Year four - Minerva McGonagall
Minerva - Year four - December
Horcruxes.
What a horrific concept.
The division of the soul, through murder and cannibalism, to avoid death. Honestly, whomever discovered this must have been the most psychopathic person - monster, in her opinion- in history.
Just how could someone get to the process? Just how could someone even think of something like that? Minerva could never… How could anyone decent even consider it?
It was sick, it was perverse, it was… she couldn’t really think of another synonym that conveyed her disgust about the topic, but here she was, in the kids hideout - Flatoffice they called it, an apt name, truly - waiting with Severus as Draco was trying to expel a horcrux from Harry.
The theory behind it was nothing short of genius, Minerva mused as they watched attentively at their wards. Touching a soul with another, to purify it, clean it, heal it… the concept was nothing short of amazing.
“Your stares are a bit intense, Minerva.” Severus told her, catching up with some grading it looked like. Poor soul, the owner of that essay… Acceptable was beyond its reach.
“I’m just thinking, Severus.”
“About?” He asked her, eyes back on the paper, quill and hand furiously working. “I curse the twins and their self-checking quills…”
“Oh, I agree.” She said, answering the comment rather than the question. “They really need to revise those charms.”
“Indeed.” He said, dark eyes peeking at her with a glint of annoyance. “Don’t think you are cunning, Minerva - I know you deflected my question, pretty obviously if you wish to know. What are you thinking about?”
Minerva huffed, annoyed as well with her ex-student. “If you must know, which you don’t for the record, I was thinking about the ugliness of this world.”
“Ah…” He exclaimed softly. “Here I thought you were thinking about something less depressing.”
“Not depressing, but…”
“How unfair it is that monsters roam around decent people while pretending to be the same.” He said, voicing her thoughts to an alarming degree of accuracy. “I think about that a lot, if I’m being honest, and how close I was to becoming one of those monsters.”
“.... You were a vulnerable child, Severus.”
“Vulnerable and alone, a perfect candidate for a cult to brainwash and use.” He said, a morose feeling setting around them. “... Thankfully I can recognize the reasons, work on them, and stop blaming myself for the bad decisions I made in my twenties.”
“As you should.” She said, happy to see her ex-student’s growth. “We already have a young man with blaming issues, and sadly Draco learned from the king of self-blame.”
“He is slowly working on it.” He said, the tiniest of smiles on his face. “I have to say, it’s pretty strange looking at these issues from the outside – pretty hypocritical of me not to deal with my problems while helping someone else, don’t you think?”
“I agree. Harry is also dealing with some issues concerning their past life.” Minerva said, giving out a big deep sigh that shook her to her core. “Not so much out of guilt or redemption, but mostly his sentiments towards doing the right thing and a savior complex that is rooted in deep. Then there is the trauma about his death…” She shuddered, What was she doing in the other timeline while Harry chose to go and die for the better good at seventeen? Was she even aware of that fact? “I can’t fathom what that must have felt like…”
“Walking to your death… brave little brat.” Severus said, a bit annoyed but with just a smidge of awe and respect. “Gryffindor through and through, I suppose.”
Minerva laughed without humor, mostly agreeing with her colleague, but still feeling a heavy sadness. How badly adults - the people that should have been responsible - failed both Draco and Harry. The responsibilities, the need for them to make decisions so crushingly titanic, choosing death just because of the greater good or joining evil to survive… How unfair the world was.
A hissing sound woke them both up from their own desolate thoughts.
Standing quickly, Minerva grabbed the penny, placing it against Harry's scar which… was oozing black tar.
A deafening screeching sound had her doubling herself over, her insides vibrating with the sheer volume. She felt like vomiting, crying, and other inappropriate bodily functions at the same time.
It was nothing short of horrific and painful.
And then… a picture came into her head.
As her hands were clutching the penny with all her might, as the tar kept on oozing out and crawling over her hands, the image of a lonely baby popped up.
A little thing, just so little, so vulnerable and pure.
What a lovely thing that baby was.
Those frail looking black locks of hair were disheveled and slightly matted, and those brown eyes, just barely open, were shining with nothing but tears and sadness.
Such sadness. How could anyone not try and soothe the poor boy?
The cries of the little baby, oh so little, tug on her heartstrings. Was he calling for her?
He must be, poor little thing. Who else could he be calling to?
He was hers, Minerva knew - even if she wasn’t sure where he came from, her little Tom could only be hers. You just had to look at him to know…
Her lovely, tiny, little Tom.
Sharply, like the sting of a Glumbumble wasp, she was shoved away with violent abandon. She crashed and fell, now hearing again the screeching wails coming from the black tar ooze, which was now fighting Severus as he kept the penny against Harry’s forehead.
A shiver went down her spine as she processed her hallucination.
A safeguard, a trap, a snare that almost got her to accept the tar into herself, like a part of herself she always had.
“MINERVA, GET A FUCKING GRIP!” Severus yelled over the screeching, his voice almost louder. “HELP ME!”
She stood up, still rattled - still reeling over a desire she thought was well behind her, still feeling a deep hole inside of her of leaving that baby behind - but determined. Harry’s life depended on it.
Minerva placed her wand against the penny. “Audesantus!” She cried, willing the penny to push back against the ooze without either of them touching it. Severus stepped back, eyes watery and gritted teeth, as the screeching became even more unbearable.
It was literally torture.
Heavens knows how long she was there, willing herself strong as the penny absorbed the tar, slowly - as wet soil gathering the last bit of liquid.
As the screeching stopped, and the penny was full - was that the correct term? - Minerva looked at Severus, who looked just as tired as she felt, and nodded.
He responded in lieu, and both of them… crumpled to the ground.
…
“...”
“...”
“... please tell me you also saw the baby?”
Minerva was a smart woman, she was a stern woman - she was also laughing so hard she was having a hard time breathing.
What a lovely way to spend boxing day.