Chapter Text
Harry wasn’t even aware of climbing the stairs to the seventh floor. All he could concentrate on was the pounding in his skull courtesy of yet another useless Occlumency lesson. He grunted the password at the Fat Lady’s portrait and stumbled into Gryffindor common room.
The fire was already burning low, and the room appeared empty. He’d been hoping to find Hermione downstairs in order to beg to take a look at her Charms essay that was due tomorrow which he hadn’t even started yet. Picturing her scandalized look at the idea, however, Harry thought it was probably good she wasn’t here.
He dragged his feet over to the armchairs near the fire. Ron was likely waiting to see he got back from Snape’s dungeon, but Harry knew if he went up to his bed he wouldn’t be able to force himself to do his homework in time for class.
He was about to drop into his favorite armchair when a quiet, “Hey, Harry,” had him jumping and whirling around.
He’d fumbled for his wand before his brain caught up with the sight before him. “Merlin, Ginny.”
She was curled up in a tiny ball on the chair, Herbology textbook lying open on her knees. “Careful,” she chided him with a laugh. “What would Moody say?”
“Stop leaving my wand in my back pocket?” Harry guessed.
She blinked. “I was aiming for ‘Constant Vigilance’, actually.”
His eyes squeezed shut. “Oh. Right.” He was more out of it than he’d thought. Harry picked the chair next to hers and sat after checking for anyone or anything else. It’d be just his luck to nearly squash Crookshanks next, but the cat must have gone up to the girl’s dorm with his owner.
That didn’t explain why Ginny wasn’t up there herself. Quidditch practice couldn’t have started yet to hold up her schoolwork; Ron would have said, and Angelina wasn’t as mad as Wood. Though the reminder of his ban didn’t contribute anything good to his mood.
“What are you still doing up?” He asked, a bit more tersely than he’d meant to.
“What’s it look like?” She tapped a roll of parchment with a half-finished essay written on it by the looks of it. “Meant to do it this afternoon, but it’s hard finding time to see Michael.”
“Right,” said Harry. Seeing as that wasn’t his business, he set about taking out his own supplies to complete the Charms assignment.
“What about you? What’s kept you out so late?” When he looked up, Ginny afforded him a waggle of her eyebrows.
Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at the goofy display. “Nothing like that. I’ve got extra lessons with Snape.”
She gave a groan in commiseration. “Ugh. No wonder you look awful. Maybe try partnering with Hermione for a few classes to get him off your back?”
He appreciated the advice, but shook his head. “It’s not for Potions. I’m learning—”
Harry paused. Ginny knew about his visions and almost everything else he, Ron, and Hermione knew about Order business and Voldemort. He didn’t see the harm in telling her this, too. And truthfully, he could use someone else to talk to about it. Hermione only ever insisted he simply wasn’t practicing enough, and while Ron supported him that usually ended in a row between his two best friends.
“I’m learning Occlumency. It’s supposed to help block the visions I’ve been getting.”
“Supposed to?”
He grimaced. “I can’t do it very well. Snape just shouts at me to clear my mind before he goes through my memories. I’ve barely managed to push him out even once.”
Ginny had gone very pale. “He goes inside your head?”
“Yeah, there’s this spell or something. It’s not like the Imperius curse,” he clarified. “I’m better at fighting that off. But this just leaves me with these massive headaches, and they haven’t stopped the visions at all.”
“Harry, that sounds horrible. Why would you do it?”
“It wasn’t my idea. Dumbledore says I’ve got to, because he’s worried Voldemort knows I’m getting those visions and might do something. I don’t know. He didn’t actually talk to me about it, but it’s what Snape said.”
Ginny had given a slight flinch at Voldemort’s name, but had gotten herself under control enough to ask, “Why did Dumbledore get Snape to teach you? He’s got to know he hates you. Doesn’t anyone else know Occlumency?”
“Dumbledore does, but Snape told me he’s too busy.” Ginny seemed to hear without him saying it that he doubted that was the real reason. “I’d rather learn from Dumbledore. It’d be less embarrassing, anyway.” Harry had to look away from her as he said it, his mind unerringly drawing up Snape’s oily smirk as he’d viewed memory after memory. Some of those things he hadn’t shared with anyone, not even his friends. “I know it’s stupid to complain,” he began. Hermione would argue there was no point in it since he had to learn it.
“It’s not stupid,” said Ginny, very quiet but with a conviction that was unshakable. “The only person who should be deciding who’s allowed in your head is you, Harry.”
He hadn’t forgotten this time. But it occurred to Harry that Ginny was not like Ron or Hermione in one very important way. She understood.
“What does Siri- er, Snuffles think?” She asked.
“Oh, he hates it, but what can he do? It’s what Dumbledore wants.” Harry couldn’t help the bitterness in his tone when saying the headmaster’s name. He didn’t like feeling so angry with Dumbledore, but the months of being ignored and the mandatory Occlumency with Snape left a torrid mix of hurt and frustration stirring in his gut.
“Well, just cause he wants it doesn’t mean he should ignore your guardian. My mum would be furious if he forced me or my brothers to go through that. Does she know about this?”
He shrugged. “He ignores her when she tries to have me over at the Burrow over the summers,” Harry pointed out sullenly. He knew he wasn’t behaving very maturely, and that he was perhaps lucky Ginny hadn’t chosen to snap at him yet, but when he chanced a look at her she was frowning in thought.
“Then maybe the problem’s not with the guardian. Maybe the problem’s with you.”
“Me?”
Ginny sat up in her armchair and leaned towards him. The slowly dying firelight caught her brown eyes and turned them amber. “Harry, I’ve got an idea, but I need you to trust me.”
Harry hesitated a moment. He did trust Ginny. Maybe not as much as Ron or Hermione, but she knew almost all of the secrets they did. And neither Ron nor Hermione had yet to suggest a plan to get him out of these lessons with Snape. Hesitantly, he nodded.
“I want to try going to McGonagall.”
Harry felt the small bubble of hope that had risen in his chest immediately deflate and scowled, vividly recalling his Transfiguration professor’s advice to keep his head down last term. “What’s she gonna do?”
“Let me explain the whole thing, you prat,” she answered in a mild tone. “We know most of the adults seem to listen to Dumbledore when it comes to you. So I’ll go to McGonagall and explain the situation without bringing your name into it. Just tell her there’s a friend I’m worried about. We let her get properly upset about it and go to Dumbledore, then tell them it’s about you. They’ll have to realize they can’t treat you different than another student, or they look like a pair of hypocrites.”
Harry thought it over. He’d never had much luck appealing to the teachers before, but Ginny’s argument made sense. And anyway, he couldn’t help a slight smile imagining what Snape would say considering how many times he insisted Harry wanted preferential treatment. The way Ginny put it, all he was asking for was the same rights for himself and Sirius as any student and their guardian.
“What if it doesn’t work?” He had to ask.
Ginny frowned. “Then hang the stupid lessons. If they’re not doing what they’re supposed to, what’s the point? Anyway, those visions saved my dad, so they can’t be all bad, can they?”
It was exactly how Harry had been feeling ever since the start of this term. Ginny couldn’t know, of course, that a vision like the one he’d had of the attack on her father often pained him and left him ill, but he was willing to put up with that if it helped anyone else the way it had Mr. Weasley. And he also wasn’t eager to lose those dreams about the mysterious door he kept having. He was close to seeing what was behind it, he just knew it.
At the least, this plan of Ginny’s and his was bound to get Dumbledore’s attention, something Harry had been trying to achieve since the summer. That alone had him agreeing to it.
“Okay, yeah. Got to be worth a try. Thanks, Ginny.”
She waved a hand as if to dismiss his gratitude. “Well, no one wants to spend extra lessons with Snape. That’s a fate worse than death.”
Harry snorted, and it was only then that he realized his headache had nearly faded away completely without his notice.
With a smile and a much better mood than before, Harry turned at last to his Charms homework. Just the thought that Ginny was willing to help him get through to Dumbledore was enough to give him the energy to get it done.
Ginny finished her essay long before he did his, but stayed sitting up until he was done. “I’m reading ahead,” she insisted when he tried to get her to go off to sleep. “You can back me up when Hermione doesn’t believe me.”
They parted at the separate stairs for the dorms, Ginny promising to see McGonagall as soon as possible. “Goodnight, Harry.”
“Goodnight, Ginny.”
Upon reaching the boy’s dorm, he found Ron fast asleep on top of his blankets, clearly having meant to wait up for him. For all the ways this school year had gone terribly wrong so far, he couldn’t help being grateful for the friends who were there for him, both old and new. Harry shut Ron’s curtains for him, then changed into his nightclothes and climbed into bed.
He slept peacefully for the first time after one of Snape’s Occlumency lessons.
—
Ginny tapped her feet and drummed her fingers impatiently through the entire Transfiguration lesson the following day, barely able to concentrate on the spell they were supposed to be practicing. She surprised her friends once the bell rang, however, by hanging back as everyone else packed their things in a rush.
“Ginny, aren’t you coming?”
“Nah, I’ve got a question about the homework,” she lied smoothly. “You go on.”
As the others finally filed out, Ginny made her way past the rows of desks to where their professor was tidying up her own desk for the day.
“Er, Professor?”
“Miss Weasley. Would you care to explain where your mind decided to run off to today?” The Transfiguration mistress regarded her with pursed lips. “You’re not usually the type to turn to distraction.”
“Sorry, Professor. Actually, there was something I needed to talk to you about. It’s not about class.” Ginny paused, not needing to put on an act of nerves, as what she was feeling was quite real.
McGonagall was still watching, though she didn’t look as stern as before. “Is it a personal matter?”
“Sort of. But not for me. There’s this friend, another Gryffindor, I’m worried about.”
“I see. And does your friend know you are here on her behalf?”
Ginny had to work very hard to not react to the incorrect pronoun. Oh Merlin, Harry was going to be so embarrassed. But maybe letting McGonagall assume this was someone else entirely, and a girl at that, played to their advantage. She’d used that tactic plenty of times when appealing to her mum about something one of her brothers had done, or when she needed her mum to think one of her brothers had done it.
“Yeah,” Ginny answered. “I offered to bring it up with you because, well… my friend wasn’t sure you’d be able to help.”
Her professor’s lips thinned, and Ginny knew she had to work fast to keep her from being offended.
“But it’s really important, Professor. I’m really worried, and you’re the only one who can convince Professor Dumbledore—”
“Professor Dumbledore?” McGonagall’s eyebrows had disappeared under the brim of her hat. She glanced to the open doorway of the classroom. “Miss Weasley, I believe this conversation would be best continued in my office.”
Ginny followed after her Head of House down corridors and past students who favored her with sympathetic looks, no doubt believing she was in trouble. She didn’t think she was just yet.
At last she was led to a seat in front of the Transfiguration professor’s desk. McGonagall sat across from her and motioned with a hand. “Please continue, Miss Weasley.”
“My friend is being forced to take extra private lessons with a professor in an unsafe environment,” Ginny stated. It was the best way to describe the situation without bringing Snape into it just yet. Considering the Potions teacher was an Order member, McGonagall might always choose to side with him before hearing her out.
“A professor cannot force a student to take additional lessons without the approval of the parent or guardian,” said McGonagall. “Does this professor have that permission?”
Ginny winced. “He agreed, but he wasn’t happy about it. The professor basically told him it was the Headmaster’s orders.” She watched her teacher’s eyes widen and felt some flicker of hope. “And he doesn’t know what’s been going on in the lessons. My friend comes back to the common room with these awful headaches. And the professor is rude and deliberately humiliates a student.” Not out of the usual for Snape, really, but Ginny was aware of the stories of just how much worse it was for Harry on a daily basis. “My friend isn’t learning at all, and it’s just causing lost sleep and poor grades in all the other classes. We just don’t know how to get the Headmaster to change his mind.”
McGonagall was silent a long time. Ginny focused on holding her gaze and not resorting to any nervous ticks. Finally, the professor spoke. “Not even the Headmaster can force a student to undergo outside lessons if they cause harm, and frankly I cannot see a reason he would. Could your friend be convinced to speak with him if I was also present?”
A meeting with Dumbledore was exactly what Harry wanted.
“I think so,” Ginny answered with a nod.
“Then I will speak with Professor Dumbledore and pass along the details of the appointment to you. Your friend would also be well advised to speak with her parent or guardian to have him rescind his approval of the lessons.”
Ginny tried not to frown. Contacting Sirius was going to be difficult. But maybe Harry had a way she wasn’t aware of. “Alright.”
“It was good of you to bring this to my attention, Miss Weasley,” McGonagall said, and Ginny blinked in surprise. It was probably the best praise she’d ever received from the strict professor. “In times like these we all must look out for each other.”
Ginny nodded. “Of course, Professor. I’ll go let my friend know everything.” She couldn’t believe how well this was going considering how low Harry’s hopes had been that their Head of House would be persuaded to do anything. Just wait till she showed him!
“Very well.” Then McGonagall opened a tin sitting off to the side on her desk and held it out towards her. “Take a biscuit with you.”
Ginny stared at the biscuit tin. “Er, thanks, Professor.”
So maybe Harry wasn’t the only one getting surprised by Professor McGonagall today.
—
Minerva sat at her desk for a while after the youngest Weasley had left her office. She had given her a lot to think about, a lot to consider.
Albus hadn’t mentioned any students taking extra lessons, though it wasn’t required that he do so if it didn’t involve her. It was one of her Gryffindors, though, and he knew she liked to keep a close watch on them, as did all the Heads of Houses regarding their own students.
Perhaps it had simply slipped his mind to tell her. Or perhaps he didn’t want to dwell on it. If his hands were tied on the matter, for instance…
Miss Weasley had been very circumspect, but this setup her friend was caught in seemed to scream of their unwanted High Inquisitor. The woman was already recruiting students for some special sort of club and had whole swaths of others in detentions nearly every night. Mr. Potter was the most common among them, of course, but any number of the girls Miss Weasley was commonly around had family who worked at the Ministry. Dolores could have easily pressured any of them into whatever paranoid little scheme she was starting next.
She knew the students were aware things were grim concerning Umbridge and that she held power that rivaled even her own as Deputy Headmistress. But what concerned her most was the idea that any one of her students thought she would do nothing were they in serious danger. Minerva couldn’t think of anything she’d done to cause that lack of trust. Part of her had wanted to demand Miss Weasley reveal the identity of her friend so that Minerva could speak to her herself, but had feared pushing for the information might have only worsened the problem.
It was still troubling her at dinner, noticeably enough that Pomona saw fit to ask about it. “Is everything alright, Minerva?”
“Hm? Oh yes. Just a small matter concerning two students in my House.” On her left, she could practically feel Albus’ gaze, blue and inquisitive. She tilted her head imperceptibly in his direction, a tacit allowance for his participation. “I hope to have it settled within the next week, which may involve your assistance, Albus.”
Whether or not he was going to say anything proved irrelevant, as down the table there came the dreaded, “ Hem-hem .”
She barely refrained from pinching the bridge of her nose, but neither did she acknowledge the other woman. That certainly didn’t stop her, though.
“This wouldn’t happen to be a disciplinary matter, would it, Minerva? My position as Hogwarts High Inquisitor, as you know—”
“If I know then it hardly bears repeating, does it, Dolores?”
Umbridge’s simpering smile dropped right off her face, she was pleased to note, though she was sure Albus was doing his best to signal for caution on her other side.
“I think you can trust this matter to be resolved quickly, Dolores,” Pomona said with a nervous laugh. “After all, Minerva’s had years of practice wrangling the Weasley twins.”
Her lips twitched, but she gave no more than a noncommittal hum in reply. Pomona was only just short of the mark, though she wasn’t about to say.
Miss Weasley wasn’t sitting with her usual friends, Minerva realized as her eyes fell on the student in question. Instead she was across from her youngest brother, Mr. Potter at her side and Miss Granger across from him. Perhaps this was another measure to shield her friend until Minerva proved she had followed through.
She would set the meeting for the end of next week. That would provide enough time for the student to contact her parents or guardian and hear back. Her eyes scanned up and down the table belonging to her House, particularly the girls. None of them looked noticeably unhappy.
But, she supposed with a sidelong glance at the High Inquisitor herself, they were all having to hide how they truly felt these days.