To Laugh or to Cry
“There is no good news, Harry,” Remus murmured. “From what Tonks managed to find out, the Ministry has fallen, and here…”
He broke off and shook his head, his expression one of abject defeat.
Having given Hermione some dreamless sleep potion to ensure she got some much-needed rest, he’d returned to the Burrow to find nothing but death and suffering.
“Go home, Remus,” Harry urged. “There’s nothing else you can do here.”
The werewolf nodded and pulled him into a tight embrace.
“A lot of people won’t like the way you fought back against them, Harry, but don’t listen to them. You did the right thing, no matter what happens next. Just… be careful. We can’t know what to expect in the next coming days.”
Harry nodded and Remus apparated away, leaving him alone with those who’d remained behind to help clean up the Burrow.
The house itself had seemed to sustain only minor damage, which was a small mercy when faced with the reality of what had happened here. Truthfully, Harry was surprised the place wasn’t swarming with the likes of Rita Skeeter, but they would undoubtedly be more preoccupied with the Ministry of Magic and the lies they would be forced to print.
It wasn’t as though Riddle was going to claim a victory of sorts. No, he would continue to work in the shadows and allow his influential followers to control the ministry at his behest.
Harry could only shake his head.
In a matter of moments, the landscape of the entire country had changed, and despite just how harrowing it had been, he did not doubt it would only get worse.
“What a fucking mess.”
The dress Tonks was wearing was in tatters, and she was sporting her fair share of injuries. She had been one of few at the wedding capable of defending herself well enough.
“How many?” Harry asked.
Tonks swallowed deeply and released a staggered breath, gesturing for Harry to follow her. She led him a short distance away to where several trees had been uprooted and said nothing for several moments whilst she gathered herself.
“Almost forty, but I imagine it will be more. Some of them won’t be able to be saved. Harry…”
“I know about Ginny,” he broke in sadly. “I saw her.”
“And Molly,” Tonks choked, “and Bill and his wife.”
“Bloody hell.”
He could only place his head in his hands, not knowing what to say or even how to begin processing the revelation.
Molly Weasley had only ever treated him with kindness. Of course, she could be a little overbearing at times, but that was how she showed her love. She’d been a mother of seven and evidently had perished as a mother of five.
He would never forget the image of her cradling her lifeless daughter, and the only mercy was that the woman would not be forced to grieve that loss, not when she too had been killed during the attack.
The same, however, could not be said for Arthur, who would now be burying his wife and two of his children.
“Bloody hell,” he repeated.
“Ron’s girlfriend too, the Brown girl, and we can’t find Hermione.”
“She’s at Grimmauld Place,” Harry murmured, trying to come to terms with all of those that had lost their lives.
Arthur and the rest of the Weasleys would be inconsolable, as would many others across Britain, and as much as Harry knew he too would be grieving, now was not the time to lose himself to grief.
No, the time for that would come, but for now, as Moody would encourage, it was a time for constant vigilance.
This was only the very beginning of whatever it was Riddle had planned, after all.
“That’s something,” Tonks whispered. “What’re we going to do?”
“We keep fighting.”
Tonks nodded, though there was no resolution in it. No, much like the rest of them who’d been at the wedding and at the Ministry of Magic, there was only an air of defeat about them.
“With our own losses, there are twenty or thirty Death Eaters, but we both know that won’t be reported as it should be. With the Ministry gone, he will control the media too.”
“Any familiar faces?”
“The Carrows, Jugson, and Mulciber. The rest of them were likely newer recruits. The rest got away. If it wasn’t for you, it would’ve been worse. I don’t even know what to do.”
He recognised the names she’d reeled off as some of those who’d escaped from Azkaban, but Harry would not pretend he wasn’t disappointed that there wasn’t more.
He’d hoped that Malfoy, the Lestrange, or even Nott and Dolohov were among those that he’d managed to put an end to but given just how much fate liked to mess with him, that would be too easy.
No, already, the war against Riddle had been an uphill struggle at best, and Harry did not doubt that somehow, it would only become more adverse. Although he was loath to admit it, there was no denying that what the Dark Lord had done was nothing short of a stroke of genius on his part.
In one fell swoop, he had struck a heavy blow against those that resisted him here, and taken control of the Ministry of Magic, which meant that, as untrustworthy as it had been before, it was now well and truly in the hands of his enemies.
For all intents and purposes, Britain, in all ways that mattered, now belonged to Lord Voldemort.
Harry dragged a hand through his hair as he pondered what he could even do to begin combatting the coup, how they would recoup after what had happened here at the Burrow, and just how he could find a way to fight back against an enemy that now had all the power to do whatever he wished to.
It was a most unsettling realisation, and along with the fresh grief plaguing him, it was not easy to see a way to victory when everything had become so suddenly shrouded in a darkness that was as close to impossible to navigate as it could be.
“Best give them some time,” Tonks urged as Harry turned towards the Burrow. “They’re not doing well at all. Send some flowers to let them know you’re thinking of them, and they will reach out when they’re ready.”
Harry nodded is understanding.
He could not imagine what Arthur was going through, any of them really.
Harry had been just a babe when his parents had been taken from them, and he could not profess to know James and Lily Potter so well. The same could not be said for the Weasleys, who had grown with a loving mother, who’d now been snatched away.
“I’ll write,” he decided, “and I’ll have to tell Hermione when she wakes up. You know, you were right when you said it was a fucking mess.”
He’d returned to Grimmauld Place still no wiser to what he would do next. As much as he detested the idea of being idle, he knew his best course of action would be to see what Riddle would do with his newfound power.
Perhaps he would do little immediately, but Harry did not think so. No, he would find a way to take full advantage of the position without openly declaring his ascension.
Harry wasn’t sure what was more concerning, a country living in fear in the knowledge that Riddle was in charge of it, or one in blissful ignorance that could continue being manipulated by the Ministry of Magic.
They would be too.
Harry had experienced it firsthand when Fudge had taken exception to him revealing that Voldemort was back, and the masses had listened to every word printed in The Daily Prophet.
Harry cursed under his breath.
It was almost a given that Riddle would adopt a similar approach in a bid to discredit any that stood against him, and in a matter of days or weeks at most, he would’ve sown the seeds of discontent across the entirety of the country.
It did not bode well for Britain.
He stilled as the weight of the girl sprawled across his chest shifted.
During what little sleep he’d managed to get, Hermione had evidently woken up and found hr way into his bed. Fortunately, he had not slept in the nude as he often did so.
That would’ve been outright embarrassing rather than the slight awkwardness he felt now at having found himself in such a position. Not that there was anything nefarious at play, even if she was pressed tightly against him and wearing only a thing set of pyjamas.
Hermione likely woke up terrified and chose not to wake Harry when she’d found him asleep.
Still, he’d never shared a bed with a girl before, and he could never have imagined Hermione would be the first, even in this context.
“I hope that’s your knee digging into me, Harry,” she muttered sleepily.
“If you open your eyes, you’ll see that it’s you pressing into me,” Harry sighed.
“Oh, well…”
She was blushing slightly as she extracted herself, her hair in disarray as she deflated.
“Probably not the best time to make jokes, is it?”
Harry shrugged.
“If you can’t laugh you’ll only cry.”
Hermione nodded.
“Sorry, I woke up, and…”
“It’s fine,” Harry said dismissively. “Just maybe check that I’m dressed first. It could’ve been worse than it is.”
“With me wrapped around you like a monkey,” Hermione snorted.
Harry released a deep breath.
“Hermione…”
“I know,” she choked. “Tonks was here earlier. She told me what happened. She says she managed to convince a maintenance worker to stay away from the Ministry, and she’s going to spy for as long as she can to see what she can find out about what happened. She brought a copy of The Daily Prophet with her. There’s not mention about the Burrow, and the Ministry has been explained as a rather unpleasant disturbance which resulted in the death of Scrimgeour and several others yet to be identified. AN emergency meeting of the Wizengamot will be called today.”
“And I would bet I know who will be attending. Everyone will know what has happened, and most will have gone to ground. They won’t want to draw any attention to themselves.”
“Can you blame them?”
Harry shook his head.
“Not at all, but some of us don’t have the luxury of hiding from him and the Death Eaters.”
Hermione said nothing for a moment before she wrapped her arms around him once more.
He was pleased to see that Tonks had taken the initiative to do what she had, but being within the Ministry of Magic was undoubtedly a dangerous undertaking. Even so, Harry was not foolish enough to think he could fight this war alone, and somehow, he would need to find some more allies.
With Moody dead, the Order was all but finished. Of course, he did not doubt he could rely on Remus and Tonks, and maybe even Kingsley, but even with the four of them, the task ahead was insurmountable.
Still, for now, he would have to do what he could and work with what he had to hand.
What other choice did he have, after all?
(Break)
He re-emerged from the pensieve with a thoughtful expression crossing his features. For the most part, he was pleased with how his plans had been carried out, quite ecstatic that Britain was all but under his control now, and yet, he could not deny that the changes within Potter were most concerning.
The boy wielded a magic like nothing he’d ever seen before, was as vicious and callous as the Dark Lord himself whilst dispatching his enemies, and he even did so very efficiently, ensuring those who fell to him suffered greatly in their final moments.
Even Bella had been unable to defend herself from his conjuration, much like those he’d summoned in Oldham.
It would certainly take some pondering on the Dark Lord’s part, but for now, he was in a rare, celebratory mood.
“It will prove to be of no consequence,” he assured the waiting woman. “Potter has a few tricks, but nothing compared to me, Bella.”
The woman nodded wholeheartedly, beaming at whatever disturbing thoughts had entered her mind.
“Nonetheless, he is troublesome. For one of his age, he has become rather accomplished, and it isn’t the old fool who taught him what I saw in there. No, that has come courtesy of another.”
“Who, my lord?”
“I do not know, and it doesn’t matter. I am merely curious who Potter knows that could teach him such magic.”
Evidently, Bellatrix had no thoughts on the matter, but she scowled deeply.
It had become something of a sore point that her cousin had found a way to leave everything belonging to the Blacks to Harry Potter, including the library she had been so proud of.
“Not that it matters,” the Dark Lord said dismissively. “Soon enough, he will have nowhere to run, and no one else to hide behind. He will be little more than a fleeing rat that I will hunt down with the largest pack of dogs I can unleash upon him. Speaking of rats…”
Bellatrix grinned, her eyes sparkling in excitement as he took her by the arm to summon one of his followers and send a message to another.
The previous day had merely been a warm-up, a demonstration of what was to come and the power he wielded. With the ministry soon to be under his control and those who opposed him cowed, there was just one other thing that needed to be done, for the time being, of course.
“Nott has suggested Pius Thicknesse to take Scrimgeour’s place, and Yaxley as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. What are your thoughts?”
Bellatrix frowned before nodding.
“Thicknesse was primed to join us before, and he has the respect of most within the ministry,” she mused aloud, “and Yaxley is a coward who chose his freedom over you.”
“But his appointment would ensure cooperation.”
Bellatrix nodded reluctantly.
“It would.”
“Then they will serve their purposes well,” the Dark Lord said thoughtfully, shifting his attention towards the man who’d arrived in his usual timely manner. “Ah, Severus. I have a most suitable task for you, one I believe you will take much pleasure in.”
As ever, the man showed little in his expression as he offered a compliant bow.
“Of course, my lord. What do you require of me?”
(Break)
She could not put into words how relieved she felt upon returning to the castle to find it exactly as she’d left it. There had been a part of Minerva that had believed the incident at the Burrow had been to serve as a distraction whilst Hogwarts was subjected to an intrusion, but having consulted the protections, there was nothing amiss.
Nonetheless, that did not change what had happened outside of the walls, did not change that, if what she’d heard thus far was true, life within the school would be very different come September when the students returned.
Although she had not been able to glean much about what had happened at the Ministry of magic outside of some rumours, what little Dilys had been able to tell her, and the sporadic reports coming in from those on the outside, she did not doubt that it was now very much under the control of Lord Voldemort.
It was a frightening thought to say the least, and one that did not rest easily with Minerva, who knew that the jewel in his crown would be the very castle he believed was his right to own.
She looked towards the portrait of her mentor and predecessor.
Thus far, Albus remained unmoving, and Minerva truly could use some of his sage advice right about now.
Should she close the school until the end of the war?
She knew that perhaps she should, to preserve it, to keep the violence occurring outside from spilling within the walls, but Albus hadn’t done that during the first war, and he would not do it now.
No, despite her reservations, Minerva could not be the first headmistress to close Hogwarts, even if she felt entirely out of her depth in a time of such uncertainty.
What would become of the Ministry of Magic now?
In her eyes, the government had lost a lot of its credibility in recent years. Cornelius Fudge had been a terrible minister, had been far too easily swayed by the like of Lucius Malfoy, and it would only get worse now.
What was most troubling was that if the Dark Lord did indeed manage to install his own people into positions of power, which was inevitable, it could have quite the profound effect on Hogwarts.
That was something Albus had not needed to deal with during his tenure.
Once more, Minerva found herself lost as to what she should do, and with what had transpired only the previous day, her mind was not clear enough to ponder it let alone make such a decision.
Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she poured herself a measure of Firewhiskey to calm herself.
Now was not the time to lose herself to grief no when the school would need her to be at her very best. Draining her glass, she stood and decided that a walk may help to clear her head just enough.
She wasn’t certain that would be so, but it was better than remaining where she was where the maudlin thoughts continued to plague her.
Fresh air.
A brisk walk in the grounds was exactly what she needed, even if it was hot.
It didn’t occur to Minerva that she wasn’t such an enjoyer of the summer heat and preferred the grounds in the autumn until she found herself standing at the top of the staircase a short distance from her office, her vision swimming and body swaying as she attempted to steady herself.
Before she could ponder why she suddenly felt so pleasantly disconnected from her own mind and body, she found herself looking into a somewhat familiar face, one she was not pleased to see.
It was when she attempted to reach for her wand that she realised she could no longer move at all, that her head was pounding and there was a pressure around her neck being applied by a cold, silvery hand that was choking her.
Despite her best efforts, Minerva could do nothing, though she was certain she could taste and smell blood as the darkness took her.
(Break)
To Ron,
I cannot even begin to put into words what it is you are going through, but I am here in any way you need me. I understand you need your space right now, just write back when you feel that you can.
Harry
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting alone in his bedroom.
It was as though he was experiencing the strangest and most horrific of vivid nightmares, and yet, no matter how hard he pinched himself, he could not wake himself from it.
His mother, Ginny, and Bill were all dead, murdered by Death Eaters who’d stormed what should’ve been a celebration. Instead, it had been turned into a slaughter and those Ron cared for found themselves on the receiving end of it.
Even now, he wasn’t certain what had happened.
He remembered dancing reluctantly with Lavender, trying to find the words to break up with the girl, and the next thing Ron knew, he was staring into her lifeless eyes, wondering what the hell was happening around him.
Everything else had all been a blur.
He remembered the gentle, quiet sobbing of his father and trying to comfort the man with Fred, George, and Charlie, each of them in a state of shock.
For how long they’d remained huddled together, Ron didn’t know, but he had a vague memory of watching the healers taking away the bodies of his mother and two siblings, and shortly after, someone helping him to his room.
Other than that, he could piece nothing else together.
His father had come to check on him once, or maybe even twice since, as had Fred and George who were more subdued than Ron had ever seen them.
They’d sat with him for a while before leaving without uttering a word between them. Not that Ron minded. He hadn’t said anything either, and, for the time being, he could find no words, not when his thoughts were so jumbled in his own mind that he could make no sense of them.
Perhaps the time would come that he would get some clarity, but truthfully, he wasn’t certain that was what he wanted. Clarity would mean he remembered everything that happened, and Ron was certain he never wanted to remember his mothers’ Ginny’s or, Bill’s final moments for as long as he lived.
(Break)
Between a few more books from his personal collection, some trinkets Harry had seen puffing and whirring away in his office, and the sword belonging to Godric Gryffindor, there was only a few handwritten notes in the trunk that Professor McGonagall had given him on behalf of Dumbledore.
Of course, the sword was a priceless and valuable artefact that would be best put to use by destroying the remaining Horcruxes, when he found them, and everything else was mostly sentimental.
Harry was grateful for them, grateful for everything the man had done for him over the past year, even if now he found himself at odds with him.
He shook his head as he eyed his first wand fondly. It had saved his life more times than he cared to count, and yet, he knew it was no longer destined for him.
No, that was the elder wand he’d liberated from the somewhat resistant Gregorovitch.
“Feel better?” he asked as Hermione entered the kitchen; her hair still damp from the shower she’d taken.
“No,” she answered honestly. “I just can’t believe any of this. I knew it would be bad but…”
She broke off and shook her head.
“I don’t know what to do, Harry.”
“Well, if you’re staying in Britain, you will be staying here. It’s not safe out there anymore.”
“Especially for you.”
“Someone has to fight back against him, Hermione. I won’t just hide in here and let him win. What kind of life would that be for anyone?”
“I should’ve known better,” the woman sighed. “So, what’re you going to do?”
“Honestly, I don’t know yet. There are a million things on the list, and I don’t know where to start.”
As much as he was eager to return to the other side, he knew that doing so was not the right course of action, not until there was some clarity on what was happening here, which he did not suspect would take long.
Of course, war was unpredictable by nature, and Riddle even more so, but when there was something resembling stability, he would know when the time was right to look into what Grindelwald and Albus were up to.
“I don’t know either,” Hermione murmured. “I can’t leave you, Harry, but I’m not like you, well, no one is. I only survived yesterday because of you.”
“You survived because you’re a damned good witch, Hermione,” Harry said firmly. “You held your own against them.”
“But I don’t think I can kill them,” she whispered. “You…”
“Did what I have to. I miss Dumbledore and I have more respect for him than anyone else I’ve met, but his inability to kill when he needed to saw others dying instead. I get it, not everyone can…”
“But you can.”
“I can and will,” Harry agreed.
Hermione offered him a sad smile.
“Well, there’s other ways I can help you.”
“There always is,” Harry returned appreciatively.
“I’m going to need some clothes. I can’t wear this dress forever,” she snorted, gesturing to the frayed and torn garment.
With a wave of his wand, it was transformed into a pair of shorts and a t shirt before Harry removed a stack of muggle currency from within his trunk and placed it in Hermione’s hand.
“I can’t take this,” she protested. “This must be a few thousand pounds!”
Harry shrugged.
“Then you’ll be able to buy whatever clothes you’ll like, and anything else you can think of.”
“No, Harry, that’s your money.”
“I have more than I will ever spend, Hermione. Believe me, that’s not even the same as finding a few coins in change down the side of the sofa. Take it. Besides, if anything does happen to me, whatever I have will be split between you and Ron mostly.”
“Don’t say that!”
“It’s just the truth. There’s no point hiding from it. Now, I’m sure you have some favourite shops you like to visit in London. I’d probably avoid Diagon Alley if I were you, oh, and you should disguise yourself. Here.”
“What’s this?” Hermione asked as he handed her a spoon.
Tapping it with his wand, it flashed a gentle blue, and Hermione’s eyes widened.
“A portkey!”
“Dumbledore taught me how to make them. It will only work for you and will bring you back here when you tap it with your wand. Go on, it might help you take your mind off things for a little while. I think a distraction will do you some good.”
Hermione was not convinced but nodded as she wrapped her arms around him.
“Thank you, Harry.”
Only a moment later, after ensuring there were no Death Eaters watching the house, she took her leave of it, and Harry readied himself to depart, checking that he had his cloak and wand to hand when meeting with Snape.
It was impossible to fully trust the man, even if his help had been invaluable, and Harry was only relieved that he’d been alone when his patronus had arrived, the form of it not being lost on him.
(Break)
“You see, Severus, I have been thinking about how you can best serve me. With Thicknesse as Minister of Magic, Yaxley the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and should he manage it, Rookwood as the Head of the of the Department of Mysteries, I need someone to act as the headmaster of Hogwarts.”
“Minerva is already the headmistress. Dumbledore saw to that before he died.”
“He did,” the Dark Lord acknowledged, “but by the time you return to the castle, well, let us just say the position will be vacant.”
Severus frowned but did not miss the gleeful expression of anticipation he wore.
“Wormtail,” he deduced.
“He does still have his uses. You should be grateful, Severus. It is a most prestigious position. Of course, I expect you will have the need of some new members of staff…”
The Dark Lord had been only too pleased to inform him of the changes he would find upon returning to the castle, but Severus had not done so immediately.
No, he knew how it would look if he were to discover Minerva’s body, and equally how it would look if he was absent. Already, his colleagues were suspicious of him, and always had been since Albus had employed him.
It certainly didn’t help that all of them were aware that he’d once willingly followed the Dark Lord, and with Minerva seemingly being murdered within the castle, he would be at the very top of the list of suspects.
He would not pretend that he and the woman had gotten along over the years, but Severus had always had a deep-seated respect for Minerva McGonagall, and there was nothing that would make him harm, let alone kill her.
The Dark Lord knew that, and that was why he’d tasked the rat with the act.
Still, Pettigrew’s days were already numbered, and if it was the very last thing he did, Severus would ensure the man suffered for all he’d done.
For now, however, he needed to figure out the current predicament he found himself in, and though he was loath to admit it, there was only one person who could help him.
“This is a nice home.”
Severus almost jumped out of his skin as Potter spoke, and he did not even bother to ask how the boy had managed to get through his defences. He’d spent long enough with Albus these past months to navigate just about anything if he was so determined.
“We have a problem, Potter. A real problem.”
The young man frowned.
“Well, it must be something big if it is bothering you like this. What is it?”
Severus could only shake his head as he explained, and he did not miss the expression of cold fury that crossed Potter’s features as he did so.
“He planned it this way so that you have plausible deniability, and that you would not be inclined to intervene. I expect there is something in your teaching contract that you cannot knowingly allow the serving headmaster or headmistress come to harm.”
Severus nodded.
“If anything, he has done you a favour, not morally, but it helps preserve your position.”
“I cannot say it fills me with joy, Potter,” Severus said bitterly.
“I never said your position is enviable, but we can work with it, and I’ll make sure I string that rat up by his bollocks. Wait here until I send for you. I need to think of the best way to handle it and preserve Professor McGonagall’s dignity.”
There was an undeniable sadness and righteous fury to the young man, and though Severus did not know what he would do, he somehow felt better that Potter was seemingly on his side.
Still, as ever whilst working on the behalf of the Dark Lord, he felt rotten, and Severus did not doubt that when the time came for him to meet his maker, he would have more to answer for than most.
That was his punishment, as was everything else that continued to befall him, and though moments such as the one he found himself in never became less harrowing, there was a part of him that accepted them as recompense for his past actions.
(Break)
“Everything is so big,” he whispered in awe.
Of course, he’d heard of America, heard of the hustling bustling streets of New York City, but nothing had prepared him for seeing it with his own eyes.
From the street vendors, buildings under construction, and more people than he could count milling about, Albus had never seen anything like it on such a scale, not in Paris and not even London.
“They say that if you make it here, you can make it anywhere, Albie, and this is where will make it. It will take time, but it will be worth every moment,” Gellert said encouragingly, his eyes alight with excitement as he squeezed Albus’s shoulder.
He could only nod in response but frowned thoughtfully.
“How?”
“You leave that to me, Albie. You carry on with your work with Flamel, and I will do the rest, for now.”
It was a rather ominous response, but Albus could not deny that he was already taken with the place, had been taken with Gellert since the two of them had met, and was excited y the prospect of what was to come.
At least Gellert had seemed to have forgotten about his failure to procure the elder wand. Well, for now, at last. Albus did not doubt that the man still thought about it.
If there was one thing Gellert did not do, it was that he refused to admit defeat. It was an admirable trait as it was frustrating, though Albus could not possibly know just how much it would be put to the test in the years ahead of them, how much they would be tested together, and how much he would be tested alone.
The road to hell was indeed paved with good intentions, and although Albus believed in the vision he and Gellert shared, he could not fathom the twists and turns he would need to come to terms with to begin to see their dream come to life.
(Break)
He checked the map as he entered the grounds but saw no sign of Pettigrew anywhere within the school. Oddly, there were so few people within the castle at all.
Harry suspected most had taken some leave after Albus’s death to mourn for the man, and yet, they would find themselves mourning for another who’d been a pillar of Hogwarts for several decades.
He felt his heart sink to his stomach as he ascended the staircase leading towards the entrance hall.
Although he could not see Professor McGonagall, he could sense that Death had indeed arrived at Hogwarts. That along with the fact he’d been unable to spot her on the map told him all he needed to know, and what he’d suspected.
He had arrived too late, and even if Snape had returned here straight away, he too would not have made it on time to prevent her death.
“Come, Death come,” he murmured, stilling as he climbed another staircase to be confronted by a rather grim scene.
Minerva McGonagall was lying at the very bottom of the staircase leading towards the fourth floor, a pool of blood forming from a deep wound in her head.
What did surprise Harry, however, was that she had not even managed to draw her wand in whatever scuffle had ensued, and his nostrils flared at the sight of ligatures on her neck.
She’d been strangled by none other than Pettigrew, who’d used the abomination of an arm Riddle had crafted for him. It sickened Harry to his stomach, and though he was reluctant to be the bearer of bad news, he raised his wand and released the caterwauling charm.
Only a moment later, Madam Pomfrey arrived, her eyes bulging within their sockets as she took in what had happened, followed by Professor Sinistra, Professors Sprout and Trelawney, and finally, Hagrid and Mr Filch.
“What have you done boy?” the caretaker asked. “You’ll bloody well swing for this! I’ll make sure you do!”
“Be quiet, Argus,” Professor Sprout whispered. “Of course Potter is not responsible for this.”
Filch muttered under something incoherent under his breath.
“Do we send for the aurors?” Professor Sinistra asked.
“What good would that do?” Hagrid broke in. “The Ministry is his now. We can’t send for ‘em.”
He choked back a sob, one of many these past days, and Madam Pomfrey followed suit as she stood.
“M-murdered,” she declared. “I think she was drugged and pushed down the stairs before she was strangled, but…”
“The hand that strangled her was magical,” Harry interjected. “Pettigrew. Voldemort gave him a new hand after he cut his own off to bring him back. He’s one of only a few people that could get into here without being detected. He’s an Animagus, a rat,” he clarified.
Those that did not know were rather dumbfounded and said nothing for several moments.
“I can’t leave her like this,” Madam Pomfrey declared, setting about the task of covering McGonagall’s body.
“Merlin, what do we do?” Sprout questioned. “Surely we must close Hogwarts. We cannot…”
“No, the castle shall not be closed.”
Harry did not like the tone of voice Trelawney was speaking in, nor the way she was staring at him. He’d seen and heard both twice before, and neither had led to anything good.
“He is neither here nor there, but the chosen who will one day choose. He is the chosen of whom the Dark Lord flees. As three become one, one become three, and he will stand above them all. Come, Chosen One come, this is your fate.”
They could only look on as Trelawney stumbled, and was held up by Hagrid, who caught her before she fell.
“What do you mean, Sybil?” Professor Sprout asked.
“I’m sorry, my dear, did you say something?”
The others were confused, but Harry wasn’t.
He’d not been so could at understanding her former prophecies before it had been too late, and yet, this one, he figured it out rather quickly.
Neither here nor there was a reference to him shifting between the two worlds, chosen by Death, whom Voldemort was fleeing from. Three becoming one could certainly refer to the Hallows, and one becoming three his inevitable confrontations with Riddle, Grindelwald, and Dumbledore.
He hoped he was wrong, but it made sense, much to his chagrin, and though he was certainly not ready to divulge what he knew, he had a plan that might just satisfy all involved, well, as satisfied as they could be given the latest harrowing disaster that had occurred.