Matryoshka Vignettes
A Promise Made is a Debt Unpaid
By Jeconais
Special Guest Author: Draco664
Minerva McGonagall - Mon, 20th April 1998
Minerva McGonagall strode purposefully down one of Hogwarts’ many corridors, one that had been, for the past week, relatively quiet. The Easter break was one she always looked forward to; few enough students stayed behind that there was no real stress dealing with them, and yet enough remained to ensure that nothing like boredom ever set in.
Ahead, the object of her search was speaking with one of her own students. Albus, who had become increasingly infuriating to deal with in recent months, was discussing something with Seamus Finnegan. The seventh-year Gryffindor had a very familiar expression on his features, one that tickled a memory from long ago, yet so very similar to those she had seen on many people who had conversed with the Headmaster since the funeral.
An expression of polite defiance.
McGonagall pursed her lips, a disturbingly familiar response to a situation she found unacceptable. She had a strong suspicion about what Albus was speaking to Neville about, and it was something that should have been discussed with her first.
Although, judging from Seamus’ polite, yet obviously negative response, whatever machinations Albus had hoped to set in motion had been dealt a blow. The young man swept away from a suddenly sombre Headmaster and headed off towards Gryffindor Tower. McGonagall took Seamus’ place in front of the ancient wizard, who didn’t appear to notice her presence, and remained staring at a spot on the wall.
That disturbed her more than nearly anything else.
"Albus?"
Dumbledore blinked twice in rapid succession, looking up at her. "Minerva! What can I do for you?"
"Organise the preliminary exam timetable for our OWL and NEWT students," she said evenly.
The old wizard actually had the grace to look abashed. "Ah, of course. I normally have that done before the Easter break, don’t I. My apologies, I shall have it ready for you to confirm the examiners’ availability by the end of the week."
McGonagall didn’t move. "Albus, what is wrong with you? You’ve been wool-gathering for months now. The paperwork on your desk is forming disturbingly large piles. There will be snow on some of them one morning. And you were gone from the school for a great deal of time over the break, yet you pleaded off your duties to the Wizengamot and the Confederation. Where have you been?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "I’m sorry Minerva. Ever since young Harry’s funeral, I just haven’t been myself."
McGonagall frowned, but interrupted as the Headmaster took his leave. "No, it’s more than that, Albus. The last time I saw you anything like this was just after you’d left Harry at those awful Muggles as a child, and even then you were soon back to your usual, bewildering self."
Dumbledore actually looked uncomfortable, but continued to make his way down the hall. McGonagall walked with him, not prepared to give up on the conversation, not when opportunities to bring up her fears were so few and far between.
"I have been concerned for Miss Greengrass. I have been attempting to locate her, to persuade her to return."
McGonagall frowned. "Surely you have managed to divine her location. As bright as she was, and even with the family resources she can now call on, she alone couldn’t keep you from finding her."
Dumbledore hesitated. "She appears to have found herself a powerful patron."
That surprised her. "A patron capable of hiding her location from yourself?"
Dumbledore agreed quickly. "Exactly."
McGonagall stopped short in her stride. "Then why are you so worried about her? Surely her new patron has accepted responsibility for her safety."
Dumbledore stopped walking also, half turning to face her. "I am always worried for my students, Minerva. Especially those who do not finish their schooling," he said quickly.
McGonagall narrowed her eyes as she glared at her old friend. "You had no such worries for the Weasley twins when they left school early," she said in an almost accusing tone.
A flicker of irritation crossed Dumbledore’s features. "Minerva, you have quite clearly pointed out that I have neglected my duties here. If you don’t mind, I shall undertake to get myself up to date. Do I have your permission to withdraw?" he snapped.
McGonagall blinked. She had never seen her old friend like this before. "Of course, Albus, you know you don’t need to ask."
He grunted, and stormed off. McGonagall stood as still as a statue, watching him go, a feeling of dread in her stomach.
Albus had changed. Mind you, so had the entire world, after Harry’s funeral. Public confidence in the Ministry was as an all time low, following Miss Greengrass’ public oration. Albus’ popularity had likewise taken a hit, and once more his positions as Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock were under threat.
McGonagall shook her head slightly as she made her way back to her quarters. The defeat of Voldemort had not brought about the utopia in the Wizarding world that many had hoped for, or even expected. So many people, the same people who had vilified Harry in the past, could not see past their own bigotry to see that they were just as hypocritical as those in the Ministry.
It would appear that Harry’s death had brought about changes that no one could have foreseen. Who would have thought that Harry’s friends at school would tear apart their incredibly strong bonds? Bonds that they had built and developed over nearly seven years of adversity and trial. And even though Miss Greengrass had obviously severed her ties with the Wizarding world, in the United Kingdom at least, she was still manipulating people, if Hedwig’s occasional appearances at Hogwarts were anything to go by.
And Albus. The man had been a rock around which the dark events of recent times had crashed and dissipated. While he had taken everything upon himself, he had made mistakes. And it was obvious that the mistakes he had made regarding Harry had seriously changed him.
She had only seen him in a similar mood rarely, and then only for short periods of time. Usually it was when Harry was in serious danger as a child.
McGonagall blinked. Was it possible?
With a sudden burst of acceleration, she stormed towards her office as fast as her long legs would take her. Since she had made walking swiftly an art form, anyone else would have had to run to have kept up.
She reached her quarters, absently said the password, and entered. She shut and locked the door behind her, sat down at her desk, and began making some notes.
Several hours later, McGonagall had come to a number of conclusions.
One, Harry was alive.
She didn’t know exactly how she felt about this. Her initial burst of relief had quite quickly been overtaken by anger, which surprised her. On analysing the emotion, she discovered that she was more angry at herself than at Harry. For several different reasons. She was angry at him for acting rashly, putting both himself and Miss Greengrass in mortal peril, but that was overshadowed by anger at her own failures: failure to notice that Harry needed support, failure to notice that Harry had been chafing at the restrictions Albus had put upon him. But what angered her most was that she had failed as the head of Gryffindor, had failed to be someone one of her students could come to for help.
Two, Albus knew.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about this either. Albus had been a colleague for three decades, a comrade through two wars, and a great friend for over half a century. And despite the fact that he had a reputation for being too trusting, he knew how to keep secrets (notably the prophecy regarding Harry and Voldemort). But the information he kept to himself didn’t usually affect his behaviour, or at least, his ethics.
Three, Harry and Miss Greengrass were still involved with the Wizarding world.
Hedwig had made a few, irregular trips to various people at the school, a fact which most people took to mean that Miss Greengrass had taken the snowy owl as a pet. Though, knowing the intelligence of the owl in question, it would have been more likely that Hedwig would have chosen Miss Greengrass. The pair’s continued interest in the affairs of the Wizarding world indicated that they either wanted to extract revenge on selected individuals (something that would explain Albus’ worry), or that they were trying to change things.
Four, they definitely wanted their privacy.
Owls sent to Miss Greengrass had returned rather confused. From this, and the way they disappeared from the country, this conclusion was a simple one to make. It did cause her some concern, but it was something that could be worked around.
Five, she still had a chance to fulfil a promise.
More than one of the school owls started awake with a disgruntled hoot at McGonagall’s entry. The Owlery was one of the few places in the school where everyone was permitted to visit, at least before curfew. Thus, her midnight visit.
Selecting an owl at random, she attached a short note to its leg.
"I’m quite sure that Mr Potter and Miss Greengrass have warded their location. I’d like you to take this to Dobby the house elf."
The third-year Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Transfiguration class was progressing nicely. All of the students had their heads down, each with an expression ranging from studious industry to baleful desperation to bowel-loosening terror. The test McGonagall had sprung on them was not incredibly difficult, but it certainly wasn’t designed for third-years to get full marks.
Over the years, she had discovered that finding out what students didn’t know was far more informative and useful when planning coursework than discovering just how many students could get full marks. Miss Granger, of course had severely disrupted that particular method of examination, and it had taken McGonagall three years before she realised that she should stop trying to find out exactly what the bright Gryffindor witch didn’t know.
She returned her gaze to her own desk, where she was marking the same test, which she had given to the Slytherin/Hufflepuff third-years earlier in the day.
She had marked nearly half the pile when a soft scratching off to her left caught her attention.
McGonagall started, barely managing to keep from giving out a small cry of surprise. Hedwig stood patiently on her desk, looking directly at her with amber eyes so deep that McGonagall suddenly doubted that even Harry understood the true intelligence of this bird. The snowy owl shifted her weight slightly, and presented the professor with an avian leg.
McGonagall blinked, and untied the attached note. Without waiting for a response, the owl turned and silently drifted out through the open window.
Not a single member of her class had noticed the owl’s arrival or departure. As silent as she had been, even one of the many ghosts in the castle would have made more of a disturbance.
It wasn’t without trepidation that she unfurled the small parchment scroll. A small, copper ball with a button on top rolled out of the note and into her palm.
Professor,
We need to talk.
D.
McGonagall glanced at her timetable. It was an instinctive action, since she had long since memorised this year’s schedule. After this class finished in less than twenty minutes, she had the first-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, then lunch, then a double NEWT class with Harry’s old friends.
No free period for her to duck out. Even if she had one, she mused, it probably wouldn’t be long enough. Not for the discussion she had in mind. And probably not for any discussion Harry had in mind either.
There was nothing for it. Duplicity didn’t come easy to the old witch, but sometimes it was simply necessary.
The Portkey dumped the Transfiguration Professor at the base of a wonderfully manicured path, which lead up to a simply astonishingly gorgeous dwelling. Though simply referring to it as a dwelling somehow detracted from the sheer scale and artistic merit, not to mention the size. The building looked to be nearly a third the size of Hogwarts.
Though it had been daytime when she left Hogwarts, it seemed to be late evening here. The stars shone brightly above, not dulled by cloud or light pollution. Orion was aligned differently, something that signalled louder than words that she was in the Southern Hemisphere.
She took a deep breath, and began marching up the path.
A house elf appeared with a shimmer, and it took her a moment to recognise Dobby. The elf was dressed impeccably, if a little out of date, in an outfit that would not have been out of place on a Muggle butler.
"Hello, Dobby," she said with a small smile.
Dobby bowed, but couldn’t hide his pleasure at seeing her. With a gesture, the little elf signalled for McGonagall to precede him up the path.
With a nod of her head, she did as instructed. Dobby led her to a wonderfully appointed conservatory, complete with table, summer chairs and parasols, obviously for when the sun was up and about.
The prim and proper teacher sat rigidly in one of the chairs, carefully hiding just how comfortable it was. Dobby appeared at her side and held his hand out, his eyes looking at her hat.
McGonagall raised both hands and grasped the brim of her ever-present pointed hat. It was something she wore at all times when away from her quarters; it was nearly a part of her. She gently lifted it off her head, and placed it in the waiting hands of the house elf.
"Please just let Mr Potter know that I am here," she said to the house-elf.
Dobby’s face fell and he shook his head.
McGonagall frowned. Could she have been wrong? "Could you inform Miss Greengrass of my arrival?"
Dobby tilted his head to one side, his sad expression still in place, and shook his head again.
McGonagall’s frown deepened. The two statements seemed to be mutually exclusive. If Harry was not alive, then Miss Greengrass should be. After all, who sent the note with the Portkey?
The answer popped into her head. "Well then, would you please inform Mrs Potter that I am here and waiting at her convenience."
Dobby’s face split into a massive grin.
Before McGonagall could respond, Daphne Potter, nee Greengrass, walked into the room. McGonagall stood, observing the young woman closely.
It was perhaps later in the evening than she had expected, Daphne appeared for all intents and purposes to have been roused from sleep. While it was obvious that she had tried to repair the damage done in the few moments before joining her old teacher, her slightly puffy, red-rimmed eyes showed that she had only recently been awakened.
"Professor," she said evenly, without warmth or welcome. "I was not expecting you until tomorrow morning."
McGonagall gave a slight, stiff bow. "Mrs Potter. Congratulations."
"Thank you. How did you figure it out?"
McGonagall raised an eyebrow, but silently gestured towards a chair next to Daphne with one hand, and her own chair with the other. At the younger witch’s nod, both women sank into the waiting chairs.
"I began to suspect a while ago, when the Headmaster’s behaviour began to change, just after your revelations at Mr Potter’s funeral. Just after school resumed after the Easter break, Albus and I had a conversation which convinced me that something was amiss.
"I began to think about recent events and the effect they were having on people around me. Albus has only ever been so deeply and personally involved with one person."
Daphne nodded. "Harry."
McGonagall nodded too. "Yes Miss Gr-, Mrs Potter."
The Slytherin witch scowled and waved the correction away. "Call me Daphne. I’m no longer your student."
"Perhaps. That is one of the things I need to speak to the two of you about. At any rate, the change in the Headmaster’s behaviour told me something was not as it seemed.
"He’s been a little distracted trying to track us down," Daphne said, a little coldly. "He didn’t make any friends in New Zealand."
McGonagall hid her surprise. "Just where is Mr Potter? Dobby gave the impression that he was dead."
Daphne smiled again, this time at Dobby, who was waiting unobtrusively in one corner. "Yes, the little rascal has become rather adept at misdirection. Not bad for someone who is incapable of lying and won’t talk."
Dobby blushed crimson at the praise.
"May I ask why Dobby is not talking?" McGonagall asked.
"We’re teaching him to speak properly, and at the moment, his speech patterns are a bit of a mess, and he’s embarrassed about it."
"Daphne is correct," Dobby said hesitantly, as if he had to think about each word and its placement carefully. "I am learning to speak like a normal person."
Daphne smiled warmly at Dobby, who flushed with pride again.
"Harry is in London at the moment, discussing some investments with the Weasley twins. As I said, we weren’t expecting you until tomorrow morning, which would be evening at Hogwarts," Daphne said, neatly drawing the attention away from house-elf.
McGonagall blurted, "The Weasley twins know Harry is alive?" when the man in question walked into the room, his gait, stance and demeanour exuding confidence and ease.
"They do, as they acted as best man and maid of honour at our wedding. Good evening, Professor," Harry said, just as evenly as his wife had. The lack of any warmth in his voice pained the older witch, but she refused to let it show on her face.
"Mr Potter, good evening to you," McGonagall replied, mentally filing away the information about a fiery-haired, male bridesmaid. She’d get the full story from the twins later. "My apologies for arriving outside of your expected hours."
Harry, dressed in navy Muggle slacks and an open-necked, light-blue shirt, dropped down next to his wife, and absently interlaced the fingers of his left hand through the fingers of her right. "You will need to leave soon, to get back to your classes."
McGonagall shook her head. "That won’t be necessary."
Harry and Daphne raised their eyebrows in silent surprise in perfect unison. "Oh?" he asked.
McGonagall cleared her throat, more than a little ashamed at what she had done. "I’m afraid I tricked Miss Granger into believing that I had transfigured myself into an object in my classroom. My NEWT class have been left instructions that they are to take a short test, and then spend the remainder of the period trying to locate me."
Daphne actually laughed, while Harry simply tilted his head to one side in amazement. "Sorry? You tricked Gryffindor’s golden girl?" Daphne blurted.
McGonagall raised her chin haughtily. "I needed time to meet with you, and I preferred not to wait until this evening." She blinked. "Tomorrow." She shook her head. "Whenever."
Harry’s features hardened. "Well, now that you know about us, what do you intend to do?"
"Do you mean, what do I intend to do with the information that you are alive, or what I intended to discuss with you now?"
Harry gave a lazy gesture with his hand. "Start with the first."
McGonagall studied both of her former students thoughtfully before answering. Both had an unconscious sense of presence, a calm, air of confidence that no other current student of hers had. "Nothing. You obviously want your privacy. And while I think it is a mistake, I will certainly not allow anyone to suspect that you are still alive."
Two pairs of teenage eyes narrowed. "A mistake?" Daphne growled.
McGonagall gave a curt nod. "A mistake."
"Why?" the Slytherin snapped.
"As young as you are, you have no way of really knowing what your disappearance will do."
Harry smirked. "Oh, I have a few ideas."
McGonagall focused on him. "Do you? Do you really?"
To Harry’s credit, he didn’t immediately claim omnipotence. Most adolescents, when confronted by an older, authority figure, preferred to believe in their own preconceived notions. He took a few moments to think deeply before responding. "I do, but it is obvious that you have others."
"Your defeat of Voldemort signalled the end of a dark time for people. Much of your experience has been with people your own age, who have only lived under the threat of a Dark Wizard for a few years. There are a great many who lived through Voldemort’s first reign."
"And your point is?"
McGonagall took a deep breath. "That your death or disappearance will be used by others for their own benefit. You are aware that, after Riddle’s first fall, Bartemius Crouch Sr. went on a spree, hunting down those who had any association with the Dark Lord at all, no matter how inconsequential. More than once, he justified his actions using your name. Oh, it was nothing much, but when people questioned his actions, or at least those more ethically-challenged, he often diverted their argument by saying something like, 'I’m sure Harry Potter would agree with me,’ or 'Let’s ask Harry Potter’s parents, shall we?’ Now, I’m sure that when you decided to go after Voldemort, you did so for many reasons. Knowing you, one of them would have been a better world for your friends. That is admirable, but there are people whose positions are not secure, people who have no scruples, people who will simply use your name to further their own agenda."
Daphne snorted. "You mean, they’ll try."
McGonagall shook her head. "No, I mean they have already done so."
That brought Harry up short. "Who? When?"
McGonagall sighed. "What sort of funeral would you have wanted?" she asked rhetorically. "Certainly not a big, showy, media circus. But that’s what happened, because people who wanted to look good said to others, 'It’s what Harry would have wanted.’"
Harry leaned back in his chair, a smile returning to his face. "It was just a funeral. Nothing to worry about."
The old witch raised an eyebrow. "So you’re fine with the twenty-foot marble statue?"
Both teens blinked. "Statue?"
McGonagall pressed on. "Additionally, there is debate on whether or not to have Harry Potter Day celebrated on the day you defeated Voldemort or on your birthday."
"What? Harry Potter Day? What are you talking—"
"Of course, I’ve already turned down a petition to rename Gryffindor House to Potter House."
Harry’s face went blank, but Daphne’s eyes narrowed, and her expression turned hostile.
"You’re lying," she spat.
McGonagall nodded. "Well, not lying as such. Arthur Weasley managed to convince the Wizengamot to veto plans to erect a statue in your honour, claiming, quite forcefully mind you, that it certainly wouldn’t be what you wanted. The Minister himself turned down plans to turn your victory into a holiday, since the Ministry’s inaction isn’t something he wants the public to remember. And I myself told a second year witch that her idea to rename Gryffindor was not one that would succeed, no matter how many signatures she got. My point is this, Harry. Disappearing may have brought you privacy, but your memory will be abused by those who think both that you are dead, and that they can use your name to manipulate others, or bring them around to a new way of thinking. Something they couldn’t do if you were still in the public’s eye."
Harry’s lips pursed in a manner reminiscent of his Head of House. "Well then, it is a mistake that I’m prepared to make."
McGonagall looked into the young man’s emerald eyes for a long moment before nodding. "As is your right. I respect your decision, and I shall endeavour to do all that I can to ensure your name isn’t sullied," she said sincerely.
"Thank you," he replied quietly.
His smile suddenly changed, a tinge of impish humour appeared in his eyes. "Of course," he grinned, "I’ve already arranged for the Ministry’s plans for Diagon Alley to be renamed Harry Potter Lane to be disrupted."
She blinked slowly at him. "Arranged?"
He offered a faint bow and shot a fond look at his wife. "I’ve found that when you combine just the right amount of Gryffindor and Slytherin, the results are rather unique. We knew about the statue — we have our own contacts in the Ministry — but we didn’t know about the Gryffindor House rename — that will change soon, mind you."
"You have contacts in Hogwarts?"
"Please, Professor," Daphne said with a hint of impatience. "Of course we do."
McGonagall felt a little embarrassed. She hadn’t anticipated just how far their interaction was stretching, and it gave her pause for thought about what their long-term goals were. "A secret shared is a secret no more."
"True," Daphne agreed, giving her husband a sideways glance. "But we never really intended it to be a big secret. Fred and George worked it out within a couple of days. The people who know for certain are either loyal, or under oath not to share the information."
"And speaking of which," Harry continued. "You might want to inform Dumbledore that he’ll be needing a permanent replacement for the position of Potions Professor. Snape’s not coming back."
McGonagall sighed and shook her head. "What have you done with him?"
"We’re going to give him to Neville as a present," Harry said. "Neville needs to face his demons to become a man. Snape is safe at the moment, and will be safer once we’ve given him to Nev."
McGonagall sat silently for a few seconds, partly to digest the information she had been given, and partly to see how they would react. It was another technique polished from many years of teaching. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working, they both looked completely comfortable. Something was different about both of them; it was a level of maturity that she had not seen in people so young. She didn’t know, and wasn’t sure she wanted to know, what had caused it. With an internal sigh, she decided to get back to the reason for her visit. "Now, as to the reason I did need to see you."
Daphne crossed her arms. "Something about a promise, you wrote to Dobby."
McGonagall nodded silently. "Harry knows to what promise I am referring."
Harry frowned briefly, before bursting into laughter. "I hardly think that it is necessary any longer, Professor."
McGonagall sat even more stiffly erect. "On the contrary, Mr Potter. I believe it is necessary."
Daphne turned to her husband. "What promise?"
Harry grinned at her, a smile that showed McGonagall just how much he loved his wife. "The Professor here promised that she would do exactly what it took to ensure that I could get the grades in the required subjects to become an Auror, saying that she would tutor me herself should I not be accepted into the correct classes. The fact that she was shouting at Umbridge at the time made it something I didn’t think she meant at first."
"Oh, I meant it, Mr Potter. Then and now. I know you may not believe me, but I do put my students first."
Daphne’s face darkened. "You didn’t stop the detentions."
McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. "I did not know what that woman was doing. At the time, I rather hoped that Mr Potter would learn to keep his temper under control. Nevertheless, it was failure on my part, one that I accept, and that I have taken steps to ensure will never happen again."
Harry nodded, absently rubbing his scarred hand. "I don’t blame you, Professor. I didn’t tell anyone what she was doing. But that is in the past, why do you think I need to get my NEWTs?"
"I assume you mean, beyond the usual reasons, finishing an education, proving that you are capable of assuming the responsibilities of being a wizard in our world?"
He grinned. "Yes. I mean, I think we’ve both proved that, haven’t we, Daph?"
McGonagall nodded once in agreement. "There are other reasons, of course, though you would not be hard pressed to give counter-arguments to most. Financial? You are independently wealthy, and have probably taken steps to ensure that what you did to the Malfoys cannot be done to you. Respect? The name Potter is probably the most respected on the planet now. Pride? Your accomplishments to date far outshine all but a few in the whole of recorded history."
Harry grinned again. "You know, for someone who is trying to convince me to do something, you’re doing a heck of a job talking me out of it."
McGonagall shook her head. "There is only one reason I feel that I can give you to which you would listen."
Daphne frowned, waiting for the answer. Harry simply looked curious.
McGonagall closed her eyes briefly. "So that when I finally pass on, I can look your parents in the eye and tell them that I did not fail you."
A few months later, in one of Hogwarts’ many comfortable meeting rooms, Professor McGonagall and the board of examiners sipped tea and discussed the examination timetable for this years OWL and NEWT classes. Normally, this was a simple, even social meeting, a means of catching up with old friends not seen for nearly a year. It had been nearly a decade since the timetable had been significantly modified.
This year, things were a little different.
"Minerva, you’ve been rather distant today, and you look simply exhausted. Is there anything wrong?" Professor Marchbanks asked.
McGonagall swallowed a sip of tea. "We have two fewer students doing their NEWTS at Hogwarts than who did their OWLs two years ago," she said.
There were a series of nods around the room. "Ah, yes. Mr Potter and Miss Greengrass. Mr Potter was one of your students, wasn’t he?"
McGonagall nodded. "Yes, he’s a Gryffindor. They should be doing their NEWTs next month."
One of the examiners frowned. "That sounded like the present tense. Mr Potter has passed on."
McGonagall raised her gaze to lock eyes with her old friend. "I didn’t misspeak."
Each of the elderly witches and wizards in the room began murmuring to each other. "Minerva? Has the stress of the past few months been getting to you? Griselda is correct, you look simply exhausted."
McGonagall sighed. "I assure you all. I am in complete command of my faculties. And while I admit that I have not been sleeping as much as I should, I am in no way working beyond my capabilities."
"Then what?"
McGonagall took a deep breath. "I have been Portkeying every morning to Miss Greengrass’ location, to tutor and teach. I am determined to ensure that she is capable of an exemplary performance on her NEWTs."
Again, the board exchanged glances. "Minerva? You have had classes here every morning," one member pointed out.
McGonagall sighed again. "I have been rising at three in the morning to Portkey to her location. It was the only way to perform three hours of daily tutoring outside of my duties here."
Professor Marchbanks cleared her throat. "Goodness Minerva, no wonder you appear so tired. You’ve been doing this for how long?"
"Since the first week after the Easter break."
Professor Marchbanks frowned. "But even with three hours of personal tutoring a day for a whole term, someone who has missed the better part of their seventh year of schooling has little chance of a good showing on their NEWTs! Perhaps it would be better to have her sit them next year."
McGonagall shook her head, and took another sip of tea. "I am not alone in this endeavour. Mr Longbottom, along with Bill and Fleur Weasley, has been assisting me. Neville Longbottom has started to tutor in Herbology, while Bill has been working with Defense and Charms. Fleur has worked with them on Arithmancy, Astronomy and Charms. I have been helping with both Potions and Transfiguration. The rest they have taught themselves."
The examiners all glanced around at each other one more time. "I am surprised that young Miss Granger isn’t also assisting," one offered tentatively. "My grand-niece told me that she does not turn down any request for assistance that comes her way.
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Are you? Are you really? Yes, Miss Granger is undoubtedly the most intellectually gifted witch we have had for generations, but I’m afraid that Mr Potter does not trust her any longer."
Half of the elderly examiners were shocked into stillness, while the other half nodded sagely, taking a sip of tea. One by one, each of the slower examiners coughed into their tea as they realised what McGonagall had said.
"Mr Potter?" shrieked Griselda. "Minerva, what on earth are you talking about?"
McGonagall waited for each of her guests to calm slightly. "As I said earlier, I did not misspeak. I will require an oath from each of you, an oath that you will not divulge to anyone the secret you are about to learn."
McGonagall gave a little sigh of relief as the final NEWT exam finished. The sigh was easily dwarfed by the explosive cheer the seventh-years gave at the conclusion of their last exam.
The members of the examination panel were not looking as exhausted as she had been during the term, since only two of their number had been visiting the Potters on any particular day. Every member of the exam board had instantly given an oath of silence, each of them keen to ensure they could do whatever was in their power to help the people who had given them their freedom from oppression.
The two on-duty examiners would Portkey to the island at three in the morning, give an exam, and then Portkey back in time for their seven o’clock breakfast call at Hogwarts. Over the course of two weeks, each of the examiners had visited the elusive pair of students twice, giving a written and practical exam.
The Deputy Headmistress did not habitually press for information on the performance of various students during the exams. This year, however, she had been unable to keep her face from showing curiosity as she met each examiner as they returned to Hogwarts to begin their 'official’ testing. Judging from the smirks, smiles and nods she had received, Harry and Daphne were performing up to her unreasonably harsh expectations.
Once the examiners left, McGonagall knew it was just a matter of time before Albus received the official results, which would then be forwarded to each student.
She just hoped she could handle whatever reaction he exhibited.
McGonagall rapped on the Headmaster’s door, waiting patiently for his offer to enter. Usually, the powerful wizard already knew who was at his door, and often invited them in before giving them the opportunity to knock.
"Come in, Minerva." Albus’ voice was cold, even angry.
The Transfiguration Professor calmly opened the door and entered, ignoring the hurt look her old friend was giving her. She briskly strode over to the Headmaster’s desk, and sat down in one of his armchairs.
"Minerva, I have just received the OWL and NEWT results," he began, failing to offer her one of his ridiculous lemon sweets.
McGonagall nodded. "As I suspected. You receive them at this time each year."
Dumbledore’s expression darkened. "Perhaps you’d be able to explain why there are two more sets of results listed than there are students who sat their NEWTs?"
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "May I see the list?"
Dumbledore duly passed her the long roll of parchment. With a great deal of care, she began unrolling it, pausing at the letters 'G’ and 'P’ to read in detail some of the results. What she saw forced a smile onto her features, something rare enough for people to mark it off on a calendar.
Quickly, she skimmed down and counted names. "I’m afraid you must have miscounted, Albus. The number of students who sat their exams matches the number of results you have received."
Dumbledore was quiet for a long while, glaring at her with intensity. "Why, Minerva?"
McGonagall stared back without emotion. "Albus, I made a promise to that young man two years ago. When I discovered that he was alive, I simply made contact and asked that I be given the opportunity to fulfil that promise."
Dumbledore rose to his feet. "You made contact with Harry and didn’t feel it necessary to inform me?"
"To what end, Albus?" McGonagall demanded, rising to her own. "The young man has expressed in actions far louder than words that he wishes to be left alone. Revelations at his funeral showed that he had absolutely no desire to ever speak to you again. He doesn’t trust us anymore, Albus. He doesn’t trust you."
"I will not have another student of mine turn dark! Harry is powerful enough to make Tom look like a passing cloud!"
McGonagall was quiet for some time. Finally she said, "That is not what you are afraid of, Albus. You may have convinced yourself that those are your reasons for trying to find him, but you have permitted conditions to exist in this school which created the likes of young Mr Malfoy, someone who actively supported the Dark Lord.
"No, you are not afraid he will turn dark. Anyone who has seen him with his new wife could tell you that there is no danger of that. He is happy, content and enjoying the freedom you refused him his entire life. It is simply the idea that you do not have any control over someone so powerful that you find abhorrent."
Dumbledore snarled. "Get out!" he thundered, pointing a quivering finger at the door to his office.
McGonagall nodded sadly and turned to go. "Of course, my friend; I shall take my leave. But I beg of you to consider just one thing." She gestured towards the empty perch that dominated his office. "A phoenix chooses to live with someone whose heart is good. Perhaps you should think on just why it is that Fawkes has been living with Harry for the last few weeks, and hasn’t been seen at Hogwarts for months."
She gently closed the door behind her, leaving a suddenly pensive Headmaster alone in his office to think.
Minerva appeared at the base of the manicured path, making her final early morning trip. She stood there silently, lost in thought.
From the results held in her hand, the efforts she, Bill, Fleur and Mr Longbottom had invested in the pair had paid off handsomely. Specifically, she had surpassed her promise to ensure Harry could become an Auror. The young wizard had performed admirably on his written exams, but had shocked and stunned his testers during the practical tests. Not that Daphne had performed inadequately in any way; indeed, she had in most cases surpassed her husband in the written exams. But Harry had shown a control over his magic that had been impressive to say the least, but was more accurately described as sublime.
McGonagall shook her head. Albus’ fears that Harry could become a powerful Dark Wizard were valid, though anyone who had spent any time around him and his new bride could see that the odds of it happening were so remote as to be nil. Harry had been happier than she had ever seen him; indeed, he had confided in her that the memory he now used to create his Patronus was the instant he had seen Daphne walk down the aisle, looking like an angel.
The only thing she was worried about was the anger and hatred the young man still held towards the young Malfoy. Subjecting the blond Slytherin to months of psychological torture was not something she felt comfortable in accepting, though she knew that both Harry and Daphne had moved beyond her influence. Taking them to task for such an act would be counter-productive. And, in the hidden depths of her soul, McGonagall did admit to herself that seeing Draco taken down a peg during the year was most satisfying.
Minerva scanned the house in the distance, noting that the signs of a rather large party were rather evident. She let a small, sad smile appear on her usually stern features. It had become obvious to her over the past few months that Harry had not made a mistake in leaving the Wizarding world. He had made limited contact with some few people he trusted, who would not betray or manipulate him. It was also obvious that he had made friends with others, from all over the world.
No, continuing to be a part of his life would be wrong. She had links to Hogwarts that she could not, would not, break; links that meant that Harry and Daphne could never fully trust her, could never fully accept her into their new life.
"Dobby?" she half-whispered.
The elf appeared in front of her in a flash. "You are not going to join us at the party?" he asked, his speech was less hesitant now.
She gave the elf a smile. "I’m afraid not. Here, would you please give these letters to your employers. Tell them… tell them that…" She cleared her suddenly thick throat. "Tell them that I am proud — no. Tell them that," her smile turned sad. "Tell them both that their parents would have been so very proud of them. So very, very proud."
Without waiting for the suddenly sombre elf’s response, McGonagall activated the Portkey Harry had given her for the last time, taking her away from, and out of, the lives of two extraordinary students.