A/N: Chapter warnings for; explicit language.
Next update on Saturday, 15th August.
Chapter Thirteen: Not Even Here
…
Why do I tell you these things, you're not even here.
-John Ashbery
...
Minerva is the first one who notices.
She's the only Professor doing rounds tonight, and she's already halfway down the stairs to the Great Hall, her robes silently dragging against the cool stone floor before she hears it.
Well, she doesn't hear it as much as she senses it first. A firm quiver, running through the halls, as if the whole building had shuddered in fright. The portraits around her are jolted awake, quietly murmuring and complaining as another strong wave pulses through the castle.
Something is wrong. Minerva has her wand out in a flash, firmly striding back to the staircase. She needs to find Albus.
The Knights stumble in their posts, tilting and swaying in their spot, on her way to the stairs, Minerva sees Pomona racing over to her, dressed in her sleeping robes, her wand illuminated blue at the tip.
"Minerva!" It's a harsh whisper, the woman looks wide-eyed.
"Pomona, do you feel it?" Pomona waves her wand and the Lumos vanishes, they stand in pitch dark and fall into a quick rapid pace. Minerva stifles the urge to transform into her Animagus form. It would have been much quicker.
"My Hufflepuffs. They need to be evacuated immediately," Pomona says, worrying her lip. "Their dormitories are under the grounds!"
Minerva briskly nods, they make a sharp turn as another pulse rattles the walls, this time stronger. Minerva doubts that Albus could stay asleep with this racket. He's most likely already aware of the problem.
"Evacuate your students. Someone needs to wake Severus. The Slytherins aren't safe in the dungeons,"
Pomona pauses, her hand landing on Minerva's shoulder. "An earthquake?" she asks but her eyes indicate that she knows this couldn't possibly be the case. The school had strong wards, no natural disaster could possibly affect the castle to this extent.
"No," Minerva exhales. She's composed, almost calm, but there's something in her chest, a tendril of panic. The children. They needed to get to the children.
"The towers aren't safe either. Round the children and get them to the Great Hall. Smaller ones first, you know the drill, Pomona."
She speeds past the startled woman. "Where are you going?" Pomona asks.
"Albus." Minerva doesn't look over her shoulder. "This needs to stop before someone gets hurt,"
##
"Harry? Harry, you need to wake up," he isn't having a nightmare. For the first time in a long while, and he wants to sleep.
"Hnnn," Harry grunts as he tries to roll away, but two firm hands on his shoulder stop him.
"Harry, please, we need to leave. Neville, can you hand me his robes, thanks, go now, Hermione is waiting in the common room," the panic in the familiar voice finally cuts through Harry's sleepy daze, and he groggily peels his eyes open, blinking in the sudden light.
"Harry, mate, come on. We need to evacuate." Ron's voice is getting frantic by the second.
"What?" Evacuate?
"I'll explain, come on, I need to handle the first years too," Harry starts getting up, limbs protesting. With a bolt of fear, he quickly looks down at his hand, relieved to see that his cuts are hidden by his pyjama sleeve. But then he focuses on what Ron is saying.
"Why are we evacuating? The first years?"
"I needed to make sure you were awake before I left. Come on, let's go," Ron is already moving away pulling Harry by his, thankfully, left hand.
"Ron, my glasses," Harry protests, scrambling.
"Hurry!" What is happening? Why does Ron sound like that?
"Fine!"
"Do you have him?" Hermione asks, she's in her pyjamas still, leading two first years into a line of scared, nervous children.
"I have him. Second years?" Harry is more awake now, as he stumbles into the common room, wand in hand and glasses on his nose. Everything is in an organised kind of disarray.
"Already left with Seamus, you need to take the first years." Hermione's voice is brusque as she starts herding third years into another set of lines.
"What's going on, you guys?" Harry can feel unease creeping up his spine, and the air is thick with something… wrong.
"The dormitories aren't safe anymore -" she is caught off by a sudden rattling in the common room, slightly shaking the walls, and moving the floor under their feet.
"Ron, now," she snaps.
"First Years! All in a line, trail after me, hold each other's hands right now! Nobody is staying behind! Is that everyone?" He's asking that last bit of Hermione and she nods.
"I counted them. Third years, Come on!"
"Harry, follow the end of the trail, make sure no one's lagging behind. Move now!" Harry nods and quickly falls behind, absentmindedly putting up a glamour over his hand.
"Dean, I need help with fourth years, the head students are already dealing with the others, come on." Hermione instructs, not even turning to look at Dean as she leads.
A nervous chatter among the first years rises up.
"Are we gonna die?"
"No you idiot! This is a magical tower,"
"Then why are they making us leave?"
"Keep it down!" Ron shouts at the eleven-year-olds over his shoulder, hastily leading the children along the walls, and has them each holding on to it for balance. Harry's hand is clammy inside a small blonde girl's hand with wide brown eyes. She's sobbing.
"It's okay, hey," Harry tries telling her, but he doesn't know that. He has no idea what's going on.
"We're approaching the stairs now, listen to me!" Ron turns for a second to face the trail of frightened children. "Hang onto those rails like your life depends on it, do NOT let go of your partner's hands, until we're in the Great Hall. Do you understand?"
"I'm scared!"
Ron's eyes soften only for a second. "Don't be. We're not letting anything happen to you," he nods at Harry and he nods back before Ron leads the chain to the staircase.
"Don't let go of David's hand,"
"I'm not!"
"Hang onto the railings!" Harry has never heard Ron's voice hollering so loudly. The children instantly scram to the railings once more.
The girl in front of Harry cries harder. "Hey hey, don't cry. It's okay, we're almost there," Another violent shake rocks the walls, this time disheveling the stairs as well. The children scream.
"It's okay," Harry tries to sound convincing. "It's alright. What's your name?"
The girl cries.
"My name is Harry, and I have no idea what's going on either. But don't worry alright? The Great Hall is safe, and do you see my friend there? He's a prefect, you can trust him."
"Grace,"
"Oh, alright, Grace. I promise, Ron and I won't let anything happen to you guys, see? We're almost there already. Only one other set of stairs."
Grace tightens her hand around Harry's, and Harry swallows. Staring at the back of Ron's head as they steadily make their way down the stairs, he can hear Dean and the Third years approaching the top of the stairs now as well, much more calmly than the first years had.
Ron keeps his tone authoritative almost right until the second they're inside the Great Hall, once inside he lets go of a first year he was holding onto, and silently stands by the gates as the children scramble in, counting them in his head as he taps each on the shoulder.
Harry is the last person and he lingers by Ron's side, both can see second-year Hufflepuffs entering the wide gates, nearly all of them in tears. "Hermione-"
"I know," Ron cuts him off, dragging him aside so the Ravenclaw head boy can pass by, leading a thin trail of seventh years behind him. "She's handling the fourth years, they'll be here in a moment,"
"What's going on?"
"I don't know, they woke Hermione and I via the badges, they shone and vibrated or something, then Mcgonagall was there? Rapidly firing off orders before she used the fireplace to floo away… and then we started rounding children in the common room."
"It feels like an Earthquake,"
"Yeah but it shouldn't be that. Hermione said so, the school has wards, protecting us from natural occurrences like that."
"Magical earthquake?"
"I don't know mate, is Flitwick calling me? Fuck. Hang on here," he taps Harry's shoulder. "Don't move, I'll be right back,"
Harry awkwardly stands, looking around him with slight uneasiness. There are only three Professors present, Flitwick is instructing Ron and the Ravenclaw perfects as they nod their heads, Professor Sinistra is by the gates, her wands drawn and poised in her grasp for use. Professor Snape is standing by the staff door, his narrowed eyes inspecting the room like a hawk. His gaze falls onto Harry's for half a second before moving on, he seems too concerned with his own students to be overwhelmed with hatred due to Harry's presence.
Hermione emerges with the fourth years and Neville in tow, they all look pale, not exactly distressed, but confounded by the abrupt wakeup call. Hermione's eyes fish him out of the crowd in a beat, but she waits until every student in her care is handled by the Head Girl before zooming past them and making her way to Harry.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, are you?"
She nods, a bit breathlessly. "I saw Professor Dumbledore on the way down. I don't know what's going on, but it's bad,"
"Did they know what's going on?"
"I didn't hear. I was handling fifteen students at the time, where's Ron?"
"Flitwick," Harry jerks his head towards where Flitwick and Ron are talking, with Flitwick gesturing around.
"They're probably making sleeping arrangements. No way they're letting us back into the dormitories. Make sure you hang nearby so we get a good spot."
"Three sleeping bags?"
Hermione nods, "Yeah, Ron and I might be occupied for a while. Flitwick is calling me. Save the sleeping bags for us."
"I will,"
Harry's eyes rake the Great Hall once more, and on a sudden electric whim, he finds himself discreetly looking for where the Slytherins were situated. The smaller ones looked a bit shaken, less so than the other houses, but still shaken. The others look passively bored, some even annoyed as they look and curl their lips at the others.
Harry finds Malfoy standing next to Zabini, his arms crossed, as he mutters to the other boy. Zabini is dressed in his uniform and Malfoy has his school robe thrown over what Harry can discern as a forest Green pair of pyjamas and black slippers. The boy single-handedly looks like the most put-together person in the Hall.
Malfoy catches his eyes, and recognition flashed in his eyes before it's smoothly transitioned into a cold glare. Harry hastily tears his eyes away, fiddling with the button of his shirt as he waits with the other students.
Per Hermione's instructions, Harry gets three purple sleeping bags from Professor Sinistra, bundling them in his arms as he makes his way to a corner to lay them out, for a lack of better things to do, and also since he promised to save a spot for his friends, Harry horizontally lies on all three of the bags, staring up at the stormy sky on their ceiling as he feels the unease quelching in his stomach.
The ground shakes a few more times, but the lack of the house tables, and the sturdy vast walls are assurance enough that the Great Hall is a safe stronghold during this bizarre situation.
Blankets are handed out, and the Professors firmly shepherds the younger children to their sleeping bags, all four houses' first years are settled near the Professors, in case of Emergency, Harry assumes. The older students are encircling the others, at the edges of the Hall, and others are peppered throughout.
Malfoy is already asleep, by the looks of it, Zabini's cot is near him and the boy serenely sits in his uniform, seemingly sifting through a magazine.
Harry spreads one of the blankets over himself to get rid of the coldness gripping his body and sending shudders down his spine. There's no sign of Umbridge yet. Not that Harry can see.
Ron crouches down by Harry's head with a grin. "I'm hoping one of those is for me," he points at a sleeping bag and Harry shrugs.
"I won't mind sharing," he swings his legs and straightens into his own sleeping bag in the middle as Ron flops down on his with a groan. Rubbing his temples.
"I know one thing now," he groans. "Never having children. Ever,"
Harry feels a smirk forming on his face. "Not following the Weasley tradition?" he asks with mock indignation. "Your mom's gonna be so disappointed,"
"Shuddup!"
Hermione comes nearly fifteen minutes later, snuggling under her covers with a sigh. She looks exhausted. And should be, she and Ron have been running around, minding children for almost two full hours.
"Professor Flitwick says they're bringing us Hot chocolate from the kitchens soon, after this thing is dealt with."
"What is this thing?"
"I don't know but -" she lowers her voice and the boys lean closer to her. "I saw Auror Shacklebolt, and Tonks by the gates. There are more Aurors, they said, searching the grounds."
"Hagrid," Harry starts, worry gnawing at him.
"He's safe. I saw him talking with Professor Dumbledore."
"That's good," Ron says, relieved too, "You reckon they'll tell us what happened?"
"Not likely," Hermione's mouth presses into a thin line, but then she says, "Let's just sleep for now, guys," Hermione looks like she's over to keel over unconscious any moment now.
"Hot chocolate?" Ron asks, pointing at the large doors of the Great Hall.
"I cannot do anything but sleep now,"
To be fair, neither does Harry.
##
"This is a very nice change of pace, Potter," Draco Malfoy says as Harry quietly reveals himself, dropping his invisibility cloak with a quiet swishing sound that is nearly drowned out by Malfoy's vials clinking together.
"What is?" Harry asks before checking over his shoulder. He has been having a lot of trouble with Ron and Hermione these past few days, it seems that the Dursleys's death rekindled their concern. Set it ablaze more likely. And last night's disturbances set it ablaze. This morning Ron almost followed him into the shower before Harry had a one-sided shouting match at him regarding personal privacy.
"That you're not passing out on me like some damsel in distress," Malfoy easily answers, emptying the Murtlap essence in a small bowl, next to a clean white rag. Harry scoffs at the other boy and Malfoy shrugs.
"Unless you preferred being on the verge of bleeding out every time,"
"Yeah, Malfoy," Harry plops down on the floor next to the other boy, rolling his eyes. "I have a thing for bleeding out in bathrooms."
"Put your hand in the bowl, Potter," he pushes it in front of Harry, and he dunks his hand in, stifling a sigh of relief. He doesn't particularly enjoy letting his guard down in front of Malfoy, regardless of what happened the other times, he doesn't trust the blond one bit. At first, he wasn't even sure whether the other boy would try poisoning him or not. Two times he has been in Malfoy's presence, unconscious, and both times, instead of killing him, or maiming him, the Slytherin had actually acted like a… well, like a decent human being.
"You shouldn't charm your hand afterwards," Malfoy grunts as he's rummaging through his school bag, distractedly examining Harry's submerged hand. "Magic can have unpredictable effects on potions, those two should almost never clash, Potter." Harry scowls at him and wriggles his fingers in the cool substance. It almost feels numb now, and the potion itself has a funny quality to it, almost as if it's cooled runny jello.
"I have no other choice but to Glamour it," he says and silently begs that Malfoy would let it go. Obviously, Malfoy doesn't.
"Just bandage it, say you slammed it into a knife by accident, it's not that unusual for you to do such things,"
Harry glares. "Just like you accidentally forget to sleep?"
Draco's eyes darken. "Careful there Potter, you're entering dangerous territory."
"It just seems awfully hypocritical of you to scold me for using a Glamour charm, when you use one nearly every day."
"That's me, the Slytherin Prince, drenched in hypocrisy, and aristocratic ideals. You caught me," the sarcasm in his voice is thick as he drawls the words out.
"So you do it out of vanity," Harry has a very hard time believing that. Of course, Draco Malfoy is a spoiled brat, Harry knows the kind, recognises them from a mile away, since he grew up with one, himself. Of course, Draco Malfoy is shallow and vain, but that wouldn't account for the reason why he's Glamouring his face at all, and why he looked so awful that day in the bathroom in the first place.
Harry tries not to think of that day sometimes, other times, he cannot not think of the way Malfoy had looked at his reflection. The image of pure contempt, helplessness. And then perfectly composed as a statue within the next moment.
As Draco finally fishes out his roll of clean gauze, Harry wonders how hard it must be to switch between sentiments like that. "Sure, Potter. Whatever helps you sleep at night," Then he raises his eyebrows, staring at the half-moon shadows formed under Harry's eyes. "I'm vain and sleep-deprived. Do you always insult people who are trying to help you, or am I a prime exception?"
"I was just observing," Harry says, his voice quiet as he removes his hand from the bowl, lifting it up for Malfoy to take.
"Gryffindors aren't made for observing. It'll be too much on their foolhardy brains." Malfoy drawls. Aha, there he is.
"And Slytherins aren't made for human compassion. It'll be too much on their stone-cold hearts." He snarks back, although there isn't as much heat into it as he had expected.
"Cold-hearted?" Malfoy actually jeers at him, his grip on Harry's hand tightens to the point of bruising. Harry stifles the urge to pull away. "Your relatives died and you are feeling great, evidently. If I'm cold-hearted, then the Wizarding World must weep at their fate with a boy hero like you,"
"You don't know what you're talking about," Harry forces himself to look at Malfoy, not averting his gaze.
"Neither do you."
"I'm sorry," Malfoy's hand loosens, and he starts wiping away the excessive essence and dabbing a dittany soaked cloth over it.
"You apologize too much. But whatever," he says, as he sets the cloth down and picks up the gauze, "We're not friends."
"Can I ask you a question?" Harry is gazing at his hand, or rather, Malfoy's fingers wrapping the gauze around his fingers as he says this. Malfoy doesn't pause but looks up.
"What sort of question?"
"You don't have to answer or anything…" Harry hesitates.
"Potter, do get on with it," Malfoy's hands have paused now.
"Why were you crying?"
"I refuse to answer that," with that, Malfoy looks down again and resumes his wrapping.
"It's alright. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked, I just wanted to fill in the silence, I say stupid things a lot of times when I get like that, you can just ignore everything coming out of my mouth, I don't mean it, I was just thinking-"
"Merlin Potter, slow it down! You talk faster than a Quick Quotes Quill writes." Malfoy is looking at him, and his hands have paused again, he has a very bemused expression on his face. Harry wonders if Malfoy can see his flushed face in the dim bathroom lights.
"Yeah, whatever." He looks away.
"You can't ever tell anyone about that. About what you saw that day. If I hear a word out of anyone I might as well be dead, and trust me, I'll take you down with me, Potter," Harry frowns, slightly startled at the urgent tone in Malfoy's voice.
"You don't need to accompany every sentence with a death threat, Malfoy. I can keep a secret. Only if you keep mine." Harry looks at him, trying to figure him out. It's frustrating, really, how hard Malfoy is to read.
"Oh yes, I already have a spoonful of those," Malfoy's smile suddenly leaves Harry feeling a bout of panic bloom in his chest.
"Spoonful? You only know one thing," he indicates his bandaged hand and Malfoy gives him a look.
"Maybe one, by your standards, Potter. But Slytherins are taught to observe what the body says when the tongue rests. I already have quite a bit of dirt on you." That doesn't sound good.
"Oh yeah?" He keeps his voice steady.
"Oh yes."
"Like what?" Harry narrows his eyes, maybe Malfoy is bluffing.
"I know why you feel no remorse for the death of your relatives when it was clearly done to affect you. You hated them, it's clear. I know that you avoid Hufflepuffs as if they're Medusa's descendants because of what happened to Diggory." Harry's hand goes limp in Malfoy's, mouth dry even as he forges on, "I also know that the true reason, the only reason that you're letting that pink toad faced bitch rough you up like this is because deep down you think you deserve it, out of some... Hero complex you have going for you," Harry snatches his hand away.
"Or the guilt." Harry can only stare at him, and Malfoy seems to immensely rejoice in his reaction. "I am undoubtedly right, aren't I?"
"I didn't say that,"
Draco shrugs. "I know."
"I didn't… I didn't hate the Dursleys." Really? That's the first thing he could say? Harry wants to hit himself.
"Potter… I'm the last person you want to explain this to."
"You don't understand, they were my last remaining blood relatives, I didn't want them dead, I just-" he swallows, blood and screams and mangled limbs and the dark mark- "I didn't want them to hate me. I never hated them, I didn't intend for the Death Eaters to go after them. They wanted nothing to do with this and to die like this, it's… well, it sucks." he finishes lamely. It's been four days since their death. Relief is still the strongest emotion he feels in regard to it.
"Death Eaters don't exactly follow a hit list of the people you want dead, Potter. Their orders are strictly under someone else's desires. Trust me." There is something odd in Malfoy's voice, and Harry wishes he could read minds.
"I know that,"
"You really don't. No. Because if you did you wouldn't still be punishing yourself for Diggory's death." Yeah, definitely odd.
"I don't enjoy what Umbridge does to me," Harry defends. And he doesn't.
"But you do consider it an atonement. 'Oh she's hurting me and that's going to make up for what the Dark Lord did to Diggory ', that's how you think." Malfoy's words are vicious as he stares at Harry, daring him to contradict him.
"I never refer to Voldemort as the Dark Lord."
"That makes you an idiot, Potter, aside from the fact that you didn't deny a thing I just said." Draco suddenly leans back, and that's when Harry realises how close they had gotten during their… conversation. "There's a reason one mustn't speak his name."
"Because they're scared of him," Harry says.
"It's never that easy, you know. It's not always about fear. Sometimes, it's about survival."
"Do you do it for survival?" Harry raises an eyebrow.
"I used to do it for survival before he- He killed someone I held very dear," and that's when Harry feels like someone has just dumped a bucketful of ice down his shirt.
"He what?" his voice is horribly thin and high, but Malfoy barely seems to notice.
"The Dark Lord... He killed someone,"
"Was it family?" It couldn't be, right?
"It was my mother, Potter." Harry is barely breathing now. But Draco barely seems to notice, "No one knows yet, not even my housemates, you cannot tell anyone, if you do, then I'm dead, in the most literal sense of the word, Potter. Do you understand the severity of the situation?" Malfoy is staring at him very very intently now, his eyes… desperate.
"Oh god," Harry finally says, taking a breath into his too-small lungs.
"Potter?" Malfoy asks, his previous expression gone.
"Oh my god." What else can he say? The dream starts replaying itself in his mind. The face in front of him, the same face streaked with tears, twisted in anguish. The usually sarcastic, composed voice pitched high in desperate screams.
"Why are you upset that my mother died?" Malfoy looks confused. So different from the boy of his dream. But it wasn't a dream, was it? Harry swallows. Once. Twice. Malfoy asked a question.
"I'm sorry. For your loss, that is. Yeah," Harry hates how breathless his words sound, no way in hell does Malfoy miss that.
"Right." He sounds sceptical.
"I should go." God, he has to leave. "I'm really sorry, losing a mother is hard, I would know… actually no, I wouldn't. I didn't know my mother, but you did and watching her die- knowing that she died must be unimaginable."
"Potter," there is a tinge of concern in Maloy's voice now, but Harry is too far into his panic to really think much about it.
"I should leave, they're looking for me, probably. And, sorry again, for your mom. I want to say it gets better eventually, but I wouldn't know, since I didn't know my mother, I obviously miss her and my dad very much but I was just a child and she raised you, so of course it hits harder-" he's babbling, but he can't stop. This time he sees Mrs. Malfoy, screaming, just as loud as her son.
"What the hell," Malfoy sounds positively bewildered now.
"Bye," he says shortly, staggering to his feet, taking in air in short quick gasps.
"Potter!" Malfoy stands up as well, but Harry is already picking up his bag and cloak.
"When is your next detention?" Harry pauses at the bathroom door, looking back. He probably looks pretty wild right now. He feels wild. Frantic. He has to go to Dumbledore.
"Oh right," Harry says, wracking his brain for the answer, what had Umbridge said? "Tomorrow. And thank you again. For this."
"Yeah, you're welcome." Harry barely hears the response as he hurries out.
##
For the second time in two days, Minerva finds herself briskly making her way to the Headmaster's office after the curfew. She makes her way through the darkened corridors with a scowl on her face, and her hands fisted by her sides, wands clenched tightly in one, dimly illuminating the way.
Their school has been invaded once again, this time, however, the threat was much more pungent than Minerva could bring herself to admit. The Minister and his cronies were here, without any previous notice. It barely let Albus have enough time to send her a Patronus.
One of the staff had tipped them off, and Minerva has no qualms regarding the identity of their mole. Repugnant woman and her pink cardigan, Minerva seethes, her heels clicking on the stairs. That toad faced abominity.
Just as she's about to make her way to the Headmaster's office, she notices someone running to the same direction from the opposite side, their sneakers loudly clapping against the stone as they pant for breath.
She opens her mouth to stop them on their track before she catches sight of the messy-haired boy, breathless and wheezing, Potter freezes the moment he notices her, coming to an abrupt halt.
"Professor," Potter says, his eyes darting to the gargoyle statue. Minerva stares at the boy for a moment before making her way to him, she clasps his shoulder.
"You shouldn't be out after curfew, Mr. Potter," she says, firmly trying to turn the boy away from the Headmaster's office. She really doesn't want the Minister to see Potter in this state, or at all if it can be helped. The boy has been ridiculed and labelled by that man already, Minerva has no doubts that the moment he sees Potter, he's going to connect him to the breach somehow. The way he had done in the past.
Potter's sneakers drag and the boy is fervently shaking his head. "Professor, I need to see the headmaster please, it's an emergency, a real emergency, I don't care if I get detention, please-"
"Listen to me, Potter," she stops him, and slightly lowers her head to gaze into the boy's distressed eyes. "You will not be seeing the headmaster tonight,"
"But-."
"No," she cuts in, digging her fingers in the boy's shoulder for affirmation. "Not tonight, Potter. I know it might not seem like it, but whatever you have to say truly can wait until tomorrow morning. Go back to your dorm, draw your curtains and sleep."
"Professor,"
"Do not make me take further action. Potter, I am asking you," Potter's eyes narrow and he slowly nods, steals another glance at the Headmaster's office and then drops his head.
"Is everything alright?" he whispers, as if afraid that someone is eavesdropping on them, and Minerva wouldn't honestly put it past Fudge to do something as idiotic as that.
She squeezes Potter's shoulder and gently pushes him toward the stairs. "Go to sleep, Potter." Potter looks unhappy but nods again.
He runs.
##
"This is unacceptable Dumbledore! Absolutely Unacceptable!" is the first thing Minerva hears upon climbing the spiral staircase and stands behind the office's door.
"I think we all need to calm down, Cornelius," Albus says, his voice as calm as ever. "Fretting will get us nowhere, the situation is well underhand, as you know. There's no reason to panic. None at all." With one last inhale, Minerva grabs the doorknob and enters, firmly curbing her expression into a business-like frown.
"Don't be absurd!" Fudge cries with apparent righteous anger and the look is quite ridiculous on him. "A breach. In the wards! Anything could have happened!" He's not the only one there, aside from the flock of Aurors cluelessly standing behind the man, Lucius Malfoy stands near the fireplace, his hands perched on the top of his cane as he watches the argument with an expression Minerva can only name as vague disinterest.
"Really, Cornelius?" Albus flicks his eyebrow. "What could have gone awry wrong last night? There is no danger to be found, as Professor Umbridge has been kindly reminding us time and time again. Absolutely no danger."
"Well," Fudge starts gaping like a fish, opening and closing his mouth several times as he tries —and fails— to come up with a response. "Any wild creature could have broken in! The escaped convicts from Azkaban are still on the run! Don't you remember Black's break-in only two years ago?"
"Of course not, Cornelius. And I assure you, such an occurrence will not happen again. I value the lives of my students." Minerva suppresses the urge to huff in annoyance, of course, he does. He wasn't made Headmaster for nothing.
"And yet, it happened."
"But what was the cause-"
"Who cares about the cause? Do you have any idea what the board of governors are going to do once parents get the gist of this? I'm sure some of them already do. They're going to riot, Dumbledore. They're going to question your authority as the Headmaster. And quite frankly so am I!"
"I was hoping that you wouldn't confuse politics within the school grounds, Cornelius."
"I am most certainly not! Lucius, you tell him!" Minerva quirks a brow. The Minister sounds like a petulant child trying to prove his innocence in a misdeed he did do. Her eyes shift over to Mr. Malfoy, who has been regarding the exchange with a cool gaze.
"The Minister is quite right, Professor. I don't reckon that the board will be pleased with this conduct. Whatever the cause maybe." Lucius finally says, his voice as smooth as a slithering snake. He was like that even as a student, she remembers.
"I understand your concerns fully, Lucius, and what is your solution?" Albus says, his voice almost genuinely curious. Almost. But Minerva knows him well enough by now to gauge his reactions.
The man lethargically shrugs. "Your possible arrest for misconduct until a trial can be put in place. Something to soothe the concerned parents until the truth comes out." Minerva frowns, something is wrong with Lucius. He seems detached from the whole scene. Earlier, he would have jumped at any chance to remove Albus from his post. And while he isn't really doing anything good, he doesn't sound particularly happy.
"I see, and I assume that the reason why four lovely Aurors are escorting you is precisely to be used for this purpose?" Albus gestures to the four people strategically positioned around the room. Minerva feels a smile tugging at her lips, Fudge made the mistake by bringing two order members in for this. Not that he knows it.
"It's the official procedure now, Albus. You are under investigation," Fudge says haughtily, his chin jutting out.
"That's outrageous!" Minerva cries, unable to keep silent any longer.
"It's the law, Professor McGonagall. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, you are hereby under arrest for misconduct and endangering your student's lives. You will either peacefully accompany the Aurors back to the Ministry, or you will be taken by force," Minerva manages not to gape at Fudge, her eyes flicking over to the occupants of this room. Umbridge looks like Christmas came early, or perhaps she got a new pink bow for her head.
"It seems to me that this situation is gravely dire, but I'm afraid I can not oblige my dear Cornelius, I hope that you forgive me," Albus says, as Fawkes trills and lies over to his desk. The Minister is now eyeing the phoenix warily, so is Umbridge. But Lucius looks unconcerned.
"What?"
"There's a funny saying, about my family, Cornelius," Albus caresses Fawks's head with a single finger and the Phoenix croons. "An origin story behind our family crest, if you will," Albus smiles, and this time Minerva is unable to quite stop the smile from breaching her face as she folds her arms loosely across her chest. "Quite an observatory line, 'A phoenix will always come to a Dumbledore in great need'."
"What is the meaning of this?" Umbridge shrieks, as Fawkes bursts into a column of flames.
"It means farewell, Dolores," Is the last thing they hear as Albus Dumbledore vanishes in the same fire as his beloved phoenix. Leaving behind a pleasantly warm breeze and a smattering of ashes on the desk.
"No!" Fudge cries in horror, surging forward.
"Where did he go?!" Umbridge says, turning around furiously, as if expecting Albus to pop up behind her.
"Call backup! Now! Search every inch of this goddamned place! I want Dumbledore arrested and in a cell by the end of tonight!" Minerva almost rolls her eyes. Do they really think they could arrest Albus?
"Yes sir," Kingsley says, his eyes gleaming as he ushers Tonks and the other two aurors out of the room with some hurried instructions.
Lucius surveys the office with narrowed eyes. "There needs to be a meeting with the board of governors. Quite soon, I'm afraid. Someone needs to fill in the position, and handle the Headmaster's responsibilities in his absence,"
"No need, Lucius. Dolores will take care of that." What did he just say?
"Pardon me, Minister Fudge," Minerva starts, her eyes blazing, is he really saying what she thinks he is? "But I am deputy headmistress of this school-"
"And under investigation as well, Professor. For all we know you might have had a hand in Dumbledore's escape just now. Dolores will do just fine, she's a very vigilant, responsible woman, as she was the one who seemed concerned enough to report this to me right away,"
"Of course Minister, I am honoured by your decision. Not to worry, sir, the children are absolutely safe with me," Minerva has never wanted to transfigure a human into an animal more than at this moment. She doesn't think it would be a hard transfiguration either, given that she is already half toad.
"I'm sure they are, yes, yes. Now I need to get back to the Ministry." He turns to Shacklebolt. "Find him, and arrest him. No matter the timing, I want to know the second he is in our custody."
"Yes, sir."
"Good, good."
Minerva knows what else is good. Grabbing the man's wand and shoving it up his-
Her thoughts are cut off as the floo flares.