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Post by McGonagallsGirl on Jun 24, 2008 19:48:43 GMT -5
Response to the 'Harry Runs away' Challenge.
***
Chapter One
Albus sighed quite deeply and finished his hot chocolate. He looked hopelessly at the stack of documents on his desk, different release forms and writs of promise, all awaiting his signature. Then he turned around and looked hopelessly at a stack of parchment on the shelf behind his desk. Precariously placed next to the odd trinkets were a whole host of letters of concern from parents. And Albus knew that if he didn't respond to each of them, whomever did not receive a response would write to him yet again, ten times over, until they finally received a letter of reassurance. And next to the stack of parchment from the parents was a stack of student and even teacher complaints against Gilderoy Lockhart and his antics.
Albus gazed wearily out of his office window into the blustery night beyond. It was very nearly time for the Christmas holidays. He was usually so cheerful this time of year, but he couldn't help but feel rather burnt out at present.
Minerva McGonagall knocked once and then entered his office. "Good evening, Albus."
"Minerva. Good Evening. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" His voice was full of the usual mirth, but his eyes betrayed his sullen thoughts.
"I've just gone round with the list of students who will be staying for the holidays, Professor Dumbledore. I've obtained the lists from the other heads of house, and do you know what I've found?" She moved into the room, closer to the fire near his desk.
"I haven't the foggiest notion."
"Only a handful of students actually plan on staying this year. No more than ten, and none with ironclad reasons why they couldn't go home." She took her customary seat across from him.
"I see."
"Dumbledore, you need a vacation."
"What?"
"You'll never make it through to the end of this year if you don't take some time away and rest. You know it. And even if you don't know it, I would hope you trust me to know you well enough to know when you need to recuperate. That is, after all, an important part of my job."
"I couldn't leave the school now, Minerva. You know that I need to be here to protect the students."
"That was my purpose in coming here tonight, in braving the frigid hallways to join you." And he did notice that she still had that look about her of one half frozen, despite the fire.
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"I came to propose that you close down the school for the holiday. Send all ten students home, send the staff to visit their families. We all need a vacation, Albus, it isn't only you. You should see how exhausted Poppy looks. A visit to her nieces and nephews would do her wonders."
Albus turned the idea over in his mind. Minerva had a way of putting things, it made it so difficult to refuse her...
"But what sort of message would that send to the board of governors?" He asked, uncertain. "It might convey a certain trepidation about leaving the school open at all, a trepidation that certainly doesn't exist."
"I think it would convey a sense of responsibility. That you are taking the threat of the petrifications seriously, and that you will leave no precaution unexplored until the perpetrator of these events has been captured. I could even draft a statement for you to send to them, to the ministry and to the Daily Prophet, if it would set your mind any easier. You need rest, Albus. We all do."
No, No, she hadn't lost her touch in the half a minute since he last marveled at her abilities to persuade.
"You really think it would help the staff?"
"To see their families for a real holiday? With gifts and stockings and trees? Of course it would. It would be completely rejuvinative."
Albus nodded. Her point was an excellent one.
"And you?" he asked. "Forgive my mentioning, but you don't quite have a family, my dear."
He thought he saw something flicker in her eyes, and he regretted bringing it up. But he did want to make sure that she wasn't sacrificing herself for the needs of others, as so often she did. "I have a cottage with plenty of room. It's tidy and quiet, and I have plenty of work I can bring with me there."
Albus nodded. "That's your way of saying that you have a cottage that's too big for one person to reside in. That's utterly un-lived in, eerily silent, and good for secluding yourself from the joys of the world."
"That's not true." she said sharply.
"I'm sorry, that was presumptuous of me, my dear." He inhaled slowly. "Alright, I will agree to this notion of yours, but on a few conditions."
"Conditions?" she asked.
"Yes. Firstly, You may not take work back to that rickety old cottage of yours. It is a holiday and you need rest as much as any of us. In fact, I'd be willing to bet you need it more."
"But I--"
"Not negotiable, Minerva. You want me to get some sleep? You'll need to get some sleep, too. Secondly, you must accept any Christmas gifts owled to you."
"But I--"
"There is no room for argument, my dear, although I do love to see your spirits so enlivened. And lastly, I would ask that you join me for Christmas dinner this year. We, two, live alone when we don't have our children to care for here at Hogwarts. And sharing holidays is a wonderful tradition, and part of the best of friends."
She did not object to this, as she had with the others. In fact, she even smiled a bit at the mention of their 'children', which was the nickname they had given their staff and students long ago, when she had first become his deputy. There were always those on the staff older than Minerva, and to this day Madame Pince and Poppy Pomfrey were still her seniors, but no one was older than Albus, and Minerva did tend to mother everyone in her own Gryffindor way.
"I suppose I will have to agree, Albus. Your terms are not so egregious."
"Excellent. Can you have the letter to the governors drafted by tomorrow afternoon? And we'll need to place a notice up as soon as possible."
Minerva smiled slightly and stood with a shiver. Albus noticed that she was perpetually cold, and always seemed so solitary. Particularly around this season.
"Pleasant dreams, Minerva." He said softly as she left.
"And to you, Albus."
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Post by McGonagallsGirl on Jun 28, 2008 0:34:30 GMT -5
Chapter Two
____________________________________________________________________________
Harry awoke in the morning to hear Ron moaning.
"Harry, wake up."
Harry sighed and reached around for his glasses. As he put them on, Ron's flaming red hair came into view. "What is it? I was sleeping."
"They're closing the school for the holidays, mate!" Ron said. "Hermione wants to see us immediately. We're gunna have to rework our polyjuice plans." Harry looked around, but no one else was in the room with them. Ron motioned for him to rise. "Come on, she's waiting for us."
When Harry got to the common room he found Hermione glaring at a notice on the board. No one else seemed much bothered by it, as they weren't staying for the holidays anyway. Harry read the notice through, groggily.
Students,
Due to current events, and in the name of utmost caution, it has been determined that Hogwarts school will close for the holidays. This action is merely precautionary and classes will resume in January as usual. The Hogwarts Express will be leaving the station at eleven o'clock on December 15th, all students must be on the train at that time. The return trip will be January the 8th at eleven o'clock, please be prompt. Letters have been sent to all of your parents or guardians alerting them to this change in plans. If you have any further questions, please see your head of house.
Happy Holidays,
Professor M. McGonagall[/size]
Harry groaned. It was worse than the whole school thinking he was some great murderer.
"I'd hoped never to have to see the Dursleys again." Harry muttered, joining Hermione on the couch. Ron followed.
"But Harry, " Hermione said, "You've known you'll have to go back in the summer."
"Yeah. Still hoped it." said Harry. "After last Summer, with the escape to the burrow and---" Harry froze, turning to Ron. "Ron, that's it! Could I just stay with you? D'you think your parents would mind?"
"Oh, I know they wouldn't mind. They'd be quite keen on it, actually. Just one question, have you ever had the dragon pox?"
"Erm... the what?"
Hermione stepped in, "It's like the chicken pox, Harry, except when you scratch these pox they turn bright orange and burn quite a lot. It's a wizarding malady."
"Oh... no, can't say I ever have."
"Well... I'm sorry, Harry... I don't think you can come with me this season. Dad's got it pretty bad right now. And if you've ever had it then you're immune to it... all us kids have had it, you see... but if you've never had it--"
"Oh, it's a nasty thing to get." Hermione agreed. "You don't want it, Harry."
"Compared to the Dursleys?"
Ron nodded gravely. "Even compared to them. And the older you get, the worse it hits you. I had it when I was four, but I still remember, it was aweful! Poor Dad, he's absolutely miserable."
Harry frowned, but gave in. "What about you, Hermione? Could I come and stay with you?"
"Oh, no, I'm really sorry Harry! My parents are really old fashioned. They won't let me have boys in the house, not at all."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. They wouldn't even like it if I asked."
Harry looked so downtrodden, Ron had to offer him something. "I'll send for you as soon as Dad gets better, mate! I promise. Give it a couple of weeks. You'll be at our house by New Years, no problem."
Harry tried to look cheered at the prospect. He supposed he only had one other course of action. He left at breakfast that morning to find Professor McGonagall. She was in her classroom, organizing everything for the break. The last day of classes was nearly upon them.
"I'm sorry, Potter, but the school will be closing, and that is that." She almost sounded genuinely remorseful. But Harry was so bitter by that point that he mostly figured that all of her human parts were gone and she was just a shell of a person. Where exactly was her heart?
"But Professor, the Dursleys--"
"Professor Dumbledore has been in touch with them, and they have agreed to be there to pick you up at Platform 9 and 3 quarters, and have you back in time for the train to return."
"Please, if I could just--"
"Potter, the staff needs time off. We've all been overwrought by the current events, and there's not a single staff member who hasn't been killing themselves trying to keep you students safe. We need time away. Surely you can accept that, even if you can't accept that there is a real threat to your safety lurking around the grounds of this school undetected."
Harry nodded, slowly. She was right, of course. They would never have taken so severe a course of action if there hadn't been more than one good reason.
"Happy Christmas, Potter." she said, leaving to the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry stood there in her classroom, brooding a bit longer. Happy indeed.
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Post by McGonagallsGirl on Jul 3, 2008 0:36:26 GMT -5
Chapter Three
As the Hogwarts Express pulled slowly in to Kings Cross Station Harry looked glumly out the window, then around the compartment he, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George were sharing.
"Try to perk up there, Potter." Said Fred.
"Yeah, you're dragging us all down." George agreed as they stood to get their things. Everyone had a very small bag filled with not very much, as they were all going home, or in Harry's case, at least to a place that already had clothes for them waiting.
"We'll write to you all the time!" Hermione promised.
"Yeah, every moment of the day." George said.
"Look, I'll write you one now. Dear Harry, " said Fred.
"Oh how I miss you, let me count the ways." George continued.
"Thine eyes are like shining saucers of... erm, gravy." Fred said.
"And thine ears are like waxy candles aflame."
"All right, that's enough." Harry said, at last feeling slightly good natured. If he were in constant communication with his friends, and he were only staying until Mr. Weasley felt better... He could do it. Harry knew he could.
They all exited the train and went round the platform. Lots of families had decided to greet their children on the platform, eager to see their little ones in a single piece, unharmed. Harry made his way through the dense crowd and found his way to the entrance. Waving good-bye to the Weasleys, he and Hermione climbed through quickly, trying to beat the line that would soon be forming of families trying to get out. The Wizard allowed them through, two by two, so as not to draw attention to them appearing all of the sudden out of a wall in the middle of a train station. Harry spotted Uncle Vernon immediately. He was the giant sullen one glaring at the signs for platforms nine and ten, as if daring a platform nine and three quarters to exist.
He was purple in the face the moment he laid eyes on Harry, which did not bode well. Harry said a quiet good-bye to Hermione who said the same to him and then ran over to greet her grinning parents and kiss them both on the cheek. This did nothing for Harry's mood. Without even exchanging a word, Uncle Vernon turned around and marched out of the station, Harry and his small duffle in tow. In fact, All Uncle Vernon did was grunt at him for the entire car ride home. The first real word that he managed was "UPSTAIRS!" and it was once they had arrived safely at Number 4, Privet Drive, and were ensconced in it's four walls.
It was a long afternoon. Harry mostly sat in his little room, sullen and cross. Hedwig flew in to see him and to bring him a note from Hagrid. She hooted at him, noticing his grim mood. He appreciated it. He took the note and stroked her softly, then he opened it and read:
Harry,
Don't worry too much about being gone from Hogwarts.
It'll be over before you know it.
If you'd like, I can send you something t0 play with, I think you'll like it.
I named it Chompers.
Chin up!
Hagrid
Harry winced. If 'Fluffy' was a three headed monster attack dog, he would hate to see what 'Chompers' was.
Scribbling back a quick reply, Harry politely thanked Hagrid for the offer but refused it as Uncle Vernon came marching into his room unannounced.
"What the--- THAT BIRD!!! I won't have it!!! Get it out!!!! Where's it's cage???"
Harry frowned, but answered calmly, "It's at school. She's only here for a moment. She brought me a note. I'm sending her back out, just give me a minute."
"I'll not have owls flying in and out of my house at all hours of the night, boy!! What do you expect the neighbors will think??"
"Dunno. Maybe 'Oh, what a beautiful creature. And how rare, Owls aren't indigenous to this part of England."
This had obviously been the wrong thing to say, although truly there hadn't been a right thing to say. Uncle Vernon exploded, obviously still deeply furious at Harry for his loud escape the summer before.
When he had finished his tirade, he said "You'll help your Aunt Petunia do the house and garden work this winter or the locks will be back on your door tonight!!!" and Uncle Vernon slammed Harry's door closed as he left.
Harry sighed and turned to Hedwig. "Nevermind him. He's just a sad, bitter little man." Hedwig hooted her approval and he grinned a bit at his characterization of his Uncle.
Uncle Vernon had Harry up before dawn the next morning, mowing the yard. Then Aunt Petunia made him cook breakfast, even having to taste test the milk in the back of the refrigerator to see if it had gone sour. It had.
Harry hardly got to finish his toast at all when, on his way out the door, Uncle Vernon told him (through thick mouths full of the bacon Harry had made), that he had not done an adequate job mowing the lawn, and that he had better have it right by the time he got home that evening. Dudley simply laughed, and a bit of food fell out of his fat mouth.
It was a tense week, and by Saturday Harry was cleaning Dudley's room for the fifth time whilst Dudley watched from his seat on his bed, eating a greasy sausage sandwich. Worst of all, Hedwig was all out banned from the house. The bars were back on Harry's window, and with them came imprisonment of every kind. How could Ron write to him to tell him to come to the Burrow if he couldn't receive owls?
Wearing muggle clothes for the winter was also a major cause of Harry's misery. At Hogwarts his clothes were comfortable and warm. At Privet Drive, his shoes wouldn't even fit right. In fact, that night at dinner Harry stumbled over his own giant shoes, relics of Dudley's, and dropped a tray of cucumber sandwiches he had been carrying. The tray broke. Aunt Petunia spent fifteen minutes yelling at him about how much that tray had cost. Then Uncle Vernon added, in a sinister voice, "Pack your things and move back into the cupboard."
"But it was an accident!" Harry tried to explain.
"So were you!" snarled Uncle Vernon, and Harry bit his lip. He knew if Ron was here he'd tell him just to back off. Best not to make a bad situation worse.
But it seemed no matter what Harry did, it wasn't right. No matter how hard he worked, he couldn't escape punishment, merely lessen it. Dudley had gotten back into the habit of punching Harry whenever he saw him. Even poking him with his Smeltings stick. Harry's bruises were beginning to add up, and Uncle Vernon didn't help. He'd gotten into the habit of grabbing Harry on the shoulder and squeezing him just a bit too hard, to show his displeasure. His constant displeasure.
Harry was not the boy he had been when he last lived in that cupboard. A year and a half at Hogwarts, and countless near death experiences, had changed him. He was now twelve, not ten, and he was less inclined to suffer through his relatives for any period of time. They had lied to him his entire life, and still insisted on treating him worse than the Weasley's treated their Ghoul, and about on par with how the students treated Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat. Anger began to bubble up inside of him, as injustice after injustice was added on to insult after insult. It was all Harry could do to keep his sanity more or less in tact.
So, as tended to happen, everything went awry by Monday. Harry did his chores and took his punishments all day, even managing to control himself when Dudley insulted his Father and Aunt Petunia harumphed in agreement. The sun had nearly set when Uncle Vernon returned from work with a frenzy of noise. Harry popped his head out of his cupboard, where he had been hiding, to find Uncle Vernon about to explode and Hedwig soaring through the air towards Harry. Harry stepped out and she landed on his shoulder, looking harassed.
"THAT RUDDY BIRD!!!!"
"Stop yelling at her." Harry said, stroking her.
"IT WAS CIRCLING OUR HOUSE, IT WAS OUT THERE WHO KNOWS HOW LONG, ATTRACTING ATTENTION FROM ALL DIFFERENT KINDS OF--"
"STOP IT!!!" Harry said. "She didn't do anything wrong, she did what she was supposed to do! It's not her fault you locked her out!!"
"YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN THE LOOKS I GOT FROM ACROSS THE STREET WHEN I PULLED INTO THE DRIVEWAY!!!"
Aunt Petunia looked faint, "And they saw it fly into our house?"
Uncle Vernon stormed into the kitchen and came back with a broom. "I'VE HAD IT, BOY!!! IF I EVER SEE THAT STUPID BIRD AGAIN--"
Harry ducked as Uncle Vernon swung. Hedwig took flight, screeching and flying up, but the ceiling only afforded her enough room to fly just barely beyond broomstick reach.
"She's not stupid!! STOP IT, YOU'LL HURT HER!!!!" Harry cried.
"BLOODY BEAST WILL ROT IN HELL!!!" Uncle Vernon kept swinging and Harry jumped on his back trying to stop him, drag him down, get the broom away ... anything. It didn't work, and Harry fell to the ground with a painful sounding thud on the linoleum as Uncle Vernon chased Hedwig into the kitchen. She had no way of knowing that the kitchen had a slightly lower ceiling, and at the last Uncle Vernon got a good swing at her, hitting her with a smack and she faltered, hooting in pain.
"THAT'S ENOUGH!!" Harry ran over, this time wrenching the broom away from Uncle Vernon. He was so incensed that he brought the broom crashing down upon his own knee and snapped it in half. He threw aside the broom half and kept the new, pointy end for himself. Harry stepped back and Hedwig flew down, and he held her because she was too disoriented to fly. She had sustained quite a hit to her head. Harry pointed the sharp end at Uncle Vernon, "Get back!!!"
Uncle Vernon, suddenly a pale pink as opposed to the violent shade of purple he had been, was in no mood to argue.
Harry ran to his cupboard and gathered up his things, Hedwig slowly regaining her senses. "I'm leaving! And there's something you should know!!! You're the worst sort of humans I've ever met! You'd beat up a kitten if you thought it was strange, you'd starve a puppy if you thought it was ugly. But you should know something, you're all strange and you're all ugly! Every one of you!! And you don't have a decent streak of compassion in your entire systems!!! FINE!!! BE THAT WAY, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE!!! Just know that you'll be getting what's coming to you one of these days. AND A RATHER NASTY SHOCK IT'S GUNNA BE, TOO!!!" And Harry left. He didn't even look back, he just left. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew where he wasn't going. Back to the Dursleys. Not now, not ever.
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Post by McGonagallsGirl on Jul 13, 2008 14:51:24 GMT -5
Chapter 4
Minerva was curled up on her couch, wrapped tightly in a fleece blanket, and staring into the crackling fire before her. Soft music played from across the room, gentle Christmas carols. Minerva closed her eyes and sighed, although she shivered. It was a drafty old cottage, but it was the place where she grew up. And when she sat very still she could still feel as if she were there, in her childhood, laughing with her family. Anxiously awaiting Father Christmas, as if she had ever been so young.
Minerva had been a practical girl who grew into an eminently practical witch, and so as a girl she had fast decided that even if Father Christmas was real, she did not like him sneaking into her house and leaving her dolls. Or books. Or ribbons, or frocks... Minerva smiled. She didn't want these gifts if she could never meet the man giving them to her. So one year she rejected the gifts left in her stocking, and her father, quite amused, said he would tell Father Christmas to stop coming round and maybe give those gifts to less fortunate children. This had suited seven year old Minerva quite well, and every Christmas after that her gifts had come strictly from her family and friends. And after a while she stopped accepting even those. She said she had no use for more things than she already possessed, and this was during the depression. Everyone in the world needed something. She didn't like the wasteful feeling of it all.
And Minerva still rarely accepted Christmas gifts, contending that there was nothing in the world she desired. The truth of it was simply that since her family had died she wanted little to do with her childhood anyway. Christmas at Hogwarts always meant a great deal of distractions, and often enough it meant work. It prevented her from reflecting on how truly alone she had managed to make herself. It wasn't simply that she had no dependents, it was that she had no one to depend upon, either.
"Minerva!" A voice called and she opened her eyes to see the fire, and find Albus' face in it. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, my dear, but I've just got a letter from Petunia Dursley."
"What?"
"Harry's run away."
"He's what?!!"
"They don't know where he went, and I was hoping I could get your advice on this... I'm in a meeting right now, at the Ministry. It was supposed to be over by six, but we're still going strong. It's an important debate, and if I leave---"
Minerva glanced at the clock. 7:30. "No, I understand completely."
"Would you please--"
"Of course!" Minerva was up already. "I'll owl you when I find him. How long ago did this happen?"
"Not long. A half an hour, perhaps."
"Right, he can't have gone far." Minerva charmed a coat to fight off the cold.
"Thank you so much, Minerva."
"Think nothing of it."
Harry, of course, had immediately regretted, to some extent, leaving the Dursley's house. But only because it was so bitterly cold outside, so monstrously icy. The cold was biting at Harry, hurting any bare skin he had, which was a considerable amount as he hardly owned a decent coat and had never thought to bring it down to his cupboard when he moved back, hence he didn't have it to bring with him when he left. Hedwig was quite recovered, and nipped at him in a half frozen sort of way.
"Yeah, if I need you then I'll call you. Go to Ron, see if there's any way I can stay at the Burrow. I'll find somewhere to sleep tonight."
Hedwig hooted, deeply concerned, but did as was told, knowing she would sense if he needed her that night.
The sun had disappeared completely, what was left of it, behind the snow clouds, and it was now as black as midnight out. Harry knew that if he could get out of the wind and off of the snow, he could make it until morning, whence he could make a new plan. He walked a ways, letting his feet lead as his mind was simply screaming with the cold. He couldn't go to a neighbor's house, they all thought he was a hardened criminal attending a correctional boarding school named St. Brutus'. Even the one neighbor who knew he was alright, Mrs. Figg, would certainly tell the Dursleys the moment he stepped foot in her cat ridden, smelly old house.
Harry trudged on, the conditions fastly approaching those of a blizzard. "If I could just get out of the wind" Harry said to himself, still wandering.
He happened upon a park, a very long fifteen minutes later, and not only were there trees around the park, but there was a playground. And in that playground was a big tube looking thing that children would crawl through to go from one side of the play thing to another.
Admittedly, it was for toddlers, and very low to the ground, but it blocked the wind and Harry was a thin little boy so he slid right inside of it with room to spare. Instantly he felt some sort of relief. He could hear the wind whistling, but could feel nothing of it. Although the plastic was quite cold, in itself, after laying there for a bit the part his body covered grew warmer. Time passed, and Harry, still weary from the immense amount of work the Dursley's had been forcing him through, fell asleep.
It was freezing out, Minerva knew that much. The sun was completely gone. She had apparated to Number Four, Privet Drive, given it a disgusted look, and then set out to find Harry. She relied purely on maternal instinct, feline instinct, and her own ability to trace magic in others. She looked left and saw the wall she had once sat all day upon, waiting for news of the boy she was now desperately seeking. She breathed into her hands, trying to warm her painfully cold fingers, and then she began walking the other way, trying to determine where exactly Harry would go.
Harry was asleep for some time. Then he heard a noise and awoke, half from the cold and half because of that noise. Harry thought it must be some Homeless person looking for some place to warm up. Even his thoughts were muffled by the cold as he thought 'If it's a friendly homeless person, I'll be happy to share my tube with him. But if it's a mean homeless person with a weapon, best to make a run for it. Don't want to have to use magic, because I want to actually be able to return to school in a few weeks as opposed to sleeping in tubes forever'. He opened his eyes and winced because his eyeballs had to readjust to the bitter cold. He fixed his glasses straight, which had gone lopsided as he slept, and looked out to see who was there. Needless to say it wasn't who he had expected.
Professor McGonagall was looking back at him in a very funny way. Harry was sure he was dreaming. Or else perhaps dead.
He decided he was both as he got up out of the tube with a slow, surprised, "Professor? I didn't know you were a dream."
She did not glare at him for his nonsensical comment, which would have happened if he were awake or alive, or in Harry's case, both. Instead she began to look even more funny as she said, "Mr. Potter, why did you do this?"
"I... they... Hedwig... "
She looked him up and down, and then firmly took one of his arms, examining it. It was rather bruised, and a bit scratched up from his efforts in leaving the Dursley's. "Did they do this to you?" Harry thought there was fire in her eyes, and he might like to be in them too. He thought they'd probably be warm.
"Only the bruises. But really, it was about Hedwig, you see--"
But she had stopped listening after the first part of his sentence. She had whipped off her outer coat, Harry supposed she hadn't worn a cloak because dream/dead McGonagall hadn't wanted to be seen if a dream/dead muggle happened from his house. She wrapped it around Harry and he put his arms through it. Instantly he felt relieved. He began to regain some of his senses, and realized very quickly that he was neither dreaming nor dead, and that Professor McGonagall was looking at him in what he could now clearly identify as an extremely concerned way.
"Professor, I don't want to go back to the Dursley's! Please, I know I'm supposed to, but couldn't I go to Hogwarts instead? Maybe if I just stayed in Hagrid's hut, away from the castle, I'd be out of danger. Hagrid wouldn't mind!"
Professor McGonagall blinked, and wrapped her arms around herself. "I won't make you go back to the muggles Harry, but even Hagrid has left Hogwarts grounds for a while. Just come with me, we'll speak with Professor Dumbledore and make new arrangements for you."
Harry was feeling much better, and realized her coat was probably magic. And probably, he surmised based on the blue tint her lips had taken, she hadn't thought to charm her own clothes because she hadn't thought he'd be stupid enough to run away in the middle of a blizzard without so much as a coat on. And now she couldn't charm her clothing, as the street lights were brightly shining on the both of them, and not a single of the muggle houses around them had drawn their curtains. Oh yes, they liked to see the beautiful winter snow. It was all very well and good until you had to sleep in it! Harry never wanted to see snow again.
McGonagall shuddered, although she tried to hide it, and her hair was falling rapidly astray of it's customary bun. "Come, then, Potter. Let's get out of this cold." The walked quickly into the darkest corner she could find. "Take my hands." She said, then.
Harry was unsure, but trusted his Head of House implicitly, obviously, and felt so guilty about wearing her coat that he would have done anything she had ever asked of him. That didn't stop him being glad Draco Malfoy wasn't there to witness this little exercise, though.
"Close your eyes, Potter, and f-focus on me." She said.
Harry blinked. Had he detected a stutter? That was odd... she must be freezing. He got a proper look at what she had been left wearing after surrendering her jacket. A black cloak that could pass for a muggle dress because it was so thin and absent decoration.
"Potter, close your eyes."
He did, feeling only how cold her hands were to the rest of the world around him. Even colder than the blizzard.
"Focus on me, Potter. All of your attention on me, right here."
And so he did, thinking only of her, right before him, colder than anyone or anything he had ever... even colder, he realized as he heard a faint pop, than a ghost when you walked through it.
"Open your eyes, Harry."
So he did, and found, with a start, that he was not in the park anymore... in fact, it didn't appear as though he were even in Surrey anymore.
"Er..."
"This is my cottage, Potter. It's where I live when I'm not at the School." The woods around her house were blocking any wind here, although Harry doubted there were blizzard conditions wherever they were. It was much too quiet. "Come on, follow me." She said, already at the door and turning back to look at him. Harry followed, closing his mouth which had previously been dropped open much too wide.
"Erm, sorry. I didn't know you--"
"Lived anywhere?" McGonagall supplied, closing the door behind him, and turning the lock. A sudden wave of magic went over the house and Harry realized that the Wizard version of locking a door must involve a bit of magic.
"What? Oh! No, I mean... I guess I knew I just... I never really thought about it."
She was bustling around the cottage, turning off some music, taking a mug into a place Harry assumed would be the kitchen. Then she reappeared and took the coat off of him, and truthfully had had begun to feel a bit warm. If it had been a warming spell placed on that coat, he imagined there must be a giant one placed on the cottage, because it was all very cheerful and warm to him.
"Sit by the fire, Potter." She said, hanging the coat in a closet near the front door. Harry did as told, taking in the place. It certainly was McGonagall, but not in an overbearing way. The tartan here, the flannel there, the occasional Gryffindor lion or scarlet, fleece blanket on the end of the couch... they were all lovely touches of his head of house.
McGonagall, herself, was scribbling a note to Professor Dumbledore, and sending it off with a proud looking tawny owl, a no nonsense looking bird, and a bit like McGonagall herself. Harry realized that was probably because it was McGonagall's owl.
"Right, then." She turned on her heal to face Harry. "Are you hungry?"
"No, Professor." Harry said.
"Thirsty?"
"No, Professor."
"But you're tired?"
Harry paused, "Well, actually--"
McGonagall nodded curtly. "I'm going to make some hot tea, if you would like some. Otherwise, that small hallway near the coat closet is where the bedrooms are. Mine is the first one on the right, and the guest room is the second one on the right. The guest bathroom is directly across from the guest room."
Harry nodded, looking thoughtful, and McGonagall smiled ever so slightly. "It's not a large place, Harry, you can't possibly get lost." And he smiled back, although he hadn't been contemplating her description of the house, merely her very existence in it. "Also, " she added, "Through here is the dining room," She said, gesturing to the room beyond the stand her radio was on. "And connected to it is the kitchen... and if you go through the last door in the kitchen, you'll be in the study. And that's it, that's the whole house. Not to mention the acres and acres and acres of land around us. That's all part of this estate."
Harry was a bit overwhelmed by his entire situation. "Erm... tea would be nice."
McGonagall nodded and stepped into the dining room, presumably going to the kitchen. "If you'd like, you can turn the radio back on." She called, and he thought that was a splendid idea. It looked very old fashioned, probably a relic from the 1940's. Harry started...McGonagall's childhood. Had she spent it here? He fiddled with the radio and at last he got it on. Unobtrusive Christmas Carols came out, merrily, and Harry was satisfied with that. He walked into the dining room and decided to sit at the table that was there. He watched his Professor making the tea, and after she set the kettle on and rinsed out a few instruments, she turned to him, "Harry, I'm really, very sorry about everything you've been through--"
"Please, Professor, it's not your fault I'm a stupid git who can't think not to run away in the middle of a snow storm."
Professor McGonagall paused and leaned back against the sink she was standing near. "That's not what I mean." Harry allowed the gravity of her words to sink in. Then she continued, "I was there, you know, when Professor Dumbledore left you on your Aunt and Uncle's doorstep. And I wasn't pleased with the idea of leaving you, in fact Professor Dumbledore and I still argue on that issue to this day. But the fact is that there are legitimate, magical reasons why you must remain with your family as often as you can stand to, not that I know specifically what they are. And if I did I couldn't tell you, you understand."
Harry nodded. It had never occurred to him before that the Dursley's served any kind of purpose. But as he thought about it, he realized that Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister, and had the same blood. Just like Harry's blood.
"Regardless of the protection you may have whilst with your family, I am deeply sorry for what you have been through. This winter, and the rest of your life."
Harry blinked. "It's not your fault, Professor."
"I still feel responsible for you, you're one of my Gryffindors. As was your mother and father."
Harry started at this. ...She had taught his mother and father? ...Of course, it made sense, but still... "Them?" Harry asked. "What were they like?"
McGonagall inhaled a moment, thinking. "Your Mother was very smart... very intelligent. Something like Miss Granger, although with a bit less of a thirst to prove herself."
"You mean she wasn't a show off?" Harry supplied.
"I would never say that of my students, Mr. Potter." She said, although he detected a hint of a smile in her eyes. "I expect you know you have her eyes. Lily Evans was... always exceptionally kind. I'm usually fairly aware of which students feud with each other, as I like to avoid matching those students up for partner work in my classes."
"Snape does the opposite." Harry couldn't stop himself.
"Professor Snape." She corrected him, but did not deny it. "At any rate, I don't recall there ever being another student who disliked her. I may have been wrong, there may have been someone... I simply can't think of who. Even Slytherins liked her. Even Severus Snape liked her, you know they went to school at the same time."
"No way!"
"Oh yes. In the end... I could not be prouder of Lily Evans... Lily Potter, I suppose. She was brave until the very last moment of her life, Gryffindor courage, you know. Brave until the last."
Harry frowned. "...I hear her screaming sometimes, Professor. When I have nightmares about that night, I hear her screaming." He looked up at his Professor who looked like a statue. "I mean, I think she might have been afraid."
McGonagall blinked rapidly. Very hoarsely she spoke, "Afraid? Who wouldn't be afraid? Even heartbroken. No doubt she knew James had... had already..." she gave herself a watery laugh that was much more of a scoff, "after all these years I still can't say it, can I? No, Harry, I know she was afraid. But that didn't stop her. She decided that you were more important than her fear for her own life, and she bravely looked the Dark Lord in the face and died. I doubt her resolve ever wavered, even in her last moment when she knew she was doomed. I've often thought... no, never mind."
"What is it?" Harry asked, amazed.
She sounded as if she had a strong cold. "I've often thought that... well... I don't know if there is an afterlife, Harry, although Dumbledore swears there is one and he is the smartest man I've ever met. But I hope, very often, that there is one so that Lily Evans might know that you lived." She didn't look at him, instead she made busy as the tea was nearly ready.
It was the most touching thing Harry had ever been told. He could scarcely believe it. He knew he would never, ever forget what she had just said to him. It was one of those rare moments when he knew instantly that he would always remember what had just passed, although he was getting the sneaking suspicion that he might never forget this entire visit to her house.
He sat in silence until she poured out and took a seat beside him. He put a bit of sugar in and sipped it.
"Your Father, " she continued as if nothing at all had happened, "was extremely charismatic. The most popular boy in Gryffindor, hands down. Although his best friend came in a close second place. They did have a certain knack for breaking the rules, I will say. Running around after hours, doing who knows what. ...When I think of you, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger running amiss in our castle and all the times I've caught you, and all the times I haven't, " She said pointedly and Harry smiled, "I comfort myself in knowing that you always set out to accomplish something. To fight a troll or free a dragon--" Harry made a noise and she said, "Oh, yes, Hagrid told me everything last summer. I always have the comfort of knowing that, at the very least, you're defending the Philosopher's Stone." Harry grinned again. "But with your father, " she continued, "and his ragtag team... I don't know what exactly they set out to do, to this day... Never saved the school, to speak of. There may have been dragons though, I'm not sure, I'll have to check." Harry laughed.
"I think your Father was more difficult to get along with, because he had a very immature streak in him when he was at school, and he had the sense that he was unstoppable. And for a while, of course, he was. He and your mother didn't fall in love, however, until that immature streak had left him. She wouldn't put up with it, you know. But for any faults he may have had, James was dependable. He was the sort of man you wanted on your side, because he fought so very hard for anything he believed in. Not unlike you." Her eyes sparkled. "And again, I am so proud of him. Running off to try and give you and your mother time to escape. Heading off the darkest Wizard since Grindlewald..."
Harry thought a moment. "I know that name... hold on, that's the one Dumbledore defeated, right? On the chocolate frog card?"
McGonagall looked amused. "The chocolate frog card? ...Yes, but Grindlewald is a story for a different time. You're exhausted, Harry, I suggest you go and ready yourself for bed." So Harry did. He washed up, changed into his night clothes, brushed his teeth. After that, as he was walking from the guest bathroom to the guest bedroom he saw Professor McGonagall in her room. The door was open, and he could tell she had only just changed into her night gown, as she was pulling her hair out from under the neck of it. It was longer than Harry would have thought... and it looked softer out of it's bun.
"Goodnight Professor." Harry said, still staring.
She turned and saw him. "Goodnight, Harry Potter. If you need anything, please come and wake me."
Harry nodded, and then forced his legs to carry him into the guest room. It was so strange. It was much too strange. Professor McGonagall? In her house, having conversations and sipping tea? She was in her night clothes! He had seen her hair down!! It was so strange. Much too strange. So much too strange.
But as Harry drew the covers up around him and snuggled into the soft bed, seemingly a thousand times bigger than his cupboard under the stairs, Harry got the feeling that perhaps it wasn't strange at all. Perhaps this really odd, almost uncomfortable feeling was his first taste of 'normal'.
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