i've written pages upon pages, trying to
lo many moons ago, i had the notion that there were two more harry potter stories i wanted to try and write before the good ship HBP canon docked at 12:01 am on july 16. but then there were june birthday stories and the requisite shitload of peter & fran and, well. then it was monday night, and it suddenly seemed like a great idea to try and write and post both of them by this morning.
neither of these stories contain HBP spoilers, and neither do i. if you read this story and think "aww, that's nice, but it's totally jossed by HBP," (as one of them most undoubtably will be) please do not tell me that, or i cry and then kill your mother. i have become so crazy irrational about trying to stay spoiler-free for HBP that i nearly accused someone of spoiling me based on the tone in their voice when they told that they'd read spoilers. which, yes, i'm aware is on par with complaining about being spoiled by a mood icon on a cut-tagged post about a television show. see? crazy. c-r-a-z-y. i'm hoping it'll pass, like a fever, and that self-awareness is half the battle.
but if you are spoiler-free and killing time until friday night, well:
but my job here is not to deliver you (being minerva mcgonagall)
"Your aura is distorted, dear, you seek to force your own aspects to revolve around the orbit of another. This is never wise, never, ever wise." minerva. mostly gen. written for what i'm namesaking the jjtaylor-a-thon, who said, "minerva simply needs more attention." thanks to callmesandy and circusgirl for giving it the eye. title from "minerva" by ani difranco.
1.
The Ward for Extreme Memory Mishaps at St. Mungo's was bright and sunny, with windows charmed to give off a view of the sea. Most of the residents of the ward were so addled that they could not recall what they'd eaten for breakfast by tea time or what they'd eaten for tea time by supper, so patients were situated by the windows for most of each day, watching the illusion of waves lapping on the shore, paying no mind that the weather was never overcast and never noticing that the view never changed.
After nine hundred and forty-seven days of the same sun-drenched day at the shore, Minerva McGonagall didn't look out the window anymore.
"How are we today, mother?" she said. They sat facing each other in wicker beach chairs under the window sill, Minerva with her hands clasped in her lap and her mother gazing out the window and picking at the frayed cuff of her cardigan.
"Oh, I'm fine, thank you dear," her mother says. "Have you seen my daughter, by the way? She was supposed to visit me, oh, last week, I suppose."
Minerva sighed. "I'm you're daughter," she said. The first time she'd sat in this ward and said those words, they'd settled heavy in her stomach like stones, but now they felt nearly effortless and maybe a little exasperated. "I can only stay for a few minutes today," she said. "I'm sorry."
Her mother glanced up briefly, but there was no recognition in her eyes. "I like the view, don't you?" she said.
"Yes," said Minerva. "It's very nice."
Whenever Minerva left the ward for Extreme Memory Mishaps, she had the feeling of walking out of a frozen time turner. In three years, the view and everything else on the ward had stayed exactly the same while the wards for Incurable Insanity and Helpless Hex Injuries were full to bursting with the Death Eaters' victims. But the residents of the Extreme Memory Mishaps ward were content with their view of the sea, none of the wiser of the world outside.
There were days when she almost envied them.
She was preparing to Floo back to Hogwarts (they'd closed the school and sent the students home two weeks into fall term, but the Order was still using it as a headquarters of sorts) when she heard a voice behind her: "Professor McGonagall, wait!"
She turned and saw young Remus Lupin racing to catch her. She'd told him, when they'd been on a mission together in Wales, that he needn't address her as "Professor" any longer, but it hadn't taken.
"Yes, what is it?" she said.
He jerked his head toward a corridor, leading to the Ward for Infectious Invalids. Close up, she saw his face was ashen, his eyes shot through with blood.
"I just heard-" he said, trailing off. His mouth opened several times more, but no sound came out.
"Heard what, Remus?" she asked.
"Voldemort, he's gone," Remus blurted.
Minerva heard herself gasp. "How?"
"I’m not," He brought one hand to his mouth, and spoke from behind his fingers. "Nobody's sure what happened," he said. "They think he found James and Lily," he stopped again, his voice having cracked open when he said their names. "He killed them, and he tried to kill the baby, but he--he couldn't. And now he's gone."
Minerva put a hand on Remus' shoulder. She remembered him as just a boy and now he was taller than she and she had to lift up arm. "Where's Dumbledore?" she said.
Remus shook his head. "I'm not sure," he said. "I think he's gone after Harry. I have to, I need to go find--"
Minerva nodded. Her cheeks were cold, as though they'd not felt sun in a very, very long time. "Go," she said. "I'll find Albus."
2.
Albus had asked Minerva to come to his office -- "immediately, I suppose, although I daresay if you're in the middle of anything particularly enjoyable, it's certainly nothing that cannot wait a few minutes -- by Floo call, and now there she sat, wringing her hands in her lap while he placed various items in an oversized picnic basket.
"Professor Dumbledore," she said. "You can't leave. Not with everything that's happening."
"And yet, as you can see," he said, gesturing to the decree on the desk, "I appear to have no choice. Certainly this complicates matters at hand," he added, "but Lucius' actions hardly come as a surprise, do they not?"
"Lucius Malfoy is a power-mad vulture whose pure-blood mania is only outsized by his sense of self-importance," Minerva blurted out.
Albus, whose expression had been calm but also blank, raised an eyebrow over his half-moon spectacles, eyes twinkling. "I do believe you're correct there," he said, "though I myself have always found him to resemble more closely a ferret."
Minerva found herself laughing despite herself, though she also thought she might burst into tears.
"Minerva, my dear," Albus said, standing up from his chair to retrieve a small velvet-covered box from a shelf behind his desk, "I have utmost confidence in your abilities in my absence. And although the timing is certainly inopportune, it may provide me with the means to make necessary inquiries which would not do well to be traced back to the headmaster of Hogwarts School. You and I both know that if the same person who opened the Chamber of Secrets last time is once again responsible, the situation is much, much more serious than we realize."
He placed one final item in the picnic basket -- a pair of fuzzy purple socks which he'd produced from a desk drawer -- and tapped the basket lightly with his wand, transfiguring it into a folded napkin in red and white checked pattern. Minerva marveled at the crispness of the checks and colors; she doubted that she herself could have done better. But then again, Albus had been her own instructor. Though that had been many, many years ago.
"Cheer up, Minerva," Albus said, carefully tucking the napkin into the folds of his robes. "We both know the only reason you're not headmistress now is that I haven't managed to learn a hobby suitable to keep myself occupied in my retirement."
He stepped around the desk. "Trust your judgment," he said. "Try to keep the school running as normally as possible for as long as you possibly can." She stood to face him, and he patted her gingerly on the shoulder. She blinked rapidly, three and then four times. "Owls will find me," he said. "Good luck."
And then, with no explanation as to where he was going or what he planned to do, he was gone.
3.
Once Albus had convened the staff, assigned them portions of Gryffindor Tower to search, broken up a near-duel between Remus and Severus and dismissed the teachers to their tasks, he turned to Minerva and said, "Why don't you stay behind for just a moment, Professor McGonagall, you look as though you haven't quite caught your breath."
Standing in the middle of Albus' office in her dressing gown, one hand on her chest, her heart pounding under her palm, Minerva's mix of fear for the safety of her students and anger with one student in particular gave way to exhaustion and apology. "I can't say enough," she started, "Longbottom's actions were inexcusable, especially given the circumstances, and I would never condone--"
"Now, now," Dumbledore said, gesturing for her to sit in one of the armchairs by his fire, "it appears that all of the students are safe, and that is the most important thing. Longbottom's negligence was regrettable, yes, but it some ways it is actually a comfort to know that Sirius Black must still rely on passwords if he attempts to gain entrance to the castle."
Minerva turned to face the fireplace but did not sit down. She watched the licking flames and thought of all the times she'd sent Sirius Black and James Potter to this very office in their years at Hogwarts. All manner of mischief they'd gotten up to and though she blamed them for a good portion of the gray that had begun to streak her hair when she was younger than she'd care to remember, she never imagined an end like this one: Black a madman, trying to break into the dormitory that had been his home so he could murder Potter's son.
"Sometimes it's still hard to believe it's true," Minerva said. "That he would kill all those people; that he would have betrayed James and Lily."
Albus said nothing, but after all these years she knew from the way his eyes gleamed that there was more to be said than what he was letting on.
"You do believe that's what happened, don't you?" she asked.
Albus sighed. "I believe that Sirius Black has proven through his actions to be extremely dangerous," he said. "More than that, none of us can truly be certain. We must behave, however, with the safety of the students at heart." He turned away from the fire and said, "Are you ready to join the search? I'm certain your expertise in locating spells is in great need." He moved toward the door, and although she was entirely uncertain what he had just been saying, she knew that the conversation was over.
4.
The dog was waiting at the very edge of Hagrid's pumpkin patch, clawing at the dirt beneath its paws in a way that was not a little bit anxious and also distinctly not canine, as though there was an invisible line between the pumpkin patch and the path leading up to the caste and the dog was weighing the merits of attempting to cross it.
If she had not already been near certain that this dog was not truly a dog, Minerva's suspicions would have been confirmed when the dog spotted her and suddenly became very interested in ambling back toward the garden.
"E-excuse me," she said, silently admonishing herself when she heard her own voice tremble. An unregistered Animagus was both nothing to be afraid of and the least of her concerns at the moment.
"Ahem," she cleared her throat. "Excuse me," she said again.
The dog turned its head.
"Professor Dumbledore has asked me to escort you to his office." If the events of the last several hours had not left her fighting off paralyzing terror on a razor's edge, she might have found the situation somewhat humorous, particularly when the dog made what looked very nearly like a frown before trotting over to follow her back up to the castle.
Both Minerva and the dog -- a large, lopping black creature of indeterminate breed -- turned to look toward the maze. The grounds were quiet and empty now, but smell of panic seemed to hang in the air. Staring at the empty grandstands, Minerva could hardly believe what had happened, and refused to allow herself to consider how it had happened. The dog, seemingly noticing the line of her gaze, gave a low, questioning whine.
"I don't know what happened," she said, and then suddenly embittered by the extent of the information that was being kept from her, added, "Just like I don't know who you are, but believe me, I certainly know you're no dog."
As they reached the entrance to the castle, the dog yelped, sounding as helpless as she felt. "You're wondering after Potter?" she guessed, glancing down. The dog, abandoning all pretense of origin, nodded. "He appears to be unharmed, thank goodness," Minerva said. The dog let out what seemed to be a deep sigh. "Professor Dumbledore is with him," she added. "He is safe."
Students had been confined to their dormitories as a precaution, so thankfully they met no one as they ascended the stairs to the headmaster's office. Minerva would have been loath to explain her company, even if it was on the Headmaster's orders.
"Cockroach cluster," she said when they reached the portrait hole. The dog followed her into the office, and she closed the portrait door behind her. "Shall I give the Headmaster a message?" she asked. The dog wagged its tail urgently. She had thought that once they were safe in Albus' office that the dog might transform and reveal itself, but apparently she was not meant to know its identity.
"Well," she said through tight lips, "Professor Dumbledore will be with you shortly." She turned, and closed the portrait door behind her.
5.
"Might I ask you to escort Sibyll upstairs, Professor McGonagall?"
Minerva looked from Albus, who was smiling pleasantly as though he'd asked her to fetch another bowl of punch for the garden party, to Umbridge, who was looking like a smug pig-faced troll as usual and finally to Sibyll, who was still sputtering and snotting up Minerva's handkerchief.
"Of course," Minerva said, forcing her expression into what was supposed to be a smile but probably barely managed to be a grimace. "Up you get, Sibyll." She hooked one arm under Sibyll's elbow, and thankfully Pomona bustled up to grab Sibyll's other arm and they began to climb the staircase awkwardly like a three-legged troll. Minerva kept her eyes fixed at the stairs in front of her, determined to ignore Umbridge's expression sneering disapproval as well as the murmuring from the students below.
"I s-s-saw it coming, of c-course," Sibyll muttered as they approached the corridor which led to the professors' quarters.
"Is that so, Sibyll?" Pomona asked politely. Over Sibyll's head, Minerva thought she saw Pomona toss her a quick wink.
"Well, of course, my dear," Sibyll said, seeming to be recovering her bearings but still allowing herself to be mostly carried. "The Sight is a t-t-terrible burden, you know, one cannot turn the Sight off when one wishes to hide from the truth."
"And what exactly did you see, then?" Minerva asked, guiding Sibyll around the bend by the elbow. Already what sympathy she would have felt for anyone who was forced to bear the brunt of Umbridge's wrath was evaporating.
"T-t-terrible dark times ahead," Sibyll moaned. "Terrible dark times, and great discord both from without and within. I knew, of course, that my own fortune would not be immune to these twists of fate, but it does not do, you must know, to draw attention to one's inner eye among the unseeing."
Minerva swallowed a very abrupt cough.
When their group reached the door to Sibyll's rooms, Filius at their heels with Sibyll's trunks, Minerva turned and said, "I believe Sibyll and I can manage from here, I'll just make sure she's settled."
Sibyll's rooms were dark and cramped, and even hastily stripped bare, they still smelled thickly of rotting incense and sherry fumes. Minerva steered Sibyll toward the loveseat and allowed the trunks to land softly in the center of the room. "May I," Minerva offered awkwardly, wondering why she hadn't invented some excuse to hurry off and left this part of the task to Pomona. "May I fix you a cup of tea?" she finished finally.
"Just my medicine, please, dear, if you'd be so kind," Sibyll said, waving a hand toward her trunks. "Right at the top of that one, there, blue bottle."
Minerva opened the larger trunk and saw what was quite plainly a bottle of port wine. She handed the bottle to Sibyll, who accepted it and immediately took a dainty swig straight from the bottle. She lowered the bottle and studied Minerva as though she was not quite sure how either of them had gotten there. "You were born under the influence of Saturn, were you not?" Sibyll asked her.
"Venus, actually," Minerva replied, half-surprised that she was able to recall this information from her own requisite study of Divination as a student.
"Ah, of course," Sibyll said, nodding. "Your aura is distorted, dear, you seek to force your own aspects to revolve around the orbit of another. This is never wise, never, ever wise." She took another sip of port.
"You'll have to excuse me," Minerva said. "I've just remembered I have an appointment."
to rid you from my bones
"We didn't do so well, did we, Padfoot?" call it, "how the mauraders spent their post-ootp vacation." probably the only post-ootp story i'll ever write. gen, again, i guess, except in the way that i really need to come up with a new category that describes stories that are mostly gen except in the way that they're remus/sirius because, to me, all stories are remus/sirius until proven otherwise, even that harry/draco future fic i read that one time where remus was the executor of sirius' will and i was like, "well. okay then." one portion of this story appeared originally in the form of a ficlet for allecto. thanks to lisew, callmesandy and circusgirl for the eye-balling. title from "the engine driver" by the decemberists.
Wormtail washed each dish carefully and without magic. The other Death Eaters were picking over the bones of the feast in the next room and although Wormtail could hear the rise and fall of their voices -- and once a body-thumping crash followed by a strangled shout -- he couldn't make out their words.
Wormtail had been sent into the kitchen to do this house elf's task (and without even a house elf's magic) because his master could tell that he needed to be tested. A small voice in Wormtail's head said that he was being punished, but he forced himself to ignore the voice as he watched small rivers of water cascade across the gold-rimmed plates and fine-polished silver. The voice was what got him into trouble, what proved him in need of more testing before he would be worthy of the Dark Lord's full power.
Wormtail heard the door open behind him, but did not need to turn around to know that it was his master -- he could feel the icy cold sweep through the room. The presence of his master hovered behind him, but Wormtail had learned not to turn around until ordered to do so.
"We will depart shortly," his master said. "You will remain here."
"Yes, my lord," Wormtail mumbled, careful not to let a soap-slickened goblet slip from his hands.
"Do you wish to know why you will remain here?" his master asked.
"Because I'm being tested, my lord?"
His master laughed, a short cruel sound, and Wormtail felt hot with shame. "No, Wormtail, you simpleton, you will remain here because, to the Ministry of Magic, you are still dead, and I would think you would do well to keep the knowledge of your continued existence from them as long as possible, on the off chance that your rodent disguise may still be of some use to our cause."
"Yes, master," Wormtail replied.
"It is no matter," his master continued. "Tonight will be a great victory for Lord Voldemort. The boy will reveal the prophecy and once this knowledge is in my power, he shall finally meet his end at my hand."
"Aren't you," Wormtail stammered, "aren't you worried that, er, that the Animagus Black will come for him?"
"You fool," his master hissed. He gripped the back of Wormtail's neck with one hand and Wormtail felt cold pain shoot through his body. "Should Black attempt to interfere, he shall be killed like the dog that he is." His master twisted the skin of Wormtail's neck between his fingers and Wormtail fought and failed not to whimper. "Would you like that, Wormtail?" his master asked. "One more of your filthy school friends struck down by Lord Voldemort? I suppose that would leave only the blood perverting werewolf Lupin left, wouldn't it? Perhaps I will leave him for you to kill yourself as a final test of your devotion. Would you like that, Wormtail?"
"Please, master," Wormtail said. In his right hand, porcelain turned to powder.
*
"And, well, here I am," Sirius said. He and James were sitting side-by-side on a bench in the sunshine. James was swinging his legs and Sirius was rubbing on ache in his side.
"How did -- how is Harry, how did he look?" James said. James himself looked curious, although Sirius couldn't quite figure why. Maybe it was that James seemed no particular age: not the James Sirius remembered from school, not James as Sirius last remembered him but somehow also not what he imagined James would look like if he'd lived, either.
Sirius laughed, though, and said, "Bugger off." He added, "I know you ask everyone. He looks just like you, he has Lily's eyes, he's smart, he's brave, he's incredibly loyal." Sirius bit his lip. "He was there, he came because he thought I was in danger. It was my fault. He could have -- things could have been the other way around."
"Do you think, after you--"
"Dumbledore was there," Sirius said. But he didn't know what had happened next, so he didn't try to pretend as though he did. And really, if it was the worst, it wasn't as though they wouldn't know about it soon enough. "He's back though," Sirius said finally. "He's definitely back."
James raised one eyebrow. "After fourteen years, really?"
Sirius nodded.
James shook his head, once, and then twice. "We didn't do so well, did we, Padfoot?"
True enough, that much Sirius knew. Not that there was anything to be done about it now.
Later, Sirius was leaning back, nearly tipping off the bench entirely, when he remembered something, quite suddenly, and he was surprised with himself for having forgotten it.
"Peter--" he started, sitting up very straight.
"Oh, that," said James, poking a toe in the grass. "Hell of a thing, isn't it?"
"You already knew?"
"Well, not before," James said. "But once you get here," he stopped to look around, and then he shrugged. "It's pretty much time to turn to the end of the book and read the last page, you know?" He patted Sirius on the shoulder. "It's okay," he said. "It gets better. You still remember, but you won't, ah, it won't matter as much."
Sirius snorted quietly. "Right," he said. "I've heard that one before."
*
"It's not that I don't appreciate the offer," Remus said. "Truly, Molly, but you're bursting to seams here, you can't possibly have room for myself as well."
"Don't be silly, there's always room for one more," Molly said. "After all, that's practically the Weasley family motto." She nearly laughed at this, but seemed to decide to swallow it at the last second as she placed a cup of tea in front of him where he sat at her worn kitchen table. She sat down across from him and said, "Just for a few days at least. Until Dumbledore knows whether or not it will be possible for anyone to return to Grimmauld Place."
At the first Order meeting after -- at the first Order meeting after, held hastily at dawn in Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts, Kingsley had finally been the one to raise the question of wizarding inheritance rights. But there were no simple answers, it wasn't as though Sirius had had a will, or had even been the technical heir to the family holdings when his own mother had died, having been summarily disinherited when he was sixteen. Whether Grimmauld Place was now charmed to ownership in Harry's name, or Narcissa Black Malfoy's name or the name of Kreacher the house elf, no one knew.
Even if it would be possible for the Order to continue to use Grimmauld Place as headquarters, Remus could not say that he wouldn't prefer to put off his return.
He looked up from his teacup and said, "For a few days, then, only. And thank you."
Molly patted his hand where it rested beside his mug. "Well, what did you think we were going to do?" she said with forced cheer. "Let you starve?"
Remus smiled at her weakly, but it was more than a joke -- he had given up the rooms he'd been renting since having left Hogwarts when he'd taken up residence at Grimmauld Place last summer, though he'd scarcely been able to afford the rent anyway. With all the traveling he'd done for the Order over the last year, he hadn't been able to take on any tutoring or substitute work, so his savings were even more lean than usual. Whenever a need for money had arisen at Grimmauld Place, Sirius had produced a handful of Galleons from somewhere or another, his loathing for his family had never extended to a refusal to spend their fortune, not even since--
Remus gripped his teacup suddenly, his fingers wrapped tight until the nails dug into his palms like small sharp stabs and his knuckles turned white. It was too soon, too soon to be thinking of Sirius' death as a logistical obstacle, and certainly too soon to be picking apart Sirius' faults. Except that it wasn't, and Remus had nowhere to live.
"I'm sure we'll all miss him very much," Molly said, and Remus realized that they had been sitting in awkward silence for many minutes. He wasn't sure how he ought to respond; he supposed he wasn't the only one who had decided to start telling himself lies.
*
Sirius opened his eyes and said, "So, what's the way out, then?"
James ran a comb of fingers through his hair. "What are you talking about?" he asked.
"Are you kidding, mate?" Sirius said. "Don't tell me you haven't been looking since you got here. The way out, you know? The way back to the other side?"
James looked around. The park was very bright and sunny, and when he closed his eyes, he saw white spots behind his eyelids. He would have liked to have left the park, but he could see that Sirius wasn't ready yet. "What are you talking about?" he asked slowly. "There's no way out. That's not how it works."
"You having a go at me?" Sirius scoffed. "Are you telling me that James Potter hasn't tried to find a way to bust out of here yet? What, Lily wouldn't let you go looking? Where is she, anyway? I'd fancy saying hello."
James sighed. "She's here," he said. "Well, not here exactly. Near here. We can go see her soon, if you want. But I'm not having a go at you, Sirius, there isn't any way out."
There was a gleam in Sirius' eye, and above all other things it was how James had recognized him on the park bench, but it was also the thing, as they sat here, that seemed the most unfamiliar; foreign. Improbable.
neither of these stories contain HBP spoilers, and neither do i. if you read this story and think "aww, that's nice, but it's totally jossed by HBP," (as one of them most undoubtably will be) please do not tell me that, or i cry and then kill your mother. i have become so crazy irrational about trying to stay spoiler-free for HBP that i nearly accused someone of spoiling me based on the tone in their voice when they told that they'd read spoilers. which, yes, i'm aware is on par with complaining about being spoiled by a mood icon on a cut-tagged post about a television show. see? crazy. c-r-a-z-y. i'm hoping it'll pass, like a fever, and that self-awareness is half the battle.
but if you are spoiler-free and killing time until friday night, well:
but my job here is not to deliver you (being minerva mcgonagall)
"Your aura is distorted, dear, you seek to force your own aspects to revolve around the orbit of another. This is never wise, never, ever wise." minerva. mostly gen. written for what i'm namesaking the jjtaylor-a-thon, who said, "minerva simply needs more attention." thanks to callmesandy and circusgirl for giving it the eye. title from "minerva" by ani difranco.
1.
The Ward for Extreme Memory Mishaps at St. Mungo's was bright and sunny, with windows charmed to give off a view of the sea. Most of the residents of the ward were so addled that they could not recall what they'd eaten for breakfast by tea time or what they'd eaten for tea time by supper, so patients were situated by the windows for most of each day, watching the illusion of waves lapping on the shore, paying no mind that the weather was never overcast and never noticing that the view never changed.
After nine hundred and forty-seven days of the same sun-drenched day at the shore, Minerva McGonagall didn't look out the window anymore.
"How are we today, mother?" she said. They sat facing each other in wicker beach chairs under the window sill, Minerva with her hands clasped in her lap and her mother gazing out the window and picking at the frayed cuff of her cardigan.
"Oh, I'm fine, thank you dear," her mother says. "Have you seen my daughter, by the way? She was supposed to visit me, oh, last week, I suppose."
Minerva sighed. "I'm you're daughter," she said. The first time she'd sat in this ward and said those words, they'd settled heavy in her stomach like stones, but now they felt nearly effortless and maybe a little exasperated. "I can only stay for a few minutes today," she said. "I'm sorry."
Her mother glanced up briefly, but there was no recognition in her eyes. "I like the view, don't you?" she said.
"Yes," said Minerva. "It's very nice."
Whenever Minerva left the ward for Extreme Memory Mishaps, she had the feeling of walking out of a frozen time turner. In three years, the view and everything else on the ward had stayed exactly the same while the wards for Incurable Insanity and Helpless Hex Injuries were full to bursting with the Death Eaters' victims. But the residents of the Extreme Memory Mishaps ward were content with their view of the sea, none of the wiser of the world outside.
There were days when she almost envied them.
She was preparing to Floo back to Hogwarts (they'd closed the school and sent the students home two weeks into fall term, but the Order was still using it as a headquarters of sorts) when she heard a voice behind her: "Professor McGonagall, wait!"
She turned and saw young Remus Lupin racing to catch her. She'd told him, when they'd been on a mission together in Wales, that he needn't address her as "Professor" any longer, but it hadn't taken.
"Yes, what is it?" she said.
He jerked his head toward a corridor, leading to the Ward for Infectious Invalids. Close up, she saw his face was ashen, his eyes shot through with blood.
"I just heard-" he said, trailing off. His mouth opened several times more, but no sound came out.
"Heard what, Remus?" she asked.
"Voldemort, he's gone," Remus blurted.
Minerva heard herself gasp. "How?"
"I’m not," He brought one hand to his mouth, and spoke from behind his fingers. "Nobody's sure what happened," he said. "They think he found James and Lily," he stopped again, his voice having cracked open when he said their names. "He killed them, and he tried to kill the baby, but he--he couldn't. And now he's gone."
Minerva put a hand on Remus' shoulder. She remembered him as just a boy and now he was taller than she and she had to lift up arm. "Where's Dumbledore?" she said.
Remus shook his head. "I'm not sure," he said. "I think he's gone after Harry. I have to, I need to go find--"
Minerva nodded. Her cheeks were cold, as though they'd not felt sun in a very, very long time. "Go," she said. "I'll find Albus."
2.
Albus had asked Minerva to come to his office -- "immediately, I suppose, although I daresay if you're in the middle of anything particularly enjoyable, it's certainly nothing that cannot wait a few minutes -- by Floo call, and now there she sat, wringing her hands in her lap while he placed various items in an oversized picnic basket.
"Professor Dumbledore," she said. "You can't leave. Not with everything that's happening."
"And yet, as you can see," he said, gesturing to the decree on the desk, "I appear to have no choice. Certainly this complicates matters at hand," he added, "but Lucius' actions hardly come as a surprise, do they not?"
"Lucius Malfoy is a power-mad vulture whose pure-blood mania is only outsized by his sense of self-importance," Minerva blurted out.
Albus, whose expression had been calm but also blank, raised an eyebrow over his half-moon spectacles, eyes twinkling. "I do believe you're correct there," he said, "though I myself have always found him to resemble more closely a ferret."
Minerva found herself laughing despite herself, though she also thought she might burst into tears.
"Minerva, my dear," Albus said, standing up from his chair to retrieve a small velvet-covered box from a shelf behind his desk, "I have utmost confidence in your abilities in my absence. And although the timing is certainly inopportune, it may provide me with the means to make necessary inquiries which would not do well to be traced back to the headmaster of Hogwarts School. You and I both know that if the same person who opened the Chamber of Secrets last time is once again responsible, the situation is much, much more serious than we realize."
He placed one final item in the picnic basket -- a pair of fuzzy purple socks which he'd produced from a desk drawer -- and tapped the basket lightly with his wand, transfiguring it into a folded napkin in red and white checked pattern. Minerva marveled at the crispness of the checks and colors; she doubted that she herself could have done better. But then again, Albus had been her own instructor. Though that had been many, many years ago.
"Cheer up, Minerva," Albus said, carefully tucking the napkin into the folds of his robes. "We both know the only reason you're not headmistress now is that I haven't managed to learn a hobby suitable to keep myself occupied in my retirement."
He stepped around the desk. "Trust your judgment," he said. "Try to keep the school running as normally as possible for as long as you possibly can." She stood to face him, and he patted her gingerly on the shoulder. She blinked rapidly, three and then four times. "Owls will find me," he said. "Good luck."
And then, with no explanation as to where he was going or what he planned to do, he was gone.
3.
Once Albus had convened the staff, assigned them portions of Gryffindor Tower to search, broken up a near-duel between Remus and Severus and dismissed the teachers to their tasks, he turned to Minerva and said, "Why don't you stay behind for just a moment, Professor McGonagall, you look as though you haven't quite caught your breath."
Standing in the middle of Albus' office in her dressing gown, one hand on her chest, her heart pounding under her palm, Minerva's mix of fear for the safety of her students and anger with one student in particular gave way to exhaustion and apology. "I can't say enough," she started, "Longbottom's actions were inexcusable, especially given the circumstances, and I would never condone--"
"Now, now," Dumbledore said, gesturing for her to sit in one of the armchairs by his fire, "it appears that all of the students are safe, and that is the most important thing. Longbottom's negligence was regrettable, yes, but it some ways it is actually a comfort to know that Sirius Black must still rely on passwords if he attempts to gain entrance to the castle."
Minerva turned to face the fireplace but did not sit down. She watched the licking flames and thought of all the times she'd sent Sirius Black and James Potter to this very office in their years at Hogwarts. All manner of mischief they'd gotten up to and though she blamed them for a good portion of the gray that had begun to streak her hair when she was younger than she'd care to remember, she never imagined an end like this one: Black a madman, trying to break into the dormitory that had been his home so he could murder Potter's son.
"Sometimes it's still hard to believe it's true," Minerva said. "That he would kill all those people; that he would have betrayed James and Lily."
Albus said nothing, but after all these years she knew from the way his eyes gleamed that there was more to be said than what he was letting on.
"You do believe that's what happened, don't you?" she asked.
Albus sighed. "I believe that Sirius Black has proven through his actions to be extremely dangerous," he said. "More than that, none of us can truly be certain. We must behave, however, with the safety of the students at heart." He turned away from the fire and said, "Are you ready to join the search? I'm certain your expertise in locating spells is in great need." He moved toward the door, and although she was entirely uncertain what he had just been saying, she knew that the conversation was over.
4.
The dog was waiting at the very edge of Hagrid's pumpkin patch, clawing at the dirt beneath its paws in a way that was not a little bit anxious and also distinctly not canine, as though there was an invisible line between the pumpkin patch and the path leading up to the caste and the dog was weighing the merits of attempting to cross it.
If she had not already been near certain that this dog was not truly a dog, Minerva's suspicions would have been confirmed when the dog spotted her and suddenly became very interested in ambling back toward the garden.
"E-excuse me," she said, silently admonishing herself when she heard her own voice tremble. An unregistered Animagus was both nothing to be afraid of and the least of her concerns at the moment.
"Ahem," she cleared her throat. "Excuse me," she said again.
The dog turned its head.
"Professor Dumbledore has asked me to escort you to his office." If the events of the last several hours had not left her fighting off paralyzing terror on a razor's edge, she might have found the situation somewhat humorous, particularly when the dog made what looked very nearly like a frown before trotting over to follow her back up to the castle.
Both Minerva and the dog -- a large, lopping black creature of indeterminate breed -- turned to look toward the maze. The grounds were quiet and empty now, but smell of panic seemed to hang in the air. Staring at the empty grandstands, Minerva could hardly believe what had happened, and refused to allow herself to consider how it had happened. The dog, seemingly noticing the line of her gaze, gave a low, questioning whine.
"I don't know what happened," she said, and then suddenly embittered by the extent of the information that was being kept from her, added, "Just like I don't know who you are, but believe me, I certainly know you're no dog."
As they reached the entrance to the castle, the dog yelped, sounding as helpless as she felt. "You're wondering after Potter?" she guessed, glancing down. The dog, abandoning all pretense of origin, nodded. "He appears to be unharmed, thank goodness," Minerva said. The dog let out what seemed to be a deep sigh. "Professor Dumbledore is with him," she added. "He is safe."
Students had been confined to their dormitories as a precaution, so thankfully they met no one as they ascended the stairs to the headmaster's office. Minerva would have been loath to explain her company, even if it was on the Headmaster's orders.
"Cockroach cluster," she said when they reached the portrait hole. The dog followed her into the office, and she closed the portrait door behind her. "Shall I give the Headmaster a message?" she asked. The dog wagged its tail urgently. She had thought that once they were safe in Albus' office that the dog might transform and reveal itself, but apparently she was not meant to know its identity.
"Well," she said through tight lips, "Professor Dumbledore will be with you shortly." She turned, and closed the portrait door behind her.
5.
"Might I ask you to escort Sibyll upstairs, Professor McGonagall?"
Minerva looked from Albus, who was smiling pleasantly as though he'd asked her to fetch another bowl of punch for the garden party, to Umbridge, who was looking like a smug pig-faced troll as usual and finally to Sibyll, who was still sputtering and snotting up Minerva's handkerchief.
"Of course," Minerva said, forcing her expression into what was supposed to be a smile but probably barely managed to be a grimace. "Up you get, Sibyll." She hooked one arm under Sibyll's elbow, and thankfully Pomona bustled up to grab Sibyll's other arm and they began to climb the staircase awkwardly like a three-legged troll. Minerva kept her eyes fixed at the stairs in front of her, determined to ignore Umbridge's expression sneering disapproval as well as the murmuring from the students below.
"I s-s-saw it coming, of c-course," Sibyll muttered as they approached the corridor which led to the professors' quarters.
"Is that so, Sibyll?" Pomona asked politely. Over Sibyll's head, Minerva thought she saw Pomona toss her a quick wink.
"Well, of course, my dear," Sibyll said, seeming to be recovering her bearings but still allowing herself to be mostly carried. "The Sight is a t-t-terrible burden, you know, one cannot turn the Sight off when one wishes to hide from the truth."
"And what exactly did you see, then?" Minerva asked, guiding Sibyll around the bend by the elbow. Already what sympathy she would have felt for anyone who was forced to bear the brunt of Umbridge's wrath was evaporating.
"T-t-terrible dark times ahead," Sibyll moaned. "Terrible dark times, and great discord both from without and within. I knew, of course, that my own fortune would not be immune to these twists of fate, but it does not do, you must know, to draw attention to one's inner eye among the unseeing."
Minerva swallowed a very abrupt cough.
When their group reached the door to Sibyll's rooms, Filius at their heels with Sibyll's trunks, Minerva turned and said, "I believe Sibyll and I can manage from here, I'll just make sure she's settled."
Sibyll's rooms were dark and cramped, and even hastily stripped bare, they still smelled thickly of rotting incense and sherry fumes. Minerva steered Sibyll toward the loveseat and allowed the trunks to land softly in the center of the room. "May I," Minerva offered awkwardly, wondering why she hadn't invented some excuse to hurry off and left this part of the task to Pomona. "May I fix you a cup of tea?" she finished finally.
"Just my medicine, please, dear, if you'd be so kind," Sibyll said, waving a hand toward her trunks. "Right at the top of that one, there, blue bottle."
Minerva opened the larger trunk and saw what was quite plainly a bottle of port wine. She handed the bottle to Sibyll, who accepted it and immediately took a dainty swig straight from the bottle. She lowered the bottle and studied Minerva as though she was not quite sure how either of them had gotten there. "You were born under the influence of Saturn, were you not?" Sibyll asked her.
"Venus, actually," Minerva replied, half-surprised that she was able to recall this information from her own requisite study of Divination as a student.
"Ah, of course," Sibyll said, nodding. "Your aura is distorted, dear, you seek to force your own aspects to revolve around the orbit of another. This is never wise, never, ever wise." She took another sip of port.
"You'll have to excuse me," Minerva said. "I've just remembered I have an appointment."
to rid you from my bones
"We didn't do so well, did we, Padfoot?" call it, "how the mauraders spent their post-ootp vacation." probably the only post-ootp story i'll ever write. gen, again, i guess, except in the way that i really need to come up with a new category that describes stories that are mostly gen except in the way that they're remus/sirius because, to me, all stories are remus/sirius until proven otherwise, even that harry/draco future fic i read that one time where remus was the executor of sirius' will and i was like, "well. okay then." one portion of this story appeared originally in the form of a ficlet for allecto. thanks to lisew, callmesandy and circusgirl for the eye-balling. title from "the engine driver" by the decemberists.
Wormtail washed each dish carefully and without magic. The other Death Eaters were picking over the bones of the feast in the next room and although Wormtail could hear the rise and fall of their voices -- and once a body-thumping crash followed by a strangled shout -- he couldn't make out their words.
Wormtail had been sent into the kitchen to do this house elf's task (and without even a house elf's magic) because his master could tell that he needed to be tested. A small voice in Wormtail's head said that he was being punished, but he forced himself to ignore the voice as he watched small rivers of water cascade across the gold-rimmed plates and fine-polished silver. The voice was what got him into trouble, what proved him in need of more testing before he would be worthy of the Dark Lord's full power.
Wormtail heard the door open behind him, but did not need to turn around to know that it was his master -- he could feel the icy cold sweep through the room. The presence of his master hovered behind him, but Wormtail had learned not to turn around until ordered to do so.
"We will depart shortly," his master said. "You will remain here."
"Yes, my lord," Wormtail mumbled, careful not to let a soap-slickened goblet slip from his hands.
"Do you wish to know why you will remain here?" his master asked.
"Because I'm being tested, my lord?"
His master laughed, a short cruel sound, and Wormtail felt hot with shame. "No, Wormtail, you simpleton, you will remain here because, to the Ministry of Magic, you are still dead, and I would think you would do well to keep the knowledge of your continued existence from them as long as possible, on the off chance that your rodent disguise may still be of some use to our cause."
"Yes, master," Wormtail replied.
"It is no matter," his master continued. "Tonight will be a great victory for Lord Voldemort. The boy will reveal the prophecy and once this knowledge is in my power, he shall finally meet his end at my hand."
"Aren't you," Wormtail stammered, "aren't you worried that, er, that the Animagus Black will come for him?"
"You fool," his master hissed. He gripped the back of Wormtail's neck with one hand and Wormtail felt cold pain shoot through his body. "Should Black attempt to interfere, he shall be killed like the dog that he is." His master twisted the skin of Wormtail's neck between his fingers and Wormtail fought and failed not to whimper. "Would you like that, Wormtail?" his master asked. "One more of your filthy school friends struck down by Lord Voldemort? I suppose that would leave only the blood perverting werewolf Lupin left, wouldn't it? Perhaps I will leave him for you to kill yourself as a final test of your devotion. Would you like that, Wormtail?"
"Please, master," Wormtail said. In his right hand, porcelain turned to powder.
*
"And, well, here I am," Sirius said. He and James were sitting side-by-side on a bench in the sunshine. James was swinging his legs and Sirius was rubbing on ache in his side.
"How did -- how is Harry, how did he look?" James said. James himself looked curious, although Sirius couldn't quite figure why. Maybe it was that James seemed no particular age: not the James Sirius remembered from school, not James as Sirius last remembered him but somehow also not what he imagined James would look like if he'd lived, either.
Sirius laughed, though, and said, "Bugger off." He added, "I know you ask everyone. He looks just like you, he has Lily's eyes, he's smart, he's brave, he's incredibly loyal." Sirius bit his lip. "He was there, he came because he thought I was in danger. It was my fault. He could have -- things could have been the other way around."
"Do you think, after you--"
"Dumbledore was there," Sirius said. But he didn't know what had happened next, so he didn't try to pretend as though he did. And really, if it was the worst, it wasn't as though they wouldn't know about it soon enough. "He's back though," Sirius said finally. "He's definitely back."
James raised one eyebrow. "After fourteen years, really?"
Sirius nodded.
James shook his head, once, and then twice. "We didn't do so well, did we, Padfoot?"
True enough, that much Sirius knew. Not that there was anything to be done about it now.
Later, Sirius was leaning back, nearly tipping off the bench entirely, when he remembered something, quite suddenly, and he was surprised with himself for having forgotten it.
"Peter--" he started, sitting up very straight.
"Oh, that," said James, poking a toe in the grass. "Hell of a thing, isn't it?"
"You already knew?"
"Well, not before," James said. "But once you get here," he stopped to look around, and then he shrugged. "It's pretty much time to turn to the end of the book and read the last page, you know?" He patted Sirius on the shoulder. "It's okay," he said. "It gets better. You still remember, but you won't, ah, it won't matter as much."
Sirius snorted quietly. "Right," he said. "I've heard that one before."
*
"It's not that I don't appreciate the offer," Remus said. "Truly, Molly, but you're bursting to seams here, you can't possibly have room for myself as well."
"Don't be silly, there's always room for one more," Molly said. "After all, that's practically the Weasley family motto." She nearly laughed at this, but seemed to decide to swallow it at the last second as she placed a cup of tea in front of him where he sat at her worn kitchen table. She sat down across from him and said, "Just for a few days at least. Until Dumbledore knows whether or not it will be possible for anyone to return to Grimmauld Place."
At the first Order meeting after -- at the first Order meeting after, held hastily at dawn in Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts, Kingsley had finally been the one to raise the question of wizarding inheritance rights. But there were no simple answers, it wasn't as though Sirius had had a will, or had even been the technical heir to the family holdings when his own mother had died, having been summarily disinherited when he was sixteen. Whether Grimmauld Place was now charmed to ownership in Harry's name, or Narcissa Black Malfoy's name or the name of Kreacher the house elf, no one knew.
Even if it would be possible for the Order to continue to use Grimmauld Place as headquarters, Remus could not say that he wouldn't prefer to put off his return.
He looked up from his teacup and said, "For a few days, then, only. And thank you."
Molly patted his hand where it rested beside his mug. "Well, what did you think we were going to do?" she said with forced cheer. "Let you starve?"
Remus smiled at her weakly, but it was more than a joke -- he had given up the rooms he'd been renting since having left Hogwarts when he'd taken up residence at Grimmauld Place last summer, though he'd scarcely been able to afford the rent anyway. With all the traveling he'd done for the Order over the last year, he hadn't been able to take on any tutoring or substitute work, so his savings were even more lean than usual. Whenever a need for money had arisen at Grimmauld Place, Sirius had produced a handful of Galleons from somewhere or another, his loathing for his family had never extended to a refusal to spend their fortune, not even since--
Remus gripped his teacup suddenly, his fingers wrapped tight until the nails dug into his palms like small sharp stabs and his knuckles turned white. It was too soon, too soon to be thinking of Sirius' death as a logistical obstacle, and certainly too soon to be picking apart Sirius' faults. Except that it wasn't, and Remus had nowhere to live.
"I'm sure we'll all miss him very much," Molly said, and Remus realized that they had been sitting in awkward silence for many minutes. He wasn't sure how he ought to respond; he supposed he wasn't the only one who had decided to start telling himself lies.
*
Sirius opened his eyes and said, "So, what's the way out, then?"
James ran a comb of fingers through his hair. "What are you talking about?" he asked.
"Are you kidding, mate?" Sirius said. "Don't tell me you haven't been looking since you got here. The way out, you know? The way back to the other side?"
James looked around. The park was very bright and sunny, and when he closed his eyes, he saw white spots behind his eyelids. He would have liked to have left the park, but he could see that Sirius wasn't ready yet. "What are you talking about?" he asked slowly. "There's no way out. That's not how it works."
"You having a go at me?" Sirius scoffed. "Are you telling me that James Potter hasn't tried to find a way to bust out of here yet? What, Lily wouldn't let you go looking? Where is she, anyway? I'd fancy saying hello."
James sighed. "She's here," he said. "Well, not here exactly. Near here. We can go see her soon, if you want. But I'm not having a go at you, Sirius, there isn't any way out."
There was a gleam in Sirius' eye, and above all other things it was how James had recognized him on the park bench, but it was also the thing, as they sat here, that seemed the most unfamiliar; foreign. Improbable.