Chapter Title: Chapter 13: Every Five Years
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: HBP Spoiler
Summary: Harry makes a bold proposal for a new class to help prepare the older students for their N.E.W.T.s—and something else. The most important Quidditch match of the year pairs Gryffindor and Hufflepuff in a daylong thriller.
"Is it really next year?"
"Every five years."
"Goodness, I'd nearly forgotten," Professor McGonagall said skeptically as she spooned porridge into a bowl. "Still, it is a bit early to be getting all worked up, don't you think?"
"Not really Minerva," Harry responded, passing her the treacle. "The other schools are still a bit sore about the circumstances around the time before last. They're going to be getting ready. Dumbledore may have turned a blind eye, but you must have seen how much they'll do to win. I know for a fact that security has already been tightened around the preparations." Harry lowered his voice and leaned in as he buttered his toast. "Hermione's told me she was instructed to assign a small squad of Aurors to monitor the project from our end, to assure complete secrecy. It could be nothing, but I'd be very surprised if there weren't a specific reason they did it."
"What is that supposed to mean?" McGonagall glared severely at him in a way he had hardly seen since being her student.
"It means, I think someone's taken the cheating to a new level, trying to find out the tasks before the tournament even starts." He was whispering now. "If that's true, then you can be pretty sure they plan to train way in advance."
"Are you suggesting we infiltrate the Ministry?"
"No!" Harry's shocked response roused the attention of a few nearby students. Lowering his voice again, he continued. "I'm sorry, you misunderstood me. I was merely proposing that, since the other schools could very well be preparing their candidates ahead of time, why not do the same. It's not as if the skills won't be useful."
"What do you propose?" she asked politely. Harry got the impression she was simply hearing him out as a courtesy.
"We could establish a training course… maybe twice a month." Harry was waving his hands around dramatically as he spoke. McGonagall eyed his fork cautiously as it hovered dangerously close to Neville's arm. "Just something basic that would cover the most helpful skills. Dennis is a nice enough guy, but seriously, last time was simply embarrassing. Our candidates need to be ready."
"Surely you can't be considering this, Minerva?" Harry jumped slightly as Snape leaned in and whispered acidly between their heads, having overheard Harry's idea while walking to his seat.
"But Severus, you're as competitive as any of us," Harry interjected, thinking of the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin and the aftermath, during which Snape succeeded in avoiding Harry for two solid weeks. "Surely you'd like to see a better showing this year."
"A win would certainly be gratifying," Snape replied stiffly. "However, I feel that our students have quite enough to do without spending time on additional studies." The headmistress considered Snape's comments thoughtfully but remained respectfully silent, her face utterly unreadable. "Furthermore," he continued, "going through with this proposal would unquestionably bring unwanted distraction among the entire student body, not just the candidates. Surely you, Minerva, can appreciate that problem in ways a first year teacher could not," Snape sneered.
"Minerva listen," Harry butted in as soon as the perception of politeness would allow. After such a long history with the man, Harry had learned life was much easier when he simply ignored Snape's derision–simultaneously denying him the satisfaction and infuriating him in equal measure. "Most of the eligible students will be preparing for their N.E.W.T.s next year, right?"
"All the more reason not to distract them," Snape added triumphantly.
"The way I see it," Harry continued without hesitation, "this training would be good for them in several ways. First, the extra knowledge and practice will easily improve their skills for several of the more difficult subjects. Second, doing the training now will help alleviate the pressure to prepare during the tournament, which will allow them more time then to revise for the exams. On top of all that—"
"I think it's a great idea," McGonagall interrupted before Harry could move on to his next point.
"You… you do?" Harry choked.
"You do?" Snape said incredulously.
"Yes," the Headmistress replied firmly. "When do you start?"
"Excuse me?"
"Come on Harry." Professor McGonagall lowered her head and glared over her glasses at him with amusement in her eyes. "Who better to train them than you? For goodness sake, you were a Tri-Wizard Champion. You've been there, in the thick of it. You know twice what any of us would." At this, Snape gave one last contemptuous cough and slithered down to his seat.
"Well, Professor, I can see your point," Harry twirled his fork absently, staring up at the murky ceiling. "But I also think it would be a good time for those students to develop a stronger relationship with you. That will make the transition much easier when they have to be away from Hogwarts for so long."
McGonagall breathed out suddenly and looked down at her food in thought. Her eyes became fixed and resolute. "That is an excellent point." She paused again, gazing out at the students below them. She opened her mouth several times to speak, only to close it again in a kind of perplexed indecision. Finally, on the fourth try, she seemed to have fully constructed her thoughts. "You'll know best how to organize the training. Please prepare a course outline starting in February and extending through the week before exams. Also, you should include further lessons and review for September and October. If we're going to make this effort, we may as well do it right. I'll make my final decision after I've reviewed your plan."
"Thank you Minerva. I'll get to work on it first thing tonight. Well…" Harry said breathlessly as he stood up, "…I'd better get going. I have to set up the Grindylow for my third-years."
The roar was deafening as fifteen blurs of color zoomed excitedly onto the pitch. Harry took his place in the center of the stadium and gazed out at the excited crowd surrounding him. Red and yellow clad players flew to their positions with wide, sweeping formations that were executed with as much precision as any strategic move used in the game. The entire school knew that this was likely to be the most important match of the year, and each team was putting on its best show of house pride for the mass of students below them. Only these things could have gotten them all out on what was possibly the coldest morning of the year so far. The cloudless, blue air around them sparkled with a crystal clearness that, despite its beauty, could never be confused for a warm, summer sky.
Ravenclaw and Slytherin were hopelessly far behind in points even with the fact that both teams had each already played their second game of the year the previous month–a grueling, day-long affair that ended with one of the lowest scores of any game ever to last more than eight hours. The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams, knowing it was essentially down to them, had worked tirelessly since returning from the Christmas holiday, and Harry had rarely seen two better-organized squads since watching the World Cup when he was 14. Despite his own suppressed favoritism for Gryffindor house, Harry was quite excited to officiate the match, no matter the outcome.
He noticed a friendly wave from an equally excited Neville as the players took their final positions. "Captains, shake hands," Harry bellowed over the din. He released the snitch and bludgers as Otis and his Hufflepuff counterpart resumed their respective positions. And with a great whoop from the crowd, he signaled the beginning of the match by tossing the Quaffle high into the air.
It was apparent immediately which skills and techniques the two teams seemed to have neglected. Without any serious competition in their previous matches, the defensive strategies of both teams were decidedly inadequate. All indications showed that it would be an offensive shootout. Indeed, within the first thirty minutes the score was already 280 to 270 as the teams zoomed back and forth, exchanging the lead so often, nobody could count.
"It's Ellington with the Quaffle again," boomed the enthusiastic voice of Eric Simmons. "He passes smoothly to Walker who barely touches it before sending it over to Parkin. Ellington again, and what a nice Sloth Grip Roll that was! He's coming up quickly into scoring range now and… no good. Close save by Hufflepuff Keeper Zeller, who turns the Quaffle over to… no wait, very interesting fake out there… and now it's over to Jones and he's off like a bolt.
"He's really moving now! I don't know if the Gryffindor chasers can catch him, they're scattered all over the field," Eric said incredulously, looking around frantically at his team, wondering how they could suddenly be nowhere near the action as Jones zoomed up the pitch. "Parkin is headed his way, and he's going to have to take Jones on alone unless… Would you look at that!" Harry was just as shocked as Eric was, and the entire crowd gave a collective gasp as chasers Frank Ellington and Lauren Walker, who had previously seemed completely out of play, simultaneously veered inward to the center of the pitch from opposite sides. The Hufflepuff chaser had been well out ahead of his teammates and was completely defenseless when, all at once, three chasers converged on his position from three completely different directions. He might have been able to escape had it not been for two precisely timed bludgers, one from above, and the other from below, that were sent pelting after him at exactly the same moment.
"That's got to hurt," Eric groaned. "With a unique twist on the rare, but very effective, Parkin's Pincer, the Gryffindor team takes the Quaffle again. That's teamwork like I've never seen before: five players in perfect synchronization from opposite ends of the pitch. Truly outstanding!"
The magnificence of the move would become especially memorable as it also instigated the turning point of the game. Gryffindor went on a ten goal run, leaving the fans screaming themselves hoarse. The Hufflepuff players fought back valiantly, but Gryffindor continued to increase their lead over the next hour. By mid-afternoon, the score was 920 to 750. With Gryffindor more than a snitch-catch away, the Hufflepuff players were beginning to panic and the students in the stands hardly touched their seats–except perhaps to stand on them.
"What's that? White's seen the Snitch!" roared Eric as a blur of red robes raced across the pitch. "Yes I do believe this could all be over folks as Gryffindor Seeker Clarence White has a clear advantage in the chase. Hufflepuff Seeker Smith is racing after him, but can he get there?" For a brief second, even the other players looked down at the red and yellow streaks that were rocketing along the floor of the pitch. "They're neck and neck now. That Gabe Smith has got some serious speed. What's that he doing now?"
Harry had the best view of what happened next. Clarence could obviously sense his opponent gaining on him and glanced back quickly to gauge his distance. All at once, Smith's eyes widened and he zoomed off to the right. Without bothering to fully turn around, Clarence did the same, trying desperately to hold onto his lead. But when he looked up again, the snitch was nowhere to be found.
"That was a serious gamble on the part of Gabriel Smith," Eric explained to the crowd, "but his trick worked. By pretending to see the snitch shoot off to the right, he fooled the Gryffindor Seeker into letting it get away. And so the game goes on. It's Walker with the Quaffle…" Harry made a mental note to congratulate Gabriel when the game was over. This boy had the makings of a great professional Seeker, having demonstrated so early the ability to manipulate his opponent, one of the best of the very few defensive strategies a Seeker has.
As the match stretched into its fifth hour, people began to grow weary as Gabriel continually fought Clarence away from the snitch, desperately holding the Gryffindor Seeker off until Hufflepuff was back within winning range. Nobody had expected another game to go long and each team seemed to have exhausted its supply of trick plays. When the team captains called for a brief time-out shortly after five o'clock, Gryffindor's lead was 1140 to 1000.
"If this goes on much longer, you two might have to consider calling and end to the match," Harry suggested to the captains as they returned from their conferences.
"Professor, are you crazy?" Otis looked scandalized. "I've never had more fun in my life. You don't want to quit, do you Jones?"
"N… no, of course not," the Hufflepuff captain grimaced, rubbing the sore spots where the bludgers had tackled him earlier. "Smith is liable to catch that snitch any time now, and in case you hadn't noticed, Crawford, we'd win," he said with more conviction as he pointed snidely at the scoreboard. "Can we get on with it now?" With an icy blast from his whistle, Harry restarted the match.
"And we're off again," Eric continued croakily. "Ellington passes to Parkin, Parkin to Walker. Walker with the Quaffle and they're heading up the pitch. It's the famous Hawkshead Attack! Here come the Hufflepuff Chasers to… Good lord, there goes Smith again after the snitch! He's got a significant lead on White this time." Eric had to yell to be heard over the crowd. "With Gryffindor only 140 points up, if Smith catches the snitch, Hufflepuff wins. He's nearly to it now…" The ground vibrated from the combined stamping of ecstatic Hufflepuff fans and terrified Gryffindor ones. As the Hufflepuff Seeker got closer and closer to the snitch, an echoing smack resounded from the center of the pitch.
"And Smith's got the snitch!" Eric bellowed as cheers rose up from the stands. "Wait! What's this?" Eric said in shock as, at the same time, the Quaffle sailed from halfway across the field, right between the Hufflepuff keeper's hands and through the center hoop. "It's a shot from the middle of the pitch! If I'm not mistaken…" Eric paused, staring down at Harry for some indication of what to say. For the first time in six hours, silence swept over the Hogwarts grounds. "And we're waiting on a signal from the Referee. Yes? Yes he is indicating the goal is good. That means the score is 1150 to 1150. Tie game! Unbelievable." Stunned murmurs were breaking out all over. "Hold on, we're getting another signal. There's a foul on the play." A collective groan emanated from the stands. "Yes it's a penalty shot for Gryffindor." Instantly the Hufflepuff side of the stands erupted in screams. Both teams descended upon Harry, the Hufflepuff players pointing and yelling this way and that.
"A foul for what, on who?" roared the Hufflepuff captain.
"Blatching, Mr. Jones, and the fowl is on you, so it would be wise of you to lower your voice… right now!" Harry responded in a soft but icy tone.
"But Professor, that goal shouldn't even count," pleaded one of the Hufflepuff beaters. "They didn't even throw it."
"I am aware of that," Harry said firmly. The other players stared at him incredulously. "Miss Walker dropped the Quaffle when you collided with her—Mr. Jones—which was not her fault. It seems the Quaffle then fell into the path of a very errant beater's bat—Mr. Spencer." Harry rounded on the other Hufflepuff beater. "There was no bludger near you," Harry said darkly. "What exactly were you aiming for?"
"I uh…" The boy quailed under Harry's accusatory stare. With so many witnesses, he would have been stupid to lie.
"Nevertheless, be glad you didn't hit what you were aiming for or we'd be dealing with two fouls. Now, as far as the validity of the score is concerned, you knocked the Quaffle into your own goal, so it is your own fault and the score counts." The Hufflepuff team's faces suddenly looked pale and withdrawn as the reality of the situation sank in. The Gryffindor players eyed each other in silent victory. "Mr. Crawford, whom would you like to take the penalty?" Otis looked over at Lauren and raised his eyebrows as he gave a somewhat mysterious flick of the wrist, which Harry decided must have been some sort of signal. She nodded and looked up at Harry expectantly. "Very well. Miss Walker, Mr. Zeller," Harry said as he put the Quaffle under his arm and mounted his broom, "if you would assume your positions for the penalty. You get one shot Miss Walker. Score or not, the game will be over."
As the two players took their positions, Harry flew over to the announcer's stand and explained the situation to Eric, who quickly relayed it to the dumbfounded crowd. The sea of students behind the Hufflepuff goal was mutinous as Lauren rose to the center of the pitch. "Watch this," Otis nudged Harry. They both gazed proudly up at the nervous, but determined Lauren Walker as Harry blew his whistle and she started down the pitch.
All eyes were on Lauren as she zoomed back and forth. Faster and faster she was gaining on the goal and never looking away from the keeper's eyes. Just as she neared the scoring area, she pulled back suddenly on her broom and stopped dead. The screams of the crowd were ear splitting, but for every one of the fifteen people on the field, the intensity of the situation blocked it out entirely. With a cheeky smirk, Lauren raised her eyebrows at the confused Hufflepuff just feet away from her, and without warning she swept her arm back for a massive throw.
There was a yellow blur as the keeper lunged for the for the far right goal hoop. He closed his hands triumphantly… around nothing but thin air. As his momentum carried him past the hoop, he looked back in horror as the bullet of a quaffle Lauren was throwing, rolled lightly off the tips of her fingers and floated, much slower than he had expected, down through the hoop.
"Silencio," Harry mumbled several hours later. His arm was the only thing visible as it reached out from between the bedcovers to flick his wand in the general direction of Gryffindor tower. After a few protracted moments of silence Ginny stirred next to him and peeked out from underneath the comforter.
"Did you just…?"
"Yeah. Go back to sleep," Harry whispered drowsily.
"You're not going to shut them up?"
"I just did," Harry said with a satisfied smirk.
"You know what I mean," Ginny responded, glaring at him.
"Do you think it would actually work if I tried?" Harry laughed. "After a game like that, I'll be lucky to get them into bed by tomorrow night."
"So you're just going to let them carry on 'till morning?"
"Let 'em have their fun. They're going to anyway. This way we get a lot more sleep."
"Can't argue with that," Ginny replied, reaching up briefly to kiss him. Shivering, she snuggled up to Harry's chest, pulling the warm covers tightly around them.
"Your feet are cold."
"Mr. Meeks, why don't you pair up with Mr. Gaston here." Harry guided a nervous and uncertain Edward Meeks by the shoulders so he was standing in front of the equally skeptical scowl of Carl Gaston.
"But Professor," called the penetrating voice of Lauren Walker, still beaming with confidence from the aura of heroism that had surrounded her since her game-winning goal the previous week, "I'm more Eddie's size. It's not really fair—"
"I realize it's not fair," Harry interrupted her with a glare of warning. "There is a method to my madness Miss Walker, however much my history might suggest to you that I have no idea what I am doing." Lauren blinked several times quickly before quailing under Harry's stony expression.
"Sorry," was all she could muster as she walked away and leaned against the wall in a silent pout.
"Thank you Miss Walker. She brings up an excellent point," Harry raised his voice to the gathering of sixteen and seventeen year old students strewn about the defense classroom. "You are surely wondering, Mr. Meeks," Harry turned back to the two boys he had just paired, "why I would choose for you to match up against a student who is much bigger and more experienced than you. Surely it would be fairer to pair you with, say, Mr. Hunter over here. After all, you are the only two fifth-years taking this course." Harry paused and looked around the room. "Come now. Can't anyone think of a reason I would make such a mismatch?" Silence enveloped them as Harry drew out the awkwardness of the moment.
Suddenly, and without warning, Harry directed his wand at the other end of the room and bellowed, "ARACNIORTIA." Several students screamed and bolted across the room when a resounding "CRACK" echoed from behind them. Turning, they saw a ten-foot high Acromantula, clicking its pincers ominously and threatening to pounce on them at any moment. "Alright, who wants a go?" Harry asked enthusiastically as the terrified group of students huddled behind him. He held the gigantic spider in place with his wand, an amused grin spreading wide across his face. "Nobody?" he teased, walking around and looking from face to face. "Surely there's someone in here worthy of the honor of being Hogwarts' Tri-Wizard Champion." He stopped in front of Edward, who looked up at him with a confused mixture of hesitation and something Harry thought he recognized as curiosity. "Come on, this spider isn't going to simply vanish into thin air of its own accord," Harry called out to the room, still staring down at Edward.
After examining Harry's penetrating gaze, Edward's eyes lit up in realization and he raised his wand confidently, yelling, "Evanesco!" The room was silent again as the giant beast disappeared with a pop. There was a sudden, protracted silence as everyone stared at Edward, who stood stock-still, holding his wand out and looking as though he had no idea what had happened.
"Tell me," Harry said to the room at large, "what painfully obvious fact did Mr. Meeks here figure out that the rest of you did not?" Harry paused and watched the sea of non-committal faces surrounding him. "Surely you must know, Mr. Gaston. I know for a fact you've checked out The Art of Conjuring at least a dozen times." Harry rounded on the tall, brown-haired boy he had first met in the hospital wing more than a year before. Carl's sixth year had been good to him, as he had grown several inches and filled out nicely from the scrawny frame he had carried around before. Slowly, he nodded. "Go ahead," Harry said with a sweeping gesture of his arm.
"The spider was conjured, meaning it wasn't real. So of course, because it wasn't an actual animal, he could vanish it just as easily as you made it appear."
"Technically correct. I will offer one clarification, however." Harry cleared his throat importantly. "The conjuring of any creature is never easy, and one so large is even more difficult. Causing something to vanish is generally accepted to be almost exactly as difficult as conjuring it would have been. So, when you say 'he could vanish it just as easily' you are correct in that, it was just as hard for him as it was for me. Nicely done Mr. Meeks. You showed us there the kind of conviction that is needed to fulfill the role of Champion."
Edward blinked several times and looked up at Harry, who gave him an admiring tilt of the head and a smile. Slowly he sighed and lowered his wand, unable to contain the great grin of satisfaction that was spreading over his face.
"The point I was trying to make, however, was that this tournament is not about fairness." Harry strolled around the room as he spoke. "Of course, the difficulty of the tournament is as even-handed and as fair as we can make it, but winning this tournament won't be about matching up for duels of harmless spells against your fellow classmates. I chose to match Mr. Meeks against Mr. Gaston, not to see if his spells can overcome the power of his opponent–which of course he should be trying for–but simply to stretch the strength of his magic as much as possible. This class is not going to be about beating your partner. You are here to learn how to refine your magical power, skills, and knowledge in preparation for the much bigger challenges that lay ahead for whichever of you is selected Champion. That spider was a small sample of the many things I faced when I participated in this tournament nine years ago.
"Now, let's pair up and start practicing. We won't be taking on spiders and snakes just yet. That's something we'll work up to. We'll start today with the disarming charm." A groan swept throughout the room. "Hey now. This spell is nothing to sneer at. It has literally saved my life on more than one occasion." Harry glared out at their stunned faces and paused, allowing the silence to make his point for him before continuing. "While your partner is attempting to disarm you, you will be learning to resist the charm. That skill is the most basic form of the type of strength it takes to overcome all kinds of magic, right down to the Unforgivable Imperius Curse," he finished darkly, staring out at their awestruck faces. "Master that kind of skill and you'll have some powerful advantages for the tasks ahead of you."
For the rest of the afternoon, the small collection of students practiced eagerly, filling the room with bangs and whistles that reminded Harry of the sounds he would hear years ago from Fred and George's room back at The Burrow. By the end of the four-hour session, they had moved on to some of the more advanced hexes and counter-curses. Professor McGonagall joined them partway through and observed the class with great interest as Harry bounced from group to group, sometimes pairing himself off with a student who needed more of a challenge.
"Your homework…" Harry paused for the disappointed groans, "Your homework, between now and next time, will be to get together with the fourth-years from your house at least twice and tutor them on their defensive spells." The room went silent yet again as they stared back at him with looks of mixed disgust and confusion. "They are working on some of the most important defensive spells you'll ever need to know. Sometimes teaching someone else how to do something is the best way to practice. I'll see you in two weeks."
"Very clever Professor," Minerva offered as the students filed out of the room. "Killing two Doxies with one stone I see."
"Manipulation in its highest form my dear Headmistress," Harry chuckled under his breath.
"This is quite a program you've put together here."
"Thank you," Harry replied as he closed the door behind a grumbling fifth-year Ravenclaw. "These really are the best and brightest of the eligible students. I pushed them really hard on that first session two weeks ago. About half of them decided it wasn't for them, which of course is what I was going for."
"This is a serious bunch of students. If this goes as well as I think it will, we might finally break Headmaster Fortescue's record for the highest number of 'Outstanding' N.E.W.T.s." Professor McGonagall rubbed her hands together conspiratorially.
"And we'll have a great shot at the tournament," Harry added with equal enthusiasm.
"Harry…" Minerva paused, "Can we sit?"
"Of course." They walked together back into the D.A.D.A. Office. Harry cleared a stack of papers he had been grading from one of the chairs and pulled it over for her before taking the seat opposite her.
"I've noticed how well you get on with that group already," Minerva began somewhat timidly, "and not just in a sense that they like you."
"Um… Thank you," Harry repeated, unsure of what she was trying to say.
"You've really done great work earning their respect not only for your authority, but for your experience and expertise as well. You're already teaching them really well and they seem to be getting along quite nicely as a group. That will be essential when they have to stay in such tight quarters during the tournament next year."
"I agree," Harry interjected when it seemed like he was supposed to say something.
"It is essential to their study–and to the success of the champion, I might add–that there are as few conflicts as possible. It is very stressful to be cooped up and away from home like that for seven months." She paused, wringing her hands and staring at the floor with uncharacteristic anxiety.
"Yes," Harry added to break up the silence.
"Harry I have thought long and hard about what I am about to say. I'm not sure if you have realized it yet, but you are going to have a much larger responsibility next year."
"Of course!" Harry kicked himself mentally for not having realized it. "If you're going to be gone most of the year at Durmstrang for the tournament… Forgive me for being presumptuous, but I am assuming you are asking me to act as temporary Headmaster while you are gone."
"Not exactly, no." Harry's eyes wandered the room in confusion. If she didn't want him to take over, whom would she get? He knew Snape was automatically disqualified. Most likely Flitwick still didn't want to take on the extra work. Neville was turning out to be a fine teacher, but Harry had to admit to himself that he couldn't really see him handling that much authority very willingly. "I'm considering the idea of staying here," Minerva's voice broke into his thoughts. Harry's eyes snapped back to attention and examined her stony features as she fixed him in a very serious stare.
"What do you mean Professor?"
"Harry," she emphasized his name to remind him to use hers, "I am not as young as I used to be."
"Minerva, I'm sure you are fully equal to the task. There's no need to talk like that."
"Let me finish." She held out her hand to silence him and fixed her eyes on a spot above his head. "I do not doubt that I could handle leading the students to the tournament. If I thought otherwise I would resign the Headmistress position entirely. What I mean to say is that I am too distant from the children. I have never had as strong a connection with them as the one you have made in just a short amount of time. From what I saw in the few minutes I observed today, I have confirmed my conclusion that you would be a much better choice to lead them to Durmstrang in the fall."
Harry stared down at the floor in disbelief, running his hands nervously through his unkempt hair. He'd never even considered what such a responsibility would be like. What would Ginny think? Would she be able to come along, or would he be able to get away to see her? "Professor, there's one problem," Harry said suddenly, his eyes shooting open in realization.
"You're going to have a three month old baby by the time the delegation leaves," she completed his thought for him.
"Yeah," Harry said breathlessly. The reality of his impending fatherhood was still sinking in on a daily basis.
"I have considered that complication. I realize it would be a huge sacrifice for you and Ginny to make."
"I'm sorry Minerva, but let me stop you right there. I just can't bring myself to leave them behind like that." Harry stood up and walked to the window, looking up at a small group of second floor windows across the courtyard.
"I could never ask you to Harry. Even if you were willing I would tell you not to. However, if you and Ginny find it agreeable, modifications can be made to the train to allow you extra living space and privacy on site. I know it is a lot to ask, being away for so long with a newborn. If you don't want to do it, I will understand. But please know that I will work for any arrangements you might need. Headmaster Ivanov is a very reasonable man and, from what I hear, a great fan of yours. I am sure he will be helpful in whatever extra accommodations might be needed: visitors, provisions, access to the floo network…"
Just as Harry had thought of each potential problem, Minerva seemed to read his mind, explaining away each one. He realized she had thought this through in great detail and was determined to make it work. He supposed she deserved at least a chance. "I can't say anything for sure. I don't know if I can do it, but even if I did agree, I couldn't possibly make this decision without Ginny."
"Naturally. That's why I am bringing it up so soon. We don't need to make a final decision until September, but I want to give you as much time as possible to discuss it," McGonagall said as she rose. "I would hope to talk it over with both of you and answer any queries you might have. I think, after we examine the situation together, we can come to an amicable arrangement." She paused, holding the door open. "Harry," she said tenderly, and finally he turned to look at her. "I don't want to sound like I'm pressuring you, but for what it's worth, this really would be the best situation for the students. Your work with them this year has been truly remarkable. I hope you understand how sure that makes me, that you will be an exceptional father." As those last words floated through the room, she closed the door silently behind her, and was gone.