Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.
Dark Days: Minerva McGonagall
September 15, 1997. Minerva had fought it, of course: it went against everything she had ever believed in. The letter came two weeks into the school term, and Albus brought it to her attention immediately.
It was late, nearly one in the morning. She had been sitting alone in the Staff Room, grading some fourth year written exams with some aggravation. Dennis Creevey's grasp of Transfiguration often reminded her painfully of Neville Longbottom's early work. She finished with a flourish of red ink and turned her attention out the window, where a great storm was raging. Rainwater washed down the panes of the window in streams, having long ago abandoned the convention of "drops". Slices of lightning knifed through the sky, bringing an electric shimmer to the countryside. A few seconds later, thunder struck so forcefully that the castle shook with it.
She had once heard a Muggle explanation of the phenomenon of lightning. It was, of course, rather complicated, involving "electrons", which was a part of a very open branch of knowledge (in the nonmagical world) known as Atomic Theory, of which she had but an inkling. For someone who had spent her entire life among witches and wizards, Minerva McGonagall was surprisingly informed about Muggle Science. She had never bothered to take Muggle Studies, although she had always felt she could teach one, if brought to it. She often ruminated on the difference between Muggles and Magical-folk. It seemed to her that Muggles and Wizards sought the same goal; the control of their environment. What differed between the two groups was only the approaches they took. Muggles preferred to dissect and analyze until they felt they understood. Then, they would apply their science to controlling the subject, through electronics, chemicals, or computers, in a way that was separate from themselves. Wizards, on the other hand, employed the powers within themselves (mediated through a wand) to directly affect change their surroundings. Minerva wondered which approach she would have taken, if she had been given a choice.
She was interrupted from her reverie by the sudden arrival of the headmaster. "Minerva," he said quietly, once she had opened the door. "I have disquieting news."
"What is it, Albus?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper. She searched her memory for a time when he had come to her so urgently in the middle of the night, but came up with nothing.
"It seems that our most gifted student is more knowledgeable than we had been aware of," Albus said. "At least, that is, in the eyes of the Minister of Magic. Cornelius Fudge has this evening sent me an owl notifying me that Harry is to graduate Hogwarts this Friday."
"What? Harry? But that's preposterous! There's no way he…"
"Cornelius expressed his conviction that the Boy has learned everything he'll need to know here."
"That's ridiculous!"
"Perhaps. I cannot argue that Harry is gifted; there's little left in our curriculum that he has not yet mastered. Although, I will concede, that I do not believe that matters much to Fudge."
"Really, Albus? What do you mean?"
"I fear that he has gotten word, in spite of our best intentions, of the events that transpired at the Weasley home last month."
"Oh, wow…" Minerva had to sit down. Fudge could not care less about the education of The Boy Who Lived. He had merely gotten wind of a powerful soldier against the Deatheaters who was not yet in his employ.
"So what are you going to do? How will you defy the Minister of Magic."
"I intend to graduate Harry, as ordered."
"You can't be serious, Albus! This is insane!"
"I fear that it is inappropriate, in light of Harry's personal educational needs. However, I also have made an important realization, Minerva: he may be our only hope in these Dark Days."
Minerva felt the need to sit down, and then realized that she had never left her seat to begin with. The chair was still underneath her, the heavy oak table still before her, and the pile of graded exams still sat, ready to break the hearts of Dennis Creevey and his peers the next day. Can we really put all of our hopes on one boy? She had heard the prophecy of course, but even so it seemed so outlandish.
It was evident that fairness to the boy was irrelevant; if he was indeed the last hope of the magical world, and maybe the Muggle one as well, then they could be forgiven for ruining his education. In fact, we might be obligated to do so.
Albus, sensing that the conversation had come to an end, turned to leave.
"Albus!" Minerva cried out.
The aged headmaster stopped and turned back around, a look of curiosity on his lined face. "Yes, Minerva?"
"You can't let them take Harry. Even if you must graduate him, we have to keep him at Hogwarts. There's no safer place for him than here," she said. It was her last argument.
Albus Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard in the world. It was his strength that held together the Order. It was his wisdom that kept Hogwarts afloat. It was his courage that gave home to the magical community. He always wore a look of quiet confidence, and never seemed surprised, even by the most unusual events. When his face fell at her statement, Minerva went cold all over. "At any point in the last six years, Minerva, I would have agreed with you. It has always been the case that this building is a rampart, virtually insurmountable to any outside threat. This remains the case. The problem, I fear, is that the threat is no longer just outside our walls."
Minerva said nothing, imploring him to continue with her silence.
"I should also have told you that I expelled a student tonight, for the first time in all my years as headmaster. Her name was Gloria Windsong, a sweet young girl from Ravenclaw. Filch found her two hours ago, waiting beside the portrait of the Fat Lady. She was apparently trying to gain entrance to the Gryffindor common room with her wand, a small knife, and a bottle of elaborate poison. Veritaserum confirmed what I had already guessed; she had been sent by Lord Voldemort to kill Harry Potter."
Minerva opened her mouth to voice her outrage, but no words came.
"Nor do I doubt that she is the last student here under the sway of the Dark Lord. We have reached a frightening new age at Hogwarts; the greatest threat to this school might be the students themselves. You see Minerva, I fear that to keep Harry here is to invite his death."
* * * *
September 19, 1997. Minerva knocked twice on the heavy oak door, paused a second, then three times more. A gruff voice from the other side called back to her: "What's the password?"
"Vinny sent me," she enunciated clearly. She was standing in a dark alleyway in the heart of London. Since the Death of Sirius Black more than a year ago, the Order of the Phoenix had moved their home base to a warehouse that had long since been abandoned.
"Vinny? Never heard of 'im," the voice replied.
Minerva lost what little patience she had. "Yeah, well, he sent me anyway. Mad-Eye, when I get to the other side of this door, I'm going to hex you into next Thursday!"
"Heh, Minerva! I never can be too careful, you know."
"Yes, I know – Constant Vigilance!" she practically screamed.
"That's my girl!" the voice came back. She heard him mutter the counter-charm and a heavy bolt slid out of the way a second later. He opened the door timidly, as if expecting the proffered hexing.
She considered it. If she did decide to curse the insane former auror, there would be time to do so later. For now, there was business to attend to. "Is everyone here yet?"
Mad-Eye eyed her warily for a second, as if trying to rid his mind of the possibility that she was an impostor. Giving up on he, he gestured for her to go first down the narrow hall.
Probably has some rule about not turning your back on someone who's just threatened to hex you – no matter whether in jest or not. Constant Vigilance! Minerva suppressed a giggle, but started off down the long corridor anyway.
Moody started scratching his head audibly. "Let's see… the Weasleys are here already. All of 'em." Moody growled the last part. He still was not very pleased about the inclusion of Fred and George in the Order. Mrs. Weasley could not restrain her twins from joining, but had so far kept her youngest two out, even though they were of age. "Fletcher, Lupin, Vance, and Jones are here, of course. Tonks and Podmore are out on a mission, so they won't be joining us. Shacklebolt's, uh… Crud, where did… Oh, yeah. Well, Kingsley won't be joinin' us I guess," Moody chuckled nervously.
Minerva grimaced. She did not envy Mad-Eye; she knew that he had lived long and been through many a rough time. He was getting older; no doubt about it, and his memory was going. He had trouble remembering who was alive and who was dead. Poor, tragic man.
"No sign of Snape, Flitwick or Hagrid," Moody went on. "But I wouldn't be surprised if they all arrived with the Big Man. Quite a few are missing, yet, but it's still early."
He led her into the meeting room of the Order, a giant room that had been built to accommodate roughly a hundred people. The size of the room only served to emphasize the limits of their team; roughly two-dozen witches and wizards were congregated in the room, their voices echoing off the distant walls.
In the far corner, she spotted the guest of honor for that evenings meeting. Gauging by Moody's sudden grunt, he had as well. Igor Karkaroff stood in front of a long table, with three of his students sitting next to him. Standing immediately to his left was Viktor Krum, Quidditch star and one time Triwizard Competitor. With a dismissive nod toward Moody, she made her way over to them.
"Good evening, Igor," Minerva said, her voice thick with professional detachment.
Karkaroff stroked his goatee thoughtfully, sizing her up. "Minerva," he said in acknowledgement, his unctuous voice emotionless.
"And Mr. Krum," she said, turning her attention momentarily the dark-haired Bulgarian. "How are all of you these days?"
Not surprisingly, Karkaroff spoke for all of them. "We are alive, which is enough to be thankful for. I regret to say that Durmstrang has been sacked," he said, his voice displaying a hint of fear. "The Deatheaters attacked us just yesterday. Sadly, many among our students and faculty betrayed us in favor of the Dark Lord. Those few that were loyal put up a good fight, but we were hopelessly outnumbered."
Minerva frowned. She had already heard the major details of this tale from Dumbledore the previous evening, when the headmaster had received an urgent owl from Karkaroff. She waited in silence until he continued.
"These," he began again, gesturing with a wave to Krum and the three students. "We're the only ones who escaped. Those that remain are either prisoners or loyal to the Dark Lord."
Minerva nodded. This was dire news indeed. "Tell me, Igor. How long do you think it will be before He tries to attack Hogwarts? How strong are his forces? How many are loyal to him?"
Karkaroff frowned. "I can say that a good number of my students and faculty are in his power, several hundred at the least. The force of Deatheaters that attacked was formidable as well, maybe as many as a hundred. We never had a chance." Karkaroff grimaced, gritting his teeth in frustration. "I can only tell you that he has the forces necessary to mount a large-scale assault whenever it pleases him to do so. As to his plans, I cannot say. I… is that? It is!"
Minerva turned to see what had captured his attention. The entire room had fallen into a hushed silence, their attention focused on the newest arrival to the meeting. Standing in the doorway from which she had emerged just minutes before, clutching a few bags under one arm and a broomstick in his other hand, was Harry Potter.
He turned his gaze around the large room, absorbing the stares of the Order with quiet patience. Little by little, the other witches and wizards returned to their previous conversations, the low drone of voices starting again. Harry made eye contact with Minerva and began heading her way. As he walked, most of the room watched him, trying not to be overly obvious.
"Professor McGonagall," Harry said loudly as he approached. "Good to see you."
"Yes, Harry, you as well. Although I must admit that I'm a little surprised to see you here. Professor Dumbledore didn't mention any thing about it to me. The last I heard, you were heading to the Ministry to start your career as the world's youngest auror."
Harry nodded understandingly, a slight smile playing across his face. "Yes, I imagine Minister Fudge is a little upset about that. Dumbledore was forced to graduate me, but he gave me my choice: report to the Ministry as expected, or join the Order of the Phoenix. It was hardly a tough decision for me."
Minerva nodded, a sensation of relief flooding through her. It was soothing just to see him there, in the flesh, far away from the designs of the Minister of Magic. It was true that Fudge had admitted the return of the Dark Lord, and had allied the Ministry with the Order in defeating him. However, the relationship between the two groups was somewhat shaky. Fudge still suspected the headmaster of trying to gain power, and all but forbade his employees from enlisting in the Order. There were many, like Kingsley Shacklebolt, who participated with the Order while holding jobs with the Ministry, but there were still better things for one's career there than having their name mentioned in the same breath with Dumbledore's.
So Dumbledore never intended to hand him over to Fudge.
Harry turned to acknowledge the others present. "Professor Karkaroff," he said curtly, shaking hands firmly with the older man.
"Mr. Potter," Karkaroff said simply, seeming not in the least pleased by his presence.
"Viktor. How are you?" Harry sounded much warmer to his peer.
"I am vell," Viktor replied, his voice thick with accent. "How about you? And Hermy-ninny? And Ron?"
Harry laughed out loud. "Last I saw her, 'Mione and Ron were both well."
A shout from across the room took their attention away suddenly. Against the near wall, a man had just emerged from the fireplace, courtesy of the Floo network. He had emerged from the fireplace screaming, and dropped down on his knees in front of the startled Order.
"Snape! What is it, man?" Moody demanded.
Snape raised his eyes to face the ex-Auror, brushing black hair out of his face in a state of near panic. "The Dark Lord has attacked Hogwarts!"
Muffled screams followed his dire pronouncement. The members of the Order glanced about each nervously, not sure how to react.
"What happened, Severus?" Minerva shouted out over the din of frightened murmurs.
Professor Snape went on, his lip quivering as he spoke. "Professor Flitwick and I were accompanying Dumbledore to Hagrid's home. We were all going to arrive together… Just as we got there, a dozen or so Deatheaters emerged from the Forbidden Forest, among them He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Dumbledore sent me here to gather the forces, but things look bad. There were many of the Dark Lord's servants, and I fear the worst!"
Silence fell on the Order. They stared at Professor Snape in a state of disbelief. Several seconds passed in this way, before a young voice behind Minerva shouted out: "We have to go rescue him!"
Harry.
"Right!" Mundungus Fletcher shouted. "We'll all Apparate inside of Hagrid's home!"
Moody, standing directly behind him, cuffed Fletcher on his right ear. "Imbecile! You can't Apparate onto Hogwarts' grounds!"
Arthur Weasley took the next step, rather than simply speak it. He kissed his wife on her cheek swiftly, and then grabbed the bag of Floo powder on top of the mantel. He threw a handful of the dust into the fire, and proclaimed "Hagrid's Hut!" in a loud voice, and then disappeared into the flames. Behind him, the other members of the Order got in line to follow him.
Minerva's mind swirled with tactics. They had no way of knowing what awaited them in the hut; for all they knew they would be killed immediately upon arrival. Even so, it would take several precious minutes to get everyone there one at a time.
"Let's go!" Harry shouted from Minerva's side. For all of his enthusiasm, she could not mistake the note of fear in his voice.
"Harry!" she hissed in her best no-nonsense voice. "You are not to go into that fire under any circumstances! You are not prepared for this battle, not yet. Do you understand me, Potter?"
Harry looked at her with a mixture of anger and relief. "Yes."
"I will remain behind and ensure that the boys don't go through," Karkaroff offered.
Coward. "Yes, that's for the best," Minerva said. Without another word, she strode purposefully over to the fireplace, and quickly disappeared into the green flames.
* * * *
September 19, 1997. Minerva was the fourth person through the fireplace. When she arrived in Hagrid's cozy domicile, Arthur and Molly Weasley were already peering out of the front window, and Moody was inspecting a giant body sprawled across the floor. Minerva felt ice stab through her heart. Hagrid. Likely dead before the Deatheaters had ambushed Dumbledore.
Moody looked up with, a grim expression on his beaten face. "Been dead for half an hour, I'd guess," he announced. When he noticed Minerva, he spoke again. "Alright, no sense in putting it off any longer. Let's get out there!"
Arthur turned to Minerva. "The fight appears to be some fifty yards away, back towards the castle. I think we'll be safe when we emerge… for a moment, at least."
"Good enough," Minerva breathed. "Follow me." She strode past the Weasley and out the front door of Hagrid's hut and into the lethal night. Within seconds, Minerva's world broke apart.
Albus Dumbledore stood in the middle of an open field, clutching a shimmering white shield to his chest, his wand poking out from behind it. Sitting on his shoulder was an infant version of Fawkes the Phoenix, who had obviously been the recent recipient of a killing curse aimed at the Headmaster. Far above the scene was the last thing one expected to see at Hogwarts – the Dark Mark.
Directly in front of him, flanked by two hooded Deatheaters was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, laughing shrilly. He wore flowing robes of green and white, carrying in his hands a staff and his wand. His thin, serpentine face was twisted into an ugly smile.
All around Dumbledore were scattered dead bodies. In an instant, Minerva recognized Professor Flitwick, Firenze the centaur, Argus Filch, and Professor Sinistra -- all staring up into the sky with lifeless eyes. The bodies of a few Deatheaters dotted the perimeter of the scene, but the numbers revealed a rout in favor of the Dark Lord.
All around Dumbledore swooped ten or so Deatheaters on broomsticks, throwing hexes at him. He had animated several stone gargoyles (likely from on top of the castle) to aid in his defense, and they had stood behind him, exploding when hit by powerful hexes. The number of these had apparently dwindled significantly, as two gargoyles trudged about in a deep pile of broken stone.
Before Minerva even had time to join in the fray, a harmful spell slipped through Dumbledore's rear defenses, hitting him directly between the shoulder blades. Minerva unleashed a horrified scream as the headmaster was knocked off of his feet, losing both his wand and shield. He landed face first in the dirt, hard.
Behind her, the Order of the Phoenix jumped into action, attacking the swirling Deatheaters. Minerva merely watched, transfixed and unable to move. Dumbledore struggled to his knees, merely feet in front of the Dark Lord. Without preamble, without sinister words, without even gloating, the Dark Lord raised his wand and uttered the horrible words: "Avada Kedavra!"
The bolt of green energy from his wand tip hit Dumbledore in between his eyes. It was as though lightning struck the spot where he lay; a pulse of white light shot out from his body, passing through the grounds immediately. In its wake, his body disappeared.
Albus…
Minerva found herself able to move again. Raising her wand, she started attacking the Deatheaters at random, sending out the Killing Curse without a second thought. Her spells went wide from their intended marks; the Deatheaters continued to swirl far overhead from their brooms, showering the scene in a volley of return fire. Minerva dove for the ground just in time to avoid her own death. She got to her feet and sprinted back to the side of the hut, seeking refuge with her compatriots from the overwhelming opponents.
The Dark Lord gestured to the two Deatheaters beside him, who joined the fight for the first time. He raised his wand again, repeating his previous words. Minerva followed the path of the spell and watched Molly Weasley topple over in the middle of her run to the relative safety. Beside her, Arthur Weasley screamed out, a voice ragged with disbelief and pain.
Overhead, the flying Deatheaters formed up into a thick knot, and then split in half as they descended on the hut. Minerva shoved Mundungus and Arthur through the open door, understanding the vulnerability of their position. Far behind her she heard a chorus of shouts: "OBLIVIATE!"
A volley of red lights hit the oncoming Deatheaters, several of which fell off their brooms. Minerva whirled around to see a V of broom-riders coming in from the Forbidden Forest, wands outstretched. With a wave of terror, she recognized Harry Potter at the forefront. If he too is lost… She could not let herself think of it.
The cavalry let off another round of spells, felling most of the rest of the attacking Deatheaters. She noticed, with grim satisfaction, that all the spells coming from the V were red, save that from the front, which was an unmistakable green.
The Dark Lord raised his wand, sending out a shower of green sparks, clearly a signal for retreat. Only two Deatheaters were still on their brooms, and they quickly broke off their attack. They landed amongst the heap of their unconscious comrades, and began pulling them together. Another green energy bolt came from over her head, knocking one of them dead. The other dropped himself on top of the pile of Deatheaters, and – pulling some small object out of his robes – vanished with the rest of them. A portkey!
The Dark Lord and his two remaining Deatheaters followed suit, and all of the sudden the grounds were as still and quiet as death.
* * * *
September 19, 1997. "Harry Potter! I told you to stay behind!" Minerva's fingers shook as she scolded the 17-year-old. They stood inside Hagrid's hut, beside a kettle of steaming hot water. The body of Hagrid had been removed, with difficulty, and added to the collection. Outside, the Order worked on collecting the bodies of their fallen comrades. Minerva had asked them to see to this while she had a word with The Boy-Who-Lived.
"Well, technically, you told me not to go through the fireplace, and we didn't," he told her, looking unconcerned.
"That's not the point, the point is…" Minerva stopped herself, a curious possibility occurring to her. "Well, then how did you get here?"
"We Apparated. The twins and Viktor and his friends and a few members of the Order and I all grabbed brooms and Apparated to the far side of the Forest, just outside the anti-apparation field, and we flew in from there."
"Since when do you know how to Apparate?" she asked. She wondered if she might need to have a parallel talk with Fred and George Weasley.
Harry's eyes strayed to the place on the ground where Hagrid had lain. He was silent for a moment, as if fighting off the urge to cry. "We figured it out over the summer at Ron's. Before…before I left there. It seemed like something me might need to know."
Minerva checked her amazement and returned to scolding the boy. "The point is that you knew you were supposed to remain behind, and you came anyway, directly disobeying the spirit of my command."
Harry shot her a look of hostility, his eyes gleaming with an intensity she had never seen before. "Yes, you're right. So, what are you going to do? Take ten points from Gryffindor?" The words came out of his mouth heavy with sarcasm and anger.
Minerva sighed, not sure for a second how to respond. "I know, Harry. It was wrong of them to take you away from Hogwarts." You're still just a child, don't you see that? "And while I may no longer be your Professor, I may… I may just be the new leader of the Order of the Phoenix."
Her words hit home. He looked at the ground again, no less angry but no longer arguing.
"And you will be of no use to us if you don't act more responsibly, and take direct orders," she said softly. "The stunt you pulled today was foolish. It's lucky you weren't all killed."
"Sorry, Professor, but if it weren't for my stunt today, you would have been killed."
Minerva's face twitched, musing that this was not the way her lectures were supposed to go. He had a point. "Yes, you might be right. But your death would have been a far more severe blow to our cause than mine. So, for all future operations, you must listen to me."
Harry considered this for a moment, his face unreadable. "I'll make you a deal, Professor."
A deal? "What sort of deal, Harry?"
"I will agree to listen to what you say, to stay out of it when you command so, but you have to treat me with respect, like any other member of the Order," he said, his face glowing with determination. He started again, his voice softer. "I think we both know what this war is going to come down to. I think I've earned the right to participate in the battles of the Order. I… don't want to be coddled anymore."
Minerva eyes played with her. She looked at the young man in front of her: all of 17 years old, an early graduate from school, the weight of their lives on his shoulders. All she could see, though, was the nervous first-year she had dragged through the corridors after his first flying lesson, intent on making him the youngest seeker to play for Gryffindor in a century. It was so many years ago that it seemed like another lifetime. The angry youth before her seemed like another person altogether, only vaguely resembling the terrified youth riding a broom for the first time on the grounds outside the school. How much he's grown…
"Very well, Mr. Potter," she agreed, all of her heart wanting to tell him no. It was unthinkable that at his age these weighty problems were given to him to solve. "That being the case, I recommend you go outside and assist the others in cleaning this mess up."
Harry nodded, seeming a little surprised that he had achieved his goal in the conversation. "Will do, professor."
"You might as well refer to me as Minerva, now. I'm not your Professor anymore," she pointed out.
Harry considered this. "If it's all the same to you, I'll stick with `professor'. The other doesn't sound right, somehow."
"As you please, Mr. Potter."
He turned toward the door, ready to begin his duties as the newest member to the Order of the Phoenix.
"Harry?" she called after him, on an impulse.
"Yes, Professor?" he hesitated, his hand on the door.
"Who authorized your use of the Killing Curse?" she asked, her voice hard and serious.
Harry looked back at her, defiance shining in his eyes. "Who? Voldemort."
For the life of her, she could not press the issue. Not on the day when their leader fell to the hand of the enemy. Not on the day when Arthur Weasley lost his wife. Not on the day when the Boy-Who-Lived put his foot down. Not on that horrible, dark day.
* * * *
September 19, 1997. Albus, why did you forsake us in our darkest hour? Minerva strode outside to discover that most of the wreckage had been cleared away, and quite a crowd had gathered. The entire Order was now present: even Tonks and Podmore had returned from their mission in time to arrive at the scene. Several members of the staff from the school were now present, including Madame Hooch and Madame Pomfrey, who was sobbing hysterically.
The bodies of Sinistra, Vector, Filch, Flitwick, and Molly Weasley had been laid reverently beside that of Hagrid, their arms crossed over their chests. The members of the Order stood around them mostly in silence, save for Arthur, who was weeping loudly on his knees. Bill, Fred, and George stood next to him, trying vainly to console their father.
Something shifted in Minerva's stomach and she fought of the urge to cry herself. Now is not the time. Not in front of them. Then, she noticed something that quite distracted her. Harry was standing behind the Weasley trio, and sitting on his shoulder was a small red bird. She strode over directly.
"Harry! Why do you have the headmasters' bird?" she demanded.
Harry gave her a look that suggested that Fawkes was not the most pressing issue at present. "I don't know. He just… came to me, and sat on my shoulder. What do you want me to do with him?"
Minerva shrugged; putting in order the possessions of Professor Dumbledore was not on top of her priority list. "Just… hold on to him for the present, Harry. I'll deal with that later." She raised her voice and addressed the Order, gathered around her in silence. "I will leave you in charge of burying our fallen comrades. Unless you have a preference, they are to be buried here in front of Hagrid's home, where a memorial shall be erected to mark this dire event."
The Order seemed content with her words, and several of them began working on the project. She turned to Harry, and said in a lowered voice. "Potter, you're with me." She began walking off toward the school, her feet heavy.
Seeming a little surprised, Harry nonetheless followed her obediently, after tenderly squeezing the shoulder of Arthur Weasley. They walked back to the castle in silence. Within minutes they were entering the great front doors to the old school, and Minerva stopped to address her companion.
"Harry, I'm heading up to Dumbledore's office to set some things in order and send some owls. You are to go directly up to Gryffindor tower, and summon Ron and Ginny Weasley. The new password is `Vigilance'. Please remember that it is not your place to pass on the bad news to them; that is a family affair. Merely take them outside to rejoin their families. I understand that you will want to be with the Weasleys during this time, but you must leave as soon as you have completed this task. The Minister of Magic will likely be here within the hour, and you should not be here when he arrives, or else I fear that you may not see the Weasleys for a long time indeed. Do you understand? "
Harry pondered this for a second and then nodded. He did not seem pleased with his unhappy duty, but set off immediately.
* * * *
September 20, 1997. Minerva awoke early in the morning to a knocking at the door. She was disoriented for a second. She had apparently fallen asleep at Dumbledore's desk, and was a moment in remembering why. A glance at the parchments in front of her brought the tragic evening back, all in a rush.
She had been working late into the night, sending and receiving owls. Cornelius Fudge did not show up in person, as she had expected, but sent several Aurors to survey the scene and then to harass her on the location of Harry -- threatening censure, removal from Hogwarts, and even imprisonment. She had dealt with them sternly, in a way she had hoped that Albus would have been proud of.
The knocking persisted. Minerva took a second to gather herself, and then strode over to the staircase and down the steps to the door. She opened the door to find Ginny Weasley, her eyes bloodshot and her flowing red hair unkempt.
"Weasley! What is it?" she demanded, her voice hoarse and impatient.
"I need to speak with you," the trembling young girl said simply, her voice tremulous.
"I intend to address the entire student body at breakfast about the events of last night," Minerva replied in a businesslike tone. "I will be happy to answer any questions you still have thereafter."
"It isn't that, Professor. I have something to tell you," Ginny persisted.
"Is it urgent?"
"Isn't everything these days?"
"Indeed," Minerva replied, her voice losing its edge involuntarily. "Come on in." She led the young girl up the staircase and back into the Headmaster's office. She passed the now-empty stoop for Fawkes, and sat behind the desk. "What is it, Ginny?"
Ginny, now seated opposite her, squirmed uncomfortably. "On the first day of school, I went to see Professor Trelawney. I was... upset about Charlie, and I was hoping she might tell me what the future held for my family."
Minerva said nothing, already guessing where this conversation would lead, but seethed on the inside. Lunatic old crack-pot…
"She went all crazy-eyed and started speaking in a funny voice. She told me that…" Ginny stifled a small cry, clearly still suffering from the most recent loss. The girl pushed that down, and went on with difficulty. "She told me that more in my family would die, and she was right about that. In fact, she told me that a lot of horrible things would happen, like the destruction of `hallowed institutions', and she was right about that, too. Harry told me that Durmstrang had been taken. She told me that Dumbledore would be the only one who could kill the Dark Lord, that Harry couldn't do it."
Minerva's eyes went wide, but she held her tongue.
"Which is why I'm here. I… I'm afraid for Harry. I think that now that Professor Dumbledore is, uh, gone… that You-Know-Who is unstoppable. I'm afraid that The Order will make Harry confront him, and…" Ginny's voice deteriorated into a wrack of sobs, unable to contain her grief and fear.
"And The Dark Lord will kill him?" Minerva supplied.
Ginny, no longer able to speak, looked up at her with crying eyes and nodded.
"Well, Ginny, you should know that I put absolutely no stock in the opinions of Professor Trelawney. I have said on many occasions that Divination is a difficult and approximate study. It isn't my place to criticize my fellow teachers, but I think that Professor Trelawney is… well, a glittery, self-important fraud. I strongly urge you not to take any stock in her prophecy."
Ginny had stopped crying, and seemed quite relieved by her words.
"As for Harry, I can assure you that his safety has been and will continue to be my utmost concern. I certainly will not allow anyone to force him into a confrontation with the Dark Lord." Except, possibly, himself.
Minerva sent Ginny away shortly thereafter, having eased most of the young Gryffindors concerns but none of her own. Albus, why did you forsake us in our darkest hour?