A/N: Notes to reviewers.....
VoyICJ: Sorry for making you wait. Thanks so much for the glowing review!
MissLemon: Thank you!
Xela: What gave you the impression I was mad at you? I don't get mad at reviewers, unless they flame me, then I roast them :)
Minerverette: I guess Gryffindor Tower was a little public, but it was pretty spontaneous; I'm not sure there's a real problem with the setting. But thank you!
geetha: Thank you very much. Here is Chapter 10 :)
Child-of-the-Dawn: Yes, it's true that Rowling never portrays McGonagall or Dumbledore like this, but this is creative license. I'm not exploring how they would react to an everyday situation, I'm exploring how they might react if these things happened. And I don't really think any of it is too far off base, but that's only my opinion. The sappiness comes at the end, and not too easily, either. Although I thought the last chapter was sappy, in an angsty way.
Kylie: Thanks so much. Keep reading!
myztrice: I'm glad you like it. I also think there are far too few Dumbledore/McGonagall fanfics.
Huffy: Thank you for the cute review! Glad you liked that chapter. And I hope you actually got around to cleaning your room! CoS was lots of fun; I'm glad we went.
HPluvva: Don't worry, this chapter is a lot more action-packed than any of them have been for a while.
On with the show.....
Harry was frightened, and this was having a decidedly bad influence on Snape. Harry always dreaded Potions, especially these afternoon double sessions, but today was the most horrible lesson he had ever had, which was saying something. Snape struck at every turn like a serpent sensing fear in its victims, abusing Harry so thoroughly that the boy was torn between running for the door and marching to the front of the room to smack Snape on his ugly nose. These two forces pulling him in opposite directions thankfully had the effect of keeping him glued to his chair, but he boiled with anger and wished that one of the forces would give way. Ron was muttering "dirty git" under his breath every minute or so, and Hermione elbowed him gently and whispered: "Harry, calm down. Don't provoke him. He'll only get worse."
"How much worse could it get?"
"You could be a ferret," she sniggered, and Harry barely kept himself from laughing. Indeed, Draco Malfoy would always be the winner of the Hogwarts 'Most Humiliated' award. No one would ever top the Professor-Moody-with-a- ferret-in-the-corridor incident. A great bang two inches from his nose quickly secured his attention. It turned out to be a pale, cruel hand that had slammed his desk with terrifying force.
"Mr. Potter," growled a voice, floating around him and showing its owner in full fury, "have you finished your potion yet?"
"No, sir," he answered firmly. He might lose a lot of things in the next few minutes, but he intended to keep his self-control from being one of them.
"Then why is it you believe that you have free license to gossip, instead of working on it?" Snape's voice rose dangerously on the last two words, and Harry almost flinched. Careful, Potter, he told himself. Don't give him ammunition.
"I will continue adding ingredients when the potion is finished boiling, sir. Those are the instructions you gave us."
Snape only glared more furiously, but as Harry's cauldron had suddenly started bubbling, all he could say was: "Ten points from Gryffindor; pay attention, all of you," and he stalked off, black robes now billowing menacingly over Neville's shoulder, making him shake like a leaf in a thunderstorm.
"You're a genius, Hermione," Harry whispered gratefully. "It could have been fifty."
"Make mine boil, Hermione," Ron begged. "I've added everything already, but it just sits there like it expects me to do something. And I'm not in the mood for a staring contest with a pot."
Rolling her eyes, Hermione tucked her wand into her sleeve, pointed her arm covertly in the direction of Ron's cauldron, and whispered something under her breath. The potion instantly began to leap and froth madly, and Ron cursed quietly as one spray jumped to the very edge, threatening his robes. "You take this one, Hermione," he hissed. "It obviously likes you better."
"Don't be an idiot, Ron," she answered quickly. "No spell I know could save us from detention if Snape saw us switching cauldrons."
They bickered on behind Snape's back for the rest of the lesson, and Harry listened with one ear, trying to take in Snape's instructions with the other, but all it managed to hear were echoes of the painful scene that had played out the night before in the Gryffindor common room. It had been the equivalent for Harry of a holy row between parents. He had flinched with every word as if they were striking him, and he was angry, but most of all, he was hurt. He agreed with every word Dumbledore had said, although often he had wanted to jump between them and stop the headmaster from hurting her. He had been angry with Ron for making the situation so absurd, but he was beyond grateful to him for stopping them, for stopping all that pain shooting through the air. Even embarrassment was better than *that*.
The three friends walked silently out of the dungeon together, both of Harry's companions realizing that he was thinking thoughts that needed to run their own course, not be interrupted. Suddenly Harry looked up, and the trio stopped in their tracks when they almost blazed right into a solid human body.
Her face was pale and tired. Harry knew she hadn't slept, and he felt a stab of guilt for his own pain. He looked quickly away from her eyes. They were dark and haunted, and he felt badly enough already. She was dying; she didn't need this. She didn't..... But Harry wasn't so sure. Maybe this was exactly what she *did* need. He found himself struggling with this question as he looked at her once more and saw what the night before had done to her, how fragile she was, physically and emotionally.
"Professor," they greeted her in unison. She nodded her head and reached a hand out at Harry's shoulder. "Come with me, Potter," she said quietly, and he turned quickly to his friends.
"I'll meet you back in the common room," he said, and they nodded, Ron sending an apologetic look at his teacher before he and Hermione headed off down the corridor.
Her look immediately softened, but the ghostly clouds in her eyes remained. "I need to talk to you, Harry," she said seriously. "Come with me to my office."
He nodded, and they set off down the corridor. Harry smiled sadly as he found himself struggling to keep up with her pace, even now that his head reached up just above hers. He found his memory whizzing back to a day four years ago, a day that had seen him dreading his impending expulsion and had surprised him a few minutes later with a great gift and wonderful opportunity, thanks to her. He had trotted miserably along at her side, sure of impending doom, and she had turned around and opened up another world for him, a game that he was good at, one of the best things in his life. He knew what gift he could repay her with, but it seemed beyond his hopes now. She would never allow it. He would have to settle for a lesser, more fundamental one. Instead of being the instrument of her happiness, he would be her savior on a physical level, and it was still a very precious thing to give. But she would despise it if it claimed his life in return. She would not see how that enriched the gift; she would only hate him for setting at such low value what she prized so much. He would have to find a way to ensure that he survived that spell.
They had arrived at her office, and directing him to a chair, she settled herself behind the desk. Harry suddenly felt disciplined. He wished she would come and sit by him, but perhaps she felt she needed the distance. "Harry....." she began.
"I'm sorry I listened in," he blurted out, "but I was trying to stay out of the way and..... unnoticed."
"I understand, Harry," she interrupted wearily. "I'm not interested in blaming or punishing you. On the contrary, I'm glad you heard," she confessed, ending in a strangled whisper. "I want to know if you blame *me*."
"What?" he gasped. Shock was settling like heavy fog over his mind, stopping his thoughts and words. "Never..... Even if he was right, you never deserved all of that." He swallowed desperately. "I don't know what I think, if that's what you're asking."
"Yes, Harry, that's precisely what I'm asking," she replied swiftly. "I'm very grateful for your sympathy, but I want your approval as well. Can you give it?"
Harry squirmed in the chair, unwilling to answer. He knew the truth would hurt her, and he wanted nothing more than to avoid that. "I can't approve of anything that tortures you like this," he answered shakily, determined not to cry but finding it a losing battle. Honestly, he was 15 now; crying was for babies. But telling himself that didn't seem to work.
He studied his sleeve intently, determined that if he did cry, she wouldn't see. It seemed, however, that even in her natural human form she retained the eyesight of a cat, and in no time at all she was at his side and wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders. The pain had grown beyond the influence of embarrassment, and they both knew that he would not resent this kind of comfort now. "Forgive me," she pleaded softly, and he nodded, staying put until he felt he had regained enough control to look into her eyes again. He pulled away slowly, so she would not think he was embarrassed or annoyed.
"It's not fair," he complained dully, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes with his sleeve.
"I know," she answered heavily. "But don't you see what a difference you make? If it were just he and I living like this..... I don't know what I'd do. And I would hurt him terribly, even more than this; I would force him to let me die. You're saving us both from that, Harry."
"You shouldn't need me that much," he answered, annoyed in spite of the pleasant warmth - resembling the feel of Fawkes' feathers more than anything - that filled him at her expressions of gratitude.
Her pallor grew at these words, and he fell silent. She was remembering her words to Albus. 'You shouldn't love me' rang repeatedly in her mind like a church bell someone had forgotten to silence. He had offered her everything, and she had told him flatly that what he felt was wrong, that he should take it all back. "No, you're right," she finally responded, "but it's difficult not to. I always wanted a child of my own, Harry, so when I was given the chance to care for you, I suppose I overdid it a bit." She smiled ruefully, absently reaching out to brush the unruly black hair out of his eyes.
"You're asking a lot," he said plaintively, "but I promise I won't die. You can hold on to that."
She stared at him, and he could see the beginnings of tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "How can you know that, Harry?"
"I won't," he repeated stubbornly. "I won't die. If you just believe that, then the spell will go brilliantly. There's nothing to worry about."
They looked at each other for several seconds, and Harry got a bad feeling that she was going to call his bluff. This proved true the next second when she suddenly said: "Right. Let's get this over with, then. Have you got your wand, Harry?"
"Umm, yeah, I think so," he stuttered, although he knew perfectly well that his wand was tucked into his left sleeve. He pulled it out reluctantly and aimed it at her chest. "Your..... your hand," he managed, and she looked at him questioningly. "The spell has to know who the healing agent is and where it is supposed to find the power. Give me your hand." She grabbed his left hand tightly, and he blinked when the joints cracked. "Ok, here I go," he muttered, stalling and dispelling nervousness at the same time. He closed his eyes and began:
When blood peaks forth in final rage / And gives no consequence to age, / But leaves behind one loyal life / To take its place in coldest strife, / Then power can decide the fate / Of two fresh souls, and make them wait / For judgment on the hearth of death / Where souls are kept in soggy breath-- / Twixt light and dark shall fade away / The essence of the coming day / And life reborn or brought to dust / Shall take the place of empty crust! / Bring now two lives to sharpest point / And with new life them both anoint!
Both were knocked to the floor by the wind of magical energy that swept over them, and Harry only just managed to keep their hands intertwined and his wand pointing at Professor McGonagall's chest. The room grew hazy, as if someone had blurred the contours of the walls and furniture with an eraser, and Harry concentrated with all his might on things pertaining to his life. Ron, Hermione, Quidditch, Sirius away from harm and writing to him..... Yes, that was it! Sirius' letters. They were a concrete link to life at Hogwarts. What had the last one said?
"Dear Harry, Glad to hear everything is well at Hogwarts and that someone's looking after you in my place." That had been in answer to Harry's letter about Professor McGonagall. "Hope to hear every move you make in your next Quidditch match. Snuffles will sneak round to the back door of the nearest newspaper stand once in a while to keep up with the wizarding world. Glad to hear about Hermione and that awful Skeeter woman. Tell the girl she's an angel. But don't forget to tell her *I* said it." Harry tried to grin against the whirling mists freezing his skin. As if Hermione would believe him anyway, even if he did want to say anything like that to her. And even if he did, he wouldn't, because Ron would skin him alive. What came next?
"Hope you're studying hard for those O.W.L.s. They can be nasty buggers if you're not prepared. I thought I had it in Transfiguration until the turtle opened its mouth and started singing. Can you imagine the look on McGonagall's face? You'd have thought the poor little animal was a banshee in disguise. But don't take that the wrong way. I'm glad you're looking after her; I know you are, because otherwise you wouldn't stay this close to her. Anyone who knows her knows she needs some seeing to, much more often than she shows. But don't let me go on lecturing you. You're growing up, Harry, and all the amazing things you'll do are drawing closer." Harry didn't like this part. He didn't like to think that he was a miracle-worker in training, or that his future was written in the stars and waiting for him. Professor Trelawney was proof positive that that belief never got you anywhere; on the contrary, it was extremely counterproductive.
Suddenly he realized that the room had gone clear again. He padded around on the floor for his glasses, which had flown off his face sometime in the middle of his 'flight.' He found them and groaned in annoyance when his finger slipped right through the frame. "Oculis reparo," he muttered softly, and he quickly moved his finger when he felt new glass creeping out of the edges of the frame. He put them back on and looked wildly around him. He blinked, unable to register his surroundings. For some reason, he was seeing Professor Dumbledore crouched on the floor, blood streaking his robes, trying to revive Professor McGonagall, who was sprawled on the dusty floor. Harry cried out and quickly crawled over to them. He reached forlornly for her wrist and collapsed in relief and exhaustion when he felt a steady pulse throbbing beneath the skin. The spell made everything black- and-white; there was only alive or dead, nothing in between. If she was alive, that meant he had done it. Or had he? His eyes fixed on the pools of red on Dumbledore's robes. Somehow he didn't think it was hers.
"Yes, she's alive, Harry, but why she is so is a mystery to me. What made you think it was a good idea to simply have a go like that?"
"I didn't..... I didn't want to. But she said....."
"Ah. Yes. I can imagine. But....." His voice trailed off as he clutched his side in pain.
"Professor! That's your blood, isn't it? Are you all right?"
"That is not the issue right now, Harry," he replied through gritted teeth. "We must wake her. We cannot even risk a trip to the Hospital Wing until she is conscious. Help me."
They worked in silence for long minutes, casting "Enervate" time after time, even shaking her once in a while, and eventually her eyes flew open and she began to cough. They turned her over quickly, helping her breathe, until she relaxed and looked at them dazedly. "What happened?" she managed to whisper.
"We're alive," Harry answered happily. "But we need to get to the Hospital Wing. Come on." The two of them managed to balance her between them, and they carried her to the fireplace. A spray of Floo Powder had them spiraling into the Hospital Wing, amazingly still upright. They watched as Madam Pomfrey came rushing over, pulling them all over to a bed and lifting Professor McGonagall onto it.
"What on earth have you three been doing?" she whined breathlessly. "Honestly..... she's half dead, you, boy, are a mess, and Headmaster..... you're covered in blood!" she screeched.
"I'll explain later, Poppy," interrupted Dumbledore in the sort of tired voice that ends a conversation without argument. "Just help her."
Madam Pomfrey nodded solemnly and got back to work. Harry sat down on the next bed, and they waited in silence while the shadows deepened over the canopies.
VoyICJ: Sorry for making you wait. Thanks so much for the glowing review!
MissLemon: Thank you!
Xela: What gave you the impression I was mad at you? I don't get mad at reviewers, unless they flame me, then I roast them :)
Minerverette: I guess Gryffindor Tower was a little public, but it was pretty spontaneous; I'm not sure there's a real problem with the setting. But thank you!
geetha: Thank you very much. Here is Chapter 10 :)
Child-of-the-Dawn: Yes, it's true that Rowling never portrays McGonagall or Dumbledore like this, but this is creative license. I'm not exploring how they would react to an everyday situation, I'm exploring how they might react if these things happened. And I don't really think any of it is too far off base, but that's only my opinion. The sappiness comes at the end, and not too easily, either. Although I thought the last chapter was sappy, in an angsty way.
Kylie: Thanks so much. Keep reading!
myztrice: I'm glad you like it. I also think there are far too few Dumbledore/McGonagall fanfics.
Huffy: Thank you for the cute review! Glad you liked that chapter. And I hope you actually got around to cleaning your room! CoS was lots of fun; I'm glad we went.
HPluvva: Don't worry, this chapter is a lot more action-packed than any of them have been for a while.
On with the show.....
Harry was frightened, and this was having a decidedly bad influence on Snape. Harry always dreaded Potions, especially these afternoon double sessions, but today was the most horrible lesson he had ever had, which was saying something. Snape struck at every turn like a serpent sensing fear in its victims, abusing Harry so thoroughly that the boy was torn between running for the door and marching to the front of the room to smack Snape on his ugly nose. These two forces pulling him in opposite directions thankfully had the effect of keeping him glued to his chair, but he boiled with anger and wished that one of the forces would give way. Ron was muttering "dirty git" under his breath every minute or so, and Hermione elbowed him gently and whispered: "Harry, calm down. Don't provoke him. He'll only get worse."
"How much worse could it get?"
"You could be a ferret," she sniggered, and Harry barely kept himself from laughing. Indeed, Draco Malfoy would always be the winner of the Hogwarts 'Most Humiliated' award. No one would ever top the Professor-Moody-with-a- ferret-in-the-corridor incident. A great bang two inches from his nose quickly secured his attention. It turned out to be a pale, cruel hand that had slammed his desk with terrifying force.
"Mr. Potter," growled a voice, floating around him and showing its owner in full fury, "have you finished your potion yet?"
"No, sir," he answered firmly. He might lose a lot of things in the next few minutes, but he intended to keep his self-control from being one of them.
"Then why is it you believe that you have free license to gossip, instead of working on it?" Snape's voice rose dangerously on the last two words, and Harry almost flinched. Careful, Potter, he told himself. Don't give him ammunition.
"I will continue adding ingredients when the potion is finished boiling, sir. Those are the instructions you gave us."
Snape only glared more furiously, but as Harry's cauldron had suddenly started bubbling, all he could say was: "Ten points from Gryffindor; pay attention, all of you," and he stalked off, black robes now billowing menacingly over Neville's shoulder, making him shake like a leaf in a thunderstorm.
"You're a genius, Hermione," Harry whispered gratefully. "It could have been fifty."
"Make mine boil, Hermione," Ron begged. "I've added everything already, but it just sits there like it expects me to do something. And I'm not in the mood for a staring contest with a pot."
Rolling her eyes, Hermione tucked her wand into her sleeve, pointed her arm covertly in the direction of Ron's cauldron, and whispered something under her breath. The potion instantly began to leap and froth madly, and Ron cursed quietly as one spray jumped to the very edge, threatening his robes. "You take this one, Hermione," he hissed. "It obviously likes you better."
"Don't be an idiot, Ron," she answered quickly. "No spell I know could save us from detention if Snape saw us switching cauldrons."
They bickered on behind Snape's back for the rest of the lesson, and Harry listened with one ear, trying to take in Snape's instructions with the other, but all it managed to hear were echoes of the painful scene that had played out the night before in the Gryffindor common room. It had been the equivalent for Harry of a holy row between parents. He had flinched with every word as if they were striking him, and he was angry, but most of all, he was hurt. He agreed with every word Dumbledore had said, although often he had wanted to jump between them and stop the headmaster from hurting her. He had been angry with Ron for making the situation so absurd, but he was beyond grateful to him for stopping them, for stopping all that pain shooting through the air. Even embarrassment was better than *that*.
The three friends walked silently out of the dungeon together, both of Harry's companions realizing that he was thinking thoughts that needed to run their own course, not be interrupted. Suddenly Harry looked up, and the trio stopped in their tracks when they almost blazed right into a solid human body.
Her face was pale and tired. Harry knew she hadn't slept, and he felt a stab of guilt for his own pain. He looked quickly away from her eyes. They were dark and haunted, and he felt badly enough already. She was dying; she didn't need this. She didn't..... But Harry wasn't so sure. Maybe this was exactly what she *did* need. He found himself struggling with this question as he looked at her once more and saw what the night before had done to her, how fragile she was, physically and emotionally.
"Professor," they greeted her in unison. She nodded her head and reached a hand out at Harry's shoulder. "Come with me, Potter," she said quietly, and he turned quickly to his friends.
"I'll meet you back in the common room," he said, and they nodded, Ron sending an apologetic look at his teacher before he and Hermione headed off down the corridor.
Her look immediately softened, but the ghostly clouds in her eyes remained. "I need to talk to you, Harry," she said seriously. "Come with me to my office."
He nodded, and they set off down the corridor. Harry smiled sadly as he found himself struggling to keep up with her pace, even now that his head reached up just above hers. He found his memory whizzing back to a day four years ago, a day that had seen him dreading his impending expulsion and had surprised him a few minutes later with a great gift and wonderful opportunity, thanks to her. He had trotted miserably along at her side, sure of impending doom, and she had turned around and opened up another world for him, a game that he was good at, one of the best things in his life. He knew what gift he could repay her with, but it seemed beyond his hopes now. She would never allow it. He would have to settle for a lesser, more fundamental one. Instead of being the instrument of her happiness, he would be her savior on a physical level, and it was still a very precious thing to give. But she would despise it if it claimed his life in return. She would not see how that enriched the gift; she would only hate him for setting at such low value what she prized so much. He would have to find a way to ensure that he survived that spell.
They had arrived at her office, and directing him to a chair, she settled herself behind the desk. Harry suddenly felt disciplined. He wished she would come and sit by him, but perhaps she felt she needed the distance. "Harry....." she began.
"I'm sorry I listened in," he blurted out, "but I was trying to stay out of the way and..... unnoticed."
"I understand, Harry," she interrupted wearily. "I'm not interested in blaming or punishing you. On the contrary, I'm glad you heard," she confessed, ending in a strangled whisper. "I want to know if you blame *me*."
"What?" he gasped. Shock was settling like heavy fog over his mind, stopping his thoughts and words. "Never..... Even if he was right, you never deserved all of that." He swallowed desperately. "I don't know what I think, if that's what you're asking."
"Yes, Harry, that's precisely what I'm asking," she replied swiftly. "I'm very grateful for your sympathy, but I want your approval as well. Can you give it?"
Harry squirmed in the chair, unwilling to answer. He knew the truth would hurt her, and he wanted nothing more than to avoid that. "I can't approve of anything that tortures you like this," he answered shakily, determined not to cry but finding it a losing battle. Honestly, he was 15 now; crying was for babies. But telling himself that didn't seem to work.
He studied his sleeve intently, determined that if he did cry, she wouldn't see. It seemed, however, that even in her natural human form she retained the eyesight of a cat, and in no time at all she was at his side and wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders. The pain had grown beyond the influence of embarrassment, and they both knew that he would not resent this kind of comfort now. "Forgive me," she pleaded softly, and he nodded, staying put until he felt he had regained enough control to look into her eyes again. He pulled away slowly, so she would not think he was embarrassed or annoyed.
"It's not fair," he complained dully, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes with his sleeve.
"I know," she answered heavily. "But don't you see what a difference you make? If it were just he and I living like this..... I don't know what I'd do. And I would hurt him terribly, even more than this; I would force him to let me die. You're saving us both from that, Harry."
"You shouldn't need me that much," he answered, annoyed in spite of the pleasant warmth - resembling the feel of Fawkes' feathers more than anything - that filled him at her expressions of gratitude.
Her pallor grew at these words, and he fell silent. She was remembering her words to Albus. 'You shouldn't love me' rang repeatedly in her mind like a church bell someone had forgotten to silence. He had offered her everything, and she had told him flatly that what he felt was wrong, that he should take it all back. "No, you're right," she finally responded, "but it's difficult not to. I always wanted a child of my own, Harry, so when I was given the chance to care for you, I suppose I overdid it a bit." She smiled ruefully, absently reaching out to brush the unruly black hair out of his eyes.
"You're asking a lot," he said plaintively, "but I promise I won't die. You can hold on to that."
She stared at him, and he could see the beginnings of tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "How can you know that, Harry?"
"I won't," he repeated stubbornly. "I won't die. If you just believe that, then the spell will go brilliantly. There's nothing to worry about."
They looked at each other for several seconds, and Harry got a bad feeling that she was going to call his bluff. This proved true the next second when she suddenly said: "Right. Let's get this over with, then. Have you got your wand, Harry?"
"Umm, yeah, I think so," he stuttered, although he knew perfectly well that his wand was tucked into his left sleeve. He pulled it out reluctantly and aimed it at her chest. "Your..... your hand," he managed, and she looked at him questioningly. "The spell has to know who the healing agent is and where it is supposed to find the power. Give me your hand." She grabbed his left hand tightly, and he blinked when the joints cracked. "Ok, here I go," he muttered, stalling and dispelling nervousness at the same time. He closed his eyes and began:
When blood peaks forth in final rage / And gives no consequence to age, / But leaves behind one loyal life / To take its place in coldest strife, / Then power can decide the fate / Of two fresh souls, and make them wait / For judgment on the hearth of death / Where souls are kept in soggy breath-- / Twixt light and dark shall fade away / The essence of the coming day / And life reborn or brought to dust / Shall take the place of empty crust! / Bring now two lives to sharpest point / And with new life them both anoint!
Both were knocked to the floor by the wind of magical energy that swept over them, and Harry only just managed to keep their hands intertwined and his wand pointing at Professor McGonagall's chest. The room grew hazy, as if someone had blurred the contours of the walls and furniture with an eraser, and Harry concentrated with all his might on things pertaining to his life. Ron, Hermione, Quidditch, Sirius away from harm and writing to him..... Yes, that was it! Sirius' letters. They were a concrete link to life at Hogwarts. What had the last one said?
"Dear Harry, Glad to hear everything is well at Hogwarts and that someone's looking after you in my place." That had been in answer to Harry's letter about Professor McGonagall. "Hope to hear every move you make in your next Quidditch match. Snuffles will sneak round to the back door of the nearest newspaper stand once in a while to keep up with the wizarding world. Glad to hear about Hermione and that awful Skeeter woman. Tell the girl she's an angel. But don't forget to tell her *I* said it." Harry tried to grin against the whirling mists freezing his skin. As if Hermione would believe him anyway, even if he did want to say anything like that to her. And even if he did, he wouldn't, because Ron would skin him alive. What came next?
"Hope you're studying hard for those O.W.L.s. They can be nasty buggers if you're not prepared. I thought I had it in Transfiguration until the turtle opened its mouth and started singing. Can you imagine the look on McGonagall's face? You'd have thought the poor little animal was a banshee in disguise. But don't take that the wrong way. I'm glad you're looking after her; I know you are, because otherwise you wouldn't stay this close to her. Anyone who knows her knows she needs some seeing to, much more often than she shows. But don't let me go on lecturing you. You're growing up, Harry, and all the amazing things you'll do are drawing closer." Harry didn't like this part. He didn't like to think that he was a miracle-worker in training, or that his future was written in the stars and waiting for him. Professor Trelawney was proof positive that that belief never got you anywhere; on the contrary, it was extremely counterproductive.
Suddenly he realized that the room had gone clear again. He padded around on the floor for his glasses, which had flown off his face sometime in the middle of his 'flight.' He found them and groaned in annoyance when his finger slipped right through the frame. "Oculis reparo," he muttered softly, and he quickly moved his finger when he felt new glass creeping out of the edges of the frame. He put them back on and looked wildly around him. He blinked, unable to register his surroundings. For some reason, he was seeing Professor Dumbledore crouched on the floor, blood streaking his robes, trying to revive Professor McGonagall, who was sprawled on the dusty floor. Harry cried out and quickly crawled over to them. He reached forlornly for her wrist and collapsed in relief and exhaustion when he felt a steady pulse throbbing beneath the skin. The spell made everything black- and-white; there was only alive or dead, nothing in between. If she was alive, that meant he had done it. Or had he? His eyes fixed on the pools of red on Dumbledore's robes. Somehow he didn't think it was hers.
"Yes, she's alive, Harry, but why she is so is a mystery to me. What made you think it was a good idea to simply have a go like that?"
"I didn't..... I didn't want to. But she said....."
"Ah. Yes. I can imagine. But....." His voice trailed off as he clutched his side in pain.
"Professor! That's your blood, isn't it? Are you all right?"
"That is not the issue right now, Harry," he replied through gritted teeth. "We must wake her. We cannot even risk a trip to the Hospital Wing until she is conscious. Help me."
They worked in silence for long minutes, casting "Enervate" time after time, even shaking her once in a while, and eventually her eyes flew open and she began to cough. They turned her over quickly, helping her breathe, until she relaxed and looked at them dazedly. "What happened?" she managed to whisper.
"We're alive," Harry answered happily. "But we need to get to the Hospital Wing. Come on." The two of them managed to balance her between them, and they carried her to the fireplace. A spray of Floo Powder had them spiraling into the Hospital Wing, amazingly still upright. They watched as Madam Pomfrey came rushing over, pulling them all over to a bed and lifting Professor McGonagall onto it.
"What on earth have you three been doing?" she whined breathlessly. "Honestly..... she's half dead, you, boy, are a mess, and Headmaster..... you're covered in blood!" she screeched.
"I'll explain later, Poppy," interrupted Dumbledore in the sort of tired voice that ends a conversation without argument. "Just help her."
Madam Pomfrey nodded solemnly and got back to work. Harry sat down on the next bed, and they waited in silence while the shadows deepened over the canopies.