[MINERVA MCGONAGALL]

Minerva is now standing on what, to her, feels to be a metaphorical precipice of the epic showdown between David and Goliath. Except instead of David, it's her wee Finnie.

With no preamble, the girl had exploded some profanity and begun to pace away her distressed energy in the small space of the kitchen pantry. The tendrils of her hair whip against cans of stewed tomatoes and pickled beets, and her trainers scuff up against bags of onions and potatoes.

Dumbledore keeps his eyes on her the whole time, his stance very tense, and he bites out harshly, "Out with it, girl. What is the problem?"

Finnie freezes, "The problem?" She looks at him incredulously, "The problem – you self-righteous son of a bitch – is you tricked me!"

Albus sneers, to Miranda's shock, for she had expected him to be more apt to calm the girl than to incite her further, "Name-calling is evidence of a notoriously uncouth mind, my dear – why don't you take a moment and rephrase your point?"

Finnie looks enraged, "You know what you did!" she shouts at the Headmaster, the two of them standing as far from one another as they can in the cupboard, Minerva balanced between them evenly, "You made me believe that I would understand how to help – that I already had the answers to winning this war. Why else would you have snatched my ass from the future if not to gain answers you didn't already have?"

Minerva is confused. She glances at Albus, not wanting to let on her unease. What was it he had just shared with everyone, only moments ago?

The destiny of the Order and its members has been irrevocably tampered with.

"You were brought to us," Albus corrects evenly, seeming to have composed himself, "I did not choose you, Sjofn."

Red splotches appear high on Finnie's cheekbones, but Minerva speaks up, wanting to regain their tenuous peace as soon as possible.

"Finnie," she says quietly, trying to portray the honesty of her words with her eyes, "Professor Dumbledore had to tap into a relatively unknown area of magic in order to resurrect the powers which allowed Fawkes to know to bring you to us. We could not possibly fully understand the nature of your purpose, but it is higher than ourselves. It is as we said before – fate."

But Finnie is already shaking her head.

"No," she says, surprisingly firm, "You performed the magic, you opened a book and waved a wand and made it happen. Even if you didn't know it would be me, you still brought me here. And you owe me a goddamn explanation."

Minerva's heart sinks at the truth in the girl's words. It isn't right, to try to alleviate some of their responsibility in having turned Finnie's world upside down.

No, no, we will need to stop doing that.

"You are right," Albus says quietly, his sudden bout of snark seeming to have dissipated, but the cold resolve is still there, unapologetic. "I felt we needed you – whoever Fawkes was to be directed to – because something has gone distinctly amiss in our reality."

Finnie deflates just a little, her eyes closing with what looks like resignation. 'Poor wee thing,' Minerva thinks to herself, 'Fighting all day long.'

Albus then continues, his ice-blue gaze scrutinizing Finnie's body language while he tells her of their predicament, "It is my belief that Lord Voldemort acquired knowledge of certain items in my vault which would give him premonitions of the war and its outcome. Because of this, he directed his attentions away from the prophesy in the Department of Mysteries, leading instead to the event we witnessed at Gringotts."

Finnie's head snaps up, her green eyes wide as saucers, and an expression of utmost horror mars what is otherwise – Minerva realizes with a bit of a start – a rather pretty face.

"The books?" She breathes, as if she oughtn't dare speak the words.

Smart cookie.

"The manuscripts, yes," Dumbledore says gravely, "The original accounts of our history and the exploits of Harry Potter have been collectively written by several oracles located at different points in history, who pass along the manuscripts to one another for safekeeping and collaboration. Ours is not the only account they've written of course – Homer's Odyssey was another, as was Romeo and Juliet, I believe. I have been on friendly terms with the oracles since my 20s, and my vault has been at their disposal for all this time without detection."

The Headmaster's voice dips low with intensity, and he continues to keep Finnie locked in his gaze as he finishes, "Voldemort was able to seize some of the manuscript before my vault's security measures ignited the rest. I fear the knowledge borne to him from those pages may have turned the tide against us in a war that was already going to be difficult to win."

Finnie looks absolutely devastated, and Minerva finds that the future-girl's dark outlook strikes far more fear in her than any of the last month's events had managed. The old woman resists the urge to wring her hands in trepidation.

At barely a whisper, arms hanging dejectedly at her sides, Finnie seems to force herself to ask, "Do you know what he got? I mean…which parts has he –?"

But Dumbledore interrupts with a sad shake of his head, his eyes have relaxed a bit on the girl's form now that he senses she is appreciating the gravity of their predicament, "No, Sjofn. I have never read them, myself. I respected the wishes of my friends to keep their records private until they deemed the time was right," he almost looks a little bitter as he adds, "I have no idea what portion of our story he has obtained."

Silence falls in the dim cupboard.

Minerva McGonagall feels like putting her arm around the poor girl. In reality, she could use a little comfort herself.

Shifting from foot to foot, Finnie crosses her arms at her stomach and furrows her brow. Talking to the floor, she asks, "When did you know? I mean –," she clears her throat, "How did you realize that what was happening wasn't supposed to be happening?"

Minerva raises her eyebrows at Albus.

The Headmaster strokes his beard as if in deep in thought, and replies, "The centaurs attempted to report their suspicions to me on the last day of exams during last term, the day that I believe Voldemort acquired his knowledge and altered his goal. The break-in of Gringotts occurred within days following that one, and Severus Snape was killed even more shortly after."

Finnie gasps suddenly, nearly giving herself whiplash in the abruptness with which her head snaps up in alarm.

"Snape is dead?" she demands.

"Indeed," Dumbledore's brows lower, "Is that very alarming to you? Did he play a significant role in the outcome of the war?" The Headmaster questions her in an almost clinical manner. The death of the Potions Master is not necessarily old news, but they had all known for some time that Severus' role held significant risk.

Finnie abruptly begins pacing again, "Oh shit yes. He wasn't supposed to die until the final battle. He did a ton of shit in the 6th and 7th books..." She stops in her tracks again, suddenly. "Oh my god, what the fuck is going to happen?" Finnie exclaims on a small wail.

Minerva flinches only slightly, already becoming used to the girl's colorful vocabulary. Without Finnie's foreknowledge, the Professor had difficulty becoming more anxious than she already was over the fate of the deceased Severus Snape. He had been a brave man, for certain, but there were many of them still left. And they would fight.

Albus is absentmindedly stroking his beard as he mulls this over, his gaze downcast and unfocused. "I suppose we can safely assume whatever knowledge Voldemort gleaned from the theft led to his discovery of Severus being a traitor to his cause," he mumbles, almost to himself.

McGonagall had a sudden thought, and turns to the still-pacing muggle girl, who is now additionally biting her thumbnail in her anxiety. She clears her throat and asks quietly, "What did you notice was amiss, Finnie?" The girl stops pacing but looks sidelong at Minerva with her thumbnail still in her mouth, not understanding.

"You spoke of Sirius," McGonagall continues, "just minutes ago, during the meeting, and became distressed." Without too much sarcasm, she hoped, she gestures to the pantry and foodstuffs surrounding them.

Remember?

"Oh," Finnie exclaims, remembering, "Yeah, right. He's supposed to be dead."

Dumbledore emerges from his reverie, his gaze intense once more. Minerva feels a little sick. "Explain," the Headmaster demands.

"Well," she begins, seeming to struggle with how much depth to the information was absolutely necessary, "Basically, in Harry's fifth year – before, I mean – Voldemort tricked him, using legilimancy, into going to the Department of Mysteries and retrieving the prophesy. Harry thought he was going to save Sirius, and a few other kids tagged along." She takes a deep, fortifying breath, "But basically, they fought the Death Eaters once they got there, and a few Order members came really late to the party to try to save the situation. One thing led to another and Sirius was whacked by his cousin while dueling. You saved Harry, though," she says to Dumbledore, as if this story had an upside, "You showed up and fought Voldemort and got the kids home safe or whatever."

Silence follows the end of her tale, and her mouth twists uncomfortably. Minerva suddenly feels far more disquiet with the level of knowledge that this girl may possess – she knows right now of all the death and destruction to come, of which herself and the others had been merely speculating.

Does she know when I, too, will die?

But Professor Dumbledore interrupts these dark ruminations to address Finnie again, "I hope you realize now, my dear," he begins, his voice grave and his eyes regarding the girl very seriously, "that you are to be most invaluable to us, regardless of this change in circumstance."

Finnie hesitates a moment, but nods. "I get it, I do," she says, looking between them, "but the lack of a forgone conclusion in terms of this storyline really amps up my risk." A flash of wistful hopelessness is on her face for an instant. Minerva realizes that the girl is thinking of her family, of her life.

We're asking her to give up everything. She may not survive, and now nothing is certain anymore.

Thoroughly depressed, Minerva stretches her hand out to place it on the wee girl's shoulder, to illustrate to her that she will not be alone. That Minerva McGonagall understands the gravity of her sacrifice, and will stand by her and help her through this war as she stands by them.

But before her hand reaches its goal, Albus speaks.

"Nothing has changed, child. We still have our arrangement," his eyes are distant, and his voice has a façade of reassurance. Minerva knew him better though, and it was clear that he is speaking up to remind the girl of her commitment, of the magic now binding her here. The girl stiffens and Minerva delays her hand before it can touch her, a fissure of alarm stalling her muscles.

"Rest assured, I will expend the magic necessary to open a portal to your family and heal them of their fatal conditions as soon as our task is complete."

The air in the pantry chills considerably as the muggle girl regards the Headmaster with ill-disguised disbelief.

"What did you say?" She demands, quietly, "After the war is finished, you mean?"

Albus bows his head in confirmation and keeps his tone light, though Minerva saw him palm his wand casually in the sleeve of his robes.

Is he saying what I think he's saying?

"I'm afraid the magic needed to call the powers of space and time to my – or in this case, Fawkes' – disposal, requires such a significant amount of magic and energy, that it simply is not realistic to achieve while the threats we've just discussed are still so imminent."

A stunned silence follows this statement, and while McGonagall knows what he said was perfectly true, she cannot honestly believe he does not intend to keep his end of the deal struck with the young lady before the end of the war.

Finnie inevitably feels the same. Her face contorts, and the younger woman barely manages to hiss between her teeth, "And if I die?"

"I will, of course, keep my word in the event of your death, Sjofn," Dumbledore responds readily, having clearly anticipated this retort.

McGonagall begins to feel, then, a subtle change in the stuffy, condensed air that surrounds the three of them. It doesn't feel like magic, but it feels sinister. Whatever it is puts Minerva immediately on guard, and she resists the urge to draw her wand. Her eyes on Finnie, she watches with horror as slowly, deliberately, the girl's eyes sheen over as if with black ink. She looks positively demonic. Even her stance has shifted, now marginally crouched, every muscle down to her fingertips is flexed and at the ready. The fury that must have been marinating in her this whole time is clear, shaking her hands just slightly and baring her teeth. Minerva McGonagall understood suddenly, what it is that makes Finnie so devastatingly special.

We cannot to afford to allow a battle to erupt in the Order of Phoenix's bloody kitchen pantry.

Purposefully, Minerva re-extends her hand to rest on the girl's quivering shoulder. "Finnie," she whispers, leaning in.

"Minerva," Dumbledore's voice is low with warning. McGonagall can sense that he has fully withdrawn his wand and is ready to interfere.

But Minerva McGonagall ignores him. Not for the first time, but perhaps most recently, Albus Dumbledore has really buggered up. "Please find peace," she continues whispering, her eyes imploring the girl's eerily blackened ones, "I'll not let your promise go unanswered, no matter what happens. You have my word."

Without warning, the girl's muscles slump and she falls back onto the heels of her feet from where she had been poised, her eyes returning to normal. Breathing heavily, she does not look at McGonagall, but keeps her furious, watery stare fixed on Albus.

"But what will happen to them when you die?" Finnie's eyes are cold, and her voice harsh with suppressed emotion.

Fear chokes Minerva's throat, and she gasps. Dumbledore has stiffened behind her, anger radiating off him in tangible waves. "My dear," the old witch felt breathless, "we are all in danger, and I understand you are upset, but to threaten the Headmaster with knowledge of his death –"

" –we have already established that the timeline has been altered," Dumbledore suddenly hisses, "So do not threaten me with what is now unfounded knowledge of a version of events – "

"I thought my participation and perspective was invaluable to you?" Finnie shoots back, eyes flashing. "I thought that's why you needed to tear me away from my fucking life?" She speaks faster now, practically spitting out the words, "Would you like to know how it happens? You fucked up and cursed yourself, basically, then allowed yourself to be disarmed, cried like a baby, and got flung from the top of a Hogwarts tower – "

Minerva shrieks when suddenly the muggle girl is thrown backwards into the shelves, her horrible words cut off by a yell of surprise. The cupboard door is blasted open then, Moody charging inside with a bellow. McGonagall catches a glimpse of Sirius, Arthur, and Kingsley also pushing forward with alarm. The old woman crouches quickly to help Finnie, who is sprawled uncomfortably on the floor.

The muggle girl has a trail of blood flowing freely from behind her ear, down her neck, likely from being clipped by the edge of a can. A bruise is already blossoming on one cheekbone from something she had struck once falling to the floor. Minerva balks at a massive tear in the back of her jumper, which fortunately doesn't seem to contain further injury beneath it. Putting her hands on Finnie's forearms in an attempt to help her sit up, she realizes that the girl is cradling her left wrist in her right hand, which she must have used in an attempt to catch herself, because it is definitely broken. Minerva shakes with horror and shame at this second unprecedented use of magic on a muggle – especially a muggle whose entire welfare is nothing if not their responsibility.

McGonagall looks over her shoulder then, searching for the pain and shame that is inevitably, and rightfully, in her dear friend's eyes for his behavior – but Albus Dumbledore was gone. Kingsley as well, leading Minerva to believe that perhaps he has followed after the Headmaster wherever he has departed.

Perhaps it is for the best, for she needs to have private words with her friend, and now is clearly no longer the time.

Sirius and Arthur crowd in on either side of her, to get a better look at Finnie's injuries. With a quavering voice which betrays his anger, Arthur asks, "Dumbledore did this?"

Minerva does not answer. Finnie is now in a sitting position and wincing.

"Motherfucking, cock sucking, son of a bitch," she hisses weakly.

Sirius snorts. Arthur smiles weakly and says, "Let's get you up love, have Molly take a look at that wrist. Where's your wand?" He is looking around the floor, as if she must have dropped it.

Finnie smiles wanly, and Minerva's heart leaps at the sight, "I traded it for a killer ass and some Rolling Stones tickets."

His forehead creases in confusion, but Arthur just shrugs and levers himself under her on one side, to help her walk.

"Let me, Arthur," Sirius says suddenly, and he ducks down on Finnie's opposite side and puts one hand almost painstakingly gently around her waist – she still winces – the other arm he weaves under her bent knees. With a graceful deadlift, he stands with the muggle girl in his arms. Finnie gasps at what Minerva supposes are a great many bruises, and curls up tightly, clutching her wrist.

She and Arthur stand as well, but before Sirius can maneuver them out of the cupboard, she raises her hand toward the girl, overcome. Minerva chokes, but forces out in an apologetic voice, "My wee Finnie, I am so– "

But Finnie darts her good hand out from her cradled pose and grabs onto Minerva's firmly, halting her words. "S'ok Minnie," she says firmly, looking exhausted. "S'not your fault. I shouldn't've…well… I was a dick."

The edge of Sirius' mouth twitches upward just barely, and he gazes down at the stranger he is holding like she may have hit her head harder than they originally thought. Which, Minerva thought vaguely, could very well be the case.

So she holds the girls eyes and says haltingly, "H-he was, well… a dick, too."

Finnie smiles wide, dazzling the old woman. And on that note, Sirius finally side-steps them through the door and back into the kitchen, where they have a lot of questions to answer.