Madam Pomfrey had banned him from his bedroom as soon as he had re-entered it. She had more tests to conduct on Professor McGonagall and, she had informed him tartly, she wasn't about to explain to Minerva when she awoke that she had been disrobed in the presence of the Headmaster. Blushing slightly, he had retreated – but only after he had made the nurse promise to call him back immediately if there was any change.

Now as he sat by his fire, with the German grimoire on his lap, he wished that he had not seen the anxious, doubtful look that had flashed into Poppy's eyes when she had agreed. He knew, however, what it meant: that Minerva would not wake naturally, and that the only hope lay in magic. A magic he did not know.

Around him, the portraits were busy. Armando Dippet and Dilys Derwent were moving with remarkable speed amid the hundreds of paintings, whispering furiously to their occupants. Normally he would be fascinated by such unusual activity; this morning he did not even notice it.

"Headmaster!" Snape's voice, echoing as he came up the stairs.

"Enter, Severus," he called back tiredly, his eyes fixed neither on the study entrance, nor on his book, but rather on the doorway to his bedroom. So, oddly, were the eyes of one other person – the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, who was taking no part in the susurration of conversation around him.

In contrast to the weary and anxious Headmaster, the tall Potions Master seemed almost to gleam with angry energy. "They're trying to cover it up," he said through gritted teeth.

"Severus, I don't understand."

"This morning's Daily Prophet. A full account of last night's activities. Very full – but if you recognise any part of it, I should be very surprised." With that he handed the newspaper over to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore cast his eye over it quickly. The headline was huge: "LAST DEATH EATERS SLAIN IN PITCHED BATTLE". Beneath, in only slightly smaller print, the front page of the Daily Prophet proclaimed with scrolling marquees: "Minister of Magic attempts to take the three evildoers on alone!" "Minister Fudge slain – but only after killing two!" "Dumbledore too late to save his friend – but takes rightful revenge!" "Professor Minerva McGonagall killed in battle!". Underneath the flashing headlines was the large by-line: "Complete Report on page two, by Rita Skeeter!"

"Miss Skeeter strikes again, I see," he commented quietly.

An outraged Snape stared at him. "They're making Fudge into a martyr; they've said Professor McGonagall is dead; and you aren't furious?"

"Minerva is not dead." He said it with a finality that made Snape step back. "Nor will she die, while there is anything I can do to prevent it."

"I understand that, Headmaster," Snape's voice was much quieter. "But that's not really my point. This report is a lie from start to finish, and needs to be dealt with."

"Severus, I cannot find it in me to care."

"What?"

"I do not care. Let the Daily Prophet write whatever it wishes."

Severus very carefully sat down on the opposite chair. "You don't mean that. If this story is allowed to stand, then everything that happened last night was futile. We'll be basing the future on lies – a lie that just because Voldemort and his followers are dead, then everything is going to be fine. We found out last night there is always going to be ambition, there is always going to be greed, and because of that, innocent people are going to suffer. There is no storybook ending of 'happily ever after'. People need to know that!"

"Let someone else deal with it."

"Professor Dumbledore – Albus – " Snape shook his head in frustration, and leaned forward in his chair. "Have you not realised by now there is no one else?"

"Madam Bones – or you yourself – could make a statement about – "

Snape snorted. "Me? Who is going to believe me – a 'reformed' Death Eater? Headmaster, there are still people who believe I should be in Azkaban, not in Hogwarts. And Madam Bones would not carry enough conviction – still less any of the Wizengamot members who were there last night. There would be some people – not many, true, but enough – who would think it some kind of government conspiracy to discredit Fudge. They believe people like Rita Skeeter because she tells them what they want to hear: scandal and fairy-tales. They believe you because you are the centre of our world."

"I never wanted it. All I ever wanted was to teach at Hogwarts." And Minerva by his side, he added silently.

Snape pursed his lips. "Whether you wanted it or not – it is what it is. People will believe you, and only you. That's why it's your responsibility – and you have to do it now, before this goes any further."

Madam Pomfrey emerged from the bedroom, and both men stood immediately. She shook her head at them. "I'm just going down to the infirmary; there are some things I need."

"Is she – "

"Physically, she's stable for the moment – but there's still no response. I need more information on the spell she used, and I also need to talk to some of the doctors at St. Mungo's. There's some kind of energy drain going on that I don't like at all."

"Energy drain?" Snape looked at her with interest. 'How do you mean?"

Poppy Pomfrey spread her hands helplessly. "I don't know! That's why I'm going to the infirmary to get some equipment to monitor it, and to talk to St. Mungo's. Hopefully they'll have some ideas – and when the others have completed their research we can start piecing it all together. Until then, I – " She stopped when she saw the look on Albus Dumbledore's face. Taking a deep breath, she said firmly, "Physically, she's stable. You can go in and sit with her until I come back if you – "

Albus had already moved past her into the bedroom.

" – like," she finished somewhat wryly. She moved towards the spiral stairwell, but Snape caught at her arm.

"Poppy, how bad is it?"

She hesitated, then lowered her voice so much he had to bend down to catch it. "Severus, she's slipping away. I keep casting spells on her, but they only have a temporary effect. Unless we find a cure…"

"How long?" His throat hurt saying the words.

Tears were in her eyes, and she blinked them back. But she could not stop her voice from catching slightly. "A day. Perhaps three, if we cast energy spells on her in shifts. No more." She moved down the staircase at a run.

Severus Snape stared after her for a long moment, then walked slowly into the bedroom.

***********************

Filius Flitwick ran his hands through his hair again. "Nothing?"

"Not nothing," Professor Binns corrected him, turning yet another page with his ghostly wand. "We've found out a bit more about the spell."

"That it's never been cast, and that the inventor of the curse was tried and executed by the Roman Magisterium of Wizards for daring to create such a dangerous spell," Sprout retorted glumly. "Not a lot of help for Minerva, is it?"

"It's all about the voluntary sacrifice, isn't it?" Professor Vector mused. "The power that makes this spell work is sacrifice. We need to know more about magic based on voluntary sacrifice on an involuntary – or actively resisting - subject."

"And how many books are there which have been written on voluntary sacrifice? I can tell you. Not one." Sprout punched the table for emphasis. "Because it's such a dangerous area that anyone even thinking about researching it usually ends up in some court or another and stopped."

Vector gave the frustrated Herbology professor a sad half-smile without looking up from her book. "Then we're just going to have to look through all the books which even mention the term sacrifice, and try to synthesise a solution from those."

Flitwick gave an involuntary yelp. "In an hour? How in Merlin's name do you propose we look through half this library in an hour? Sprout and I are supposed to be watching over the students!"

"Not just our library," Madam Pince had arrived back, and behind her floated dozens of texts. "Books that contain something, anything, on sacrificial magic from the libraries of Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, the Ministry of Magic, the Egyptian School of Curses, and a couple of others. The librarians were very helpful once they knew Minerva needed help." At a wave of her wand the books began neatly piling themselves on nearby tables. As she watched them, she frowned. "For some reason they were under the initial impression that she had died. But they know the truth now, and they'll be sending more books by the Floo network as they find them."

Even Professor Vector looked daunted. "I'm now tempted to agree with Filius. This is impossible."

"Well, I don't agree with myself." Flitwick stood up. 'I'm not facing Dumbledore in an hour's time and telling him I gave up because the job seemed a little too big. The students can just watch over themselves. Let's read like crazy and find out everything we can."

"Right on!" Professor Sprout cheered as she picked up a book.

"Sprouty, where do you find those awful expressions?" Professor Vector asked, scribbling some more notes onto her parchment. 'I know Filius picks them up from you, but – "

"Um… Professors?"

They all looked up into the hesitant faces of a group of seventh-year students.

"We heard there was something wrong with Professor McGonagall."

"Damn," said Sprout.

Madam Pince shot her a look. "Professor McGonagall is … unwell at the moment," she said repressively. "I'm afraid we don't have time to discuss it right now."

"We – we don't want to discuss it," said one, a tall Ravenclaw. "We want to help."

Professor Flitwick looked at them consideringly. "Take one of those books each." He pointed at the texts piled onto the nearest table. "Find a seat, and look through them for anything on the magic of voluntary sacrifice. Anything you find, write down on – " he waved his wand, and a nearby chair was transfigured into a large blackboard, pieces of chalk dangling in mid-air next to it, " - that. We've only got an hour to find out all we can."

The students nodded. Four of them grabbed the nearest book and began. The last, a Slytherin, slipped out. Professor Sprout sniffed.

But a few minutes later, the Slytherin reappeared, leading a group of twenty other seventh and sixth years who had stayed behind in Hogwarts for the holiday. The students immediately picked up more books from the tables without a word and began reading. Then the Slytherin went out again – only to bring back more students…

In a quarter of an hour, the library was full of the students from the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh years reading furiously. The first, second and third years silently brought them new texts from the tables and the shelves, and picked up the discarded texts which quickly began to litter the floor, laying them neatly in piles against the walls so there could be no confusion over what had already been read.

There wasn't a single student left in Hogwarts on that third day of holiday who wasn't in the library that hour. And Filius Flitwick had to perform an Engorgement Charm on the blackboard to fit in all the writings.

********************************

Albus was sitting on a chair next to the bed, his eyes fixed on Minerva's face. As Snape walked into the room he stood up.

"She looks somewhat better," he said quietly.

Snape arched an eyebrow involuntarily, but said nothing. To him, Minerva McGonagall did not look better. Her face was paler than the pillows on which it rested, and the only clue that she was alive was the slight rise and fall of her chest beneath the coverlets: but he knew better than to point this out to the Headmaster.

"I won't leave her, Severus."

"You must."

"It is something of a misconception to believe I 'must' do anything." Dumbledore sat back down, still watching Minerva. "We choose our actions, Severus, and I choose to stay here."

Snape took a deep breath. He was not, and never would be, Minerva McGonagall's greatest fan; the two had too many disagreements in their pasts to ever be close. But he had a surprising amount of respect for his abrasive colleague, and to see her lying there, dying, was deeply disturbing to him. And as for Albus Dumbledore, his feelings for him ran deeper than words. He hated himself for what he was about to say.

But he managed to say it nonetheless, because he knew no-one else would. "Professor," his voice was low, "what would she have you do? If she were awake, would she prefer you to be sitting with her, or out there preventing this cover-up?"

There was only one answer to that, and both of them knew it. Dumbledore's eyes changed to a sapphire hardness, and Snape wondered whether he had indeed gone too far. Then Dumbledore said quietly, "This afternoon, I will go to the Ministry of Magic, and do what I can. After the others come back with their research, and we find out what we must do for her. But I will not leave her until then."

Snape bowed his head. "I am sorry, Albus."

Dumbledore said nothing.

Snape looked again at Professor McGonagall's still face. "Sleep well, Minerva," he said with unaccustomed softness, and prepared to leave the room.

"You should get some sleep too, Severus."

He was surprised Albus could even talk to him, after the emotional blackmail he'd just put him through. "I shall be more useful in the library researching than I would be in the dungeons snoring," he replied. "I shall see you shortly."

At that, Dumbledore did look up at him. "Thank you, Severus." He smiled gently.

Snape nodded, and quickly left.

Alone with Minerva, Dumbledore watched her carefully. He was no medic, but it seemed to him that her face had become even paler in the short time he had been in the room. Poppy Pomfrey had said something about an energy drain, and his own senses confirmed her diagnosis.

Could a simple energy spell be the answer? Probably not; but he pulled out his wand from his pocket and held it over her form. Concentrating all his power, he cried out "Energum!"

A vividly golden packet of light suddenly fell over Minerva, tightening around her, brightening until it was painful to look at. Albus collapsed into the chair, exhausted. Despite himself, his eyelids fluttered closed.

*******************************************

When Poppy Pomfrey came back into the room a few minutes later, she saw Minerva, her cheeks now with the faintest tinge of colour, but still unconscious, in the bed – and Albus deeply asleep in the chair next to it. She guessed what he had done, and moved with silent feet around the room to avoid waking him. When she had finished setting up her instruments, she watched the metronome of one silver talisman with hopeful concentration.

But the results weren't good. Albus's massive infusion of energy had only brought Minerva a little more time. The energy drain was still continuing. All she could do was to hope the researchers in the library had better success.