Chapter Seven
January 3rd, 1945
Three days before classes resumed, Minerva found herself escorting Daniel Vector from the Quidditch pitch with a separated shoulder, which he had gained from flying head first from his broom from about fifteen feet in the air. The remainder of the team, all good friends of Minerva's, had elected to stay and continue practicing. They would be playing Slytherin in a few weeks and needed all the practice that they could get. Trudy insisted that this would be the year that Gryffindor won.
Vector, grumbling and holding his wounded shoulder, was expected to be back on the pitch as soon as Madam Plummer righted the injury, which was part of the reason the team sent Minerva with him. She was dead set on seeing Gryffindor win against Slytherin and would drag Daniel back bodily if necessary. He had muttered something about her being insane and obsessed, while he was lying on the ground after the fall, because she had suggested that they 'tape up' his arm and get him back on the broom.
The school mediwitch was attending another patient at the rear of the ward when they entered the hospital wing.
"Madam Plummer ..." said Vector in a loud and whining voice, "I fell off my broom again!" What satisfaction he got out of doing that only he would know.
"One moment, Mister Vector." said Plummer, who was a rather petite and middle-aged witch with rosy cheeks and dark gleaming eyes.
Minerva helped Daniel onto an empty bed so that he could sit comfortably while they waited and then wandered toward one of the windows. Outside, the wind was picking up. It was good practice weather, she decided, though it was incredibly cold, even with warming charms and so forth.
She glanced over her shoulder at Madam Plummer, who was dashing over to examine Vector with her wand drawn. Minerva's eyes drifted toward the other patient in the ward and stifled a quiet gasp. It was the potions' professor! Minerva glanced at Plummer and Vector again, noting that the mediwitch was busy, before making her way toward the partially screened portion of the ward. Curiosity had gotten the better of her quite easily.
She had not heard that the professor had taken ill, but then, he was unusually reclusive and everyone knew that he preferred the company of his Slytherins. It was entirely possible that no one other than his own students or the staff were aware of the fact either. And would the Slytherins allow anyone outside the house to know? Certainly not. Tom Riddle, who was Head Boy, was a very capable leader and often ensured within house solidarity on important matters and silence only even the trivial ones. Even Gryffindors knew those things.
At first Minerva, as she stood next to his bedside, thought that Professor Krohn, who was ghostly pale, was sleeping. Then his heavy eyelids slowly lifted to reveal his tired and slightly vacant hazel eyes. Minerva started in surprise and stepped back. A smirking smile touched his almost colorless lips as he beckoned her closer. She obliged hesitantly.
"Minerva, isn't it?" he asked in a low voice.
"Yes, professor."
"Albus said that you were responsible, that it was you who saved my life."
"I don't know what you mean." stammered Minerva in confusion.
Krohn rubbed his thumb across his fingertips and whispered, "The wrapping paper was tainted with poison. I would have been dead by morning."
Minerva raised her eyebrows in astonishment. She had sent Professor Dumbledore to check on him for a different reason entirely. He had seemed almost mad with grief, for certainly he had been sick with it, and capable of almost anything. That was what had frightened her, certainly not the possibility of poison. She would have never even considered it. But it was just one more example of Grindelwald's devious and evil ways.
It was fortunate that no one else came in contact with the paper, as Krohn had been poisoned by means of the obviously very potent toxic substance that was absorbed through his skin.
"But my question is this: after missing so much of the lesson on such poisons because I threw you out of class, how did you realize what had happened to me? Call it professional curiosity." he said impassively.
"I didn't." she replied.
He regarded her curiously for a moment and gave a weak and unpleasant sort of laugh as he realized what her answer meant.
"I seemed deranged to you then. Out of my mind, yes? You sent your head of house to make certain that I had not slit my wrists or something of that nature then?" Krohn questioned with a scowl.
Owing his life to a pair of Gryffindors did not please him, but what was worse by far was that one of them thought him no more sensible, no stronger than a grief-stricken teenager. That made his blood boil with anger despite his weakened state.
"I never told him that I thought you were crazy or had gone mad or anything like that. In fact I hardly told him anything at all." answered Minerva stiffly in her own defense.
Krohn narrowed his eyes at her and said, "I thought perhaps you were doing extra potions' study and had learned something, but I should have known better. You are so very much the Gryffindor. Now get out of my sight, McGonagall, before I have Madam Plummer throw you out of the hospital wing."
Minerva took a step back and felt her cheeks redden at his words. There should be some expectation that he behave in a more civilized manner. She wanted to say something. She would certainly have regretted it later, of course, but she had the strong, almost overwhelming desire to put Professor Krohn in his place.
"Hey, Minerva, are you coming back to the pitch?" called Daniel Vector from the front of the ward. "My shoulder's as good as new!" he added.
She turned to see him flapping his newly healed arm with a ridiculous grin on his face.
"Of course, Daniel." she replied with a nod, striding away from Krohn's hospital bed without another word.
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A/N: I meant to put this in the notes for the last chapter. The phrase 'something must be done' comes from the book "Deliver us fom Evil - Peacekeepers, Warlords and a World of Endless Conflict" by William Shawcross (it was a textbook for a class I took on the sociology of war and the military). Credit where credit is due.
MK: I have the impression from GoF (and from the other books too) that the MoM suffers from severe bureaucratic inertia. And I imagine that it wasn't anything new. Only time will tell if it changes. Thanks for reviewing!
Michelle: *blushes* Thanks!
And thanks to everyone who emailed or commented on the story at Albus & Minerva while this site was down!
On a personal note, my apartment flooded on Saturday, so I had less time for editting and so forth than usual.
January 3rd, 1945
Three days before classes resumed, Minerva found herself escorting Daniel Vector from the Quidditch pitch with a separated shoulder, which he had gained from flying head first from his broom from about fifteen feet in the air. The remainder of the team, all good friends of Minerva's, had elected to stay and continue practicing. They would be playing Slytherin in a few weeks and needed all the practice that they could get. Trudy insisted that this would be the year that Gryffindor won.
Vector, grumbling and holding his wounded shoulder, was expected to be back on the pitch as soon as Madam Plummer righted the injury, which was part of the reason the team sent Minerva with him. She was dead set on seeing Gryffindor win against Slytherin and would drag Daniel back bodily if necessary. He had muttered something about her being insane and obsessed, while he was lying on the ground after the fall, because she had suggested that they 'tape up' his arm and get him back on the broom.
The school mediwitch was attending another patient at the rear of the ward when they entered the hospital wing.
"Madam Plummer ..." said Vector in a loud and whining voice, "I fell off my broom again!" What satisfaction he got out of doing that only he would know.
"One moment, Mister Vector." said Plummer, who was a rather petite and middle-aged witch with rosy cheeks and dark gleaming eyes.
Minerva helped Daniel onto an empty bed so that he could sit comfortably while they waited and then wandered toward one of the windows. Outside, the wind was picking up. It was good practice weather, she decided, though it was incredibly cold, even with warming charms and so forth.
She glanced over her shoulder at Madam Plummer, who was dashing over to examine Vector with her wand drawn. Minerva's eyes drifted toward the other patient in the ward and stifled a quiet gasp. It was the potions' professor! Minerva glanced at Plummer and Vector again, noting that the mediwitch was busy, before making her way toward the partially screened portion of the ward. Curiosity had gotten the better of her quite easily.
She had not heard that the professor had taken ill, but then, he was unusually reclusive and everyone knew that he preferred the company of his Slytherins. It was entirely possible that no one other than his own students or the staff were aware of the fact either. And would the Slytherins allow anyone outside the house to know? Certainly not. Tom Riddle, who was Head Boy, was a very capable leader and often ensured within house solidarity on important matters and silence only even the trivial ones. Even Gryffindors knew those things.
At first Minerva, as she stood next to his bedside, thought that Professor Krohn, who was ghostly pale, was sleeping. Then his heavy eyelids slowly lifted to reveal his tired and slightly vacant hazel eyes. Minerva started in surprise and stepped back. A smirking smile touched his almost colorless lips as he beckoned her closer. She obliged hesitantly.
"Minerva, isn't it?" he asked in a low voice.
"Yes, professor."
"Albus said that you were responsible, that it was you who saved my life."
"I don't know what you mean." stammered Minerva in confusion.
Krohn rubbed his thumb across his fingertips and whispered, "The wrapping paper was tainted with poison. I would have been dead by morning."
Minerva raised her eyebrows in astonishment. She had sent Professor Dumbledore to check on him for a different reason entirely. He had seemed almost mad with grief, for certainly he had been sick with it, and capable of almost anything. That was what had frightened her, certainly not the possibility of poison. She would have never even considered it. But it was just one more example of Grindelwald's devious and evil ways.
It was fortunate that no one else came in contact with the paper, as Krohn had been poisoned by means of the obviously very potent toxic substance that was absorbed through his skin.
"But my question is this: after missing so much of the lesson on such poisons because I threw you out of class, how did you realize what had happened to me? Call it professional curiosity." he said impassively.
"I didn't." she replied.
He regarded her curiously for a moment and gave a weak and unpleasant sort of laugh as he realized what her answer meant.
"I seemed deranged to you then. Out of my mind, yes? You sent your head of house to make certain that I had not slit my wrists or something of that nature then?" Krohn questioned with a scowl.
Owing his life to a pair of Gryffindors did not please him, but what was worse by far was that one of them thought him no more sensible, no stronger than a grief-stricken teenager. That made his blood boil with anger despite his weakened state.
"I never told him that I thought you were crazy or had gone mad or anything like that. In fact I hardly told him anything at all." answered Minerva stiffly in her own defense.
Krohn narrowed his eyes at her and said, "I thought perhaps you were doing extra potions' study and had learned something, but I should have known better. You are so very much the Gryffindor. Now get out of my sight, McGonagall, before I have Madam Plummer throw you out of the hospital wing."
Minerva took a step back and felt her cheeks redden at his words. There should be some expectation that he behave in a more civilized manner. She wanted to say something. She would certainly have regretted it later, of course, but she had the strong, almost overwhelming desire to put Professor Krohn in his place.
"Hey, Minerva, are you coming back to the pitch?" called Daniel Vector from the front of the ward. "My shoulder's as good as new!" he added.
She turned to see him flapping his newly healed arm with a ridiculous grin on his face.
"Of course, Daniel." she replied with a nod, striding away from Krohn's hospital bed without another word.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: I meant to put this in the notes for the last chapter. The phrase 'something must be done' comes from the book "Deliver us fom Evil - Peacekeepers, Warlords and a World of Endless Conflict" by William Shawcross (it was a textbook for a class I took on the sociology of war and the military). Credit where credit is due.
MK: I have the impression from GoF (and from the other books too) that the MoM suffers from severe bureaucratic inertia. And I imagine that it wasn't anything new. Only time will tell if it changes. Thanks for reviewing!
Michelle: *blushes* Thanks!
And thanks to everyone who emailed or commented on the story at Albus & Minerva while this site was down!
On a personal note, my apartment flooded on Saturday, so I had less time for editting and so forth than usual.
