Love Heals

Minerva McGonagall was sitting at her desk in her new office, writing a carefully phrased letter to Professor Snape. She really had no idea what to say, but felt it was important to be in contact with him. Not only was the man the previous Head of Slytherin, and therefore her biggest enemy as far as competition goes, but he had also recently killed Albus Dumbledore. It was true that Minerva now understood the circumstances, but she was still finding it difficult to accept.

If getting herself to write a friendly letter to Professor Snape wasn't hard enough, she now had to worry about every single word she wrote. If anything was mentioned that could give an unwanted observer too much information, the entire Wizarding World could fall apart. Sighing, she carefully reread her letter.

Dear Severus,

I really don't know how to say this, but I'm going to try my best. I recently found a letter from a certain someone who might not be alive right now. It explained the situation, and the reasoning behind what you did. It said to trust you, and I do. It also said to inform the staff and three very involved students, you know who I mean, of the circumstances. The staff understands and wishes to help, and the students, albeit reluctantly, accepted that you are not what everyone assumed you were. Not everyone, such as the caretaker, has been informed for obvious reasons.

That out of the way, I would like us to keep in contact. Is Draco with you? I don't believe that he is to be trusted, so I'll leave you at that. If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to inform me.

Hoping you are well--or, as well as you can be,

M.M.

Minerva placed the letter into an envelope and sealed it, hoping against hope that Severus would know who M.M. is. She beckoned over an owl who was perched at the windowsill, and tied it to her leg. Just as the owl flew out through the open window, green flames filled the fireplace, and she was met by a very angry Harry Potter.

"Hello Harry," she said, trying to keep her voice even and pleasant.

"What were you thinking?" He screamed at her.

"Pardon?"

"What do you think gave you the right to share my personal experiences with whoever you want?"

"Oh," she said as comprehension dawned on her, "Harry, please understand. I found a letter from Dumbledore--"

"Will you shut up about the letter from Dumbledore? I couldn't care less if God himself came down and told you to do that! You had no right--"

"I do not wish to have a shouting match with you, Harry."

"Oh, well I'm so sorry! I don't mean to disturb you, because it's not like you did anything to me!" came the sarcastic reply she admittedly set herself up for.

"I'm sorry that you're so upset--"

"You're sorry? You're sorry? Do you honestly think that means anything to me? I'd like to know exactly how this is going to help us win the War."

"I, um.... I don't know."

"What?"

"I don't know."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, Harry, I really don't know. Dumbledore never explained. He just said that it was absolutely necessary, and I trust his judgment."

"You don't know?"

"Dumbledore--"

"You don't even know? You think you can just go flashing my memories around, and you don't even know why? We're talking about stuff I've kept a secret my whole life! I didn't want anyone to know! And you don't even have the decency to let me know when you're going to share my secrets with everyone!"

"Harry, I'm sorry. You're right. I'm sorry. I should have confided in you first. I was just confused at the time. I didn't know how to handle all of this new information. I had just found a letter from a man I thought was dead--"

"He is dead, isn't he?"

"Yes, of course. I just mean that finding the letter sent a whirlwind of questions through my mind. Obviously, I realized that it was written before his death, and he intended for me to find it when I did. That did not diminish my questions, however. I was confused. I knew that you would not agree to have your memories shared with your friends, but Dumbledore expressed the vitality of the situation. He has never been wrong before, and I wasn't about to assume he was. I should have talked to you about it first, but I just thought it would be easier this way. I admit, my brain wasn't functioning properly, and I am truly sorry."

Harry stared at her for a moment, before he said, "If you're looking for me to accept your apology, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. I realize that I can't even keep my own thoughts private anymore. This is disgusting. I have better things to be doing than standing around arguing with you, so I'm gonna go." He scooped up a handful of floo powder and stepped into the fireplace. "If you can come up with an actual explanation as to how this is going to be beneficial, I'll reconsider accepting your apology. Until then, stay the hell away from me."

With that, he dropped the powder into the fireplace, and was lost within the glowing flames.

*

Ron and Hermione were sitting in chairs around the fire, waiting for Harry to emerge. They had not spoken a word to each other since he left, and the silence was deafening. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Harry stepped out of the flames, looking very distraught. Hermione immediately jumped up from her chair and began apologizing again. "Harry! I'm sorry, Harry, I'm so sorry. I--"

"Honestly, Hermione, it's okay! I don't blame you." Hermione and Ron both looked shocked at these words, but Hermione flung her arms around Harry into a tight hug.

"You don't?" she said, braking apart. "Oh, well, I'm sorry anyway. Are you all right?"

"No, not really," he said. "But it felt good to yell at McGonagall, I'll tell you that."

Ron smirked, and Hermione merely shook her head. "Look," said Harry, more seriously, "I don't know what memories she showed you, and I really don't even want to right now. I'd just appreciate it if you didn't mention anything you saw unless I ask you, okay? And you have to swear you're not gonna tell anyone."

"Of course," said Hermione.

"We won't tell anyone, mate," Ron said, speaking to Harry for the first time that morning.

Ginny entered the room, rubbing her eyes, and stifling a yawn. "Wazzgoinoninhere?" she asked.

"Not much," Harry said casually, dropping into a chair. Ron and Hermione followed suit, and he continued. "Just talking about stuff, you know? Horcruxes...."

"Horcruxes?" said Ginny, more awake. She, too, plopped herself into a chair and rested her head on her fist.

"Oh, that's right, you don't know about that. Well, it's kind of hard to explain." Harry went on to describe his lessons with Dumbledore last year and all that he found out. He told about how Voldemort had ripped his soul into seven pieces, in an attempt to gain immortality. Ron and Hermione sat silently the whole time, listening to Harry's story, with Ginny sitting at the edge of her chair in a mixture of utter horror and fascination. They were surprised, to say the least, that Harry had been so open about this, but they went along with it.

They were also quite impressed with how well Harry had lied about what they were talking about. He really was an excellent liar. He said something perfectly believable, didn't stutter or hesitate, and met Ginny's eyes as he said it. It was at that moment that they realized that Harry had been lying to them their whole life. How much of the real Harry did they know? How much was just an act he put on, to hide his past and the horrors he was currently living. He always seemed so... all right. But how could anyone be all right, having gone through all Harry had gone through. The thing was, he wasn't all right. He was just a really good liar.

*

Ginny didn't sleep well that night. The idea of Horcruxes had really disturbed her. Harry told her about how the diary was a Horcrux, but he didn't have any idea how that made her feel. The knowledge that she had carried a piece of Voldemort's soul around with her for the majority of her first year was more horrifying than anything else she'd ever experienced. Memories of that year were replaying themselves over and over again in her mind, and she felt as though she was trapped in her own head. There was no escape. Memory after memory attacked like a poison, slowly gnawing away at any sanity she had.

Maybe this was why no one was keen on including her. Just this little piece of information was tearing her apart. That thought made her feel weak, like she really wasn't meant to be apart of this whole thing. She was being naïve. That was what she was, a naïve little girl. Her mother was strongly against her getting involved, as was the rest of her family, and Harry and Hermione, too. They were right. She couldn't handle this. She was weak.

Her mind continued to eat at her heart and soul, and she felt herself slowly deteriorating. She cried herself to sleep that night, trapped in her own thoughts. There was no escape... no escape.