FIC: A Time To Act, for penknife
Title: A Time To Act
Author:
mindabbles
Recipient:
penknife
Rating: G
Prompt: Minerva McGonagall at Hogwarts during the school year Harry misses.
Summary: Sometimes your power’s not in being able to prevent events, but in how you react.
“Well m’dear, back to old clothes and porridge, eh?” Pomona asked. Her cheerful tone was a bludger to the pain that had begun in Minerva’s head the moment she stepped back onto school grounds this morning.
“I dare say you’ll find that it’s not,” she responded tersely, her lips narrowing to a severe line.
She found herself envying Pomona her summer blissfully out of touch in the rainforest, collecting samples of near-extinct plants. Demoralizing as that may be, at least Pomona had samples, some piece she could save of the specimens that were so precious to her, Minerva thought as she looked around the entrance hall of the school.
“Minerva?” Pomona asked. Her tone now was asking as much for reassurance as for clarification.
The sound of Snape’s - Headmaster Snape, Minerva thought with a shudder - reedy voice issuing instructions to Filch and to those ghastly Carrows brought her back to business at hand.
She leaned in to give Pomona a perfunctory hug and said, “So good to see you,” loudly over Pomona’s surprised gasp. Shaking off her own discomfort at having hugged her colleague for the first time in their long acquaintance, she whispered, “Meet at the Hog’s Head. Half-twelve tonight. Tell Sybil.”
She turned on her heel and hurried to her office before she said something to Snape that, while she might not regret it herself, would do nothing to help matters.
*
“We’re closing up early,” Aberforth barked at his one, lone customer.
“I apologize for interrupting your business,” Minerva said, involuntarily wrinkling her nose at the smell of stale whiskey and desperate-need-of-a-bath as the man at the bar rose to leave. “But it wasn’t to be helped.”
“S’no loss,” Aberforth responded. “He never pays a sodding knut and I think his wife will agree he’d be better off with an early night.” Very much doubt that, Minerva thought as she chose a table near an open window.
Aberforth paused in the midst of swiping a cloth that was perhaps filthier than the grimy counter he was attempting to clean and grumbled, “I would tell you that you shouldn’t bother, but I won’t waste my breath. Bloody minded woman.”
The arrival of Filius, Pomona, Sybil, and Poppy thankfully discharged Minerva from her need to respond.
“It’s late. I’ll make this quick,” Minerva said briskly to her assembled colleagues.
Aberforth moved around the table where they sat, pouring drinks for everyone. Minerva began to object, but thought better of it when he handed her a glass and she inhaled the aromas of cherries and peat. Surely having to meet secretly in the dead of night with a goat leaning against her feet called for sherry.
“Term’s scarcely even started and I’m fed up watching this,” squeaked Filius, the disgust clear in his voice. “I’ve half a mind to leave it to Snape and join the Order.”
Sybil set down her glass too firmly with her shaking hand, sloshing sherry onto the table, at his words.
“Then you’ve half a mind, Filius,” Minerva snapped. Talk of dissention amoungst the group who felt like the school’s only hope was not on the agenda for this meeting.
“We can’t leave,” Poppy said evenly. “We have to be here. We have to look after the students.”
“I quite agree,” said Pomona, staring pointedly at Flitwick, who looked appropriately chagrined and mumbled something about never thinking of leaving in reality.
Sybil seemed to have become lost in the bottom of her sherry glass. Staring deeply and almost lovingly at the deep amber liquid, she said in a tremulous, airy voice, “We are all in grave danger...I see jeweled orbs flying, flying to the enemy…”
“Have another drink, Sybil,” Minerva interrupted curtly.
Sybil looked startled and mumbled, “That made sense in my inner eye.” She lifted her glass, as much it seemed, to avoid the looks of the others around the table as to take Minerva’s advice.
“Of course it did, dear,” Poppy said, kindly patting her arm.
“Getting on with it, we need to have a way to contact each other. Anytime one of the Carrows or Filch takes a student, - I heard Severus giving them permission to carry out some of the items on that sadistic wish list of Filch’s - anytime known or suspected Death Eaters are on grounds, anytime you hear of a student being harassed in any way, I want to know,” Minerva said emphatically. “Sometimes your power’s not in being able to prevent events, but in how you react.”
Filius was back with her, she could see that. The others had never left, and even Sybil was nodding.
“How will we communicate?” Poppy asked. “The floo’s are out, a patronus would be seen, owls are too slow.”
“Pardon, Miss,” the startling, high-pitched voice came from somewhere about her knee. “Dobby is telling teachers. Dobby is helping. Dobby knows Harry Potter is wanting Dobby to help.”
“Been doing some tidying up and odds and ends about the place,” Aberforth grumbled in response to the incensed look from Minerva. “He’s trustworthy. Knows more about them Carrows’n and their lot than we do. Hates ‘em too.”
Remembering in whose house Dobby used to serve, Minerva quickly reassessed her reaction and nodded and said, “Thank you, Dobby.” The elf could certainly be useful.
“Back to the school then, I should think, before we’re caught out of bed,” Minerva said grimly.
*
“Never in all my years…” Minerva muttered to herself as she waved open her door.
Neville entered, looking terribly uncertain. He was no doubt wondering at being summoned to her office on the first day of term.
“Mr. Longbottom,” she said, trying for her kindest tone, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I wanted a word.”
Neville nodded.
“Have a biscuit,” she added, hastily shoving a tin across the desk at him.
Minerva had thought that she could not remember a worse beginning of term as she had watched the decimated remains of her 7th years file in. Now seeing the look dawning on Neville’s face, she had the uneasy feeling that the class would become smaller yet again before the end of the year.
“It has occurred to me that you and some of your friends may be intending to attempt to follow in Potter’s footsteps. As your Head of House, I must urge you to exercise caution and to leave it to the teachers,” she paused to gather her thoughts. The skeptical look on his face showed his opinion that the teachers had not been able to keep Hogwarts hallowed traditions intact so far, and while she couldn’t fault him his logic, she could not bear to admit an inability to keep her students safe.
“Harry’s aren’t the only footsteps I was thinking of following in, Professor,” Neville said with a fierceness that took her aback for a moment and she shuddered at the implications of his statement.
“Neville,” Minerva said softly, “I think your parents would want you to finish your education safely. That said, I have also asked you here to ask you to keep an eye on the younger students and to let me know of anything that is not strictly above board. I must implore you not to take any unnecessary risks, but beyond that I won’t advise you to act in anything but accordance with your conscience.”
“Professor,” Neville said gravely and Minerva had the impression that he added two inches to his height and three around the chest, “I think we both know what my parents would have done.”
Minerva nodded, feeling a mixture of resignation and pride, and said, “So, we understand each other?”
“I believe we do,” Neville said as he stood to go. He stopped, his hand on the door, and turned to say quietly, “We’ve just to stick together, Professor.”
*
Minerva loosened the belt of her tartan dressing gown and slipped into bed. The blessed relief of sleep would probably not come anytime soon.
However, the occasional hoot of an owl and gentle, early autumn wind through the eaves were familiar and comforting. Here in her rooms, one could almost pretend that this was the start of any other year.
The beginnings of drowsiness were abruptly interrupted and she shivered suddenly as a sense of impending doom seemed to float in on the breeze. She jerked back her bedclothes and, crossing the room in two strides, slammed her window shut. “Turning into Sybil bloody Trelawney,” she muttered, settling herself back in bed.
Filius’ earlier suggestion, while she would never take it, held a certain appeal. If she were to go underground with the Order at least she would be doing something instead of waiting to see what would happen next.
No, she hastily corrected herself. Since when was teaching not doing something? Since when was making certain that each act was worthy of her House not doing something? She would take a page from the book that Neville apparently read over the summer. She would stay and teach and provide leadership, doing what she could with what was before her, and be ready when the time for action came.
Minerva allowed herself one indulgent moment of wishing that Albus were here to tell her that good and right would prevail.
She hadn’t always believed him, but it was certainly nice to hear.