Harry Potter and the Unlikely Gryffindor

Albus Dumbledore smiled from under his eyebrows as he watched Headmistress McGonagall exit the Headmaster's office, her emerald skirts following behind. When he was sure that none of the other portraits were watching, he rose from the chair, leaving the office entirely.


Headmistress McGonagall steadied herself as Minister Scrimigour strode into the Great Hall, his loping gate making his hair bob back and forth as a lion's mane would. Minerva could find no humor in the situation, and fixed the sternest look on her face, the one she reserved for affairs dealing with students. It always kept her from being underestimated and taken advantage of by those who would seek to weasel their way into her good graces. She acknowledged the Minister of Magic with a curt nod, waiting for the other members of the staff to exchange polite greetings with him. All classes had been canceled for the day, and the students were studying in their common rooms. The portraits guarding the doors were instructed not to let anyone out, no matter what the reason.

"And good day to you as well, Professor Sprout. Now, as you all may know, there has been debate among the educational governors over what to do about the recent disappearance of students. There have been a great many rumors going around as to why the first was taken, and why more and more students are unaccounted for." Scrimgour stated, looking directly at McGonagall as he did so.

"I assure you, Minister, that only four students have gone missing. The first was kidnapped by a former professor, and the other three left willingly to retrieve her. And although I do not approve of my Head Girl and Boy disappearing without so much as a word, I do understand their motives," McGonagall stated, not trusting the motives of the Minister's visit one bit.

Scrimagour nodded, though it was clear that he did not trust anything he was hearing. "I see. And what of the accounts of Post-Owls being attacked by wolves?" McGonagall would have laughed if she found any amusement in this conversation. It was obvious that although a new Minister of Magic had been elected, the Entire Ministry was every bit as bungling and idiotic as they had been under Fudge. Perhaps she would bring that up at a later date when this was settled.

"Completly unfounded, Minister. It happened to only one owl, belonging to Hera Malfoy, the girl who was kidnapped. And although we do not know the cause of its death, we are sure that it has not happened again." McGonagall sighed inwardly. Even though Scrimigour had requested that all the staff be present, he seemed to be directing his questions solely toward the Headmistress, while completely ignoring the others assembled in the hall.

Perhaps he was trying to catch her in a lie or half-truth. Or quite possibly, he was so willing to pounce on anything that had to do with Harry Potter that he had failed to fully think through what he had wanted to know. And the Daily Prophet was not a good source of information on this subject. The writers seemed every bit as dull as the Ministry of Magic and wouldn't know how to write a true story if one was magically placed into their heads.


Hours later, Scrimigour left the same way he had come in, loping and completely devoid of information except for what he had already suspected. McGonagall was left stressed even more, as she now had to deal with the possibility that Hogwarts could be closed forever. She was beginning to understand why Harry disliked fame so much. Being famous had its advantages, but when something went wrong, he was the first everyone looked to. Either to blame, or for a fix.

XXX

Hera flinched as she sheltered behind the larger form of Snape as the five disapparated 150 meters northwest of Durmstrang Institute. They preferred to let themselves be seen and not be accused of trying to sneak into the school. The trip felt something like being squeezed inside a Chinese finger trap, and then thrown out the other side. She opened up one eye, watching as Snape covered his face with his baggy sleeve. It was then that she noticed, with the wind pulling his shirt tight over his body, how thin he was. Concealed inside his dark robes, one could not tell how much he had withered, though Hera could still see the potential in him.

"The guards should see us clearly from this direction." He said, stooping slightly to be heard over the high winds of the winter storm. Harry tilted his head slightly as Snape reached out and herded the youngsters to himself, as though that alone would protect them against the harsh scouring winds as they walked up to the gates of Durmstrang. Harry had seen this only twice before; once when he had unmasked the fake Alastor Moody, and last when the Potions master had shielded them from Lupin. On either occasion, he had ample opportunity to kill Harry and his friends. Instead he had protected them with a near single-minded determination that he almost likened to a father protecting his young children.

Harry's face screwed up slightly at that thought. Thinking of Snape as a father was somewhat alien to him since he had suffered under his ill treatment for six years. But, looking back, Harry had to admit that his treatment was not that harsh at all, just how any professor would treat any other student. Perhaps it had seemed harsh because it was so different from how the others treated him. Harry shook his head, clearing away that thought. He was not sure he wanted to dwell on such things when their future seemed, as Hera had put it; 'like an ice cube's chance in hell'.

Hermione and Ron shared the same thoughts as they hunkered under the protection offered by Snape's body. Their eyes stayed on the dark haired man as though they were watching the ice melting away, revealing the object concealed within. Though any opinions they had, they kept to themselves as they neared the gates. The portcullis was closed off with a shining black iron grate that lifted up from indentions in the ground that made it impossible to open it without permission. She could tell that there were powerful wards on the door, ensuring that anyone who tried to force their way in without disabling them would be met with a nasty fate. Snape took his wand out of his shirt, and tapped the gate three times.

"We desire entrance, and shelter from the storm." The five waited as the heavy gate started to rise. The sound of heavy chains being pulled clinked loudly from the chambers beyond. But before they could enter, the headmaster, flanked on either side by a guard of seventh-years, met them at the gate, their stern eyes boring holes through their heads.

"What business have you here, Death Eater? We don't allow your kind here, traitor," the headmaster ground between yellowed teeth. His white hair framed his face so that he looked like the fabled Old Man Winter. Even his furs were white, his bushy black brows the only color on his entire person. The young men guarding him were all dressed in Durmstrang uniforms, black with the golden crest on their buckles, gleaming in the dying light of the winter day.

Hermione harrumphed at the Headmaster's greeting, her nose going up in the air despite the chill that nipped at it. "I beg to differ, Headmaster. Perhaps you had forgotten the Disturbance of 1287, where the perpetrators sought refuge within Durmstrang and were granted asylum for the whole of 155 days."

Snape nearly beamed, his guarded mask lifting for the barest hint of a second before it settled in place again, though not without leaving Hermione utterly speechless. The Durmstrang headmaster scowled, but could not deny what was widely known. Though truth be told, he would rather have that episode stricken from the texts for no other reason than to keep it from happening again.

"We will not require nearly that amount of time, Headmaster." Snape assured, though his assurances were not met with much enthusiasm. The Headmaster stepped aside, allowing them entrance. However, they were to be accommodated in the dungeons, away from the students.

The five followed the Headmaster and his guard into Durmstrang and down the winding staircases that led down to the catacombs that made up the majority of Durmstrang's foundation. However, despite this being the middle of the year and near midterms, the halls seemed utterly silent and still. Upon reaching the last door in the long hallway, the Headmaster stopped the five, surrounding them with his guard.

"I can not allow you in without assuring myself that you are not armed. Please hand over your wands."

Snape nearly sneered, though the hand on his shoulder stopped it from reaching his face. Hermione shook her head, telling him that starting a fight in Durmstrang while under thousands of tons of rock was not the best of ideas. Reluctantly, Snape handed his wand over, followed by the others. Hera was last, holding tightly to the hilt. But before she let the Headmaster take her only weapon, Hera sent a thought to her wand. Before the Headmaster could react, the thorns of her wand pierced the man's flesh, drawing a scream not quite human from him.

As they watched, the eight figures seemed to melt and reform. Their clothing and features melting away into tattered black robes, their faces hidden under cowls of feted cloth. They seemed to focus their attention on Hera, each reaching out with skeletal hands as they began stripping her soul piece by piece. The walls and floor froze over thickly as the other four companions jumped away, so powerful was their revulsion.

Their wands were still in the hands of the Dementors, and if they stalled any longer, Hera would have no soul left to call her own. Physical attack did nothing more than draw their ire to you, but they were out of options at the moment. Harry and Ron each grabbed handfuls of tattered cloth and pulled, only to be rewarded with the skin on their hands freezing nearly solid to the Dementors robes. "Ron!" Hermione shrieked, wringing her hands in distress as she watched Hera's eyes close, the color leaving her skin.

Hermione, set her jaw, swallowing hard as she concentrated. Finely finding the memory she needed. Her hand outstretched, she shouted; "Expecto Patronum," the hall filling with white light. But instead of having a stag appear before her, Hermione's Patronus appeared in the compact shape that waddled straight at the Dementors. A huge Beaver lunged at the Dementors, casting its pure light on the wretched creatures. Unable to bear such a thing, they dispersed, fleeing out of the catacombs, dropping the wands in their flight. Ron and Harry were left to nurse sore hands, as the feeling slowly came back to their skin.

The whole confrontation lasted less than five seconds, but Hera was still bad off. Being attacked by one Dementor at a time was survivable with nothing more than shaky knees. Being assailed by eight at the same time, Hera's soul had nearly been stolen from her body, as the tiny sparkling orb descending back into her mouth testified.

Hermione hung her head, utterly exhausted and stunned as she leaned against the wall. In fact, the ordeal had taxed all of them, Snape included as he pulled Hera off the ground and rested her head on his lap, catching his own breath. Just being near the Dementors as they ate drew the energy from nearby things, nearly duplicating the Kiss.

"I believe that was the first time I have ever witnessed a Patronus charm cast without a wand." Snape said after he had rested for a moment. He was so exhausted that the pride was plain as day on his face.

Hermione shook her head, straightening herself. "We can do a lot more we couldn't do before," she confirmed, kneeling down and covering Hera's legs with Snape's robe.

"Well, what ever the reason, I feel I owe you my life. Though I know that this was done in no way to assist me," Hermione gave him a funny look, pondering the Potions Master as he got slowly to his feet, Hera in his arms, "I suspect that if those Dementors were impersonating the staff, then it would be safe to assume that Durmstrang is empty. We need to find the hospital wing and heal ourselves before we contact the Aurors. Others may be already on their way to finish what the Dementors could not."

XXX

Headmistress McGonagall rested her head in her hands, pinching the bridge of her nose as she read the latest publication of the Daily Prophet. Apparently who ever was leaking the rather false information was finely starting to get their facts straight, though only slightly. The number of students missing had gone from nearly a dozen to four. But the theory that they were being used for some sacrifice or something equally nefarious had not changed.

Since Hermione, Ron and Harry had left no note or indication where they had gone, there was no way to trace their steps and simply follow them. Minerva sighed, looking up from the paper as she heard an insistent tapping on her window. She opened it, and was greeted with a small dirty brown owl carrying a note with 'Headmistress' hurriedly scrawled on the front. Even through the obvious haste to write the letter, McGonagall could tell that it was the handwriting of Severus Snape.


Dear Headmistress McGonagall;

I sincerely apologize for the shock that this letter may provide you, but I am in urgent need of your assistance. I will explain everything in due time. However, I will need you to trust my judgment and the judgment of the four students who are standing here with me. You may or may not have received the news, however, Durmstrang Institute has been attacked by a rather large legion of Dementors, and the school is empty save for the eight that were impersonating the Headmaster and his personal student guard.

Hera suffered greatly from their attack, as she was the only one among us who could see through their disguises, and is in need of immediate attention. I implore you to send Madame Pomfrey immediately, as she will not survive another night without help. Please, do not deny her help because of my actions in the past.

Sincerely yours,

Severus Snape


For the longest moment, McGonagall tried to decide how to feel as she read the letter over and over again. At first she felt the strong compulsion to crumple the note up and throw it in the nearest brazier. But what kind of headmistress would she be if she let her students suffer because of a personal disagreement with another professor? Even if there were the slightest chance that this was a trap set by 'You-Know-Who', there was no way that Minerva would leave the four most powerful witches and wizards of this age to die.

"Professor Dumbledore..." She started, only noticing then that the former headmaster was no longer in his portrait. "Albus?" She asked, looking closer at the picture. What a wonderful time for him to take a walk. McGonagall thought, scribbling down a response as quickly as she could. She folded the note and handing it to the owl with a request to make haste.

"Headmasters, I need your immediate assistance. Please go as fast as you can, and tell every Auror you see to met me and Madame Pomfrey at Durmstrang Institute. Apparently there has been a Dementor attack on the entire school and four of my students may have been hurt trying to defend it. Go, and please pass it along that I need Pomfrey here immediately with everything she can carry."