Disclaimer: I am NOT J.K. Rowling and I do NOT own Harry Potter or any related characters or products. I wrote these sketches for fun and to honor an awesome author!

The Spaces Between: Sketches Inspired by Book 6
(SPOILER!!!!)

Minerva’s Story

Minerva took off her glasses and set them down next to the stack of parchment on her desk. Leaning back in her chair, she pressed her palms to her aching, blood-shot eyes.

“I need a break,� she murmured to herself, “and maybe some music.�

As she walked across the room, she stopped to add a couple logs to her living room fire and paused to gaze at the flames. More and more often, she found herself like this, unable to concentrate on grading papers, and lost in useless reverie. Pulling herself back to the present, she continued to the phonograph by the large overstuffed couch she often slept on these days, sometimes fully clothed waiting for the awful news of disaster that she knew was sure to come anytime now.

She looked through her collection of records and pulled out an old Beatles album—Abbey Road. Her tastes these days varied, but this was generally as daring as they got. George Harrison had never been a part of the wizarding world, she thought, but one could not miss the magic in several of his songs. “Something� was one of Minerva’s particular favorites. She liked the rest of the group’s oeuvre almost as well.

Listening to John Lennon singing “Come Together� at one of the turntable’s lowest volume settings, Minerva paced. Three thick throw rugs broke up her journey back and forth over the cold hardwood floor, but her warm, fluffy slippers protected her feet even from the spaces between those modest islands of comfort. She wrapped her arms around her waist, pulling her night coat close to her body.

“What is he doing out there, anyway?� she muttered. “Surely one of us could help him. Surely one of us would be a better confidant than that boy, prophesy of no.�

While she paced and worried, Albus’ face came to her. That sweet, elderly face that she’d grown to love over the years since she lost her husband, Marshall. She could see those tired blue eyes of his gazing at her with deep trust and affection over half-moon spectacles. Not love…no, he certainly didn’t share her feelings of love, but she felt no regret or embarrassment concerning her regard. Albus was a fine man, whose admiration and trust were reward enough for any woman.

“Because� played softly in the background. Minerva wiped a couple tears from her left cheekbone. Then she straightened her shoulders and shook the sorrow from her head. She knew what Albus wanted from her, and she had no intention of disappointing him. This school and its occupants meant more to him than anything else in the world; she would do everything in her power to protect them. She wanted to die when she thought of losing Albus, but she would do what she had to do…for him.

And for herself, too. She’d been at this school more years than she could remember. Although her first thoughts were of its headmaster and the dangers he faced for all of them, Minerva considered this school her home, its teachers her friends, and its students almost her own children (or, these days, grandchildren). No, she would let nothing evil happen to them if there was any way she could possibly stop it.

A knock sounded at the door, and her heart plummeted in her breast. She rushed to answer.

Relief coursed through her when she saw the familiar face before her.

“Albus?�

“Minerva, I have to be away from the castle for awhile tonight. Harry will be accompanying me. I would feel better knowing that you and some others were keeping an active eye on things—Remus, Bill, and Nymphadora will be joining you all.�

“Of course.� She paused. “Albus, I…you be careful out there.�

He reached out and grabbed her hand and squeezed it in his own. “I should be back in just a few hours. Take care of things for me.� Then he turned and walked away.

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Stopping to Smell the Daffodils

Pomona Sprout kneeled in the dirt planting flower shoots she’d just received from London. They weren’t her usual batch of pus splurting, screeching, or poisonous greenery. They were simply daffodils, though with a bit of cross pollination, she thought, the next generation might be a bit more useful—but, she hoped, just as lovely. The head of Hufflepuff savoured the feel of the cool, damp, rich smelling earth between her fingers. The soil seemed to sing to her as she worked around her transplanted flowers.

It had always been so with her, even long before she’d come to Hogwarts as a student herself all those years ago. Why, her brothers used to tease her about spending all her time covered in soil. “You’ll never find a husband,� they’d laugh, “dressed in mud as you always are.� It was all in fun, of course; she’d been the baby—and only girl—of the family and dearly loved by all of them.

Plus, she’d never had much time for words anyway. When her plants spoke to her, they communicated in an entirely different way: it almost felt like little green tendrils nudging at her very soul. Oh, but wasn’t that just silly? Ponoma was a very practical—o.k. grounded (yes, ha ha)—woman who didn’t worry too much about the less tangible things. Suffice it to say, for whatever reason, she knew her plants and they responded to her care. She’d rarely encountered one she could not coax into glorious maturity.

Looking up, the Herbology Professor gauged the distance between the plot of ground holding her new treasures and the possible cannibals around it. (She’d carefully chosen an out of the way spot that hadn’t been used for several years and sifted the soil carefully by hand just to be on the safe side. Even she sometimes couldn’t tell what the different occupants of her little world would leave behind.) Yes, she thought, I’d better stop here. Maybe young Neville would like some of these extra starters. He loves the mundane almost as well as their magical cousins. Like me. He’s a good lad. Don’t see how the other teachers can say he's clumsy. Why, I’ve rarely seen such a thoughtful hand in the greenhouse.

Pomona gathered together her tools and stood. Her back crackled pleasantly as she straightened it. Looking out through the glass wall, she was mildly surprised to see how dark it was.

“I think I’d better be heading off to bed,� she muttered.

Gazing one last time over her charges, unconsciously checking for wilt and crowding, she nodded at the light, which flicked off obediently, and headed out into the night.

What is that green glow? She thought and glanced up. “Oh my….� Pomona gathered up her robes and sprinted toward the castle.

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The Little Charms Professor

Filius Flitwick rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He hadn’t been to bed, but his eyelids drooped and he kept feeling himself nodding off as he walked silently through the hallways. For all his sleepiness, though, the little Charms Professor was determined and anxious; he’d often prowled the halls this semester as he did now, both with and without orders to do so. He just could not endure the idea of something happening to one of his students—such innocents they seemed to him.

Although even the first years usually towered over him, Filius possessed an undeniable talent and an impressive mind, but more impressive perhaps than those things was the size of his heart. Unlike many other brilliant men, he truly lived within the world, interacting on a personal level with both students and staff, rather than in an ivory tower of scholarly exercises and philosophical concerns. He believed that the lessons his students took away with them should help them make their own and others’ lives easier. It disturbed him greatly that some within the magical community would abuse the gifts they’d been given simply for power.

Ah, but that’s the way of the world, isn’t it? he thought, I can’t expect good from everyone I meet.

But, truth be told, Filius did expect goodness, or at least a strong sense of morality from people. Surely, any intelligent creature would recognize the benefits of peaceful coexistence? he mused, What terrible scars they must bear who would do evil! He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and those who follow him at some point in their lives must have suffered greatly to choose the path they have chosen. People are not born evil, after all.

As he was thinking these things, the little professor was nonetheless vigilant in his duty. He knew that evil did in fact exist—for whatever reason—and he had no qualms about fighting those who would harm his students.

Suddenly, Filius was wide awake. Hearing shouting and a sudden crash from down the long stairwell he’d just passed, he turned back and bounded down the stairs as fast as his tiny legs could carry him. Once at the bottom, he followed the sounds of fighting until he came upon a most horrifying sight: Death Eaters had found their way into the castle. The little wizard jumped into the fray with wand at the ready, but before he could do more than stun one of the hooded intruders who was facing off with—well this was a surprise!—Neville Longbottom, Minerva McGonagall rushed onto the scene.

As she raised her wand, she called to him, “We need backup! Get Snape and the others!� Responding instantly, Filius barreled off at top speed. As he raced across the hall toward the stairs to the dungeon, he saw Pomona, who gasped, “Dark Mark overhead! Who…?!� Filius didn’t stop, but over his shoulder he flung, “Death Eaters in the Castle! Protect the students!�

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Alone in the Dungeon

Severus pushed his long, lank hair away from his face as he poured over the heavy book laid open on his desk. Although he seemed completely engrossed in the pages before him, the fingers of his right hand drummed beside the book impatiently. Abruptly, he pushed his chair away from his desk and stood.

This frustration, this anger he felt had been growing in him since last spring. I have risked so much—suffered so much—for these people, he raged inside himself, and still they suspect me! And that awful, smug little git...everyone pities him so, everyone tries to protect him, and still he rushes out to face every danger and, by doing so, endangers us all.

Severus could be honest with himself. He had always despised the boy. Oh, he knew it was irrational to blame Harry for the torment that James and company had inflicted upon him, but the boy was so much like his father that the former Potions Master (finally!) simply could not like him. In fact, from day one, he’d barely been able to tolerate him.

On account of his debt to Dumbledore, however, Severus had suppressed much of his loathing. Granted, he supposed he’d never been nice to the little rat, but he could have treated him so much worse. And hadn’t he saved Harry’s life? Did the boy feel even the slightest ounce of appreciation for that? Hah!

Yes, Severus had tried to keep his dislike at least somewhat in check, but then last year the headmaster had assigned him to work with the boy, to teach him how to close his mind to the Dark Lord. Potter hadn’t even tried. And then—oh, it infuriated Severus just to think of it—and then Potter had dared to snoop into Severus’ personal memories, that particular memory. Severus’ face burned at the thought, and bitterness rose in his throat.

How can anyone blame me then, he thought, if I was a little slow reporting to the Order the night Umbridge caught the boy in her office and Potter managed to escape with his friends to the Ministry of Magic? Oh, but if only he had died that night….

Since that night, despite Dumbledore’s continued support, Severus had felt the blame and distrust surfacing among the other members of the Order. No one came right out and said anything, of course, but they’d treated him as a second class citizen. And Dumbledore had done nothing to stop it, acted like he had not even noticed.

Severus had reached the point where he felt as though the resentment and anger inside him would rip him in two, when suddenly Filius Flitwick barged into his office babbling about Death Eaters in the Castle and the Dark Mark overhead. The Defense against the Dark Arts Professor barely heard him. Lost in his own rage, he stunned the little professor and raced out of the room. The sight of two girls—one that blasted boy’s longtime friend—brought him up short for just the briefest second. Then he tossed out the first thing that came to his mind and rushed off, feeling a sort of detached surprise that he had not killed them. Because now he’d made a choice; now he’d no longer allow misplaced loyalty to rule him.



Rushing onto the roof of the tower, Severus saw Draco Malfoy pointing his wand at Dumbledore. The headmaster seemed to whisper his name from a great distance. Disappointment threatened to drown him. He had felt certain that the Dark Lord had ordered Draco to kill Potter—Potter, not Albus Dumbledore! All the same, Severus barely hesitated as he shoved the boy aside to do the awful deed himself. The face in his mind’s eye, however, was not that of an old man, but instead of his oldest, most hated enemy’s only son.

The moment it was done, the spell lifted and Severus saw what he had done. A sudden numb clarity seized his mind, and almost without thinking he barked at the others to fly and then was the first to take his own advice.

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Minerva Revisited

Later that night, Minerva sat in the hospital wing listening to those around her trying to make sense of what had happened this night. Shock held her in its cold, needling embrace, but occasionally she joined in. When the Weasleys arrived, she pushed aside her own grief and rushed to meet them. Then, slowly, as she watched them with their wounded son and as she saw Nymphadora and Remus reveal their affection for one another to the people around them, she forced down the remainder of the agonized, helpless feeling that had threatened to overwhelm her. Standing abruptly, she excused herself and left to attend to the duty that Albus had left her.

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Triumph in Death

As Hagrid gathered the broken body of his beloved mentor into his arms, the old headmaster himself looked on in silence. He was surprised by how little he felt. It seemed all hope, care, fear, everything had spilled out of him, just as he had spilled out of his own body. But there was peace—it flowed around and embraced him—as he watched the huge man cradle his body and sob. Albus was not wholly untouched by his friend’s sorrow; he accepted it as a gift, knowing that the pain would someday pass for him as well.

The world around Albus flickered and the scene changed. He now stood before a picture of himself snoring softly in a chair. When he heard the small noise behind him, the world rotated and he found himself gazing at Minerva. It took only a glance to see her pain. As she studied the scroll unrolled underneath her arm, she brushed the tears from her cheek and suppressed a sigh, an effort that caused her body to shudder slightly. Her grief was the noise he had heard.

This time, the old wizard wanted to reach out and comfort his friend, an impulse born out of confusion more than anything else. This woman, whom he’d never before seen cry, had loved him, he knew, and the thought brought on the softest whisper of regret. But then it left him and again the world flickered.

Once more, he saw his body—this time wrapped in a spangled purple cloth—in Hagrid’s arms. Turning away, his gaze wandered through the crowd gathered by the sparkling lake. Many of the people he had known in life were sobbing as Hagrid had sobbed—gut wrenching heaves of pure anguish; others simply looked on in shock. But then….

Ah. Harry. Albus saw that the boy had survived him, and for the first time since he’d been thrown from the tower roof a powerful feeling rushed through him: triumph. Looking at the boy, he knew that everything would come out right—if only in the end and within the bigger picture of all their lives. This was how it was meant to be.

Suddenly, he felt himself rushing forward, pulled by a force invisible even to him. He suffered, for just an instant, an almost unbearable agony as his very essence burst into flames. Then an incredible joy replaced the pain, suffusing every particle of his being. Burgeoning with wonder and delight, Albus spread his beautiful scarlet wings and soared into the morning sun.