A middle-aged woman in a black robe and pointed hat came sweeping into the lavatory.
Seeing the three lying on the floor, she immediately rushed to check on them. After a quick examination she exhaled with relief — then turned a furious gaze on Grid, ready to reprimand him. But the moment she saw his dreadfully pale face, she froze, the words catching in her throat.
"Professor McGonagall, thank goodness you're here — those three burst in and attacked Snape!" — Myrtle hurried to explain, seeing the stern expression on the Head of Gryffindor's face.
"She's lying! I saw that damn Sniv— that is, Mr. Snape attack James and the others, who only came to apologise for yesterday," — a rather unremarkable-looking young man called out from the doorway. "So I ran straight to find you to stop this madman!"
"He's lying!"
"I will decide for myself who is lying and who is telling the truth!" — the woman said sharply, enunciating every word, and raised her wand to examine each of her students.
"What's going on in here — has there been a flood?" — none other than Horace Slughorn appeared in the doorway with a smile, having happened to pass by on his way to deliver the Head of House's O.W.L. results to the Headmaster. The moment he saw Grid lying on the floor barely conscious, the papers scattered from his hands and he rushed over at once, drawing his wand and directing it at his student's forehead. "Professor McGonagall! What is the meaning of this?!" — he fixed a furious gaze on the woman, who flinched. "I understand your dislike of my house, but surely that cannot be why you chose to stand and watch a student suffer rather than help him first and ask questions afterward! How. Is. This. acceptable?! It seems I was wrong to recommend you for the position of Head of House if you still cling to these foolish prejudices! I shall report this to Dumbledore immediately and demand that you be removed from your post!" — with those final words, carrying Grid's seemingly unconscious body in his arms, the Head of Slytherin swept out of the lavatory and headed for the hospital wing.
Minerva, left behind, felt distinctly uncomfortable. In all her long years, no one had ever shouted at her like that — and the fact that it had come from someone she deeply respected made it all the worse.
"Miss Myrtle, tell me what happened here," — the Head of House said with a weary sigh, looking at the three Marauders, whose faces had gone as white as Grid's.
"Yes… When Snape and I were talking…"
A middle-aged woman in a nurse's cap and a white apron over a red dress stepped out of the room, looking mildly thoughtful.
"Poppy, how is he?" — Slughorn asked with concern.
"Don't worry — nothing serious. The boy overexerted himself using a spell above his level and lost control of it."
"I'm relieved to hear it. May I look in on him?"
"Better not. Let him sleep a little. He should be ready to be discharged by this evening."
"Thank you. Then I won't disturb him."
With a grateful smile to the school healer, he left the ward and headed back toward the girls' lavatory to retrieve the papers he had dropped.
Poppy Pomfrey watched the Head of Slytherin go with a mildly puzzled expression.
Overexertion… something about it did seem off. — she thought, frowning faintly. But her priority was for Snape to recover — she was a healer first and foremost, someone who loved her profession and was glad to help people. And so she decided not to dwell on it any further. Returning to her office, she took out a book with a green cover and settled into reading.
At that same moment, Grid opened his eyes on the hospital bed.
A shame we were interrupted. — the young man thought with irritation, his mouth twisting in displeasure. Still, it's rather interesting how they found me. I was certain no one was following… perhaps some kind of artefact? Entirely possible. — He gave a slight nod to his own thoughts. I doubt those children will leave me alone so easily. And perhaps that's for the best. Next time I'll need to pick somewhere quieter — I'd rather not keep pretending to be ill. As for that lavatory… if what Myrtle said is true, which I don't doubt, then in all likelihood there's an entrance to the Basilisk's lair in there. That round pillar is a perfect passage for a serpent — assuming my conclusions are correct. Though if it is an entrance, it's rather disappointing… seems too small. But then again, perhaps that's actually better. It will be far easier to deal with it without drawing attention to myself. — He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. After the end-of-year banquet for fifth year, I'll need to start conditioning this body. It's far too weak as it is — the magic the core managed to process was barely enough for those feeble attacks. — For a moment the mage's face tightened and a faint chill ran down his spine. I don't think I'll ever stop hearing old Amon in my head. Deranged lunatic, obsessed with physical strength… and yet I wouldn't mind running into him again.
Old Amon — or more precisely, Amon Ihiros — was an Archmage, though most people considered him a fool. Rather than strengthening his magic, he had developed his body to an extraordinary degree, to the point where even the greatest warriors were wary of crossing blades with him. Strange as he was regarded, not even Great Archmages were willing to quarrel with him — for he was their nemesis as much as anyone else's.
For Grid himself, Amon had been the teacher who raised him — who restored his limbs and taught him everything he knew. He had never quite understood why the man had taken him as a disciple, but he was deeply grateful, and he deeply regretted not having been able to see him one last time before the end. It was only toward the close of his life that he came to realise that cantankerous old man had become something more to him than merely a teacher.
Perhaps he's already become a Great Archmage by now… A pity we'll never be able to meet again. — But then the memory of the hellish training he had once endured made the man inside the young body shudder. Then again… perhaps that's for the best.
The office of the Headmaster, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore — one of the most powerful wizards of his age.
At that same time, in a circular office filled with windows and portraits of unfamiliar figures — in whom Grid, had he been present, would have easily recognised the former headmasters of the school — three people stood amid small tables cluttered with an assortment of silver and gold instruments, surrounded by the many books lining the walls.
One of them was an elderly man with long silver hair and a beard, his face carrying an unmistakable trace of quiet exhaustion, though his blue eyes behind his spectacles shone with life and reflected the wisdom of many long years. His attire was simple enough: a long frock coat, a violet robe, and plain shoes with buckles.
Facing him stood two Heads of House: Slughorn on one side, and Minerva McGonagall on the other — who had yet to summon the nerve to meet the elderly wizard's eyes.
"I cannot remove Minerva from her position as Head of Gryffindor. Yes, she made a mistake — but none of us are perfect, and I am confident she will not repeat it. Am I right?"
"Headmaster, I…" — she pressed her lips together, then gave a firm nod. "…I agree with my colleague's assessment. I did act with bias toward Mr. Snape, who was blameless — who was simply a victim. I was blind, and I failed to understand the situation, choosing instead to trust my own students without question. I recognise my error. As a Head of House, I am meant above all to be an example to every teacher and student in this school — to treat all equally. In this instance, I demonstrated myself to be an incompetent—"
"That is enough. I still cannot do what was asked of me," — Albus said with a weary smile, shaking his head. He was glad his colleague had acknowledged her mistake — it would make resolving the matter considerably easier. He turned to the Head of Slytherin and continued. "The position of Head of House carries enormous responsibility, and finding a replacement at a moment's notice is simply not possible. I understand your anger, but I cannot do it. What if Minerva were given a second chance? I am certain she will not make this mistake again."
"Understood," — Slughorn had expected as much. Who better than he to know how deeply Dumbledore cherished his Gryffindors — the man had been sorted there himself and had always held a special warmth for the house. "Then I demand severe punishment for those four. And I will not accept 'they're still children' as an answer. You know yourself this is not their first escapade — and calling what they do mere 'pranks' is a stretch. Or shall I remind you of how they slipped Miss Jordie an unknown potion, which left her in the hospital wing for nearly a month with a raging fever? 'Children'… 'pranks'… enough of that. If you do not act, I will hand in my resignation tomorrow." — With those words, he turned toward the door.
"Slughorn, wait, let's—"
"I have said everything I have to say. If their punishment does not satisfy me, I will resign tomorrow — and you will be looking for both a new Head of House and a new Potions teacher."
The moment the door shut, Dumbledore sighed deeply once more and sank back into his chair with a heaviness.
"Headmaster…"
"It's all right… He may well be right."
"You are simply too kind…" — Minerva tried to offer comfort. She knew better than anyone how heavy a burden he was carrying — not least the growing number of Dark wizards and the attacks on Muggle-born witches and wizards, for which Albus felt a personal sense of guilt — and on top of all that, the problems of the school gave the old man not a moment's rest.
The Headmaster simply shook his head, closed his eyes for a few seconds, then spoke.
"I am deducting fifty points from Gryffindor. I am also suspending James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin from classes for the first three months of the new school year, and for the three months following that they will serve detention with Filch each evening. I will speak with Walburga, Head of the Black family, and Fleamont, Head of the Potter family, separately."
"Yes…"
Muggle-born refers to a witch or wizard born into a Muggle family — that is, a family with no magical ability.