Chapter 10

Secrets Untold

Harry couldn't fall asleep after hearing Neville's story. He had tried to finish up his assignments, but nothing could hold his concentration for very long. Neville had headed straight up to their dorm upon entering the common room. Most people had already gone upstairs to sleep—including Hermione and Ron—but Harry thought it best if he stayed up and thought about what he had just learned for a while. His homework remained unfinished downstairs on the table next to the fireplace still, but as he realized how little he would get done, he had climbed the stairs. Now he wished he were downstairs again, or even better yet, talking to Sirius. The one person he could really talk to, heart to heart and man to man, he couldn't talk to. At least, not unless he asked Dumbledore to perform that complex spell he learned about last year. Sighing, Harry slipped into his pajamas and walked over to the window of his dormitory to look out over the Hogwarts grounds. Surprisingly, Hagrid's light was still on in his hut, but Harry knew he would have good reason for it. Unaware of the time, he tried to lie back down and sleep. The four other boys were already snoring or breathing deeply, but Harry just seemed to be getting more and more awake as time progressed.

He lay staring at the top of his four-poster for a little over an hour before he just gave up and dug out his old Invisibility Cloak and Firebolt from his trunk from next to his bed. As quietly as he could, he slipped the cloak on, took his broom under his arm, and silently walked out the door, back down to the common room, and out the portrait hole. The Fat Lady was too drowsy to even notice Harry leaving. "G'night, dear," she mumbled as she fell back into her sleepy haze.

Harry just needed to think. He hadn't had the chance to even process what Neville had told him. They were so much alike. In a way Voldemort killed Frank and Alice Longbottom even more so than he killed James and Lily Potter. Neville had been attacked this summer. Why? That was one thing Harry couldn't seem to understand. Was it out of lust for power? Was Voldemort actually afraid of Neville and his abilities? Harry couldn't seem to place why. He felt a sudden chill, like an icy wind prodding his body. He had never thought that anyone would understand what he had gone through and here…here Neville had been in the same predicament all the while and Harry hadn't even thought of it. A sickened feeling built up in Harry's stomach.

Eventually his feet carried him down to the Quidditch pitch. Aware that he shouldn't be outside the castle at 2 o'clock in the morning, he tossed his cloak aside, seized his broomstick, and started flying through the air. Flying took his mind away from everything, cleared his thoughts, and just made him feel at home. He made a couple laps around the pitch, trying to beat his best time during each lap. Here he felt at home…here was his sanctuary…here he could just be free…

"Potter, come down here, please." Harry recognized the sharp voice of Professor McGonagall, a bit exhausted, but still with the same sharpness as it always had. Harry felt his heart sink. He was caught. Dejectedly he sank towards solid ground.

Professor McGonagall stood there, right in the middle of the field, watching Harry gracefully dismount his broomstick. "Can't sleep?" she asked. Harry merely nodded his head. She was dressed with a cloak over a rather old pink bathrobe and nightdress. "Come over here," she said, nodding towards a bench near the entrance to the stands. Harry obeyed. He eyed her closely. Her face seemed to be carved with age; her graying hair flew freely in the wind, let down from its confining bun at last. She turned to face him, her eyes filled with traces of hope, grief, despair, sadness, and reluctance as her eyelids drooped with fatigue. Harry then saw something he had never really seen in Professor McGonagall: compassion. The professor took in a deep sigh before beginning. "You don't know what to feel, do you, Harry?" He looked down at the grass and merely nodded. "Despair, grief, anguish, misery, sad for Neville's loss, angry and frustrated at Voldemort's near rise to power, and a little hope for at long last defeating the Dark Lord."

Harry looked up. How did she know? She met his gaze, her eyes filled with an indescribable grief, the exact same one he was feeling at that same moment. "Harry, I've had the privilege to teach both of your parents when they attended Hogwarts. There were no two better people in the world. True, your father always seemed to catch me off guard with his pranks, but both Lily and James were exceedingly smart and talented." She fell silent for a brief time, but then continued. "Potter, there is something that you would probably like to know about my life—something I haven't told anyone except for Dumbledore about. A long, long time ago my parents were once Aurors. They would put their lives on the line every day just to keep everyone else safe. The thing is, they themselves died at the hand of Voldemort when I was only nineteen years old. He was still known as Tom Riddle back then…" her voice started to crack; this was definitely a side of McGonagall that Harry had never seen before. "Tom was only a couple years older than me. I had known who he was as I passed through my years at Hogwarts, but never did I consider the fact that he would murder my parents." Harry sat up straighter. This was obviously quite hard for his professor to share, so he kept quiet.

"I never quite knew how brave my parents were until after they had died. I didn't know what sacrifices they were making just to make it safe for witches and wizards around the world to live in peace and harmony. I had just gotten out of school a couple of years before. Dumbledore was working on getting me a teaching position, but instead I told him that I would strive to become an Auror first, just like my parents had been. He understood, so I worked as an Auror for the Ministry for about ten years before I became a teacher here at Hogwarts, my home." At this point, she was close to tears. Harry felt awkward, but just sat there, gazing at McGonagall with a dumbfounded stare. "My family was one of the first to be destroyed at Tom Riddle's hand." She took in a shaky breath. "Harry, you are one of the brightest students of your class. Somehow you have managed to keep up your grades while taking charge of the Quidditch team in addition to adding on this large workload of Auror training. That in itself proves your worth. There is no better person in the world who would be able to shoulder this burden." She turned to him and put a strong hand on his shoulder, managing to smile slightly. "But for now, I would suggest you return to your dormitory and get some more rest. You'll feel better in the morning. Good night, Potter."

"Good night, Professor McGonagall." With that, she turned on her heel and headed back towards the castle. Harry soon did the same. He was not alone.