MINISTRY OF MAGIC, DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES, ANTEROOM

Lights come up on a circular room of many identical, plain black doors, all without handles. Interspersed are sconces with long candles of seductive blue flame. THEODORE NOTT, the Unspeakable, is standing at the center of the room. One of the doors opens. HARRY enters in tatters, still reeling from the battle. When he sees NOTT, he stops. HARRY stares uncertainly, wand at his side.

HARRY: Theodore Nott. I thought I might find you down here.

NOTT (coolly): Still alive, I see. Good.

HARRY: You once told me I would have to choose between life and death. (beat) The choice was made for me.

NOTT: That choice awaits you, Mister Potter. Your trials are far from over.

HARRY (grief-stricken): But the Augurey is dead. How much more must I endure?

NOTT: I don't have an answer to that question.

HARRY: You said it yourself, you've seen all this. How does it end?

NOTT: I haven't a clue.

HARRY grabs NOTT by the shoulders.

HARRY: Why are you making me suffer? Just tell me what I have to do — to put everything right!

NOTT: What is right, Harry? Each man must come to that decision alone. There is never a perfect answer in this messy, emotional world.

HARRY shakes him.

HARRY: You can't tell me that this — this is the way things were meant to be!

NOTT: There are many paths. Do not put your faith in absoluteness. It is the shadow that darkens the stride.

HARRY: Stop!

HARRY has never looked more crazed.

No more bloody riddles!

NOTT: That will do, Harry. Release me. I shall point the way.

HARRY lets go and NOTT leads him to one of the plain black doors. It opens and HARRY steps through. There is an average hallway beyond the door.

HARRY (hesitating): But this is the way out... Back to the lift...

NOTT: Godspeed. History awaits your arrival.

NOTT closes the door and HARRY is plunged in silence. He looks undone by this, abandoned, destitute. But when he turns, HARRY sees a silver tabby cat asleep at the end of the hall. He knows precisely what to expect.

HARRY: Professor McGonagall. What are you doing here?

The cat stirs and, through a bit of stage magic, transforms into PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL.

McGONAGALL: Mister Potter. Or should I call you...

Beat, she speaks slowly and with the disdain of a former teacher.

Lord Blitzfanger?

HARRY (wretchedly): I want nothing to do with that name.

McGONAGALL: And yet, you've led The Tempest to the Ministry. I have to wonder, is Hogwarts next on the list? Most of the house elves have joined your foolish cause.

HARRY: It's not my cause. I am done with this. I was only here to...

HARRY glances back at the plain black door.

McGONAGALL: This I am aware of. I suppose you think killing yourself is the best strategy?

HARRY: I thought Voldemort... that I was still a Horcrux.

McGONAGALL: And?

HARRY: I'm not. He's dead.

McGONAGALL: I thought you had more sense, Potter. I understand that you lost your wife and son, but that's no reason to lose your head. You are still a father and you were once a respected member of the Ministry. Get your house in order, please. I grow tired of the whole matter.

PROFESSOR McGONAGALL turns to exit.

HARRY: But, Professor, there's no way to come back from this.

She faces HARRY.

McGONAGALL: You have a Time-Turner in your possession, correct?

HARRY: Yes, but —

McGONAGALL: And this one has the power to go back decades?

HARRY: It does, but — you're not suggesting —

McGONAGALL: That you use it? I see no reason not to. I shudder to think what will happen if this rebellious behavior is allowed to go on.

HARRY: But — how?

McGONAGALL (curtly): I daresay, you're making this a more burdensome undertaking than it need be. Discover the event that caused all this trouble and change it.

PROFESSOR McGONAGALL begins to exit again. HARRY speeds over to stop her.

HARRY: I would. In a heartbeat, I would. But you're acting as if I can change the past.

McGONAGALL: Can't you?

HARRY: No, I would only be used to fulfill the present. Even if I knew what caused all this, I'd be powerless to change anything.

McGONAGALL (exasperated): And where did you get such an absurd notion?

HARRY: Dumbledore. During my third year at Hogwarts.

PROFESSOR McGONAGALL smacks her lips and stares blankly at him.

McGONAGALL: It is my recollection that Professor Dumbledore sent you to the past to save Sirius Black and the Hippogriff. And you succeeded. They would've perished otherwise.

HARRY: Yes, but... they were never in danger. Not really. We were always meant to go back.

McGONAGALL: You think so, do you? Well, not that it matters, but Sirius Black did, in fact, die — originally — as did the Hippogriff.

HARRY: What? No.

HARRY looks askance at PROFESSOR McGONAGALL.

No, I saved Sirius. And myself. In the forest. I cast the Patronus to rescue us both from the dementor attack.

McGONAGALL (dryly): Imagine that.

HARRY: I don't have to. I saw it with my own eyes!

McGONAGALL: What does your heart tell you, Potter?

HARRY looks pained.

HARRY: I haven't been able to trust my heart for some time.

McGONAGALL: Dear, dear, you honestly claim to have saved your own life?

HARRY: Yes!

PROFESSOR McGONAGALL sighs acrimoniously. She thinks and then plays her final, desperate card.

McGONAGALL: Very well. Seeing that my words do not appear to have any effect on you whatsoever, I am forced to educate you once again.

With abrupt movements, PROFESSOR McGONAGALL swiftly and unexpectedly pulls her wand on HARRY.

Apanchomenio!

HARRY's eyes bulge. His fingers claw frantically at his neck.

HARRY (gasping): What — are you —?

McGONAGALL: I'm trying to prove a point to you, Potter. Practical lessons are the most effective, wouldn't you agree?

PROFESSOR McGONAGALL narrows the gap between them.

You may not be aware of this, but the wizarding public once insisted on classifying four distinctly abhorrent curses as "Unforgivable". In the end, we settled on three. Shame, really. I always found the Strangulation Curse particularly detrimental due to its favorable, albeit fiendish, result. At any rate...

HARRY continues to struggle for air.

HARRY (panting): Stop — you're —

McGONAGALL: Killing you? Yes, that would be the desired objective.

She keeps her wand on him. HARRY cannot comprehend what's happening.

What's taking so long, Potter? This is no different than that night in the forest. Come back from the future and stop me from killing you.

HARRY stares in shock, his face going red. PROFESSOR McGONAGALL raises her eyebrows.

At your leisure.

HARRY (croaking): Please —

McGONAGALL: Move along, Mister Potter. You can put a stop to this, can't you?

HARRY crumbles to his knees. He is blinking rapidly, tipping, losing balance. He mutters something.

What was that? I'm afraid I couldn't hear you properly with all the wheezing.

HARRY (loud, through tightly gritted teeth): I can't!

PROFESSOR McGONAGALL reveals a satisfied grin and releases the spell. HARRY rolls to the ground, swallowing air in ravenous gulps.

McGONAGALL: There we are.

HARRY: You... nearly... killed me....

McGONAGALL: To illustrate a great truth. Time travel to the past is only possible if you're alive in the future to do so. You were about to die. And a dead person cannot come back to save themselves from dying, now can they? It doesn't take a genius to work it out.

HARRY (discombobulated): No, I rescued myself. How? How did I do that?

McGONAGALL: Simple. You didn't.

HARRY: The dementors...

McGONAGALL: They left the forest once Sirius Black was killed. You survived — by and large.

HARRY: By and large?

McGONAGALL: Your mind was impaired, to put it lightly.

There is a pause.

Much like your son after he escaped from Azkaban.

There is another pause.

It was Remus Lupin who saw the effect the dementors had on you and suggested to Professor Dumbledore that you and Miss Granger be given a chance to rectify the situation — and save Sirius Black in the process. Which you did. Over and again.

HARRY massages his neck and stands.

HARRY: But my son — he became Pariah Prince. He fulfilled the present by going back to change things.

McGONAGALL: It's true, time will use you. Which is why I would caution anyone from running helter-skelter into the past. Perhaps Mister Weasley and Miss... Missus Weasley can offer assistance in that regard.

HARRY (sounding defeated): That could be problematic.

McGONAGALL: Everything is problematic with you, Potter. (beat) All we have is our wits and — no, that's all, our wits. I will leave you in peace. If peace is the right word for it. You can move along now. Just, if you please, keep your head down on your way out. I don't have the energy to stop the Aurors from apprehending you.

Breathing deeply, PROFESSOR McGONAGALL turns and walks away. She's through talking. HARRY looks encouraged but unable to trust this feeling.

HARRY: Professor, I... I can really change the past? I can save Al? I can save Ginny?

McGONAGALL (scornfully): Yes. You can. So, smarten up and find help.

She exits but continues from off.

And, for heaven's sake, Mister Potter, take a bath.

HARRY exits, looking bedraggled but optimistic.