Chapter 51: Minerva's Headaches

"Our Boat Fund is growing quite nicely," Severus reported as he handed out copies of their financial report. "We don't have enough to buy a boat yet, of course, but we're making good progress. Our trade in potion ingredients has been very profitable. The potions that I brewed over Christmas should sell quite well, too."

Fawkes squawked from his perch.

"Yes Fawkes," Biscuit laughed, "the sale of your phoenix droppings has been a big part of it. We couldn't do it without your doo-doo." He winked at the bird.

Captain Clark smiled. "I suppose that, in a way, we really do owe it all to him. He saved Slade and brought us together."

"When we get our own boat, I think we should name it The Ocean Phoenix," Kat said.

Fawkes whistled happily.

Severus sighed. Now we're being supervised by a bird, he thought. Well, better Fawkes than Albus Dumbledore.

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"It's pretty much what we expected," Inspector Waverly said. "That guy Jeremy Lesser was drinking in the Leaky Cauldron a few nights ago. He was on his third or forth drink and he was babbling on about how awful he thinks Rita Skeeter is, which is apparently something he does quite often. Most of the folks in the Cauldron avoid him when he gets like that, but this time a stranger joined him and bought him a drink. There must have been some kind of potion in that drink because pretty soon his memories become disjointed and then they fade out. We couldn't get anything more from him with Veritaserum or Legilimency. He must have been Imperiused, and Obliviated, too. It was much more effective than anything I've seen before. Usually the victims remember a few things afterward, but not this time. In any case, there's no point in keeping him."

"Before you let him go, be sure to give him a good talking to and warn him about his drinking," Minister Shacklebolt told him. "Accepting drinks from friendly strangers can be very dangerous."

Waverly nodded. "I think he's figured that out now."

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"It's about the masquerade, isn't it?" Minerva said when the student representatives came to see her. "We're really sorry about the violence. We had no idea that anything like that could happen. You needn't worry, though. We will not be having any masquerades again in the future, I can assure you."

"Actually, I thought the masquerade was a lot of fun," Melody mused. "Except for the assassination attempts, I mean."

"No, it's something else," Bentley said.

"That's right," Zinnia added. "We want to talk to you about restoring the Houses."

Minerva crossed her arms and gave them a stern look. "We've been through that before. We will not be returning to the 'old ways'. It's out of the question. And you must stop identifying with your old Houses and getting together like this. It's not permitted!"

"But we're all getting along really well now," Clayton said, smiling. "We've put all of that, uh, nastiness, behind us. So it's okay to restore the Houses now."

Minerva smiled. "Yes, you've all been very good, I'm happy to say. Obviously, the new plan works and the new Houses are effective."

The students tried very hard not to show it, but they were all quite put off by that last remark. Clayton looked at the floor and gritted his teeth.

Minerva must have noticed their discomfort because she quickly moved on. "The heart of the problem, if you must know, is the Sorting Hat. It was damaged beyond repair during the battle and it can no longer sort, so there is really nothing that can be done."

Bentley crossed his arms and frowned. "You have to find a way to fix it," he said firmly.

The Headmistress frowned back at him. "We've tried everything we could think of. All of us have, and nothing has worked. You have to understand. There is nothing that can be done."

"You have to try harder!" Zinnia retorted. "If you don't fix it, we're going to have a sit-in. All of us. Everyone. We're all going to sit down in the Great Hall and not budge until sorting can be resumed and the Houses are restored."

As they turned and marched out, Minerva felt a headache coming on.

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"You wanted to see me, Minister Shacklebolt?" Harry asked when Percy showed him into the Minister's Office.

"Yes indeed," Kingsley said. "It's about your use of Unforgivable Curses."

Harry looked puzzled.

"Specifically," the Minister continued, "it's about your use of the Cruciatus curse on Amycus Carrow."

"Oh, that. Well, he deserved it. He's a filthy stinking Death Eater and he spat on Professor McGonagall. He spat on her! She said I was gallant!"

"It was certainly not gallant. Mr Carrow is a deplorable person, it was a disgusting act, and he's going to spend many, many years in Azkaban where he belongs. But using the Torture curse? I could understand it if you'd hit him with a stinging hex, or even a swift kick in the pants, but the Cruciatus is way, way out of line. There is never an excuse for using that curse. It is truly unforgivable.

"Ordinarily that act would disqualify you from becoming an Auror, but we decided to make an exception for you because of everything that you did in the war. However, it's on your record and I'll be keeping an eye on you. If you ever use that curse again, or the Imperius Curse, you will find yourself in Azkaban, just like Mr Carrow. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry looked stricken. "Yes, Minister. I understand. I'll never do it again."

"I trust that you are also clear on the circumstances under which an Auror is permitted to use the Killing Curse?"

"Yes, sir. Only as a last resort, to protect oneself or others, like Inspector Waverly did at the masquerade."

"Exactly. And don't forget it. Stick to your famous Expelliarmus spell. And remember, I'll be watching you."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, and he hurried out the door.

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"I'm glad you're here, Poppy," Minerva said. "I'm at my wit's end and I have no idea what to do. I need someone to talk to. And do you happen to have anything for a headache?"

"I'm worried about you," the nurse said, handing her two tablets from her medical kit. "You're trying to do way too much and it's going to destroy your health. In addition to the responsibilities of being Headmistress, you're still teaching Transfiguration. And you're not getting any younger, you know. It's too much."

Minerva sighed. "Well, I suppose I could drop Transfiguration, if you think that would help. I'll have to find someone to take it on, though. It will have to be someone highly qualified."

Poppy hesitated for a moment while she gathered her courage, and then she plunged in. "I was thinking of the other way around, actually ‑ keep Transfiguration and step down as Headmistress."

Minerva just stared at her. After a long uncomfortable silence, she finally said, "That's just not possible. There's no one else who could take on the Head position. I have to carry on." And besides, it might look like I was admitting defeat, she suddenly realized.

"Filius and Pomona are both quite capable," Poppy told her, "and I'm sure either of them could grow into the position. You'll be here to help them. You became Headmistress during the emergency, and you pulled the school through the battle and the rebuilding. You've done the hard part, and now you can pass the job to someone else. Look at the advantages: you could devote yourself to teaching, which you've always loved, and you could take the summers off to relax or travel."

"I can't believe that you're telling me to quit," the Headmistress said bitterly. "I thought you were my friend."

Poppy looked hurt. "I am your friend, and that's why I'm telling you this. You can't keep going like this indefinitely. It's too much."

Minerva glared at her. "Did the students put you up to this?" she asked. "Or was it that idiotic ghost? That meddling spirit won't leave me alone!"

"They most certainly did not!" The nurse replied. "No one did." Admittedly, the Sorting Hat had played a role, prodding her to speak to the Headmistress, but she had been worried about Minerva for a while now.

"You should get back to your work, Poppy. I have enough problems without you telling me to resign!" Minerva said coldly.

Poppy sighed. "As you wish, Headmistress."

As she walked slowly down the stairs past the gargoyle, Poppy wondered, What ghost? And the students? It's worse than I thought. She's getting paranoid.

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The Malfoys were gathered in their dining room, relaxing after a lovely meal. Soon the Elves would bring dessert.

"Severus suggested that we have someone do a series of interviews with Slytherins about what they did in the war as part of our campaign to restore our House's reputation," Lucius announced. "I'm sure I could persuade The Prophet to publish it, but I'm not sure who should write it. Rita is too busy with other stories and, sadly, some people tend not to believe her."

"Rita has always told the facts truthfully, even if she does tend to put a bit of a 'spin' on things sometimes," Narcissa said as she set her empty wine glass on the table.

"Sometimes?" Draco laughed. "I suppose we could write it ourselves, but a lot of people wouldn't believe us, either," he said. "Maybe I could ghost-write it and we could get Sluggie to pretend that it was his. Or Millicent Bulstrode could do it, or Marigold Montague, but she's out of the country now."

"Maybe we should get someone who isn't a Slytherin, to give it an aura of neutrality," Narcissa suggested.

"No Gryffindors!" Draco said, grimacing as a vision of Ron Weasley interviewing Theodore Nott flashed through his mind. How about a Ravenclaw? he wondered. There's Luna Lovegood – Gad! What a thought! She'd probably have them riding Snorkacks into battle! Perhaps a Hufflepuff?

"There's a Hufflepuff girl who's been going out with Clayton Urquhart; her name is Melody something-or-other. She's been helping with the effort to get the Houses restored. I'll talk to Clayton about her."

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"Ack! Get off me!" Minerva shouted when the Sorting Hat jumped off its shelf and landed on her head. She grabbed its brim and tried to pull it off, but the Hat hung on.

She could hear its voice in her mind. We've gotta talk! it said. The voice was strained and harsh, as though the effort was painful.

"What do you want?" the Headmistress asked. "We don't know how to fix you!"

Then the Hat began to sing:

"The Houses must all come together, I said,

But instead you drove them apart.

I know this will hurt your feelings,

But I'm afraid that wasn't too smart."

There was a choking sound followed by some coughing as the Hat's voice failed for a few moments.

"Now you listen, Mr Hat …" Minerva started to say, but the Hat interrupted her. She could hear its voice straining in her head.

"No, Minerva McGonagall, you listen:

I know that you're not going to like it,

But really, that's just tough.

You're going to have to step down now,

Because words alone aren't enough."

The Hat started coughing and choking again.

"I meant well," Minerva said. She wrung her hands anxiously. "Really, I did. When that horrible Parkinson girl wanted us to capture Harry Potter, I just snapped. I expelled all the Slytherins then because I was sure they would turn against me. I was under so much pressure."

"I know," coughed the Hat, abandoning its attempt to sing, "but that's irrelevant now. It was wrong to paint all the Slytherins as traitors, the innocent and the guilty alike. You've got to prove that you're sorry. Hogwarts cannot heal until you do." It fluttered its brim and then it added, "Your words need deeds to back them up."

If Minerva had been wearing pearls, she would have clutched them.

"When I sort, it's not to condemn anyone," the Hat continued. "It's a rough guideline; nothing more. An attempt to group the students with others that they will get along with. Children change as they grow. No one's future is set at age 11. You must give them a chance. You must guide them and help them make good choices. All of them, not just the ones that you happen to like."

As the Hat plunged into another coughing fit, Minerva thought about Severus. Could he have been helped and prevented from turning to the Dark Lord? They had never tried, of course. She hadn't liked young Severus or any of the Slytherins, and had paid as little attention to them as possible. For that matter, could young Tom Riddle himself have been helped? She didn't think so, but she knew that no one had tried. Albus Dumbledore had said that young Tom had been 'born bad' and there was nothing to be done about it. He was probably right , but she had simply accepted his judgment without question.

"Can you still do the sorting?" Minerva asked when the Hat had settled down again.

"Not really. I'm worn out. My voice has been damaged. I want to retire to my shelf."

"Then it doesn't matter, does it?" Minerva said. "The sorting is finished."

"Don't be silly," the Hat said. "Just get Helga's Helmet to do it."

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The owls caught up with the boat as it was passing along the coast off Yorkshire. "Great!" Kat said. "They've brought The Daily Prophet and The Quibbler!" He grabbed The Prophet and started to read it while Biscuit gave the owls some treats.

"Listen to this!" Kat announced. "The Prophet says the Aurors have determined that the cowboy was Imperiused – just like we thought – and it was a plot by the Nameless Assassins to kill the Minister for Magic – we knew that too."

"That's bad," Severus said. "The Nameless never stop after they've accepted an assignment. Even the people that hired them can't call them off. It's a point of pride with them: they never give up until the target is dead. Kingsley had better watch his back from now on."

"Are there many of those assassins?" the Captain asked.

"In order to join them, one must pass their tests," Severus told him, "and it's said that very few survive the testing. The Dark Lord thought there are only three or four of them at present."

"Well, there's one less now," Biscuit said. "I can't imagine why anyone would want to join a group like that."

"Some people simply get a thrill from killing. They find it exciting. Getting paid for it sweetens the deal. The Nameless charge a lot of money for their 'services', from what I've heard."

Some of the Death Eaters had been like that, seeking opportunities for violence and looting. Others, like the Malfoys, had been attracted by the pureblood ideology. Severus was ashamed to remember it, but when he was just an angry, bullied kid who wasn't as smart as he thought he was, he thought it would be 'cool' to part of a mysterious, powerful, and much feared group. He craved the respect and secret knowledge that the Dark Lord appeared to offer. The reality turned out to be nothing like the fantasy, of course. What an idiot he had been back then!

"You've gotta hear Skeeter's report!" Kat said:

My gallant pirate captain pushed me to the ground as the Killing Curse flashed over my head, and he easily subdued my attacker. Then he reached down and gently helped me to my feet, his blue eyes filled with concern. "Are you all right, my dear?" he asked tenderly as he …

"That will be enough, Katfish!" Severus snarled.

Captain Clark was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Gimme The Quibbler," Biscuit said as he opened another pack of owl treats.

A few minutes later two very large, very tired owls turned up with packages, one addressed to "Captain Hook" and the other to "Severus Snape, wherever he may be". Severus groaned.