Chapter Four
"Minerva!" Poppy repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. Her voice had left her- and as she, with all strength left in her now unsteady, short legs, sprinted towards the place where her friend had fallen down, her eyesight was blurred with thick, regretful teardrops.
Minerva's cheeks had gone from an agitated, bright red, to a kind of pale that was not entirely of this world. Her thick, raven hair had spontaneously sprung out of its long braid, encircling her frozen face like a dark halo. For that her face was- nothing less that frozen, taken by surprise in the most cowardly way imaginable. Her eyes were still opened, but the emerald green had lost all of its usual fierceness, all of its usual life, and the deep crimson lips were slightly parted in obvious question.
But the hands were still balled, and as Poppy took one of them so as to feel for a pulse, she noticed the little marks, pressed into the skin by Minerva's own fingernails, there where the Scottish temper and the Gryffindor bravery had taken over.
It was hard to believe there was any life left in the frail and still, yet not peaceful, body of the woman on the grass, with her pale face and motionless eyes, yet as Poppy slowly, very slowly, allowed her fingertips to dwindle over the arms of her friend so as to search for a heartbeat, she couldn't but feel, deep inside, a small, yet certain, throbbing of blood through the woman's body.
Minerva McGonagall lived- she had done what many, many young people before her probably wouldn't have been capable of. She had survived four stunners, straight into the chest.
Yes, she had survived them. She had. But it was close to impossible that he- she- it had survived the so sudden, so rash attack on what was supposed to form his- her- its living place for the seven months to come? There was a chance, she knew, looking down on the face of her friend, reading the old lines of determinedness on them.
But it was a slim chance, and that too she knew.
A slim chance- a minuscule chance…
It was close to a miracle that Minerva- even though she was a considerably powerful witch- had managed to survive the cowardly assault, but it would be nothing short to… to an impossibility, almost, that not one, but two persons had survived the cruel assail.
Yes, Poppy's relief was great when she felt the soft, but real, heartbeat of her friend, but she, as a Mediwitch, knew very well this "achievement" meant close to nothing, compared to what was to come. Because perhaps Minerva's naturally quite strong body had survived the sudden shock of the four hexes, but how would it react on the aftermath? On the healing process- because damn, there would be one hell of a healing process required! Poppy's tears- tears of frustration, tears of anger even- fell down on her and her friend's intertwined hands as she realized what they- they, over there- had done to the woman before her. When one tear fell down, slowly, as if it too was mourning, on the Deputy Headmistress's emerald-clad stomach, Poppy bit her lips until a small stream of blood rolled down her chin and stained her bright white robes. It wasn't the moment to cry now.
Someone's life had to be saved.
It was only then that Poppy Pomfrey became aware- again- of the five people standing in front of the hut. Hagrid's cries "Cowards!" had reached her ears through a thick blur, but only now did she look up- right in time to see the largest figure of the five run off into the Forbidden Forest.
A small breath of relief left her mouth at this sight- at least Hagrid had managed to escape. At least that wicked Umbridge woman would not know the pleasure of having him expelled- or worse, having him sent to Azkaban. At least Minerva, though not even realizing it, had made her sacrifice not for just nothing. But the sigh of relief was quickly replaced by a gasp of anger as she, through the darkness, noticed a short, chubby figure nothing less than stumbling closer. Even through the late evening shadows, Poppy couldn't but notice the- almost victorious smile that played round the corners of the High Inquisitor's mouth. There she came, Hogwarts "Headmistress". The false Headmistress, coming to triumph over the real Headmistress, who was helplessly sprawled out on the grass.
Because Minerva was the Headmistress. When Albus Dumbledore was away, then it was Minerva Catríona McGonagall who was to lead Hogwarts through whatever events might occur. That was the normal order of things- but then again, was there one "normal order" of things that Dolores Umbridge had not managed to destroy?
But it was only as the other woman came closer and in a very fake-concerned voice remarked "Oh, poor Minerva. Will she be alright?", that Poppy Pomfrey realized that she would never, never ever, hate a person the way she hated Dolores Jane Umbridge.
The woman did not realize what she had destroyed. She hadn't got a clue- really none at all.
Poppy, still sitting, Minerva's head now cradled on her lap, looked up to her and opened her mouth- yet before she could speak out a rather sharp reply, the short shadow of Dolores was joined by a taller one, the one of a man.
"Couldn't find the half-giant, Miss." the figure somewhat angrily reported.
"The aggressive oaf just ran off- we presume he's escaped through the woods."
Poppy's head snapped up at the casual mention of that one word.
Aggressive. Aggressive, for God's sake. They- called- Rubeus Hagrid- aggressive?
Carefully, slowly resting Minerva's head back on the grass, she stood up and straightened her back so as to make her short figure appear a little bit taller than it was.
"Rubeus Hagrid," she began, her tone as icy as possible.
"has never hurt a single creature in his entire life."
It was a weak, very weak, imitation of the superbly disdainful voice Minerva McGonagall, Empress of all Ice Queens, could produce, but still.
"While you…"
Her threatening glare turned towards Dolores and the three men who now stood by her side.
"have just injured, maybe scarred for life, the bravest witch I have ever known."
And all of a sudden, that sugary sweet trademark smile of the "High Inquisitor" slid of her face, as she looked the other woman straight into the eye.
"Now come on, Poppy." she almost literally spat, then.
"Brave she was, perhaps, but rash. Rash and stupid, to believe…"
"To believe what, Dolores? The truth?" Poppy swiftly answered- the only thing that kept her from yelling was the certain, indubitable knowledge that Minerva's life was lost if Dolores wanted it to be…
The said woman even now narrowed her eyes already- as she slowly, threateningly, responded.
"I wouldn't say such things if I were you, Madam Pomfrey."
Poppy was about to lose her temper when… when the sudden feeling of the weight of the world on her shoulders made her shake her head and bow over her friend instead.
"It was a question, Dolores."
Then again, she did carry the weight of the world here. Minerva McGonagall meant the world. Without Minerva McGonagall, there was no Albus Dumbledore, and without Albus Dumbledore, there was no world. That was a fact, and even if it hadn't been one- if anyone was worth saving, then it probably was Minerva.
Even though there had been another someone there, with her, who maybe, almost certainly, could not be saved anymore. Because even without the weight, the package she had been carrying, Minerva's life was, and always had been, a worthy one, one to fight for.
"Wingardium Leviosa." Poppy then said simply, and, not bothering to speak another word to the so-called Headmistress and her minions, she turned towards the castle, an ill-looking and still way too pale Minerva floating a few feet before her.
Only as she levitated her friend back on the same bed where she had ran away from, only sheer minutes ago, Poppy allowed her tears to fall down again. As the door went open again behind her, and the four unwanted guests came in, she swallowed and oppressed them, though.
"We have to take her to St-Mungo's." stated one of the men accompanying Dolores at the mere sight of Minerva, and Poppy knew he was right. It was hard to say which one was the whitest- Minerva or the bed spread, and Poppy knew very well that every moment counted.
Merely ten minutes later, Minerva was transported to the wizarding hospital- and Poppy was left behind, with the strict orders to stay at Hogwarts and not to mention anything to anyone.
But as soon as a now totally bewildered Poppy Pomfrey sat down at her mahogany desk, an empty piece of parchment before her, she knew there was one person she needed to tell. Desperately needed to tell.
But how oh how, she mused as her quill hesitated above the yellowish surface of the parchment, how did one tell a man that his wife was badly injured?
And how, oh how, in name of Merlin, did one tell a man that his unborn child- perhaps- probably- surely- had been killed?
"Minerva!" Poppy repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. Her voice had left her- and as she, with all strength left in her now unsteady, short legs, sprinted towards the place where her friend had fallen down, her eyesight was blurred with thick, regretful teardrops.
Minerva's cheeks had gone from an agitated, bright red, to a kind of pale that was not entirely of this world. Her thick, raven hair had spontaneously sprung out of its long braid, encircling her frozen face like a dark halo. For that her face was- nothing less that frozen, taken by surprise in the most cowardly way imaginable. Her eyes were still opened, but the emerald green had lost all of its usual fierceness, all of its usual life, and the deep crimson lips were slightly parted in obvious question.
But the hands were still balled, and as Poppy took one of them so as to feel for a pulse, she noticed the little marks, pressed into the skin by Minerva's own fingernails, there where the Scottish temper and the Gryffindor bravery had taken over.
It was hard to believe there was any life left in the frail and still, yet not peaceful, body of the woman on the grass, with her pale face and motionless eyes, yet as Poppy slowly, very slowly, allowed her fingertips to dwindle over the arms of her friend so as to search for a heartbeat, she couldn't but feel, deep inside, a small, yet certain, throbbing of blood through the woman's body.
Minerva McGonagall lived- she had done what many, many young people before her probably wouldn't have been capable of. She had survived four stunners, straight into the chest.
Yes, she had survived them. She had. But it was close to impossible that he- she- it had survived the so sudden, so rash attack on what was supposed to form his- her- its living place for the seven months to come? There was a chance, she knew, looking down on the face of her friend, reading the old lines of determinedness on them.
But it was a slim chance, and that too she knew.
A slim chance- a minuscule chance…
It was close to a miracle that Minerva- even though she was a considerably powerful witch- had managed to survive the cowardly assault, but it would be nothing short to… to an impossibility, almost, that not one, but two persons had survived the cruel assail.
Yes, Poppy's relief was great when she felt the soft, but real, heartbeat of her friend, but she, as a Mediwitch, knew very well this "achievement" meant close to nothing, compared to what was to come. Because perhaps Minerva's naturally quite strong body had survived the sudden shock of the four hexes, but how would it react on the aftermath? On the healing process- because damn, there would be one hell of a healing process required! Poppy's tears- tears of frustration, tears of anger even- fell down on her and her friend's intertwined hands as she realized what they- they, over there- had done to the woman before her. When one tear fell down, slowly, as if it too was mourning, on the Deputy Headmistress's emerald-clad stomach, Poppy bit her lips until a small stream of blood rolled down her chin and stained her bright white robes. It wasn't the moment to cry now.
Someone's life had to be saved.
It was only then that Poppy Pomfrey became aware- again- of the five people standing in front of the hut. Hagrid's cries "Cowards!" had reached her ears through a thick blur, but only now did she look up- right in time to see the largest figure of the five run off into the Forbidden Forest.
A small breath of relief left her mouth at this sight- at least Hagrid had managed to escape. At least that wicked Umbridge woman would not know the pleasure of having him expelled- or worse, having him sent to Azkaban. At least Minerva, though not even realizing it, had made her sacrifice not for just nothing. But the sigh of relief was quickly replaced by a gasp of anger as she, through the darkness, noticed a short, chubby figure nothing less than stumbling closer. Even through the late evening shadows, Poppy couldn't but notice the- almost victorious smile that played round the corners of the High Inquisitor's mouth. There she came, Hogwarts "Headmistress". The false Headmistress, coming to triumph over the real Headmistress, who was helplessly sprawled out on the grass.
Because Minerva was the Headmistress. When Albus Dumbledore was away, then it was Minerva Catríona McGonagall who was to lead Hogwarts through whatever events might occur. That was the normal order of things- but then again, was there one "normal order" of things that Dolores Umbridge had not managed to destroy?
But it was only as the other woman came closer and in a very fake-concerned voice remarked "Oh, poor Minerva. Will she be alright?", that Poppy Pomfrey realized that she would never, never ever, hate a person the way she hated Dolores Jane Umbridge.
The woman did not realize what she had destroyed. She hadn't got a clue- really none at all.
Poppy, still sitting, Minerva's head now cradled on her lap, looked up to her and opened her mouth- yet before she could speak out a rather sharp reply, the short shadow of Dolores was joined by a taller one, the one of a man.
"Couldn't find the half-giant, Miss." the figure somewhat angrily reported.
"The aggressive oaf just ran off- we presume he's escaped through the woods."
Poppy's head snapped up at the casual mention of that one word.
Aggressive. Aggressive, for God's sake. They- called- Rubeus Hagrid- aggressive?
Carefully, slowly resting Minerva's head back on the grass, she stood up and straightened her back so as to make her short figure appear a little bit taller than it was.
"Rubeus Hagrid," she began, her tone as icy as possible.
"has never hurt a single creature in his entire life."
It was a weak, very weak, imitation of the superbly disdainful voice Minerva McGonagall, Empress of all Ice Queens, could produce, but still.
"While you…"
Her threatening glare turned towards Dolores and the three men who now stood by her side.
"have just injured, maybe scarred for life, the bravest witch I have ever known."
And all of a sudden, that sugary sweet trademark smile of the "High Inquisitor" slid of her face, as she looked the other woman straight into the eye.
"Now come on, Poppy." she almost literally spat, then.
"Brave she was, perhaps, but rash. Rash and stupid, to believe…"
"To believe what, Dolores? The truth?" Poppy swiftly answered- the only thing that kept her from yelling was the certain, indubitable knowledge that Minerva's life was lost if Dolores wanted it to be…
The said woman even now narrowed her eyes already- as she slowly, threateningly, responded.
"I wouldn't say such things if I were you, Madam Pomfrey."
Poppy was about to lose her temper when… when the sudden feeling of the weight of the world on her shoulders made her shake her head and bow over her friend instead.
"It was a question, Dolores."
Then again, she did carry the weight of the world here. Minerva McGonagall meant the world. Without Minerva McGonagall, there was no Albus Dumbledore, and without Albus Dumbledore, there was no world. That was a fact, and even if it hadn't been one- if anyone was worth saving, then it probably was Minerva.
Even though there had been another someone there, with her, who maybe, almost certainly, could not be saved anymore. Because even without the weight, the package she had been carrying, Minerva's life was, and always had been, a worthy one, one to fight for.
"Wingardium Leviosa." Poppy then said simply, and, not bothering to speak another word to the so-called Headmistress and her minions, she turned towards the castle, an ill-looking and still way too pale Minerva floating a few feet before her.
Only as she levitated her friend back on the same bed where she had ran away from, only sheer minutes ago, Poppy allowed her tears to fall down again. As the door went open again behind her, and the four unwanted guests came in, she swallowed and oppressed them, though.
"We have to take her to St-Mungo's." stated one of the men accompanying Dolores at the mere sight of Minerva, and Poppy knew he was right. It was hard to say which one was the whitest- Minerva or the bed spread, and Poppy knew very well that every moment counted.
Merely ten minutes later, Minerva was transported to the wizarding hospital- and Poppy was left behind, with the strict orders to stay at Hogwarts and not to mention anything to anyone.
But as soon as a now totally bewildered Poppy Pomfrey sat down at her mahogany desk, an empty piece of parchment before her, she knew there was one person she needed to tell. Desperately needed to tell.
But how oh how, she mused as her quill hesitated above the yellowish surface of the parchment, how did one tell a man that his wife was badly injured?
And how, oh how, in name of Merlin, did one tell a man that his unborn child- perhaps- probably- surely- had been killed?