Yes, she wanted this. More than anything and after all, Professor Dumbledore reminded her she deserved it. Professor Armando Dippet, the old man who had sat long in the headmaster’s golden chair, had looked as though Christmas had come early with this appointment. An opportunity like this would not knock on her door again. Minerva McGonagall, Professor McGonagall, a strange title, knew it well. She had foolishly glanced over her shoulder when a staff member had addressed her like this only minutes after signed the paperwork, the contract.
Why was she still in London? A bedroom on the first floor wanted for her, and she’d share an office with a renowned alchemist, too. Her things had already arrived earlier that day, and they awaited her on the following Monday. That’s what the letter said, word for word. Minerva McGonagall crumpled the damp letter in her hand and stood rooted in front of the building. He lived on the third floor in a small flat, and she wasn’t foolish enough to climb the rickety staircase and stand at his door. A soft glow, candlelight, leaked through his window, and she imagined the man passing a brush through his white hair.
She had nothing left to say to him or anyone else. The Professor nodded and continued on her way. The churches flooded with people clutching their parcels. They swarmed to their faith and played the part as the holidays drew closer. Not all of them, but some of the congregation at her father’s church, only graced others with their presence twice a year: Christmas and Easter. It eased their souls, perhaps, and calmed their minds. She didn’t go inside.
Professor McGonagall made to turn the corner as she neared a small crossing bridge. A man stood on the bridge, looking down into the dark waters, not feeling the sleet brush against his face. He wore a light knitted jumper over his corduroy trousers and paced the wet road, walking back and forth, back and forth. Occurrences in the Muggle world didn’t bother her. Honestly, the excuses these people came up with for rushed time. He paced a small area, flipping a pill bottle into the air and catching a lighter with the other. He seemed preoccupied. As he swallowed something, forcing it down, he coughed and pounded his chest. Passersby and cars raced across the bridge to their destinations; nobody else picked up on this stranger’s behaviour.
Cursing her curiosity, Minerva McGonagall glanced up at the grey sky and ignored the nagging whisper in the back of her mind. She straightened her cloak and watched him for another moment before getting up from her bench and dashing across the bridge. A red-faced driver blared the horn and tossed a cigarette out of the window, but she ignored the impatient man behind the wheel. She chose to overlook his insult of ‘homeless weirdoes walking the streets. She supposed an emerald cloaked figure was a little out of the ordinary. Of course, by her estimation, a lit cigarette placed within the proximity of a roaring petrol engine did not qualify for a sane move either. She shook her head and continued on her way. She made the first move.
–You’re late. Excuse me, sir.†She asked for it. The Professor raised her voice, not sure he heard her. She called to him, ignoring sense. –Are you all right? Are you lost?â€
He spun around and looked up at her. His long auburn locks wisped around his face, giving him a slightly mad look. He wasn’t a Muggle at all. His misted hazel eyes focused on her, although he seemed far away at the same time. The lighter shook in his right hand; he wore a gold ring, a wedding band. He seemed oblivious to the drizzling rain and sleet continued with his pacing. He writhed his hands in anger, a convulsive movement, but he stopped muttering to himself. He seemed unsteady, for he certainly wasn’t walking straight. His breath lingered of drink. A half-empty bottle lay at his feet. The man pocketed the lighter and picked up his drink.
–I keep thinking this’ll do the trick,†he said, as he turned around, –only it seems too slow for death.â€
Minerva McGonagall hesitated about this decision.
–Don’t go.â€
Something in his voice made her listen to him.
–Right, yeah, well, that’s your choice,†he continued, –and our choices ... We’re damned by them. Take me, for instance. Do I know you?â€
–No.â€
–No, wait,†he said as she looked away. He saw her or the first time; pleading crept into his sadness. –I’m Leo Xanders. Call me Leo, though. Department of Histories - Mysteries, sorry. I work with them. No, I work for the department. Isn’t history a mystery?â€
–I suppose, Mr. Xanders.â€
–Leo,†he corrected her as he popped open the pill bottle and unscrewed the bottle and counted on his fingers. –It’s short. Three letters, yeah, three letters. You know what’s strange about these remedies?â€
She feigned polite interest.
–Acetaminophen,†he said, shaking the bottle in her face. –Newly marketed, you see. It clears up headaches and things. What they don’t realise is that people buy this stuff to test it, its limits. What can you do under the influence of an overdose? Kill yourself. Interested?â€
–No,†she said slowly. She slipped the bottle from his fingers and backed away cautiously.
–What’s your name?â€
–Professor Minerva McGonagall.â€
Perhaps she could have given another answer. It sounded pompous. She had gained the post this afternoon, so hearing the new title sounded strange to her. As the rain started to fall, her glasses blurred her vision, and wiping them off proved pointless. She hated getting soaked like this, but she couldn’t just leave him. She jumped when his fingers brushed against her neck. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
–Ah, all right Professor,†he mused with a laugh. "Let me share something with you.†Leo took two pills and chewed them. –All you have to do is take the bottle. Nobody will know. Wait a few days. You’ll die. How? Well, it’s painful, yes, but your liver corrodes its filtering mechanism. Drink presents a slower version and smoke blackens the lungs. I’m not foolish enough to plunge off this fucking bridge. Not good in the eyes of the church.â€
–Why?â€
He shrugged. The pill bottle zoomed from his hand. –The police officers will notice a scene? The good congregation shall frown upon it?â€
–No.†The Professor caught the medication and dumped the pills into the cloudy, dirty river. She peered at him. –I’m sure you can do the same with a potion. You work for one of the prestigious offices. I do not doubt your ability. No. Why kill yourself?â€
–Why do you care?â€
–I don’t know,†she answered honestly. She shifted the subject and gestured at the car. –Do you have a family?â€
–Not anymore,†he sighed. He fingered something in his pocket. He looked exhausted. Leo pulled a small toy out of his pocket, a small plush rabbit. –Damn it, Ears.â€
–Excuse me?†She thought she heard him incorrectly.
–Ears. I forgot.†He placed it back in his pocket and covered his face. –Jasper never sleeps without him.â€
He walked over to the car and opened the backdoor. Asleep in a bassinet, a small baby lay underneath a multi-coloured quilt. A single rucksack lay beside the infant. He had dark hair. Leo placed the small toy in the small round hand. Almost as a reflex, the baby rolled over onto his side and clutched the familiar toy. Leo wiped his hands on his already soaked clothes before he closed the door. He got in the automobile. The Professor stared at him for a while before she finally decided to get in the passenger seat. Leo turned the key, but the engine stalled, breathing its last feeble breaths of life.
–Damn it.†He pounded the steering wheel in frustration. –This isn’t part of the plan. Damn it!â€
–Calm down,†the Professor warned him. She glanced over at the stirring infant in the backseat. She felt uneasy about Muggle contraptions, but he just asked for trouble. Professor McGonagall reached back at an awkward angle and scooped the baby into her arms. She tried not to examine the situation with an air of annoyance, –Why not Apparate? Your wife, who I assume is a Muggle, can pick this up later. It doesn’t work.â€
–Wife? I have no wife.†Leo almost laughed at the thought. He showed her his right hand. –This? This was a panicked decision. She never belonged to me. Of course, she won’t let me go.â€
–I see.â€
–I ... we‘re leaving. We’re leaving,†he declared with more conviction. –Five years I waited for her. I always went back to that lifestyle: her men, her drunkenness, her love, and her promises. Empty promises. I can’t leave him there with her. She doesn’t care. Jasper can’t live there.â€
–Why take this?â€
–I told her we were going for a drive. It’s hers. I contemplated leaving it here. I don’t want to be here.†He turned the ignition and grunted when the engine ever so slowly kicked to life. He glanced at her of the corner of his eye. –Did you do that?â€
–We all need a helping hand sometimes. You want to stay here?â€
–No,†Leo said. He stepped back into the bad weather, withdrew his wand, and popped the hood of the car. The Professor, feeling out of place cradling a stranger’s son, spoke softly to the baby. Leo, after doing some quick spell casting, got back into the automobile. –We’re going for a drive. We’re leaving.â€
The drive, a peaceful journey, lingered in her mind for the longest time. Sixteen almost seventeen years passed with a blink of an eye, and yet more time went by. The friendship weaved with a intertwined trust, and he crawled back to his wife, lapping up her pleas and apologies like a parched dog. Whenever she used Jasper as an excuse, Leo went back. Jasper, the baby thrown into the fray, grew into a man. Leo worked through his problems and his drink. Professor McGonagall settled into her new position. She enjoyed teaching, truly enjoyed it, and learned from her students. In time, she, too, got a ring on her finger, but her marriage had been a happier one. Her hair grew darker and lines marked her face.
The crowd flocked around the casket like hungry vultures. People she’d never met, strangers who had been non-existent when her husband had fallen ill, had decided to make an appearance. Minerva stayed hidden underneath a black umbrella, underneath the shelter of a tree, until they had drunk their mournful fill, nodding through their condolences. Professor McGonagall walked slowly towards the mahogany box and ran her fingers through the damp flowers, spent lilies.
She jolted when she felt his touch. She took out her wand, but it slipped from her fingers and fell onto the grass. –I can’t cry anymore.â€
–No.†Leo took her black hat and placed his hand on top of hers. –It’s over.â€
She shook her head, not wanting to hear this. Leo bent down and picked up her wand. Time raced by without meaning. Leo spoke softly to her, so unlike himself, and eventually coaxed her away from the casket. He led her away, near the large cars the Ministry had donated for the services. Professor McGonagall ignored the callings of an Auror who called to her and held the door ajar. Walking kept her moving, it gave her a purpose. Her mind felt weighty, exhausted, despite her drained emotion. They walked through the gates into the village of Hogsmeade. Leo escorted her towards the cottage she had shared with her husband.
Minerva felt the stares of the passerby; people enjoyed the day out, she and felt in control for the first time in days when she closed the door on the outside world. The furniture had stayed frozen since the day they travelled to the hospital. His pipe lay on the writing desk in the corner, the chair still pulled out. The creaky sofa bed lay there, filling up the tight quarters of the sitting room. The covers had been tossed haphazardly in all directions. An image of a thin man, skin hanging off his flame, thrashing on the bed hit her. She stared into the emptiness, rooted on the spot.
–Are you okay?†Leo slipped the cloak off of her shoulders and hung it in the armoire.
–No.†She shook her head and let him lock her in a tight embrace. She rested her head on his shoulder. –Tell me about your wife.â€
–You’ve heard everything,†he said, bored.
She had listened to him for years and waded through his problems with patience. Leo needed a trained ear and a watchful eye, maybe two, on him during the questionable nights. He despised his wife, everything from her stupid voice to her numb rules. The Professor had never met her, but she gathered much from the stories. The woman felt rather partial to a pink cardigan, an ugly thing he’d purchased for her as a sick, twisted joke. His wife, most unfortunately, had fallen partial to it.
–Tell me again.†She feared the silence.
–I was twenty-five and she was eighteen, free from school,†he said, licking his chapped lips. He told stories with a rich, deep tone. It sounded like an old fairy tale. –We were stupidly in love, or so I thought. Her name was Dolores.â€
–You met her at King’s Cross,†Minerva offered. She sat on the edge of the bed. –You were there when she got off the train.â€
Leo nodded; a committal grunt escaped his throat. –Lie down. You haven’t slept in days.â€
–I’m fine,†she insisted, feeling her tangled hair. Her locks had fallen out of the bun. When it became obvious that he wouldn’t go on under she followed his orders, she slipped off her shoes and laid her head on the pillow. –This would be a wonderful bedtime story for Jasper.â€
–Yeah, except he’s grown now and he knows everything.†Leo sat on the mattress, leaned on the cushions, and placed her head in his lap. He ran his hand though her dark locks. She sighed deeply and closed her eyes. –I’ll be right here.â€
Ten minutes passed. –Go on.â€
–I thought you we’re sleeping,†he said after a while. Leo had lit a cigarette and tapped the spent ashes in her husband’s ash tray. He finished it and crossed one leg over the other. –No? Where were we? She joined the Ministry as a secretary and Jasper came along. She left him in the crib one night, and he lay there, red in the face, screaming, wailing like a banshee.â€
–It must’ve been stressful,†she said, feeling sympathy for a stranger. Professor McGonagall had dedicated her life to her career, and although she inevitably wondered about a child, she never felt it deeply enough to tear her attention from her students and her school.
Leo gave a harsh laugh. –You don’t know her. I watched her, and that was just the first night.â€
She’d walked down memory lane with him before, countless times, but this didn’t mean either of them recited the same learned lines from heart. The Professor wondered idly how often this man returned home to his wife. She gave him his space and poured her energies into her teachings. The story, whatever version, only crossed her mind whenever she needed an escape.
–So, naturally, we argued and this led to that.†Leo waved his wand lazily, lighting candles around the place. Neither of them added commentary. His hand brushed her face and he tossed her spectacles and his wand onto the idle cushions. He lifted her chin with one hand and traced her lips with his index finger. –It’s underrated, this. Marriage.â€
–You’re just saying that.†She moved her lips, yet the words came out as barely audible. The door opened. Leo leaned in closer, and the Professor turned her head, burying it in the pillow, catching a familiar fading fragrance. –I can’t. Good night, Leo.â€
She blinked furiously, blocking a fresh wave of tears. Leo slipped his hand into a pocket of his robes and placed a phial on the side table next to the lamp. A young man walked into the room and dropped his knapsack at his feet. Jasper, a lanky boy with a mischievous mood plastered a grin from ear to ear. His dirty blonde hair shielded his eyes and he checked his watch, trying to appear nonchalant. In the summertime, like many other students, he donned Muggle clothing. He had dodged the funeral, not wishing to intrude, but he brought the dirt tracks in with his trainers and leaned on his broomstick.
–Jasper!†Her mind caught up with its temporary lag and she jumped off the couch. –Jesus.â€
–So, I ran through my routine, faster this time round, you know,†he said conversationally. His eyes darted between them and added a playful mood, adopting a deep tone. –You know she’s my teacher, right? What’re you two doing? Want me to leave and come back? Pretend this never happened?â€
–No, no.†The Professor straightened her hair, checked her expression and stepped over Leo, who lay in a tangled heap upon the floor. She glanced around the room and shook her head of the memories. She slipped the phial into her pocket, half-listening to Leo’s mumbled instruction to take the sleeping draft. Leo croaked behind a cupped bloody hand, inhaling sharply through his broken nose, cursing a fluent stream under his breath. Apologizing, she reached the door and wretched it open. –What happened?â€
The Professor flew out the door, leaving the door open in her wake. She took off a brisk pace, ignoring the footsteps pursing her. She weaved through wanderers and shrieking, high-pitched laughter filled her ears. It wasn’t fair, any of it. Minerva McGonagall couldn’t stand staying in her own home, her cottage, their place, for one moment longer. She fell, gripping the tall black gate to the castle, and crumbled to her feet.
–Please leave me alone,†she whispered, keeping her eyes on the ground.
Leo hadn’t followed her; Jasper had followed her to make sure she’d gotten back safely. He stood with a short woman dressed in a pink cardigan pulled over a black dress, towering over her and screaming through his pent up anger, years upon years. He threw his hands in the air, coming off in a steady steam. The woman, who could be no else but his mother, started off her defense in a surprising girlish tone, and dropped as she lost ground.
–Jasper, I love you,†she said. –You need a stable home. Come with me.â€
–You? You abandoned us. Just say it, why don’t you?†Jasper drowned her pleas. He slowed down, pronouncing each word with a deadly calm. He gripped her shoulders and knelt down on the cold ground, acting as if he spoke to a small child, explaining two plus two. –I don’t need you. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Please, please, leave us alone, Dolores. You want me to choose? I choose my father. I’m done. Good-bye.â€
–Wait.†Dolores yanked him by the arm, suddenly turning harsh. –I am your mother. He-he’s done nothing. You’re just like him.â€
–He bent over backwards for you, you hear me? Can’t imagine why.†Jasper actually laughed and dropped his arms. He took the compliment and backed out with a mocking bow. –Sign the fucking papers and release him. Good night, Madam Umbridge, and thank you, honestly. I think we’re finished here.â€
Jasper left her there, stunned, and Jasper scooped the Professor into his arms as the gates swung open. He shifted his weight, planted his weight evenly and walked into the castle. The Professor, too tired to object, rested her head on his shoulder. They passed into the Entrance Hall, passing the caretaker, his cat, and the headmaster. Professor Dumbledore only said, –Mr. Xandersâ€, conjured a duplicate set of keys, and let them pass and continue to the Grand Staircase. Jasper opened the bedroom door and laid her on the small iron bed.
–You’re welcome,†he said, not asking for her thanks. He waited until she got underneath the covers and handed over the sleeping draught. He stood awkwardly, shuffling his feet and was gone before she closed her eyes.
Professor McGonagall walked the Three Broomsticks and glanced around the small pub. He wasn’t sitting at the bar; he usually waited there. Two thin witches sat huddled together in deep conversation. A thin man sat in the far corner looking over a magazine and taking small bites from a dish. No large crowd joined together in a loud celebration, nor did she expect to see many here. Madam Rosmerta flipped two full tankards onto the bar and joined in on the ladies’ conversation as she offered another round. She looked up to see who had entered the pub.
–He’s in the back,†she announced as she dropped two glasses into the soapy sink. –You want the usual?â€
–Please.â€
Wooden chairs slid onto tabletops and mops danced across wet floors. Patrons left a few Galleons as tips for the barmaid. As she weaved through the tables, she barely paid attention to whispered conversations or joking comments. When she finally stopped at a booth, she looked up at an edition of the Daily Prophet and watched a puff of smoke issue from behind it.
–I really don’t see how you read in such a fog.â€
–You’re late.â€
–Am I?†She slid into the opposite side of the booth. –Since when do you go by a pocket watch?â€
A man set down the paper and grinned up at her. Long grey curls fell down his back and there was an intense look in his dark eyes. He wore a tattered jacket over a turtleneck and trousers. A rucksack lay beside him. His hands had scorch marks, and they were covered with minor cuts. His lined faced hinted at his age. He still wore the wedding band. A youthful glint reflected through his eyes. He held a pipe between his teeth and sipped dregs from a tankard.
–You could buy me one of those,†he suggested lightly, –and I probably won’t wear it. Try it, we’ll see.â€
–And you’re worried about time?†She slid the empty tankard to the end of the table.
–Not really.â€
–I thought not.†She looked at his hands. –Is this painful?â€
–You hear about Fudge losing his temper with the goblins? And not even like Ludo Bagman.†He dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. –Interesting, eh? Poor bloke.â€
–I don’t follow such nonsense, Leo,†she replied quietly.
That wasn’t entirely true. Ever since they started meeting each other, he helped her see this open worldview. His entertaining stories often confused her, so he threw in these news snippets to make her think. Not that she was narrow-minded. For the longest time, even though they both considered each other close friends, they analysed current events and the ‘world stage’, as he referred to it, for he was more educated in this field than she.
After he retired from his long-standing career, Leo decided to pursue another goal: he wanted to help people. Although he placed silent donations for many causes over the years, he felt passionate about the neglected children. In his eyes, he viewed this as a silent genocide. He often wrote letters to the Professor describing the situation. Given the current events, he felt that he was needed on the home front because they were on the brink of war and things changed with the winds.
–How is it going?†Professor McGonagall asked.
Leo shrugged. –Join me this summer. I’m visiting orphanages. I want you to see it.â€
–We’ll see,†she said. She squeezed his hand.
–You’ll see me this summer or perhaps in a few months.â€
–Oh?†Professor McGonagall hoped her excitement came off as peaked interest. –Why?â€
He grinned. –Jasper’s getting married.â€
She watched the soup bowl refill itself with a steamy broth. He never ate the crackers.
–Yeah,†he continued, a little put off by her silence. He lit the pipe with his lighter. –You want to know how he told me?â€
–From his best mate,†they answered in unison.
She smiled at his confusion. The shocked look was priceless. He inhaled smoke.
–You knew?â€
–Jasper told me over lunch in August,†she said simply, –and I have to say, I like her.â€
A wedding seemed like a dream to her. Professor McGonagall felt overwhelmed with the demands of the school and the government. Really, all of it blended together in a steamy brew. It proved a challenge telling who was who. As she sat across from her friend enjoying a dinner, a nagging notion shattered her brief peaceful illusion. Any moment now, especially given the fact that Dolores Umbridge seemed hell bent that a handful of students had escaped the school. The High Inquistor could burst through the door any moment and see them sitting here and holding hands. With Harry Potter and the Weasley childen basically handed a free pass, Professor Umbridge would no doubt by adding a few more Educational Decrees and tightening her grip.
–What is it?†Leo’s voice shook with concern.
–It’s not fair,†she said simply. She didn’t even want to walk back up to the school and return to reality. She’d had to lie to get a night out. –We used to play by the rules, every one, I remember that. And she’s-–
–Dolores plays a nasty, cutthroat chess match?†Leo cocked an eyebrow, grinning when he hit the mark. Professor McGonagall merely checked his knowing expression. He toasted her. –Remember I married the bitch. She’s evil. And, no, she’s not on the guest list. You surrender to no one. You got that?â€
The Professor spoke carefully, nearly frightened of eavesdroppers peeking around the Christmas trees. She accepted another glass and her face drained of colour when the High Inquisitor herself walked through the door, clutching her clipboard and watching with her bulging eyes. Redness crept up Professor McGonagall’s neck; she felt the stares and got slowly to her feet, bidding Leo a hurried good night.
–Hang on.â€
Leo pushed his chair out with his feet and fumbled for a trinket on the dusty floor. He slammed his wedding band onto the table. Placing his hand on her shaky one, he spun her body closer to his. He went through the steps of a learned dance, a waltz. She gazed at him, memorized, and felt her lips parting. He kissed her, softly at first, growing insistent. The corners of his mouth twitched when they finally broke apart. He embraced her, delighted in Dolores Umbridge’s shock. Rosemerta, laden with a tray and coming out of the back room, dropped everything she held aloft and gaped at the man.
–Evening, Madam,†he said, tipping his hat to
Professor Umbridge and stepping out into the cold night. He walked with Professor McGonagall, hand in hand, down the deserted road. He pulled her along with him, stopping outside the post office. He pressed her lips against hers and pulled her closer, whispering in her ear. â€Again? I lie in bed thinking of this at nighttime.â€
She broke the kiss and took a frightened step back. She stroked his prickly cheek and kissed him back. Voices, drunken and sober alike, floated out the windows and counted down the final moments of the year. –Leo. I can’t. I – no, we can’t. Happy New Year. Good night.â€
She kissed him one last time, resting her hand on his chest and wishing him good night. With that, she dropped her hand and rushed into the light falling snow and flaming fireworks and shooting stars painted themselves in the darkness.
Professor McGonagall reached her hand out and flipped the ancient hourglass before she called time. The students, most of them, put down their quills. She surveyed them and shuffled her papers. Hermione Granger, who had predictably finished before the others, bounded out of her seat and swept up towards the teacher’s desk. Others, grumbling as they packed their things, followed her example. The fifth-years had wrapped up their last practice essay before their O.W.L.s finally arrived next week. Ron Weasley shook his hand and scrawled his sentence.
–Time,†Professor McGonagall announced. –You, too, Longbottom.â€
Ron shook a cramp out of his hand and handed over his work. Neville Longbottom tripped over his bag and sent his ink bottle flying. Professor McGonagall sighed and took the drenched answers, waving him away and wishing him luck. She struck the parchment thrice with her wand tip and cleared the recent splatters. A dictionary lay on her desk. In her free time, she’d leafed through it. Her brain, a flattened sponge, went through the ringer ages ago. She mouthed phrases, syllables and all, and it gradually grew to a doubtful whisper.
–Stress, add a harsh stress.†A voice suggested.
–Mr. Xanders.†She gave up on the Romanian tongue, a feeble attempt, and tossed the dictionary aside and swept her wand over the mountain of essays. They vanished. Jasper walked behind her and drummed his fingers on her shoulders. –Enjoying your last few days of single life?â€
The smile didn’t reach his eyes. He nodded at the door. Professor Umbridge, the headmistress, stood in the doorway and showed no hint of expression. Jasper reached into his grey satchel and fished out a camera and a rolled up newspaper. He snapped off the rubber band, his fingers trembling. He swallowed a limp in his throat. Minerva filled in the silence with questions, floral and sitting arrangements, things this young man never let cross his mind.
–Minerva.†He opened the paper and flashed the front page.
The Professor gave him a searching look, shocked he had called her by her first name. Her eyes glossed over the article, and she caught nonsense phrases: –kindled flamesâ€, –Gypsy refugee shelter†and –trapped inside with locked doorsâ€. She felt bad for these people, really, it was an devastating tragedy, but what could she do to help them? It was the morning edition.
–That’s terrible,†she said.
Jasper glared at his mother beseechingly, yet she offered as little help as a gargoyle. He ran his hands through his hair and scratched his face. –Where’s my father? Where’s Leo?â€
–He left for Romania yesterday to visit a dragon encampment,†she said, stacking papers into her briefcase. The words sank in and she stared at him, her face pale. –He’s fine.â€
–You read it, Minerva,†Professor Umbridge pointed out in her sweet voice. She wasn’t gloating, but this felt unnerving. –There were no survivors.â€
–Get out.†Jasper hissed his threat through his clenched teeth. –Get out or I’ll drag you out.â€
–He’s not stupid,†said Professor McGonagall, shaking her head, clinging to her reasoning. A second voice in her head contradicted her hope. –He’s a wizard. He Apparated! No. Jasper.â€
Jasper put his arms around her. She wanted to push him away, hurt him, but Professor McGonagall felt drained of energy as uninvited memories flooded her mind. She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth, yet the tears flowed freely down her face. Umbridge stood there, locked in her fear, giving them privacy. She paid no attention to the pounding rain, the early summer shower. The young man let her bury her face into his shoulder. His pained, whispered consolations sounded from a distance. Any thoughts of lesson plans disappeared as she lost her balance. Jasper caught her. They stood there holding each other for an eternity. She sobbed into his damp shirt. Professor McGonagall strained her ears for his welcoming words, his dark humor, his joyful laughter, but she heard no voice.