As always, if you recognize them, they're not mine.

A Game of Strategies

'So, was it really weird?' Augusta asked Jeff on the first night back from the summer holidays.

'What?'

'Being stuck here all summer, surrounded by all the professors,' said Augusta, as though this should have been obvious. 'They didn't try to give you any work to do, did they?'

'Of course not,' Jeff snorted, 'nothing besides the work everyone got over the summer. Most of the professors left, actually. Dumbledore was around more often than anyone else, though that isn't much. Didn't really matter to me – I spent most of my time holed up in Ravenclaw Tower, hiding from Pringle.'

'How boring,' said Augusta sympathetically.

'Ah, it was all right.' Jeff shrugged. 'At least I could practice flying a bit. And Merrythought decided to teach me how to produce a Patronus, I think she felt bad that I was shut up in the common room most of the time.'

'Really?' Minerva asked. 'How did it go?'

'Not bad,' said Jeff, grinning. 'I've almost got it… you'll have to work with me later.'

'You could always just wait for Merrythought to teach us in class, you'd already be ahead of the rest of us,' Augusta reminded him.

'Oh, but where's the fun in that?' said Jeff, turning to Minerva. 'Can you meet me in Dumbledore's room tomorrow evening?'

'Of course,' Minerva replied, surprised at how formal she and Jeff were being with each other.

The next evening was quite a different story, however. The second Minerva closed the door to the Transfiguration room behind her and turned around, she found herself already in Jeff's arms.

'I take it you didn't tell Augusta?' he asked as she buried her face in his shoulder and breathed in the smell of him.

'I wanted to spend at least one summer free of any questioning, not that I got to see you in any case…' Minerva sneezed violently.

'You all right?' asked Jeff, stepping back.

'Fine,' sniffed Minerva, rubbing her nose. 'Feels like my allergies are flaring up, for some reason…'

'Oh no,' sighed Jeff. 'Must have forgotten to clear the cat hair off my robes…'

'Cat hair?' groaned Minerva as Jeff whipped out his wand.

'Yeah, I got a cat when I went to Diagon Alley to get my books and such for this year,' said Jeff, muttering 'Evanesco' to clear the cat hair from his robes. 'Or, rather, he found me, he kept following me and mewing no matter where I went, so Merrythought suggested I just keep him.'

'Merrythought took you to Diagon Alley?' Minerva repeated, trying and failing to imagine Jeff cavorting about Diagon Alley with the stern Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

'Believe it or not, she's not as intimidating one-on-one as she is in front of a class,' said Jeff, grinning. 'It was a little weird, actually, she kind of started acting all maternal towards me over the summer. Not in a creepy way, but just asking if I was all right whenever she saw me and picking up interesting books for me to read and such.'

'That must have been unnerving, to say the least.'

'I guess, but I did overhear her talking to Dumbledore about her own grandchildren in France. Which was in itself a hard idea to grasp at first, but it explains some of her behaviour towards me.'

'Oh,' said Minerva, and sneezed again. 'Well, not to switch subjects abruptly, but you're going to have to help me find some spell that will minimise the effects of cat hair on my allergies, this is really giving me problems.'

'I'll just be careful to get it all off my robes when I leave the common room,' said Jeff, waving his hand impatiently. 'So, are you going to help me get this Patronus once and for all?'

'Of course,' said Minerva, sitting on top of one of the desks. 'Show me what you've got so far.'

Jeff nodded and cleared his throat somewhat nervously, raising his wand as he did so. 'Expecto Patronum,' he said in a tense voice. A jet of silver smoke burst into the darkened room, condensed into a murky blur, and slowly relaxed back into a swirl of mist.

'Damn,' muttered Jeff, annoyance flashing in his brown eyes. 'I was getting so close over the summer… why won't this work?'

'Calm down, Jeff,' said Minerva patiently. 'Getting aggravated is the worst thing you can do. Just keep focusing on something happy, and don't get frustrated…'

'I'm not getting frustrated,' insisted Jeff through gritted teeth as he prodded the mist violently. 'I'm trying my best to think of something happy, and it's still…'

'Here,' sighed Minerva. She slid off the desk and grabbed Jeff by the shoulders. 'Concentrate, will you?' And she kissed him again. Jeff's Patronus wavered for a moment, and then slowly solidified into a small tabby, which yawned widely and stretched.

'Well, that certainly seemed to work,' said Jeff, breaking away from Minerva and staring down at his cat Patronus with a most pleased expression.

'I'm glad it did,' said Minerva, grinning. 'I would have wondered how you really felt about me if it hadn't.'

'Let's remove any doubt from your mind, then,' said Jeff roguishly, pulling Minerva to him and kissing her again.

At that exact moment, the door of the classroom swung open, revealing a tall silhouette. Jeff and Minerva quickly leapt back from each other.

'Good evening, Mr Cunningham,' said Professor Dumbledore as he entered the classroom, letting no reaction to what he might have just witnessed enter his voice. 'I see you've managed to produce a corporeal Patronus – very well done.'

'Er, thank you, Professor,' gasped Jeff, running his fingers through his hair with a most mortified expression on his face (Minerva would have laughed if she too had not felt the same way). 'Er, Minerva here was just helping me get the hang of it…'

'Really?' A knowing smile flickered briefly across Dumbledore's face as he scanned his bookshelves for whatever tome he needed. 'Perhaps, Minerva, you should consider a career in teaching, as you seem to have a knack for it.'

'Maybe,' muttered Minerva, too polite to protest wholeheartedly. She was quite sure she would make a dreadful teacher, especially if it meant having to put up with the Umbridges and Malfoys of the world every day… and she was equally sure that her rather unconventional method for teaching Patronuses would not work for most students.

'Well, I'm glad to hear you'll at least consider it,' said Dumbledore cheerily as he located the book he had been seeking and pulled it off the shelf in a cloud of dust. 'I apologise for having disturbed your lesson… please do excuse me.'

And with that he swept out of the room in a swirl of plum robes.

'Well, that wasn't awkward at all,' said Jeff after a moment.

'I suppose we should exercise a bit more discretion,' began Minerva.

'Oh, come on, Minerva, are you trying to say that you're never going to tell Augusta that we're, well…'

'Of course I'll tell Augusta and Pomona and Paul eventually, but I just… I want to wait until I feel I'm ready to tell them.' Minerva laughed. 'You know how Augusta is about these things.'

Jeff rolled his eyes. 'You'd think we were engaged by the way you're treating this whole situation.'

'Come on,' said Minerva, ignoring Jeff's comment. 'Let's see you try that Patronus again, without my help…'

Minerva arrived in the Library the next evening, expecting to find her group of friends or at the very least Pomona, but finding nothing more than the whispers of studious peers and turning pages. With a sigh, she turned on her heel, fully intending to retreat to the Gryffindor common room and start on her Charms essay alone if not even Augusta could be found… but her progress was halted by a voice behind her.

'Leaving so soon, McGonagall?'

Minerva turned to see Tom Riddle reclining in his chair, staring lazily up at her with his cold, appraising eyes. Her eyes narrowed automatically in suspicion.

'I was planning to. Why?'

Riddle shrugged. 'Nothing terribly important. I was merely wondering if you'd care to play a game of chess. If you don't have anywhere to go, that is.'

Minerva was sorely tempted to reply with a defiant 'no' and leave, but she knew that that would only make Riddle guess that she was intimidated. Instead, she walked slowly to the seat opposite him, and sat, folding her hands expectantly on the tabletop.

'I hope you don't mind,' said Riddle languidly as he pulled a board out of his bag, 'but I only have a Muggle chess set. That means no helpful hints and warnings from the pieces, I should warn you.'

'It makes no difference to me,' replied Minerva shortly, watching as Riddle pulled the rigid pieces out of his bag one by one and set them on the board.

'Good.' Riddle set his last ebony pawn in the centre of a square and glanced up at his opponent. 'White always moves first.'

Minerva moved a pawn out into the centre of the board. Riddle followed suite. The two traded turns in silence for a few minutes before Minerva finally spoke.

'All right, Riddle, what do you want?' she asked in a low but frank voice. 'I find it hard to believe this encounter is based solely around a love for a board game.'

Riddle raised his eyebrows. 'I had thought it would be obvious.'

'Oh?' Minerva met his eyes challengingly, holding a knight delicately between her fingers before placing it carefully down on the board.

'Strategy,' said Riddle simply, taking the knight with one of his bishops. 'I always find it intriguing when people refuse to follow the game as I play it, and I like to see how they choose to play.'

'So you believe everyone should play according to your plans?' Minerva snorted. 'Not much of a game in that, is there?'

'Perhaps not,' said Riddle, waiting a minute to fix Minerva with a calculating stare before he moved again. 'But it does mean I always win.'

'Not too brave of you, is it?'

'Bravery?' Riddle laughed, a soft, mirthless laugh that made the hairs on the back of Minerva's neck stand on end. 'And when did bravery ever get anyone anywhere? You and I both know that power lies in cleverness and manipulation, not in heroism.'

Minerva scoffed and deftly swept one of his bishops from the chess board. The two continued in silence for a few moments, neither looking at the other, until finally Riddle spoke again.

'You know, I've come to a conclusion about something, McGonagall,' he said, reclining in his chair almost lazily, though there was something in his manner that was like a snake waiting for the right moment to rise up and strike.

'Really.'

'Yes,' said Riddle, continuing on even though Minerva had not asked him to. 'In this little world we inhabit, there are two types of people: those who recognise power, and those who are two weak to see it. I am proud to count myself as one of the former, those who follow their ambitions at all costs, not stopping to concern themselves with petty matters like friendship and attachment. People who place their faiths in the so-called "goodness" of the world only weaken themselves; compassion detracts from the ultimate goal. Power is really the only thing worth worrying about.'

Minerva glanced up, raised her eyebrows, unconvinced.

'I can see you face the same problems that I do, whether you realise it or not,' Riddle continued. 'Burdened with friends far below your intellectual level – with the exception of the Mudblood, that is – capable of so much more than what this school can offer, deserving of power, of fame, of glory…'

'My friends are my friends,' snapped Minerva harshly, trying to ignore the nipping kernel of truth in Riddle's words. 'So what if perhaps some of them don't get the same marks that I do. At least I don't manipulate them into doing my dirty work for me.'

'Oh?' Riddle folded his hands beneath his chin, managing to look mildly intrigued and yet terribly bored at the same time. With a jolt, Minerva realised that Riddle was actually quite handsome; he had the same kind of universal good looks that Jeff had, except that in his intense gaze there was only hatred and emptiness, none of the sparkling laughter that she loved so much about Jeff.

'Stop feigning innocence, Riddle. Don't think I don't realise that you were the one who orchestrated that little matter with the Polyjuice Potion last year.'

'Well, I won't deny having known about it, but I must say, had Abraxas and Dolores consulted me, I'm sure I would have been able to improve their plan and their timing greatly. It was my last test to see if we really would be able to break your attachment to your pathetic Mudblood friend, and if I had not left the operation in the hands of two fools, perhaps it would have succeeded.'

'I highly doubt it.' Minerva frowned as Riddle took one of her castles. 'And is that what you call all of your friends – fools?'

'For the most part, yes,' said Riddle, leaning back in his chair and rolling one of Minerva's captured pawns between his fingers lazily. 'They all are quite devoted to me, but when it comes down to it, none of them have the intelligence or the ambition that I need in my closest confidants. They really aren't anything more than pawns in this game we play.'

He watched as Minerva moved her bishop forward again, and then leaned forward across the table to nudge one of his pawns forward.

'That's why I'd hoped you would finally come to your senses,' he breathed. His face was only inches away from Minerva's – she could practically count the few delicate freckles on his nose. 'You were the one I had hoped I could count on to join me. What an asset you would be: a highly intelligent, ambitious, charismatic, attractive second-in-command, from a completely pureblood line, put into a position that would allow you to do whatever you wanted, with no barriers, no one telling you to stop or go slower, finally able to exercise your potential to its fullest…'

Minerva closed her eyes. His words were soft, seductive, heavy with flattery she knew was false, and yet found so convincing… She realised suddenly that she was afraid to open her eyes, afraid to face the boy opposite her, terrified she would be forced to agree, to play into his game…

'What can this school give you?' he continued scornfully. 'A solid education, that's what they'd tell you… and then what? The Ministry, yes, but that can only take you so far, and even then you'd be confined to Britain. But I could give you the world at your feet. The two of us together, we could recreate society as we saw fit, force those who dared oppose us back into line, establish law and order and an immutable sense of place for every rung of beings…'

And the spell was suddenly broken. Minerva's eyes snapped open, and her eyes were so filled with a smouldering fury that even the cold and calculating Tom Riddle blinked in surprise and pulled back.

'You and your pureblood mania,' hissed Minerva. They were speaking in barely more than whispers, yet the tension reverberating through the empty air between them was so powerful that it might as well have been audible, even visible. 'How could you ever have thought I would join you, and the rest of your bigoted followers?'

Riddle's eyes flashed, and his clenched hands shook ever so slightly as he watched Minerva carefully manoeuvre her remaining knight about the board.

'You're a fool, Minerva McGonagall,' he whispered. 'A blind fool, just like Dumbledore… both capable of wielding so much power, and yet too filled with compassion to ever do so…'

'Perhaps you can only see power,' said Minerva evenly, sensing that she had already won, 'and if that's so, then I pity you. There's so much more in the world – love, friendship, loyalty, all the things you will never have if you continue to serve only yourself.'

'Pretty words,' said Riddle dismissively. 'Pity, really. I see you really won't join me.'

He moved a pawn forward onto the same square as Minerva's last knight with a jerky movement, then seemed to regain control over himself and smoothly dragged the piece off the board. Minerva watched in satisfaction, then swiftly moved her bishop forward to capture Riddle's king.

'No, I won't,' she said defiantly, grabbing her bag and rising to leave. However, as she turned to walk out of the Library, Riddle began to laugh quietly, a sound that made all the hairs on the back of Minerva's neck stand on end.

'Very well, you win this round, McGonagall,' Riddle said softly. 'Go, stay with your little Mudblood and Mudblood-loving friends. But I should warn you, they won't be there for you much longer.'

'What on earth do you mean?' Minerva asked, trying to snap irritably but not quite keeping a quaver of fear out of her voice.

'The war's started in the Muggle world, McGonagall.' Riddle kept his cold gaze fixed on her as he put the board and chess pieces back into his bag, a smirk playing about his lips. 'Hitler's invaded Poland, and Europe's slowly falling into its old alliances. When our war reaches Britain, and your precious Mudblood is thrown out to join the filth he comes from, there won't be any Dumbledore out there to protect him and his family.'

Minerva opened her mouth to respond, but could find no suitable words. Shaking slightly, she could do nothing more than leave the Library as quickly as possible, feeling Riddle's eerie stare follow her until she turned the corner.

The months wore on in the usual pattern of Minerva's life at Hogwarts: classes, studying, Quidditch, her sporadic Animagus lessons whenever Professor Dumbledore was not dashing off to the Ministry for some reason or another. At first, the effects of being subjected to the Imperius Curse night after night had a definite physical toll on Minerva, and she returned back to the common room every night too exhausted to do any homework, but as the seasons rolled into winter, she found that the curse had less and less effect on her.

'Very well done,' said Dumbledore proudly one evening in early December as Minerva managed to cut herself off in the middle of a difficult Puccini aria. "I do believe you're really getting the hang of this, Minerva, and I couldn't be happier with your progress, though I must admit I was somewhat hoping you'd keep singing a bit longer, you have a lovely voice…'

'It's exhausting,' sighed Minerva, lowering herself shakily into a chair and breaking a small piece off the end of the bar of Honeydukes best chocolate Dumbledore slid across the desk to her. Already that evening, she had been forced to perform a complicated tap dance of sorts, a very acrobatic tae kwon do routine, and several Shakespearean monologues, terminating each in shorter and shorter amounts of time.

'But you're doing very well, and I would not be surprised if you reached a level of comfort that would be sufficient for you to attempt an actual transformation in the not-too-distant future,' Dumbledore assured her, his eyes twinkling. 'Nonetheless, I can see you are indeed fatigued, and therefore I call this session to an end for the evening.'

'No, Professor!' Minerva sprang to her feet in protest, the chocolate cracking into several large slabs upon falling to the floor. 'I can keep going, I'm fine…'

'I think not,' said Dumbledore pleasantly, standing to make his way around the desk and open the door for Minerva, who turned around reluctantly to leave. 'Although…'

And before Minerva knew it, she had been hit by that floating sensation again and could hear Dumbledore's voice say: Now then, Minerva, if you would please levitate the papers on my desk…

Minerva began to reach instinctively for her wand, and then forced herself to concentrate. "No, Professor, I don't think I will," she said, her voice sounding to her own ears as though muffled by a thick fog. In an instant, she felt herself return solidly to earth and, blinking a few times to clear her vision, saw that Dumbledore was positively beaming.

'Excellent work, Minerva!' he cried.

'I thought you said we were finished for the evening?' asked Minerva, raising an eyebrow.

'And I apologize,' said Dumbledore graciously, bowing slightly. 'I had to make sure your control over the Imperius Curse was so absolute that you could overcome it even when not expecting it. Well, I'm now quite convinced that next lesson we can indeed begin to work on the transformation itself. Now you really may go, Minerva. Good night.'

Minerva practically flew out of the room, eager to dash up to the Gryffindor common room as quickly as possible and share her good news with Augusta. But the latch of the door had barely clicked shut behind her when she heard the sound of laughter echoing softly from the nearest shadow.

'Out late tonight McGonagall, aren't you?'

'And what do you care about it, Malfoy?' Minerva asked, still feeling jubilant. She turned on her heel to face the pale Slytherin as he emerged into the flickering golden light cast by the nearest wall torch.

'Were I a cruel-hearted person, I wouldn't care at all,' Abraxas smirked. 'But I think the fact that I've just overheard one of my esteemed professors casting an Unforgivable Curse on a fellow student is a cause for some concern, isn't it, McGonagall?'

'It's got nothing to do with you,' snapped Minerva, a cold sweat breaking out over the palms of her clenched fists.

'But it's got everything to do with you,' said Abraxas, a jeering note of false concern edging into his voice. 'Who knows what sorts of horrible things you've been forced into under the effects of that curse? What will Professor Dippet think, to know that his Deputy Headmaster has been frequently meeting students in his office when most of the castle has already retired for the night? What, McGonagall, will your parents think when they hear that their daughter's Outstanding marks in Transfiguration may not be completely merit-based?'

'You have no evidence for any of this!' hissed Minerva, shaking with fury.

'Prove it,' Abraxas challenged, victory glinting in his eyes. 'If you're as innocent as you say, surely you won't have any objection to answering any questions Professor Dippet may have?'

Minerva opened her mouth to argue, realised she had talked her way into a trap, and closed her mouth again into a tight, irate line, her eyes glinting furiously. There was no sound except the tap of footsteps and the gentle swish of robes as she followed Abraxas up stairways and past snoring portraits. The torches in their brackets threw eerie shadows in Abraxas's wake, and, despite her indignant fury over the whole situation, Minerva could not ignore the sense of dread churning in the pit of her stomach.

'I suppose you find this all highly amusing?' she said finally to the silvery back of Abraxas's head. 'Blackmailing people on false charges and all?'

'Oh please, McGonagall,' said Abraxas without looking at her, 'surely you understand that this is really just a small move in a larger game of strategies? You're not the only one Lord Voldemort wants removed from the castle, and, much to your disadvantage, I'm feeling so lucky tonight that I don't think anything I do can go wrong.'

Somewhere beneath her stunned disbelief that the Slytherins would actually want Professor Dumbledore thrown out of Hogwarts, Minerva felt a nudge of disdain – so Riddle had gone so far as to give himself some ridiculous title, had he?

By this time, Abraxas had reached a blank wall with a gargoyle and stopped before it.

'Password?' sniffed the gargoyle.

'I'm afraid I haven't got it,' drawled Abraxas. 'But if you tell the Headmaster I'm here on urgent matters that concern the safety and integrity of the school, I'm sure he won't object to a few words with me?'

'Urgent, eh?' The gargoyle thought over the situation for a few seconds. 'Well, I suppose if it's urgent…'

The wall opened, and Abraxas led the way up the spiral staircase to a polished wood door with its eagle knocker. Abraxas knocked three times and stood back. A few moments later, Professor Dippet answered the door in his striped flannel pyjamas, looking rather confused with his nightcap skewed lopsidedly over one ear.

'Mr Malfoy!' he exclaimed, standing aside so that they could enter his large circular office. 'And Miss McGonagall too! What in Merlin's name are you two doing here so late at night? If Mr Pringle caught you skulking about in corners after hours and sent you all the way up here to be reprimanded, please remind him that discipline is to be left to the Heads of Houses…'

'Actually, Professor, only one of us here was involved in any, ah, skulking, as you called it, and I'm afraid that said incident actually concerns one of your Heads of Houses,' Abraxas cut in smoothly, gesturing subtly with a wave of his hand towards Minerva (who was contemplating the proposed scenario with an expression of utter disgust wrinkling her nose).

The befuddled expression on Professor Dippet's face became, if possible, even more flabbergasted.

'What are you talking about, Mr Malfoy?' he stuttered. 'Miss McGonagall, surely you can explain that this is all one large mistake?'

'Allow me, Headmaster,' interrupted Abraxas as Minerva opened her mouth to retort that this was all a very large mistake. 'Tonight, as I was returning from one of Professor Slughorn's little Slug Club meetings, I was passing by Professor Dumbledore's office, and heard voices coming from inside. I would have thought very little of it had I not heard Professor Dumbledore cast the Imperius Curse on the other person inside his office.'

The dramatic change in Professor Dippet's countenance would have been quite comical, had Minerva not been so terrified she was about to be expelled, or be responsible for the dismissal of her favourite teacher. The poor Headmaster's complexion changed from ruddy to a sallow pale reminiscent of lumpy porridge in a matter of seconds, and he swayed unevenly on his slipper-clad feet as he tried to grasp the full repercussions of the situation.

'Miss McGonagall, is this true?' he croaked after several seconds.

'Yes,' began Minerva, who had decided that lying would only get her into more trouble than she was already in, 'but…'

'Oh dear, oh dear,' mumbled Dippet to himself, wringing his hands. 'Dumbledore… but why would he do such a thing? Illegal to use the Imperius Curse on school grounds, and he knows it full well… oh dear me, if word of this should get out to the Prophet…'

'Professor, I can explain!' insisted Minerva loudly, but Abraxas's smooth voice overlapped hers.

'I do not mean to imply that anything immoral went on while Miss McGonagall was under the influence of the curse, especially since I don't like to suspect the worse in the case of a wizard as highly respected as Professor Dumbledore,' he continued. 'But I'm sure you'll agree with me, sir, that a deeper investigation into this whole matter seems in order…'

'Most certainly, Mr Malfoy, most certainly,' agreed Dippet, agitated. 'Good heavens, I never thought I'd see the day…'

Still muttering anxiously to himself, the ancient Headmaster bustled over to his fireplace and threw a pinch of glittering Floo powder into the crackling flames.

'Albus! A word with you here, please!' Dippet called into the flames, almost pleadingly.

Almost immediately, the tall figure of Professor Dumbledore appeared in the flames and emerged into the room, ducking slightly to avoid hitting his head on the stone mantelpiece.

'Good evening, Armando,' he said politely, brushing ash off of his deep purple dressing robe. If he had been at all surprised to see Abraxas and Minerva present, the Transfiguration professor did not show it as he acknowledged them both with a nod. 'You wanted to speak with me?'

'Yes, as a matter of fact,' said Dippet uncomfortably, twisting the edge of his pyjama shirt and not meeting his Deputy Headmaster's intense blue stare. 'Mr Malfoy here has just told me that he overheard you casting the Imperius Curse on Miss McGonagall this evening.'

'Did he?' Dumbledore sounded only mildly interested.

'Yes, and Miss McGonagall confirmed it,' continued Dippet a bit defensively, rather as though it were Dumbledore who was the accuser.

Minerva flinched slightly as Dumbledore turned his gaze towards her, but was relieved to see that he did not appear to be at all angry.

'As well she should have,' agreed Dumbledore, nodding to Minerva with an expression of absolute calm.

This was obviously not the reaction Dippet had been expecting or hoping for.

'Albus!' he gasped. 'Are you listening to what you are saying? You do realise that you've just admitted to having committed a crime punishable by time in Azkaban here on school grounds, and on a student too!'

'I see no reason to lie,' shrugged Dumbledore, 'but perhaps if you'll allow me to explain the situation fully…'

'Please do,' said Dippet faintly. 'Merlin knows I don't want to have to let you go, Albus, but if it comes to it, I may not have any other choice.'

'Very well. Minerva has expressed interest in becoming an Auror, and I therefore can see several useful reasons for her to become an Animagus. First, in these uncertain days, a fool-proof disguise can be invaluable to anyone, especially a witch or wizard who may become involved in espionage against the Dark forces. Second, based on several conversations I have had in the past months with Alastor Moody, it appears that the Ministry is so eager to churn out "qualified" Aurors to fight the forces rising to power on the continent that they have cut several critical elements of their Auror training program, among which is mental resistance to the Imperius Curse. I need not explain to you why a skill such as this would come in use to an Auror, in the event of capture…'

'Albus!' cried Dippet, aghast. 'This is not a debate over the competency of Ministry-trained Aurors! This is a matter of whether or not you have actually placed Miss McGonagall under the Imperius Curse, and, if so, what events have transpired as a result!'

Minerva opened her mouth angrily to defend Professor Dumbledore, but before she could even begin to speak, the professor himself had already pleaded guilty to the first charge:

'I have indeed placed Minerva under the Imperius Curse, not only tonight, but also on several other occasions. However,' Dumbledore continued, ignoring the stifled squeak of disbelief emitted by Dippet, 'in all events, I was using the curse only as a means of training Minerva to become an Animagus. I gave her the choice of using Occlumency to strengthen her mind against outside resistance, but she explicitly decided that she felt more comfortable using the Imperius Curse instead. I have endeavoured not to push her beyond the bounds of her comfort, and have never asked her to do anything that might compromise her safety or the safety of others.'

'Is this true, Miss McGonagall?' Dippet asked, and Minerva responded with a hearty nod. 'But, Albus, surely it's not worth breaking the law to unnecessarily…'

'Professor,' cut in Abraxas, 'as much as I'm sure we'd like to believe everything Professor Dumbledore is saying, I'm not sure I'd feel safe until he's be questioned more thoroughly. Because, how can we be sure he does not have McGonagall under the Imperius Curse right now so that she can back all of his claims?'

'An excellent point, Mr Malfoy,' cried Dumbledore as Dippet began to stammer again. 'By all means, Armando, please summon Horace and ask him to bring some Veritaserum with him. I would not want any doubt regarding this whole matter to rest in either your mind or the mind of Mr Malfoy.'

Poor Professor Dippet had no choice to but to call for the Potions professor, who burst from the fireplace as Dumbledore finished conjuring up squishy armchairs for all assembled. Minerva averted her eyes in dismay at the sight of Slughorn practically popping out of a hideous set of green silk pyjamas – she swore to herself that, in the unlikely event she ever became a professor, she would never let herself be seen by any of her students in her nightclothes, it was really far too disturbing.

'Evening, Armando,' boomed Slughorn cheerfully, 'and Albus too, lovely surprise… I say, what are you two doing in here at this hour?'

Abraxas opened his mouth to explain, but Dippet quickly cut him off. 'Terribly sorry to trouble you at this hour of the evening, Horace, but there's been a slight problem… well, very well, a rather large problem… and I must ask you if you could lend us a bit of Veritaserum.'

'Of course,' said Slughorn magnanimously, summoning a bottle from his stores with a muttered, 'Accio.' 'But really, don't you think that's a bit much when it's a simple case of student delinquency…'

'Have no fear, Horace,' said Dumbledore serenely. 'The Veritaserum is for myself, not for Abraxas or Minerva.'

Slughorn froze with the newly-summoned bottle of Veritaserum clasped in one of his sweaty palms, and turned to stare at Dumbledore in amazement.

'What?' asked the Potions professor after a long moment of shocked silence. 'Albus? Surely… but, Armando, why?'

'That's what I'm hoping to find out,' sighed the wizened old Headmaster, passing a hand wearily over his eyes and conjuring two goblets out of thin air. Dumbledore quickly vanished the second with a wave of his wand.

'As I told Horace, Armando,' he said in a frighteningly quiet voice, 'the Veritaserum is for me and me alone. Any information you need to know regarding this whole incident can be determined by the testimony of only one person, and that person will be me.'

Dippet opened his mouth to argue, glanced towards Minerva, changed his mind, and nodded tersely. While Slughorn watched in a state of utter bewilderment, Dumbledore took the small bottle of potion and downed it in one gulp, his piercing blue eyes meeting Minerva's in the second before they went uncharacteristically blank.

'Now, Albus, you know I don't want to question you for too long, so let's get straight to the point,' said Dippet, clearly extremely uncomfortable. 'Did you place Miss McGonagall under the Imperius Curse tonight?'

'Yes,' replied Dumbledore in a dull voice that made Minerva shiver slightly.

'And have you done so on nights previous to tonight?'

'Yes.'

'During those nights when you placed Miss McGonagall under the Imperius Curse, did you ever force her to do anything that would be considered by the Ministry of Magic illegal?' asked Dippet hesitantly.

'No.'

Dippet relaxed visibly. 'Thank Merlin. And I should like to assume that nothing illegal went on even with Miss McGonagall's consent in the matter?'

'No.'

Minerva shot a glance towards Abraxas, who was more and more quickly looking as though he had been sucking on a wedge of sour lemon. Smirking slightly, she turned her attention back on her professors.

'Is Miss McGonagall the only student you have been attempting to train to become an Animagus?'

'Yes.'

'An Animagus?' A look of realisation dawned on Slughorn's face. 'The Imperius Curse… oh, but Albus, why in Merlin's name would you risk throwing away your career, your credibility, your very name, all for the sake of a student?'

The question was asked out of frustration on Slughorn's part, but Dumbledore answered it dutifully: 'Because Minerva reminded me very much of myself when I was young and unable to reach my full potential by myself. Because she has exceptional gifts that should be nurtured, and not hidden for the sake of conformity. Because she reminded me of what my sister could have been, if not for my own selfishness…'

'That's enough, Albus,' said Professor Dippet quietly, and Dumbledore immediately fell silent. 'Horace, the antidote, if you please…'

With another flick of Slughorn's wand, another tiny bottle popped into the fireplace in a flash of green and zoomed into Slughorn's hand. He handed the bottle to Dippet and stood aside looking solemnly at the ground as Dippet carefully poured the contents of the bottle down Dumbledore's throat. Although the office was warm from the heat of the crackling fire, Minerva felt goose pimples rising all up and down her arms, and as she stared at the blank expression on Dumbledore's face, she wished she had never accepted his offer for Animagus training, that none of this had ever happened…

A few moments later, the familiar glitter returned to the Transfiguration professor's eyes, and he smiled benignly at his colleagues.

'I trust all of your questions have been adequately answered, Armando?' he said pleasantly.

'Yes, indeed,' mumbled Dippet, fiddling with the edge of his pyjama shirt again and not meeting Dumbledore's eyes. 'My apologies, Albus, but I did think it best to…'

'I understand,' said Dumbledore gently.

Minerva glanced over towards Abraxas again, just in time to see his face redden with anger as he checked his watch. And then it occurred to her…

'It looks as though your little plan to get Professor Dumbledore sacked hasn't worked out, Malfoy,' she muttered just loud enough so that Abraxas alone could hear her. 'Unfortunately for you, you'll have to tell Riddle that you ran out of luck.'

Abraxas shot Minerva a murderous glare. 'If you tell anyone…' he snarled under his breath.

'Oh, I don't think I shall,' muttered Minerva vengefully. 'Besides, I don't really need to, seeing as it seems Professor Slughorn has just overheard our entire conversation.'

And indeed, Slughorn had during this time crept up behind Abraxas's chair, hoping to hear some juicy gossip and instead turning more and more flushed by the second. Before Abraxas could react, Slughorn grabbed Malfoy by the arm and was hissing barely audible words into the Slytherin's ear, looking more like an irate walrus than ever.

'Is this true, Abraxas? You used Felix Felicis to try to make Professor Dumbledore leave Hogwarts?'

Abraxas tried to squirm out of Slughorn's grasp without Dippet or Dumbledore noticed. 'You can't say anything to anyone,' he hissed back at his Head of House. 'You're the one who gave it to us, and I'm sure that wasn't allowed either!'

Slughorn mouthed wordlessly like a huge, apoplectic fish, then turned his bristling red face menacingly from Abraxas to Minerva, and back again.

'If either of you say anything about Felix to any of the other professors, I will make sure you both regret it for the rest of your years at Hogwarts,' he rumbled ominously, letting go of Abraxas's arm with a shove.

'Everything all right, Horace?' called Dippet in a feeble voice. Slughorn immediately straightened up and turned to face his employer, the image of his usual jovial self.

'Oh yes, of course,' he boomed. 'Just impressing the importance of not mentioning this little incident to anyone else upon these two young people… could cause quite the scandal if word got out to the Prophet…' He shot the two students warning glances to drive this point home as well.

'Very good, very good,' said Dippet. 'Well, I suppose we can wrap up any loose ends concerning this matter tomorrow… Albus, if you wouldn't mind meeting me in my office tomorrow morning before you leave for the Ministry, I'd just like a few quick words with you regarding the obeisance I expect from you regarding the rules at this school for the future.'

'Certainly,' said Dumbledore graciously. 'Good night, Armando, Horace, Abraxas…'

Dumbledore did not wait for Slughorn and Abraxas to emerge from Dippet's office behind him. He immediately began to walk briskly down the corridors without a word to Minerva, who followed in respectful silence. As they neared the portrait hole, Minerva finally mustered up the courage to speak: 'I assume this means our lessons are over?'

Dumbledore did not slack his pace, but turned his head towards Minerva, sorrowful acceptance dimming his eyes. 'I'm afraid so, Minerva.'

Minerva nodded tensely. She wanted so much to make Dumbledore understand the guilt that was churning her stomach, but did not know the best way to do so. 'Professor, I… I'm sorry, I never realised…'

'It's not your fault, Minerva,' Dumbledore said firmly, coming to an abrupt halt and putting a hand on Minerva's shoulder so that he could look her straight in the eyes. 'I knew the risk I was taking when I approached you with the opportunity to become an Animagus. What happened tonight has nothing whatsoever to do with you, and you may rest assured that any damage done to my reputation is completely and utterly the result of my own actions.' Dumbledore smiled wryly. 'It's not the first time such things have happened, and I'm certain it will not be the last.'

'But…' Minerva began, sure that she deserved at least some of the blame.

'My only regret,' Dumbledore continued, 'is that you will most likely not be able to complete your training until after you have left Hogwarts, should you choose to do so. I can't say how proud I am of you, Minerva. You have shown exceptional skill and, more importantly, dedication in this endeavour, and I'm sorry that I cannot help you go further even as you are so close to reaching your goal.'

Minerva stared at the ground, and nodded, feeling a lump in her throat and willing herself not to let tears seep from the corners of her eyes. Dumbledore squeezed her shoulder gently before walking her the last few halls to the portrait hole, where the Fat Lady snored softly in her massive picture frame. Not wanting to wake her, Dumbledore tapped the edge of the frame with his wand, and bade Minerva good night as the portrait hole swung silently open and the young witch disappeared behind it.

Though he knew it was late, Albus did not return immediately to his chambers to finish packing for his trip to the Ministry. Instead, he stood in the darkening hallway for several long moments, his long shadow stretching and flickering in the light of the agitated torches, staring at the Fat Lady's portrait without really seeing it. Had it really been so long ago that he himself had snuck out of this same portrait hole to read thick tomes from the forbidden section of the Library, only to be reprimanded by the Fat Lady when he returned several hours after everyone else had gone to sleep? The thought made Albus smile briefly, but, as always, he was saddened by the realisation that he viewed the events of his childhood as a spectator watching a world completely remote from any familiar reality. His life was firmly divided into two parts, cracked down the middle by disaster and irreconcilable to each other. Those days as an inquisitive young wizard fell into the existence he had known before Gellert, while everything that had made him who he was today fell into the harsh reality into which he had been suddenly thrown after.

It was no good longing for the past, Albus knew that full well. Yet he could not shake the feeling that part of his motivation in helping Minerva was to try to reconstruct what he had knew was lost. Her intelligence, her rebelliousness, her loyalty… these were all qualities that Albus recognised in himself, and was sure that Ariana would have exhibited as well, had she grown up as any other child. Loath as Albus was to admit it, he knew that a part of him cared for Minerva as much as he did because she was his second chance; he could help and protect her the way he had not helped and protect Ariana, and thereby gain whatever small redemption there was to be gained for an act for which he knew he could never forgive himself.

The torches flickered as a slight draft wended its way down the stony corridor. Albus shivered and quickly began to walk down the corridors, as if doing so would help him escape the ghosts of his past whose voices reverberated up and down the hall after him, louder and louder… Gellert's mocking laugh, a laugh completely incongruent to the handsome face of his talented friend… the impassioned thud of his own heart as he snatched his wand from the nearby table and shouted the first curse that came to his mind (which curse it was, he could not remember)… the animal-like scream that issued from Aberforth's throat, a scream that still made the hairs on the back of Albus's neck stand on end when he heard it over and over in the stillness of his room at night… his heart still pounding over the sound of his ragged sobs as he heard Gellert whisper, 'What have you done, Albus? Merlin, what have you done?'

Albus reached unsteadily for the door handle, pulled himself into the safety of his chambers, and leaned against the door on legs weakened with shame, his breathing rough. The voices from his past receded slowly into the darkest crevices of his mind, and only then was Albus able to exhale slowly. So many times he had considered ending his torment and simply storing the memories in his Pensieve, but he knew he never would be able to do so; these memories were what upheld his resolution to do what was right, not what was easy, and to try to ignore them would be to shame Ariana's memory.

Besides, the Pensieve was becoming as cluttered and disquieting as the stacks of articles clipped from the Daily Prophet that lay in disorderly heaps on top of the cabinet that held the Pensieve. Albus shook his head wearily at the sight of both, not sure which he feared more: his memories of the past, or his predictions for the future.