❝𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲?❞
❝𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦.❞
𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥 had a few, perhaps a little or more than a palm of qualms in his life. First up was the whole "The Boy-Who-Lived" shenanigans, then there was an ungodly am...
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LXX.MEDICINE FOR A SOLDIER
━━━━━━
"You could still be, what you want to
What you said you were, when I met you"
"WHAT ON EARTH HAPPENED OUT there?"
Being helped by Percy back up to her feet, Marjorie had never felt such relief to see Professor McGonagall as she emerged from her small cottage-like house, rushing toward them with her wand alight, illuminating the darkness that surrounded them.
"Professor!" Percy called out, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. "We don't got much time. The Portkey —"
"You've missed it by a minute," Professor McGonagall interrupted, her eyes narrowing in concern as she looked them over.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Percy snarled, frustration boiling over as he kicked at the ground, sending small rocks scattering. Marjorie stumbled, her knees weak as the adrenaline left her body, leaving only shaky exhaustion. McGonagall stepped forward swiftly, steadying her before she could fall.
"Is it you, Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked urgently, her voice low.
Marjorie shook her head. "It's Marjorie. Harry's with Hagrid —" Suddenly, all the fear from before came rushing back. Her eyes watered, her body quivering as she panicked. "Oh my — it was horrible, Professor! Oh, the others — we don't know what happened and — and —"
"Breathe, Evermore," McGonagall said, her voice firm but soothing. She placed a hand on Marjorie's shoulder, guiding her toward the door. "Both of you. Inside, quickly."
Professor McGonagall guided them into the warmth of her cottage, closing the heavy wooden door behind them with a soft thud that seemed to seal off the outside world. Her wand traced a complex pattern in the air, casting protective enchantments that shimmered briefly before settling into an invisible shield around the cottage. The soft glow of the fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls and filling the room with a comforting warmth.
"Sit down," McGonagall instructed calmly, gesturing towards a pair of high-backed armchairs positioned by the fire. "Tell me everything."
Percy sank wearily into one of the chairs, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. His eyes darted around the cozy room, almost instinctively searching for a bottle of firewhiskey or some strong drink to numb the tension that coiled within him. "Death Eaters... they ambushed us," he began, his voice rough with fatigue and anger. "Do you have anything strong to drink?"
