Giving Notice

DRASTIC MEASURES.

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter characters and settings all belong to J.K. Rowling. I am not J.K. Rowling. You connect the logic.

Chapter 10: Minerva McGonagall's POV. Takes place BEFORE Harry's suicide.

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Looking down at the slip of parchment in my hand, I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. Not again...

Dear Minerva,

This is about young Harry Potter. I truly don't wish to be a nuisance, but as his Head of House, have you any idea about the motivations behind Mister Potter's behaviour recently? I do realise that lately he's been under enormous pressure with the entire situation with the Dark Lord. However, now that he has managed to set You-Know-Who back for a long time, if not defeat him for good, rather than improving he seems to have taken quite the turn for the worse.

To be frank, Minerva, he's been acting irresponsibly and unacceptably in my class. Twice he's informed me straight out that he hadn't bothered doing his homework - once in front of the entire class - and his carelessness with the more dangerous charms and his general attitude have forced me to take points from Gryffindor on more than one occasion. I would give him a detention, but I know that Severus has given him several, along with you yourself and many of the other teaching staff. From what I can garner, none seem to be having the desired effect. I tried talking with him myself, but he will not open up to me. Perhaps you can reach him where I could not?

Sincerely, Filius.

Not another one...

This was the third formal complaint about Mister Potter's behaviour in two weeks. And from Filius Flitwick, of all people! The mildest-mannered man you could hope to meet, Filius is probably second only to Hagrid in his tolerance levels for student behaviour. If he'd reached the point of complaint; well, it wasn't a pleasant thing to consider.

"Professor?"

Ah, yes. Whatever Mister Potter has done to warrant yet another complaint from a teacher, there's still the lesson to attend to. Second-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. "Yes, Miss Branstone?"

"I'm sorry Professor, but I can't seem to get it right - it's sort of stuck..."

Indeed it is. Trapped halfway between being a frog and an inkwell, the... amalgamation lets out an unhappy croak before I set it to rights and explain the procedure once more to the girl.

Fifth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins are next, in any case. I'll be able to have a word with young Harry after the class.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Well, Mister Potter, what have you to say about this?"

He takes the note carelessly, sulkily, and stares briefly at it before shrugging. "He's exaggerating."

"I doubt that very much, Mister Potter. I've known Filius Flitwick for quite some time now, and I assure you that he would not exaggerate an account of bad behaviour in his class. On the contrary, he would minimise it."

Another shrug is the only answer I receive, and a surge of irritation swells up within me. "Mister Potter, your recent change attitude has not gone unnoticed by any of the staff. Even the Headmaster has commented on it." There - was that a glint of something in his eye? "I am aware that your recent struggle the Dark Lord must have been..." How on earth does one describe an event which is no less life-shattering for its regularity? "...Terribly difficult, to say the least." I am interrupted by a snort - a snort! That boy... why won't he let us in? "However, since you refuse to talk to anyone about the incident, we cannot help you if you refuse to help yourself." Folding his arms, he stares at the floor, mouth twisted.

Poor child. He really has too much on his shoulders - but I cannot permit him to think that his behaviour is acceptable or tolerable.

"I understand that you must feel pressured by responsibilities-"

"You don't understand anything, Professor. With all due respect, you haven't a clue."

I may well be fond of the boy, but I am also his teacher, and there are limits to what I will permit... "Then perhaps I should ensure you have as little stress as possible by relieving you from your Quidditch responsibilities until further notice?"

"No!" And now his eyes are up, burning with that familiar fire - only more desperate, more edged. "No. Please. I... I'll apologise to Professor Flitwick. Just... let me play Quidditch."

Perhaps that was the wrong route to take - threatening one of the few things that has ever given him release from reality - but then again, it seems to have had the desired effect.

"Very well. For now, I'll keep that in mind. I'll be watching your behaviour, Mister Potter, and I expect to hear from Professor Flitwick himself that you apologised and that your behaviour in class improves. Apologies and improvements in your other classes would not go astray either."

His shoulders slump. "Very well, Professor," he mutters glumly. "May I go to dinner now?"

"You may."

Watching as he hands the note back, then stuffs his notes for this lesson into his bag, I catch a glimpse of the parchment. Nothing but scribbles, and a few words and sentences here and there that make little sense, including 'not your fault'.

Odd. I presume he's referring to the battle with Voldemort, or perhaps the unfortunate Triwizard Tournament incident last year, but shouldn't that be 'not my fault'?

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Lem-"

"No, Albus. No lemon sherbets. No tea. No sweets of any sort. No stalling, for the love of all that's magical. I want a word with you regarding Harry Potter!"

Albus puts his sweet down, uneaten. Thank goodness for that. I don't fancy trying to talk to him while he's sucking on that dreadful thing. "You are not the only one, Minerva. Severus has been growling at my doorstep for several days now. As have many of the other members of staff."

He what?

"Severus has no business to be growling about MY students when his own behaviour at that age was far worse, with far less provocation!" I inform Albus tartly, bristling.

"Of course, Minerva." Oh, you infernal, twinkling old man! Stop that! You've changed the subject, and I hate that I fell for it. Again.

"Albus, I have come here because Harry Potter needs immediate help, of a type I cannot seem to provide. Two weeks, I had a word with him regarding the copious amount of complaints I'd received as his Head of House - the most recent one from Filius. He seemed angry and unrepentant until I threatened to remove him from the Quidditch team. He agreed to improve, and all the teachers reported moderate improvement in courtesy, if not in his grades - but now he has withdrawn completely. He's totally apathetic. Nothing seems to get through to him. He isn't even pretending to work in class any more. It's as if he believes that the O.W.Ls are of no importance whatsoever - and that's the least of it! I removed him from the Quidditch team, and his only response was a resigned shrug. A shrug, Albus! I can understand him giving up on his studies, even at such a critical juncture - but his Quidditch?!"

Albus nods at me, thoughtful. "I don't suppose his friends would be able to shed any light on the subject?"

"No." I sigh and take the cup of tea that has been near my hand since this interview began. Might as well drink it. "Not a thing. It's the first thing I tried - discreetly, of course. I didn't want to worry them. They seem to believe it's a combination of the aftereffects of the battle and the imminent return to that dreadful Muggle house. I don't think they're holding anything back from me - if it is anything else that disturbs him so, they know nothing of it." Wait a minute... "I don't suppose he's confided in you, has he?"

A sad smile is my answer. "Shrewd, Minerva, but unfortunately incorrect. Harry has not chosen me as a confidante at this time. We can only assume that he is doing what he always has done - holding his secrets to himself. Perhaps it is time we told him... but no, such a burden to give the boy. Unimaginable at this stage."

I can't help the shudder that goes up my spine. "Good Lord, no, Albus. He'd never cope with - that. Not now, at any rate. Perhaps in a few years time..."

"...And in the meantime, we can only protect him as best we can," Albus concludes, standing up and finally popping that awful sweet into his mouth. "Speaking of the meantime, Minerva, perhaps he'd feel less alone if he were aware of more of his familial relations?"

~*~*~*~*~*~

"I suppose you're wondering why I've summoned you to my office, Mister Potter?" The young man in question stares down at his feet, shuffling his shoe against my rug in a most unbecoming way.

"I did, a little, yes. What is it, Professor?"

I can't help but sigh. "Harry, please be aware that I had not intended to tell you this - at least, not at this point. If it had become public knowledge, it would have been greatly difficult to refute any suggestions of favouritism in my part. So what I tell you now must be in strictest confidence, do you understand?"

I seem to have piqued his curiosity a little, as he looks at me - properly - for the first time since entering the room. "Yes, I understand, Professor. But what is it?"

"Harry... you are, of course, aware that you have a godfather." A scornful look. Well, really, I couldn't expect anything else. It must sound like such a ridiculously obvious statement to him. "What you may not be aware of is the fact that your father's side of the family does have certain relatives left, mainly in families into which they married. Including the McGonagall family."

That certainly provoked a reaction from him. "You... you're related to me?"

"Yes, Harry, although very distantly. The link is several generations back, and we are not related by blood, but merely by marriage. Nevertheless, you see now why I could not tell you when you were younger - accusations of favouritism would have run rampant, and made your life even more difficult. Especially with Professor Snape." A rueful smile twitches the edges of his mouth at this point. "It was not public knowledge that I was distantly related to your father - I certainly did not favour him. In fact, it was rather the opposite - I held him to a much higher standard than other students. As I tend to hold you to a higher standard."

He seems to be absorbing the information, slowly. "Is that why you let me get onto the Quidditch team in first year? Because I was your great-great-something-in-law, or whatever I am to you?"

"Good heavens, no! You should know me better than that by now!" A muttered apology greets my ears and I sigh, realising my outburst of professional pride undid some of the progress I'd just made. "I talked Albus into bending the rule because you were, quite simply, the best natural talent at your age that I had ever seen in a Seeker - and bear in mind, I was here when Charlie Weasley led us to victory several years running." I can't help the slight smile that touches my lips as I remember that. "And when your father did the same, years before that. He would have been most proud of your accomplishments, as is your godfather. As am I."

Finally, I am rewarded with a small smile. "Thank you, Professor. Um... I understand where the place on the team came from now, but what about the Nimbus 2000? Who paid for that?"

"Dismissed, Mister Potter." A little grin graces his face and he slips out. Leaving another ragged, used piece of parchment behind. Silly boy. I pick up the roll and head towards the door, shaking my head and staring at the messy parchment that practically screams 'TEENAGER!'. I know I have a fond smile on my face, but oh well. I never married, yet here I am, picking up after family... "I never had to do this sort of thing for James..."

His eyes. He came back for his parchment and his eyes, white as a ghost as he snatches the parchment oh God he heard me...

"Harry!"

But he is gone.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Minerva!"

uh?

"MINERVA!"

"Wha..." Shaking my head, I try to pry open my eyes. What time is it? "Albus? Wh... What's the time?"

"It's three o'clock. Minerva, we-"

"Three o'clock! In the morning!" Instantly I'm bolt upright in bed, shoving off the sheets. The last time Albus disturbed me in my sleep, Colin Creevey had been Petrified... but he isn't here personally, it's only a message via fireplace... "Albus, what is it? Couldn't it wait until the morning?"

"I'm afraid not." Blast it all, Albus; stop your voice from wobbling. I just finished marking ten thousand essays and I've only had two hours' sleep. I can't cope with this. "Minerva, dear, you'd best sit down. It's about Harry..."

"Oh, Merlin." I got dragged out of bed because he got caught wandering around after curfew again? "I'll kill him. What is it that he's done now?"

END.

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