Chapter 2:- Leave me Alone with no Saviour in Sight
Minerva heard the doorbell ring and looked upward from the sink where she was scrubbing the remains of bacon and eggs from the steel frying pan. She sighed and dried her hands on her tartan apron and headed toward the front door. Her steps were brisk and she schooled her face into her usual stern expression as she opened the door.
Remus Lupin looked at her from the opposite side and leant forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Harry stood beside him looking distinctly disgruntled; presumably he did not want to spend the Summer with the irascible Professor McGonagall.
“Hello Professor,” he greeted stiffly as Remus drew back.
“Mr Potter,” Minerva said curtly.
She ushered him and Remus inside and gestured for them to follow her into the kitchen.
“Tea?” Minerva asked, pointing her wand at the kettle causing steam to spew forth.
“That would be lovely,” Remus said sitting down.
Harry nodded mutely with a sullen expression on his face as he too sat down. Minerva let out an inward sigh; this was going to be a very difficult summer. Harry’s eyes narrowed as he looked over her shoulder and Minerva knew that he had seen Albus.
“I don’t want to see him,” Harry said angrily, turning to Minerva, “I don’t want to eat with him or be in the same room as him. Is that understood?”
Minerva bristled, and she felt her own eyes narrow into slits. “Then you’ll find yourself getting hungry Mr. Potter,” she said stiffly, “I am not going to accommodate your every whim.”
Harry continued to glare at her but Minerva did not draw back from his gaze. Eventually he pulled away and glared at the wall opposite. Remus shot Minerva a sympathetic look as he rose to his feet, draining the last of his tea and setting the cup back on the table.
“Well I have to go,” he said leaning over and kissing Minerva on the cheek once more. “Be patient with him, Min,” he whispered into his ear before drawing back.
Minerva nodded as he gave her hand a brief squeeze and a small smile. He nodded at Harry as he walked past but received no response and exited quickly into the corridor. Minerva waited until she heard the door close before she spoke.
“Let me show you to your room, Mr. Potter,” she said rising to her feet and placing a hand on his shoulder.
He shook her hand off angrily as he stood and turned to glare at her. “Don’t touch me!” he hissed, “I know you don’t want me here. You just want to be with him. Your beloved Professor Dumbledore.”
His voice became vindictive as he continued. “We all see it you know McGonagall. The way you look at him at mealtimes, the way you…”
Minerva had been watching him in disbelief as he harangued her mercilessly, her mouth falling open. This was not the Harry she knew. This was a bitter boy who had lost his best friend. Still, he had to know that this behaviour was not tolerated.
“Mr. Potter,” she began coldly, “I suggest you stop right there.”
“Or what, McGonagall?” he said scornfully, “You’ll take points from Gryffindor? Or will you go crying to Dumbledore? That’s what you normally do isn’t it? Over a bit of pillow talk?”
SLAP!
Minerva stood still next to Harry, her hand still raised from where she had slapped him. Harry looked at her in disbelief, holding his cheek which now bore a red and angry handprint.
“I’ll show you to your rooms now, Mr. Potter,” Minerva said stiffly, letting her hand drop to her side.
She spun on her heel before he had a chance to respond and all-but-ran into the corridor. By the sound of slow footfalls behind her she knew that Harry was close behind and she closed her eyes tightly before opening them once more. She had struck a child. Her actions ran in a slide show in her mind as her feet carried her up the stone stairs to the third floor. Never, in all her years of teaching, had she struck a student. She drew to a halt in front of another of her spare bedrooms and waited for Harry to draw level.
“Lunch will be served at one o’clock,” she said, trying to inject her usual natural authority into her voice, “I never bother with the dining room so we will be eating in the kitchen.”
Harry nodded mutely and Minerva inwardly cringed as she looked at the red welt on his cheek.
“Yes, Professor,” he said in a toneless voice, “I’ll be there.”
Minerva swallowed the rising lump in her throat as she looked at the sixteen-year-old veteran of war in front of her. Now he wasn’t angry all colour had vanished from his face leaving him deathly pale. His jet-black hair only added to his white pallor, and she could see from the prominence of his cheekbones that he, like Albus, had not been eating.
“My estate is at your disposal, Mr. Potter,” she said tearing her mind away from her increasingly morbid observations, “I know for a fact you have Summer homework. Should you need help I will be more than happy to help you. The library is located on the second floor should you need references, which let me assure you, you will certainly need for your Transfiguration homework.”
A shadow of a smile flickered across Harry’s face and Minerva breathed a silent sigh of relief before continuing.
“You are welcome to explore the grounds, though I strongly urge you not to travel toward the moors. They’re very dangerous and more than one muggle has perished there.”
Harry’s eyebrows shot upwards at her words though, thankfully, he did not speak.
“My own bedroom is located directly beneath yours. Should you require my presence you need only floo downstairs. The floo powder can be found in the small pot next to the fire place.”
Minerva took a deep breath as she fell silent and looked at Harry over the top of her square-framed spectacles.
“And Mr. Potter, I apologise for my earlier actions,” she said slowly, “I…I’m sorry, Harry,” she finished simply.
Harry held his hand up and shook his head. “No Professor,” he said softly, “I’m the one should be sorry. I deliberately goaded you; I guess I needed to lash out at someone and you were there.”
Minerva looked at him for a few moments before moving forward and pulling him into a brief and awkward embrace.
“I’m sorry lad,” she said softly as she drew back, “I’m so sorry,” she repeated. She looked at him quickly and knew that he understood that she was not apologizing for her earlier actions; but rather for the entire cavalcade of events he had endured throughout his entire short life.
“Thank you Professor,” he said in a voice equally as soft as hers.
Minerva nodded curtly as her mind rebuilt its usual impenetrable fortress that had broken only moments beforehand, allowing Harry Potter to see she was not only his stern Professor, but rather a living, breathing person, who could feel just as he could. She had walked past Harry before he had a chance to respond though she could feel his gaze burning into her back as she hurried down the corridor. The minute she turned the corner she leant against the wall and buried her face in her hands. No tears fell but the weight of culpability seemed to increase tenfold as she looked through the small gaps between her fingers at the grey, stone wall opposite.
She shook her head roughly and resumed her usual authoritative posture. She did not have the luxury of wallowing in self-pity; not when the outside world was dissolving into anarchy. A snort escaped from her before she could stop it as she inwardly cursed the ineptness of the Ministry of Magic. After numerous assertions from Dumbledore they had finally conceded that Voldemort had in fact disappeared. Not that it made much difference as they blatantly ignored the advice that Albus had given them in recent years. The dementors would not be removed from Azkaban, and Minerva, like many others, feared their inevitable revolt and return to Voldemort’s ranks.
An unbidden shudder jolted through her body and she shut her eyes tightly. It was a little known fact that Harry Potter and Minerva McGonagall shared the same fear. There was a very good reason she had avoided Remus’ classroom in Harry’s third year when they had studied what some described as an innocuous creature. The very thought of a dementor with their stench of death and billowing robes chilled her to the bone. She had spent more time than she cared to admit in her animagus form that year; even to the point she could shrink her books to fit into her pockets and travel the corridors between classes as a feline.
She jolted herself from her reverie and continued her journey down the stairs before turning at the second floor and travelling toward her own bedroom. Her altercation with Harry had tired her somewhat and she felt she had earned the right to curl in her favourite armchair with her favourite book. Muggle literature was every bit as brilliant as wizarding in her mind and she made an effort each month to travel to Muggle London to feed her addiction. Recently she had discovered ‘The Book Thief’ by Markus Zusak. The novel had struck a chord with her; never had she thought she would feel sympathetic toward death and yet this book had opened her eyes toward that very possibility.
She brushed away a lock of hair that had escaped from its tight bun and tucked it behind her ear. Had ‘Death’ been sorry to take away Ronald Weasley’s life? She entered her bedroom and caught her reflection in the cheval glass that stood next to her bed. Beauty was never a word she had associated with herself; her features too stern to be given what she believed to be a ‘soft’ description. She had however, after many years, conceded that she may indeed be relatively attractive. A small smile pulled at her lips as she recalled a time when Albus had burst into her office wielding both a muggle thesaurus and movie magazine.
“I’ve found it!” he had said with what she deemed to be a mad grin on his face.
She had raised her eyebrows as she placed her quill on the table and leant back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “Found what, Albus?”
“The perfect description of you!”
Her skeptical expression had been his cue to continue. He cleared his throat theatrically and raised the movie magazine.
“Greta Garbo is considered by many to be not merely beautiful but breathtakingly handsome.”
Minerva had blushed terribly at his words but Albus Dumbledore was not finished as he threw the magazine on her desk and flipped open the thesaurus.
“Handsome; a synonym of beautiful,” he recited, “Does not suggest mannishness, but a radiant force of animal good health and vividness!” Minerva shook her head wearily as the image of her best friend in her mind juxtaposed horribly with the figure who still sat still, as if in a trance, in a field of heather. She had retorted his words with her usual acerbic tongue by reciting the definition of ‘insane’ much to her own amusement and his chagrin. A ray of sunlight filtered through the large window that overlooked her estate and she blinked furiously as it reflected off the mirror and temporarily blinded her.
Her steps were brisk as she crossed the room and retrieved ‘The Book Thief’ from her bedside table and continued toward the crimson armchair that was positioned so she could garner warmth from the fire, whilst also being able to look out of the window. She sat down heavily and opened the book to the first page. The familiar text leaped up at her and she spoke one of the first sentences aloud.
“Here is a small fact; you are going to die.” Her thoughts drifted from the fictional world of Nazi Germany to the current Wizarding World. Six times Harry Potter had survived an encounter with Voldemort; one time and Ronald Weasley had not.
“One cannot live while the other survives.” After numerous arguments Albus had finally confided the contents of the Prophecy to her. It had sent a shudder of revulsion through her and yet, and she hated herself from thinking this, she found herself thanking the stars that Voldemort had chosen Harry and not Neville Longbottom. Despite his lack of regard for school lessons Harry was a powerful wizard, and in no uncertain terms more powerful than Neville. Whilst it was true he would benefit from tutelage, which she herself was more than willing to provide, Harry had the magical capability of matching, if not surpassing that of Voldemort.
She closed her eyes as tiredness threatened to overwhelm her, and without opening her eyes placed the book on the floor next to her. A slight breeze blew in from outside sending a chill through her body and she summoned a blanket from her bed and drew it around herself. Her body resumed a familiar curled position and she rested her head against the back of the armchair and waited for sleep to overcome her.
It was not long until she was lost in a dream world and students, both past and present, passed by her, each absorbed in their own affairs and unaware of their Transfiguration Professor observing them in the background. Her throat constricted as she saw James and Lily as she remembered them at their wedding. Never had she seen a more beautiful bride as Lily had walked up the aisle smiling radiantly. Her gaze turned to James who, as he often did, looked both surprised and delighted that Lily had chosen him to be with for the rest of her life.
A boy with vivid red hair caught her attention and a true tear fell from the corners of her eye and she watched Ronald Weasley sit down under a tree, searching among the dead for someone he knew, and yet hoping that he would find no one.
“Professor.”
Minerva opened her eyes abruptly to find Harry Potter looking down at her curled form. Her dream visions vanished immediately as she looked into the vivid green eyes of her charge which were full of concern.
“Are you all right, Professor?” he asked.
Minerva nodded and gave him a small smile. “Yes Mr. Potter. I just had a bad dream.”
She threw off the heavy blanket and rose to her feet. “I imagine you’re hungry, Mr. Potter,” she said glancing at her watch to find in was two o’clock.
“A little,” he admitted, “But if you want to rest some more I can easily make some lunch myself.”
Minerva shook her head and placed a hand on her shoulder and steered him toward the door. “No, I shouldn’t be sleeping during the day anyway.”
She released the grip on his shoulder once they entered the corridor and walked alongside each other silently. Thankfully it was a comfortable silence and one which Minerva made no effort to break. They walked into the kitchen to find Albus sitting at the table tracing the many grooves made by generations of McGonagall’s. Minerva flicked her gaze to Harry to find that his mouth had hardened to form an impenetrable line. He marched past Minerva and sat down as far away from Albus as possible, looking resolutely out at the brackish moors through the window.
“Harry I…” Albus started but faltered at Minerva’s sharp shake of her head. He fell silent and stared down at his lap. The former peace that had exited irrevocably shattered, Minerva turned and began to make sandwiches. Her pantry was as stocked as it had ever been and her fingers moved in patterns they had not done in years. She reached for the butter to find it already being held out to her by Harry.
She smiled her thanks as she took it from him and began to butter bread for the sandwiches. Her and Harry worked in silence with him passing ingredients as she required. A large pile of sandwiches that would rival Molly Weasley’s later, they returned to the table. Silently the trio ate, none eager to break the tension in the air. Harry finished first and after making an excuse that he needed to visit the library, left the room first, leaving Albus and Minerva alone.
Minerva rose to her feet and began clearing away the remnants of lunch. Albus also stood though he made no movement toward her as she retrieved detergent and a scrubbing brush.
“Surely it would be easier to use magic,” he said after a pause.
“It would,” Minerva said shortly.
“Then why..?”
“It takes longer,” Minerva said scrubbing furiously at a non-existent stain on a plate.
Albus nodded and moved past her toward the door. “I’m going to go for a walk,” he said softly.
Minerva looked at him and her expression softened as she looked at the weary lines on his face.
“Mind the moors,” she warned.
Albus held her gaze as he nodded. “Of course, dearest Minerva.”
He had disappeared through the door before Minerva had a chance to respond and she leant her hands against the bench and hung her head forward. Moments later she shook her head roughly and waved her wand. The water and soap suds disappeared, as did the small number of crumbs that tarnished the otherwise pristine plates. Another wave of her wand saw the plates fly into their proper shelves and she left the kitchen and made her way toward her bedroom.
She passed the library and glanced inside to find Harry staring aimlessly into the fire with his textbook open in his lap.
“Do you require any help, Mr. Potter?” she asked by way of making her presence known.
Harry started slightly and looked over his shoulder to look at her. Vivid green eyes met grey as he nodded.
“I’m afraid it’s charms though, Professor,” he said apologetically.
Minerva shook her head as she moved inside and took the chair opposite him. “No matter, Potter,” she said holding her hand out for the parchment he held in his hands, “It may have been years since I attended school but I did achieve Outstanding on my charm NEWT.”
Harry’s mouth curved in a half-smile as he handed her the parchment. “It would seem you are quite the over-achiever, Professor.”
Minerva’s eyebrows rose in question and Harry hastened to elaborate.
“There’s not many who could claim to be the Professor of Transfiguration, Head of Gryffindor and Deputy Headmistress.”
A blush crossed Minerva’s features before she could stop it and she hurriedly looked down and read Harry’s barely decipherable scrawl.
“Ahh,” Minerva said wrinkling her nose distastefully, “Conjuring charms. I always hated the theory behind these.”
Harry laughed slightly as Minerva reached for his textbook and flicked to a relevant page.
“Start with the history,” she said turning the book and pointing at a relevant paragraph, “Though you will need to go into more depth than this book allows.”
She rose to her feet and crossed the Charms section of the library searching for a useful title. After selecting three heavy tomes she walked back and sat the pile on the table between her and Harry.
“Here we go,” she said, ignoring Harry’s stricken look at the large pile, “Everything you need should be here. History, wand movement, general uses, etcetera.” She pointed her finger at each of the books in turn before rising to her feet. “I’ll be in my rooms should you need anything else.”
She walked briskly from the room but not before she heard a soft ‘thank you, Professor,’ from Harry. A smile flickered across her features as she walked. Maybe, just maybe, this could work.
Author’s note:- The title of the chapter is from Catatonia’s ‘Strange Glue’ and the book excerpt is from p.1 of ‘The Book Thief’ by Markus Zusak (BRILLIANT book by the way). Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I have the next written which moves the story along more. Please review. Cheers. Minniequill 
Cheers. Minniequill
