Chapter Three: A Perilous Plan

Minerva McGonagall’s eyes narrowed as they focused on a small teakwood box.  The case, while rather small and quite unassuming at a random glance, suddenly seemed to lure her attention like the call of siren song.  She reached up with both hands and massaged her temples and pinched the pressure points just above the bridge of her nose, hoping to clear her head of the dense fog threatening permanent residence.  She opened her eyes again only to find herself drawn back to the box.

“Pandora might have had an easier time staying away from that box, Minerva.”

This time, the voice from the portrait wasn’t Dumbledore’s, but that of Phineas Nigellus Black.  Minerva blanched.  She closed her eyes and said nothing; she would not betray her emotions by goose-stepping around a former headmaster, especially one of such questionable good conscience.

“You could be sent to Azkaban.”

Minerva was nonplussed.  “Why on earth would I be sent to Azkaban, Phineas?  Unless you’d like me to visit and pass along your best wishes to family and friends?” she retorted wickedly, batting her lashes with a saccharin smile.  Her sarcastic remark garnered just the affect she wanted—Phineas stalked out of the portrait frame rumbling about foul attitudes and good manners.  “Good riddance,” she muttered under her breath.

Setting aside the empty teacup and afghan, McGonagall stood up and crossed the office to her desk.  She ran her fingers over the box, letting her fingertips caress the fine details of the wood carving.  Unfortunately, Phineas was right.  The Ministry of Magic had good reasons for controlling certain types of magical artifacts and this one certainly topped its list.  She opened the container to reveal the Time-turner Hermione Granger used her third year in order to accommodate her heavy class load.

She moved the open box to the center of her desk and melted into her chair, unsure why she was allowing herself to entertain the notion of going back.  Exhausted, the reason came very quickly: her students.  She lost far too many of them.  McGonagall also felt remorse for the others who defended the walls of Hogwarts and lost their lives in the process, yet those people made the decision to enter the war as adults with clear consciences.  Her students’ spirit had led them into making choices for which they understood no consequence.  The young will never die.

Earlier in the Great Hall, as she moved along the lines of the dead and wounded, she was astounded at the number of underage students—especially Gryffindors—who were critically injured or dead.  The responsibility for their safety and security rested solely on her shoulders.  Certainly parents could understand a battle to defeat Voldemort was fought and won here, but they deserved answers for why their precious children were allowed to participate—and why those who were underage weren’t sent to safety immediately.  Answers she couldn’t give them.

Thirty minutes.  One hour.  Just those few moments could have changed the outcome of the war for so many families and saved so many lives.  Sixty extra minutes of precious time to place more wards, fortify walls, cast shield charms and remove children…

One simple charm to buttress the castle might have saved Fred Weasley’s life.  An age line, drawn on the floor outside the Room of Requirement, could have prevented Colin Creevey from leaving the safety of its walls.  So many small things could have been done to prevent such useless tragedy.

Minerva slid the chain of the Time-turner under her fingers pulling it from the safety of the box.  Based upon the trajectory of the sun, she wondered how many turns it would take to…

“Surely you haven’t gone gobsmacked.”  Albus returned to his frame after a much-needed stroll to stretch his legs.  “You can’t possibly be considering this.”

“Oh, but I can, Albus,” McGonagall replied curtly, turning and holding the Time-turner up for him to see.

“While the idea is outrageous, I will give you credit for your ingenuity, Minerva.” Dumbledore quipped, eyes sparkling.  McGonagall looked at him, stunned.  She hadn’t expected him to agree with her idea, much less condone her actions if she acted upon it.  “Many lives could be saved, but is this the true purpose of the Time-turner?  To save those already gone?

“Several years ago when Hermione and Harry used it to free Sirius, Buckbeak hadn’t yet been executed.  As long as they remained out-of-sight of their past selves, they broke none of the fundamental guidelines of the Time-turner’s usage.  To use it now, for this purpose, is quite different.  You realize you’d be altering the time-space continuum by using it in this manner?  You also realize no Ministry official is likely to sanction such a foolhardy action?”

Minerva blinked.  “When were you ever concerned with the sanction of the Ministry, Albus?  Especially in regards to the welfare of your students?”

“Aha!” Dumbledore grinned, “touché, my dear friend!  I was really starting to be concerned for your wellbeing—that deadpan remark was a perfect display of Minerva McGonagall!”

The headmistress bit her bottom lip; she was on the brink of hysterical laughter—partially from Dumbledore’s gallant return and his unexpected approval, but more because she was completely unable to harness her emotions.  Instead she rolled her eyes at her old companion.

“You know, old bird,” Dumbledore grinned slyly, “I’m just dying to lighten things up a bit.  You wouldn’t happen to have a lemon drop about you?”

* * *

With the help of the Invisibility Cloak, Harry and Ginny carefully made their way back to the Gryffindor common room.  At the sight of Harry, the Fat Lady dissolved into a fit of histrionics, waving them in with a flourish of her handkerchief.  Harry thought she may be more hysterical than the night Sirius slashed her portrait while chasing Scabbers…either way, the woman could expectorate—loudly.

Hearing voices, Hermione turned to see Ginny and Harry gliding into the room with goofy faces; she momentarily wondered if she should remind them about the battle and the defeat of Voldemort.  She was reasonably sure neither of them could complete a sensible sentence.  Something obviously happened outside by the lake—something good.  “Are the two of you all right or should I send for transportation to St. Mungo’s?”

“whozinstmunghost?”

Ron, who was sleeping with his head in Hermione’s lap, bolted up; Hermione quickly quieted him back down.  “Shush, dearest.  No one is in St. Mungo’s.  I was simply asking Harry and Ginny if they needed a potion to cure themselves of their silly grins,” She whispered softly into his ear, but loud enough so Harry and Ginny could hear her.

Ginny arched her eyebrows at Hermione.  “Ahem.  Harry, does anyone here look like she may be a cauldron calling the kettle black?”  Harry smirked.  Ginny continued, “Dearest?  Holy mother of Merlin—that’s enough to send me to the loo.”

Hermione chuckled.  “He tried to wait on you two, but he obviously didn’t make it.  I assume you both had a good conversation?”

Harry was first to chime in.  “The best,” he said, eyes locked on Ginny’s.  “You’ll never believe what I told her, Hermione.”

“I can’t imagine, Harry.  Enlighten me,” Hermione bantered, winking at Ginny.

“I told Ginny I loved her.  No—I’m pretty sure I said, ‘Ginny Weasley, I love you.’”

“And then I said, Harry James Potter, I love you,” Ginny squealed.

“Uugh.  I said, ‘Harry just died and came back to life; we just fought the battle of the millennium, lost a brother and about a gazillion other important people.’  I know The-Chosen-One-Boy-Who-Lived-Again-and-Again really deserves a good snog, but can’t we all get a little rest?”

“Ron!” Hermione admonished.  “I think Fred would be happy to know Ginny and Harry are back together.”  Still, Hermione thought to herself, if Harry hadn’t just stood in front of her and proclaimed his feelings for Ginny out loud, she’d never have believed it possible of him.  He and Ron took months—no, years—to admit such personal feelings.

Ron sat up, incredulous.  “If Fred were still alive, he’d probably still be awake.  If he was still awake, he’d tell you tossers to get your arses to bed,” Ron growled standing and holding his hand out to Hermione.  “If it doesn’t offend your sensibilities, dearest, would you mind staying with me in our dormitory tonight?  I really don’t want to sleep alone.”

“Of course,” Hermione gushed, following Ron up the dormitory stairs, glancing back at Harry and Ginny with an apologetic look.

Ginny looked at Harry.  “Do you think he knows it’s not tonight anymore?”

“Nah.  It’s really not important.  What’s a day when you’ve got the rest of your life?” Harry shrugged and offered thoughtfully.

Harry and Ginny nestled up on the couch.  “Harry?”

“Yes?”

“I know this may not be a good time to talk about this, but, well, you really smell,” Ginny stammered matter-of-factly, pinching her nostrils.  “I mean, it’s okay that you smell, but I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stay here very long without performing some, umm, necessary charms.”

Amused, Harry grunted. “What did Ron call me?  The-Chosen-One-Boy-Who-Lived-Again-and-Again is exhausted and lacks the energy required to perform the necessary functions,” Harry replied.  “Besides, that would mean we’d have to get up, and I really want you to stay right…where…you…are.”

Beaten, Ginny smiled at Harry’s cheek, slid her wand out of her pocket and waved it over the two of them.  “Scourgify!”  Satisfied with her work, Ginny crawled back into the crook of Harry’s arm, resting her head on his freshly-laundered chest.

“Honestly,” Harry admitted, “I was starting to feel like the bottom of Hedwig’s cage.”  Relaxed by Ginny’s spellwork, he sank further into the squishy cushions of the couch adjusting his position to accommodate Ginny.  Suddenly, he felt very tired.

“Harry?”

“Yes, love?”  Ginny’s eyes widened at the endearment.  Hearing Harry use a pet name warmed her heart, even if he seemed only half-awake.

“Is all this real or am I dreaming it?” she asked quietly.  A slow smile floated across Harry’s face, but he said nothing.  “I mean, I’m here with you and I feel like all my dreams are coming true…yet, I’m still going to wake up and find that Fred’s gone, aren’t I?”  Tears slipped from Ginny’s brown eyes.  “How can I feel so happy and so terrible at the same time?”

“I’m kind of wondering the same thing myself, Gin,” Harry mumbled drowsily.  “But I think I’m going to be selfish and rest here for a moment instead of thinking about what’s going on downstairs.  It’s not just Fred; Remus and Tonks…little Teddy…for an hour I don’t want to think about it.”

Ginny looked up, concentrating on Harry’s long eyelashes, knowing he was experiencing the same pain she was feeling.

“Harry?”

“Mmmhmm?” Harry’s response was unintelligible; his exhaustion was apparent.

“Let’s stay here for awhile, okay?”

Harry’s pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head.  In moments, the two were fast asleep, tangled together, breathing in synchronicity, looking as if they hadn’t a care in the world.  Neither heard the ‘Pop!’ of Kreacher, who apparated into the common room to gently cover and tend to his masters.

* * *

Minerva, reenergized by her conversation with Dumbledore, sat at her desk thinking of how best to approach her plan.  She knew the involvement of the Order was impossible.  She wouldn’t jeopardize the futures of remaining members by involving them in a plan that would send them to Azkaban for the remainder of their lives if the mission failed.  On the other hand, if successful, the Ministry may never know of the risks taken to ensure the safety of the students.

So much of her plan rested on the shoulders of Harry Potter.  He was the one who had to go back—and yet, as precious time ticked away, she found herself stalling.  Minerva wasn’t sure she could ask the boy to participate, even if the mission was one she was sure he could undertake.  He’d already saved the wizarding world from Voldemort; asking him to go through it again for the sake of his school was unfathomable.

Yet, deep down as the seed of her idea had grown in her mind, Minerva knew Harry would agree.  Torn between her selfishness toward the students and her personal feelings for Harry, McGonagall pushed their relationship from her mind and approached her plan logically.  She would carefully map out her ideas and strategies.  Failure was not an option.  Harry would return and go on with his life—his prophecy fulfilled.  Her only problem now was simply finding the courage to ask him to journey into the unknown.

* * *

As the sun started to set on the first full day following the demise of Voldemort, Molly and Arthur finally found themselves thrust back together by the knowing ministrations of their dear friend Minerva McGonagall.  Always watching, Minerva had not rested until she’d found them both and reunited the couple.  Just as Molly had predicted earlier, the moment Arthur found himself in her presence he lost his ability to stay collected.

Looking around at her family grouped in the Great Hall, Molly noticed the absence of Ron and Ginny.  She also noted the absence of Harry and Hermione.  Assuming them all together, she pulled Bill away from his brothers.  Percy, after his nap, had returned to the vigil alongside Fred.  “Bill, I’m going to take your father to Gryffindor Tower to rest.  If you need us, please come fetch us.”

Knowing exactly what he intended to do in his parents’ absence, Bill pushed the pair out insisting he had everything under control.  Molly’s look of appreciation flustered the eldest Weasley, renewing his energy.  He knew there was much to be done, not just here at Hogwarts, but at The Burrow as well.  He would not allow his parents return home to see the devastated property.  Seeing them safely up the stairs, he returned to his brothers.

“We have work to do, boys.”  Fleur cocked her head at him, questioningly.  He turned his attention to his beautiful, tearstained wife. “I’m taking this lot home to see to the house before we take mum and dad home.”  Fleur nodded, understanding his intentional omission of Fred.  Bill was going home to prepare the house for the funeral.  “Will you stay here with George while Charlie, Percy and I go and tend to some things?”

“Of course…” she agreed, patting his hand lovingly.

George looked at Bill.  He seemed lifeless.  “I want to go with you,” he said unconvincingly.

Firmly, Bill disagreed.  “George, stay here with Fleur—stay with Fred.  Let us handle this.  Go and get some rest if you can.  Get something to eat.  Kreacher’s been coming by with pumpkin juice and sandwiches…call for him if you need something.”

George simply turned his attention away from his brothers and appeared transfixed by a stone in the floor.  Bill took that as his cue to grab his brothers and leave the Hall.  He waved to his wife as they hustled from the room.  Stopping by a ministry table in the entry, they picked up a two-way Portkey for The Burrow.  They took the old broom handle from the portly witch at the desk and headed out for the lawn to activate their transportation.

Bill, Charlie and Percy Weasley stood in front of their childhood home—speechless.  The Burrow had undergone serious damage during Bill and Fleur’s wedding feast but that was nothing compared to the destruction they saw now.  Since the home had been abandoned it had been searched and torn apart by Death Eaters looking for evidence of the Order. 

Earlier in the day Bill decided he was bringing Fred home, and by Merlin, home was not going to look like a rubbish bin.  His mother was going through enough, let alone the misery she would experience at seeing her kitchen…

For the remainder of the afternoon and well into the evening the brothers repaired the damage to The Burrow, carefully setting it back to rights.  When they were satisfied their work was complete, they used the Portkey back to Hogwarts to rejoin their family.

* * *

Blinking himself awake, Harry was surprised to find himself still on the common room sofa—lying cozily with Ginny, who was still fast asleep.  At some point someone had covered them with a fluffy blanket and removed their trainers, which were lined up neatly beside the couch.  Rising slowly so as not to disturb Ginny, Harry noticed his glasses tucked safely into the arm of the sofa. He used his free hand to grab and put them on, bringing the room into focus.

He grimaced—Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were lying on the other couch, situated in nearly the same manner as he and Ginny.  He groaned inwardly.  He hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the common room with Ginny, even though sleeping next to her had been heavenly.  The last thing he wanted at the moment was to upset her parents.  He yawned, noticing for the first time in several days his stomach was complaining of hunger.  Torn between food and whether to disturb Ginny, Harry continued to lie there enjoying the moment.  All the long days of the horcrux hunt, he had fantasized about waking up with Ginny Weasley, and now it was happening—with her parents in the room!

Harry noticed movement and blanched when he saw Arthur Weasley acknowledge him from across the room.  Warmth quickly flooded to his cheeks and he dislodged himself from the squishy depths of the couch.  Discouraged, he moved to go toward the dormitories when Arthur motioned him back.  Harry slouched into the nearest armchair, silently steeling himself for a lecture from his girlfriend’s father about impropriety.  He was surprised when he heard none.

“The two of you looked so comfortable and serene sleeping there…Molly and I decided not to disturb you,” Arthur whispered warmly.  He looked at the boy he considered a son, realizing for the first time Harry was fidgeting nervously.  He chuckled softly.  “While I’m sure both you and Ginny owe Molly and I some sort of explanation for your actions, don’t think for a minute we’ve been fooled about how you and Ginny feel about each other.  Also, remember you did just defeat Voldemort.  We mustn’t forget that.  I think that gives you sufficient excuse to explain if the situation was misconstrued by unforgiving parents.”

Harry gaped, wide-eyed.  “Umm, Mr. Weasley, uh, thanks.”  He glanced back over at Ginny who was still sleeping soundly.  “When Ginny wakes up will you tell her I’ve gone down to the kitchens to get something to eat?”

“Of course,” Arthur replied.  “This evening we’ve prepared to return to The Burrow.  You, of course, will be coming with us?  I know Molly wants you with the family…and it looks as if Ginny will too,” he winked.

Thankful he hadn’t been run through by his girlfriend’s father, Harry answered meekly, “Yes, of course.”

* * *

Mortified, Harry backed out of the common room tripping up the stairs toward the portrait hole.  Once in the seventh floor corridor and safely away from the still blubbering Fat Lady, Harry took a moment to assess his situation.  Sleeping with Ginny had been lovely.  In fact, he slept better than he’d slept in, well, years.  Eager to attribute the easy slumber to the closeness of Ginny rather than the defeat of Voldemort, he couldn’t believe his bad luck at finding her parents sleeping on the other common room sofa.  Thankful he hadn’t done something mental like kiss her or touch her, he breathed a sigh of relief as he loped toward the stairs.  Maybe someday…

Remembering Ginny’s admonishment earlier about his cleanliness, Harry decided to take advantage of the Prefect’s bathroom to bathe and change.  He stopped, exasperated.  He had no clothes.  The clothes he was wearing now he planned to burn.  He never wanted to see or wear them again.

“You called, Master Harry?”

“Kreacher!  Don’t scare me like that!” Harry jumped, his voice rising.  Kreacher, dismayed at his master’s distress, began hitting himself upon the head.  “Kreacher, STOP!”  The elf immediately stopped the punishment.  “I didn’t realize I called you.”

“Master Harry was upset about the state of his robes.  Kreacher simply meant to ask him if he’d allow Kreacher to return to Grimmauld Place for a new set of clothing.”

Harry beamed.  He still hadn’t gotten used to having Kreacher to tend to his needs.  “Kreacher, you’re brilliant!  Could you go and get me fresh robes, a shirt, jeans, socks, boxers and another pair of trainers?  And bring them back to the Prefect’s bathroom on the fifth floor?”  Kreacher bowed graciously, grateful to accept orders from his master and apparated away with a ‘Pop!’  Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully and had a second thought.  “Kreacher!” he called.

“Yes?  Master Harry would like something else?”

“Umm, do you think you could find a razor?”

“Of course, Master.  Do you require anything more?”

Another quick thought hit Harry.  “After you bring me the clothes and razor, could you return to the kitchens and bring me some sandwiches and crisps, some pumpkin juice, a treacle tart and a pumpkin pasty?  Oh, and a couple of Chocolate Frogs?  I’m starving.”

“Anything you’d like.  I’ll return in a moment,” the elf vowed.  As he finished his final word, Kreacher disappeared.

Harry, excited by the thought of a warm bath and a full belly, took the steps two at a time down to the fifth floor.

* * *

Setting aside her quill and parchment, Minerva sighed as she went over her work for what seemed to be the thousandth time.  She was positive her plan was foolproof.

“I think you have several problems with your plan, old friend,” Dumbledore beckoned as he jolted the headmistress from her reverie.

“What’s that, Albus?” she asked, curious to hear his thoughts.

“Harry was adamant about the return of the Elder Wand.  In fact, he’s already replaced it in my tomb.  This was something we spoke about very candidly while at King’s Cross.  He doesn’t want the wand to fall into the wrong hands again.”

“Harry has always been an exceptionally perceptive child, Albus.  However, he’s also been very eager to undertake the missions of the Order.  Do you think my plan has merit?”

“Oh, but I do, Minerva,” Albus replied quickly.  “Therein lays the rub.  This is not an Order mission.  However, if my judgment is correct, Harry will help you—unless he’s decided he’s done risking his life so he can turn his attention to a certain fiery redhead.  Or, more importantly, if the certain fiery redhead will allow him to risk his life,” Dumbledore added.

“Ginny Weasley.”  Minerva had forgotten about the relationship between the two students.  She vaguely remembered them together in the weeks prior to Dumbledore’s death, but the events that transpired afterward jumbled her memory.  Ginny’s activities over the course of the last school year were courageous, yes, but she had simply attributed them to her membership in the DA and her desire to help the Order.  “That changes things a bit, doesn’t it?” she cringed.  “I didn’t consider Harry would have…other involvements.”

“Aha!”  Dumbledore laughed out loud.  “The notions we bitter old professors will take for granted!” he chuckled with a wink.  His grin quickly faded as he added, “Harry, whether he has told Ginny or not, is deeply in love.  If I had a few Galleons about me I would wager upon an engagement between the two of them…soon.”

Minerva gasped.  “But Ginny’s so young!  She’s not even finished school!”

A serious look crossed the old headmaster’s face.  “The war changed us all, especially Harry.  He had a choice whether to return from King’s Cross, you know.”  Minerva’s jaw dropped at Dumbledore’s admission.  He hadn’t intended to confide all of Harry’s secrets.

“You think it was Ginny that drew him back?”

“I most certainly do, Minerva.  There’s a reason Harry saved her life in the Chamber of Secrets…who are we to question fate?”

“Surely they weren’t romantically involved…”

“No, Minerva, you’re missing my point.  We are teachers who dedicated our lives to our students.  Families were not a priority.  Family is very much one of Harry’s priorities.  Now that he’s fulfilled the prophesy that threatened his very existence, I don’t see him wasting one moment in pursuing his life’s dream.  I’m quite positive that dream includes Ginny Weasley.  I’m also quite sure these children are wise beyond their years.  Surely you won’t hold that against them?”

“Of course not, Albus!” McGonagall exclaimed, exasperated.  “I realize the life of a teacher does not suit everyone.”

“Then you also recognize Ginny Weasley was reared in a very loving home.  Arthur and Molly would be thrilled to truly call Harry their son.”

Discouraged, Minerva considered her plan.  “I hadn’t thought about the ramifications for Harry.  I assumed we would prevail and move on.  I feel like a selfish old biddy.”

“Minerva, talk to Harry before condemning yourself.  Have faith in your plan.”

Minerva looked at Dumbledore’s portrait.  He seemed to be trying to tell her something.  “Is there something you’d like to tell me, Albus?”

The headmaster shook his head.  Yawning, he drifted off to sleep.