"You're insane, Sirius," James said flatly. "I love a challenge as much as you do, but this is suicide. If you get caught ..."
"I won't get caught." Sirius was impatient. "And besides, it's a matter of principle."
"A matter of principle? You're crazier than I thought."
"Why is Sirius crazy?" asked Remus, walking into the Gryffindor boys' room and tossing his books onto his bed. "I mean, I know he is, but what mad thing has he done now?"
"You missed it when you were in the infirmary yesterday," James told him. "Padfoot here got caught trying to sneak a sugar quill in Transfiguration. McGonagall took the whole box away, and now he thinks his honor will be permanently wrecked if he doesn't get them back."
Remus snickered. "How do you mean to do that, Paddy? Bribery? Pleading?"
"I mean to go and take them," Sirius said, offended at this suggestion that he would resort to methods reserved for mere mortals. "I already searched her office, while I was serving my detention, and they're not there. She must have taken them to her private rooms. So that's where I'm going next."
"Whoa ..." Remus said, shooting a glance at James. "I have to agree with Prongs on this one. She'll kill you. And it won't be quick, either. You know cats like to play with their prey first."
"Hmmmph," said Sirius. "So, James, can I borrow the Invisibility Cloak, or are you going to go all Head Boy on me and say no?"
James pondered this for a moment. "Oh, all right. But if you get caught, I'm going to say you took it without permission."
"Fine. And I'll need the map, too."
"That's not all you'll need," Remus put in. "How are you going to open McGonagall's door? I'm pretty sure 'Alohomora' won't work."
"Aha," Sirius said. "Filch keeps a list of all the professors' personal passwords in his office, in case of emergencies. Wormtail sneaked in there in rat form and got McGonagall's for me. You see, I have one real friend in this room." He grinned at Peter, who was sitting in the window seat, crunching his way through the huge bag of crisps Sirius had bought him as a reward. Peter grinned back around a mouthful of crumbs.
"Guess you've got everything figured out, then," said Remus. "So when are you going to your execution? I mean on your mission?"
"Tonight, after dinner. She usually goes back to her office for a while then. I'll get in and out, and she'll never know I was there."
"Suppose she just threw the box away?" James asked. "Thought of that, have you?"
Sirius stared at him. "Who would throw away a full box of sugar quills?"
"McGonagall would," said James and Remus simultaneously.
"Hmmmph," Sirius repeated.
***
At the tail end of the dinner hour, few people were about in the corridors, and so no one was there to hear mysterious footsteps, apparently unconnected to a pair of feet, approaching Professor McGonagall's door.
The footsteps stopped, and underneath the Invisibility Cloak, Sirius carefully unfolded the scrap of paper Peter had given him. Then he stifled a groan.
Oh, wonderful! Thanks for telling me it wasn't in English, Wormy. You owe ME a bag of crisps now. He looked over the phrase on the paper and thought for a minute. He didn't speak any Gaelic -- hardly anyone did anymore, except for diehards like McGonagall -- but he had a general idea of how it was supposed to sound. Checking over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, he gave it a go. It took a few tries, but eventually he got the pronunciation close enough that the door obligingly swung open. He caught the knob to keep it from opening too far, slipped through, and closed it softly behind him.
His first order of business was to check the map to see if "M. McGonagall" was still in her office. She was, so he looked around, wondering where to start searching. McGonagall seemed to like antique furniture -- there was a cherry armoire looming against the far wall, a matching desk near the door to what he assumed was her bedroom, and two trunks flanking a crimson velvet sofa. Any of them could be a potential hiding place. He bet she had a huge cache of confiscated student treasures somewhere in here. Probably she took inventory on Saturday nights and gloated at all the misery she'd caused.
Guess I'll start with the armoire, he thought. He swung open the doors, but found nothing but books, thick, dull-looking ones. Next he moved to the desk and opened a few drawers. There was a leather-bound photo album in one, and curiosity made him stop to flip through it. Engrossed in looking at pictures of McGonagall as a kid -- she'd been a spindly little thing, but surprisingly cute -- he forgot to keep checking the map to make sure he was safe.
Suddenly, he heard shuffling outside the door, and a slightly muffled voice speaking. His stomach dropped toward the floor faster than a post owl coming in for a landing.
Please, don't let it be her!
But it was. The door swung open just as he put everything back and got the cloak over his head again. In came his nemesis, looking tired and harassed, and carrying a heap of rolled parchment. She dropped it unceremoniously on the floor (Is that how she always treats our homework? Sirius wondered) and shut the door behind her. Then she kicked off her shoes, one after the other, flung herself full-length onto the sofa, and closed her eyes.
Maybe she'll just fall asleep there, and I can sneak out, Sirius thought hopefully. He waited. She didn't move. He waited again. Any second she would start snoring -- but instead, she sniffed moistly, once, then twice. Her chin quivered, and Sirius realized to his absolute horror that she was crying. Not in a loud, obvious way, but discreetly, as if she thought someone might be watching. If she only knew!
After a minute or two (which seemed like forever to the trapped Sirius), McGonagall swiped a fierce hand across her face and levered herself into a sitting position. Reaching up, she began plucking pins from her hair, depositing each in a blue china dish that sat on one of the chests. When all the pins were gone, she sighed with obvious relief.
Sirius, in the corner, stood transfixed and appalled. He'd never seen McGonagall in any hairstyle but the bun, and looking at her this way was rather like seeing her naked. No sooner had he thought this than she stood up, undid the back zipper of her robes, and let them fall in a puddle of fabric around her bare feet.
Shit! Sirius squinched his eyes shut, but not before he'd gotten a good look at McGonagall's underthings. They were rather nicer than he would have expected from her - -white satin with lace trim. The figure beneath them was quite a bit more shapely than he'd thought, too. Not that he'd ever thought about it much.
When he heard her footsteps pad past him toward the other room, he finally dared to open his eyes. Now was the time to escape. He didn't like to think what she might do to him if she knew what he'd just seen. As far as he knew, teachers weren't allowed to transfigure students against their will, but she might make an exception in his case.
Slowly, silently, he began edging along the wall toward the door. Before he'd gotten halfway there, though, he heard her coming back and froze. She was dressed -- thank heaven -- in a modest white nightgown, and was carrying a goblet of what smelled like spiced wine. Frantic now, he tried to think of a way to get out before she settled in for a long evening in front of the fireplace.
He must have made some sort of noise in his agitation, because McGonagall's head snapped around. She put her goblet down on the nearest surface and took a few hesitant steps toward his not-so-hidden hiding place. Even without her customary glasses, her gaze was so piercing that Sirius quailed invisibly.
She came closer and closer, until she was less than two feet away from him. He could smell her perfume, a citrusy scent that he was very familiar with -- he'd smelled it every time she swept past him down the aisles of her classroom for the last six years. Now it seemed cloying and oppressive. It was making it hard for him to breathe. Perhaps he was breathing too fast, or too loudly. He rather thought so.
McGonagall stared hard at the supposedly empty spot in front of her. Then she slowly raised her hands, feeling around, and caught the edge of the Invisibility Cloak. She gasped and pulled at it, and suddenly Sirius was in full view. He was sure he looked every bit as shocked as she did.
"Professor ..." Sirius began hastily, alarmed by her expression. He saw her draw a deep breath and knew she was about to blast him with one of the famous, feared McGonagall tirades. Without thinking, he reached out and clapped a hand over her mouth to stop her, and then felt ill as he realized what he'd done. Well, there was no taking it back now.
"Please don't shout!" he implored her. "It'll be embarrassing for both of us if half the school comes running to see what's going on."
McGonagall swatted his silencing hand away indignantly, but she'd taken the point to heart -- when she spoke, it was in low tones.
"Mr. Black, what do you think you're doing in my PRIVATE QUARTERS?" (Here her voice began to rise out of control and she made a visible effort to reel it back in again) "Are you -- are you SPYING on me? Have you any idea how outrageous this is? Well, out with it! I can't tell you how anxious I am to hear your explanation."
"I'm not spying, I swear! I, ah, came looking for my sugar quills," Sirius said. It sounded idiotic, even to him. Somehow the principle of it all didn't seem that important anymore. Remaining a Hogwarts student did. So did avoiding a term in Azkaban for being a low-level sex offender.
"Sugar quills?" McGonagall repeated incredulously. "You mean to say that this is about your bloody SUGAR QUILLS?" The voice went up again, and Sirius flinched.
"Yes -- I'm sorry --"
McGonagall stepped even closer, peering at him as if in disbelief that anyone could be such a fool. Sirius stumbled back to get away, and came up against the wall with a bump. He'd finished growing over the last year and was now a few inches taller than her, but she was just as intimidating as ever. He was terrified to look her in the face. When he lowered his eyes, though, his height gave him an eagle's view directly down the scoop neck of her nightgown. It was the last place he wanted to look -- not because the sight was unattractive, but because it WAS attractive. Disconcertingly so. Why couldn't she just throw him out and punish him in the morning, in her office, with bun, glasses and severe robes in place?
Sirius, you really are a dog, he thought.
She stared at him for another long moment, then turned away and went to sit on her sofa.
"I don't even know where to begin disciplining you for this," she said. "Gryffindor doesn't have as many points as I’d like to take away." She looked down, and her gaze fell on the pile of discarded robes on the floor. She stiffened.
"How long have you been in here, Black?" she asked slowly.
"Since you came in," Sirius confessed, dreading her response. When it came, it wasn't what he had expected. Her eyes filled with tears again -- this time of humiliation -- and her cheeks turned bright red. From the heat in his own face, Sirius suspected he was matching her blush for blush.
"I didn't see much," he added. "I closed my eyes when I realized you were -- er -- changing clothes."
McGonagall looked like she wanted to die of embarrassment. She was quiet for a while. Then she said. "All right, Mr. Black. I'll make a deal with you. If you go back to your dormitory right now, don't breathe a word about what you may or may not have seen while you were here, and swear never to do this again, I will not give you the punishment you so richly deserve. But if I hear anything -- so much as a snicker in class -- to indicate that you've been gossiping, then I will start by taking two hundred points from Gryffindor. And then we'll see what else I can think of after that."
"Yes, okay, great," Sirius babbled, preparing to pull the cloak back on and go. "You can trust me."
"Oh, really? I'm not so sure," McGonagall said. "I've trusted you till now, despite your penchant for ridiculous antics. And suddenly I find you creeping invisibly around my sitting room. I'm sure you thought that was very funny and daring, but to me, it just feels like violation." As she said the last word, she folded her arms protectively over her chest. Sirius didn't think she even realized she'd done it. He hung his head.
"I really am sorry, Professor," he said.
McGonagall let out a very derisive snort, but she unbent a bit, too. "You'd better get on back to the dormitory now. Oh, and if you look on the table nearest the staircase in the common room, you'll find your box of sugar quills waiting for you. I stopped and left them just before I came here. I don't want you messing about with them while I'm trying to lecture, but in your free time, you can eat them till your teeth drop out for all I care."
Sirius had to grin at that. "Thanks," he said. "I'll go now."
"By all means, don't let me keep you," McGonagall said, making a shooing motion at him with one hand. Sirius' grin widened. She might look different at the moment, but she was definitely the same starchy Minerva McGonagall. He headed for the door, wondering if he should tell her how nice she did look, even with her eyes and nose all red from crying, then deciding he'd better not push his luck –-
"Professor?" he asked, turning back.
"What is it now, Mr. Black?" McGonagall demanded testily. She had already reclaimed her abandoned drink and was preparing to put her feet up on the sofa again.
"What were you crying about?" he asked, unable to believe his nerve at even bringing the subject up. For a minute, he thought he'd blown his lucky escape.
A parade of emotions -- anger, shame, sadness -- marched across her face. Finally she said, in a rather quivery voice, "Do you think that's any of your business?"
"No," Sirius said honestly. "I was just concerned. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
She bit her lip and looked uncomfortable. Any second now, he thought, she'd order him out. But instead she said, "Since you're concerned, I'll tell you that an old friend of mine was killed yesterday. By -- by You-Know-Who. And all his family with him. I just got the news this morning, and," she stopped for a trembling breath, "I suppose I haven't quite adjusted to the idea. It keeps hitting me all over again at odd moments."
"Oh," said Sirius, wishing he hadn't asked. "I'm terribly sorry." He cast about for words and hit on something he'd heard his mother say in similar situations. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
McGonagall actually smiled a little. It was a wobbly smile, but at least it was there. "No, Mr. Black, but thank you for asking."
"All right, then. Er, have a good evening," he said. Argh! Could you be any more insensitive? Go now while you still can! He turned to the door, and then she spoke again, to his back this time.
"I'm glad you and your friends are still here where you're safe, at least for a while," she said in a choked voice. "I wish I knew some spell that could guarantee you'd never have anything worse to worry about than your sugar quills." Sirius stood with his hand on the doorknob, wanting to get away, wanting to turn around and comfort her, wanting to cry himself. Somehow he couldn't do any of those things. All he could do was listen.
There was no sound behind him for a minute. Then she went on "I hope you won't lose anyone like this, but I'm afraid -- I'm so afraid you will."
Sirius imagined himself hearing that Remus had been killed, or James, or Peter. The idea was so horrible that it broke his paralysis. He dropped the Invisibility Cloak, went back to where she sat, and did something he'd never thought he would do: put his arms around her and hugged her hard.
He wasn't sure whether she would hit him for his boldness or cling to him in sorrow. In fact, she did neither. She returned his embrace for just a moment, then pulled away and stood up.
"Go on, then," she said, ushering him to the door with one hand on his shoulder and wiping away her tears briskly, as if they annoyed her. "Go on, I'm fine. Thank you again for your concern. Goodnight." Before he knew what was happening, she had grabbed the cloak, thrown it over him and pushed him out into the corridor. The lock of her door snicked closed, and Sirius was left standing in invisible shock.
Did that really just happen? he wondered. Wait till I tell Moony and Pr--
He stopped. She had asked him not to tell anyone what he'd seen, and though he knew she'd meant she didn't want to hear any underwear jokes, he thought the part that had come last was the more intimate by far. And even though he’d invaded her privacy earlier, he found himself wanting to respect it – to protect it -- now.
I'm not going to tell anyone. I'm going to say I didn't find the sugar quills there, so I came back.
He walked slowly toward the stairs. Somehow, he had the feeling that
those sugar quills weren’t going to taste nearly as sweet as he’d imagined.