DISCLAIMER:            This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author Note: Many, many thanks to Niamh and pigwidgeon37 for helping me to whip this chapter into shape. I owe the pair of them a great deal of virtual chocolate for their ability to cut through the crap and help me latch onto the pearl of an idea.

Minerva IV Early hours of the morning…

I can't get to sleep. I have a montage of images and memories vying for my attention and I'm at a loss as to where to begin.

Albus and I occupied Severus' apartments for an extended period of time talking quietly and remembering both the good and bad times. I'm sure we startled the poor boy when he returned. I suppose he thought we'd have found my quarters more comfortable to dissect our shared history.

If I hadn't started crying when Severus relayed the fact that Miss Granger had been found safely and escorted back to Gryffindor Tower, I would have laughed at the absurdity of his expression.

I do not believe I have ever seen Severus look confused and I would give a large sum of galleons to have the reason at my fingertips.

I'm rambling, stringing meaningless thoughts together to avoid the fact that to begin my own healing process, I must write down my torment.

Albus keeps telling me that secrets only have power when people are afraid to share them. It makes it hard to share his optimism when I am the one struggling to make sense of what confronts me nearly every day.

How strange it feels to know that aside from myself, there are only two others who know the truth of my past and the resultant consequences in the present…and both of them are men.

I feel like crawling under a large rock. I want to be able to wake up one morning and find it's all been a horrible dream.

I want to know what it feels like to dream of possibilities, draw strength from my mistakes and move on.

I've been wishing the same thing each morning for the last forty years and Albus, bless him, has had to put up with my moods and denial for each day of each of those forty years.

I sometimes wonder why he puts up with me.

I'm sounding wistful and it's an utterly useless emotion. I want I need to purge my memories onto this inanimate piece of parchment and I haven't got a clue how to start.

I think I need to just sit and think for a while, then just write what comes to mind immediately and without censorship.

Near dawn…

Well, sitting and thinking about how to start did achieve one thing. I'm annoyed at my weakness and the thought that I have to face Severus at breakfast this morning, with him knowing what he knows now…I don't like it and I have the urge to Obliviate him of my memories.

But I must have felt compelled to tell him for a reason. I just have no idea what that reason is…

Another lie to add to the many other sins of my life.

I've had an interesting and varied life. It's been one of great promise, sorrow and reflection. It's been good, bad and horrible.

It's time to start anew.

When I was little older than Miss Granger, my life looked to be blessed by great luck and joy.

I thought so too. Too late I realised that the scales of time could so easily upset my balance.

I'm not even sure of how the shift started…

Lucius Malfoy's father was an interesting character, a Slytherin through and through, but also one of the most cultured and sensitive – hard though that is to believe – men. Both Albus and Severus remind me of him, a conglomeration of the best parts of a man, who so rapidly changed, that I'm not even sure what happened.

…And therein lies the tale…

I'm not sure where to start. He brought out the best in me and showed me that when it came to hate and suspicion, I was a babe under the control of a master.

Flavius made me feel made me desire him and I would have done anything for him. He always said I was his light…that he would be lost without my safe influence guiding his path.

I trusted him and he betrayed me. He used me for what he wanted and when I had fulfilled my purpose, like a good little girl, he discarded me, mocked me and made me angry enough to want to kill him for his slurs.

I didn't kill him, but every time I think of him – all of it, I become so enraged.

I don't like myself when Flavius is mentioned. I loathe what he made me and I hate the fact that he could manipulate my feelings without any remorse.

He taught me that hate was a passion, a way to defuse or inflame any situation. I listened to him sprout this mantra time and again until I became immune to its inner message.

We were the new best bright couple; a match blessed by the Fates and destined to many happy years. Our families were friends and so it seemed a natural progression for us to marry. I saw myself as his vivacious and pampered consort…and marvelled at my destiny to have captured the heart of such a man. I adored him and he possessed me body and soul.

I wanted for nothing. Flavius agreed to my every whim, cherished me with gifts and hosted the most lavish parties.

He made sure that I felt in control, that his 'meetings' were no more than the price a married woman had to pay in Wizarding Society circles. I had no inkling that it was all high farce and that having a complacent doting wife was his perfect foil to hide treachery.

I cannot believe that he used me...that we used each other.

I can see that now, but for so long I railed against any interference by those who sought to 'enlighten' me about my husband's errant ways.

.

It still hurts to think I was so blinded that I ignored the whispers of darkness. I let my carefully crafted ego rule me, and Flavius continued the charade long after the truth dawned.

When our son was born, Flavius was delirious with joy. A son to carry on his name and our first three years set the groundwork for a joyous and loving child. He was a sensitive boy, gifted and artistic, with a fine mind and happy disposition.

And then my world shattered.

I ignored the signs, cast aside friendships and allowed Flavius to entangle me in his narrow focus. I chose to ignore the obvious and replaced it with the aura of the good wife.

If I'd managed to see him for the man he truly was; the hints of manipulation, coercion and greed, perhaps I could have steered my son away from his influence.

I didn't want to see what my head was telling me and he encouraged the deception.

My intelligence could have overridden my objections to the truth, but I saw truth as a hindrance, an inconsequential part of my nature. My ego…my love of the pleasure and the prestige of acceptance ruined my trust. I chose to remain ignorant to the reality of my situation.

I was stupid, fickle and shallow and though I could have helped myself, I chose not to do so. I'd found a fool's paradise and revelled in it. I replaced knowledge with stupidity and I damned my son to the fate I chose for him, however unwittingly.

The distance and deception placated me and I found that not asking questions allowed me a certain level of immunity to my predicament.

Flavius chose poorly in a Wizard's Duel and I laughed the day he died. I cannot believe I'd been so hardened by our mutual coercions. I wasn't even happy to see him dead…

I was disgusted that I could wish ill of a man who'd shown so much potential. I didn't think of the consequences, only release. I saw my chance to stop our son from being manipulated by hate and that no matter the cause of his father's demise, he'd be better without his father's twisted influence.

I was too late. Flavius was a planner and he ruled from the grave. I'd neglected my son and it haunts me still. It is another scab I pick at constantly and the festering sore that continues to repeat itself.

I infected my son with hate and damned my grandson to repeat the cycle I started.

Using his power and a little known codicil, Flavius entrusted our son to his mother and removed any chance for balance. I found myself relegated…a reminder of what could have been…

I couldn't I didn't want to admit

I should have fought for him, but I ran instead.

If only he hadn't seen me laugh in genuine relief at his father's death. If only I could have removed him from the tomb of expectations.

I gave my son the chance to hate me for abandoning him.

My life is full of 'ifs' and I pay for them each day.

I see my grandson every day and that is the final hurt. Flavius would be so proud of his little dragon. The cheating, deceitful mirth of knowing that he can still torture me from the grave and that my grandson does not even realise we hold a blood connection.

It is his turn to laugh at me.

My mistakes continue to spiral downwards. I gave birth to a monster who pays homage to terror.

I am, and always will be, Minerva Caecilia McGonagall Malfoy and I hate myself for that too.

My usual disclaimer: Comments, constructive criticism and reviews are most welcome.