Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine.
A/N: Well, I may be keeping Harry alive…there has been a lot of people pushing for that. And with this chapter I nullify one of the later chapters I liked a lot…sigh. So perhaps he'll live. It depends…will he survive the— Whoops. No giving it away… Here is the next one, though…
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Title: The Lion's Promise
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"No!" I exclaim, slapping a hand down on the wooden railing next to me. I want to jump out of my seat like some fifth year student and yell at them to do better.
Slytherin has just scored again. Severus glanced over, catches my eye, and then smirks before looking away. Drat that man. He'll be gloating over this forever if Slytherin wins.
It's up to the seekers now. The scores are too close. Whoever catches the snitch will win it.
Fortunately, Mr. Potter is having a 'good' day.
When he has a good day, he plays. When it's a 'bad' day, he doesn't.
On those day, Ginny Weasley is our seeker. And nothing against the girl, but she's nothing compared to Mr. Potter. He was meant to do this. It's obvious to anyone who sees him.
He is at home in the air…on a good day… And he at home today. It's been almost a month since he was last abducted by Voldemort, and just for this day, this one Quidditch match, Albus has placed wards the likes of which I have never seen on Harry's broom. He isn't allowed off of it until one of us is within ten feet of him, just in case, but he is safe on the broom. Well, safe from You-Know-Who anyway.
A bludger almost takes his head off.
I can see Mr. Malfoy is laughing uproariously as Mr. Potter whirls gracefully, dodging the ball. He shuts up when he has to dodge the redirected bludger.
Mr. Potter does not laugh. He is diving.
I've never seen anyone dive like that. Mr. Potter tells me that he's not very good at it…he's seen it done much better at professional matches. Though he's only been to one in his life. If I remember correctly, Victor Krum, the Bulgarian seeker, was in that match…his feints are good, but Mr. Potter would never believe me if I told him that his are better.
"No! Mr. Weasley!" I exclaim again, frustrated. That boy's let the quaffle in again. I would think with his sudden growth spurt he'd be able to block the ball. But despite everything, he still misses. Rather often.
I miss Mr. Wood. He was an incredible keeper. Times change…
Mr. Potter is pulling out of his incredible dive. Mr. Malfoy, who followed him, pulled out many yards above him.
Mr. Potter's toes may have skimmed the grass. And yet he thinks the dive should be better. I'm afraid of what an improvement would look like.
"HA!" I shout, shooting Severus a triumphant look. My team has scored. Gryffindor leads again, just by ten, though. The snitch will decide this.
There is a general cry from the crowds as a bludger narrowly misses Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy suddenly sees something.
He leans forward, accelerating quickly, and Mr. Potter is in pursuit, slowly gaining though their brooms are the same model. Severus will not admit that Mr. Potter is certainly the more talented flier of the two seekers.
My Griffindor beaters have teamed up to aim a bludger right at Mr. Malfoy. They send it off, the bludger hurtling forward like a cannon ball.
It will hit soon…but then something happens. There is a shout…it's hard to see.
It looks as if Mr. Potter has flown in the way of the bludger. He takes the brunt of the hit…he's…he's got the snitch…
Mr. Malfoy is livid. Mr. Potter is listing on his broom badly, but he has the snitch. Clutched in his left hand, I can just make it out, fluttering like a little bird…
I'm out on the field as quickly as I can move. Mr. Potter is sinking towards the ground much too rapidly, curled over the handle of his broom as he tries to stay on.
Mr. Malfoy just watches. I expected him to do something more. Say something to provoke Mr. Potter. But he doesn't. Just shakes his head angrily and flies away.
A simple spell insures that Mr. Potter reaches the ground safely.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I am stern with my Gryffindors. I need to be. They tend to be too prideful, too arrogant. Certainly, I have seen my share of vindictive and arrogant teens in my house. They feel they are better than the other houses and flaunt it. It is embarrassing.
Mr. Potter used to be that way, just a little. He had nothing against Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. In fact, I think his first attempt at a girlfriend came from Ravenclaw…
Miss Cho Chang. He would be surprised that I know about her… Of course he does not really realize that everyone knows about it. I wish I could have a few words with the girl some days. Neither realize that I know about such things as silly crushes and little squabbles…
Slytherin was the problem. From the very first, Mr. Potter had fights with members of that house. Mr. Malfoy especially. Their hatred for each other was starting to escalate out of control by the end of fifth year. Mr. Potter would be embarrassed, I suppose, if he knew that I knew about Mr. Malfoy's parting threat.
But I am his Head of House. It is my job to know these things.
And he has no parents to know these things…
Mr. Potter has changed. His hatred for Slytherin is almost nonexistent now. Mr. Malfoy cannot get Mr. Potter to fight with him. He can't get him angry. No one can. Because he accepts.
Everything.
It is saddening and heartening and comforting and disconcerting. I have spoken with Albus about the boy, but he says it is all right. That all will work out in the end. That Mr. Potter will work through this.
I am not that stupid. Albus tells me these things for his own comfort. He wants to believe them so much he tells them to me, hoping that if he can reassure me he can reassure himself. I will have to confront him soon. He is deluding himself too much.
Because what is happening with Mr. Potter is dangerous and possibly fatal. His abductions tear him apart. Both Mr. Potter and Albus. Mr. Potter comes back beaten and broken and blood-covered every time, and slowly Poppy and Severus put him back together.
Over and over. One day, they will not need to put him together again. Because there will be nothing left to put together…
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Professor McGonagall?"
Hermione Granger. Her voice is tired and hoarse. "Yes, Ms. Granger?" I ask, looking up from my desk. I set aside the papers I am grading as I see her face.
Her eyes are bloodshot. Swollen. She is pale, skin dry and dead looking. Her hair is a mess, frizzed worse than when she was a first year, and uncombed. Her hands shake a little with the book she is holding. "May I—May Ron and I, that is—take the transfiguration exam at a later date?" she asks.
I know what the problem is, but for the sake of normalcy I ask anyway. "Is there some conflict, Ms. Granger?" I ask. She sighs.
"Harry was ill last night," she explains. It is her part in our little 'ritual.' I ask what is wrong, she half-lies, and I never ask why Mr. Potter will not be taking the exam. Ever.
"I see," I say sympathetically. "Will the two of you be ready to take it in a few more days?" I ask. She nods. It is a testament to her weariness that she does not look embarrassed for not being prepared for an exam. She used to always be prepared for exams. But not any more. Not for many months now.
"Thank you, Professor. Ron and I'll study tomorrow," she promises.
"Perhaps," I start to suggest. I am deviating from the 'ritual' but it is too late. "Perhaps Mr. Potter should see Madame Pomfrey," I suggest gently. What ails the boy is beyond his friend's skill to heal. Of course, Pomfrey can do no better…
Ms. Granger looks shocked and hurt. "Harry's fine just where he's at. He'd never let us take him to the infirmary!"
"I shouldn't have suggested that," I apologize. She only looks partly mollified.
"The day after tomorrow Ron and I will take the exam," she says, and then leaves. Her back is straight and stiff with her disapproval towards my suggestion, and I wonder for a moment who is older. Ms. Granger or myself?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Mr. Potter is in the halls again. After curfew. "Mr. Potter?" I ask.
He is by a window on the third floor. Looking out across the lake.
He turns his head at my voice, but does not look abashed. He smiles.
"Professor," he says gently. For a moment I think perhaps Albus has taken Mr. Potter's form, it is so eerily similar to the headmaster. "I was enjoying the view."
"Your friends will be worried," I tell him. I stand beside him, and lean against the stone to look over across the lake as well.
He sighs, breathing out slowly. "They won't know," he says softly. "I used a sleeping potion on their tea this evening. They'll be out for probably twelve hours each."
"Why aren't you sleeping as well?" I demand. "And you're not to be out of your bed without a professor!"
"I am here," another voice says. Albus steps out of the shadows, smiling and holding his wand at the ready. Just in case You-Know-Who tries anything.
"Albus!" I say, surprised. He should be sleeping as well. "Does no one sleep around here?"
"Hmm, it seems not," Mr. Potter says with a small grin. He turns away from the window. "I promised Ron and Hermione that I wouldn't do anything stupid if they fell asleep," he said. "That means I can't sleep."
"If you took a bit of dreamless sleep potion…" I suggest.
"I'm at my limit this week," he admits.
It is only Tuesday. That is not a good sign.
"Ron and Hermione forced me to drink a full dose Monday night," he explains. "I had a Potions exam today."
"You could have taken it at a later time," I tell him. Albus moves closer.
"Harry wished to take it today," he says. "I tried to tell him he could take it later but…"
"Might as well," Mr. Potter says with a shrug. "I don't know when I'll ever have enough time to retake all the exams and assignments I've already missed."
The translations of that sentence plays in the back of my mind.
'I don't know when I'll be well enough to concentrate on an assignment, much less study for an exam. And if You-Know-Who wouldn't take me away for weeks at a time, I wouldn't miss so much schoolwork.'
"You don't have to go to classes if you don't wish to," Albus says. He is indulging his boy.
He wants so much to see Harry happy. He'd do anything for him… "No, thanks all the same," he says lightly. "Classes are about the only thing normal for me," he says with a laugh. How can he laugh…
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I follow Albus back to his office. We have seen Mr. Potter back to his commons, and when we left he was sitting upright in his bed, his two best friends sleeping on Mr. Weasley's bed. Usually, I would have made a fuss about two students, and more importantly two teenagers that are dating, sleeping in the same bed. But I pretend like I don't see it. Because there are tear stains on Ms. Granger's cheeks, and Mr. Weasley so obviously fell into his potion-induced sleep while holding onto Ms. Granger.
Mr. Potter bid us goodnight. Though he won't sleep… He just smiled and I turned to leave.
Albus surprised me. He leaned forward quickly, careful not to touch the warded bed, and gave Mr. Potter a short hug. I've never seen Albus hug a student before. Usually, he refuses to get that close to them. Because they can become terrible things…like Tom Riddle.
So much potential in each and every one… A future, unique and incredible, presented by each… And things go wrong. Some do not find their destiny without turning to dark magic… Some want power too much…
Albus sits down in a soft chair. I take another, leaning back comfortably. My heart is a turmoil of emotions. "Albus," I say. "You should tell me the truth."
He looks up at me with those twinkling blue eyes. And I see that the twinkle is gone. They are an old man's watery blue eyes, tired and worn. They are old…
"Harry might die," he says finally. Those three words are all he has to say for me to understand. If Mr. Potter dies, he will be heartbroken. Mr. Potter is a son to him…
I never had any children. I was married to my career, I suppose. I was wrapped up in opposing evil, fighting death eaters, wondering which friend of mine would be next to die. I don't let people get that close if I can help it. "Mr. Potter seems to know what he is doing," I point out.
"Ah," Albus says softly. "That he does, Minerva. But that is because he has accepted it—"
"What?" I can't help but exclaim. "Surely Mr. Potter—"
"Harry. His name is Harry, Minerva, and no matter how many times you call him 'Mr. Potter,' he will not become any less familiar. You cannot distance yourself from him. It's too late."
"He is my student," I argue. "I address all of my students that way."
"But he is not your student, is he, Minerva? He is much more…do you ever wish you'd had children, Minerva?" he asks faintly. "I think Harry has wished he'd had parents…"
"That is not my place," I say, though I am crumbling.
"It is not your place to choose who you feel love for. It is not your fault that Harry needs adults…he needs comfort just as much as any student…but he has no one to give it to him…"
He is right. I can feel it inside my soul. Harry is too dear to me to hide from. He has no parents to turn to. He has always turned to Albus. And, in his own way, he has always turned to me…when Ron and Hermione are not enough…
I hope they understand that…
Harry needs adults in his life. Something to be parents. Best friends can be close, but they cannot replace that…
I wish there was something I could do for him. Something more than just excuse him from exams that he will never need take. "What should I do?" I ask Albus. He always knows. He will know the answer to this.
"Harry is determined to see this through to the end," Albus says. "He will not let us try to keep him safe if it means that Voldemort will stay free.
I flinch only a little at the name. It will take me some time to get used to calling him 'Harry.'
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Mr. Weasley?" I ask sharply. He looks up from his desk and I don't press him further. He looks terrible. His face is pale and lax. His hands shake. His eyes don't focus.
Ms. Granger is actually looking alert this morning…she is not composed nor perfectly groomed by any means, but she is listening to the lecture at least. She keeps her eyes on Harry while she listens.
Meanwhile, Mr. Weasley goes back to sleep as nonchalantly as possible.
After class, he stays. Ms. Granger helps Harry on to his next class. Harry is limping. I wonder what caused it…
"Yes, Professor?" he asks, as I stand at his approach.
"How is Harry?" I ask. This is not the ritual. This is new.
"Harry?" he echoes. He smiles, the smile growing wider as he understands, and for some silly reason I smile as well.
"Yes. Harry."
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A/N: Well, that's McGonagall for you. She's trying hard not to get too attached to 'her' Gryffindors, but that's impossible in some cases. I just thought I'd give a little from her. After all, she is Harry's head of house. She's known him for quite some time.
Thanks to those that have reviewed. Sorry I'm not pointing you all out here, but Shadowsfriend, I remember your review. I'm very flattered. Oblivion13, your review was wonderful as well. I'm happy to know that my stories are at least a little interesting to other people. I'll do a more detailed list of people I want to thank next section.
Lin: I just got your review. All of a sudden people just started reviewing at 3:33 PM today…very odd. Anyway, your review made me almost want to blush. I'm in the midst of dead week in college, and very stressed. The only thing consoling me right now is people's reviews, and when I get one like yours it makes me feel like I've done something worthwhile. Thank you for that, and just as a celebration, I posted this!
–Miss Laine