Professor Snape had one quick stop to make before he went to the library, however; ducking into the nearest empty classroom he cast some powder into the fire and muttered a quick incantation.
Madam Bones's head appeared in the flames with a remarkable suddenness. "Thank Merlin," she said with relief. Then looked around. "Where is he?"
"He doesn't seem to feel that the situation is that urgent."
"Is the man mad?" she shrieked. "I've got utter chaos here. Half the Wizengamot wants to put the whole matter aside and just go with the story the Daily Prophet has put up; and the other damned half is sitting on the fence waiting to see which way the wind blows best for their own careers. Damn it, I need Dumbledore here!"
Snape tried to regain his customary sneer. "He has chosen to remain at Hogwarts – with Professor McGonagall."
"Of course," Amelia Bones's shoulders slumped, and her voice calmed. 'I should have realised… How is she, Snape?"
The sneer kept falling off his face despite his best efforts. "Dying," he said simply. "Poppy Pomfrey gives her a day, three at best."
Madam Bones turned pale. "Surely St. Mungo's – "
"Poppy has already spoken to them this morning; she didn't say anything, but I don't think they gave her much hope either. And Dumbledore won't have her removed, I can assure you."
"My God." She took a deep breath. "It's heartless, but I still need him here, Severus. What happens from here is going to be determined by what he does. He might not realise it yet, but he's bound to be the next Minister of Magic."
"I know," Snape said quietly. "He has promised that he will be there this afternoon. That is as far as he will go."
"Alright. It's almost mid morning now; I'll let the debates continue until he turns up." She paused. "I didn't know Professor McGonagall at all well, but… I am deeply sorry, Severus. She will be a great loss."
He raised his hand, and the flames went out. As he exited the classroom, he muttered, "She isn't lost yet."
********************
When he entered the library, he was stunned at the sight. Every table was crowded with silent students, working furiously. He saw several of his own House among them, and was surprised by a sudden strange pride as he watched them scribbling on the huge blackboard. It wasn't the tradition of Slytherin House to be helpful – at last, not without significant gain for themselves in the process, but… maybe it wasn't such a wonderful tradition anyway.
The five Professors stood before the blackboard, talking vigorously. He glided over to join them.
"… right energy input, it could work!"
"But you're talking about a very potent mix of ingredients." Professor Sprout looked anxious. "That kind of potion could kill her!"
"It's kill or cure now, anyway," Snape said quietly. He cursed himself mentally as the entire room froze.
"Severus?" asked Madam Pince, her question obvious from her wide, fearful eyes. The students looked at him with similar expressions.
It was too late now, he told himself irritably. "Madam Pomfrey estimates a day," he said, more gently than any of them had ever heard him speak. "Perhaps three."
Eyes all around the room suddenly became teary, and the sound of several muffled sobs could be heard.
"Crying won't help her," he snapped. "What have you learned?"
"Severus, you're a bastard," Professor Sprout told him coldly.
"Thank you."
"Unfortunately, though, you are a bastard who is right." She turned to the blackboard and pointed out a patch covered by Filius Flitwick's precise handwriting. "Voluntary sacrifice on an unwilling subject works on an uneven principle – the sacrifice has to be much greater than the purpose it hopes to accomplish," she began, then pointed at another part of the board. "The spell Minerva used names the sacrifice she was willing to make to turn Pettigrew into a rat permanently. Power." Her hand moved to another set of scribbles. "When the spell was first being created, its inventor tried to put limits on the spell; you'll notice it begins by stating both are Animagi. But it didn't work like that, because it was an equal trade – the caster's animagus power to suppress the subject's animagus power."
"So the creator of the spell became more adventurous," Professor Binns took over, indicating a section of rather lopsided writing. "He tried an ever-widening set of limits, trying to determine the minimum of sacrifice needed. But there wasn't a minimum – to perform a Permanent Transfiguration spell on living, resisting beings, the spell demanded no limits be placed. Which is why the spell was outlawed – and voluntary magic isn't practised. How many wizards would want to invoke a spell that once begun, they cannot control?"
"Fascinating as all this history no doubt is for you," Snape bit out, "how precisely does it correlate to a cure for Professor McGonagall?"
"Power, in this case, also equals energy," Flitwick told him rather stiffly. "The spell is draining Minerva of energy, enough to set the spell. And if she really is… is… " He broke off and blew his nose.
"If she is dying, then it is obvious the spell will drain her of energy until her death." Professor Vector was still staring at the blackboard, seemingly unaware that she was speaking. "The sacrifice she pays is her life." She moved closer to the blackboard, frowning. "There's something we're missing here," she murmured to herself.
Professor Sprout shot a look of fury at the oblivious Vector, and sighed. "Yes. But, if we make a potion which combines a great burst of energy, along with some kind of voluntary sacrifice, then maybe that will satisfy the spell's requirements – and Minerva will be spared."
"Hence the 'potent mix of ingredients' you were referring to when I entered," Snape mused. "But what sacrifice were you planning to make? It would have to be something extremely –"
Madam Pince grabbed his arm. "Students," she said loudly. "That will be enough. Thank you for your efforts; but we need you to leave the library now. If the prefects could watch over the students from their houses?"
The prefects nodded and began to herd the students out, watching the professors curiously all the while. Finally the library was empty of all but the six colleagues.
Four of them were watching Snape with some trepidation. Professor Vector was still immersed in the blackboard.
Madam Pince broke the awkward silence. "We decided that the only sacrifice that has a possibility of working was for all of us to suffer pain, and cast the suffering into the potion." She took a deep breath. "None of us can cast Cruciatus. We need you to perform the Cruciatus Curse on all of us."
"You want me to cast an Unforgivable Curse on the five of you?"
"Not me, obviously," Professor Binns said. "As a ghost, I wouldn't feel the curse. But the others – yes."
"Yes," Flitwick, Sprout and Pince chorused. Sprout pinched Professor Vector.
"What? Oh, yes, Cruciatus, yes," Vector murmured without looking around.
Snape looked at all of them in disgust. "Wonderful," he snarled. "Voldemort is finally dead, but I'm still going to end up in Azkaban after all."
**
At the very stroke of the two hour deadline set by Professor Vector Professor Binns floated up the stairwell to the Headmaster's study.
The only person there when he arrived was Madam Pomfrey, who was sitting in one of the armchairs near the fire, gazing intently into the flames.
She jumped when he cleared his throat hesitantly and quickly moved towards him. "What luck?" she questioned urgently.
"Where's Professor Dumbledore?" he whispered back.
A shadow crossed her face. "Asleep," she said. "And I'd prefer not to wake him unless there's need. He's utterly exhausted."
Binns looked around the room – and finally his eyes settled on the bedroom door. "He's – with – "
"Oh, Binns, don't be ridiculous!" Pomfrey snapped.
"It's – rather improper," he protested feebly.
She shook her head. "She's dying, he's distraught, and you're worried about propriety?" Her face was incredulous. Then her eyes softened. "I'm sorry," she apologised. "I'm feeling guilty, I think. Two days ago it seemed so funny to imagine them together – the extremely proper Professor McGonagall being so absolutely improper, and with Dumbledore no less! Now… it's tragic. He's dying inside, watching her." Tears began to fill her eyes.
Binns looked around frantically for a handkerchief, but couldn't find anything that would serve. "Poppy, my dear…"
"I'm sorry." She blinked the tears back. "It's just – it's so obvious he loves her. And I can't do a thing to make her any better."
He took a deep breath. "We may have found something." And he told her of their findings, and the potion that was now being brewed down in Snape's dungeon.
"Cruciatus?" she shrieked, then slapped a hasty hand over her own mouth, glancing with worry at the open bedroom door.
He nodded, somewhat abashed by her reaction.
Her eyes were horrified. "Have you all completely lost your minds?" This time she remembered to whisper, but the venom in her voice was unmistakable. "You idiots!"
She kept muttering invectives under her breath as she turned to the table and grabbed her black bag from Dumbledore's desk. "Well, let's go," she announced.
He looked at her, puzzled.
"Someone's going to have to cure them of the after-effects of the curse," she snapped, "and it isn't as if there's anything I can do here. Let's move!"
Both left the study with some speed.
**
Albus Dumbledore awoke to the sound of a commotion in the stairwell. The voices carried clearly.
"Filius, you may be small, but you're no lightweight. That was my foot!"
"I do apologise, Sprouty. Madam Pince pushed me."
"I did no such thing!"
"Could you children possibly stop discussing who pushed whom and concentrate on getting this cauldron up these damned stairs? Thank you so much." Ah. That would be Severus.
He glanced at the bed. Minerva was still there; he noticed with fear there was even less colour in her face now.
"I still think a Mobilicorpus spell would have been easier."
"There's no way I want to even think about casting a spell anywhere near a cauldron containing this potion. One slip, and we could blow up the entire room!"
"Or possibly the castle."
A sudden silence. Then a voice spoke with a studied degree of calm. "Thank you, Sprouty. I feel much better about the entire thing now."
"Being a ghost isn't that bad, you know. After all, one can still teach."
"Thank you for your considered opinion, Professor Binns, but I personally should prefer to discover that for myself in about a hundred years time. I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, you understand."
"Severus Snape as a ghost, eternally haunting Hogwarts, and continuing to teach. Given that, I should much prefer the peace of the grave, thank you. I'd imagine most of your students would feel the same way."
"Poppy, that was uncalled for. Severus isn't to blame for this, you know."
"Sorry, Professor Vector; I'm still feeling a little sore."
"You all asked me to do it. There's very little point in being upset about it now."
Albus frowned. What had they been doing? His heart leapt. Had they perhaps found a cure?
He ignored the rest of the discussion, and turned to Minerva. "I promise you, Minerva; you will be well again." With a final long look he left the bedroom.
The colleagues, carrying between them a very large cauldron, entered the study shortly after he did. They very carefully placed the cauldron in the centre of the room, and moved away from it with expressions of great relief.
Without a word he went to the cauldron and looked inside. There was perhaps a tablespoon of a glutinous silvery liquid at the bottom of it. Absolutely nonplussed he stared at the group. "Why didn't you simply bottle it?"
Snape said grimly, "Because when we tried to, the containers vanished as soon as they touched it. It tolerates the cauldron only because this is where it was born."
"You make it sound like it's alive, Severus," Flitwick protested.
Madam Pince mumbled, "I'm not certain it isn't." Poppy Pomfrey caught her eye and offered a small nod of agreement.
"What is it?" Dumbledore asked quietly.
"Pure energy," Flitwick told him solemnly. The tiny Charms teacher was for once without a trace of a smile. What was in the cauldron obviously scared him as much as it did his colleagues.
Dumbledore turned to Madam Pomfrey. "Will energy alone cure her?" he asked.
Poppy's eyes went around the group. Her six friends all gave her a small nod. She took a deep breath. "Headmaster, what is in that cauldron is the equivalent of a Muggle bomb. We cannot be certain it will cure her. But we are certain that anything less than this has no chance against what she is going through."
Her careful words told him more about Minerva's condition than he had wanted to admit. He nodded slowly. "Then we must attempt it." He reached out to take the handle of the cauldron, but the collective gasp that rose gave him pause. He looked around, puzzled.
"Er, Headmaster?" It was Professor Sprout who spoke. "Perhaps it would be simpler to bring Professor McGonagall into the study?"
Without a word he turned and went into the bedroom. She was dying. There was no choice but to take this risk. He – and she – had taken larger risks than this during their lifetimes, and had won. But his hands were shaking as he lifted Minerva, bedclothes and all, into his arms, and carried her into the study.