Odds and Ends:
Sorry, but Harry keeps poking his cute little nose into this story. Hopefully sometime I'll post a chapter that he manages to stay out of. I love him, but he's really beside the point in the romance plot, isn't he?
Now to my wonderful reviewers:
HPluvva: Thanks for asking such good questions and answering them yourself!
Susan: Sorry to keep you hanging. Stay tuned for some answers.
VoyICJ: I do understand, and I am writing seriously, don't worry.
Lizella: Sorry. But you'll have to wait a little longer for the "not anymore" answer. Got some bigger fish to fry.
Kala: Working on the railroad..... :) I know. But this really is as fast as I can go right now.
Whisper: Oh my. Another juicy review, thanks so much. Yes, Harry will be fine. No worries there. I've been called many things, but never Voldemort! Thank you :) The "harvest" in the summary is an expression that simply means the outcome. It's just a rhetorical question to get people interested that basically means "What will come of it all?" And yes, this is a romance story, so I will "do something" about Minerva and Albus. Poor things, they deserve to be happy. Thank you for the honor of putting my story on your favorites, much obliged and very flattered! :)
Skara Brae: Thank you. Cliffhangers are supposed to make you hate me, but only until the next chapter is posted :)
Huffy: Thanks so much, dear. I'm so honored that you chose my story over your paper :) Yay for squishiness, and as you say, yay for Peeves!
Mijuju: He got a book. And what's in the book is revealed in this chapter. Even I am not evil enough to keep that big of a cliffhanger going.
Minerverette: Thank you so much! But I think Harry has had enough of Cupids, don't you? lol Although, then again, maybe he has got a trick or two up his sleeve, you never know with that boy!
Mayfair: Thanks billions :D Keep reading!
Alois: Please don't feel horrible. I don't expect a review every chapter from every reader. I would love it, but I don't expect it :) I know how annoying it is sometimes to feel like you should review but can't think of anything to say. But don't feel pressured to read faster. Goodness knows I don't feel pressured to write faster :)
And AWAAAAYYY we go.....
When both had finished reading, Harry snapped the book shut, his eyes wide and unseeing. They stood there looking at each other for a long time, until Harry broke the spell that astonishment had wrought around the room. "Come on, we've got to tell Dumbledore." When Professor McGonagall made no move to follow him, he turned around. "We've got to tell Dumbledore," he repeated.
"What would we say, exactly?" she asked bitterly. "That my own father killed me trying to protect me? That I need Professor Dumbledore's help to fix me? That I wouldn't be in this mess if I had run away from home when I was young? That....." she stuttered and fell silent again.
"Tell him..... whatever you've always told him," Harry answered stubbornly. "The truth..... he'll find it anyway, and you can always be sure your trust is justified."
"I trust *you*, Harry," she burst out angrily. "I can't tell him..... this. Don't you see how horrible this makes everything?"
"Would you rather die?" he shouted furiously, suddenly losing the control that had been tenuous at best since the beginning of the conversation. "Losing face is what you're most afraid of, isn't it, even more than death. God forbid you have to ask for help. God forbid you have to ask for something you already have."
"That will do, Potter," she answered freezingly. "I've asked you to understand, and it's plain you cannot. It only remains to ask for your help. We've got to do this alone, that's my final word. Will you help me, and will you keep this from Professor Dumbledore and any other interfering parties?"
Harry glared at her through his tumbling glasses and his bangs, which had fallen every which way into his eyes, too angry for words. He took several deep breaths and answered: "I'll help you, you know that. I can't let you die. And I won't tell Professor Dumbledore"- she let out a relieved sigh at this- "Not because I agree with you, because I don't, but because he needs to hear it from you. But please understand this," he continued in a tone of ice that matched her own perfectly, "if it works, and you live, I'll make you tell him if it's the last thing I do."
She stared at him for a moment, impressed by his anger and the ease with which he showed it. To her, of all people. The boy belonged in Gryffindor and no mistake. She almost smiled, but caught herself just in time. "It might be," she answered ominously, "but I agree to your terms. Let's get started." Harry's anger instantly drained away, leaving nothing but a vague annoyance and utter exhaustion. He yawned widely, causing his ice sculpture of a professor to melt and exclaim: "On second thoughts, I believe it's time for bed. Let's continue this tomorrow. Goodnight, dear," she said quickly, and shooting him a final apologetic glance, she left the room.
Harry sighed in defeat; that was probably the last time she would be sorry for a while to come. He couldn't believe she would do this without Dumbledore. He regretted promising to help her conceal their findings, but he was determined to stick to his word; the consequences of a broken promise jutting up between them now could be disastrous. It was *too* incredible, he reflected. Peeves had found that book. And he, Harry, had opened it and found what was possibly the most obscure magical cure in existence. Something that wasn't strictly magical at all, but human nature. He had read how wishes could become curses or spells if some other wishing magic is present, and how the opposite wish could undo them under the same conditions. The spells that protected her from Grindelwald only bought her time, Harry thought angrily. Muggles write all these books about magic and how amazing and wonderful it would be to have those powers, but they don't have a clue. They don't know how horrible it can be. For one brief moment, Harry had wanted to be a Muggle again, in the moment when he had read the part about the spells and their effects. At least Muggles have a chance at saving their own lives, for sure, when someone's trying to kill them, Harry thought on as he made a movement to throw a fist at the mocking stones of the wall, but happily, rethought it.
They had realized the situation at the same moment. How Professor McGonagall's father had created all his apparently marvelous magic from wishes; just wish you're invisible, and you are, wish to be unseen, but forget to wish Grindelwald would go away! Harry almost sneered, but he realized it hadn't been so foolish after all. Old Mr. McGonagall probably slowed Grindelwald down a lot, thought Harry with some unwilling admiration. He gave his life for the wizarding world, for his family's lives..... except for one. He didn't have the power to unmake evil, or to save his daughter's life, but he gave what he could. Harry desperately wanted to give what he could. And he was lucky; she had given him the chance. He almost burst into tears when he thought how much Dumbledore wanted to give her, and she wouldn't let him. Just because she was ashamed to ask. In order to save her life, the curse first had to be convinced that it was worth saving, that someone cared enough for her to be destroyed by her death, and they both knew there were only two people who fit that description and were able to help her. And she had chosen him, a fifteen- year-old wizard with nothing but a little unusual talent and marvelous luck, over possibly the greatest wizard who had ever lived. And he knew it was because of the difference in their styles of aid. Dumbledore, in his eagerness to help, seemed to her to be offering charity, and she didn't want it because she felt she didn't deserve it. He, Harry, was different. She could demand this of him because of their relative positions, demand it as the duty of a student to his elders and betters. But that didn't make it any less wrong in Harry's eyes.
He yawned again as he made his way towards Gryffindor Tower. Recreating that wish would be difficult work. He didn't know if he had the strength, but he was pulled out of his self-pity by the thought that he wasn't the one whose life was hanging in the balance. He would survive this..... probably. It was possible that the drain of power would overcome the force of his blood pumping through his body, but rather unlikely. And the mental and emotional proponents would be the most necessary, anyway. He had to equal Grindelwald's hatred with his love; he had to speak and feel with the passion Grindelwald had exuded, and this was exactly what Professor McGonagall had refused to ask of Professor Dumbledore, even though his chances of success were much greater than Harry's, for many reasons.
Having reached the portrait hole, Harry saluted the Fat Lady with "filthy skrewt," and she nodded lazily before swinging open, the equivalent of this for humans being sleepwalking, Harry thought. He was about to go up to bed when a soft voice whispered, "Harry." Harry jumped. Couldn't they just let him sleep, and they could talk about this tomorrow? He turned around to face the stooping figure of Professor Dumbledore, who was bent over the grate and playing with the fireirons. "So, how did it go?"
Harry swallowed. He wished he knew a spell to transform into a hippogriff and fly out the window. That was the only way he could escape blurting out everything. Professor Dumbledore had caught him when he was vulnerable and they both knew it. "No luck," said Harry flatly, knowing the minute his voice escaped his mouth that Dumbledore was not fooled. On the contrary, he looked up in surprise, and Harry saw more confusion and turmoil in the jolly blue eyes than was anywhere in the vicinity of his comfort level. His voice shook and he couldn't form his thoughts coherently: "Please, sir, she..... I..... I can't....."
"You can't lie or tell the truth, can you, Harry?" he asked sadly. When Harry nodded, he continued: "Yes, I thought so. She's so stubborn..... she won't accept my help, or anything I -- " He cut off sharply and lowered himself into the sofa nearest the fire. "Come here, Harry," he invited. Harry slowly complied, feeling as old as Dumbledore looked. First her, now him. Do I have to do everything around here? he thought rebelliously. Dumbledore lifted a heavy hand and rested it gently on Harry's shoulder, turning him so they were facing each other on the scarlet cushions, the firelight glinting off their foreheads and glasses. "I'm sorry, Harry, I can't let you sleep yet," he began.
Harry nodded wearily. "I know. But if she thinks she can't trust me, she won't let me help her either, and then what? I can't betray her, even if it's only a small thing and meant to help her, it would be horrible."
"I know, Harry, and I'm not asking you to slip me her secrets. But what I do need to know is: can you do it? Is there anyway I could help without her knowledge?"
Harry shook his head desperately, making his hair fly every which way in a wind of dismay. "No, there's nothing..... I have to do this.....spell, and it has to come from me alone, or she'd know; it has to be with her, and it's the only way to keep her alive."
Dumbledore's grip was suddenly unbearably tight. Harry wriggled uncomfortably, but to no avail. He didn't dare look into his headmaster's face. "Can you do it, Harry?" The question was demanding, pressing him for an answer more tightly than Dumbledore's fingers were pressing into his collarbone. Harry would have protested, but he knew the grip was unconscious, and that its fuel was not anger, but desperate, barely concealed fear, such an unfamiliar emotion coming from the steadfast, capable Professor that he in turn was frightened. Dumbledore, who had not succumbed or even lost his dignity in the face of Grindelwald, Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy or any others who had tried to collapse him, was afraid of Minerva McGonagall's death. Harry hastened to answer over the burning sensation rising from his stomach into his throat.
"Yes."
"Without risk?"
"Without risk to her, yes. If it doesn't work, she'll be no worse off than she was before." He forced himself to raise his head, and knew as soon as the blue eyes crashed into his own what was coming next.
"What about you?" When Harry blinked in hesitation, Dumbledore drew in a deep breath. "No, Harry. I will not allow you to put yourself at risk, not even to save her."
Harry smiled ruefully, then fixed his gaze unwaveringly to the headmaster's. "Wouldn't you?"
Dumbledore returned the same smile, and said firmly: "Yes, I would do the same. But you're a boy, Harry, not an old man with very little left to do. And *you* have nothing to prove to her....."
"I wish she'd tell you!" Harry shouted angrily, earning himself a shushing hand over his mouth. "Sorry. But I do wish she would. I told her if the spell worked and she survived that I'd make her tell you somehow. At least she agreed to that."
"Did she?" Harry tried to refocus his eyes and caught a very peculiar look on Dumbledore's face in the firelight. The shadows in his face looked deeper, but less dreadful, and he looked somehow like Harry had felt on his first Christmas at Hogwarts when Ron had shown him all his presents. But Harry knew that the best was still better than that, and that it was coming, too. He was a kid, but he was learning to see the things in people's faces that grownups saw, and what he had seen on Professor McGonagall's face when she had begged him not to tell Dumbledore about the spell, in addition to the look that still hadn't left Dumbledore's face, told him he would have very little work to do after all.
"Yes. You know, she doesn't like hiding things from you," he added helpfully.
Dumbledore laughed, and Harry flushed, afraid he had already blown the whole plan. "I know, Harry. But as we all know, old habits are not easily cured." Harry exhaled softly, relieved that Dumbledore had chosen (perhaps deliberately, but did it really matter?) to take his words at their surface value. "For instance," continued Dumbledore whimsically, pulling a small bag out of his pocket, "Professor McGonagall has been trying for years to separate me from these, but I haven't listened to her either. Would you like a lemon drop, Harry? I trust I won't have to explain to *you* what they are." Harry shrugged gratefully and took one, concentrating only on the tart and sugary sensations in his mouth.
"Ruining his teeth, Albus?" came a very sharp voice from behind the sofa. They both swivelled guiltily around, looking for all the world like two little boys with their hands caught in the proverbial cookie jar. It was all Minerva could do not to burst out laughing, but she sobered quickly at the implications of a late-night tete-a-tete between these two. "I thought I sent you to bed, child," she said severely, glaring at Harry in a way that made it plain she expected him to get a move on.
"You did, but..... I'm going," he finished quietly. As he came level with her, he noticed Professor Dumbledore return his attention to the fireplace; playing deaf was one of his favorite games, Harry knew, but this time, it wasn't a game. "I told him almost nothing," Harry said, and they both heard the accusing note his sentence carried. "I couldn't lie to him..... I only told him that I had to do a spell to heal you, and that he couldn't help. That's all."
His despair, fused into these last two words, finally broke her, and she took his face in her hands, exclaiming bitterly: "I'm so sorry, Harry. I should never have asked you to lie for me. I should never have burdened you like this, especially in light of what you're doing for me....."
Harry realized he couldn't let her keep going in this vein. They would be here all night. "It's all right. I've worked that out ok. And now I'm going to bed."
"Mind you clean your teeth," came the cheerful voice from the fireside. "Will that do, Minerva?"
"Oh, you two," she growled. Harry smiled and headed for the stairs. Before he reached the door with "Fifth-Years" emblazoned on it, he saw Professor McGonagall heading for the portrait hole, until a voice stopped her: "Please, stay." Harry grinned and dashed into the room, almost slamming the door behind him in his hurry to get out of their way, but managed to catch it in time, reminded by Neville's deafening snores that it was time to sleep.
Sorry, but Harry keeps poking his cute little nose into this story. Hopefully sometime I'll post a chapter that he manages to stay out of. I love him, but he's really beside the point in the romance plot, isn't he?
Now to my wonderful reviewers:
HPluvva: Thanks for asking such good questions and answering them yourself!
Susan: Sorry to keep you hanging. Stay tuned for some answers.
VoyICJ: I do understand, and I am writing seriously, don't worry.
Lizella: Sorry. But you'll have to wait a little longer for the "not anymore" answer. Got some bigger fish to fry.
Kala: Working on the railroad..... :) I know. But this really is as fast as I can go right now.
Whisper: Oh my. Another juicy review, thanks so much. Yes, Harry will be fine. No worries there. I've been called many things, but never Voldemort! Thank you :) The "harvest" in the summary is an expression that simply means the outcome. It's just a rhetorical question to get people interested that basically means "What will come of it all?" And yes, this is a romance story, so I will "do something" about Minerva and Albus. Poor things, they deserve to be happy. Thank you for the honor of putting my story on your favorites, much obliged and very flattered! :)
Skara Brae: Thank you. Cliffhangers are supposed to make you hate me, but only until the next chapter is posted :)
Huffy: Thanks so much, dear. I'm so honored that you chose my story over your paper :) Yay for squishiness, and as you say, yay for Peeves!
Mijuju: He got a book. And what's in the book is revealed in this chapter. Even I am not evil enough to keep that big of a cliffhanger going.
Minerverette: Thank you so much! But I think Harry has had enough of Cupids, don't you? lol Although, then again, maybe he has got a trick or two up his sleeve, you never know with that boy!
Mayfair: Thanks billions :D Keep reading!
Alois: Please don't feel horrible. I don't expect a review every chapter from every reader. I would love it, but I don't expect it :) I know how annoying it is sometimes to feel like you should review but can't think of anything to say. But don't feel pressured to read faster. Goodness knows I don't feel pressured to write faster :)
And AWAAAAYYY we go.....
When both had finished reading, Harry snapped the book shut, his eyes wide and unseeing. They stood there looking at each other for a long time, until Harry broke the spell that astonishment had wrought around the room. "Come on, we've got to tell Dumbledore." When Professor McGonagall made no move to follow him, he turned around. "We've got to tell Dumbledore," he repeated.
"What would we say, exactly?" she asked bitterly. "That my own father killed me trying to protect me? That I need Professor Dumbledore's help to fix me? That I wouldn't be in this mess if I had run away from home when I was young? That....." she stuttered and fell silent again.
"Tell him..... whatever you've always told him," Harry answered stubbornly. "The truth..... he'll find it anyway, and you can always be sure your trust is justified."
"I trust *you*, Harry," she burst out angrily. "I can't tell him..... this. Don't you see how horrible this makes everything?"
"Would you rather die?" he shouted furiously, suddenly losing the control that had been tenuous at best since the beginning of the conversation. "Losing face is what you're most afraid of, isn't it, even more than death. God forbid you have to ask for help. God forbid you have to ask for something you already have."
"That will do, Potter," she answered freezingly. "I've asked you to understand, and it's plain you cannot. It only remains to ask for your help. We've got to do this alone, that's my final word. Will you help me, and will you keep this from Professor Dumbledore and any other interfering parties?"
Harry glared at her through his tumbling glasses and his bangs, which had fallen every which way into his eyes, too angry for words. He took several deep breaths and answered: "I'll help you, you know that. I can't let you die. And I won't tell Professor Dumbledore"- she let out a relieved sigh at this- "Not because I agree with you, because I don't, but because he needs to hear it from you. But please understand this," he continued in a tone of ice that matched her own perfectly, "if it works, and you live, I'll make you tell him if it's the last thing I do."
She stared at him for a moment, impressed by his anger and the ease with which he showed it. To her, of all people. The boy belonged in Gryffindor and no mistake. She almost smiled, but caught herself just in time. "It might be," she answered ominously, "but I agree to your terms. Let's get started." Harry's anger instantly drained away, leaving nothing but a vague annoyance and utter exhaustion. He yawned widely, causing his ice sculpture of a professor to melt and exclaim: "On second thoughts, I believe it's time for bed. Let's continue this tomorrow. Goodnight, dear," she said quickly, and shooting him a final apologetic glance, she left the room.
Harry sighed in defeat; that was probably the last time she would be sorry for a while to come. He couldn't believe she would do this without Dumbledore. He regretted promising to help her conceal their findings, but he was determined to stick to his word; the consequences of a broken promise jutting up between them now could be disastrous. It was *too* incredible, he reflected. Peeves had found that book. And he, Harry, had opened it and found what was possibly the most obscure magical cure in existence. Something that wasn't strictly magical at all, but human nature. He had read how wishes could become curses or spells if some other wishing magic is present, and how the opposite wish could undo them under the same conditions. The spells that protected her from Grindelwald only bought her time, Harry thought angrily. Muggles write all these books about magic and how amazing and wonderful it would be to have those powers, but they don't have a clue. They don't know how horrible it can be. For one brief moment, Harry had wanted to be a Muggle again, in the moment when he had read the part about the spells and their effects. At least Muggles have a chance at saving their own lives, for sure, when someone's trying to kill them, Harry thought on as he made a movement to throw a fist at the mocking stones of the wall, but happily, rethought it.
They had realized the situation at the same moment. How Professor McGonagall's father had created all his apparently marvelous magic from wishes; just wish you're invisible, and you are, wish to be unseen, but forget to wish Grindelwald would go away! Harry almost sneered, but he realized it hadn't been so foolish after all. Old Mr. McGonagall probably slowed Grindelwald down a lot, thought Harry with some unwilling admiration. He gave his life for the wizarding world, for his family's lives..... except for one. He didn't have the power to unmake evil, or to save his daughter's life, but he gave what he could. Harry desperately wanted to give what he could. And he was lucky; she had given him the chance. He almost burst into tears when he thought how much Dumbledore wanted to give her, and she wouldn't let him. Just because she was ashamed to ask. In order to save her life, the curse first had to be convinced that it was worth saving, that someone cared enough for her to be destroyed by her death, and they both knew there were only two people who fit that description and were able to help her. And she had chosen him, a fifteen- year-old wizard with nothing but a little unusual talent and marvelous luck, over possibly the greatest wizard who had ever lived. And he knew it was because of the difference in their styles of aid. Dumbledore, in his eagerness to help, seemed to her to be offering charity, and she didn't want it because she felt she didn't deserve it. He, Harry, was different. She could demand this of him because of their relative positions, demand it as the duty of a student to his elders and betters. But that didn't make it any less wrong in Harry's eyes.
He yawned again as he made his way towards Gryffindor Tower. Recreating that wish would be difficult work. He didn't know if he had the strength, but he was pulled out of his self-pity by the thought that he wasn't the one whose life was hanging in the balance. He would survive this..... probably. It was possible that the drain of power would overcome the force of his blood pumping through his body, but rather unlikely. And the mental and emotional proponents would be the most necessary, anyway. He had to equal Grindelwald's hatred with his love; he had to speak and feel with the passion Grindelwald had exuded, and this was exactly what Professor McGonagall had refused to ask of Professor Dumbledore, even though his chances of success were much greater than Harry's, for many reasons.
Having reached the portrait hole, Harry saluted the Fat Lady with "filthy skrewt," and she nodded lazily before swinging open, the equivalent of this for humans being sleepwalking, Harry thought. He was about to go up to bed when a soft voice whispered, "Harry." Harry jumped. Couldn't they just let him sleep, and they could talk about this tomorrow? He turned around to face the stooping figure of Professor Dumbledore, who was bent over the grate and playing with the fireirons. "So, how did it go?"
Harry swallowed. He wished he knew a spell to transform into a hippogriff and fly out the window. That was the only way he could escape blurting out everything. Professor Dumbledore had caught him when he was vulnerable and they both knew it. "No luck," said Harry flatly, knowing the minute his voice escaped his mouth that Dumbledore was not fooled. On the contrary, he looked up in surprise, and Harry saw more confusion and turmoil in the jolly blue eyes than was anywhere in the vicinity of his comfort level. His voice shook and he couldn't form his thoughts coherently: "Please, sir, she..... I..... I can't....."
"You can't lie or tell the truth, can you, Harry?" he asked sadly. When Harry nodded, he continued: "Yes, I thought so. She's so stubborn..... she won't accept my help, or anything I -- " He cut off sharply and lowered himself into the sofa nearest the fire. "Come here, Harry," he invited. Harry slowly complied, feeling as old as Dumbledore looked. First her, now him. Do I have to do everything around here? he thought rebelliously. Dumbledore lifted a heavy hand and rested it gently on Harry's shoulder, turning him so they were facing each other on the scarlet cushions, the firelight glinting off their foreheads and glasses. "I'm sorry, Harry, I can't let you sleep yet," he began.
Harry nodded wearily. "I know. But if she thinks she can't trust me, she won't let me help her either, and then what? I can't betray her, even if it's only a small thing and meant to help her, it would be horrible."
"I know, Harry, and I'm not asking you to slip me her secrets. But what I do need to know is: can you do it? Is there anyway I could help without her knowledge?"
Harry shook his head desperately, making his hair fly every which way in a wind of dismay. "No, there's nothing..... I have to do this.....spell, and it has to come from me alone, or she'd know; it has to be with her, and it's the only way to keep her alive."
Dumbledore's grip was suddenly unbearably tight. Harry wriggled uncomfortably, but to no avail. He didn't dare look into his headmaster's face. "Can you do it, Harry?" The question was demanding, pressing him for an answer more tightly than Dumbledore's fingers were pressing into his collarbone. Harry would have protested, but he knew the grip was unconscious, and that its fuel was not anger, but desperate, barely concealed fear, such an unfamiliar emotion coming from the steadfast, capable Professor that he in turn was frightened. Dumbledore, who had not succumbed or even lost his dignity in the face of Grindelwald, Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy or any others who had tried to collapse him, was afraid of Minerva McGonagall's death. Harry hastened to answer over the burning sensation rising from his stomach into his throat.
"Yes."
"Without risk?"
"Without risk to her, yes. If it doesn't work, she'll be no worse off than she was before." He forced himself to raise his head, and knew as soon as the blue eyes crashed into his own what was coming next.
"What about you?" When Harry blinked in hesitation, Dumbledore drew in a deep breath. "No, Harry. I will not allow you to put yourself at risk, not even to save her."
Harry smiled ruefully, then fixed his gaze unwaveringly to the headmaster's. "Wouldn't you?"
Dumbledore returned the same smile, and said firmly: "Yes, I would do the same. But you're a boy, Harry, not an old man with very little left to do. And *you* have nothing to prove to her....."
"I wish she'd tell you!" Harry shouted angrily, earning himself a shushing hand over his mouth. "Sorry. But I do wish she would. I told her if the spell worked and she survived that I'd make her tell you somehow. At least she agreed to that."
"Did she?" Harry tried to refocus his eyes and caught a very peculiar look on Dumbledore's face in the firelight. The shadows in his face looked deeper, but less dreadful, and he looked somehow like Harry had felt on his first Christmas at Hogwarts when Ron had shown him all his presents. But Harry knew that the best was still better than that, and that it was coming, too. He was a kid, but he was learning to see the things in people's faces that grownups saw, and what he had seen on Professor McGonagall's face when she had begged him not to tell Dumbledore about the spell, in addition to the look that still hadn't left Dumbledore's face, told him he would have very little work to do after all.
"Yes. You know, she doesn't like hiding things from you," he added helpfully.
Dumbledore laughed, and Harry flushed, afraid he had already blown the whole plan. "I know, Harry. But as we all know, old habits are not easily cured." Harry exhaled softly, relieved that Dumbledore had chosen (perhaps deliberately, but did it really matter?) to take his words at their surface value. "For instance," continued Dumbledore whimsically, pulling a small bag out of his pocket, "Professor McGonagall has been trying for years to separate me from these, but I haven't listened to her either. Would you like a lemon drop, Harry? I trust I won't have to explain to *you* what they are." Harry shrugged gratefully and took one, concentrating only on the tart and sugary sensations in his mouth.
"Ruining his teeth, Albus?" came a very sharp voice from behind the sofa. They both swivelled guiltily around, looking for all the world like two little boys with their hands caught in the proverbial cookie jar. It was all Minerva could do not to burst out laughing, but she sobered quickly at the implications of a late-night tete-a-tete between these two. "I thought I sent you to bed, child," she said severely, glaring at Harry in a way that made it plain she expected him to get a move on.
"You did, but..... I'm going," he finished quietly. As he came level with her, he noticed Professor Dumbledore return his attention to the fireplace; playing deaf was one of his favorite games, Harry knew, but this time, it wasn't a game. "I told him almost nothing," Harry said, and they both heard the accusing note his sentence carried. "I couldn't lie to him..... I only told him that I had to do a spell to heal you, and that he couldn't help. That's all."
His despair, fused into these last two words, finally broke her, and she took his face in her hands, exclaiming bitterly: "I'm so sorry, Harry. I should never have asked you to lie for me. I should never have burdened you like this, especially in light of what you're doing for me....."
Harry realized he couldn't let her keep going in this vein. They would be here all night. "It's all right. I've worked that out ok. And now I'm going to bed."
"Mind you clean your teeth," came the cheerful voice from the fireside. "Will that do, Minerva?"
"Oh, you two," she growled. Harry smiled and headed for the stairs. Before he reached the door with "Fifth-Years" emblazoned on it, he saw Professor McGonagall heading for the portrait hole, until a voice stopped her: "Please, stay." Harry grinned and dashed into the room, almost slamming the door behind him in his hurry to get out of their way, but managed to catch it in time, reminded by Neville's deafening snores that it was time to sleep.