cxxi. grief and other terrors
Minerva McGonagall loved Quidditch.
She'd always loved it, from the very first time she'd sat in the stands on Hogwarts' pitch at eleven-years-old and watched the players soar across the sky. She loved it when she played for Gryffindor, and she loved it even after those cheating blighters in Slytherin shattered half her bones and sidelined her for good. Minerva could admit her love dipped into zealotry when the end of the year approached and the House Cup was on the line, but most of the magical world regarded Quidditch with a degree of frenzied mania. There was an addictive thrill to it few could deny.
Still, even Minerva could admit love and zealotry had their limits when faced with a massive blizzard.
"Och," she breathed when she and other members of staff stepped out beyond the castle's eaves and braved the first bracing gale. Her hat stayed on by virtue of the Charmed pin, but Pomona wasn't quite so lucky, cursing up a storm of her own as she summoned her hat back to her hands before the winds carried it too far. Ahead of them, Remus hunched his skinny shoulders and pulled up the hood of his cloak.
"Nimue's blessings," Filius squeaked from behind, using his taller colleagues to block the worst of the draft. "That's brisk! I'm so glad my Ravenclaws aren't playing in this today!"
Descending the castle steps, Severus scoffed, apparently unperturbed by the weather. "Yes, they might have to display a modicum of effort if they were. Merlin forbid they pry themselves from their books long enough to try." He swept off without waiting for Filius' reply or pausing to magic the rain from himself. At times like this, Minerva thought the boy really did deserve that unfortunate sobriquet of dungeon bat.
"It seems Severus is already in a competitive spirit," Albus commented, bringing up the rear of their group. He waved his hand above their heads and conjured an umbrella-shaped ward, the rain pooling and dripping from its edges.
"Is that what we're calling it now? A competitive spirit? I thought it was called being a miserable bawbag."
Pomona chortled, and Albus had the gall to pretend he didn't hear Minerva.
They continued toward the distant, looming outline of the stadium visible through the thickening downpour. Minerva broke away from the group to catch those loitering students playing in the rain, pulling apart a pair of Slytherin and Gryffindor sixth-years before their bickering could come to blows. She urged a final group of Hufflepuff second-years toward the stairs leading into the stands and stopped to reapply the Charms to herself, grimacing at the ache building in the exposed joints of her fingers. Above, she could barely hear the clamor of her students talking over the fierce wind—but it lulled then, just enough for Minerva to catch her breath and for unexpected voices to meet her ears.
"—expect you to merely follow my directions, Mr. Flint. Is that too much for you to comprehend?"
"No, Professor."
"Then do as you're told."
A door leading into one of the more extensive storage cupboards opened, and Slytherin came out of it, his head immediately swinging in Minerva's direction. His red eyes glinted low and dull in the dismal lighting.
"Minerva."
"Professor Slytherin," she clipped. Marcus Flint stepped out behind the other wizard. "Is anything the matter?"
"Everything is just as it should be, Professor." Slytherin smiled—a bland, saccharine thing that set Minerva's teeth on edge. He brushed Flint past him, his tone more cutting when he addressed the boy. "Return to your team, Mr. Flint."
"Yes, sir."
Both departed, Slytherin not stopping to give Minerva another moment of consideration—and nor did he head towards the staffing section, instead returning to the mud-slicked path leading to the castle.
What dubious mischief does he intend to reap now? she wondered, watching the wizard until he vanished into the fog, and the increased clamor of noise brought her attention back to the imminent game. I wonder if Severus knows what Slytherin intends.
She climbed the steps skyward and reached the section set aside for the staff and visitors after the game had already commenced, Lee Jordan doing his best to talk above the booming thunder and visceral wind. Usually, Minerva would take her place by the boy and at least attempt to curb his partisan commentating—but after her run-in with Slytherin, she opted instead to sit between Albus and Snape, the wizards sliding apart to grant her room. Minerva could feel the cold emanating off of the Potions Master's wet cloak through her Warming Charms.
"Severus?"
His black eyes slid in her direction, peering through the wet strands of his hair. "What."
"I witnessed a rather odd conversation between Slytherin and Mr. Flint just now."
"And?"
"He seems to be expecting him to complete some task. Do you have any idea what that is about?"
Severus shrugged one shoulder, his attention again fixed on the field and players below. "Contrary to popular opinion, I am not an expert on all things Slytherin. The only person who knows what goes on in his mind is Slytherin himself."
Lips pursed, Minerva glanced to Albus, who frowned but had no comment to give on their discussion. He extended a bag of licorice sweets and Minerva huffed. "You're of no help, either of you."
She tried to displace the scene from her mind, to instead concentrate on the game, but something of Slytherin's behavior bothered her. She wasn't a fool; she may not know as much about the situation as Albus or Severus, but she understood Slytherin's influence settled like a cancer on his House, corrupting and ruining many a young Slytherin who passed through their hallowed halls. Seeing that influence in action, however, disturbed her.
The game continued, the Chasers on either team barely making any effort at all, waiting for their respective Seekers to fulfill their roles. Ginny Weasley hovered near the pitch itself, and Minerva kept a keen eye on her. Poor girl; it was bad luck for her first game to take place in this horrid weather.
A blur of green swept close enough to their seats for the ward overhead to ripple, Harriet Potter stopping long enough to squint at the scoreboard positioned under Mr. Jordan. Minerva saw a silent curse form on the girl's mouth before she flew off again, staggering in the gale. Next to her, Severus' gaze followed Potter across the field, and Minerva saw how tightly his hands gripped his knees.
"I would caution you against interfering with Professor Slytherin," Albus said, soft enough for his raspy words to reach Minerva's ears alone. She turned to glare at the man, and he held up his hand. "Yes, I know you worry about the students' safety, just as we all do. I simply worry about your safety as well, Minerva. It is not your place to get in his way, but mine. I'm a cantankerous sore spot he cannot be rid of quite so easily."
"And you think he could be rid of me without an issue?"
"Of course not. That's is not what I mean to imply." Albus sighed. "Ah, we should have this conversation later, I fear. Our students are battling on without our attention."
Minerva let the discussion pass, if only because she didn't wish to shout at the man in the middle of a blood rainstorm.
A brief timeout was called, the intermission over before Minerva could fathom why it had been necessary in the first place. Again, she was reminded that love and zealotry had their limits, as she found herself hard-pressed to keep watching this half-hearted game when she fully intended to pry what answers she could from Headmaster's head by the end of the day. Even the cheering fell flat as a limp bit of cloth, most of the students and staff content to either inspect their pocket-watches or follow the Seekers from one end of the stadium to the other.
The fog crept nearer. The cold nipped at the wards and Charms holding back the elements and made Minerva, and most of her colleagues, shift in their seats or magic themselves again. Severus was a notable exception. The wizard barely stirred at all; Minerva could see frost forming in the daft fool's hair and he didn't take notice! He's going to take ill if he keeps on like this! Minerva huffed, throwing a Warming Charm at him, startling Severus into a glare. Albus chuckled.
Suddenly, Miss Weasley jerked her broom to the side and rocketed upward into the obscuring cloud bank. Farther out, Miss Potter gave chase.
"Thank Merlin," Minerva uttered under her breath, more than ready for one of the girls to catch the Snitch and win the game. She didn't even care if it was Potter, no matter the ribbing she'd have to withstand from Severus later on in the staffroom, so long as someone caught the bloody thing and allowed them to return indoors.
Seconds ticked by and nothing occurred.
Severus gasped, barely audible against the storm, and he gripped his right wrist. "Headmaster," he said. "Headmaster, something is wrong—."
The cold didn't dissipate. It intensified, and the wards gave way with a sudden snap, dousing them all in frigid rainwater. If Minerva hadn't been holding her breath, she would have noticed how it coalesced in thick, white plumes under her nose—but she couldn't find the strength to breathe. The fog peeled back far enough to uncover a festering horde of black-cloaked Dementors descending upon the stadium.
Minerva was ashamed to admit that she froze. The surrealness of the sight fairly baffled her mind, like a drawing she might have seen in her father's family bible, or those images of the Wild Hunt one could still find in the old witch grimoires. A hundred Dementors circled above, and she could not tell how many more lurked in mist. The worst of her memories came rushing back—the feel of her brother Robert's dead weight sagging into her arms, the sound of the eulogy at Elphinstone's funeral. Her hands buzzed with impotent magic and grief.
She might have continued to sit there as limp as a gormless Mooncalf if Severus hadn't screamed, "Albus!"
Harriet Potter was falling from the sky.
"Arresto Momemtum!"
Albus stood, wand extended, and his spell barely had time to catch the child plummeting toward the earth. Her momentum slowed, but she still hit the mud with considerable force, the impact hard enough to be audible over the screaming and raging storm. White flickered in the corner of Minerva's vision, and Albus' Patronus burst to life, the great, silver wings of the spectral phoenix spread wide as it threw itself toward the Dementors circling the downed girl like vultures after carrion. The Dementors reeled and scattered, driven off by every pulsing beat of pure, trembling light.
Minerva's own Patronus chased after Albus', and a chain reaction followed from those members of staff capable of the spell. She turned to Severus—but the Potions Master had vanished. Minerva rose and ran for the stairs.
She found him again once she reached the pitch, Severus already kneeling by Potter's side as Poppy ran to them as quickly as her short legs could manage. Minerva pushed her wet hair from her brow, taking count of the Gryffindor players dotting the field, Albus still forcing the Dementors farther into the Forest and the mire. Crying students exited the stands en masse, shaken and scared by their sudden proximity to the Dark beasts. Morgana help them, the entire school would need to be tended by the Matron after this. Minerva felt entirely overwhelmed.
"Remus? Remus—!" Catching the younger professor by the arm, he turned to face her, his expression just as haggard as her own. "Gather the Gryffindors and take them to the Great Hall. To the Great Hall, do you understand? Tell Aurora she needs to manage the Slytherins; Professor Slytherin isn't present, and Severus is—."
"Yes, I understand."
"Good, quickly, then. Go."
As he ran off, Minerva marched out into the brunt of the elements, feet sinking into the muck, her heart hammering much too hard in her chest. She pointed her wand at her throat and incanted, "Sonorus. All students report to the Great Hall immediately. Detentions will be given out to those who disobey. Get to the Great Hall and stay with your House, please. Quietus."
She got her first look at Potter when she approached Severus and Poppy, the small girl ghastly pale and unresponsive, blood on her mouth and over the raw skin of her hands. For one awful moment, Minerva feared the worst—that she had been Kissed, or that the fall, despite Albus' spell, had snapped the child's neck—but then she stirred, weakly, as Severus followed Poppy's instructions and lifted her from the mud into his arms. Her leg dangled in a way it was not supposed to.
"Will she be all right?" Minerva asked, following the pair as they headed toward Hooch's office and Floo beyond. Potter groaned.
"Yes," Severus replied, short, curt, and to the point. "Make yourself useful and stop those idiots before they interfere."
Minerva would have taken exception to his tone if she hadn't needed to turn at that instant and catch Misses Granger and Black by the arms before they could barrel into the office after the Potions Master. Severus, for his part, ignored them entirely, stepping into the green fire pouring from the dirty hearth and disappearing inside. Madam Pomfrey followed right after.
"Professor!" Miss Granger cried. "Where's Harriet? Is she hurt?!"
"She's going to be fine," she said, tightening her grip when Miss Black attempted to shake her free. "She's going to be with Madam Pomfrey and receiving the best of care. Meanwhile, I believe I instructed all students to report to the Great Hall. That includes the both of you as well."
"But—!"
"No, no arguments. This is not the time for it."
Only the threat of detention and being barred from the hospital wing convinced the pair to follow her directions. Minerva saw them off through the Floo to the Great Hall—and then dropped into Rolanda's weathered, grass-stained chair, her head in her hands. She removed her square spectacles and released a shaky sigh, wiping her eyes. Her hands shook.
"Minerva?"
Raising her head, she met the penetrative gaze of the Headmaster framed in the office doorway, the shoulders of his crimson robes stained dark by the rain in a cruel, lurid mimicry of fresh blood. "Are the Dementors gone?"
"Returned to the borders of the grounds for the time being. It seems they couldn't resist the high emotion of the game." Albus grimaced, fury bringing a bright flush to his otherwise pale cheeks. "I will need to contact the Ministry immediately. Are the students—?"
"All in the Great Hall or on their way there, as far as I know. I will do a head-count as soon as I arrive there."
"Good. And…Harriet?"
"She's alive." Albus seemed to deflate with relief, and Minvera's posture mirrored his, spine bending under the stress of the situation. "But it was terribly close. By God, Albus, how can we stand for this? How can we allow the Ministry to place those—those monstrosities around these children? Is there nothing we can do to force them to take them back? They're worthless! They don't have any bloody impact on Black getting into the castle, apparently!"
The Headmaster shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I have argued with Minister Gaunt at length regarding the subject, but he is as unmoved as ever. You know the Minister doesn't think much on my opinions."
Minerva snorted, but she was not amused, merely angry, upset. "Perhaps we should drop the body of the next lifeless child on the Ministry's doorstep! Perhaps they would be forced to take you seriously when their voters and constituents turn away in horror!" She began to pace, her stride cut short by the middling length of the room.
"I know it is frustrating, Minerva. I do not believe I could have continued all these years without your strength to lean on—yours and Severus', and those who continue to resist such injustice. We must merely do what we can to protect the students and give them all of our ability. I will not cease petitioning the Ministry and the Aurory, and hopefully they will remove the Dementors by the end of next term."
Minerva sank into the chair again, her ire spent. Next term was not soon enough. "I don't understand it," she said. "Merlin knows they're horrid, horrid creatures, but I've never seen a person have such a negative reaction to a Dementor as Miss Potter does. Not even when I worked at the Ministry all those years ago."
Albus looked down, the lines of his face deepening with sadness, with remorse. "The Dementors feed on all the best parts of a soul, all the happiest memories and small glimpses of joy we experience in life, but for a person who has seen…more hardship than most, and less happiness…."
Minerva squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't wish to hear more, didn't wish to think about her own complicity in leaving a defenseless child in the arms of a cretin like Petunia Dursley. She knew they were the worst sort of Muggles, but had she truly known how deviant the worst sort could be? There would never be a day when she didn't berate herself for not trusting her instincts and arguing with Albus against leaving Harriet Potter at Privet Drive.
"Come, Minerva. The students need us."
The students. Yes, the students. She allowed herself that moment of weakness, that chance to shake her fist at the sheer frustration and futility of fighting against the Ministry's rubbish restrictions and dictations. Some days, she couldn't fathom what they continued to fight for, why it mattered at all when the whole of their world felt cloaked in darkness and no one had the forethought or wherewithal to look up and miss the sun. When there wasn't a single spell or law that could touch the likes of Slytherin or Gaunt, when so many were perfectly complacent in following their corrupt dogma, why did they still try?
Then, Minerva thought of her students. She thought of those children who needed her, and stood. She forced her hands to stop shaking, found her wand again, and nodded. "Yes, of course. Let's go."