A Year in the Life

XIX. A Different Sort of Game

It wasn't that Minerva McGonagall was an unfair woman; it was just that she was a woman who spent a lot of time in thought -- she had a lot to think about -- and if she was short with the students sometimes, it was only that she expected them to be as thoughtful as she was.

"Do watch where you're going, Potter!" she cried, as Harry Potter quite literally ran into her, going up the stairs. He looked tired, and lost in considerations of other things. She'd seen him come out of Lupin's office, which meant he'd probably just had another Patronus lesson. She bit down hard on lingering disapproval of the thing.

"Sorry, Professor..." he stammered, backing away.

At least there was some pleasure in the reason she'd come to find him. She held out his Firebolt, finally cleared of any possible hexes. She wouldn't have to apologise, though admitting there was nothing wrong with came awfully close.

"I can have it back?" Harry was saying. "Seriously?"

She allowed herself a brief smile at the way his face lit up. "Seriously. I daresay you'll need to get the feel of it before Saturday's match, won't you?"

As he turned to leave, she added an encouragement towards winning, and the threat of Professor Snape keeping the cup for yet another year. When he was gone -- nearly bolting for Gryffindor's common room -- she continued down, peering into Lupin's office.

He was pale, and his hands were shaking as he poured something from his flask into a teacup.

"Long day?" she asked, and he started. "Sorry, I didn't mean to -- "

"No, no..." he capped the flask and visibly mastered himself. His hands stopped shaking as he wrapped one around the chipped teacup, spoon-stirring it with the other. He took a deep gulp, and collapsed into his chair. Two empty Butterbeer bottles stood nearby.

"What happened? Harry looked all right when he was leaving -- "

"Oh, you saw him? Good...I wasn't sure..." he drank deeply again, and poured another cup from the teapot, adding what smelled like firewhisky from the flask. She put out a hand to stop him.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" she asked. He winced.

"Sorry, I just..." he pushed the cup away, and rubbed his forehead with one hand. "It's very trying, being the impartial teacher all the time."

"Did you have trouble with the boggart?"

"No, no..." he sighed. "Harry asked what's under a Dementor's hood."

She could feel herself turn pale. "Why would he want to know that?"

"I don't know. He's fascinated by them, you know, I'm not sure -- well, I have guesses as to why. So I told him about...about the Dementor's Kiss, and what it does, and how that's what's going to happen to S...to Sirius..." his eyebrows drew together a little, almost puzzled. "And he said..."

She'd left her hand on his wrist, and he turned it over, drawing his fingers across her palm.

"He said Sirius deserved it. And I very calmly and very easily asked him if anyone deserves that, really, and he said yes...for some things..."

She waited until he seemed to have himself under control again.

"And he left and I just broke," he finished. "He looks so bloody much like James."

"That's what I thought, the first time I saw him," she agreed. "I nearly stuttered when I called his name for the Sorting Hat. Such a small boy. You'll be happy to know I just gave him his Firebolt back, however, so he can get himself killed in several new and imaginative ways on the Quidditch Pitch on Saturday."

He gave her a weak smile. "I'm glad it's finally been cleared. It'll be a good game on Saturday."

"Are you going? It's near after the full -- "

"Wouldn't miss it," he said firmly, and she could see that he was gathering himself up after a transitory go-to-pieces moment. "I should be up and about by Saturday."

"Do you want me to come see you?" she asked softly. It was a ritual now; he mentioned the full moon, she asked, sometimes he said yes, sometimes he said no. She never understood his logic, and he gave no explanation. It was enough that he sometimes said yes.

"If you have time," he said, in an offhand fashion. "Lunch, perhaps?"

"Beef broth?"

He nodded, vaguely, and she ducked her head to meet his eyes. He smiled again. "Really, I'm all right. How was your day?"

"Other than giving back the Firebolt, it was quiet," she said. His fingers were still stroking her palm, where it lay flat on the desk.

"Why do you take care of me?" he asked suddenly. She looked at him, a rare moment of confusion washing over her. "You...whenever I feel I might...and there you are..."

"Shh," she said, pulling her hand back slightly and raising it to stroke his face.

"But it's not equal, you're never stark raving mad," he said, leaning into her touch.

"Not outwardly," she said. He looked up quickly. "But you...fill a void. In my life. We don't need the same things from each other, Remus, don't think of it that way."

"It's not fair to you."

"I never expected fairness," she replied. "I never expected to fall in love with you, however, and so..." she spread her hands on the table. "Let it be what it is."

They sat in silence for a while.

"Do you think of him often?" she asked finally.

"Harry?"

"Sirius Black."

"I try not to," he whispered.

***

True to his word, he was up and about on Saturday, though looking worse than usual. He wore a few extra layers to the Quidditch match; she could see the measuring eyes of the students on him as he unsteadily climbed the ladder up to the stands, and sank onto a bench in the back, huddling against the rails. She wished she could go up with him, but even if she didn't have to sit in the broadcast booth with Lee Jordan -- and a good thing she did, as he was partial to going into digressions over the Firebolt -- it wasn't as though it would be...proper. And both of them always did what was proper.

The Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game was probably brilliant, was probably up to the usual excellent standard of Hogwarts games, but nobody really remembered it later. What they remembered were two things: Gryffindor winning, and the wretched trick Slytherin played.

The very second the Dementors appeared on the Pitch, she stood up. By the time Harry had his wand out and was casting the Patronus, she was dropping from the broadcaster's booth to the ground, and her eyes were searching the stands...

Lupin was already gone from his seat.

She turned when the crowd roared, and saw Harry landing triumphantly, Snitch in hand -- a second later mobbed by the Gryffindor team. She ran instead for the dark figures writhing on the Pitch where Harry had fired the spell. She saw Lupin barreling towards her. He dropped to his knees next to the shapes -- nobody could stay sane that close to a Dementor...

"Malfoy!" he growled. He looked up at her. "It's students. Posing as Dementors..."

"I'll see to them," she said, her lips thinning into a hard line. He nodded.

"I'll make sure Harry's all right," he answered, standing and staggering for a moment before regaining his balance.

She saw him push gently through the crowd, and bend to speak in Harry's ear; through the mass of bodies she could see Harry beaming at him, saying something excitedly, and then he was leading Harry back. She rounded on the Slytherin boys and began to shout -- to actually shout -- as much because she could see how shaken both Remus and Harry were as because they had committed the unforgivable error of interfering in a Quidditch match.

It didn't take long for the Gryffindors to haul Harry away, and soon the students dispersed, leaving the pair of them with four badly rattled Slytherins, and a handful of Dementor costumes.

Lupin looked furious -- too angry to speak. He bent and neatly tore the fabric, freeing Draco Malfoy from the confines of the costume with a single rip. The boy found himself face to face with the Dark Arts professor in all his considerable rage. Minerva waited for the explosion.

It never came.

"For shame, Draco," he said,and while his voice was hard, he was not shouting. "Absolute shame. You are not worthless. Stop behaving like you are because it's easier than working for what you want."

The others were watching, fascinated, as he grabbed Draco's chin when the child tried to look away.

"Nobody is ever going to think you're worth anything unless you prove you are," he growled. Crabbe whimpered, and Lupin looked up so fast that all four boys flinched.

"Stand up, all of you," he ordered. Flint practically shot to his feet; the others slowly struggled to theirs. He straightened, slower this time -- she doubted the others noticed, but she could see it was so that he wouldn't lose his balance.

"Professor McGonagall, my apologies," he said formally. "They are your responsibility now, of course."

"Thank you, Professor Lupin," she said, finding her voice. She had expected him to shout, to perhaps even knock a few heads together -- it wouldn't be the first time a Hogwarts professor had tried that technique, especially when old Kiernan was teaching, years ago. She could see him controlling himself. She could also see him trying not to vomit. Probably from nerves.

He wiped his mouth, gave the boys another searching look, and turned to walk away. She realised she was watching him, instead of the boys, and turned back to them. They stared at her.

"Inside," she ordered. "Now."

***

After she'd escorted the troublemakers to Slytherin and elicited a grudging promise from Snape to see that they were confined to their rooms for the night, she went looking for Remus. She thought he might have gone to check in on Harry, but the Gryffindors, caught up in a party of monumental proportions, hadn't seen him.

She finally found him in his rooms, wrapping a bandage around his left hand.

"What happened?" she asked, as he looked up. She hadn't knocked; they rarely did anymore. He gave her an embarrassed look, and gestured with his right hand at his desk. There was a hole in the edge, splintered, and several pieces hanging off of it.

"I know you don't like spiders crawling on your desk but this seems something of an overreaction," she said, gently. He sighed.

"I got angry. It happens. Better the desk than anyone's head," he said. "I -- it doesn't happen often," he said quickly, when he saw her face. "Not in years. But sometimes..."

He sighed, biting the bandage in half and tucking the end into a fold, flexing his fingers gently. "Besides, I heal quickly. This time tomorrow I'll be fine."

"You sure you don't want me to take a look at it?"

"I'm more worried about the desk. People heal. Belongings don't, unfortunately," he said, sliding out of the chair. "It's so frustrating. Such a stupid prank. It's..."

She raised her eyebrows.

"It's exactly what Sirius would have done," he growled. "Not during a Quidditch match, he wasn't that mad, but if he'd known Snape was afraid of...of Dementors or what have you, he'd have done that exact same thing. And god help me, James and I would have helped." He rubbed his head with his bandaged hand. "His mother is Sirius' cousin, you know. His last name might be Malfoy but that boy is Black to the core, Minerva. Arrogant and proud and foolish."

She drew close, and let him rest his head tiredly on her shoulder, more amused than upset, now that the rage had cooled.

"Is that why you like him so much?" she asked softly.

He laughed. "You know, it probably is," he replied. "I know he's a weasel and a cheat, and I could have killed him this afternoon...but I can't help thinking he'd grow out of it if someone walloped him upside the head hard enough."

She smiled. "Well, while you're plotting his murder, I think I should go make sure Gryffindor house doesn't set anything on fire in their enthusiasm." She kissed him briefly, and he let her go only reluctantly. "I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow. Get some rest, you look worn out."

"I am worn out. But we did win," he grinned. "Life is good."

"Hold that thought till we take the Cup," she replied, and vanished out the door. He sat quietly for a few minutes, before sighing and turning to see what could be done about his poor abused desk.

"Remus, wake up. Remus!"

He batted at the hand that was shaking him gently, opening his eyes to a dim, shadowy world. "M'up, up -- hum?"

Minerva McGonagall stood next to his bed, pale and drawn-looking. Something must be wrong -- nothing scared McGonagall. But her expression was a sharp contrast to the woman who, earlier the same day, had been thoroughly enjoying a Quidditch game and who, after it was over, had yelled a handful of Slytherin pranksters into submission. He pushed himself up to a sitting position.

"Wha'?" he said, trying to shake sleep from his brain.

"There's been a break-in," she said. "Get dressed."

"Right..." he slid out of the bed and reached for a shirt, pulling dark trousers on over his pyjama pants. "Someone broke into the castle?"

"No -- into Gryffindor."

He stopped in the act of tucking his shirt in, and turned around. "What?"

"Ron Weasley says he saw Sirius Black standing over his bed with a knife," she blurted.

"Merlin," he breathed. "Oh, gods above -- is he all right?"

"He's fine -- shaken -- of all the idiot things, Sir Cadogan let that monster in because Neville left his passwords lying about..."

"I'll kill him," Lupin said vehemently.

"Well, I'm angry at him too -- "

"Not Neville, Sirius. Is he still in the castle? Do we know? This ends now," he said, rage filling him. His bandaged hand was throbbing with the peculiar pain of werewolf healing, but he used it anyway, slamming his feet into his boots and tying the laces angrily.

"We're searching the castle. I thought if he couldn't get to Harry he might have..." she swallowed. "He might be after you, too, you know."

"Let him come! I'll break his bloody neck!" he cried. "Oh lord, Harry -- he's not hurt, is he?"

"No, as far as we can tell..." she grabbed his arm. "Be careful, if he can get into Gryffindor there's no telling where he's hiding."

"Sirius Black knows this castle better than anyone. Except me," he replied. "Where do you want me to search?"

***

There was coffee, cocoa, and hot oatmeal in the dining hall at dawn, when the professors slowly began to regather after a thorough search of the castle. Severus Snape was eating tiredly, folded into his usual chair in the great hall, while Minerva took reports from the other teachers. Students began to drift in, yawning and speaking in low voices about the events of the night. In a spare moment, she wandered to the pitcher of coffee, and poured herself some, adding milk and sugar.

"No sign?" Snape asked, over his breakfast. She shook her head. "I'm not surprised."

"Me either, unfortunately," she sighed. "Though I can't imagine how he got both in and back out without the Dementors noticing."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Can't you? I should think it would be obvious. He was assisted."

"Stop that line of thought this minute, Severus," she said sternly. "I won't have you passing insinuations around the school."

"I was merely observing that someone had to help him. Now who do we know who's friends with Sirius Black?" His dark eyes glittered. "Why, our very own -- "

"You wouldn't say that if you ever bothered to speak to him, except to insult him," she replied icily. "If you knew..."

He waited, finally prompting her. "If I knew...?"

If you knew how he worried about Harry... "If you knew what he's been doing to protect us from Black, you'd think differently," she said lamely.

"A moot point, however," he continued, "as whatever he's doing doesn't appear to be working. Where is Professor Lupin this morning, by the way? I notice he hasn't reported in yet."

"Dumbledore spoke to him an hour ago," she answered. "He said he wanted to check on some passageways that aren't often used."

"How convenient."

"Stop it, Severus, or I will put a stop to it for you," she replied, just as a familiar, slouch-shouldered figure loomed in the doorway.

"Good morning," Remus said, tucking his wand into his back pocket as he entered. "Oh -- food -- " he spooned a generous helping of oatmeal into a bowl, added brown sugar, and leaned against the high table as he ate. "Bit disorganised this morning, isn't it?" he asked, noticing professors wandering amongst the student tables, and students moving from one to the next to spread rumours and reports.

"Did you find anything?" she asked, sipping her coffee. It was harsh and bitter, even with sugar, but it would wake her up better than tea.

"Not a thing," he answered. "And I looked in placed I'd forgotten existed."

"Do tell," Snape drawled. "Where exactly were you looking?"

She had to admit that the glance he gave Snape was almost guilty. "Here and there. Unused hallways, behind a couple of fake walls. I was safe," he added, when she opened her mouth. "I promise."

Snape gave a derisive snort, and stood, taking his oatmeal away with him as he left the Great Hall.

"Git," Remus muttered.

"He thinks you're helping Black," she replied. He nodded.

"I thought he might. If I knew where he was..." he shook his head. "I keep thinking maybe Harry's right. Maybe there are some things that deserve...a harsher punishment than death."

"You don't believe that, really."

"Don't you think he was trying to kill Harry? He got past the guards, got Neville's passwords, found his way through the castle and up to the exact room without anyone seeing him..."

"...but didn't find the right bed?" she asked. "It...well, it doesn't make an entire lot of sense."

"Maybe he thought Ron was Harry. Azkaban confuses people, drives them mad. Lily had red hair..." he added, sadly. "I don't see how we can keep anyone safe, Minerva."

"Tighter security, though I hate to say it," she said. "I didn't think a dog could get -- oh, here..."

He'd nearly dropped his bowl, and was fumbling to keep it balanced. She put out a hand to keep it from tipping over.

"...well, as I was saying, security. And lifetime detention for Neville Longbottom wouldn't hurt," she added angrily. He looked pale, but after a moment, he smiled.

It was a smile she was used to; a warm curve of the lips as his eyes cut downward, and his whole face seemed to transform. It was...almost intimate. When a man smiled at a woman that way, things were said which weren't often put into words. She hoped none of the students saw it.

"I'm too tired to do much more right now than eat and try to think of a way to keep awake through the day," he answered, finally. "Thank god there aren't classes...let's have dinner tonight. We can go to Hogsmeade and ask if anyone's seen anything there."

"I don't know that Dumbledore will even let professors off the grounds," she said. He scowled, but nodded.

"That seems sensible, in the long run. All right -- then we'll eat in. I'll talk to Dumbledore and meet you, either way, around seven. If we're banned from Hogsmeade, I'll steal food from the kitchens."

She fought the urge to kiss him as he set down his empty bowl and stood.

"Seven sounds good," she said quietly. "Remus..."

He gave her an inquiring look.

"Please. I know you feel responsible for keeping the world safe from Black, but don't do anything foolish," she said. "Talk to me before you sneak into Hogsmeade."

"I'll get a signed note," he replied, and she saw him move -- just a slight gesture, almost a flinch, and she knew he'd been stepping forward to kiss her before he stopped himself. "I'll see you at seven, if not before," he said, biting his lip. He turned, and found his way out into the corridors, dodging students as he went.

***

The lines of privacy between two private people are sometimes not delineated by physical things; neither of them, after the Christmas holidays were over, bothered to knock before letting themselves into the other's rooms, unless there was a student nearby.

Instead, they adhered to strange courtesies. She stayed away from him during the full moon, unless he invited her, and he never pried into her business -- if she said she wasn't available for dinner, or tea (or a night in), he merely smiled and went about his day. It was comfortable, and for them, it worked.

He let himself into her rooms quietly, because he suspected she wouldn't be there yet, though they almost always met at her rooms when they were walking down to a Quidditch game, or going to Hogsmeade.

He let his eyes drift over her bookshelves, the neat racks he'd helped clean during the holidays; over the well-worn furniture, the writing desk, the photographs on the walls -- Quidditch teams from years long past smiled and waved out of their frames, and a younger Dumbledore winked from behind the shoulder of a scowling Severus Snape, who looked all of twenty-two.

His senses, which were keener than human senses even on a bad day, were telling him she was nearby; it wasn't so much scent as presence, something his ears and nose were both catching.

He frowned and wandered towards the bedroom door, not quite sure if this was within the bounds of where he could go, though it wasn't as though he'd never seen the inside of it before...

He grinned, and leaned in the doorway. "So much for dinner, I guess," he said, softly.

She was asleep, curled under the considerable eiderdown. Neither of them had slept much the night before, not with a madman running loose in the castle, and he didn't blame her for wanting to get a few minutes when she could; he'd at least been asleep when she'd woken him with the news.

He smoothed down her hair, and took the book that was in her hands, placing it on the bedside table, next to the clock and -- ah, that was where his good cuff links had gone.

He found a spare scrap of parchment on her desk, and wrote a brief note, propping it on top of the book as quietly as possible. Still, when he dimmed the lamp, she shifted, her head turning, shirt-collar gapping open.

He caught his breath, and smiled.

She was wearing his Christmas present, a black silk necklace with a pewter holly-sprig charm. She must have come back to her rooms specifically to put it on, that morning; in the confusion none of them were fully dressed at breakfast. He'd been wearing his trousers over his pajama pants, and Snape's buttons had been one buttonhole off.

He ought to tell her. He had to tell her. He had to tell Dumbledore. If they knew Sirius was an Animagi they could protect the castle properly.

And yet...

He didn't know how to explain it where Dumbledore wouldn't look at him with that disappointed glance that said he wasn't the good student, wasn't the responsible man he wanted to be.

He couldn't even imagine what Minerva would say. Didn't want to. Come to that, he was beginning to reach a point where he couldn't imagine his life without her.

He leaned in the doorway again, smiled, and then turned to leave.

He'd just have to find Sirius before anyone else did. Before Sirius found Harry -- or himself -- or Minerva.