Chapter 83: The Knight and Courage
Minerva McGonagall did not answer.
Her gaze travelled past the glittering silver instruments, past Fawkes dozing quietly on his perch, past the rows of former headmasters and headmistresses in their frames, and finally settled on the old stone wall beyond, where a small wizard waited, ready to speak a password.
The Headmaster's office sat on the eighth floor of the castle. Just climbing this high had taken most of Shawn's strength.
He stood before the stone gargoyle at the entrance, waiting for it to ask for the password.
Before he had even caught his breath, the gargoyle leapt aside.
Shawn stared, bewildered, as the wall behind it split neatly in two, revealing the spiral staircase concealed beyond, slowly rising upwards.
What about the password?
Sherbet Lemon, Fizzing Whizzbee, even Cockroach Cluster?
So that was why Headmaster Dumbledore had never told him the password. There was none.
Shawn accepted this with surprising speed and stepped onto the moving staircase.
The stone steps rumbled under his feet, not too loud, not too soft. Anticipation and unease spread quietly through his chest.
Then a thought struck him. Couldn't this rotating staircase be called the wizarding world's version of a lift?
His thoughts wandered as he rose.
In truth, it seemed the wizarding world lagged far behind the present era. It was hard to imagine that, in the age of telephones, the Ministry of Magic still relied on enchanted paper aeroplanes to communicate.
The reason, he felt, lay not in the limits of magic but in the limits of wizard thinking. Wizards despised and dismissed Muggles; naturally, they made no effort to understand so‑called Muggle science.
While he was drifting through these musings, a gleaming oak door appeared above, its brass knocker shaped like a Griffin.
Before he could knock, the door swung open of its own accord.
Professor McGonagall lowered her wand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She paid no mind to the way the blue eyes behind the half‑moon spectacles had grown even more kind.
The Headmaster's office was circular and unexpectedly spacious, but not in the least cold. It was full of moving things.
"Mr Shawn Green."
A portrait of a beautiful witch with long silver curls spoke up gently.
"Headmistress Derwent."
Shawn halted and bowed politely.
The long curls, the kind, gentle smile – he recognised her at once as Dilys Derwent. She had been a Healer at St Mungo's and later a Headmistress of Hogwarts, one of the few witches to hold both posts in her lifetime.
Her portrait hung among the line of headmasters and headmistresses and continued to take part in the school's business. She was counted among the most famous heads in Hogwarts' history.
Her portrait had once helped Dumbledore study the properties of a blood curse, pointing out that it differed fundamentally from the magic of an Animagus transformation.
Clearly, great witches and wizards all had a gift for Transfiguration, Shawn thought.
After Voldemort's defeat, Headmistress Derwent's portrait had openly wept for joy.
A truly great Headmistress.
"To disturb my rest for a no‑name Ravenclaw boy," came a scornful voice. Shawn looked up and saw that the speaker was Headmaster Black, the man who had once unified all four Houses.
Not even Voldemort had managed that. In Headmaster Black's day, Slytherin and Gryffindor students had played together. That alone was a remarkable achievement.
At his first words, the other portraits in the office woke from their naps and joined the unusual council, some with mild expressions, some with stern expressions. When Black finished, none of them spoke up to contradict him.
Only Dilys Derwent frowned.
Outside the office, things were no calmer.
"My lady, you know how much young Green has laboured for this. Oh, those portraits. Especially that selfish fool Black. If he dares to spit out some half‑baked nonsense that harms young Green's standing – my lady, a knight cannot stand idle!"
Sir Cadogan had somehow managed to mount his fat little pony. His armour shone, his overlong sword hung at his hip. Even though the knees of his greaves were stained green with grass from his falls, his spirit blazed high.
"Farewell!"
The knight cried out and plunged headlong into a canvas not far from the Headmaster's office, one showing a handful of shifty‑eyed monks.
"Farewell, my friends! If ever you are in need of a noble heart and a stout body, summon Sir Cadogan!"
"Oh, my dear knight," Lady Violet murmured, eyes damp. The Fat Lady beside her was all sighs and fierce delight.
"Kick him hard with your boots, knight!"
Inside the office,
Faced with this selfish and conceited headmaster, Shawn only gave a soft, noncommittal hum.
"Impertinent boy. I move that—"
The portrait had barely begun his next sentence when everything changed.
A bellowing knight burst in like an enraged bull and crashed straight into Headmaster Black, knocking him flat.
The usually useless pony exploded with strength and drove Black backwards, frame to frame, all the way to the far edge of the office.
"Watch closely, young Green! This is the knight's path of courage!"
Shawn froze.
The air seemed to stop with him. The room fell silent. Every portrait that had been whispering now stared, stunned, at this upheaval.
The Headmaster's office was not a place portraits could drift into freely. Where in the world had that bull of a knight come from?
Only Dumbledore kept smiling.
"This is outrageous."
Professor McGonagall shot to her feet, anger in every line of her face. She flicked her wand, and the painting of Sir Cadogan and his pony pummelling a bewildered Headmaster Black was swept bodily out of the office.
"Ten centuries of wisdom cannot be held back – not even by the Headmaster's office – and this is a fist honed for ten centuries. Take my punch!"
Sir Cadogan roared as he laid about him, even while the frame slid away.
"Big cat, you can send me into the trolls' painting for all I care. I will battle this oaf in hell itself!"
"What a brave knight," said Headmistress Derwent softly.
Shawn moved at once, wanting to follow Professor McGonagall and help, but a low whisper brushed his ear.
"Stay put."
So he stayed where he was.
He trusted that Professor McGonagall would handle it. At the very least, he could not let the knight's efforts go to waste.
The little incident had begun abruptly and ended just as quickly. Shawn saw Dumbledore wink at him.
He understood and walked over to the cluster of beautifully bound letters floating in midair.
"The special scholarship review for Mr Shawn Green will now come to order."
A stern‑faced Headmaster in one of the portraits spoke out as Professor McGonagall returned.