He didn't want to follow that cat. Everything inside screamed at him that the feline would only lead him to trouble, and as he followed it along the corridors, he couldn't help but recall that girl with the bloody face over and over again. The cat had suddenly appeared and started biting him over and over again. When he got up to try to rid himself of the nuisance--since no one else seemed to be paying attention--the cat had run towards the door and paused, looking back at him. It was a rather curious thing for a cat to do, so he decided to follow. Strangely enough, Seamus came with him. Apparently the Irish boy couldn't stand that much reading all at once.
Presently, Seamus was walking just a step behind him, looking slightly cross-eyed as he followed Michael who was following the cat--or rather its tail since that's about all he could see of it at any time. He hastened his pace, feeling a sudden urgency though he didn't know why.
"Are we following that cat so?" Seamus muttered, now almost having to jog to keep up with the taller boy's long strides.
"Yes," Michael replied curtly, breaking into a jog. The cat was running now, and somehow none of this fit right.
"I reckon it's heading to Gryffindor," Seamus said, breaking into a slow lope as well.
Michael didn't reply, instead taking the stairs two steps at a time. He really didn't feel like making small talk, because his nerves were so on edge since Daphne blew up in the library that he felt queasy. Seamus started to lag behind him, but he didn't really pay attention, breaking into a run as the cat jumped through the gaping hole that was the opening to the Gryffindor common room. He followed it up the stairs and nearly fell on his face trying to stop and not run over it as it stopped outside what he assumed to be one of the first year bedrooms. Half the floor had fallen in.
Feeling breathless and shaky, he began to approach the hole.
Seamus started to follow him, but the cat stood in the way, and for good reason. With every step Michael took, the floor creaked under him. Eventually, he reached a point where he really didn't feel as if he should go any farther because he could literally feel the floor buckling under him. And so he stopped, still not close enough to see what was through the jagged break in the floor.
That's when the cat stepped in front of him, glancing upward before leading him a different, less-direct way to the hole. The floor didn't creak as much when Michael stepped on this path; he imagined it must have been on a main support.
"That cat look familiar?" Seamus questioned, but Michael waved his hand at him. He was finally close enough to look down through the floor.
There wasn't much he could see, honestly. One beam led down, but it was eventually obscured by a cloud of dust from the cave-in. The cat jumped onto it, deftly balancing on its way down until it, too, disappeared into the dust. A moment later, they heard the voice. "You'll both have to apparate down here. Straight down. There's a bare patch of floor where you hear my voice. Hurry up."
"Sure an' that is McGonagall!" Seamus shouted, eyes widening, but Michael ignored him, overwhelmed by dread. He had to be calm, though. This might not be what he thought it was--Daphne probably wasn't down there under all those beams--and at any rate, hyperventilating and flipping out wouldn't help her if she was. Which she wasn't. That's what he told himself as he glanced at Seamus, too overcome to be irritated.
"Let's just go," he said, apparating down next to the cat and nearly falling. The footing wasn't very good down there, and he could feel the tower moving around them. If they weren't careful, all of them would end up buried. Seamus popped in beside him a moment later.
"Feckin' hell! Greengrass!" the Irish boy shouted, confirming Michael's worst fears. He closed his eyes, trying very hard to be calm, because he knew when he opened them he was going to see Daphne crushed under rubble and bleeding and possibly even dead. It took him a moment to realise that Seamus was grabbing him from behind. "Stop, Corner! You're gonna get us all killed jumping around like that in here so!" Seamus shouted, and he realised that he was breathing erratically, and that his hands were bleeding from what he thought must have been a sudden and reckless attempt to start throwing the stones and beams aside.
"Calm down, both of you," McGonagall the cat admonished. "You'll need to levitate the rubble away and carefully set it aside over there where you can see the main beam. Mr. Corner, you must compose yourself for Miss Greengrass's sake!"
Easier said than done, he thought, looking down at his bloodied hands as Seamus finally released him. The blood was caking in the grooves and lines and under his nails. His hands were trembling as he put his hand in his pocket to fish out his wand.
"Wingardium leviosa!" Seamus intoned, setting to task.
It seemed to take forever, in part because he couldn't actually recall saying anything. He knew he must have, though, because he was helping to move the stone and wood that had fallen on top of Daphne. What the hell had she been doing in the Gryffindor dormitory?
If he'd had time to think, he would have also pondered when Professor McGonagall was still a cat, and why, as an Animagus, she was still able to talk. However, all he cared about at the moment was getting to Daphne. She couldn't be dead. There was no way.
"Corner, that'll be enough." Seamus grabbed his shoulder, and Michael realized he'd been moving more rubble, unnecessarily now. Realizing this, he allowed it to fall out of the air and took a few steps forward through the remaining dust. She was there, lying on her side. Though her robes were torn and he could even see the dampness of blood on them, she was still breathing. It was her eyes that really got to him. They were still partially open. Staring. Had he not noticed her ragged breaths first, he might have immediately assumed the worst.
"Be careful," the cat said. "I don't know exactly what happened to her after she fell. That means you can't touch her, Mister Corner," she added as Michael reached out toward her.
Seamus eyed McGonagall with a ferocity that actually made Michael like the boy for that split second. He actually cared. "An' why don't you change back and help?" he asked.
The cat was silent for a long time before saying, "I can't."
"Someone, just go get the others, all right? Maybe Mackenzie can..." Do what? They were in the middle of nowhere and Michael was well aware of this fact and nothing was making any sense right now at all. Daphne was going to die here just like she had in his dream, and just like that, she wouldn't know he was even there.
"I reckon I'll do it. I can get there fastest," Seamus said, immediately disappearing. McGonagall the cat walked over and sat beside him, silently curling her tail around herself, and ten years went by--or maybe five minutes--but he couldn't really keep track of how much time because the only thing he seemed capable of presently was mutely staring into her waxen face. He couldn't touch her, but he could see that with each painful, wet breath that she was still alive.
"Where's Mikey?" she whispered raggedly, her half-lidded eyes searching blankly, looking a little glazed, and he couldn't resist gently laying his fingers on her own in part because that filmy gaze scared him senseless.
"What's going on?" Hermione asked from behind him.
McGonagall the cat jumped, fur bristling. "Miss Granger, Miss Spinks... Where did Mr. Finnigan go?"
"I sent him to the werewolf village for help," Hermione replied.
This seemed to please the professor-cum-cat, though Michael wasn't really paying attention. It seemed to him a chunk of the conversation just disappeared into the void. The next thing he heard was McGonnagall asking, "Miss Spinks, you have some medical training?"
Michael looked up at her, and she nodded, though her eyes were wide. She had a hand over her mouth as if fighting back a scream. "Daphne... Daphne does, too..."
"She's not going to be able to help herself right now," McGonagall said, stepping aside and turning her head back to Daphne. She was stirring a bit now, and Michael, despite the professor's instruction, put a hand on her shoulder to stop her from moving too much. She whimpered, eyes pressing closed.
"Hurts."
This seemed to shake Max out of her surprise, and she kneeled down next to the Slytherin, taking her wand out of her pocket. "I can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong."
Daphne's eyes opened, and she again made a half-hearted attempt to move. Michael held onto her shoulder, though. Perhaps she could move her legs at the moment, but that didn't rule out a spinal injury. "Just stay still. It's okay," he said. Though he wasn't sure if it was or not.
She calmed when he said this, and he realized that she knew he was there. Thank i God /i she knew. This wasn't like the dream after all! Then she said something that made him ill.
"I can't see anything."
What came next was sort of a blur. Seamus suddenly appeared with several wizards who he didn't recognise and the room was crowded and suddenly he was being grabbed and yanked about this way and that, but he couldn't really think well enough to resist. The next thing he knew, he was out in the oppressively silent hallway with Terry who looked pale and horrified, and Michael realised it was not so much Daphne, but it must have been because of himself. He stared again at his bloody hands, only now he noticed there was fresh blood on them, and it wasn't his.
"Michael, snap out of it, mate," Terry said quietly, hesitantly reaching forward then dropping his hand. Michael couldn't stop staring at the blood. It was so much darker than his own... and wet, but cold. It was about to be summer, so why was it cold? He'd just touched her, right? She wasn't cold yet. She wasn't dead. She wasn't... Terry was shaking him. "Michael!"
"Sure an' he must be in shock," Seamus voice came from somewhere beyond his vision which was still pinned to his hands.
And Terry surprised him then, because suddenly the taller boy's arms were around him, and he couldn't remember hugging Terry since they were eleven. He stared blankly at the wall behind him and realised he couldn't see it because it was all a sort of shadowed, blurred mess. He could vaguely make out Finnigan standing somewhere in that watery landscape. It took him another minute--or it could have been an hour; he didn't know--to realise that Terry was saying something over and over. "It'll be okay. Just wake up, Mike."
He blinked, and he felt something unpleasantly moist roll down over his cheeks, but the walls finally came into focus.
"The dream, Terry. It's just like the dream." Was he chanting that, too? He couldn't tell, but the next thing he knew, Seamus has pushed Terry aside and delivered a rather sharp slap to Michael's cheek.
"I'll deck you, Corner. I've done it before, and sure an' I'll do it again. Just keep it up."
He stared stupidly at Seamus for a long time, but the strike had the intended effect. It brought Michael back. Of course, then he just wanted to get back into that room with Daphne. His Daphne. Seamus, however, grabbed his arms and held him back. Usually, Michael would have been able to struggle out of that grip, but he was too weak to continue. He pleaded instead. "Lemme go. I have to get back there."
"And what're you going to do?" Seamus asked. "Max is in there and about a half-dozen trained healers. You? You play Quidditch. If there's a thing you can do I'd love to hear it."
He felt another hand on his shoulder. Terry's. The contact wasn't unwelcome in that it at least let him know he wasn't completely numb. How could he let this happen, though? Why hadn't he gone after her? That castle was dangerous! Michael could still feel tears in his eyes as he finally gave up and leaned back against Seamus. The Gryffindor was the last person he wanted to accept comfort from, but it didn't matter.
"Last thing..." Michael looked toward the room where he could see people moving around. "Last thing anyone told her was that she was a coward." It was a fight to keep his voice steady, but he managed. "How do you like that? How is that fair?"
Terry's hand was around his shoulder again, and Seamus let him go. He allowed himself another embrace, but it wasn't long before he pulled away. No, he wasn't going to try to get back into the room, but he felt like he couldn't just stand still. Like he had to obsessively rub his hands on his robes to get the blood out. Terry followed him as he paced a bit. "She's going to be all right. You'll have plenty of chances to talk to her--"
Max appeared at the door with Hermione. The Gryffindor looked rather pale, and wasn't actually looking at anyone. Max, however, spoke almost confidently. "They're going to have to take her to the hospital, but she'll be fine in a while."
"I'm going," Michael said, as if daring anyone to argue. No one did. Max continued.
"All said, it's not that bad. Her legs are broken because she landed on them. She's cut up pretty badly, and the concussion... It shut down unnecessary senses. She can't see right now, but it'll come back."
Though he felt slightly more relieved by this news, it wasn't the most encouraging. Now that he knew Daphne's life wasn't in danger, though, he turned his attention to Hermione.
"She could have died," he suddenly was saying before he could really stop himself, and he couldn't remember being that angry for some time. Terry clutched his forearm, but that didn't stop his tirade. "She could have died, and you were calling her a coward!"
"I'm sorry, Michael," Hermione replied quietly, calmly. She didn't meet his eye, instead staring at his shoes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."
He couldn't think of a reply for that, so he just let his shoulders slump. He was feeling overwhelmed by everything--terror, sadness, anger, and relief. He thought he would have fainted if Terry's hand hadn't still been there holding his arm almost painfully.
"Not everyone's meant to save the world," he said softly.
"I know," Hermione replied, equally softly. "'As long as you're protecting the one you care about, you're not living uselessly.'"
Michael blinked, not sure what to say to that.
"It's something Emma said while we were waiting to leave the village. Anyways, there's something you can do--besides wait for Daphne. Professor McGonagall," and for the first time Michael realised that Hermione was holding the cat in her arms, "is trapped. One of the Death Eaters forced her into this form, and she can't get out." The cat who was formerly their transfiguration professor eyed her students calmly, almost haughtily. "The professor has something that may help us find Dumbledore and maybe Harry, too, but she can't use it as she is. If you two could..."
Michael nodded finally. "We'll do what we can. What are you going to do?"
"We're going to finish researching here--we found a few more spells after you left--and then we're going to meet up with Professor Lupin. He may have gotten another lead on the others. We're going to do what we can to join up with them as soon as we can. Hopefully it's not too late."
"Keep us posted?" Michael asked, his voice sounded raw.
Hermione nodded. "And you do the same," she said softly. "You better be going now." She gave him a faint smile, offering him the tabby.
It felt a bit strange to be carrying their professor around, but Michael took her anyway. "I hope you don't mind if we delay discussing business for a while," Michael muttered. He felt as if he was about to pass out from the exhaustion of an event that couldn't have taken more than an hour.
McGonagall watched as Hermione led the others away. Terry and Seamus stuck around a bit, but Max told them that Daphne was asleep and it would only delay things if they felt the need to say goodbye. Michael was actually somewhat amazed at her ability to take charge in this situation as she was. Of course, it was near Mackenzie's element. It really shouldn't have surprised him that much.
"I don't mind," the cat said after a moment.
Michael headed back toward the room, now not dreading as much what he was going to see. She was still on the pile of rubble, but she'd been bandaged and wrapped in a blanket. The lacerations across her face had been cleaned, but he wondered... Wondered how long it would take to wash the blood out of her hair. "Thanks for following her. We wouldn't have known."
"Had I sensed the floor was going to collapse, I would have stopped her sooner. I thought it was better for her to cool down than go about hexing people again, so I just let her walk." McGonagall paused. "She always did have a rather nasty temper."
"We'll be apparating to St. Mungo's in another moment," one of the werewolves told them. "Thankfully we have that portkey with us so that we can get Daphne there without any problems."
"You can still apparate, right?" Michael asked the cat. "You've been following us, after all." He set her down, crouching next to her so that she didn't have to look so far up to meet his eyes. She nodded. It was one of the few spells that could be done without a wand. Looking up at the healer, Michael nodded. "We'll meet you there then."
He still felt ill inside. Still felt as if this all could have been prevented with a single word. He vaguely remembered the spark of anger he'd felt when Daphne had indirectly called Anthony a 'dullard,' and how that had been the deciding factor in the fact that he hadn't stopped her from leaving. After all, Michael had told himself, he'd have to cool down, too.
The cat vanished with a very faint pop, and he watched as the medical team vanished one by one. One witch went last with Daphne and the Portkey. Michael, finding absolutely no reason to stay around Hogwarts for another moment, soon followed.