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 Seventeen: Breakfast

Though nausea churned inside her stomach, Minerva forced herself to ignore it and kept moving forward. The walls seemed closer than usual, the air much more stuffy. The pictures all seemed to be whispering and looking at her oddly as she passed them on her way to breakfast. She could almost hear them snickering and pointing at the murderess. A harsh title that still seemed so impossible for her to apply to herself and yet…

A bunch of second and third year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors came up behind her and gave her a cheery greeting as they went by on their way down to eat. After they'd gone past in a happy cluster, she found that she couldn't remember if she'd actually answered them or not. Her mind was clearly not on her surroundings, and that had to stop. How could she function at her job if she was so distracted? Somehow, she needed to pull herself together. All this worry could wait for another time, now she had to be the teacher, the administrator…the role model. Oh goddess, was it all a lie?

When she reached the doorway to the Great Hall, she took a deep breath and walked boldly in as usual, striding confidently through the sea of chattering students to reach her spot at the head table. She nodded to the other teachers as she passed them on the way to her chair, but she made eye contact with no one.

Without exception, every one of the colleagues she passed turned and stared after her in puzzlement. Minerva had been acting a bit tense lately, but this morning she looked downright haggard, as if she hadn't slept a wink all night. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her hair, usually immaculately dressed, was far from its usual tidy self. The bun at the back of her head sat slightly askew as if her hands had been shaking when she'd pushed in the restraining pins.

Once she'd sat down, Ian turned in his chair and smiled what appeared to be a friendly smile at her, though she, and probably she alone, could see the coldness in his eyes. "Good morning, Minerva. Isn't it a wonderful morning? It's such a pleasure to be up and about on a lovely day like this one. I went for a walk earlier. The air is crisp and cold with just a hint of snow in it. I'll bet we get a storm before long. Perhaps you should go outside and enjoy your last chance at freedom in the open air. If the storm hits, we may be imprisoned within stonewalls for quite awhile. That's so unpleasant, wouldn't you agree?"

A slight spasm of tightness grasped her about the throat as she listened to him baldly hint at the future that awaited her if she didn't give in to his blackmail. Though her face remained painfully pale and wan, her eyes snapped with defiance as she turned and eyed him with distaste.

"Oh, I don't know," she replied softly. "There are worse things than being confined, I think."

He chuckled and speared another fat sausage from a platter in front of him. Then he turned back as he deliberately cut the link into tiny pieces with a sharp blade. "Yes, you're probably right. I suppose that freezing to death might be worse," he murmured too low for others to hear. "I understand it's very, very cold up in the middle of the North Sea. Though a quick death might be preferable to a long, lingering confinement."

Her hand trembled as she tried to fill her teacup from one of the heavy pots that lined the breakfast table. Ian reached over and grasped the handle, lifting it with ease from her shaking hand and filling the cup for her with a solicitous smile. "Let me help you with that, Minerva, it's very full."

Murmuring a toneless thank you, she sat back in her chair and allowed him to fill her cup and then to dish some eggs and sausages onto her plate as if she were a child in his care. What did it matter what was put on her plate? She wasn't about to eat any of it anyway. Just the thought of consuming anything made her feel ill. As she turned her bitter gaze back to Ian when he finished serving her, he smiled again, leaned close and whispered, "What is the penalty for murder nowadays anyway? Now that the Dementors are no longer at Azkaban, I've heard that the Ministry is considering bringing executions back into vogue."

Her heart began to beat faster as he leaned even closer and raised a hand to intimately run a finger down her cheek and throat, caressing the skin delicately and no doubt outwardly appearing very tender and loving. "It would be such a shame to see that lovely neck cleaved from your shoulders by the sharp cold blade of an axe, wouldn't it? And so unnecessary," his voice gloated softly in her ear. As she shivered slightly at his words, he sat back in satisfaction and took a sip of his tea as he continued to smile at her over the rim of his cup with cold and unyielding eyes.

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From his vantage point farther down the table, Snape seethed quietly as he tore his sausages into tiny bits with his own rather sharp pieces of cutlery clenched tightly in white knuckled fingers. His narrowed eyes took in Minerva's slightly disheveled and wan appearance, and his thoughts ran off on their own little trip down speculation alley.

It seemed as if she couldn't even be bothered to put herself together properly before appearing in public. Obviously, she'd been in too much of a hurry to get down here to share breakfast with Standish. He'd have thought that they might have wanted to breakfast in private actually, but apparently she preferred to flaunt her conquest in a more public forum.

From the looks of her, Standish hadn't allowed her to get too much sleep last night. A sudden and vivid image of her pale naked skin offset against the rumpled sheets of his bed, and her skillful, and ever attentive, hands caressing his own body made the Potions master squirm uncomfortably in his chair and glower darkly down at the plate in front of him. She'd probably been hurrying off to her rooms alone last night simply so she could prepare herself for his later arrival. Why couldn't she have just been honest and admitted it?

Standish certainly looked well satisfied. That smug fool had practically swaggered as he'd come in to breakfast this morning. Snape frowned once more as he watched the insufferably arrogant wizard caress Minerva in a very possessive manner. No, there was little doubt that he'd managed to attain his goal last night if he hadn't before. Well, at least the pompous idiot wouldn't be coming around begging for Snape to intercede for him any more, and the Dark Lord should be well pleased.

That caused his frown to deepen even further as he wrenched his eyes away from the back of the dark haired witch's head to stare moodily off into space. What could the Dark Lord possibly want with her anyway? His ignorance on this point was troubling. He'd heard nothing at all that had ever indicated even the slightest interest in Minerva, and indeed, what could she have that he'd value?

He'd have to know that her loyalty would remain unwaveringly with Dumbledore, no matter who tried to persuade her otherwise. Had he somehow missed something? Was it possible that for some reason the Dark Lord was no longer trusting him with all of his plans concerning Hogwarts and its inhabitants? That was a disquieting thought.

On the other hand, he had been out of commission lately. Perhaps something had come up recently since his accident that he hadn't been made aware of yet. But how hard would it be to have sent along a message? There was so much about this whole situation that was worrisome, on more levels than he wanted to contemplate.

Unerringly his thoughts returned to the woman who was the focus of all this concern, as he watched Ian smile stupidly at her over the rim of his teacup. Couldn't she see that Standish was only using her? He'd always thought of Minerva as a shrewd and intelligent woman, not one to fall for someone as obvious and arrogant as Standish. Didn't she realize that whatever that self-satisfied cretin wanted he was only acting as an emissary for evil? Why was she being so foolish? His frown deepened. Was the man that good in bed?

Frustrated with what he perceived as the idiocy that seemed to surround him everywhere he looked, he decided that he'd had quite enough of watching Minerva allowing herself be fondled by that buffoon. She was welcome to act in any stupid way she wished. It really didn't matter a whit to him as long as she didn't betray any of his secrets. Not that he'd received adequate reassurances on that point. Perhaps he should have a talk with Albus and find out exactly what he'd asked Minerva to do to discover Ian's secrets.

Though he doubted that even Albus could persuade Minerva to fake an involvement with Standish against her wishes. She was far too stubborn a witch to be pushed into something that she didn't desire. No, if she was involving herself with that idiot, then it was most likely entirely her own choice, and a dangerous choice it was, too.

Well, it wasn't as if he cared what happened to her. If she didn't betray him, she could do as she damned well pleased. Unfortunately though, as long as his interests could be compromised, he'd need to watch them carefully, but he'd had all he could stomach for the moment. Tossing down his napkin and glancing once more towards the center of the table, Snape got up and made a hasty, and rather noisy, exit through the door behind the head table.

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With a raised brow and a speculative look, Dumbledore watched Snape glower darkly at Minerva and Ian and then stalk off like a rebuffed suitor, angrily slamming the door in his wake. Both Madam Pince and Professor Vector cringed slightly and glanced up at the slammed door in concern, but he noticed that neither Minerva nor Ian even seemed to notice.

Something was happening there, though it was difficult to tell exactly what it was. Dumbledore was forced to admit to himself that he was a bit concerned by Minerva's appearance. He couldn't remember ever seeing her come to breakfast looking so ill put together. Even after a rather late and busy night, which they'd all seen occasionally, she'd always been immaculately turned out the next morning. Not that she was a slovenly mess now, of course, but neatness was as natural to Minerva as breathing. Her clothes were always pressed and elegant, and her hair was always smoothly coifed. To look at her this morning, one might think that she hadn't gone to bed at all last night.

If that was the case, what could've caused it? Dumbledore concentrated on the couple beside him without appearing to do so. Ian looked oddly triumphant today. When he'd come in to breakfast, he'd seemed more confident and sure of himself than at any time since he'd arrived. It had made the Headmaster wonder if something of note hadn't happened. Could he have finally told Minerva just what it was he wanted from her? She did look rather unhappy and upset so that was certainly a possibility. If she didn't approach him later to discuss whatever had developed then he was going to have to make the time to go and see her. Perhaps after her first class of the day.

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Irma Pince set down her teacup and flinched as Snape slammed the door behind her when he fled the room so abruptly. The Potions master had clearly been very disturbed, and she had a pretty good idea what had been disturbing him. For some time now, she'd been suspecting that Snape had developed more feelings for Minerva than he was willing or able to admit. He'd been acting like a jealous schoolboy ever since Ian Standish had shown up at Hogwarts and kissed his ex-wife so publicly, and his reaction to the two of them this morning merely confirmed her suspicions.

It was hard to see exactly what had set him off though. While Ian certainly seemed extremely happy and satisfied at the moment, Minerva didn't look well at all. In fact, she almost looked ill. They didn't appear to be a loving couple to her in the slightest yet she had an uncomfortable feeling that that was the way Snape had viewed them. Of course, it was quite possible that his idea of what constituted a loving couple was rather different than hers was.

She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully and watched her friend with concern. Something was wrong. Something new had happened, and it was upsetting Minerva deeply. That was the only explanation that she could think of. Minerva McGonagall did not come to breakfast in the Great Hall with her clothes wrinkled and her hair mussed unless something was seriously wrong. The question was what, if anything, could she do to help?

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With a faint sigh, Poppy sat back in her place at the table and stared along its length at the couple near its center. She watched as Ian Standish poured tea for Minerva and filled her plate as if she was a child. Then he reached over and caressed the older woman's face and neck tenderly. How she wished that he'd touch her like that with those powerful hands of his, but obviously that wasn't going to happen. She'd given the man every opportunity, but he'd been fixated on Minerva ever since he'd arrived here. It didn't seem as if there was anything that she could do to intervene.

If he wanted Minerva, then so be it. It wasn't her fault if the foolish man would turn down a good time with a willing woman for someone who really didn't seem to want him at all. Poppy's eyes narrowed as she truly looked at Minerva for the first time that morning, having heretofore concentrated on her companion. The woman looked positively dreadful. There were bags under her eyes that you could pack a week's worth of clothes into. She looked awfully tired and seemed thinner than usual, too.

Perhaps, she should stop in to see her with a bottle of restorative tonic. Maybe the poor dear was truly ill. She could suggest that she come in for a check-up at the same time. They could have a nice little chat while she was examining her. Yes, Poppy smiled to herself. It was her duty to take good care of the staff as well as the students. She'd been concentrating on that ungrateful Potions master for so long that she'd neglected the rest of the staff shamefully. Well, she'd take care of that little oversight straight away…beginning with Minerva.

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Minerva sank down into the chair behind her desk as the last student left her classroom and almost cried with relief. How had she made it through that class? Had she made any sense at all? They'd all been staring at her in puzzlement a few times, but surely that was normal. After all, they didn't know the material she was trying to teach them. That was why they were there.

With a groan, she let her head fall down to rest on her crossed arms. There was yet another class this afternoon, then two tomorrow. Then she'd have two whole days without distractions and then… Then…what? She'd spent all last night going over and over it in her mind until she was so exhausted she could hardly stand upright. Yet she still couldn't remember a thing that she saw in that horrid stone bowl. For all that it appeared to be her hand, her ring, her wand…it just didn't seem to be her. None of it made any sense, but it did seem to lead to one inescapable conclusion. She'd apparently killed a man in cold blood and had buried the evidence from everyone, including herself, for decades. How was she to find a way to live with that knowledge? Should she even be allowed to?

A sudden light touch on her shoulder brought her head snapping up with a gasp. With her heart beating a sharp staccato, she looked up into the concerned blue eyes of the Headmaster. Of course, she should've realized that if she didn't go to him, he'd come to her. How was she to handle this?

"Albus," she whispered raggedly, as she put a hand to her cheek. Had she fallen asleep for a moment? Her brain had that fogged and distant feeling that indicated that she might've. "I…must've dozed off."

Dumbledore's face wore a worried frown. "Are you all right, Minerva? You seemed very tired and distracted at breakfast, and now I find you asleep at your desk. Didn't you rest well last night?"

She forced a shaky smile. "No. I really didn't, I guess. I've been quite tired all morning. Perhaps I'll go take a quick walk around the grounds to wake myself up a little."

Dumbledore nodded. "That sounds like a good idea. The cold air would probably wake you up quite effectively. Would you like some company?"

Minerva got to her feet and moved away around the desk. "No…no, I think I'd rather go alone. I need to mentally prepare for my afternoon class. A quiet walk alone will give me a chance to think." She edged towards the door.

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully but wasn't about to let her escape him that easily. "Before you go, do I need to ask?" He let the question hang there between them watching for her response.

Instantly, she stiffened and began to fidget with the skirt of her robe. "Ask?" She tried to look puzzled but had a feeling that she wasn't doing too good a job of it.

"About Ian. When he came in to breakfast this morning, it was clear that something had changed. His whole manner was more confident, as if he'd somehow managed to attain his goal. I was wondering if you knew why that might be. Has he told you yet why he's really here?"

Yes, her mind screamed. He wants to steal my life away from me and watch me be locked away forever. He wants to take the only thing that I have left from my family. He wants to own me again because he hates to lose anything that he once counted as his. But how do I tell you any of that? How do I tell you that I might've killed…no…murdered a man, and hidden the crime for half a century?

She stared helplessly at her friend. Telling him the truth just wasn't possible at the moment. The words to explain just weren't there. How could she explain any of this when she still didn't understand it herself? So just to add insult to injury and make herself feel even worse…she lied.

"No." She cleared her throat when it came out in a croak. "He still hasn't told me anything more than before. Last night, he just continued on with more of the same. Telling me how much he wanted to have me back in his life. I haven't been able to get him to say anything different, I'm afraid. I'm sorry."

She watched the Headmaster with nervous and guilty eyes, clearly he didn't believe her, she could see suspicion written plainly all over his face. Oh, she hated lying; she just hated it.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I had high hopes that we'd finally made some headway in discovering Ian's true purpose here," Dumbledore said quietly with a sad and slightly puzzled look on his face.

"Have you learned anything from your contacts who were looking into Ian's affairs?" Minerva asked. Obviously, Ian must be in tight financial straits if he wanted her estate so badly, but it would be nice to have independent confirmation of that.

Dumbledore nodded. "As a matter of fact, I received a report just this morning. It appears that Ian is indeed a bit short of funds. He has quite a few debts, some of long standing. If he was required to pay out a large sum of cash right now, he couldn't manage it without causing himself severe problems. Once Severus is summoned again, perhaps he can quietly investigate whether or not Standish has committed any money to a current venture of Tom's. He hasn't asked you for money by any chance, has he?"

Asked? Oh, god, if only all he'd done was ask. Minerva continued to walk towards the door of her classroom as casually as she could. She had to get out of here. Lying to Albus Dumbledore's face was one of the hardest and most uncomfortable things she'd ever done. "No, Ian hasn't asked me for any money, Albus, and I'm sorry that I can't seem to find the answers you need. I am trying, honestly, but Ian just keeps spouting the same tiresome drivel about wanting me to come back to him. I'm beginning to think that he may be sincere after all…though obviously horribly misguided."

Her hand clutched the doorknob tightly, having finally reached her goal. Almost free. She turned back and flashed an uneasy smile at the Headmaster as she opened the door. "I should go and take that walk before lunch, I think. Please, excuse me." Then without waiting for an answer, she fled through the door and off down the corridor, leaving Dumbledore to stare after her with troubled eyes.