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The first thing Minerva thinks when she looks down the stairs at The Boy Who Lived is, I'm glad I sent all those letters. Either the Sorting Hat is losing its wit or this batch of first years is particularly difficult. The Hat traps young Hermione Granger for several minutes while it deliberates her future. Minerva watches the girl's legs swing just slightly a moment before the Hat shouts, "GRYFFINDOR!" Likewise it takes its time with Neville Longbottom, before adding him to her collection of wards. When Harry Potter sits on the stool and Minerva places the Hat over his head, she finds herself holding her breath. Her lungs are aching by the time the Hat adds the young boy to her house. Relief floods her so powerfully she barely registers the next few Sortings. - At first, Minerva thinks Harry just to be a small-statured child. He's almost a head shorter than the youngest Weasley boy and probably weighs as much as Granger does. She doesn't worry, though, as the boy eats like a hippogriff and clearly doesn't have too much trouble taking down a troll. After Christmas she notices he's grown substantially, almost keeping pace with Ronald. Fine, she thinks. Her brothers both had late growth spurts, looking much younger than Minerva until suddenly they were taller than her with deep voices and even less consideration for their own personal safety than before. She watches the train leave from a high window of the castle. It's the size of a worm at this distance, spewing tiny tendrils of smoke, and yet she knows when Harry boards. She'd seen his face a few times when he was deep in thought with no regard for the world outside his own head. The child wore dread around his shoulders like his school robes. Sweeping out of the room with deep intent, Minerva finds Albus already waiting for her, chewing on some kind of disgusting confection no doubt. "Shall we walk, Minerva?" Albus asks, holding out a robed arm which she accepted. "You appear to have something on your mind." "Only a fool would wander around with nothing to think about, Albus." They walk together towards the main entrance of the castle, stopping only to wait for a set of stairs to swing their way. - Harry is three inches taller than the last time Minerva saw him, and likely weighs as much as he did when he stepped foot into the castle on his very first day a year ago. She leaves him and Ronald with a plate of multiplying sandwiches that they'll never be able to finish. Minerva storms up to the Great Hall. She's angry for so many reasons. She's angry for not seeing it sooner. She's angry at Albus for letting it happen. She's angry at herself for letting it continue. She remembers nothing of the Sorting or subsequent feast. "To hell with your bond of blood nonsense!" Minerva snarls at Albus after the feast. "The boy will not live with them again." After the first class back, she asks Potter to stay behind. She does not miss the Malfoy boy's smirk nor the ridiculously slowed down steps of Weasley and Granger. "Mr Weasley, Miss Granger. You have other classes to attend. Mr Potter will join you in Charms in just a few moments." "Er..." Harry runs a hand through his wild hair. "I have a proposal for you, Mr Potter." Minerva isn't nervous by any means but she cannot help the surge of anxious affection in her chest when her student's face crinkles in confusion. "Professor?" "At the termination of the school year, you do not return to the Dursley household." She almost spits the name. "Instead I am offering that you stay with me, under my care, as my official ward." She allows a smile at the emphatic agreement from the boy in front of her. And that was that. - Standing on the Dursley's front step, Minerva places her feet exactly in the spot where Harry had been placed, a tiny bundle all those years ago. Petunia Dursley's face curls with confusion when she opens the door, and Minerva can see the woman's thoughts travelling to the worst possible scenario. "What have you done, boy?" She sneers at her nephew's battered face. Minerva places a steady hand on Harry's bony shoulder. "He has come to collect his things. I trust you received my letter regarding the change of circumstances." Minerva does not ask. She knows Petunia has read it. Harry's aunt steps aside. Harry enters the house. Minerva watches his shoulders tighten as he disappears from her sight. "There is something I did not mention in the letter that is needed to complete this business." Minerva holds out her hand expectantly. After a confused pause Petunia reluctantly holds out her hand. With a twitch of her wand, still in her pocket, Minerva opens a small cut in the Muggle woman's palm. Petunia gasps, indignant and terrified. A larger cut opens up like a new life line across Minerva's palm and before the Petunia can move or protest, she grabs her bloody hand and seals them together, intoning the necessary words. Wand out suddenly, she heals and cleans the tiny wound on the Muggle. She leaves her own hand to bleed a little. The whole process only takes a couple moments and yet they are barely finished by the time Harry emerges again with the rest of his worldly possessions. It takes Minerva only a few seconds to establish that the pile the boy is holding is entirely comprised from the first year supply list. Harry doesn't pause, but continues down the drive to the small, dark green hatchback parked on the street. Hedwig, in her cage, is perched atop all of Harry's second year supplies in the back seat. Petunia watches him go with something strange in her eyes. "Just... take care of him, will you?" She addresses Minerva. Professor Minerva McGonagall stares down Mrs Petunia Dursley until she hears the slam of the car's doors closing behind her. "Merlin, what happened to your hand Professor?" Harry blurts out, aghast. "There's no need to call me Professor." She won't magically heal the wound. She will let the blood do its work. She drives one-handed until the wound is congealed enough to press against the steering wheel. "What do I call you then?" Out of the corner of her eye she sees the boy run his fingers through his hair. For a moment it's as though James Potter was in the car next to her. "Some people call me Mags." She says, then thinks the better of it. "Don't do that. You can just call me Minerva." Harry seems satisfied with that answer so she continues driving silently. They have a long journey ahead of them, but Minerva finds herself invigorated by the prospect of being home again. As they drive off, she turns the radio on to the live commentary of the current qualifier match between the Montrose Magpies and Sumbawanga Sunrays. Harry falls asleep in the passenger seat before they're even outside Surrey. Minerva notices Harry has used the only blanket with him to cover Hedwig's cage, to keep her calm in the vehicle. Minerva transfigures a clean handkerchief into a light quilt which settles gently over the boy. She lets him rest as she drives them home.
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Caithness smells like cold and salt. Minerva stops the car and turns to see Harry blearily staring out the windscreen. The wards around her cottage are as strong as they always are, but once Harry is inside she will add more. The gash across her hand has scabbed over. From blood to blood. Harry stumbles out of the car, bundling the quilt up in his arms. He pulls Hedwig's cage from the backseat and opens it to let her stretch her wings. The owl spirals above them before perching on the edge of the chimney. "There are treats suitable for her in the kitchen." Minerva tells the boy. They both watch Hedwig preen herself. "Come now, let's get everything unloaded." It takes a twelve year old boy and a near-sixty year old woman just one trip to move all of Harry's belongings into the house. Once the front door is closed Minerva wiggles her fingers and sets Harry's two trunks and few other assorted belongings floating up a narrow staircase. The boy gawks openly at her. "You'll be catching fish in your mouth like that if you're not careful there." Harry's mouth snaps shut. "Your bedroom is the first room on the left at the top of the stairs. The bathroom is the next one along. My room is across the hall. You can unpack and get settled while I go to the market to stock the kitchen." Heeding instructions, Harry follows his belongings up the stairs to where they're neatly deposited under the window on the far wall of the... his bedroom. There's an iron frame double bed, a nightstand with a simple lamp, a generous chest at the foot of the bed, and a tall wardrobe with a hook mounted on the outside of one of the side panels that looks designed specifically for the hanging of broomsticks. Opposite the wardrobe, on the other edge of the window, stands an elegant wrought iron perch for Hedwig, with enough room for her cage to be suspended and food laid out alongside space for her to stand. The room is simple - plain, even, in comparison to the Gryffindor dorms. But it's perfect. Harry can hardly believe that he gets to live here. The house is so quiet he can hear birds calling outside, the wind swirling through the squat hawthorn tree near the house that's visible through the window. Harry hangs his school robes up in the wardrobe, then dumps his other - Muggle - clothing into the chest at the foot of his bed. He folds his invisibility cloak up and places it inside the small cupboard built into the nightstand. Harry piles his books up on the windowsill, resting his small cauldron atop the stack. And he is unpacked. Heading back downstairs, Harry explores the rest of the cottage. The kitchen is small, but so neat that Harry doesn't want to open anything in case he makes a mess. There's a spice rack and, next to it, a shelf of preserved magical herbs. A cauldron and a saucepan sit on the stovetop. Off the kitchen is a small dining nook, with a round table and four well-worn chairs. The living room features three large, green, tartan armchairs gathered around a potbelly stove. Several bookshelves brushing the low ceiling boast a collection Harry thinks Hermione would probably cry a little bit over. Harry scans the titles and finds he recognises none of them, though Secretum Secretorum sounds intriguing. He pulls Beauvais, Jonker, Quintana & Wolfe: Materiality and Wandmaking in North America down from a different shelf and sits in one of the armchairs to look through it, hoping McGonagall won't mind. - Minerva savours the green smell of fresh vegetables and light humidity emanating from the fish stalls, constantly being hosed down. Pausing in front of a stall selling courgettes of all sizes, shapes, and colours, she realises she doesn't really know what Harry likes to eat. Considering all the times her gaze roved over the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, there was nothing really she hadn't seen the boy eating at any given meal. Spying a crate of creamy-looking potatoes, she makes a decision. "Tha i breagha an diugh," It's lovely today, the potato seller greets Minerva with a wide grin. "Aye," she agrees. "I'll have a kilo of the Maris Piper." She holds out one of her cloth bags for the other woman to stock and weigh. "Here y'are." Minerva shoulders the weight. "Been a good year of teaching, Prof?" "No," she says. It was awful, the worst year of her career thus far. The potato seller looks at her curiously. "Just some trouble with a former student who was... disgruntled with his marks. Anyway, tapadh leibh." The other woman accepts her explanation and waves as Minerva moves on. She buys onions next. Then the rest of the basics needed to fill the cottage with the foundations of meal-making. Her penultimate purchase is at the fishmonger. "Ach it's the Professor!" Mohamed, who took over running the business from his father-in-law some years ago, waves his giant gloved hands at her. "Back for the summer, eh?" She nods cordially. "Have you any Finnan haddie?" Many glassy fish eyes stare up at her from the trays of ice. "Smoked today!" Mohamed passes her a neatly wrapped bundle of the fish. "Tapadh leibh, Mr Karim." Minerva inclines her head and pays the man. She remembers when Aileana had just been a young girl and then suddenly she was a young woman, hand in hand with a man she'd met in Turkey. "Do pass on my regards to Mrs Cameron-Karim and the girls." "Aye, I'm sorry in advance if Ailsa and A'isha come and pester you." Minerva scoffs and waves away the apology. The girls are lovely company, and she can feel the magic rolling off each of them. She looks forward to the day she gets to write their letters, almost as much as she when she addressed a letter to The Cupboard Under the Stairs, as furious as it made her as well. "Bidh mi 'gad fhaicinn!" I'll be seeing you! On the way home from the market she ducks into the bakery and buys a fresh loaf of bread. When she enters the cottage Harry leaps up with a start. "I - er, sorry, I was just reading, Professor!" The boy's glasses are askew as he rushes forward to take the shopping bags from Minerva. "Good. That's what the books are there for." She doesn't relinquish the bags, carrying them into the kitchen and setting them down by the sink. "Can I help you put things away?" Harry still hasn't adjusted his glasses. "No." Minerva immediately puts the fish into the enchanted icebox. "You don't know where anything goes, yet." "Oh. Yeah." Harry hovers anxiously in the archway between the kitchen and living room. She feels his eyes tracking her as she stocks the kitchen, memorising the places of everything. She leaves out the onions and some of the potatoes. When she pulls out a large pot that looks like a hybrid of the cauldron and saucepan already on the stove he tries again. "Can I help you cook dinner?" Minerva casts a look over her glasses, gauging the boy's anxiety at not assisting. "No." She pulls a large knife from the block on the bench. "You can tell me about what you're reading, though." The boy disappears for a moment to retrieve the book. "It's, er, about wandlore in America." "Yes, Filius gave that to me some years ago." She watches Harry with some amusement as he realises that she is referencing Professor Flitwick. "What are you cooking?" "Cullen skink." There's no recognition in Harry's eyes but he doesn't ask. Minerva frowns slightly. She knows the boy is clever, and more curious than is good for him. Yet he doesn't ask. "Harry. I don't need any help, you can go and keep reading." "I... okay." He looks around uncertainly before returning to the living room. When he is out of sight Minerva turns and clutches the edge of the sink for a moment. This boy. The number of people Minerva truly despises she could count on one hand. The Dursley family occupy three fingers. When she can hear the faint rasp of paper against paper, she resumes cooking. With a combination of wandwork and mundane chopping, the soup comes together quickly. She ladles the thick mixture into two sturdy bowls and cuts them each generous slices of bread. The bowls, bread, and two spoons float out of the kitchen. "Shall we eat outside?" Harry looks up from the book and stares at the levitating dinner. He nods, eyes wide. Minerva leads him out to the garden at the side of the house, where sits a wrought iron table and chairs. With a wave of her hand the cobwebs clear from the setting and their meal settles atop the table. Harry joins her and peers at the soup, mouthing Cullen skink, to himself. He waits until Minerva has taken a first bite, and then before she finishes even a third of her meal, he has consumed all of the soup and is chewing on the last bit of bread when she raises a single eyebrow at him. "Sorry, I uh -" "Don't apologise, Harry. Go get yourself a second helping." The boy darts back into the house with his bowl and returns with it as full as it had been with his first serving. Good thing she made a large batch of soup. They sit in companionable silence for a while, though Minerva can feel the boy's energy vibrating without release. "You've got your broom." She queries in the form of a statement. Harry nods. "Feel free to ride whenever you like around here as long as you stay out of sight." Harry's face splits into an enormous grin. Minerva gives him a small smile in return. "And, Harry," her tone sobers slightly. "The house and my property are powerfully warded, but if you are ever in danger, you must use your magic. You have my permission as your Head of House and also as your guardian." - Minerva is an early riser. But she hears Harry moving around downstairs before she is even out of bed. Pulling a robe on over her nightclothes she heads down to see what he's doing, and finds Harry in the kitchen with most of a large farmhouse breakfast already cooked. He looks up at her. "I wasn't sure what you liked so I made a few different things." Harry's pyjamas are misaligned by one button and his glasses have grease on them. His hair sticks up at bizarre angles. Minerva isn't sure what to say so she carries the plate of blistered tomatoes, fried mushrooms, and wilted spinach to the table in the nook. Harry follows with two plates each with two fried eggs on them. After Harry places them on the table but before he can sit down Minerva flicks her finger and fills Harry's plate with the majority of what he had cooked, before levitating the rest to her own plate. The now empty serving plate floats back to the kitchen and a drawer opens. Cutlery flies out and settles on the table. Harry gawks, but just a little bit. "Thank you for making such a lovely breakfast, Harry." She starts eating so that the boy will also start. His mouth is utterly full of food when she says to him, "I was having some trouble yesterday, too, trying to think of foods you might not like. So I was thinking, perhaps we can start with things you do like." It takes Harry a long moment of chewing and swallowing before he can answer her. "That soup last night was amazing. Uh, I like treacle tart... pasties, mostly everything yeah." "That's a thorough and edifying list, thank you." Minerva says wryly. "What do you dislike?" "Capsicum... and gillywater." He grimaces slightly at the thought. "Though I suppose nothing tastes too bad if you're hungry." He shrugs. "I also dislike capsicum." She smiles at Harry despite the anger in her chest. This boy will never go without food under her watch. She will be sending a long letter to Albus. - One evening, while Minerva is knitting a left glove, Harry lets out a "Wow!" while examining the lower section of one of the bookshelves. She looks over to see him crouched by her old Hogwarts textbooks, stroking the spines. "Can I have a look at them Prof... Minerva?" "Many of them are well out of date by now, but of course you may." She sets her knitting to do itself in midair when Harry pulls out her copy of A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration. It falls open to the middle of the chapter on Animgi, which is crammed with the original text and her own notes in every available space. "When did you become an Animagus?" "I was about seventeen." She smiled at the memory of the process. It had felt more a test of patience than of skill, really. "Albus Dumbledore provided me guidance, when he was still a Professor and not Headmaster." "That's wicked!" "Quite." She responds, a twinkle in her eye as Harry continues to page through the book, running his fingers over her handwriting. "I'll need to go into Hogwarts in three weeks to organise letters and such." When Harry looks up at her she can tell he isn't seeing her, but the green inked parchment that brought him - at long last - into his magical birthright. "Would you like to come along? I was thinking you might like to see Hagrid." - It takes a couple weeks for them to comfortably orbit around each other. Minerva's stoic patience slowly wears Harry down until the boy finally stops outwardly anticipating her every move, thought, and desire. They've started playing Wizard's Chess with the set her mother purchased and her parents gave her on her thirteenth birthday. "This looks like Ron's set." Harry had said when she first pulled out the board and players. She had seen the two boys deeply focused on a weathered board with chipped pieces many times during the school year. "It's based off the Fir-Tàilisg." Minerva had responded, then explained to Harry the origins of the chess pieces. Before they start games, Harry always tells his pieces to be careful with their opponents. After every game Minerva waves her wand over the board to ensure all the pieces repair themselves, but she finds his sentiment strangely endearing. - The morning they are to visit Hogwarts, Minerva dresses in her teaching robes. For the first time since she took guardianship of Harry, she goes downstairs to find he isn't yet awake. Oddly pleased, she sets some oats and milk on the stovetop and takes herself back upstairs to knock gently on his door. No response. She knocks again. Nothing. She cracks the door open to see the boy tangled in his sheets and trembling. One moment she is a fully grown woman standing in the doorway and the next she is a cat sitting on the bed by Harry's face. She nudges him with her head and he wakes up, startled, sucking in a terrified gasp. She moves to sit on his chest as he fumbles for his glasses. "Professor." She stares down at him. His eyes are bloodshot and his face sweaty. His scar blazes as though freshly burnt into his skin. She sits on his chest until he calms, then she hops off the bed and becomes, once again, the Head of Gryffindor House, Professor of Transfiguration, Guardian of Harry Potter. "I'm making porridge for breakfast." She says from the doorway. "Could you collect some blueberries from the garden?" Some fresh air should do the boy good. And the morning is beautiful and clear. When Minerva gets back to the kitchen she lights the fire under the milk and oats, setting it to stir itself as she pulls bowls and glasses from the cupboard. She gets raw sugar out for herself, honey out for Harry. She hears him come down the stairs and go out the back door. "Is this enough?" Harry holds out a handful of fat blueberries. "Perfect, just a moment while I pour it into the bowls." She does as she says, and then Harry sprinkles the berries on top of each bowl. They sit down together at the table. In the mornings they sit on the two chairs closer to the kitchen, facing the window that looks out to the hawthorn tree. In the evenings, if they don't eat outside, they sit on the other two chairs with their backs to the window. "I saw a Flitterby and a Fairy having an argument in the garden." Harry says through a half-finished mouthful of porridge. "Don't speak with your mouth full." Minerva grimaces. "Was it by the rhododendron?" Harry nods. "That little Fairy is very possessive of those flowers, she uses them for her dresses and such." When they've finished breakfast, they head outside into the clear morning. The wound on Minerva's hand from her blood exchange with Petunia Dursley has healed to a pink line. It's no surprise that the scar tingles warmly when she clasps Harry's hand and lifts her wand to Apparate. "Can't Floo through a potbelly stove." She says. Suddenly they're in Hogsmeade. The town is quiet as they walk up to the castle grounds. Minerva leaves Harry with Hagrid, who greets the boy with an enormous hug that envelops him completely. She walks to her office, her stride clipped and a strangely sour taste in her mouth. It's the first time she and her ward have been apart in the last week. Harry came to the market with her yesterday, and Minerva introduced him to her regular stallholders as a distant relation on her mother's side who after a recent death had no living family aside from her. Mohamed took an immediate liking to the boy and Harry left with a standing invitation to the Cameron-Karim home whenever he liked. Once in her office, she settles into her chair and methodically piles her parchment, quills, and signature green ink. Rolling out the list of eligible students, she writes each Hogwarts acceptance to the children individually. It takes her a couple hours. For the supply lists she writes out a single copy for each year level and then used an adaptation of the Doubling Charm to print the details on the necessary number of pages for the student bodies of each year level. The addresses she copies out by hand from her various student lists. It would be mind-numbing work if not for the distinct joy she takes in writing to each of the students.
Mr H. Potter
The Bedroom Overlooking the Hawthorn Tree
Heatherhill, Mey
HIGHLAND
Minerva will take Harry to Diagon Alley next weekend, she decides. He can get a start on his reading proper instead of devouring all of her old and outdated textbooks. Some time in such a magical location will be good for him. Ten years of deprivation of his birthright, the boy still marvels at many aspects of magic. Minerva recalls the slow proliferation of bits of domestic magic in her life once her father knew about her mother's abilities. She remembers wrangling her brothers and their oddities, remembers William Wallace (the family cat) floating that one time. She marvelled at the grand displays of magical power that Hogwarts held. Harry's formative magical memories are of the delights of Diagon Alley and the spectacles of Hogwarts and a formal wizarding education. It does not go unnoticed by Minerva how he drinks in the domestic magic that is so fundamental to the home of any magical person. The home Harry was denied for so long. Albus is lucky to be at the Ministry today, for as soon as she can get him within earshot Minerva will be telling him exactly what she thinks of his foolish choices. - "You know she was there," Hagrid says to Harry over cups of tea. Hagrid's mug is the size of a soup bowl, while Harry's is just a normal-sized large mug. "Where?" "Professor McGonagall was there when you was left with those Dursleys. She'd bin watchin' 'em all day, she didn' approve of Professor Dumbledore leavin' yeh there at all." Hagrid sniffs into his tea. "I'd've taken you in if they'd let me, lots of folks would've. Molly Weasley, me, Remus Lupin - a'course they wouldn' have let him take yeh - Professor McGonagall, bah!" A little tea sloshes out of Hagrid's enormous mug. "You'd already went through things nobody shoulda. And ter think that fer ten years... oh Harry." Harry finds himself in another hug. "Hagrid... it's..." It's not okay, but the Dursleys feel like something of a distant past now. "Things are good, now. I really like living with Prof - Minerva." At that, there is a prim knock on the hut door. Fang snorts awake from where he's lying across the door and Hagrid ushers him out of the way. Minerva stands in the doorway holding a large piles of sealed envelopes. "Hagrid." She nods kindly at him. "Harry." She gives him a narrow smile. "Professor McGonagall!" Hagrid beams. "We was jus' talking about how you was there when Professor Dumbledore left Harry with the Dursleys an' how you was opposed to it." "Oh." Surprise registers briefly on Minerva's face. She doesn't say anything for a moment, then clears her throat. "I was wondering, Harry, if you might like to come with me to the Owlery to send off the Hogwarts letters." Before Harry can even answer, one of Hagrid's giant hands has the boy up and out of his seat. "Yes!" Hagrid answers for him. "That's a real honour, Harry, yeh have to go!" Harry turns to say goodbye to Hagrid and is swallowed in another giant hug. "I'll see you again soon, Hagrid!" "Have fun, Harry, an' don't you be causing Professor McGonagall any trouble!" They walk up to the Owlery in companionable silence. Inside the tower is a cacophony of rustling wings, talons clacking against perches, and soft hoots. Harry has never seen this many owls in the Owlery at one time. Minerva throws a section of the envelopes into the air and they ascend with a swirl. In precise formation, several owls swoop from their perches and snatch the letters before departing out of the same window. She repeats the action, and the next group of owls grab letters and fly out of a different window. Harry watches in awe as the life-changing letters soar out of the Owlery. When all the envelopes have disappeared and there are only a few smaller owls left in the highest roosts, Minerva turns to Harry and produces an envelope from her robe pocket. He reads the address and grins at her. "It's your supply list. We'll go to Diagon Alley on the weekend to pick up what you need." "Thank you." He says. She puts an arm around Harry's shoulders as they turn to walk back to Hogsmeade. "Shall we play another game of chess this evening?"
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley come to stay for a brief weekend at Heatherhill, for Harry's birthday, at the height of the summer. Harry finds an enchanted tent in the attic and Minerva shows him how to set it up. She can hear the three children talking and laughing well into the night, shrieking as one of the garden gnomes stumbles into their little encampment, gorging himself on horklumps. There's rather a lot of good-natured shouting and carrying on when it appears Harry has beat Ronald at a game of Wizard's Chess. Minerva soundly beats both of them the next afternoon while Hermione appears to shed a few tears over Minerva's literary collection. For his birthday, Minerva gifts Harry with a small slip of a book titled The History of Animagi in Uganda by Babajide Akingbade. After he's read the first page of the book, Minerva hands him a photo frame with a moving image. The scene is by the Great Lake. Harry spots his mother first. She's reclining at the base of a tree, half-reading a book. As he watches, her mouth curls from a small smile to a proper laugh, and back again. She's sitting with a thin boy whose scarred face seems to glow at Lily's attention, his own books still closed in front of him. Closer to the water is a tall, handsome boy who rakes one hand through his hair as he laughs. The boy's robes are nowhere in the image, nor his socks, shoes, or tie. Another boy flings himself through the air and into the water of the lake, wearing just an undershirt and his slacks. Harry looks closer as the boy cycles between standing on the lake edge, propelling himself aerially, and disappearing into the water only to reappear a moment later. The boy is his father, only a year or two older than Harry is now. "It's Mum and Dad." Harry can't look away from them, their youthful joy. The image is coloured and Harry can see exactly how his eyes match Lily's, his skin and hair match James. "It's your parents, yes." Minerva gently cups the crown of Harry's head. "I believe Filius had just purchased his first camera, and was showing me how it worked. This photograph was unintentional, but I've always loved it." "Who's the boy with Mum and the boy with Dad?" Minerva has to close her eyes a moment. It's easy to forget how little Harry knows, sometimes. Easy to forget when the intimate details of his familial history have formed the foundation of many wizarding family's suppertime discussions. "The boy sitting with Lily is Remus Lupin." Always so unwell, yet so defiantly kind and gentle, in spite of everything or perhaps because of it. "And the mess of a young wizard there is Sirius Black." Looking at the shoeless, robeless, tieless boy, it's easy for Minerva to forget Black's more recent history. Sirius had been rogueish in every sense of the word. He was almost impossible to discipline as he was as like to laugh about detentions as he was to not show up for them. He flirted, bizarrely, with every teacher he had, and even moreso those who did not teach him. In the space of an hour Minerva had once seen Sirius braiding a Hufflepuff witch's hair, rolling down the hill towards Hagrid's hut in a gentle fistfight with a Ravenclaw, and then showing some second years how to make the stones on the second floor east staircase sneeze confetti. It was hard to imagine... well. There were few things about Minerva's current life that she could have accurately pictured fifteen years ago. "This is the best birthday I've ever had," Harry grins up at her, clutching his gifts to his chest. "One more thing Harry." The boy grins when Minerva hands him another letter addressed to him. It's his permission slip for excursions to Hogsmeade, and she's signed it for him already. Owls have delivered the same letters to the Granger and Weasley households. "This is so wicked Ma'am!" Harry waves the paper at her as though she doesn't already know what's written on it. The visiting of fellow students to the cottage has prompted a strange formalism to enter the boy's speech. Not quite Professor but not Minerva either. He still says wicked rather a lot, though thankfully not near as often as the Weasley boy. "Thank you!" "If you insist on such a title, Harry, I would find Mam far less... stifling than Ma'am." Minerva supposes she appears strict to students and teachers alike, even severe, as some have gone so far as to call her. But she's the same woman who spat tea into the sink when through the kitchen window she watched Harry fly his broom directly into the hawthorn tree, distracted by a flitterby. "Is it because you're Scottish?" "No, Harry, it's not only because I'm Scottish." "Oh." "Happy birthday, Harry." Harry begins alternating between calling her Minerva and Mam. She must confess the latter warms her insides in a surprising way. - They spend many evenings reading together, Harry and Minerva. The boy's occasional moments of daftness, Minerva has come to realise, are strongly correlated to what she had originally perceived as daydreaming but is now clear to her to be deep thought. Harry may not have the same kind of perfectionist intellect as Hermione, but he's already worked his way through several of the shelves in the cottage and has progressed well into his textbooks for the year. The Monster Book of Monsters by Edwardus Lima has been living under the rhododendron since Harry successfully managed to read most of it. Minerva is holding onto some very precise words that she plans on sharing with Hagrid when she next sees him. As they near the end of summer, Harry takes to lying on the floor with both his own crisp copy of Intermediate Transfiguration and Minerva's thoroughly battered and ink-stained copy splayed out in front of him. Every time she sees his brown fingers tracing over her juvenile script Minerva is sharply pulled back to the hours she spent in the library, an only slightly battered copy of Intermediate Transfiguration in front of her as she searched for all of the other Transfiguration texts referenced in the book. She'd magically repaired the spine five times before her third year was done. A few days before they head south, Minerva sits Harry down at the kitchen table and lays the Daily Prophet in front of him. A haggard man's face alternates between laughing and snarling on the front page. "This is Sirius Black," she says. Harry, eyes wide, lays his hands on either side of Sirius's maniacal image, so different from the photo that sits on his nightstand. "Harry, he's escaped from Azkaban." - The journey to Hogwarts castle for the start of the academic year is more eventful than Minerva would ever care for it to be. When the train shudders to a stop her blood runs utterly cold, and when ice begins to creep along the windows it is only Pomona's warm hand on her shoulder that stops her from tearing through the train. She knows they will go for him, her boy and his heart full of sadness. A dark shape pauses outside the door to Minerva and Pomona's carriage. A black, skeletal hand traces along the glass. Minerva stands, whipping her wand from her robes and touching the tip of it to the glass. The ice melts away, revealing the Dementor's horrendous face. Minerva glares the creature directly in its eye, daring it to open the door. If she thought the thing would understand the meaning of such a thing, she would be inclined to spit at it. "You will not touch a single student on this train." She barely resists snarling at it. The Dementor moves on. When the train warms slightly and the lights flicker back on, Minerva marches out of the compartment and hurries through the length of the train. Pomona doesn't comment. Harry's compartment is still edged with ice when she arrives. The boy is slumped in his seat, clutching a partially eaten piece of chocolate. He doesn't move, doesn't even look up when she enters. Remus - thank Merlin - crouches by Harry's knee, talking to him quietly. He straightens up when he hears the door slide open. "I was just about to come find you, Professor." Remus says to Minerva while she stares at the top of Harry's head. She vaguely registers Hermione and Ronald sitting across from Harry, their bodies tight with fear. "Please, Remus." She says, with more meaning than she even intends for there to be in her two words. Both teachers step outside the compartment, sliding the door closed. Both remain directly outside, blocking any entry to where the three children sit. "It came into the compartment, took a lot out of the boy. He's recovering fairly quickly with the chocolate. I would have reacted sooner if I had been awake beforehand," Remus' face twists with guilt, the scars across his face curling. She grabs his elbow more forcefully than she means to, it is bony but she can feel his feverish skin through his many layers. "I sent it off but not as quickly or forcefully as I would have liked. I've not... been well." Minerva can see then just how thin her former student is. His eyes have sunken slightly into his face, his cheeks are hollow and pale. Remus had never been as hearty nor as hale as his school companions, but he never looked quite this close to death. When he was younger, the scars across his face had been an almost-charming mark over his smooth, luminous skin. Now they pull inwards, seemingly taking the surrounding skin with them. "You protected him," she chokes out. "That's what matters." "Still too late to keep him from harm." Remus comments bitterly, not meeting Minerva's eyes. She squeezes his elbow, at once comforting him and reprimanding his self-pity. "Go find Pomona, sit with her until we arrive at the castle." Minerva releases her hold on Remus and slips back into the compartment. This time, Harry looks up at her entry, though his eyes are glassy. "Eat." She says, pointing at the chocolate starting to melt in his hand. "It'll make you feel better, though I'm sure Professor Lupin has already told you that." He pops the rest of the chocolate into his mouth and chews slowly. Minerva nods approvingly. "I've never seen a Dementor before." Hermione remarks, staring into the middle distance. "I would be very surprised if you had already done so, Miss Granger." Minerva sits down next to Harry, silently offering him the strength of her presence. The boy turns and presses his forehead into Minerva's shoulder. She watches his hands tremble in his lap. - The first years are even more terrified than usual when they line up in front of her outside the Great Hall. Minerva has calmed the tremor in her own hands by now. While her speech about the house system and the Sorting Ceremony is no less strict than usual, she lets slip a small smile at the end that calms some of the wider-eyed faces. Dumbledore's speech following the Sorting does little to assuage her own fears - about either the Dementors or Sirius Black - but she sees Harry's face around the middle of the Gryffindor table and his cheeks have thankfully lost their ashen tinge. The feast begins and under the influence of many roast birds and various vegetable preparations, conversations turn to lighter topics. Over the heads of the gathered students in the Great Hall, Minerva passes thanks for the joy and hope that exists in the small bodies of such magical children. "That book!" She remembers, turning to the large man beside her. "Heavens, Hagrid, that bloody book!"
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Minerva begins the semester with her third years in Animagus form, sitting atop her desk next to a large, ornate globe. Most of the students give her a passing glance or ignore her completely as they find their friends and classmates. Weasley bursts into the room, shirt untucked and hair wild. Granger and Harry follow him in at much more sedate paces. "Look 'Mione! Maybe this one isn't evil!" Weasley gestures to Minerva and reaches out to pat her. Before she can react, Harry grabs the other boy's elbow and drags him to a free table. Granger sits with Thomas and Finnegan, ignoring Weasley. Harry is tanner than when she last really saw him. The last couple weeks of summer he spent mostly with friends while Minerva travelled between the school and other curriculum related locations. Harry spent a week with Oliver Wood up in the Inner Hebrides, flying between the Wood family home on Skye and some of the uninhabited islands to practice Quidditch unseen. She's quietly confident that this year will be Gryffindor's best in recent memory. Harry and Granger travelled together to the Burrow for the last week of the holidays, Minerva sent her boy with all of his school belongings so he wouldn't need to return to Caithness unnecessarily. Ailsa and A'isha had hunted him down before he left and demanded he promise to return. Minerva would have been tempted to do the same if not for the girls. Aileana gifts Harry with a warm beanie in a beautiful burgundy that's closer to black than red. She tells him it's a combined going away and late birthday present, and that they would be hosting the welcome back dinner when he and Minerva were to return for winter break. When the class has settled into quietly anticipatory conversations, waiting for Professor McGonagall to appear, Minerva leaps off the desk. As her front paws hit the stone she becomes a woman, standing before her class. Striding down the middle aisle between the desks to the back of the classroom, Minerva spins to face her own desk and pulls her wand from her robes. "The past two years we have focused predominantly on the foundational skills and discipline required in this subject so that you don't accidentally kill yourselves." Minerva gives her wand a light flick. The door swings closed just behind a slightly late Longbottom. He finds a seat with Harry and Weasley. "Transfiguration is precise and scientific like the most difficult aspects of Potions. It relies on a strong memory like the botany involved in Herbology. It demands powerful and exacting wandwork like Charms. It requires diligent study like the History of Magic. It requires fortitude of both mind and magic like Defence Against the Dark Arts." She has her students' full attention. "Until this point it may have seemed like an amalgamation of the most difficult and perhaps boring parts of all of your other subjects." There are a few snickers of agreement. "This year we begin the practice, not just the study of Transfiguration. "We will alter the form of objects and beings." Sweeping her wand towards the globe on the desk Minerva turns it into a small statue of a sparrow. "We will turn objects into beings and vice versa." The statue of the sparrow wobbles off the desk and flutters to the top of Granger, Finnegan, and Thomas' desk as a large iridescent peacock. Its clever eyes stare across the room at Minerva, waiting. "We will change the appearance of objects and beings." The brilliant colour washes out of the peacock, leaving it a pure white. "We will alter their material composition." The peacock turns to marble as it hops off the desk but remains animated, searching the floor for food. "We will Untransfigure objects and beings." The peacock launches itself onto Minerva's desk and shrinks back into a globe. "We will Vanish and Conjure objects and beings to and from other planes of existence." The globe disappears with a slight huff of air replacing it. A moment later it reappears on Malfoy, Goyle, and Crabbe's desk. "That was bloody brilliant, Professor!" Weasley exclaims as Minerva strides back to her desk, taking the globe with her. The classroom fills with excited murmurs. Good. They should be excited. Transfiguration is an incredible area of magic and Minerva feels lucky to be able to share it with so many young people. "So I can get a sense of which of you still have functioning brains after summer," Minerva tucks her wand away with a raised eyebrow at Weasley. "I want you all to write down the general formula for transformation and how you might alter it to determine the Untransfiguration of a neutral object." At the end of class, Harry hangs back and informs her that Trelawney has predicted his death. Minerva scoffs, disbelieving and also a little bit angry. Of anyone, Harry's the most at-risk-of-violent-death student at Hogwarts, no need to remind him of the various murderers after him. "It's her first lesson of third year trick, Harry, she's predicted the deaths of more than fifty students, most of whom are still alive today." She places a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder at the uncertain crinkling between his brows. He's still thin, but he no longer has the joints of a perpetually hungry child. "I guess it's just... with everything that's going on right now..." "I know, Harry. But none of us can ever be sure we're truly safe, so it really doesn't do us any good to worry if the worst is just around the corner, does it?" Minerva knows she isn't the most compelling of motivational speakers, but Harry's shoulders relax a little, so she takes it as a success. - Minerva sees Harry studying all over the castle. When she was a young Minerva at Hogwarts she studied on the long table behind the Legal Section in the Library, where very few teachers and even fewer students ever ventured, leaving her to her work in peace. Minerva sees Harry in the Gryffindor Common Room with Weasley and a rotating combination of other boys (usually including at least one other Weasley child), with a quill in one hand and Exploding Snap cards in the other. She sees him down by the lake where his mother studied all through her years. Sometimes a few tentacles curl up onto the banks and Lovegood, who often is with Harry when he studies outside, will break from her books and pat the Giant Squid. Minerva sees Harry in the Library with Granger occasionally, at the bank of tables on the ground floor. She sees him in the Great Hall with Neville before dinner, discussing Potions and Herbology over mugs of tea. The boy seems to have no set study space, manages to turn work into a social enterprise of collaborative learning. As a teacher, Minerva couldn't be more proud. As a guardian, she's always proud. When Harry knocks on the door to her office after dinner a few weeks after the start of semester she welcomes him in warmly. When he asks if he can study here, just sometimes, she admits her surprise to him. "It's not - I like studying with the others, it's just... I kind of miss at home, where we would sit and read." He readjusts his glasses. Minerva's entire chest cavity feels like it's glowing at the word home. "Of course you may study here whenever you like, as long as I'm here and I don't have any students or other teachers who need to meet with me." She gestures to the armchairs and rug in front of the small fireplace and the chairs across from her desk. "Pick wherever you like." Minerva smiles a little when Harry settles on his stomach on the rug and flips open his Transfiguration textbook, already filling up with his messy notes. The only noises he makes are in the turning of pages and chicken scratch of his quill against the paper. It's almost like being at home, only Minerva has much more paperwork to do. On a night when she has no meetings they'll often walk over to Minerva's office together. It's conveniently (and unsurprisingly) close to the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, so Minerva will time her rounds of the Gryffindor Tower with whenever Harry decides he's done studying for the evening. It makes her feel better to be able to walk with him through the castle after dark, to confirm his safety within the heart of the Tower. Worry clings to her boy in a way it had stopped doing in Caithness. He worries for his friends, worries for Remus, worries about the Dementors, worries about Black. She notices Harry picking at his food distractedly, never even showing up for lunch most of the time. Minerva ducks down to the kitchens on a free morning and speaks with the House Elves. Cullen skink enters the soup rotation. The first night it's served, she watches Harry inhale three full bowls and push the whole Gryffindor table to try it. Oliver Wood gleefully devours four bowls of the soup with bread, before stretching out on a vacant section of bench at the table and patting his belly. Minerva summons a full bowl for Remus and surprises him with a serving of dark chocolate mousse. Minerva won't have anyone going hungry under her watch. - Harry grins at Minerva when he hands her his signed permission slip to visit Hogsmeade. She regards him kindly over her glasses though she makes an unimpressed noise at his bare head in the chilly autumn wind. "Where's the beanie Aileana made for you?" She asks Harry as she pointedly ignores Malfoy thrusting his signed slip at her impatiently. "Oh - er, I've got - hmm..." Harry pats his pockets as though they might be holding an entire woollen article. Granger rushes up behind him and tugs it down onto his head. "You forgot this, Harry." She says as he pulls it up from over his eyes. "This is for you, Professor." Minerva takes Granger's permission slip before she accepts Malfoy's. Remus joins Minerva at her side, wearing a new coat that she definitely has no idea the origins of. Minerva definitely didn't buy Remus a new winter coat upon seeing holes at his elbows the other day. Not at all. He gives her a wan, though sincere smile. She invited him to accompany the Hogsmeade excursion to be able to spend time with his godson (she'd only just realised he'd been listed alongside Sirius in James and Lily's birth announcement), and to discuss the Boggart Incident, which has had the Gryffindor third years humming. "I actually wanted to speak with you about a concern I had, Professor McGonagall." Remus tucks his hands in his pockets as they trail the meandering clumps of students out of the castle. "Remus, please, we are colleagues." Minerva lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You can call me Minerva." "You'll always be the one professor who didn't put up with James and Sirius' bullshit, to me." Remus smiles wryly through the pain glittering in his eyes. "What did you want to discuss with me?" "The Boggart. Obviously you understand the principle of the creature." Minerva nods her agreement with Remus. "When Mr Longbottom approached it, the Boggart took the form of Professor Snape. I am concerned at the level of... apprehension from many of the students outside of Slytherin towards him. I rarely had any personal quarrel with Snape at school, but I fear his associations between certain students of my generation may be creating unfairness for current students." Remus sighs. "That's really all, Minerva." "Severus is... a rigid man." Minerva acquiesces through the discomfort tightening in her gut. Students always complain about Severus. But students complain about her, they complain about Pomona at certain times of the year, they complain about Filius right before exams. But Longbottom's deepest and most realisable fear being of one of his very own teachers made Minerva profoundly uncomfortable. "I hope you know, Remus, I will not tolerate cruelty. Not between students, be they my own or not. Not from parents or guardians. Not from teachers." "Thank you, Minerva." "Go, spend time with Harry." She nudges Remus towards Harry, who walks a couple paces behind Weasley and Granger. "He's been dying to get to know you more." - "What was my mum like?" Harry asks, looking up at Remus with Lily's eyes. "She..." Remus struggles to find the words to shape Lily for her son to see. "She used to read all the time. Dinner, breakfast, History of Magic, in the corridors between classes, in the Common Room despite the noise, sometimes even at the Quidditch matches. Lily read anything and everything, whether or not it was related to her classes. She was the best witch studying at Hogwarts the whole time she was there. The cleverest person I will ever know, Harry, was your mother. She had no time for nonsense. She didn't tolerate your father much at first... he could be a bit of a spoilt git and she'd often march over and put him in his place no matter the audience. But she was the kindest person I've ever met, Harry. She was there for me in a time when I was utterly alone, when no one else was there for me. She was there for me even when there were others. She never feared me, never treated me as something to be feared... because of my illness. She never found me disgusting, never resented me, never recoiled from a creature in pain no matter how ugly. When James was being particularly loud at dinner, she'd charm a spoon to shoot peas at him until he'd quieten down and she could read and eat in peace. She was good friends with the Giant Squid. Her smile, when she really smiled, was like standing in a ray of sunshine. You get that from her. You don't smile easily or without meaning, but it has the same quality as Lily's. And you have the same eyes, same mouth, same chin. We were so lucky to have Lily in our lives. I know she was your mother, so it frames differently from your perspective, but she was barely out of childhood when she was killed. At the beginning of her life, really. The night it happened I lost all my friends in this world. A large piece of me went with them, Harry. The two of them helped build me up into who I am, now. My illness - I don't think I would be here without their persistence and fortitude. I would have chosen a way out long ago. Lily saved me. James gave me reasons to keep going." "Professor?' Harry murmurs. "Can we maybe be friends?" James' earnestness stares out of Lily's eyes. Remus almost has to sit down with the emotion of it all. "I think that would be lovely, Harry. Thank you." Oh my friends, my friends, forgive me, Remus thinks, that I live while you are gone. Harry drags Remus from shop to shop once they enter Hogsmeade proper. The fittings and furnishings have changed since Remus was younger, but not much else. The sweets shop is still there, though its products are ever-so-slightly different. The bookbinder has painted the trim on her building a dark blue. The Three Broomsticks, Remus firmly believes, will be exactly the same long after Remus has died, as it is now. Harry's excited chattering about the sights and sounds of the wizarding town puts Remus out of the rib crushing loss of his only friends and his chosen family. Harry is clever and kind, like his mother. He's sharp and funny like his father. Impulsive like Sirius. Heavens.... Sirius. - When the Fat Lady is attacked, Minerva feels true fear in the castle for the first time since the death of the Basilisk. The students are all gathered into the Great Hall to sleep, as the castle is searched. Minerva takes multiple shifts and keeps her wand out the whole time she stalks the castle for the one who would dare threaten not only her Harry, but the rest of the Gryffindors and Hogwarts students in general. She will not hesitate to curse any who threatens the wellbeing of a child. When other teachers patrol the halls, Minerva takes cat form and resumes her search in less accessible locations. When night falls and the students are laid down according to year groups, Minerva returns to the hall. Harry is lying between Granger and Weasley with his eyes closed, though Minerva can feel the pace of his heart and it reads, awake. Her boy startles a little when she nudges him with her head, but he reaches a hand out of his sleeping roll and scratches her behind her whiskers. Minerva the cat, still the guardian and protector of Harry Potter, curls up around his neck, hoping he can sleep. Her boy deserves the rest.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
There are changes to security regimes, a tension that can be read in the shoulders and eyes of all of Hogwarts' teaching staff. More Dementors join the forces that patrol the castle grounds. The students are allowed to return to their dormitories, their own beds. On some nights, a well-groomed tabby cat sleeps at the foot of Harry Potter's bed, but it is always gone before morning.Quidditch, though, remains constant. Minerva is thankful for it. It gives her students levity, healthy competition, something to gossip about that doesn't directly tie into the mortal wellbeing of her ward - of her Harry. He trains for the upcoming match, he protests the death sentence of Hagrid's Hippogriff, he studies. Despite the abundance of food, Minerva watches Remus shrink, thinner and thinner under his robes. The darts designed to sit at the shoulder cap slip lower down his arms and his cheeks sink further into his face. His eyes always seem to shine with fever. She brings hot chocolate with her to the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match and ensures herself a spot next to her former pupil."Here." She passes Remus a mug that steams richly. The man doesn't question it."Thank you, Minerva." He shares a wan smile with her, and even that appears an effort for him. The weather is blustery, and the dark sky smells of rain and electricity. He should have stayed in but they both know why he's here."I must admit that at these, I lose some of my professional neutrality." She remarks, watching the pitch below where tiny glinting players march onto the grass before mounting their brooms."Just some?" Remus asks, taking a small sip of the hot chocolate. If his shoulders relax only fractionally, Minerva will nonetheless take it as the small victory that it is."I am reasonably fond of some of those Hufflepuff players." She shrugs with dignity as she pours a mug for herself and then stores the thermos of hot chocolate in her robes. The players take off. Even at a great distance Minerva can find Harry amongst them as easily as she spots the goal hoops. He is lean - no longer scrawny - and his wild hair often escapes the confines of his helmet, even when tied back. He moves with absolute direction once he's decided a point to fly towards, but that forcefulness belies his incredible capacity to alter trajectory with less than a moment's notice. Harry and the Diggory boy speed off in similar directions once play begins. The dark clouds close in on the pitch as gameplay proceeds, and then the rain begins. Minerva casts a large transparent umbrella over the viewing box she and Remus occupy, and similar forms appear across the crowds around the pitch. If the ones over some of the student-occupied sections seem to wobble, Minerva pays them little mind. A little rain is character building. She wonders how Harry is, up in the freezing clouds. Remus is the first to notice the black flutter of Dementors at the edge of the pitch. His knuckles turn white around his mug and he murmurs a low, "Minerva."She sees them. The cruel beasts. She watches them ascend together into the clouds where her boy flies. And there is nothing she can do. She watches as lightning flashes, bright as Patronus charms. There is nothing she can do. She watches Diggory come sweeping downwards, to the ground, to safety. She does nothing. She watches her boy fall from the sky without a broom. Minerva stands and sweeps out her wand, halting his drop from the heavens. The hungry Dementors pursue, their black masses sinking from the clouds towards Harry. The crowds scream. But the beasts aren't after the crowds. They've come for her boy. Again. While she gently drops Harry to the wet grass, she simultaneously directs her wand to the Dementor horde and sends her Patronus at them. A huge white cat bursts forth, snarling at the dark creatures, scattering them. Remus' incorporeal Patronus coalesces into a wolf behind hers. Albus' phoenix Patronus does the opposite, flying at the Dementors before expanding rapidly into shapeless light. The Dementors are gone. The rain stops. The clouds linger. Minvera only realises she and Remus are still carrying mugs of hot chocolate when they are halfway across the Quidditch pitch. She Vanishes them and rushes to her boy's side. Albus is a few strides ahead, the Gryffindor team have formed a tight burgundy circle, and the Hufflepuffs ring loosely round them in concern. She pushes all of them aside. Harry's skin is a horrible damp grey shade, his glasses cracked, his helmet gone. Blood has gathered at the side of his mouth. His hair is truly wild, as though it's been charged electrically. His scar burns bright. Minerva scoops him into her arms and storms silently off the pitch with her boy.Poppy guides her immediately to a bed. "Quidditch." She tuts, pulling bits of Harry's uniform off to test for injury."Dementors, actually." Minerva says. Poppy glances up at her with surprise, but her face swiftly resolves into a medically efficient focus. "Sit." Poppy pushes Minerva into the single visitor's chair next to Harry's bed and bustles around him. A Hufflepuff player is sent to the Infirmary before the end of the match and satisfied that Harry's stable, Poppy hurries off to tend to the other student. Minerva stays with her boy. The Gryffindor team as well as Granger and Weasley tumble into the Infirmary at match end, dragging rainwater and mud and a bulky bundle of twigs in with them. Poppy's consternation does not go unheard. They gather around Harry's bed until he stirs, about an hour later. Giving them a few moments to assure themselves of his wellbeing they present what was left of Harry's broom to him. Minerva watches shock, confusion, despair, and sadness each pass across his face. The Whomping Willow, they say. No, the tree may have been the proximate cause, but it was the Dementors truly at fault. Poppy senses his distress too and presses the students out of the Infirmary brusquely before fluttering around Harry checking his vital signs. She leaves the two of them and the dead broomstick. Harry leans against his pillows, forlorn. Minerva remembers something, pulls it from her robes."Hot chocolate, Harry?"