Chapter 9
It is terribly late at night. So late, in fact, it is nearly very early. Minerva knows she should be in bed; she should have gone to sleep hours ago, but she just can’t. She’s got summer work to grade, and one of the Hufflepuffs accidentally knocked over Professor Binns’s lectern and she promised to transfigure him a temporary one while they sort out a replacement, and already one of the first years’ parents has written several letters to check up on their child. All of this is keeping her busy, but if she’s quite honest, the real reason she can’t sleep has nothing to do with the usual back-to-school hubbub. No, the reason Minerva McGonagall can’t sleep is because of Sirius Black. Or, more accurately, because of whoever or whatever has gotten to the boy. She never thought she’d miss his cheek or defiant attitude, but she’d rather see him jumping on tables and hexing the Slytherins than frozen in fear and discomfort. She can’t help but wonder, is this what he always looks like at home? All these years, all the Christmas holidays and Easter breaks, did Sirius retreat into that house as a complete shell of himself? Did he spend weeks wandering the cold halls of Grimmauld place with his head low and mouth shut? She can’t picture it, it just doesn’t fit with the headstrong kid she knows, but with the way he is now... Well, Minerva can’t blame him for stirring up a bit of trouble at Hogwarts. He was just trying to feel free.
She is deep in her thoughts when there is a knock on her door. At this hour, she hasn’t a clue who it could be. She stands from her desk and goes to answer the door.
“James?” she asks upon seeing the boy’s worried face.
“Um, yeah, sorry Professor, I know it’s past curfew and I’m not supposed to--”
Minerva cuts him off, “That’s never stopped you before Mr. Potter, I don’t see why that would stop you now.” she says kindly. “Come on in.”
She opens the door wider and beckons him into her office.
James follows her into the room and sits in the same chair he did just this morning.
McGonagall sits behind her desk and picks up a quill, just to have something in her hands.
“Now, what can I do for you?”
James shifts a bit in his seat, “Well, it’s just, it’s Sirius, see. He’s not, he, well...”
Minerva waits patiently, giving James time to gather his words.
“I... well, I’m worried about him. He’s not doing well.”
Minerva nods, silently urging James to go on.
James clears his throat and looks around the office before continuing. “He... he’s in pain. A lot of pain. There are cuts and bruises, and...and it’s bad. It’s really bad. I’ve never seen him this bad.”
It is not surprising information. Anyone paying a lick of attention would have deduced as much, but that does not make it any easier to hear out loud.
“You’ve never seen him this bad?” Minerva asks softly.
James purses his lips. “I—he comes back with minor injuries sometimes. He doesn’t talk about it much, but he talks in his sleep sometimes and...and...”
James swallows hard. “He screams.” he whispers, looking at the desk and not at McGonagall. “He screams, and he begs them to stop, pleads with them—his parents, I mean. And R--” James stops himself short and shakes his head a bit before continuing. “I knew it wasn’t great at home for him, and I should have said something sooner, but he never wanted to talk about it, he always had some excuse or another. And I guess I didn’t know how bad it was.” His words are spilling out of him, as if a plug has finally been pulled and a wave of language is finally freed, but here the well dries up. James looks back up at his professor.
“Well, I think I did know how bad it was. I think I did, I just didn’t want to believe it.”
Minerva wants to stand from her chair, walk around the desk, and wrap James in the tightest hug in the world. But she can’t, because it wouldn’t be proper.
“I could have stopped this.” James whispers again. “If I had just said something sooner.”
Minerva takes a deep, shaky breath. It is the same set of words that she has been telling herself. She should have noticed. She should have done something. She could have pressed Sirius harder for answers when he came back from breaks a little off, or received a letter at breakfast that made him stiffen. She should have asked more questions when little eleven-year-old Sirius got in trouble for the first time at Hogwarts and flinched so badly when McGonagall raised her hand to rub it across her brow that he knocked into a suit of armor and sent it crashing. The look of fear in his eyes as the helmet rolled away should have been tell enough.
But all of that is Minerva’s fault, not James’s. James didn’t do anything wrong.
“It is all too easy to blame ourselves for others’ wrongdoing, but make no mistake, Mr. Potter: you are not to blame for anything that has happened. I know you hate to accept it, but you are only a child yourself, you are no match for the Black family. The best thing you can do for Sirius is to be his friend, and you have done that splendidly.”
James doesn’t look much reassured.
“He’s going to hate me if he knows I’m here.” he mutters. He looks up at McGonagall with such pleading, desperate eyes. “But I had to do something. I had to.”
“And you were right to.” McGonagall assures. “You are much braver than many. In fact, fifty points to Gryffindor for the courage to speak up.”
James doesn’t look any cheered by this. Minerva understands why.
“I will speak to Dumbledore and ensure that the Ministry launches an investigation into the Blacks.”
James only frowns. They both know the Blacks have too much power for the Ministry to do anything. It is an empty hope. Minerva swallows a sigh.
“In the meantime, I’ll have Madame Pomfrey will take a look at his injuries and ensure he heals properly.”
“He won’t go.” James says dejectedly.
Minerva raises an eyebrow.
“He says he doesn’t want anyone to know.”
Minerva presses her lips together. The Blacks and their stubborn pride. She could insist Sirius sees Poppy. She could send the mediwitch there herself. She could march into Sirius’s room and threaten every privilege and housepoint he has until he agrees to let himself be helped. But what good would it do? Sirius has already shown he doesn’t trust McGonagall. Making him get help would only make things worse. No, this will require a little bit of trickery.
“If you brought Mr. Black a pain potion, would he drink it?” McGonagall asks after careful consideration. “And perhaps a muscle-ease potion, as well?”
James nods slowly, “I think he would. At least, I think Remus and I could convince him, but he’d wonder where we got it. And we’d need so many that--” he swallows thickly. “We’d need so many that he’d know something is up.”
A little smile crosses Minerva’s lips at the idea springing into her head. “You have potions last period tomorrow, yes?”
James nods, looking confused.
“Well, as it just so happens, Slughorn’s lessons are related to healing. First period seventh years are making a powerful pain potion, the fourth years are brewing Skelaxin draughts, the first years are doing a simple Bruise-ease, and you, the fifth years, will create a vitality serum. At the end of the day, all of these will need to be delivered to Madame Pomfrey. I will instruct Slughorn to let the Gryffindors make this delivery.”
McGonagall makes a note to tell Slughorn his entire lesson plan for tomorrow is changing. He won’t be pleased, but needs must.
“But some of the potions won’t make it to her.” James says, a mischievous glint that McGonagall is all too familiar with gleaming in his eye.
She shakes her head. “None of the potions will. Madam Pomfrey was not expecting such a delivery at all. In fact, she will tell you she has no space to keep the bottles and will tell you to bring them back to Slughorn. If they do not go back, neither party will ever know.”
James mulls the plan over for a second, then grins. “Thanks professor. Really, for everything.”
Minerva smiles at her student. It feels good to finally be doing something.
“Of course, Mr. Potter. Now, get back to your dorm, it’s late and we both have classes tomorrow.”
James nods and springs up from the chair and bounces to the door.
He has so much more energy than he has had in days. Even still, as McGonagall holds the door open and James steps out into the dark corridor, she notices the worried expression that slips back over his features.
Minerva feels her heart twist again with the weight of everything she should have done sooner.
“You’ve done the right thing, Mr. Potter. It will be alright.”
James nods again, though he doesn’t look much reassured.
Minerva feels her heart breaking in her chest. He shouldn’t have to deal with this. None of them should.
“I’ll get him out of that house. I promise.”
With a final goodnight, Minerva closes the door and returns to her desk. She will not be going to bed tonight. She’s made a promise, and she’s determined to keep it. Whatever the cost.