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Minerva roused Harry early the following morning for his visit to Madam Pomfrey. She hated to do it - he had woken screaming just after midnight, eyes wide open and hair wet with sweat, and had not fallen back to sleep for more than an hour. Now he was tired and irritable, and let her know it through a campaign of toe-curling and fist-clenching that made it nearly impossible to dress him.
Eventually, after some stern words, she managed to wrestle him into his robes. They were emerald green - a shade that complemented his coloring, as it did hers - and had a tiny Gryffindor crest sewn just below the left shoulder. Propaganda, yes, but she did hope he would want to be in Gryffindor one day; if not for her own satisfaction, then to honor his parents' memories.
Lily and James. As always, her eyes filled with tears at the thought of their names. She didn't know why she wept for them any more than for the hundreds who had suffered the same fate, some of whom she had known as well, or better. Maybe it was only because she had charge of the child they had left behind. He had grown in the few weeks they'd been gone; he already looked more like a little boy than the baby who had slept so tranquilly in Albus' arms on Halloween night. And his parents would never see him, never know - good Lord, she was about to sob like a baby herself. It was a ridiculous way to behave. Crying would neither bring them back nor make her job any easier.
Still sniffing a bit, she scooped Harry up, ignoring the way he stiffened and arched his back in protest. Then she gathered a handful of glittering Floo powder, stepped into the fireplace, and announced "Hospital wing!" in her firmest no-nonsense tone.
"He's perfectly healthy, Professor," Madam Pomfrey said some time later, slipping her wand into her apron pocket and offering Minerva a reassuring smile over the top of Harry's head. "A little thin, maybe, but you remember how his father was - a positive rail of a boy, no matter how many Honeydukes sweets he ate."
Minerva was not reassured. "I remember, of course. It's scarcely been five years since James and Lily were here. The difference is that James ate and stayed thin anyway. Harry never eats."
"He will," said Madam Pomfrey. "I've never heard of a child starving himself to death. Just keep putting food in front of him at mealtimes, and when he's hungry enough, he'll give in. Won't you?" She tickled Harry, who stared at her resentfully instead of giggling and squirming in standard baby fashion.
"Isn't there some sort of tonic I could give him?" asked Minerva, remembering how she and her sisters had lined up on winter mornings for thick dark spoonfuls of Madam Robusta's Build-Em-Up Elixir. Their mother had sworn by the stuff, and they had rarely been ill, so there must have been something to it.
"Yes," said Madam Pomfrey, "but he doesn't need it, and getting it into him will be more trouble than it's worth."
"I suppose you're right," Minerva agreed with a sigh. It was difficult enough to slip food into Harry's stubborn little mouth. She couldn't imagine trying to sneak medicine in there as well.
They both stood silently for a minute and watched Harry examining the brightly colored potion bottles on Madam Pomfrey's desk. Then the tower clock began to strike nine, and Minerva leapt up, horrified.
"Oh no! I didn't realize it was so late - I have a lesson to teach. Come along, Harry." She grabbed for him, but Madam Pomfrey stopped her with a firm hand.
"He's enjoying himself, Minerva. Don't disturb him. You can leave him here with me while you teach your lesson. I haven't any patients this morning anyway."
"If it isn't any trouble -"
"No trouble at all," Madam Pomfrey assured her.
"Thanks awfully," Minerva said, and all but ran for the door to the corridor. It wasn't until she reached the head of the stairs that she realized she had completely missed saying goodbye to Harry.
It's not as if he'll notice, she thought with a touch of bitterness. He doesn't care whether I'm there or not, does he now? Still, the oversight bothered her. What sort of foster mother was she, to rush off and leave her child with someone he scarcely knew, without so much as a word of reassurance? She would have to do better in future.
She arrived at the Transfiguration classroom hot and flustered, but only a few minutes late, and guided her fourth-years through their lesson more or less by rote. They had already done animal-to-object transfigurations in their second year; this was just review for them. At the end of the hour, she collected the homework they had done over the weekend - noting that Charlie Weasley had, once again, drawn fire-breathing dragons up and down the margins of his parchment - and released them on the dot of ten so she could hurry back and get Harry.
Please tell me he behaved, she thought as she rounded the corner into the hospital wing. He was not an overly rambunctious little boy, but he was a boy, and already showed signs of liking to knock things over and take them apart. Although, she realized, she would have more to explain if he had spent the time looking for Lily around every corner. She hadn't told Madam Pomfrey about his strange grieving ritual, only his refusal to eat.
To her relief, Harry was quietly occupied when she arrived, making big, sweeping scribbles on the stone floor with a fat piece of chalk Madam Pomfrey had given him. Madam Pomfrey herself was filling in paperwork at her desk. Upon hearing Minerva's footsteps, she straightened up and smiled at Harry.
"Here's Professor McGonagall come to take you home, Harry," she said.
Harry stopped in mid-scribble, the chalk clutched like a dusty candle in his fist.
"Mummy?" he asked. Minerva's heart sank.
"No, Harry," she said as briskly as possible. "We're going back to our rooms. I'll stay with you for a while, and then the elf will come to take you for a walk. Would you like to go for a walk?"
"No," said Harry, beginning to pout.
"Yes," said Minerva. "Madam Pomfrey has been very kind to let you stay here, but now it is time to go."
"No go!"
Minerva stared down at him, wondering whether she ought to bother coaxing, or just pick him up and carry him away. Out in the main ward, a voice called "Madam Pomfrey? Are you there? I've got a first-year here with his head turned round backward, it looks awful ..."
"Coming," Madam Pomfrey called back.
When she had gone, Minerva knelt down beside Harry and gave him her sternest stare.
"We're going now too," she said.
"No go!" howled Harry, and flung himself backward, hitting his head with a crack that made him cry even harder. Minerva gasped and hurriedly sat him upright again so she could look for injuries. There was a small bump under his tousled black wisps of hair, but nothing worse; Providence seemed to be on the side of small children determined to harm themselves.
Harry continued to wail, and on a sudden impulse, she switched into her Animagus form, hoping that it would distract him from his upset. The trick always drew oohs and aahs from her first-year classes; perhaps it would work on a child this age as well.
It did. Harry stopped crying instantly and flashed a cheeky little gap-toothed grin, the first she had seen since she had taken him from the Dursleys.
"Dog!" he said.
Dog? Minerva wondered. She sauntered forward and rubbed against the boy's side, making sure to let the tip of her tail brush under his chin. Harry giggled - another first - and grabbed at the tail, but she swished it out of his reach.
"Dog," he repeated. Finding that her inner teacher could not resist the urge to correct this mistake, Minerva transformed and looked at him as seriously as one could while crouched on all fours.
"Not dog," she said. "Cat."
"Dog!' Harry insisted, clearly not pleased that his furry new playmate had turned back into the woman who forced him to wash and eat and go to bed. "Back dog!"
"Back dog? You want the dog to come back?"
"Nooo!" wailed Harry. "Back dog! Back dog!"
Minerva decided that proper vocabulary was not worth another tantrum and changed form again. So what if he didn't know the difference between a dog and a cat yet? He was only a baby, after all. But as he patted her head and gave her painfully enthusiastic hugs, she heard him repeat "back dog, back dog" as if it were something very important. She wondered what on earth he could mean.
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