Chapter 32: The Room of Death
Minerva McGonagall leaned wearily into the door opening to her office, fully intending to capture at least an hours' worth of sleep before preparing for the long day ahead. Two more sets of twins had been cleared from St. Mungo's, despite their transformations being severely inconsistent. The Headmaster checked her lunar calendar. They were almost four days past the full moon, and she had convinced herself that they might skip turning at all for the cycle, as she had been warned sometimes happened from Artemis Balboa, the sole Healer assigned to the werewolves' care. She sighed- it was a good thing the term hadn't started yet and only a precious few students may have overheard the sickening cries of an unassisted transformation. But come the evening, the school would be swarming with young witches and wizards and she, once again, would be splitting herself as a Headmaster by day and pseudo-healer by night.
The vials of shrivelfig sweetening potion clattered haphazardly to the floor as McGonagall curled up on a cramped loveseat, too exhausted to be picky about positioning herself in a way that wouldn't pay her back through achiness in a couple hours. One of the twins had continued to howl in pain well after the transformation was complete, shivering in misery and shedding a reddish, flaky substance. The Headmaster bolted upright once more, yanking a spare notebook from the coffee table, and jotting down a note for later research. She might soon add a volume on werewolf symptoms and development to her authorship. At least someone in the future might be able to do more than wait and watch a young child thrashing about in agony.
McGonagall knitted her brows in frustration; she wasn't a healer nor well-versed in magizoology, yet she had cultivated more knowledge than any wizard in Europe on werewolf half-breeds in just a few short months. And try as she might, Minerva was running out of excuses other than pure discrimination and supremacy that justified this sore lack of information of such a debilitating condition. She now knew how the esteemed Lupin family had squandered away a multigenerational fortune on just one boy, and barely to seventeen. Even Artemis was little help with no training background and little medical expertise on alleviating transformation symptoms outside of the woefully inadequate Wolfsbane. The two of them had devised the sweetening potion together, but it was still a cumbersome combination treatment and required more precise timing than the irregularities of adolescent turnings sometimes permitted.
The cauldron behind her gave an aggressive hiss, reminding McGonagall that in her haste to treat her erratic patients, she'd left the pot brewing on a fire. Lethargically, she rose and brandished her wand to put out the flames and bottle the remaining potion, yawning generously and eyeing the great grandfather clock near her desk, creeping steadily towards three o'clock.
A cascading crash brought her quickly out of the doldrums at the edge of wakefulness to something closer to alert. Figuring her wandwork might have faltered and sent her potion bottles to the floor, McGonagall made her way toward the cauldron to clean up the mess. But the spell had worked flawlessly, the bottles corked and sitting on the near table, whole and unbroken.
"Clang! Crash!"
The Headmaster wheeled around. The cacophony rang through the room as if a marching band was playing through a thousand windows into the office. But there were not a thousand windows, not exactly in the architectural sense at least. McGonagall threw off more heavy layers of weariness as she realized the sounds were coming from the portraits in the room, which were all devoid of inhabitants- every last one.
"Albus!" McGonagall called into the nearest portrait, trying to see a figure in the most distant point of the painting, "Armando! Everard! Phineas?"
Even that loathsome predecessor had abandoned his armchair. The din wafted in and out through random portrait holes nonlinearly, making McGonagall dizzy trying to discern the closest origin of the ruckus. She felt the hold of her self-control fraying at its edges; she was aware enough to know this was a foreboding situation, yet too tired to apply much rational thought to an explanation.
"Minerva." A low, austere voice brought McGonagall from the brink of a breakdown. She strode up to the portrait holding Severus Snape, who looked crisper than ever, though perhaps his definition came from the obvious alarm in his features, even as his tone remained steady, "Minerva you must alert the Ministry. They must seal the Department of Mysteries. The Room of Death."
"Seal?" McGonagall fumbled for her wand, trying to dial Hermione, "What does that mean? Is someone trying to steal the Cabinets?"
Severus shook his head impatiently, "No! Remove the cabinets only if you have the time! Minerva you must go now! Seal it in every way you can!"
"What's going on? Why…" But McGonagall saw the complete uncertainty in her former colleague's face and knew he was just as uninformed. A portal opened at the tip of her wand, revealing an equally weary, but dressed Hermione.
"Professor? What…"
"Dear, the portraits have been abandoned and there's a disturbance. Severus has instructed us to seal off the Room of Death immediately." McGonagall tried to calm her voice like Snape, trying not to stir a panic.
"But that's where we are keeping…"
"You need to seal the Room as soon as possible!" Snape seethed through his frame, "We will only hold it off for a short while! Albus is traveling to his locket, he will tell you when you must abandon the Room. You must seal it! Go! Now!"
Despite the urgency of the matter, McGonagall couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride and admiration as Hermione bolted into action, "I'll wake Bill and his team. They'll be able to apply a few containment curses. Wood's team is on night duty as such- I'm sending him a notice now to clear the Department and I'll have him start to move the cabinets. We should arrive to help by then. I'll ring Cetus and Pilar to see if their knowledge on the room can help with a good defense."
Hermione was already tying up her cloak and braiding her wayward hair into place. She smiled wanly at McGonagall, "Wait five minutes and I'll clear your fireplace for a direct floo to my office."
The portal vanished and McGonagall set to tying up her own hair into something professional and grabbing a large locket, which opened to reveal Albus Dumbledore's rather strained face, "Hello Minerva, I suppose we will be off soon?"
"Yes, yes," McGonagall adjusted the wrinkles in her cloak and glanced intently at her fireplace, waiting for the emerald flames to signify her clearance, "Albus, what is happening?"
"An imbalance Minerva." The spectacled man replied, "An abundance of people neither controlled by life nor death. But that is all I know for sure."
McGonagall barely had time to ponder those words as the fireplace roared to life.
Stepping into the Minister's office, McGonagall felt a wave of relief and humor as she was greeted by Bill Weasley, his cloak covering a set of striped pajamas, as well as his elite team of curse-breakers, all in various stages of undress. Hermione was showing them blueprints of the Ministry.
"Luckily the Department of Mysteries is a self-contained entity due to the secretive and experimental nature of the work, but should the primary infrastructure fail, these vents would be most vulnerable…"
"Professor! Headmaster! Minerva!" Oliver Wood burst through the door to the Minister's Office, some of his Auror team appearing just behind, "I've sent half of them to begin moving the, what are they? Cursed Wardrobes? I don't recall an open investigation on such objects…"
"Never mind that Wood, thank you. Bill can update your team on the containment plans." Hermione ushered in the Aurors and looked expectantly down the hallway.
"Tywek's team just arrived from a mission, Hermione, and I sent them a notice to head here if they weren't too fatigued." Wood called back to the young Minister as Bill took over examining the Ministry layout.
"That's excellent Wood, thank you. Oh! Come, what have you found?" Hermione let in a pair of unusually ruffled Unspeakables, a small man with blonde hair and black eyes and a tall woman with short, magenta hair and many earrings.
Hermione led the Unspeakables to her desk and beckoned McGonagall to join them. "This is Cetus Seaborn and Pilar Moreno. I think both from Ravenclaw…"
Cetus waved off his introductions, "Bode is in the Room of Death at the moment. We've briefly ceased the Wardrobe extraction…"
"Why?" Hermione barked, "How many have you managed to get out?"
But Pilar was dialing a number and soon Broderick Bode became visible on the portal. He was standing near the doorway entering the Room of Death, gripping the frame in agony. And there was good reason as to why; the Minister's office was violently filled with the most horrible assortment of wails, shrieks, and screams, recognizable voices to everyone in the room of friends and foes passed.
Pilar closed the portal, shutting the noise into a deadening silence as the room remained petrified, "It is our recommendation that the Room be sealed as soon as possible. I won't even delve into our theories as our first prerogative is to survive what we believe is an impending explosion." Her deadpanning tone ignored the odd-off shudders, "Three cabinets remain, Bode will extract one before leaving."
"I'll go down there myself. They are…they are too important" stated Hermione, after a pause.
"And I'll go with you," added McGonagall
"It's not my job to tell the Minister what she should do. But she must hurry." Cetus matter-of-factly broke the astounded stares coming from Oliver and Bill, incredulous and confused by the pair's astounding fixation on 'cabinets.'
Bill shook himself into motion, procuring three sets of suction-like saucers, "These can block verbal bewitchments from radio to ultraviolet frequencies. They should protect you from those voices if they wish you harm. Give Bode a pair if he's still down there. We are going to start in the atrium and work our way down."
The two witches exited the office as the teams clamored back to life.
"Twenty minutes!" Shouted Bill as the door slammed shut.
The early hour meant that the elevators were quick to descend into the depths of the Ministry and soon Hermione and McGonagall were face to face with a single door at the edge of a glowing onyx hall. They fastened the earplugs as the Department doors spun and Hermione found the Room of Death on her third try. Bode was curled at the edge of the platform, his wand levitating one of the vanishing cabinets.
"Duck!" He wailed as he sent the large piece flying out into the entryway. Hermione quickly fixed a pair of earplugs on him, calming the man significantly.
"I hear so many of them but never him before now… I lost my brother when I was thirteen…" The older man's large gray eyes were puffy with evidence of crying, "They've always been there but they never sounded in pain…forty years I've worked in this Room…"
"I've brought an industrial bottomless case right here," Hermione pushed onward, pulling Bode to his feet, "get the cabinet inside and we will send the last two your way. The moment you have them all- leave and put the case in Draco Malfoy's office. Make sure no one sees you."
Bode shuddered and strode into the entryway with a nod. McGonagall checked the pocket portrait of Dumbledore, "Do we have time?"
"Yes! But hurry!" McGonagall read the mouthed words as she couldn't hear the former Headmaster's calm voice above the muted din of the Room.
The voices were emanating from the archway in the center of the space, a fixture McGonagall had only seen once before as a guard for the Order of the Phoenix. The veil contained in the archway looked as if limbs were attempting to rip through the tattered material, though the boundary proved to be oddly elastic. Still, the rags were ballooning in a way that supported the Unspeakables' assessment that there was indeed an impending explosion.
McGonagall could tell Hermione shared this train of thought as the young witch briefly examined the arch with bulging eyes before speeding off to a small door at the far edge of the room. She threw the door open and, in a moment, a large black cabinet was emerging from the doorframe and heading towards the Headmaster. Taking over the movement, McGonagall carefully thrust the object towards the height of the exit, where Bode had reappeared and directed her fine movements before capturing the cabinet in a small, leather case.
McGonagall turned to receive the next cabinet, but this last structure was the most fragile collected. Hermione was gingerly hovering the mass of shaky metal, small screws rattling loose in transport. McGonagall swept up any fallen pieces in her cloak and added a steadying charm to Hermione's efforts. They crossed the room slowly, trying not to watch the rapidly inflating veil pulse like a vibrant heartbeat, matching the rhythm in their chests. As they gently lifted the cabinet towards the door, Bill appeared with his full team and, with only a second pause to ponder the crucial piece of junk being saved, began throwing enchantments around the archway, creating a multilayered dome. Bode eased the last cabinet into the case with care and, with a curt nod at the women, turned promptly and ran toward the exit.
McGonagall checked her locket, jumping as Dumbledore pressed his hand to the glass, flashing five fingers. She grabbed Hermione and signaled the time to Bill, who rounded up his team to head toward the exit.
As the door to the Room of Death shut, the wizards removed their earplugs, wincing as the screams still penetrated the entryway, much louder than on arrival, even with the enchantments.
Oliver Wood and Icarus Twyek were busy sealing the entryway with transfigured impact walling and more web-like charms. They passed quickly over the doorway as the last curse-breaker exited.
A young female Auror beckoned toward the emerging wizards, "They'll need more help sealing the last of the upstairs- we've opened an apparating path from the elevator to the atrium. We'll seal this shut once you've gone."
"We have minutes, you must follow us immediately," McGonagall informed the witch, who nodded, looking frightened. Behind them, wizards were finishing their spells and entering the elevator in pairs, apparating away simultaneously. Hermione and McGonagall left only after Bill and Oliver remained in the hall, sending up various enchanted walls every few feet.
"Crack!"
McGonagall strode over to a trio of Aurors stitching together yet another net of protective charms, glazing over the many offices and cafes overlooking the Atrium. She began adding her own enchantments, trying not to remember the circumstances in which she last created such a barrier. Hermione was both sealing the various Floo entryways and looking desperately for Bill and Oliver.
"Crack!" The men appeared simultaneously near the fountain.
"Everyone here now!" Oliver bellowed, mustering something even more formidable than his Quidditch captain's voice. Bill was creating a final dome, barely ten feet in diameter, under which the witches and wizards scrambled, huddling close and adding their last protective charms. McGonagall pulled out the locket once more to check with Dumbledore, but the wizard was no longer in the small frame.
"Where?" Hermione looked alarmed at the abandoned portrait. But before McGonagall could reply, a deep rumbling began to vibrate through her feet, as if they were standing upon the back of a great awakening beast instead of a concrete floor. She glanced at the sitting Minister, but instead saw a small, bushy-haired girl and instinctively pulled her bracingly into a protective hug. The entire atrium was shaking, but the enchantments were effective, absorbing the instability so that the windows to the many offices remained intact. The electricity, however, was flickering wildly, causing the room to be cast in and out of dull darkness and over-pulsed light.
Then the rumbling turned into a truly seasick undulation. McGonagall couldn't stop swaying and both burly Wood and Tywek needed to steady Bill, desperately clutching his wand upwards in order to maintain his protective charm. The ground however, seemed to have stopped moving; the queasiness coming from the air around them, thick and wavering. McGonagall felt her eyes perpetually out of focus and battling with her mind to close, both from ill and renewed tiredness. But just before they claimed their victory, she caught sight of an odd vision.
White streams of light with glowing blue edges were rising from the floor of the atrium, as if the solid structure of the Ministry were as substantial as air. The curses and enchantments proved to be more material boundaries however, and the shining wisps were tugging and writhing against the various walls, like a school of fish within the clutches of a deep-sea net. They were escaping gradually; at times the berating of the streams would finally snap the magical charm, and the flexible boundary would splinter, sending shards of glass-like matter speeding towards the Atrium floor, where it would dissolve into a finer powder.
The air around them was thickening even more, its punishing pressure forcing the group of wizards claustrophobically close. McGonagall felt helpless- at the mercy of the very oxygen around her; the coursing currents plunging deep into her lungs, callously filling the depths to aching inflation, before being drawn from her with equal force, leaving her in bone dry asphyxiation. A wave of relief only occurred after another protective charm snapped, whereby the currents seemed to ebb before rushing back with more force and tension.
But now the white blots were closer, and McGonagall choked again as she made out the details of their form. Rippling and shifting as they were, the Headmaster deciphered the unmistakable features of a people; arms and legs, rippling tresses of hair. A few of the figures were giants, others Merpeople with swishing tails, the small bodies of house-elves and goblins scattered in the mix of overwhelmingly human spirits. Yes, thought McGonagall to herself, as she recalled the shapes distorting the veil, these must be spirits, breaking the barrier between their world and ours. The thought did not calm her, nor did the realization that the spirits' faces were contorted in what was either agony or rage. Their screams seemed disembodied and distant but were steadily focusing as more and more enchantments fell. What would happen if they made contact? McGonagall clasped Hermione impossibly closer.
The reality of contact occurring was increasing as new spirits rose from the floor, indicating that the enchantments below may have failed entirely. But the the last protections were breaking at a much slower pace, and the spirits themselves seemed to exert more effort in maintaining their outward trajectory. For an instant all motion stopped as the atmosphere reached a new level of impenetrability and McGonagall was able to glimpse, with the highest clarity, the face of the nearest spirit. She screamed.
And, as if her own voice was a trigger, the space under the last enchantment collapsed like a vacuum, dragging the white specters into the depths of the Ministry, likely to the Room of Death. The great swallowing force slammed the ball of wizards to the floor, breaking Bill's last hold on his wand, while shattering the remaining defenses. McGonagall turned upwards from her prone place to see a multitude of solid daggers descending upon them. Mustering strength from some previously hidden store, she whirled deftly into a standing position and wielding her wand above her head bellowed,
"Tempest Evictus!"
A tunnel of wind surged from the tip of her wand, creating a peaceful eye as the hurricane-like gale blew the magical debris into the walls of the Atrium, breaking a few windows, but mostly disintegrating into more fine powder, leaving the space looking rather like the snowy landscapes outside.
"That was brilliant," said Hermione breathlessly, as McGonagall pulled the Minister to her feet. Around them, the others were also clamoring up, shooting admiring looks at their professor and murmuring in thrilling tones about what they had just witnessed.
"They was phantoms I reckon," growled Tywek, his deep voice ringing clear around the hushed whispers, "Ghouls or something,"
"They were loved ones!" gasped McGonagall, rounding on him fiercely, "Oh! I… I need to sit down."
Bill rushed over, conjuring a decently comfortable chair for the Headmaster to fall into. McGonagall withered as she connected with the seat, putting her face in her hands. "Did you recognize someone?" he inquired gently, summoning a glass of water as well.
"Yes, from long ago," McGonagall's eyes were distant and newly glistening from her recollection, "It was a muggle man, I… I fell in love with him. He died or was killed rather… in the first War. His family too."
Bill listened intently as Oliver also came over, scratching furiously in a notepad. Tywek had enough sense to stall his accusations of malfeasant apparitions, still he questioned her more carefully, "There was something up with them though. They looked right tortured to me."
McGonagall didn't protest at this statement, merely nodding shakily, "He was strangled, the muggle. I…I saw him strangled…" Even in the misty spirit state, she had been able to discern an unnaturally bloated face and clear ligature marks writhing around the man's neck and chest, as if caught in Devil's Snare. She looked up grievingly into Hermione's stricken face, "I never knew how he died, not exactly… I didn't want to know."
Hermione nodded numbly, turning toward Tywek, "What exactly would you describe as tortured?"
The gruff Auror mumbled as he thought of a response, "Well come to think of it. The one I saw looked like he came off of a Reductor's Curse from Pyrites, one of the oldest Death Eaters- shot that spell like a cannonball through people…"
"I see," Hermione was smoothing out her robes and regaining authority. She glanced at Oliver's notes, "Everyone, if you saw any detail of the… spirits, please give Wood your statement. Bode, if you could also describe the voices you heard- you mentioned a brother?"
The man nodded grimly and shot McGonagall a look of pure understanding at her current state of undone.
"Good," Hermione nodded as a line formed neatly from Oliver, "Pilar and Cetus, is there any way to know if the Department of Mysteries is stable without going down there? "
The two Unspeakables shared glances but shook their heads, with Cetus adding, "No Minister but it is our responsibility for that Room and we are willing to assess the damages in person."
"I… I don't know…"
But the two were already locked in arms and in a resounding 'Crack!' vanished from the Atrium.
McGonagall saw the resolve in Hermione falter as she palely observed the empty space that held the two just seconds before. "Right… well for the rest of you. If you could repair the damages to the Atrium and offices. I will help clear the debris…"
"Do you mean to repair this place without a proper investigation?" Wood paused his scribbling to cast an incredulous stare, "We should be sending notices of this incident to workers before they start coming in!"
Hermione stiffened her lower lip, eyeing him resolutely, "If the Unspeakables return with positive news, it is my intention to open the Ministry as usual."
The small gaggle of wizards exploded into protest. Bill strode defiantly towards his in-law, "Hermione did you not just witness… a barrier has been broken!"
"Look at me!" Hermione raised her voice so that it soared behind Bill, quieting the crowd, "I don't have to tell you that the sporadic incidents in the Fall have only increased and that the first days of this year have been turmoil."
From around the room, the Aurors nodded, though many glared derisively and fragments of 'but our concerns have been swept under the rug' and 'will we now finally get some answers?' could be heard in the return of grumbling.
"I've regrettably been unable to see to your questions, as I've taken this position with the sole purpose to coordinate a highly secret and risky mission, only to have these incidences arise almost simultaneously… and I've yet to determine if they are related to the former matter." Hermione ploughed onwards, trying to convey only the barest details.
Bill narrowed his eyes, "This is what Percy and you have been whispering about, this 'mission'."
Hermione nodded.
"And were those things, those cabinets you pulled from the Room of Death, also related to it?"
Another nod, more reluctantly.
"and perhaps why the Headmaster has been visiting the Ministry so frequently, leaving Hogwarts in the state that it's in?" Bill continued to test the bounds of his questions.
McGonagall recovered herself and stood from her chair, "State it's in?"
Bill nodded to her coldly, "My daughter mentioned that the students hex each other like nothing she's seen before. There's rumors circulating about Slytherin students being possessed and spying for their parents…attacks on families…Minerva you know I have the utmost respect for you, but I would be lying if I wasn't disturbed when I heard this."
"And it's only going to get worse this term," Added Wood, "What with five attacks since the new year- three involving current students…"
McGonagall breathed heavily as the reminder of her tasks ahead weighted down on her shoulders. Bill Weasley was completely correct but the criticism bit hard regardless.
"Its an evolving situation," Hermione tried to defend the Headmaster, "And Minerva has been balancing more than you know…"
"Of course it's more than we know," retorted Bill, "More secrets again. But Hermione, if I may offer some advice, if you don't act upon these perceived inadequacies, your vote of confidence from your allies is going to dwindle. And should you not provide an alternative to the rumors, they may become more believable than the actual truth, should the time come when you want to reveal it."
He ended warningly, "Might I remind you that Eliza Burbage is among the victims. I should hope you know the power she wields in her position… she's going to share her theories and people are going to listen."
Hermione's eyes flashed in fright at this. She glanced desperately at McGonagall, unable to make a decision. The Headmaster stared around the room, looking at the assortment of young faces. Broderick Bode was perhaps the only wizard present that came close to her in years; most were former students, barely of age at the end of the Second War and too young to fully appreciate the muddled and uncertain journey that proceeded all-out conflict. Yet she had witnessed this ascent twice, all too knowledgeable of the mistakes that were made in both eras. "Bill is correct, we can't hide what is becoming apparent enough by itself and continuing to do so will only undermine our trust with the community later, should these things escalate."
She turned to Hermione, who was nodding obediently, "That being said, the truth of our 'mission' will cause panic, there's no doubt of it. And should it fail, it will be disastrous to a very vulnerable population. I think you, "She gestured to the crowd, "Ought to know about it and perhaps this larger body can make a decision about its future covertness."
"Yes, yes I'm willing to do that," Hermione quickly assented. Bill seemed placated by the idea and shrugged in acquiescence.
'Crack!" Pilar and Cetus reappeared, looking rather unbedraggled, which was promising.
"The Department is intact." Cetus stated simply, "The neighboring chambers are as they were left, and we can detect no disturbances outside the Room of Death."
"And inside…" Hermione and Bill asked in unison.
Pilar took over hesitantly, "The Room has been… peacefully altered." Seeing the lack of comfort in her explanation, she added, "We would like to further probe the specifics ourselves…before informing the other departmental workers."
Bill groaned dramatically, but Hermione quickly cut him off, "Pilar, we can send a notice for the Unspeakables to remain home in the short term, just cite a broad disturbance as the reason for precaution. But could you work with Bill's team in handling this investigation?"
The two Unspeakables agreed, "We will probably clear any concerns by the afternoon today, if we begin working at once."
"Really?" said Hermione, "You think it will be safe by then?"
The two glanced again at each other, "Its…safe now. Just changed, but we think whatever was… escaping… was re-contained, stably."
"So you wouldn't believe that opening the Ministry today would pose a threat?" Hermione offered, hopefully.
"No. In fact I would recommend going about usual business so as not to disturb the public." Cetus droned, tonelessly.
Perhaps it was the status of the Unspeakables, or the knowledge that they now were in the inner circle of the Minister, but the other wizards made no complaint at this advice, though many were uneasy.
Hermione turned again to address the group, "Well then, we will clear this space as I said before and convene as early as possible. Nine AM in courtroom ten on the first floor. In the meantime, get some sleep."
A while later, the Atrium looked thoroughly devoid of any disturbance, and McGonagall was sitting with a large cup of tea in the Minister's office as Hermione sent notices to various people privy to their shared mission about the abrupt meeting. She straightened as she caught a glance at one of the names, "How did Potter find out about this?"
Hermione sighed, "It was over Christmas- he guessed about the vanishing cabinet after I mentioned the damages from the feindfyre. I didn't realize that was even something to go on…"
"So that's why you didn't call him in this morning. Keeping your intel as spread as possible," McGonagall had noted the absence of the Minister's longtime friend in the response, "Or your husband. He also knows, I presume?"
"No," Hermione's voice was clipped and McGonagall saw her lip tremble slightly. She recovered, defiantly, "You have no idea what it's like to separate by personal life from professional. I mean how can I expect trust from by colleagues if they think I run to my childhood friends with every bit of classified information? It's hard enough to hide these things when the nature of them is so awful…"
McGonagall realized her former pupil was arguing to some invisible third party. She tread carefully, "Dear, is everything alright at home?"
Hermione shook her head, tears now dotting her lashes, "We had an awful row not a day ago. Rosie and Hugo saw- he was crying… I've barely spent a proper day with him in months. I thought this would be so much more concrete by this point, but its endless."
McGonagall crept up to the young Minister, "Hermione, this isn't something to carry on your own. Personal relationships. Whatever. Those two are more than your childhood friends- use them, don't let their talents go to waste for the pretense of professionalism."
Hermione hiccupped, "You're right, I haven't been making wise decisions at all…"
"Nonsense!" McGonagall batted away the familiar self-deprecation. She paused, "I have let the school go unsupervised and it's created a mess- that's my wisdom at work you know. I've done little to quell the rumors, or really to acknowledge them at all."
McGonagall thought briefly to her welcoming speech that she would be presenting in -she checked the time, nearing 6AM- little more than twelve hours. There, she would be laying down a draconian behavior code that she was sure would fail.
Hermione was looking at her intently, "Minerva, if we are expanding this circle of intel, I'm willing to help you. Would it suit you to have more people knowledgeable of the situation in the school?"
McGonagall nodded meekly, "A healer preferably. And perhaps Neville Longbottom- I trust him more than Gagnon and his herbology skills would be useful in continuing our experimental medications…"
Hermione smiled, "I wouldn't have a problem with that." She paused, eyeing her professor again, "Would you say that the teachers at Hogwarts are fair?"
McGonagall shook her head, frowning, "No, I wouldn't. Perhaps it was the aftereffects of the Battle or my own biases, but I'm embarrassed to say that it has only been recently that I've truly appreciated the lack of opportunity a certain House is receiving… I'm sure I don't need to name it."
Hermione nodded.
"Did Albus mention something?" McGonagall pried
"He's been fighting a lot on behalf of Draco's son, Rosie's told me as much. But he has trouble with some of his own Housemates as well."
"Yes," McGonagall replied, sadly, "Well I've come to realize the Potter traits supercede their house choices. But he's unhappy and I need to do better."
Hermione patted her shoulder reassuringly, "As you said, we could all use a little help at the moment. And you really should catch some shut-eye before I call in the team- you can stay here if it's easier. And I'll ask to have Ron added at the meeting. I've been dreadful to him. Crying but not telling him why… he feels like he can't touch me."
"Then perhaps this morning will set this all on a better track." McGonagall offered optimistically. A navy, spangled chaise in the middle of the room was beckoning invitingly, and she sank into the soft cushion with gratitude. Before she could completely drift off though, Hermione gazed at her, a dark concern etched into her features,
"Do you think things are happening again? You mentioned an escalation…" she ventured, timidly.
McGonagall was stung. She had truly believed all had been defeated on that bright May day in 1997, but now history was cycling again with attacks and mysterious happenings. She shuddered, the bloated face of her longtime love swimming to the forefront of her vision. She knew who he had been slaughtered by.
"I think we've been ignoring something a little greater than our furry problem." Was all she said.