Many thanks for all the reviews - they are very, very much appreciated *hint hint*. I'm glad you've 'enjoyed' what I've written so far; and hope I haven't caused too many shrink visits! I probably ought to note again, that this fic takes second place to my main running (less triggery) fic I Did Nothing. It's much darker and in honesty, I have to be in a certain frame of mind to write it otherwise it wouldn't work. It's always from Minerva's point of view unless I state otherwise and if I decide to do so it will be an entire chapter.
Trigger Warnings: Suicide attempt and brief reference to self harm.
For the briefest of blissful moments upon waking I don't recollect anything and find myself wondering vaguely how I have ended up in a Hospital Wing bed. Only for a single blissful moment though. Then it all comes crashing back down on me in a wave of crushing intensity that I can only identify with Potter; Potter and the troll, Potter and the basilisk, Potter and a mass-murderer, Potter and all of the other completely reckless, self-sacrificing occasions that have nearly given me a heart attack over the years. Harry. Harry Potter. The note. The blood. Severus and Poppy's frantic efforts to revive that frail, white boy lying there so peacefully surrounded by such carnage. Harry. Lily's son making that awful desperate choice that he would prefer to die rather than live. Harry; my brave, generous and strong young lion. Harry; my griffin who has sacrificed so much for so many, who has been through so much and suffered so badly lying there with all that blood surrounding him. Harry; the boy I have failed so badly.
Please tell Professor McGonagall not to blame herself; it's not her fault, it's mine.
My sweet, caring, completely reckless young charge who has defied our expectations time and time again. The boy who saved a girl we had all given up as dead, the child who has defied logic and battled against all the odds from the very moment he stepped within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. The teenager who dealt with the maelstrom of hatred the entire wizarding world was hurling at him when I should have stepped in and helped. Harry; the boy who had to face it all alone. How can I not blame myself? How can I do anything but blame myself? He is one of mine. And he couldn't trust me enough to talk to me. Yet who can blame him. I have to know if he survived. I have to know if our efforts were in vain.
Just as I'm scrambling out of the bed, cursing my old bones solidly once again as I do so, I hear a familiar snarl from across the room.
"Would you just update me on the brat's progress for heaven's sake!? And if you can't then find me someone who can!"
Severus has many talents, but tact and subtlety are not amongst them. He does actually know how to ask nicely, it's just something he does so rarely that he has no practice in the art.
By the time you read this I will be dead.
"I would also like to know how young Mister Potter is faring," I interject more calmly, striding towards the voices. As I approach I can't help but take in the relieved looks that the two young Healers shoot me. "It's good to see you again Maria, Theodore," I nod at each one in turn noting their evident shock that I remember them. "Although, I will admit the circumstances in which we meet again could be far more pleasant. Could you please update me on the status of Mister Potter?"
"We only know what we've been told, Professor McGonagall..." Theodore starts hesitantly.
That is one of the perks and huge downsides of this profession; once a teacher, always a teacher. Half of the witches and wizards currently residing in the county will only ever see me as the stern Professor catching them out in youthful misdemeanours. It doesn't matter how old they are or how proficient they are in whatever discipline they choose; I will always be their Professor.
"Minerva, please," I interrupt smoothly with a gentle smile at the obviously nervous Healer. "It's been many years since I was last your Professor, Healer Singer. Whatever information you have regarding the condition of Mister Potter would be very much appreciated, however scant it may seem to you."
"Of course, Prof- Minerva," the young man continues somewhat less nervously. I've always found addressing previous students by their titles allows them to feel more secure in what they are doing. "We don't have a great deal of information, I'm afraid. The last update we had was that the healers at St. Mungo's had managed to stabilise Mister Potter, but are keeping him under close observation. He lost an extraordinary amount of blood and it is frankly a miracle that he is still alive, but he should survive. Professor Dumbledore has been at St. Mungo's ever since Mister Potter was admitted and has been conversing with the team of Healers assigned to Mister Potter's case."
He's alive then. I feel the tension leave my shoulders and chest in a sudden wave as if there had been an invisible pressure that I wasn't even aware of until it released. He's alive. Harry is alive. I feel myself go faint and must have swayed alarmingly as two pairs of hands were suddenly manoeuvring me gently but firmly and I felt myself being set on a bed as if it was a world away. He's alive. Harry's alive. My boy is alive. The world spins dizzyingly around me for a moment as I'm pushed firmly onto the bed. He's alive.
This is the end. I can't hold on anymore.
"Lie down there for a second, Professor," I hear the voice of Maria as if it is coming from miles away and her hands hold her down to the bed steadily.
"Raised heart rate, low blood pressure, extremely low magical reserves. Possibly an extreme shock reaction with magical exhaustion." Theodore's soft, professional tones seem to be coming from an equal distance away.
"Can you hear me, Professor?" I nod blankly, nod really understanding but knowing some kind of reaction was required. A vial is placed against my lips as my head is tilted slightly and I swallow without even thinking. He's alive. Harry is alive.
"Heart rate is coming down. Blood pressure is stabilising." In some vague part of my brain I sense the relief in that statement, but I can't focus on it for some reason. Another vial is placed to my lips and this time I try to look at it before swallowing. "We're only trying to help you, Professor. You need to drink this." I recognise the sickly taste of Dreamless Sleep mixed with something I'd not so sure of but I can't bring myself to care. He's alive. Harry's alive.
Please tell Professor McGonagall not to blame herself; it's not her fault, it's mine.
I wake up with those same words reverberating through my brain. My boy. My stupid, caring and completely reckless boy. How did I let it get to this? I suddenly realise I'm being watched and I struggle upright, fighting the grogginess that tries to claim me to find Albus perched on the bed next to me. He looks older and wearier than I have seen him look in a long, long time. Actually no, he looked the same after the events two years ago when I think he finally realised that Harry had nearly died; after all the shock and excitement died down he suddenly realised he had nearly lost him. He had the same look then. I doubt very much that anyone has fed him Dreamless Sleep this evening, but despite that he still notes my stirring with a gentle, caring smile.
"Minerva, my dear," he says carefully with that gentle smile still in place. "I do believe you gave Healer Singer and Thorington quite a scare there, you know."
"What happened?" I ask roughly, still not quite able to make my eyes focus correctly or my brain function for that matter. "How's Harry?"
"Harry is going to be fine, Minerva. You don't think I'd be here now if he wasn't, do you?" Albus answers gently, but I've known the man too many years not to see the pain glistening in his eyes. Pain and fear. He is afraid. No matter what he says, he is afraid. "The swift reactions of Severus and Poppy, coupled with your efforts to get that door open saved him. It was..." and here he hesitates for just a fraction of a second, "...touch and go for a couple of hours, but the boy should make a full recovery in time."
"And the house-elves," I say loudly, despite how random it seems. I have remembered the complete army of elves cracking in and out of that corridor, how without Weasley's intervention and the elf Dobby we would have stood no chance of finding the boy until it was far too late. I ignore the looks of concerned confusion from the two Healers, instead focussing on Albus. "The house-elves. Dobby saved Harry more than any of us and Cora gave me the way to get the door open. Without the house-elves we would have been helpless. They saved Harry as much as we did."
"Yes, of course Minerva," Albus smiles at me and again I catch that hint of concern in his gaze. "If you wish to thank that particular house-elf, I would suggest several sets of socks; thoroughly jumbled up together of course. A mis-matched tea-cosy would also go down remarkably well."
He rests his good hand on mine as he looks at me and I realise with a start that it's not just concern for Harry shining in those bright blue eyes. It's concern for me as well.
"But you must rest, Minerva. Whatever you did in that room was certainly impressive; if the house-elves hadn't already woken every single student up, that certainly would have. You could feel it all the way through Hogwarts. But you are not as young as you used to be..."
"Says the man well over a century old who recently went ten rounds with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" I retort indignantly. Albus Dumbledore is a fine one to call anyone old.
"You are of course completely correct," Albus responds solemnly. "I, however, did not take five stunners simultaneously to the chest last year." He looks down at me over those half-moon spectacles of his and I can't ignore the concern in his eyes. "Additionally, from the way Hogwarts responded and what we felt throughout the grounds, I would hazard the guess that you somehow used more magical energy in those few minutes than I used in the entirety of last year." He stops me as I try to interrupt. "That includes my battle with Voldemort, Minerva. Hogwarts does not lie. Old men can of course be wrong, but I do not believe myself to be so this time."
And apologise to Professor Dumbledore for me would you? I can't do what he needs, I can't be what he needs. I'm just not strong enough.
"What did you ask him, Albus?" The line has suddenly come into my mind and I have to ask it, regardless of how inappropriate it seems. But the older man just looks at me with confusion blossoming in those clear blue eyes, so I expand. "Harry. What did you tell him? What did you ask him to do?"
"It's not important, Minerva," Albus says softly, his eyes never leaving mine. "I made a mistake, but it isn't important."
I was about to interject with a sharp remark along the line that it clearly mattered to Harry, it was important enough that he made a point of apologising to you. That doesn't suggest it wasn't important. I wasn't given the chance. I had forgotten that Severus was still in the room. He reminded us both by striding forwards suddenly with a rare fire in his eyes. It's the fire that I have only ever seen when one of his has been hurt, and it usually ends in pain for those concerned.
"Not important?" he snarls viciously, striding towards us ominously. "Tell that to Potter, would you? 'I'm not a saviour, I'm not a hero, I'm not the golden boy and I can't be the boy-who-lived anymore.'" Severus has the parchment that Weasley handed me in his left hand, but his wand is held almost threateningly in his right. It's not quite pointed at Albus, but not far off and his eyes are glaring death. Every single internal alarm I have is ringing but I can't do anything but watch. "What did he say? 'And apologise to Professor Dumbledore for me would you? I can't do what he needs, I can't be what he needs. I'm just not strong enough.'"
Severus looks me straight in the eye for a second before focussing back on Albus, and although I don't know what he is trying to say, I can recognise the pain in his voice and the anger in his eyes well enough. He has read more into Potter's note than I did, so this is in his court.
"That doesn't sound like something that doesn't matter, Albus," he snarls in an almost feral manner. "That sounds like something that tipped The-Boy-Who-Lived over the edge completely. That sounds like it was the final straw." He steps forward threateningly. "What did you say?"
I am completely astounded by the sheer power and ferocity in my younger colleagues tone as much as the way I am at the way he is glaring at Albus with sheer hatred in his eyes. Severus loathes Harry; he has done since the moment the boy walked through the gates wearing James Potters face, but even I will I will admit the man has saved Potter more times than I can count. I have never understood it. But remembering the man's frantic efforts to save the boy I am starting to doubt my previous judgement.
"Of all the things I had expected to encounter in my lifetime, Albus," Severus continues harshly and even I flinch back from the sudden force erupting from him. "Harry Potter slitting his own wrists was not one of them." He is snarling as he strides forward wand in hand, and I find myself having to flash a warming glance at the two Healers to stop them intervening. "What am I missing, Albus? What aren't you telling us?"
"Severus, it -"
"Don't you dare tell me that you have it all in hand Albus!" I don't think I have ever seen Severus this incensed and even I'm reaching for my wand in case things get nasty. His eyes are flashing violently and the aura around him is building forcibly; you'd have to be a muggle not to see the anguish and anger swirling around him. "You were not the one pounding on a sixteen year olds child chest, begging him to breathe! That was not a spoilt child making a bid for attention, Albus. Potter wanted to die and he damn near succeeded. So what am I missing!? The child I thought I knew who not have done that. James Potter would never have even contemplated it. But Potter...Harry, he was desperate and he damn near succeeded. What did you ask him to do?"
I know I'm not worth anything. I am nothing. The only thing I'm good at it causing chaos and destruction. You look at me but don't see me. Only Professor Snape sees what I really am.
And suddenly, I remember the images, the memories that were thrown back at me by that strange presence. The child huddled in a closet, tears streaking down a bruised and battered face with green eyes filled with helplessness and despair. The same child desperately trying to complete scrubbing the kitchen before his relatives got home, terrified of what would happen to him if he failed. The teenager hurled against a wall by someone three times his size, unable to defend himself despite the wand in his trunk. The youngster pulling a blade across his own skin almost lovingly, watching the blood flow in relief, completely alone and isolated when we should have been supporting him. And of course, the young adult watching his god-father fall through a veil, his desperate grief and need to join him when everyone else had deserted him. The images I have of the boy don't immediately fit with the new memories, but looking back over through the years I can see how they fit. This is the boy we let down so badly.
"He was never spoilt, Severus," I say softly. "He was never spoilt. He was beaten and neglected in the muggle world; ignored and stuffed into a closet. He was acclaimed and treated as a hero by the magical world until we all turned our backs on him without any warning. He never had a chance to become James Potter, the muggle relatives beat that out of him and we never even noticed what he was going through. He was never spoilt. He was just a hurting, scared child who has done everything he can over the last years to live up to everyone's expectations but now he's lost too much and was asked to do too much. He broke. We broke him."
Severus' eyes turn to mine and I don't look away. For a minute Albus is forgotten; he isn't there. Both of us can still see the vivid sight of a young boy's blood spilled across the floor as the child lies completely lifeless in front of us. Both of us know the terror that gripped our hearts at the sight of the Boy-Who-Lived lying completely motionless, so white and still in that room. Harry. One of mine. I can see the anguish in those dark eyes almost as clearly as I can feel it in my own heart. We both have a lot to answer for.
"It would make sense," Severus says without the venom that of his previous words. "The lack of respect for authority figures, the inept attempts to kill himself over the years in defence of others. Why should he respect and obey when all that's previously gained him is more pain? Why should he preserve his own life when it obviously means so little to everyone around him?" But his eyes flash again as he looks back to Albus, and I find myself grateful not to be on the receiving end of that glare. "But he'd persevered so far, Albus. What did you say to break him?"
Albus looks down at his feet silently for a long moment, and for a moment I didn't think he was going to respond. But finally he speaks in a voice like cracked iron, looking so weary it is scary.
"I only wanted to prepare him..." he says mournfully. "He needed to be prepared..."
"Prepared for what!?" I find myself snapping harshly without even thinking about it. "The boy knocked out a twelve foot mountain troll, saved the Philosopher's Stone, killed a basilisk, put himself on the line for a man we all believed to be a mass-murderer. Somehow, with the luck of the Gods themselves he walked out each and every occasion with his head held high. He was pitted against students three years older than him in a ridiculous tournament that should never have happened and then watched Cedric Diggory die and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named come back from the dead using his own blood to complete the ritual. He still managed to come out standing, he never let despair take over. He spent a year being mocked and humiliated by the entire wizarding world whilst we stood back doing nothing and then to top it off he watched his god-father die in front of his very eyes. Even then, after everything all he did was to throw some things around your office. But something tipped him over the edge and it was something to do with you, Albus. What did you tell him? What did he have to be prepared for that made him make that choice!?"
Both me and Severus are glaring daggers at our esteemed headmaster as the two Healers shuffle uncomfortably behind us, we are getting answers before this day is out or my name is not Minerva McGonagall. Albus however is uncharacteristically silent. No excuses, no reasons, no answers. Silence.
"Do you not understand, Albus?" Severus bursts out suddenly, taking all of us by surprise. Again, I am shocked by the sheer ferocity in his voice; over the years I have seen the man in various states but this is new. Intensity is pouring out of him in waves. "After everything I have done, you still don't understand. We nearly lost Potter today. You say you love the boy, then show it! If this is what happens when you love someone, I honestly don't know what happens when you hate them." His tone softens and although it keeps all the snideness and anger there's a touch of something I can't quite place. "Potter broke and it wasn't just losing that ignorant mutt that caused it. No matter what else I think about the brat; through sheer dumb luck, friends with more brains than his and a helpful dose of idiotic recklessness he has come through more than most adults do in their lifetimes. Whatever you said to him, broke him. What did you say?"
More silence and I find my temper at the end of its tether.
"Albus Percival Dumbledore," I snap sharply. "You will tell us now or I swear on the bones of Godric Gryffindor himself that I will hang you off the Astronomy Tower by a certain section of your anatomy and leave you there." Albus glances at me slightly as if to judge how serious I am; whatever answer he finds in my eyes causes him to blanche and edge away from me. "I do not make idle threats as you are more than aware. You owe Potter this."
"I told him the Prophecy," Albus says slowly, finally answering me even if I don't understand what he means. "The full prophecy."
I was about to ask Albus to expand when there's a near silent hiss from Severus beside me. I turn to look at him and am shocked by how pale he's become. I have to admit, I nearly called the Healers over before he spoke in a voice that was more of a snarl than anything.
"'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...' That's all I know of it." He looks up sharply. "Am I right, Albus?"
The look on Albus' face is proof enough.
"What's the full prophecy?" My views of Divination are clear to anyone who bothers to ask, but it's clear that both men have put stock in this prophecy and neither are fools. I'd trust either with my life. "Tell me Albus, what is the full prophecy? What did you tell the boy?"
I'm sorry. I'm not a saviour, I'm not a hero.
No. You're not. You're a teenage boy and we have put far too much on your young shoulders year after year and just blindly expected you to deal with it. You're a boy with a heart of gold and I should have protected you. For someone with decades of dealing teenagers, I have run appalling interference on this one...and by the sounds of it I should also have been protecting him from a man I trust above all else.
"That's between Mister Potter and myself," Albus seems to rally slightly but is cut off again by Severus.
"No." His voice is harsh. "No, it's not. It stopped being between Potter and you when he decided to open his wrists up in the middle of the night with no warning. It stopped being between Potter and you when I had to pound on the boys chest trying to get his heart to start, Headmaster. It should never have just been between you and Potter."
"I can't..."
"Do you know what it must have taken to open that room, Albus?" I interject acidly. "The Room of Requirement, the house-elf called it. It wasn't just a fleeting fancy that crossed the boys mind, it wasn't something he just vaguely wanted. To open that room he needed it. Death was the only option he felt was left." There's a silence as I just look at the man, willing him to understand. "For the love you bear Harry, tell us. Albus, we cannot hope to help him otherwise."
Another long silence and I was just preparing to launch another argument before Albus speaks. But there is no twinkle in his eyes when he does. No twinkle at all.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."
The silence in the room is absolute but the power is building to almost untameable levels. This is what he told Harry. That he must die or be killed. That the fate of the entire wizarding world lies on his young shoulders. And we wondered why the boy broke. He lost everything and everyone closest to him and then Albus decided to drop that bombshell on him? I want to cry, I want to throw things. I want to hug the boy and I want to throttle the man in front of me.
"Albus..." I can barely restrain my rage when I get a grip on my tongue again. "Albus... You are a confounded fool. Sirius' death may have cracked him badly but you broke him. I hope you're proud of yourself."
I see the tears falling down that old, wise face.
He loves Harry.
But his love has destroyed him.
