The Marauders: Year Six Part 2 #Wattys2017

Brave

Brave

Minerva McGonagall sat in the office of Albus Dumbledore, quite tired and unnerved, rubbing her forehead from a headache brought on with worry. Dumbledore steepled his hands before his face and stared down at the desktop, lost in thought.

"Albus," McGonagall said thickly, "What does the Dark Lord want, torturing a - a boy like this?" She looked up at the headmaster with tear-filled eyes and her jaw quivered slightly. Looking at her, Dumbledore was reminded of when Minerva McGonagall was a child herself. It seemed ages ago - and yet, perhaps, not so long ago at all. He looked away before a smile for the memory could play upon his lips - now was not the time. She stared up at him stubbornly, though. "Albus," she repeated, "James Potter is just a child and --"

"Minerva," Dumbledore interrupted, "James Potter, or any of your sixth year Gryffindors, are children no longer."

She fell silent.

"I believe what the Dark Lord is after," Dumbledore murmured slowly, "Is something that James Potter is only somewhat connected to... and may very well not be connected at all."

Minerva raised an eyebrow.

"Best to keep such things to oneself, Minerva," Dumbledore explained, "And so I cannot go into much detail, but I believe that what the Dark Lord seeks is information which the Blind Seer has."

McGonagall waved her wand, producing a linen handkerchief with a dark green M stitched into the corner. She dabbed her eyes with it. "The Blind Seer?" she asked, voice croaky and thick with Scottish lilt, "But Albus, Mopsus is dead!"

"Time does not die, Minerva," Dumbledore murmured, and he pushed his chair back from the desk and walked away, toward the phoenix on his stand by the fireplace, his fingers roaming over the scarlet and gold feathers that covered the handsome bird's back. Fawks leaned into the stroking palm, his beak nuzzling against Dumbledore's forearm, nipping gently at the dark magenta robes. "Yes, it seems that whatever we do to stop it, time never does stop, does it?" his voice cooed the words.

Minerva turned to look at him, her fingers still clutching the handkerchief. "But what does James Potter have to do with the Blind Seer?"

"Everything. Or nothing. Of that, I am not entirely sure." And he raised his hand from the bird, and Fawkes stretched his wings and let out a tiny belch of smoke that rose in a curling tendril. "That is something that only Time can tell," Dumbledore added, watching the twisting puff of smoke until it burst apart against the ceiling.

Remus Lupin's whimpers echoed through the tunnel of the Trophy Room Passageway. Sirius hurried along through the dark, biting his lighted wand between his teeth as he rolled up his sleeves and jumped the gaps in the floor around the bluebell flames until he got to the alcove. Remus was laying across the little couch, his legs up on the armrest, holding a pillow over his face to muffle the sound of himself as he cried and Sirius hurried over, sliding to his knees beside the couch. "Moony... I'm here, Moony," he said, and Sirius dragged the pillow away from Remus's tear-stained face, which was blotchy with red flush to his cheeks and wet from the tears that had leaked across his nose.

"Sirius," he whimpered and he hugged Sirius 'round the neck, wincing even as he did it at the pain shooting up his spine and knees from the movement, but he grit his teeth because hugging Sirius meant a good deal more to him than the comfort in his joints. "Sirius, it isn't even the full moon yet..."

"I know, Moony," Sirius said, drawing back from the hug. He looked Remus over, concerned.

"It isn't for another week," Remus murmured, "It hurts so bloody much, what am I going to do for another whole week?"