Chapter 11 - Consequences

Arthur was starting to get really concerned about his sister.

At first it was just that she was avoiding him - which wasn't something altogether too strange, considering how frequently they used to fight. He just sort of assumed that he'd done something to tick her off and waited for her to come and yell at him for it. The timing wasn't great, what with the whole Professor Nimueh situation going on, but he knew better than to push Morgana when she was in one of her moods.

He decided to put his focus into the quidditch team tryouts, instead. Practising with Gwen and Leon was enough of a distraction for now. And when it wasn't, he knew that he always had Merlin to cheer him up (and now that he wasn't always bugging Arthur about what was wrong, it was much more fun for the both of them).

But when a week went by and there had still been no shouting match with his sister over whatever it was he had done this time, Arthur started to think that just maybe this wasn't about him?

He tried to corner Morgana, get her to talk to him - not even necessarily about what she had found out about the Professor, just talk to him about anything - but she had all but ran away any time he tried. Arthur could have sworn that at one point he saw tears in her eyes, but no. That would be ridiculous, right? He knew that Morgana's nightmares sometimes brought her to tears, but she hadn't been having bad ones for ages, otherwise she would have told him. And even if she was, they had never affected her during the day, other than tiredness due to her lack of restful sleep.

So why was she avoiding him?

"It's not just you," Mithian scoffed. "She's been like this with everyone. I wasn't sure at first, because, well, I'm kind of her only friend," she shrugged, "but then I noticed she was dodging Gwaine, and they had started becoming friends, you know, and then I noticed she wasn't talking to you either and well . . ."

"What?"

"I think she's been crying herself to sleep."

"Morgana?" he asked, surprised. "Are you sure it's not one of the other girls?"

"Well I thought so at first - Mildred's always super emotional when she's on her period, so I thought she was just having a really bad week. But the two of us aren't really close so it wasn't really my business, you know?" He nodded, trying to erase that information from his head - gross. "But then I got up for something to drink once and I realised it was coming from Morgana's bed. I went to wake her up thinking that it was one of her nightmares, but she was awake, just crying. I don't know how long she had been up that night on her own, upset, but she wouldn't talk to me about it." Mithian sighed and shrugged. "And well, then the other crying made a lot more sense."

"So you've no idea why?" he questioned, still trying to get over the fact that his sister was suffering because of something and hadn't felt like she could come to him. Surely she knew he'd always be there for her?

Mithian shook her head. "You don't think it's the house bullying her, do you?"

"No," he disagreed quickly. "Morgana's always been far more likely to lash out than run away crying if she's been wronged." Whatever happened between her and Gaius Wilson obviously proved that. "No, if it was bullying we'd have heard rumours about snakes being landed in the hospital wing," And the only person to end up in the hospital wing recently was Harry Potter. "And, besides, she wouldn't feel the need to keep that sort of thing from either of us - especially not you, you're usually there for most of it anyway."

"Then I don't know anymore than you do," she said, frustrated.

So Mithian had been just as clueless as he was.

In the end, his worry over his sister had almost been enough for him to forget the entire Professor Nimueh situation. After all, Morgana crying herself to sleep should have been a far more worrying fact than that of a person he drew a picture of showing up as their new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.

And yet.

Where Arthur used to find himself doodling on the edge of his homework papers, dedicating a History of Magic lesson to sketches while his peers slept through them, or daydreaming about where he wanted his heroes to go next in their story . . . he had stopped. Whenever he felt himself itching for a pencil in his hand, he shut it down. When he felt his mind begin to wander, he shut it down, and kept shutting it down.

It felt too risky to indulge, though he didn't know why exactly. It wasn't as if drawing the woman had made her come to life. Stalling his hobby wasn't going to stop whatever the Professor might be here for. And yet, Arthur just didn't feel right ignoring his instincts.

His gut was telling him that he was playing with fire, that this information was dangerous and that if he kept pushing it then he would find out something he was better off not knowing. The Gryffindor in him wanted to stride onwards, to ignore the signs and find out whatever it was that was going on. But there was still something inside him telling him that he wasn't ready.

It brought him back to Morgana's increasingly cryptic words. He didn't know how many times his sister had done or said something peculiar, and upon questioning her she would simply say that Arthur would know in time. It was tied to the situation with Professor Nimueh, he was sure of it. His sister asking him to trust her, asking that he let her investigate the matter without him only made him more sure of it. She had all but confirmed it herself.

Which begged the question, what did Morgana know? And what was it that she had learned that was so terrible to make her react like this?

Arthur debated on whether or not to bring his father into this. There was always the possibility that his father knew what was going on where he didn't, but realistically Arthur knew that his sister was much less likely to confide in Uther than she was in him. Which meant that all telling his father would do was make the man send countless letters haranguing Morgana until she replied, send countless letters haranguing Arthur to make his sister reply, and potentially send countless letters haranguing the Hogwarts staff until they got to the bottom of what was wrong with his ward. Or, even worse, show up to the school himself to yell at anyone he believed responsible for upsetting his child - which might include Arthur and possibly also Morgana herself.

So, yeah. He didn't think he'd be sending his father an owl any time soon.

But if not that, then what could he do?

This entire situation was his fault in the first place. If he had never gone to Morgana for help then she never would have found out whatever it was that she did. That made it his responsibility to fix it for her. But how could he do that when she wasn't even talking to him?

Quidditch was so much fun.

Ever since the twins made the team they spent a lot more of their free time practising, which meant that Harry could practice with them. He supposed what he was doing wasn't exactly quidditch and more just flying, but he loved it all the same. Fred and George had been made beaters, and they were determined to prove that they hadn't made the team simply because their brother, Charlie, was the captain.

And that meant that Harry got to have fun flying with his friends. Albeit, while one of them tried to maim him with a bludger and the other tried to defend him. He'd only gotten hit twice so they were doing a pretty good job on the defence stand point.

Not that Aunt Minnie had agreed once she'd found him in the hospital wing. But it was just a broken arm. He'd gotten way worse from Duddley back in Little Whinging, and with magic it could be fixed in a second. He didn't get why she was so mad?

Merlin had been mad too, which Harry had definitely thought was unfair. Harry had spent years watching his brother get beaten bloody and bruised, and he had been forced to sit back and do nothing lest he suffer the same consequences. Harry just had a broken arm - which, again, took less than a minute to heal - so, he had thought, where did Merlin get off being so angry about it?

They'd gotten into their first big argument since last year over it.

"I can't believe you yelled at them! How could you do that?!" he had asked furiously. They were the only friends that Harry had made entirely on his own, outside of Merlin's circle. And that fact made what his brother did so much worse.

"They were being reckless," Merlin said defensively. "They put you in danger."

"They're my friends!" he argued. "I like flying and I like hanging out with them! My arm is fine!" He punctured his point by waving said arm in his brother's face. "Why are you making such a big deal over this?"

"Your arm was broken, Harry. Next time it could be your neck." The reasonable and measured tone of voice just grated on Harry's already frazzled nerves. "Quidditch is supervised for a reason. Whether it's by Madam Hooch or the team captains, two twelve year olds and a ten year old are not capable of being careful, and the lot of you proved that with how reckless you've been."

"I was barely hurt!" he shouted. "This is nothing compared to how you used to go around!" In the deafening silence that followed his words, Harry immediately regretted what he had just said. The look he had put on his brother's face, made him wish he had swallowed the words. And yet, he didn't take them back. They were the truth, after all.

It can't have taken less than a few seconds for his brother to compose himself, but those seconds might as well have lasted a lifetime, for that was how they felt to Harry. "The difference," Merlin said, his voice somehow even calmer than it had already been - too calm, too controlled - "Is that you're supposed to be safe here." But not there, he didn't say, we were never stupid enough to think we were safe there. "And friends are supposed to look out for you, not put you in more danger. The twins are lucky that McGonagall is only suspending them from the first game of the year and not the whole sport."

And then any and all regret that Harry had mustered vanished in a fire of righteous fury. It was absolutely not fair that Fred and George were being banned because of him. That was a lie. "It wasn't their fault! You're just glad because your friend made the reserve team!"

The look of absolute confusion Merlin sent him couldn't be faked. "You think I want Arthur up there either after what happened to you?" he asked incredulously. "No, I'd rather the people I care about stay firmly on the ground."

"I'm not going to stop flying," Harry said stubbornly. "You can't make me." And it was true, he couldn't. Aunt Minnie was in charge of him, not his brother. And Aunt Minnie loved Quidditch just as much as he did, she wouldn't ban Harry from it. She wouldn't, right? She had been really mad, but not at him. It was at the twins, wasn't it? Not that that was fair! But! If she was going to ban him from flying she would have already. Surely.

Harry loved flying. It was the one thing he'd found at Hogwarts that really felt like magic to him. Maybe it would be different as a student, performing magic for hours every day, but flying - it was the best feeling Harry could ever imagine. Feeling nothing but the broom beneath him. The wind pushing and pulling at him, urging him forwards, higher, further. It was freedom.

He couldn't lose that. He wouldn't.

"I'm not going to try and stop you from flying, Harry." The promise was exactly what he needed to hear, and his brother had known that - probably having read the panic and desperation on his face. "I just want you safe." The confession was enough for Harry to look away, shamefaced by his lashing out. Merlin was just trying to protect him. Like always. "I'm not saying that you can't go flying with the Weasleys either. I'm glad that you have friends and hobbies of your own. I'm just saying, maybe leave the bats and deadly balls until there's some supervision."

Harry found himself nodding along almost blindly.

He should have known to trust his brother to want what was best for him. This wasn't the Dursleys. No one was going to take the things or people he loved away from him. Merlin was not Dudley trying to scare away anyone who might be his friend (the new girl sat next to him and let him borrow her crayons. Harry had smiled at her and hoped for just a second. By the time lunch was finished that same day she had asked the teacher to move her to a different seat. She had said that her vision was bad and she couldn't read the board properly, but Harry remembered asking her to read something for him because aunt Petunia hadn't gotten him his glasses yet and she had read it just fine. Harry knew the truth).

Minnie was not Aunt Petunia taking away anything he might enjoy just to spite him (the gift that the santa at school handed out to everyone was the same. All of the boys got a Hot Wheels car. His was red. He had never owned something so brightly coloured and shiny before. All of his clothes were worn and faded. He didn't know why Dudley needed two cars, but he had cried and so Harry's had been snatched out of his hands. Why couldn't Harry just have one toy?)

Harry understood that now.

But Merlin needed to understand that the twins weren't uncle Vernon, they weren't trying to hurt him (his back was slammed against his cupboard door. The grip on his arm was too tight. It was his upper arm at least, which meant that the sleeves of Duddley's baggy t-shirts would still cover it. He didn't want Merlin to see it. Merlin was already sad. And it wasn't as if his uncle had hit him. His uncle was just very big whereas Harry was very small. Uncle Vernon just didn't know not to use so much strength).

In the end, their argument had been for the best. It was what Harry had needed to get his anger out at someone who could handle it. Harry didn't think Aunt Minnie would have let him just shout at her like Merlin had. Aunt Minnie probably would have sent him to his room for talking to her like that, at best. And then Harry would have just stewed in his anger over the whole situation and brooded over not being listened to.

But Merlin knew what he needed. Merlin knew that Harry had lived his life with his opinions being silenced for so long already. Merlin knew that Harry needed to be heard, to be treated like more than a dumb kid who didn't know what they were talking about.

And yes, his brother had lectured him on being reckless, but he had explained. Adults never explained things, they just made decisions and decided that they never needed to answer to a child. Aunt Minnie had punished his friends and then told him that they would talk about the consequences to his 'foolish decisions' once he was out of the hospital wing. So naturally Harry had been avoiding her ever since. Because she just wouldn't get it like Merlin did. Grown ups never did.

"You can't avoid her forever, little one."

"Of Course I can. We've spent months finding all of Hogwarts' hidden passageways and secret rooms. What was the point of any of it if I don't use them?"

Helena sighed. "You know, I ran away from my mother once, too."

"She's not my mother," Harry corrected quickly. He liked Aunt Minnie, but his mother had died to protect him - it wasn't the same. "But . . . what happened?" he asked anyway.

"I won't share all of the gory details, but suffice it to say that it was one of the worst decisions I ever made. I ran and hid, and she let me go. Running never fixed the issues that caused me to leave. I gained nothing and lost everything, eventually, my life included," she explained somberly.

"You told me once that it was when you ran away from Hogwarts you were killed by the man who was sent to bring you back. What does that have to do with your mother?" he asked, almost immediately regretting pushing further at the way her face shuttered at his question. They had an unspoken pact not to push on certain topics, and apparently this was one of them. "So you think I'm going to die because I'm hiding from Aunt Minie?" he asked half-jokingly, in order to lighten the mood. He decided to ignore any wish he had to comfort or further question her - he was sure that neither would be appreciated .

"No, you foolish child," she admonished, though her voice was fond enough to let him know that his question had been forgiven. "I'm telling you that running and hiding from your problems solves nothing. Minerva will scold you for your misbehaviour now, or she will do it later. Hiding from her will not stop the inevitable."

"It wasn't misbehaviour," he protested sullenly. "I didn't even break any rules."

"'Students are not allowed to practice with dangerous school resources' - be it a mandrake plant or a bludger - 'without appropriate supervision,'" she quoted easily. Harry couldn't believe that she was spending her afterlife memoriseing school rules.

"Yeah, well, I'm not a student. So I didn't do anything wrong," he countered.

"If you are innocent then why are you hiding?" she asked smugly, as if she had caught Harry out with her logic. But Harry knew better. He didn't need to have done something wrong for adults to find a reason to punish him. And, okay, he was pretty sure Aunt Minnie wasn't like that but this was it. This was the first real test of whether or not she was going to be like Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon and just blame him for whatever was convenient and he didn't want to know.

"She can't just give me a detention, because I'm not a student," he said instead of answering her question. "I'm a ward of the school, but she's the one in charge of me. So what is she going to do?"

"You will never find out if you continue to hide," she told him, not realising that that was the point. He didn't want to find out. "Minerva took you in in order to protect you from Severus. Do you truly think that she would come to harm you now?"

Harry shrugged. People could be good liars. Maybe she had just wanted The Boy Who Lived under her thumb. All of their neighbours had always thought that the Durselys were normal. But normal people don't lock their nephews in cupboards - at least that was what Mithian told him. But McGonagall could be like that too. She could be pretending to be nice and normal just until Harry messes everything up like he always does and what then?

"She was upset because you were hurt," Helena insisted. "The last thing Minerva will do is cause you more pain. And should I be wrong, then I'm certain that that brother of yours would ensure that she never had the chance to hurt you again."

That was true. Merlin would always try to protect him. And Harry knew that Merlin would believe him if he said Aunt Minnie hurt him, not like his Primary School teachers who never did.

But that wasn't the point.

The point was that Harry needed to trust her, not Merlin. And he wasn't sure if he was ready to do that yet.

Sometimes Minerva really questioned her choice in career.

Teaching and guiding young minds was a fulfilling and joyful occupation, however her duties as Head of House could be tiresome at the best of times. She loved her Gryffindors, to be sure, but there was no doubt that she had the most troublesome house to deal with.

Severus's Slytherins were content to run themselves, establishing their own hierarchy and consequences. And while Minerva certainly disapproved of it, it seemed to work well with Severus's teaching style - which was to sink or swim after being given the bare minimum of instruction. Fillius's Ravenclaws could brew up a world of trouble with their hairbrained schemes, and all of them done in the name of discovery and learning. But at least they were all rather good about accepting the consequences for their actions and whatever punishment was deemed suitable by the nearest authority figure. They were a responsible bunch, despite their sometimes-foolish nature. And Pomona's Hufflepuffs were practically a warm summer breeze compared to the hurricane that Gryffindor house left in its wake. Give the children a hug, a tissue, and a hot chocolate and they were content to go about the rest of their days. Her badgers were harmless class-clowns, at their absolute worst behaviour, and her thirty-four years of teaching had yet to prove otherwise.

And then there were her Gryffindors. Boisterous. Loud. Reckless. Impulsive. Those were just some of the traits that gave her a headache. And then, of course, hundreds of years of tradition dictated that those children were to live and work together, which meant that Minerva had to deal with dozens of single-minded teenagers encouraging each other to do more and more daring and ridiculous things. Any of her children that possessed an ounce of impulse control automatically made themselves her favourites. Of course teachers were not supposed to have favourites, but bugger that. She could usually select which students would end up making prefect as quickly as by the end of their first year. Of course there were exceptions, but so far it looked like Gwen Smith and Leon Knight would be her youngest picks for prefect, as only second years. They already seemed to express a calming effect on their peers that Minerva would make sure to nurture and encourage appropriately.

And yet, even these saving graces were not enough to spare her the headache that her second years were causing. They were all quidditch mad (not something she necessarily disapproved of) with half of them trying out for the house team, two of their year mates actually getting positions, and one of them making the reserves. Of course with the two youngest Weasleys on the team, and their older brother as captain the whole house had cried favouritism, particularly the third and fourth years who were feeling cheated out of places on the team. And while this would normally be rather standard to deal with in terms of jealousy over the quidditch pitch, it seemed that the entire second year had rallied around their friends and spurned the upper years, causing a split through her entire house.

The only student not participating, surprisingly, was Arthur Pendragon, considering his position as a reserve team member Minerva had expected him to be in the thick of things. But no, instead he was far more caught up in the mysterious behaviour of Miss Le Fay and his seemingly nonsensical grudge against Professor Le Fay. All parties had assured her that they had never met before and yet there was clearly a familial relation at work and tensions between all three were high.

And were that not enough to be dealing with, Minerva had recently taken on an additional charge: a very traumatised, very lonely, and very famous, ten year old boy. A ten year old boy who had been caught up in the ridiculous antics of her house. A ten year old boy who had gotten injured at the hands of her idiot Lions, and then fled from the infirmary before Minerva could properly speak to him.

Luckily, Minerva had long ago learnt that her greatest allies in this school were the portraits, all of whom were more than happy to point her in the right direction. Which was how she found Harry.

She caught a glimpse of silver vanishing through the wall as she approached and hoped that this was not the work of Peeves, causing mischief and encouraging her charge to hide. Although, knowing Peeves, had it been him, he would have been more likely to stay and gloat over the castle-wide search he had prompted.

Harry looked at the wall the ghost had vanished through with something akin to betrayal in his eyes, before turning to her with a sigh of resignation. "I'm sorry I ran off, I shouldn't have, and I won't do it again," he said unenthusiastically, as if he was reciting what he thought he ought to say rather than what he truly felt. She wondered how often he had been forced to parrot apologies that he didn't really mean, all in order to appease those apes who had 'raised' him. And she used that term very loosely.

The scolding she had prepared died in her throat at the sight of his miserable expression and stilted apology. Curbing her instinctual reaction to chastise him for his behaviour, she forced herself to remember that this was not one of her students acting out of mischief, it was her ward, who had very unfavourable opinions of his previous caretakers, for very good reasons. She could not prove herself to be in any way like them.

So instead she held out a hand to help the child up from where he had decided to slump on the floor, and offered him a smile. "We've both had a long day," she said gently. "Let's go home."

Bright green eyes looked up at her, suspiciously shiny, and Minerva could not help the pang in her heart at the sight of them. So like his mother's, they were. He took the offered hand up, and she did not hesitate to pull him into a hug. This boy had not had enough of those in his short life and Minerva would do what she could to change that. She was not, ordinarily, the most tactile person, but she could become one for the sake of Harry Potter.