Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to scatteredlogic for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

Chapter Sixteen: Memories of the Past

The licking and jumping flames on the hearth mesmerized and lulled Minerva into a peaceful state. She could hardly stir herself to move and instead merely sat quietly in the middle of her comfortable couch and stared fixedly into the fire. Today had worn her out. First dealing with Ian, and then Severus, the latter being by far the worst.

She expected that sort of brutish treatment from Ian, but Severus, for all his snarling and glowering, had never laid a hand on her, that she hadn't welcomed before today. How could he possibly think that she'd betray him to anyone who could cause him even a moment of pain? And why did he persist in thinking that she had once more involved herself with Ian? She thought she'd made her position plain on that, more than once, in fact. How could he think that she'd ever voluntarily let Ian touch her? He seemed to think she was lying to him. Why? She wouldn't lie to him; didn't he understand that? After all these years, didn't he know her at all? Her throat tightened at the thought. Apparently not, but why did that realization hurt so much?

A shiver ran through her body despite the warmth of the fire, and she pulled her tartan shawl closer around her thin shoulders. Trying to banish thoughts of Severus from her mind, she turned to her more serious problem. It appeared that she'd finally reached the end of Ian's patience. He'd been furious when he'd stalked off after their last confrontation. Another shiver hit as she recalled his final parting threat. What did it mean? What would he do to her? What could he do to her?

Most likely, he was just full of his usual bluster, making idle threats and stomping his feet because he wasn't getting what he wanted. That would be a pretty typical reaction for him. He always promised dire consequences for crossing him even if he didn't have anything to back it up with. She could only hope that this was another one of those times.

Regardless, she was going to have to go and tell Albus what had happened. He probably wouldn't be very happy about it, but frankly, that wasn't her problem. She'd put up with enough from Ian, much more than she ever would have without Albus' insistence. She really had tried to discover what he was up to. Honestly, she had. Small consolation in the end. Perhaps, both she and Albus could take solace in the fact that she was apparently frustrating whatever Ian had been sent here to do. She had a feeling that Voldemort wouldn't end up being too happy with him, but she found herself unable to really care.

Her eyes drifted away from the fire to focus on the clock that sat in the middle of her mantelpiece. With a mild sense of surprise, she realized that it was now a little after eight. Apparently, she'd missed dinner completely and hadn't even realized it. It was very unusual for her to lose track of time so completely. She wasn't even hungry.

With a sigh, she shook herself sharply and let the shawl slip from her shoulders as she got to her feet. Slowly, she picked up her thin black academic robe from the back of a chair and slipped it on. Enough moping around and worrying, that never accomplished anything, and she should know better. Albus would want to know about what had happened with Ian, so she should simply pull herself together and go and get it over with.

As she headed for the door, a sharp knock resounded against its wooden panel. What now, she thought with irritation. Hadn't this day been full enough already? Hopefully, it was Albus. Perhaps he'd wondered at her missing dinner and had come to check on her. At least, it would save her a trip up to his tower if that was the case. So, with a sigh, she opened her door and was unpleasantly startled to find herself staring into the cold brown eyes of Ian Standish.

Her first impulse was to slam the door shut in his face, but before she could move, he shoved her roughly aside and stalked into the room.

"Good evening, Minerva. You weren't thinking of not letting me in now, were you?" he spit the words at her like hot coals that would burn at a touch.

Regaining her balance quickly, she cast a dark frown his way. "I thought I made my position perfectly plain," she hissed in an angry voice. How dare he force his way into her rooms!

A nasty smile crossed his face. "Oh, you did. I got your message loud and clear. Now, you'll listen to mine, and if you know what's good for you, you'll heed it."

Before she could properly react, he turned and slammed the door shut. Then he grabbed her roughly by the arm and hauled her back across the room, throwing her down onto the couch as one might drop a load of books. Even before she could collect herself and sit up, he had his wand trained at her face.

"Now, Minerva, you'll do as I say. Take your wand out of your pocket…slowly…and give it to me. Now," he insisted as she hesitated.

Seething at this sort of Neanderthal treatment, she nevertheless did as she was told.

"Excellent. It's about time that you followed my orders." He smiled tightly.

"You can't think that you can get away with this, Ian," exclaimed the outraged witch as she sat up straight on the couch and glared coldly at her assailant.

"Oh, I think I can," he murmured smugly as he placed her wand on the top of her mantelpiece along with a rather bulky wrapped package that he'd brought with him. Then he turned back to his captive audience once more.

"Now, you and I are going to take a little trip down memory lane."

She shook her head and crossed her arms defiantly. "I don't understand."

"No, I'm sure that you don't, but you will. You will. You see, my dear ex-wife, you are going to give me what I want. Everything I want. Or you are going to prison…for murder."

Her jaw dropped open in astonishment then she laughed in his face. "Murder? You're insane. I never murdered anyone."

He smiled smugly and raised a knowing brow. "Oh, I'm afraid that you did, my dear, and I have the evidence to prove it. If you continue to act the fool and refuse me what I wish, I simply won't have any choice but to turn that proof over to the proper authorities, and I assure you, you won't like that, at all."

As she stared at his smug and arrogant face, her smile faded slightly. He certainly seemed confident that he had the upper hand here, but murder? Surely he must have lost his reason. If she'd murdered someone, she'd certainly remember it, and she didn't. Ergo, she hadn't. The thought was preposterous anyway; she'd never murder anyone, not even him, though at the moment, she was sorely tempted. What sort of lie was he trying to get away with here?

Ian's nasty smile deepened. "You're trying to remember, aren't you? Well, it won't do you any good because the memories aren't there anymore, but I assure you that doesn't change the fact that you did murder someone, and I have the proof."

His free hand inscribed an arc in the air, and he raised an eyebrow, posing like some phony Muggle conjurer. "Cast your mind back to the years of our marriage, Minerva. Do you remember a man named Henry Grant? He worked with the horses. You didn't have much contact with him, I know, but he must've crossed your path at some point before his final day with us."

Minerva frowned as she tried to recall the man in question, finally dredging up an image of a thin, sandy haired man with slightly shifty eyes. Yes, she did remember him. His manner had made her nervous; it was always on the edge of insolence. He'd never missed an opportunity to stare at her as if he'd have liked to personally peel off every stitch of clothing that she'd been wearing.

She raised her eyes back to Ian's, now filled with questions. "Yes, I do remember him. He disappeared. Suddenly. Without any explanation. I remember that everyone was a bit concerned for awhile, then it all died away, and everyone forgot all about him."

"Yes, convenient for you that he wasn't anyone of consequence, I suppose," his voice dripped sarcasm.

"Is he the one I'm supposed to have murdered? Why? Why on earth would I have killed someone I barely even knew?" The thought flabbergasted her.

"Ah, well, as I recall, you were rather angry with the man. He'd stolen money from us, you see. I remember you saying that he couldn't be allowed to get away with that sort of behavior. Then you stalked off to confront him. A while later, you were back, all upset, saying that somehow you'd killed him, and you wanted my help to dispose of the body. Naturally, I didn't believe you at first, but when I went out to the stables with you, there he was…dead. I told you to calm down and said that the best way for someone as talented as you were to dispose of a body was to transfigure it. So that's what you did. You transfigured Grant's body into a log and added it to the pile next to the stables, and that was the end of Henry Grant. No one ever suspected a thing."

Minerva was stunned. Not one word of this sounded the least bit familiar or even faintly believable. It was as if she were hearing a particularly grisly fairytale, certainly not something that had actually happened to her. Never in her wildest nightmares could she imagine herself acting in this callous manner. Refusing to believe, her shocked mind grasped onto one salient point in Ian's little story.

"What you're actually saying is that, although I killed this man, you helped me to dispose of the body? As I understand the law, Ian, that would make you an accomplice, and thus, as guilty as I supposedly am. How do you think you could turn me in for this crime if you participated in it, too?"

Ian shrugged casually. "I may have suggested a course of action, but you were the one to follow it, and the proof only points to you, my dear, not to me. I can deny any culpability at will, and no one can prove otherwise."

Suddenly furious, Minerva jumped up off the couch and faced her ex-husband directly. "This is absurd! What is this proof, Ian? What sort of proof could you possibly have that proves that I did this horrible thing? And if I did as you say, then why in hell don't I remember doing it? None of this makes the least bit of sense."

Ian smiled and reached out to pat Minerva on the cheek. "I thought you'd never ask."

Then he turned around and picked up the bulky package from the mantelpiece. He grasped Minerva by the arm once more and pulled her along with him across the room to her desk. There he released her and set his package down to be unwrapped. Inside the wrapping was a squared off rough stone bowl approximately six inches on a side.

"Do you know what this is, Minerva?" he asked, with a cocky tilt to his head.

The confused witch shook her head. "No. I'm afraid I don't. What is it?"

"It's a pensieve copy. Didn't you know that it's possible to copy the contents of a pensieve into a receptacle like this? I'm truly surprised at that gap in your education, you always gave me the impression that you knew everything." He smiled nastily. "Once the memories are in the copy, you can't alter them, nor can you go into the memory as you can with the original, but you can view them as if they were playing out in front of you like moving photographs. You see, my dear, the reason you can't remember what happened all those years ago is that you apparently removed the memories yourself and stored them in a pensieve. I have that pensieve in my possession, and this contains a copy of what you stored." He gestured to the stone box.

Minerva stared at the box. "But…even if I did put the memories into a pensieve, I'd still retain the memory of having done it. I'd have some faint recollection of the incident in question, and I don't." She looked up at him in confusion.

He shrugged carelessly in response to her bewilderment. "Well, whether you do or don't is irrelevant. The memories are here. Would you like to see them?"

She stared at him in horror. The desire to scream "No" as loudly as possible and run from the room was almost overpowering, but if there was even the slightest chance that he was telling the truth, she had to know. How could she fight this outrageous charge if she didn't know exactly what she was up against? So she forced herself to nod.

Satisfied, Ian smiled contentedly. "All right." Then he took his wand and prodded a small indentation on the side of the stone box. Instantly, it flickered to life, and she saw the inside of the old stables at Ian's estate. The images seemed to be shown through someone's eyes, but it wasn't possible to tell exactly whose at first. The perspective panned around the stables as if the person whose eyes they were seeing out of was looking around for something or someone. Suddenly, the man she remembered came into focus in front of her and took his cap from his head. His mouth moved as if addressing someone, but no sound came out. The man looked curious but not afraid. Then she saw a hand come up holding a wand, which was pointed straight at him. Leaning closer to the box, she tried to get a better look; it was her hand! That ring on her finger, it was hers. Though she no longer wore it, she still had it in a box in her bedroom.

The man in the stone box stepped back and looked worried. His mouth was continuing to move; from his manner, it seemed as if he was pleading for something. He held up a hand as if to ward off a blow, then suddenly there was a bluish green flash from the end of her wand, and the man lay still on the ground in front of her. She watched as the picture shifted perspective as if she was kneeling down beside the sprawled body. Her hand shot out and pressed itself to the side of the man's throat, but, clearly, he was dead. His eyes and mouth were open, and he stared off into nothing. Not even a faint sign of life remained.

Minerva felt her heart constrict at the sight. My god, could this actually be true?

Then the scene shifted abruptly. She was once more looking down at the body from a standing position. Her wand came into her field of vision, and she watched in disbelief as it made the correct sort of motions to effect a complicated transformation. Then, before her eyes, Grant's body shrank down and became a log; one completely indistinguishable from anything you'd see in the most ordinary woodpile. Her hands reached down and picked the log up, then, quite abruptly, the recording ended.

Stricken, Minerva looked up to meet Ian's triumphant gaze. "As you can see, it doesn't look very good for you, does it? Clearly the memories are yours. It's even more obvious in the real pensieve where you can actually go in and experience the full effect of the memories. There's also one more little bit of evidence against you, Minerva. Can you guess what it is?"

Numbly, she shook her head.

"Your wand, of course. Don't you remember? You reported it missing, perhaps stolen, at just that time, but of course, it was nothing of the sort. It was put carefully away along with the pensieve. I found them both, just recently, in an unused cupboard in your old room. If the wand is carefully examined, it clearly shows that the last two spells that were cast with it were a transfiguration spell to transfigure someone into a piece of wood…and Avada Kadavra."

"No," she whispered softly. Shaking her head, she backed away from Ian and turned around to clutch desperately at the back of a nearby chair. How could this be true? How? Everything suddenly seemed very far away. Her head was beginning to spin and nothing felt real or solid anymore. This couldn't be happening to her, it just couldn't. She'd never cast Avada Kadavra in her entire life…not once.

She staggered across the room and sank down onto the couch, covering her face with her hands. When she felt Ian's weight settle down onto the cushion next to hers, she uncovered her face and glanced across at him. "Why are you doing this?" she whispered desperately. None of this made any sense. What did the man hope to gain here? Surely he wouldn't go to this much trouble simply to avenge himself because she'd refused him.

Ian smiled in satisfaction and leaned in closer to her. His hand caressed her face and toyed gently with her hair as he spoke in a satisfied tone. "Ah, my lovely Minerva. As you can see, I hold your life in my hands. If I give this information to the Ministry, you'll be sent to prison, either for murder or for the use of an unforgivable. Either way, you'll spend the rest of your life in Azkaban prison. However, it doesn't have to be that way if you agree to give me what I want."

She straightened up and glared at him, faint color returning to her cheeks. "I knew you were after something more than a resumption of a relationship with me," she spat angrily.

"Well, that's not strictly true. I meant every word when I said that I wanted you back in my life. I don't really want to remarry you, but I would have been willing, if you'd have cooperated. It certainly would've made things easier. I didn't really want to have to threaten you this way either, you know, but you gave me no choice. Anyway, I do want you to become my mistress; I spoke the truth when I said that I missed having you in my bed, but you're right, that's not all that I want from you."

"What else?" she choked out the words through gritted teeth.

"I want the McGonagall estate."

"What? That's what this is all about? You want my family's property?" My god, why hadn't that ever occurred to her? It should have. She knew how greedy the man was, and how much he hated to give up anything once he'd taken possession of it.

Ian nodded in satisfaction. "Yes, I want your property, and I want you to sign it over to me, as soon as possible."

Suddenly full of outrage once more, she leaped to her feet. "Never. That land has been in my family for hundreds of years. You have no right to it!"

"And who are you going to pass it on to? Your entire family is dead! You're the last of the McGonagalls, Minerva. Once you're gone, what do you think will happen to the estate? I'll tell you what; the Ministry will seize it. Well, I'm not about to let that happen. That land was mine once. I have need of it now, and I intend to own it again."

Minerva cocked her head speculatively as she gazed down on him. "And just why do you have this sudden need for my land? Who do you owe money to, Ian?"

Ian's face lost its color, and his eyes slid away from hers. "I never said I owed anything to anyone. This is simply a matter of righting an old wrong. That land should never have left my hands. Once I'd gained title to it, you should never have been allowed to take it away for me…never."

"You were the one who petitioned for the divorce, Ian! That made me the injured party, and it gave me rights that I might otherwise have forfeited, not to mention that as the sole heir to the McGonagall estate, I was under no obligation to leave it in the hands of someone who wanted to be rid of me! I had every right to reclaim my property upon our divorce. Every right! And I'm not giving it up to you now."

Ian spread his hands in supplication as he stood up to face her. "Think, Minerva! The evidence against you is overwhelming! You saw it for yourself! If I turn the pensieve and your wand over to the Ministry, you'll spend the rest of your life, what little will remain of it, in Azkaban prison. Is that what you really want? Is that worth title to a piece of land? Is it truly preferable to being touched by me again? You enjoyed being with me once. You could again." His voice was cajoling…persuasive.

The sound of it sent a chill down Minerva's spine. "No!" she cried, firmly. "I despised every moment that I spent in your bed. I will not become your property, nor will I give up my family home to your control. I won't do it. The walls of a real prison could not possibly be worse than being held prisoner by you."

"Oh, for god's sakes! Stop being so stubborn! Once you're sent to prison, I'll just petition to get title to the land anyway. As your ex-husband, I'll have a very good shot at it since you don't have any other remaining heirs. Why give up your comfortable life here in what amounts to a futile gesture. Either way…I win."

She simply stared at him in horror. Whatever she said, he had an answer for it, and the worst of it was, he might very well be right. If she was condemned to prison, she'd lose any rights she had as a member of the community. Anything she owned would be forfeit, and as the closest thing to a next of kin that she had left, unfortunately, he might very well succeed in a claim against the estate. What should she do?

Seeing her hesitation, Ian felt a small moment of triumph, if he could get her to agree to his terms, things would be a lot easier. He'd have her again, exactly as he wanted her, and he'd have the estate to plunder and sell off. Then, finally, he could give his Master the money he'd promised.

"You don't have to decide right now," his soft voice promised seductively. "Keep the recording and examine it more closely. I believe, if you think about it for awhile, you'll come to see that I'm right. There really is no other choice. I'll be here until Monday morning. I'll give you until Sunday night to decide. That's four days, surely you can make up your mind in that amount of time."

She just stood there in front of him as pale as a ghost. Seeing her so vulnerable was more tempting than he'd thought it would be. Holding this power over her was absolutely intoxicating; finally, he was going to win, he could feel it. The one thing he'd never truly been able to do was bend Minerva to his will. Throughout all the years of their marriage, no matter how he'd tried, she'd always defied him. There was even a small part of him that almost believed that she'd miscarried his children on purpose, just to deny him the one thing that he'd wanted so much.

Suddenly sure of his ultimate victory, he impulsively reached out and grabbed her roughly by the arms. Then he shoved her up against the wall next to the fireplace and leaned heavily against her, grabbing both of her flailing hands in one of his own, he ripped open the bodice of her gown and pressed his hungry mouth to the flesh of her breast.

This sudden unexpected assault brought Minerva back from whatever distant mental plane she'd been inhabiting, and she automatically began to struggle furiously against him. Through a combination of luck and sheer desperation, she managed to land a knee in his stomach, momentarily knocking him off balance. Angrily, he released her hands and slapped her hard across the face. When he did that, she was able to twist away from him and lunge for her wand where it rested nearby on the mantel. Seizing it in her hand before he could stop her, she spun around and faced him again, wand pointed unwaveringly at his chest.

"Stay back, Ian, or I swear I'll kill you!" she threatened.

He laughed and took a step closer. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," she stated firmly, her voice cold and hard. "According to you, I murdered a man I had nothing against, in cold blood. So killing a man I despise really shouldn't be that difficult, now should it?"

He hesitated, and the first sign of fear flashed briefly through his eyes.

"You've bruised my face and ripped my gown. Who wouldn't believe it was self-defense if I kill you where you stand?" she asked, quite reasonably.

He shook his head. "If I die, I've arranged for the pensieve and the wand to be immediately sent on to the Ministry. I think they'd take one look at that evidence and suddenly your claims of self-defense might not be looked on so favorably."

"Maybe, maybe not. I only have your word for it that the evidence against me will be sent anywhere. You could be lying through your teeth; it wouldn't be the first time. Perhaps I should just take my chances."

He backed off a step. "Don't be a fool, Minerva."

Her wand wavered slightly. "You gave me four days to think things over, Ian. I swear if you push me anymore tonight, you'll have your answer right now. And it will be no!"

Ian could see the desperation in her eyes, and knew that if he continued on with this now, the game would be lost. Damn! He was so close. "Very well. You win…for now. I simply lost my head for a moment. I'll expect to hear from you by Sunday evening at the latest. Please, do give it very careful thought. Is a piece of land really worth your life?"

With a slight bow and a smirk, Ian turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him. As soon as the door clicked shut, Minerva's wand dropped from her numbed fingers. Then she staggered over to the couch and sank down onto it, grabbing a pillow and clutching it desperately, she stared with horrified eyes into the fire. What in Merlin's name was she to do now?