"Buried, almost tangible secrets filled the space between them, and so, without a second to think, she closed it."
The scars of war opened more wounds than Harry Potter thought possible. As he returns to Hogwarts for his eighth and final year, he le...
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Harry, trailing behind Ron and Hermione, was overthinking. He stared down at his shoes, trying to recall Annabelle's frightened face when she remembered her meeting with Professor McGonagall, and he desperately wanted to know what it was about. It could not have been about Quidditch, since Harry was the team Captain, and he could not think of anything that Oona would be called in for separately.
Maybe it's about you, Harry thought. He had a sudden premonition of Professor McGongall and Annabelle sipping tea together, talking at length about Harry and his stupid decisions, mulling over every wrong thing he said and each disorganised, terrible plan he had.
Harry no longer wanted to think about this, and was surprisingly thankful for Meryn Frizzwall, who had appeared in front of him, holding a piece of fresh parchment and wide, panicked eyes.
"You're Harry Potter, right?" she asked nervously. Hermione and Ron stopped to look back at them, and Ron had a goofy smile stretched across his face.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Meryn, you were just at Quidditch practice with me."
"I knew that," she whispered, trembling. "Professor McGonagall wants to see you in her office."
She stared at him for a few more moments, and with a strenuous, anxiety-ridden glance at Hermione and Ron, disappeared down a corridor so fast that when Harry blinked, she was gone.
Hermione looked cautiously at Harry. "What was that all about?"
"I have to see McGonagall," said Harry, glancing at the door to the headmistress's office, looming ahead of him ominously. When Hermione continued to stare at him, he added, "Not sure what it's about, but I'll let you know when I'm finished."
Ron and Hermione turned to each other, seemed to come to a silent agreement, and both waved goodbye to Harry before continuing down the corridor.
Harry faced the door, and with a deep breath, opened it and jogged up the stairs, pushing open the final door to the full office space.
Professor McGonagall sat straight in her seat, every fiber in her body on edge, her posture perfectly poised. If Harry had not known her for so long, he would have never noticed the layers of stress under her face, so seemingly calm and composed on the surface. Her mouth had been compressed into a thin line, as it had done for years. She was staring off at the wall, her catlike eyes trailing over the headmasters portraits, and did not notice Harry in the corner, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly.
Harry cleared his throat. "You asked to see me, Professor?"
"Yes, I did, Potter," said Professor McGonagall, jolting out of her trance. "Take a seat."
