Harry’s 6th year, October
Minerva McGonagall’s POV:
‘Why do I give them so much homework?’ I asked myself in the middle of grading essays. ‘Because they won’t get the information through their thick heads otherwise!’ I answered my earlier question. I graded the last essay with a flourish. I glanced outside wistfully, I know I should be the 3rd year’s essays but a little break wouldn’t hurt…
I grabbed my broom, a Comet360, and flew out my window. I spotted a lone figure just west of the Quidditch pitch, stopped in mid-air. I frowned and flew towards the figure, it looked like a student. My eyebrows rose, it was Harry! He looked depressed, I frowned what would make him depressed? He and his friends didn’t have a fight, did they?
“Mr. Potter?” I asked. He looked up, his eyes slightly red and watery, “Hello Professor McGonagall.”
“Is there something wrong? You seem depressed.” I asked, concerned.
“I’m fine.” He said, seemly automatically. ‘Probably is automatic.’ I thought.
“The truth, Mr. Potter.” I said sternly.
He sighed and hesitated, as if trying to decide whether or not to tell me the truth. Then he said, slumping onto his broom, “I miss Padfoot so much.”
I came up beside him, putting my hand on his long hair, absently running my fingers through his hair “So do I, Harry, so do I.”
He looked up, his eyes grateful. “Why are you out here Harry? Wouldn’t Ron or Hermione comfort you?”
He shook his head, “They’re too busy fighting each other.”
I nodded, “What about the other Gryfinndors?”
He shook his head again, “They only see me as Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, and the Chosen One. They’d freak out; I’m expected to only show compassion, forgiveness, and power. I’m not supposed to mourn, I’m supposed to accept it and move on.” The last two sentences were said bitterly.
I nodded; I almost treated him like that. Only remembering the happy, carefree child I used to babysit stopped me.
He looked back up at me, respect clear in his eyes, “Professor, you are one of the very few people that see as Harry, not the boy-who-lived. Even Ron and Professor Dumbledore see me as the boy-who-lived.”
I smiled, “That’s because I remembered the child I babysat all those years ago.”
He smiled back, “Thank you for caring.”
I was suddenly struck with an idea, “Come on, and come back to my office. You can help me grade essays.” My tone softened, “I doubt you want to go back to the Common Room.”
His eyes lit up, “I’d love to!”
His eyes gleamed with mischief suddenly, “Race you back to your office!” And he disappeared into the night. I smiled and shook my head. I headed back to the castle, knowing everything was fine for now.
And yes, I did finish those essays.
