After being released from the Infirmary and a reluctant medi-witch, McGonagall barricaded herself in her office at the top of Hogwarts' Administrative Tower. In addition to the various piles of paperwork that always accumulated at the start of term, she labored over more personal documents - paperwork related to the disbanding of the Order of the Phoenix. She felt the monstrous weight of completing the last dredges of her predecessor's loose ends. While Albus Dumbledore was still very much alive and in possession of all his mental facilities, it fell to his former second-in-command to muddle through the tedious paperwork involved compensating the surviving members of their order and ensuring estates passed to the appropriate next of kin.
"Mistress Headmistress Minerva McGonagall is wanting lunch, yes?"
The former Gryffindor Head jumped slightly as the house elf's voice broke through the fog that clouded her mind. "Yes, my usual please."
The house elf nodded her head, her ears flapping against the side of her face. "Very good, Metsie be getting fish and chips for Mistress Headmistress Minerva McGonagall."
Before Metsie could pop down to the school's kitchens to fill the lunch order, "please bring the tea kettle with you. I'm afraid that I still have lots to muddle through today before supper is served in the Great Hall."
"Metsie gets," the house elf promised before snapping out of the office.
Wearily sighing, the Transfigurations Mistress rubbed her temples as she took her glasses off. The burden of School Head bore down her, equally weighing the same as the burden of attending to the last few pieces of business belonging to the Order of the Phoenix. What the Ministry did not seize in the guise of fines and fees, was pitiful.
The Ministry of Magic, in a magnanimous gesture on their part, granted amnesty to proven member of the Order of the Phoenix. Having granted them this generous disposition, the Ministry felt that retaining their freedom was the only reward they deserved despite public opinion at the conclusion of the series of trials that the Wizengamot insisted take place for not only the surviving members of Voldemort's Dark Order, but that of the Order of the Phoenix as well. As the Ex-Headmaster was repeatedly identified as the leader of the Order of the Phoenix by not only the accused Death Eaters, but also several key figures within the Order of the Phoenix as well - the Wizengamot had unanimously voted to remove Albus Dumbledore as Chief Warlock. A tangible fear of uncertainty swept through the ranks of Light Wizards. Without the influence of their leader, the fate that awaited the living members of the Order of the Phoenix became uncertain.
The Wizengamot went so far as to ban the presence of other Order members during each wizard and witch's individual trials, effectively separating the accused from the support generated by the presence of comrades - but also physically isolating their testimonies to prevent corruption of the presented accounts and any evidence involved in the cases. Aurors guarded the chambers were the examinations were being held, day and night to prevent any tampering magical or otherwise with the room itself. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement stretched itself like a living net over the Wizengamot Chambers, the prisoner holding cells and the very hallways connecting the two areas. Extensive wardings, bordering on the Dark Arts, pulsed through the very mortar of the walls and floors. Elaborate charms hummed through the air as the Aurors tightened their grips to both protect the Wizengamot members and the prisoners. As much as they were determined to protect them all from two different synching mobs, the Aurors were just as determined to prevent escapes.
"Metsie has brought fish and chips for Mistress Headmistress Minerva McGonagall's lunch. Metsie is noticing that the Mistress Professor McGonagall has not eaten breakfast, so Metsie has brought sandwiches for lunch as well." The elf said as she snapped her fingers, the lunch tray settled on a smaller table in the office's corner. A flick of the finger, and the house elf brought the smaller table to rest alongside the witch's chair.
"That is thoughtful of you, Metsie. But I doubt that I can eat as much in one sitting." McGonagall apologized as she looked into the elf's wide eyes.
"Metsie is to be caring for the Mistress Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. I's not be letting Mistress Professor McGonagall to be wanting. Master Headmaster orders Metsie before he leaves." The house elf calmly replied as a ornate black tea kettle floated above the matching cup. Metsie crooked her finger and the kettle tipped, pouring the tan liquid. "Metsie is to be watching over, personal elf to school mistress."
The Gryffindor Lioness stared mesmerized at the familiar kettle as it finished pouring her tea. "Were did you get that kettle and cup?" Emotion choked her voice as her eyes remained glued to kettle as it settled on the small table with her tray. The afternoon light igniting the numerous sparkles in the silver paint lining the lip of the cup and kettle. The emerald paint shimmered in the sunlight as her frozen eyes remain transfixed to the coiling serpents dancing on the side of the kettle.
"Master Headmaster before Mistress Headmistress give to Metsie before he leaves school." The house elf spoke softly, "Master Headmaster rewards Metsie for good service rendered during his Head of School-ship."
"Were you his personal elf as well, Metsie?"
"Metsie Master Headmaster's personal elf all through Master's stay at Hogwarts." The house elf produced a black hankerchief with embroidered green initials and began to rub off a faint spot on the kettle's belly.
"You must have taken very good care of Professor Snape than, Metsie." McGonagall managed to choke out as she tore her eyes away from the kettle. "But if this is your kettle and tea cup now, why use it to serve me? Surely he meant for you to enjoy it yourself?"
"Master Headmaster says you use it, use it to remember." The house elf replied rubbing her hands together.
"But Severus' portrait has not appeared!" The Headmistress cried, "where is he?"
Metsie hunched her shoulders, "I's good house elf! I's keeping Master Headmaster's secrets!" The house elf suddenly popped out of the office before Hogwarts' Alpha Lioness could pounce.
"Damn!" Slumping in her chair, McGonagall rubbed her forehead. "Out with it, Phineas, I just know that you're dying to chime in with your knuts worth."
"Be sure to record this day in Hogwarts: A History - a Gryffindor seeking advise from a Slytherin!"
"Nonsense, I simply won't have any rest until you've said you're piece."
"Headmaster/Headmistress portraits appear when they are ready to do so. Not even the Founders could coerce them to appear before they are ready." Phineas Black's portrait sneered as the other Head portraits nodded.
"So is he or is he not dead!" The portraits as a whole glanced at the fustrated witch and turned as one, exiting their portraits. "They're worse than he ever was!" The Headmistress fought the sudden intense urge to rip fistfuls of her auburn hair out. "Insufferable git!"
Pushing the mystery to the back of her mind firmly, she forced herself to resume her tedious work. As her quill violently danced across the parchment before her, the former Gryffindor Head's thoughts wandered back to circus of events that followed in the wake of the defeat of the Dark Lord.
In the months following the defeat of Voldemort and his Dark Order, the Wizarding World of Britain finished cracking in half as the population split itself into two sides. With the head of the serpent slain, one half cried for blood and the other cried for justice. Caught in the middle, both orders found themselves with little to no support. A full year of trials and obsessive examination resulted in the amnesty being awarded to the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix, many of whom ended up paupers after paying off various fines leveled by the Wizengamot for their use of Unforgiveables against legal and recognized citizens of the British Wizarding community.
Those that were found to bear the Dark Mark, branding them as followers of the defeated Dark Lord, found themselves exiled from the Wizarding world entirely. Magical doorways that manifest and open upon the tiniest hint of magic found, failed to recognize their magical signatures. Instead of shipping them off to Azkaban Prison, the Wizengamot members put their collective head together and dreamed into existence a better solution. Thus regulating the old prison to a relic of the past, preserved as a tourist destination in the chronicles of a dark hour in their world's history.
With the Dementors missing and at large somewhere in the world, the Wizengamot seized the wands of the Dark Wizards and warded them inside a magical island off the northern coast of Scotland. To ensure the island's new residents didn't use Muggle methods of escape, the bordering waters where infested with specially bred sea serpents that patrolled the waters. Utilizing Muggle methods of underwater fencing, to prevent the escape of these blood-hungry guards, a hand selected team of international Charm experts reinforced the physical boundaries of the serpents themselves.
A second guarding circle was constructed by a hand selected group of the top Transfiguration Masters. Pulling from the ocean floor itself, they cleverly constructed a partial earthen shell to complete the defenses of the new prison for high-end security dark wizards of Great Britain. The new Minister of Magic, a whale of a man with wavy chestnut hair combed over in the vain hope no one would notice the bald patch on his head, cheerfully boosted of the new wizard prison to a shower of cameras flashing and excited reporters from around the global chirping at him as the first of the new residents was carried away via a one-way portkey.
Shuffling the completed pile of paperwork to the out going box, McGonagall wondered if the former Slytherin Head was on that island now. It would explain why his portrait had yet to appear amongst the others. Dumbledore reassured her that while his tenure was one of the shortest in the school's history, that upon his death a portrait would indeed appear. He hadn't been able to explain why the portrait wasn't hanging amongst the others, then the speculation that the spy wasn't dead after all.
Despite the testimony of Order members, pensive memories from both the Golden trio and Albus Dumbledore, the Wizengamot had placed the former Headmaster on trial in one of their infamous closed trials. The last time she had seen him, was when the army of aurors was escorting him from Hogwarts' grounds. McGonagall had wanted to rush forward and demand they take better care handling the Slytherin, but she knew that they would never allow anyone close to him. Silent tears had fallen from her eyes as she watched his body tremble, whether it was from fear or the after effects of Neville Longbottom's Cruciatus - she wasn't sure. To her dismay, neither the Daily Prophet or The Quibbler mentioned the Potions Master's fate. It was as though he had simply vanished, without a trace. Whatever became of him, the few auror friends she still had left were as tight lipped as Gringotts was burglar-proof.
The Headmistress shuddered as her quill scratched across a new pile of parchment. The years leading from his disappearance had not been kind to their world. She tried to shy away from the memories of the past, events that she had hoped to never witness first hand. Medi-witch Granger had commented at the time that history was repeating itself, only this time it was happening in the magical world itself. It wasn't until she had loaned her former Head of House a thick volume of Muggle history that she fully understood and could see the similarities in two. McGonagall's first instinct had been to flee as far and as fast as she could from Britain. However, her obligations and sense of duty to the students under her care overcame her primitive instinct. Like the house she had been sorted into so long ago, the Lioness stood her ground and bravely stared into the approaching grim future.
The first anniversary of the defeat of the Dark Lord, born as Tom Malvolo Riddle, was peaceful enough. Fireworks danced in the sky as the Ministry of Magic declared a national holiday. Gringotts, MoM, and Hogwarts closed down for the celebrations. The shops in Diagon Alley closed their doors as these wizarding population took letting it's collective hair down. All through out their world families deserted their homes and businesses to attend the festivities that were springing up everywhere. It was also the night of strange and unexplained activities.
Rumors sprang up over night of strange creatures slipping from the shadows and walking in the night. People began to disappear, vanishing without a trace. The more hysterical accounts were of the dead rising from their earthen graves and walking about amongst the living. Magically created zombies, the Inferi, were quickly eliminated as possible suspects. Charms masters suddenly found themselves in higher demand as the general population surged into a full grown panic as more and more people were vanishing, some from their own homes. The most puzzling aspect was that the majority of those who were disappearing were ordinary citizens with very little to no importance. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was stumped, there seem to be nothing connecting the missing wizards and witches together. When aurors arrived at the scenes of these abductions, they discovered a clean crime scene. Everything bit of potential clues was carefully wiped away, including the magical signature of the victims.
The fever of the abductions slowly ebbed away. As the dawn of the second anniversary crept upon them, the British wizarding community was shocked by the suicide of the Minster of Magic. His assistant arrived a bit early to begin the last few touches to a proposed legislation act that was to be presented in the final session of the Wizengamot before the new year.
The Headmistress sighed as she placed the final piece of parchment into her out going box. Slowly stretching the cramped muscles in her hands and back, the former Gryffindor Head unfolded her legs and stood.
A/N: The wonderful muse that has been whispering in my ear forced me to go back and re-write a bit of chapter one so that this chapter fits in better.
Sorry this one has taken so long. Real life has become quite hectic - between work (making hand-made NATURAL commercial jerky) and my estranged father being the ICU at the hospital has taken up quite a bit of my time. I am currently SEARCHING for a beta reader, so in the meantime please bear with me. Thank you.
Anubis81