A/N- My but it's been a while. Sorry to leave this hanging for so long. My life's been very busy, but if something is important, you just have to make the time. Huge, huge thanks to Lilrebelgil and Rhiannon Deschain for your reviews. I probably would've forgotten about this entirely without them.
Disclaimer- All people and places are the product of JK Rowling. Nearly all of the dialogue is lifted verbatim from "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix" by JK Rowling. The title of this chapter is taken from "The Return of the King" by JRR Tolkien
Valor Without Renown
Minerva McGonagall, like the Roman goddess whose name she bore, was a warrior, a veteran of many battlefields and with as many scars to prove it: she had braved the curses of Death Eaters, even the He Who Must Not Be Named himself, in the First War; she had distinguished herself on the dueling strip besting many opponents with a well placed curse, or even blade thrust (she'd picked up the Muggle sport of fencing in her younger days, and found it to be to her liking); she had helped Albus to negotiate the difficult political and administrative minefields of the last few months. Today, however, she was fighting a very different kind of battle, on a very different kind of battlefield.
As was her habit, she studied her field of battle, and her opponent as well, looking for any tactical advantage to be had, any weakness to be exploited. She sat in her office, behind her desk, littered with pamphlets and fliers describing magical careers and professions, waiting for the next student to arrive for a career consultation. She was not alone. In the back corner of the room, clipboard in hand, sat Dolores Jane Umbridge, Headmistress, Hogwarts High Inquisitor, and Minerva's foe today. If she had been a woman of verbose bent, she could have found words eloquent enough to express the loathing she felt for the toad-like creature before her, with her saccharine demeanor serving only as camouflage for the putrid heart that rotted beneath. Every second she had to spend, staring at her across her office, only increased her rage. She glanced at her clock on the wall. He was late.
"Sorry, Professor," said Harry Potter, as he sprinted through her office door. Not so late after all. "I forgot…"
"No matter, Potter," was her swift and even reply. She took him in with a single glance, her practiced eye noting his shortness of breath, his nervousness, and the scattered thoughts behind those green eyes of his, all in the time it would take another person to blink. This was her battlefield today, and the heart and mind of this young man were the hill to be held, or to die on. Few people, whether in the Order or elsewhere, save Albus Dumbledore himself, understood his importance as well as Minerva. Whether they knew it or not, the hopes and fears of the entire world rested on his skinny shoulders. Even before he was born, he was destined to be the champion and standard bearer for all people, wizard and Muggle, human and creature and monster, in the greatest battle of the age. But if those hopes were to be realized and those fears fought back once more, if that battle was to be won, this Boy Who Lived would have to go on living, and learning, and growing, until that day came. And if that was to happen, many other, smaller battles would have to be won. This was one of those battles, but knowing how important it was did not help Minerva's confidence. Not one bit.
From the back corner, Umbridge gave one of her characteristic sniffs. Potter turned in surprise, as if this was the first time he had noticed her. Not good, Minerva thought to herself, I've let her make the first move. I'll have to work quickly if I'm to undermine her advantage. "Sit down, Potter," was all she said aloud, and only her shaking hands belied the confident face she was trying to put on this rapidly deteriorating situation. Crouched in her corner, Umbridge began to scribble furiously.
"Well, Potter," Minerva went on, desperate to keep his attention away from what was going on behind him, "this meeting is to talk over any career ideas you might have, and to help you decide which subjects you should continue into sixth and seventh years. Have you had any thoughts about what you would like to do after you leave Hogwarts?"
Potter shifted uncomfortably in his chair. She could tell that he was trying his best to focus on the task at hand, but that so far he was failing at it. When she had first heard that Umbridge would be sitting in on their meeting, Minerva had planned to act mostly defensively, running the meeting so quickly and efficiently that the toad-woman would be unable to get a word in edge-wise. If she could only be prevented from interfering, Minerva might be able to nudge Potter's thoughts in a productive direction, one that would keep him hard at work in his learning and far enough out of trouble to keep him in school. That, at least, was what Albus had wanted. But no plan survives the beginning of battle, as she well knew, and Umbridge's loud writing was having its intended effect. The boy simply couldn't get his thoughts together.
"Er," is all he said.
I've got to get him some cover, she thought. "Yes?" she asked, her tone clearly telling him to go on.
That was all he needed. "Well, I though of, maybe, being an Auror," he all but whispered. At least it's a start, she thought with an inward smile, and definitely one I can work with.
"You'd need top grades for that. They ask for a minimum of five N.E.W.T.s, and nothing under 'Exceeds Expectations' grade, I see." That ought to give him a reason to take his school-work seriously, she thought. And maybe spend a little bit more time with Hermione Granger. He could use the stabilizing influence. Umbridge had stopped scribbling, her face wrinkled in concentration. Formulating a new plan of attack, no doubt, Minerva thought, let's see if I can keep her off balance.
"Then you would be required to undergo a stringent series of character and aptitude tests at the Auror office. It's a difficult career path, Potter; they only take the best. In fact, I don't think anybody has been taken on in the last three years." But we both know you aren't scared of a challenge, boy, she thought furiously, willing him to hear her. On the contrary, it's when you set your mind to a goal you care about that you're at your best. But will you set your mind to it?
A very quiet cough signaled that Umbridge had settled on a new tactic, but it was exactly the sort Minerva had expected. Don't think you're getting into the conversation that easily, Dolores, she thought to herself. My wall of words can handle far worse.
She pressed on. "You'll want to know which subjects you ought to take, I suppose?"
"Yes," Potter replied. "Degense Against the Dark Arts, I suppose?"
"Naturally," she answered, practically glowing inside to see the boy show initiative. "I would also advise—"
Another cough, louder than before, temporarily derailed her train of thought. Anger and frustration welled up immediately in Minerva's chest, threatening to burst the dam of her composure and sweep away her meticulously laid defense. No, she chided herself, can't lose my composure yet. I have to keep going. He's depending on me.
"I would also advise Transfiguration, because Aurors frequently need to Transfigure or Untransfigure in their work. And I ought to tell you now, Potter, that I do not accept students into my N.E.W.T. classes unless they have achieved 'Exceeds Expectations' or higher at Ordinary Wizarding Level. I'd say you're averaging 'Acceptable' at the moment, so you'll need to put in some good hard work before the exams to stand a chance of continuing." The boy's attention was fixed. Now she could hope to build a little momentum, if only Umbridge would sit on her hands a bit longer.
"Then you ought to do Charms, always useful, and Potions." He grimaced openly, bringing a faint smile to Minerva's lips. Severus Snape was a worthy foe, both on the dueling strip and in wars of words. She could only imagine the kinds of feelings he inspired in his students, especially this particular student. "Yes, Potter, Potions. Poisons and antidotes are essential study for Aurors. And I must tell you that Professor Snape absolutely refuses to take students who get anything other than 'Outstanding' on their O.W.L.s, so—"
Another cough sounded from the back of the room, stopping the steady advance of Minerva's speech with the viciousness of a perfectly timed stop-thrust. I've ignored her too long, Minerva thought, time for yet another change of tactics. Let's see if she can parry as well as she attacks. "May I offer you a cough drop, Dolores?" Perfect. Try and gain ground with that.
"Oh no, thank you very much," came back that cloying voice, "I just wondered whether I could make the teeniest interruption, Minerva?"
Parry and riposte, she thought, her anger rising once again. I may have underestimated her. "I daresay you'll find you can," she said aloud, gritting her teeth in an effort to keep anything else from slipping out.
"I was just wondering whether Mr. Potter has quite the right temperament for an Auror?" His temperament was much better before Cornelius Fudge let loose his attack dogs in the press, to say nothing of his attack toad in the school, with the express purpose of provoking him. You're not advancing any further on this flank.
"Were you? Well Potter, if you are serious in this ambition, I would advise you to concentrate hard on bringing your Transfiguration and Potions up to scratch." That's the ticket, she thought. Now I've given him a goal. All that's left is to drive it home. "I see Professor Flitwick has graded you between 'Acceptable' and 'Exceeds Expectations' for the last two years, so your Charms work seems satisfactory." She saw Umbridge tense, sensing the approaching opportunity. This was a weak point all along, all I can do is hope. "As for Defense Against the Dark Arts, your marks have been generally high, Professor Lupin in particular thought you—" the inevitable cough. She felt her temper slipping from her grasp. "Are you quite sure you wouldn't like a cough drop, Dolores?"
"Oh, no need, thank you, Minerva," she said, not even stopping to breathe before launching her attack, "I was just concerned that you might not have Harry's most recent Defense Against the Dark Arts marks in front of you. I'm quite sure I slipped in a note…"
There it is, she thought, the note. By now her anger was getting the better of her. All thought of tactics or strategy was quickly falling aside. Now pure battle instinct was guiding her, and it was guiding her into peril. "What, this thing?" She didn't even bother to hide her revulstion.
"Yes, as I was saying, Potter," she said, falling back once again on simply blocking Umbridge out, "Professor Lupin thought you showed a pronounced aptitude for the subject, and obviously for an Auror—"
"Did you not understand my note, Minerva?" Umbridge said without warning, catching her off guard.
"Of course I understood it," Minerva all but growled, reluctantly conceding the initiative to her foe.
"Well then I am confused…I'm afraid I don't quite understand how you can give Mr. Potter false hope that—"
"False hope?" she struck back, unable to actually look at the woman across from her for fear of losing her temper entirely. "He has achieved high marks in all his Defense Against the Dark Arts tests—"
"I'm terribly sorry to have to contradict you, Minerva, but as you will see from my note, Harry has been achieving very poor results in his classes with me—"
"I should have made my meaning plainer," she said as she turned, her voice carrying all the menace of a drawn sword. "He has achieved high marks in all Defense Against the Dark Arts tests set by a competent teacher."
Touché! She thought in triumph, seeing how instantly and completely the remark had silenced her foe. The rational part of her knew, however, that the battle was far from over, and that she would pay dearly for that before it was over.
"Any questions, Potter?" she asked, knowing her only hope was to end the meeting before Umbridge could do any more damage.
"Yes," the boy said, cheering Minerva once again by his show of initiative. "What sort of character and aptitude tests do the Ministry do on you, if you get enough N.E.W.T.s?"
"Well, you need to demonstrate the ability to react well to pressure and so forth. Perseverance and dedication, because Auror training takes a further three years, not to mention very high skills in practical defense." Umbridge was tensing again, looking like a flabby but dangerous panther, preparing to spring. I've got to hurry this up, she thought. "It will mean a lot more study even after you've left school, unless you're prepared to—"
The panther sprang. "I think you'll also find that the Ministry looks into records of those applying to be Aurors. Their criminal records."
No, thought Minerva desperately, no now. I can't let you humiliate him all over again, this is too important. She pressed on in a panic. "—unless you're prepared to take even more exams after Hogwarts, you should really look at another—"
But her foe was relentless. "—which means this boy has as much chance of becoming an Auror as Dumbledore has of ever returning to this school."
"A very good chance, then," she retorted, cheered by the mention of her mentor, but fearing this was a battle she could not win.
"Potter has a criminal record," Umbridge all but shouted.
"Potter has been cleared of all charges," was the even louder reply. If I must go down, she thought, I'll go down fighting. Why couldn't I have gotten the boy out sooner?
Umbridge left her chair, ready for the final fight. "Potter has not chance whatsoever of being an Auror!"
The terrible power of these words devastated Minerva. Behind her commanding demeanor, deep in her warrior heart, her morale crumpled. She was right, or at least potentially so. She had already proven her ability to provoke Harry, to distract him from his studies, and even without such interference his chances of gaining admission to the Aurors were slim. These carefully planted seeds of motivation might have pushed him on, but with that horrible woman's interference, now they might never take. She had failed; failed the Order, failed Albus, failed the world.
But in that brief moment of despair, she looked away from her enraged foe, fixing her eyes once more on the boy…the young man who sat silently before her. She looked at him and she remembered: she remembered a warm November day, now fourteen years past, and how on that day, out of all the darkness and the fear, out of ruin and of death and of hatred, this boy had come, this Boy Who Lived.
And looking at him again, now grown nearly to manhood, Minerva felt something stir deep inside her. It wasn't anger, though it burned far hotter. It wasn't battle-lust, though it was far more perilous to her foes. It wasn't even shrewdness, though it promised victory with more certainty than any stratagem her brilliant mind could have conceived. It was hope that she felt, and with it the return of something she hadn't even known was gone. For the first time in many months, since she had been ready to fight for the freedom of her beloved captain, only to be left alone to struggle with the foul toad and her intrigues, she felt her courage return. Not the grim and fatalistic courage of the warrior who accepts death, but the shining and unconquerable courage of the one who defies it. The courage she had learned from Albus Dumbledore. The courage of a true Gryffindor.
She stood up to her considerable height, buoyed by what was stirring within. "Potter," she said, with the conviction of truth absolute, "I will assist you to become an Auror if it is the last thing I do! If I have to coach you nightly I will make sure you achieve the required results!" The look she saw in his eyes gratified her more than any praise or accolade could have. He would accept the challenge. She had won the day. The ensuing shouting match with the High Inquisitor barely phased her. At the moment, she felt as if she could take five stunning spells to the chest and still walk tall. Albus would be proud.
A/N- not quite so pleased with this one as the others. Maybe I'll rewrite it later. Let me know what you think.