

Misti chuckles breathlessly. "He sounds like fun to me."

McGonagall takes the girl's hand in hers. "Are you ready to get out of here?"

Misti's eyes widen reflexively and she clarifies with no small amount of dread in her words. "I'm ready to 'be' out of here. I'm not quite so sure about 'getting' out of here. I don't think that's going to be any fun at all."

McGonagall places the tip of her wand gently against the girl's temple and speaks barely above a whisper. "Adducere ad somnum."

"Tell my dad, I…" Misti yawns and the rest of her words fade into an indiscernible slur as her body goes soft and limp, and sleep washes over her.

Madame Pomphrey shrugs and whispers confidentially. "Induced sleep will lower her heartrate and lower the risk of catastrophic blood loss, but If this stone is preventing her from bleeding out, the rebound pain when we move it would have done the same job. She would have passed out on her own, Minerva."

"Not before her screams terrify her father and brother, not to mention the rest of the people out there in that room."

"Yes, but it would've been easier for her to come back around later. Now, she will likely sleep for four or five days straight before she so much as rolls over."

"So, let her sleep. Her body's going to need to heal. How many times have you told me that sleep is one of the best things for healing?"

"Says the woman who has just re-injured how many patched up bones?"

"While she is here on the grounds of Hogwarts school, she is my responsibility. You know that. You also know that it's different. She is a child. I am not; and I have seen grown men who would weep like frightened toddlers in a situation like this. There's no need for her to suffer more than she already has."

"Except, that if you put her under, and take away all her pain while she sleeps peacefully, what does she learn from it? What's to prevent her from doing something like this again next year."

"Spoken like someone who has never spent a day and 1/2 locked in a very small, very dark space. Trust me. This, she will never do again. None of them will."

Madame Pomphrey cuts her eyes sideways and, looks at the transfiguration teacher curiously courtesy of her peripheral vision as they move small stones and debris out of their way. "Have you spent a great deal of time locked in a small dark space yourself?"

"Not a great deal of time, no. But more than I would care to think about just now; if you don't mind." She points her wand at the massive piece of flagstone concealing the lower portion of Misti Rivers' body. "Get ready."

Madame Pomphrey nods, readying her own wand.

Despite unmistakable discomfort, McGonagall lowers herself to her knees before banishing the stone. The instant she does, a small flowing wound in the anterior surface of Misti's left thigh rips open wide and blood spurts freely into the puddle of dirty water that covers the girl nearly to her navel.

Lunging forward, McGonagall tosses her wand from her dominant hand to the one held close to her body by the shoulder sling she wears and applies as much pressure to the gushing wound as she possibly can. Inhaling deeply with surprise that she knows she shouldn't feel, she eases the tip of her wand beneath her hand and declares, "Humanum vascularium,"

After 3 seconds, the wound stops supplying fresh blood to the muddy water, and McGonagall nods succinctly before following the first spell with, "Sectum reparandam." Lifting her bloodstained hand, she watches as Misti's skin mends and the wound begins to close. Only when it is sealed with little more than a blemish, does she allow herself to exhale, releasing the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Slowly, she turns her gaze to meet Madame Pomphrey's

The other woman smiles derisively. "And you needed me here, for what, precisely?"

"In case I screwed that up. Poppy, I've never raised a child. I've never sat up at 3:00 AM because of an infant ear infection, treated croup, nor the measles, or dragon Pox. I've never treated an allergic reaction to monkshood, or even so much as a minor fracture, much less …" McGonagall gestures inarticulately in Misti's direction. "This!" She swipes a loose lock of hair away from her forehead with the back of her free hand and inadvertently smears blood on her face. "I didn't want this poor girl to be the one to pay the price for my ineptitude."

The hospital wing's matron laughs. "What ineptitude? You may not have treated any of the things you just mentioned personally, but you obviously have at least a passing knowledge of normal childhood ailments - for the children of both wizards and muggles."

"At this moment, I can't recall how I acquired any of that knowledge." McGonagall breathes deeply.

"Whether you gave birth to them or not, Minerva, you've been educating and caring for children nearly every day for the last 41 years. Obviously, you've picked up a thing or two. It's not like you to doubt yourself."

"I imagine recent events have us all feeling a little displaced. I don't normally treat the injuries of children in life or death situations. And, for what it's worth, I doubt myself on a fairly regular basis. I just don't normally let people know about it. Stop trying to bolster my self-confidence and come look at her foot. It's badly broken. The bones feel like gravel. I don't know how she wasn't writhing in agony."

"She was in shock. She couldn't feel it, at least not to the extent that she should've been able to. The mind has ways of protecting itself when the body has been through too much. I will mend the bones in her foot. You call for a splint. I want to immobilize this leg before we move her, just to be on the safe side until we get her to the hospital wing where she belongs."

When a sizable collection of medical supplies including bandages, a first aid kit, a complicated-looking box splint, a backboard, and a neck brace all disappear from the carts in the room, McKinnon returns his gaze to the opening in the altered pile of stone. Without a clear line of sight down to the women he asks, "Ladies, can ah get a status update?"

Busy working in tandem with Madame Pomphrey, McGonagall answers distractedly; her eyes never leaving Misti, or the task at hand. "We'll all be out momentarily, Laird. We're just mending the injuries we can see and stabilizing her in case there are injuries we can't see."

"Ah cannae hear a'thing fae the lass."

"I've induced sleep to keep her as comfortable as possible. Just give us time to work. Patience please, everyone."

Slowly, moving with exaggerated care, McGonagall encircles Misti's neck with a padded stabilization collar. Turning her attention to the elf, she queries, "It's a tight fit in here. It'll be a bit difficult for us to manage. Kreacher, can you place the basket stretcher beneath her without moving her?"

Kreacher complies without speaking and when it's done in the time it takes to blink, McGonagall nods tersely. "That'll do."

Still working on the bones in Misti's foot, Madame Pomphrey instructs, "Make sure the straps are snug. I don't want to lose her on the way out."

Nodding and pulling the strap around Misti's torso a bit tighter, McGonagall asks, "Are those bones going to mend well enough?"

"I need to get her out of here before I'll know for sure. It's too dark in here and there's not enough room to move. I need a boot cast. I don't want to injure her even worse while we're moving her."

McGonagall gives her wand a gentle beckoning flick and the needed item appears in Madame Pomphrey's hands. "Shrink it to fit if you need to. It's not pediatric, but it should do the trick."

Pomphrey squints. "You just happen to have one of these things laying about."

"Last year. Four stunning spells to the chest. Remember? I broke my ankle on the way down. You fixed it for me, but I still limped about for a while, even after I was finally released from St. Mungo's."

"You were lucky that ankle was all you broke."

"I'm lucky to still be breathing." McGonagall quips dryly. She waits for the matron to slide the boot into place and then secure its fastenings. "Are we ready?" She rises slowly to her feet and places her left hand firmly around the basket handle closest to her.

Madame Pomphrey takes hold of a handle herself and waits for Kreacher to do likewise before she nods, giving the elf an unspoken, 'all-clear for takeoff.'

Although no one would consider her to be a woman of weak constitution, McGonagall's steels herself as her insides begin to swirl turbulently. She closes her eyes and presses her lips shut tightly against the rising tide of sick. She dreads the familiar feeling of that hook just behind her navel. Under more enjoyable circumstances, she would have to marshal the temptation to delay transport. The situation being what it is, she just wants to get it over with. Apparition has never been her favorite mode of travel. Skilled though she is at it, there are so many other far more enjoyable ways for a body to get from point A to point B. She loathes the out-of-control spinning sensation of being snatched through time and space. It's a closely guarded secret, but if the truth were told, it is the one and only part of being a witch that she genuinely detests.

When it is over, she doesn't get the moment she needs to collect herself. Not yet ready to move, she scarcely has time to inhale much less open her eyes before she hears Madame Pomphrey quietly cast "Locomotor humanum," and feels Misti's weight being lifted from her grasp.

Stepping back hard on her injured heel, amid the noise of excited students, faculty, and parents, for an instant, she's sure she's going down. However, just as she feels her knees begin to buckle, McKinnon is there behind her, as strong and as silent as an unspoken prayer, with his warm hand at her elbow the instant before she feels the unyielding steel of his prosthetic at her waist.

For no one's ears but her own, he whispers, "Steady."

It isn't much, but it's everything Minerva needs to right herself. Turning, and patting his shoulder once in gratitude, She steps away from him with the faintly clean scent of his cologne registering in the forefront of her mind as she quickly surrenders any notion of following Madame Pomphrey, who is moving at a pace much too fast for her in her compromised condition, and heading straight to the hospital wing.

Taking charge once again, she straightens her spine and clears her throat. "Miss Lobosca, you're with Madame Pomphrey and Professor Sprout. Mr. Rivers, follow that stretch…" She stops short, realizing that Misti's father and younger brother need absolutely no direction, as they are already quick stepping across the room, making their way through the crowd, trying to get their first glimpse of the girl. "Poppy, I'll be downstairs as soon as I'm able."

Already out in the corridor beyond the portrait gallery, Madame Pomphrey calls over her shoulder. "You most certainly will not! You will retire to your quarters and take to your bed immediately, if not sooner! I'll be there to check on you as soon as 'I' am able."

Nodding, McGonagall turns again and looks at the mess waiting to be put to rights. Her quiet laughter is dry and devoid of humor as she mutters beneath her breath, "I'll get right on that."