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 Thirty: What Now?
The cell door clanged shut behind her back, and for the first time all day, Minerva found herself completely alone. Her eyes roamed over her new world. The cell she'd been confined to was small, barely big enough to take seven paces across and down, and completely lined with gray stones just like everything else within the fortress. The furniture, if one could actually use that grand a term, consisted of a covered chamber pot and a narrow iron bedstead with a mattress, a couple of threadbare blankets, and a stained pillow on it. High in the wall beside the bed was a long and narrow window with rusty iron bars across it. The glass within its frame was ancient and warped, and it didn't do the best job of keeping out the bitter winds of the North Sea.
Slowly, she crossed the room to the cot and sat down on it. The mattress was thin and extremely lumpy. Her back began to ache sympathetically at just the thought of having to spend the rest of her nights sleeping on it. As she was hit by a blast of cold air that had wormed its way through a crack in the window frame, she shivered convulsively and pulled the blankets up around herself to ward off its touch. Even being wrapped securely in their meager lengths wouldn't be enough to keep her warm in this awful place. The sharp, chill dampness would stealthily seep into everything until the dry warmth of the land was nothing but a distant memory. How many prisoners simply died from constant exposure to the frigid cold of a North Sea winter, she wondered dismally, and she couldn't help thinking that however many it was, she might very well count herself amongst them before long.
For the first time in as long as she could remember, she had absolutely nothing to do. How did the prisoners keep from going mad here with nothing to occupy their minds and hands from day to endless day in this place? Perhaps they didn't. Perhaps that was part of the creeping horror of prison. Back home, there was always something to occupy her time. Books to read, parchments to grade, exams to create, administer, and mark, papers of her own to write…chess…something, but here there would be nothing. Nothing to do but think. Think, and worry, and wonder…
With a sigh, she leaned back against the cold, hard wall, grimacing at its slick, clammy feel. The scene of her arrest played out once more in her mind with vivid detail. Such a debacle. Poor Albus. Perhaps Severus had been right, after all. He'd looked so shocked when he was handed that decree ordering her arrest for murder, but it was best that he was shocked. No one could accuse him of knowing the truth and trying to shield her now. Though she'd never have chosen for him to find out the truth that way, in the long run, it was probably the best thing for him and the school. No one would doubt his surprise…or his ignorance.
Irma had looked stunned, too, and so very frightened. Minerva felt horribly guilty for subjecting her friend to that, but there wasn't anything that she could have done to stop it, except to have left earlier. If she hadn't spent so much time arguing with Severus and then making love to him. If it hadn't been so hard to leave him… She hugged the blankets more closely about her thin frame and desperately tried to conjure up the feeling of having his warm arms around her once more. Already, she missed him so much.
What were they all doing now? What were they thinking? Were they ashamed of her? Shocked at her predicament? Worried about her? Had they all gone on with their day as if nothing had happened? Slowly, she slid down the wall and curled up into a ball on the bed. Trying to hold back the despair that had settled on her as heavily as if the dementors were still present, she closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind. She didn't want to think any more. It was too hard. Too painful. Perhaps if she didn't think, she could rest. Blank it all out…for just a little while.
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Snape fidgeted restlessly in his chair as he watched the Headmaster with sharp eyes. He'd told the man everything he could think of, and now there seemed to be nothing to do but just sit here and wait for Dumbledore to decide on a course of action. An activity that wasn't doing anything for his disposition. Waiting was always such a frustrating occupation. You'd think after all the years he'd spent doing it for one reason or another, he'd be better at it, but he still had a difficult time being patient when action seemed to him to be what was called for.
It was also a bit worrisome to sit here and watch his master and wonder if he was going to be able to find an answer yet again. The old wizard looked incredibly weary at the moment, and that certainly wasn't encouraging. The man had leaned back in his own chair and had removed his spectacles, and now was in the process of rubbing his eyes. Finally, he seemed to reach some conclusion, for he carefully replaced the glasses, took a deep breath and sat upright once more.
"All this pain because Voldemort needs more money for his war chest," he said with a sigh.
Snape snorted shortly. "That does seem to be what it boils down to. Standish tried to blackmail Minerva into giving him her money. Minerva being Minerva, turned him down cold and sent him packing, and now she's paying the price."
"Minerva was correct to defy Standish, Severus," Dumbledore's voice chided softly. "Giving in to such blackmail would have been only the beginning, and she couldn't let him take her wealth and use it to support such evil. She'd never agree to that no matter the consequences to herself. Where she erred was in not coming to me immediately when she discovered what Standish was really after."
"Believe me, Albus, I pointed that out to her many times. She simply refused to see it that way. She saw her arrest as inevitable, and she wanted you and the school kept as far away from it as possible. All that stubborn Gryffindor nobility would let her think about was protecting the damn school's reputation. What happened to her didn't seem to matter to her at all." Snape shook his head in disgust and jumped up from his chair and began to pace the room, his face settling into heavy lines of discontent, his fists curling and uncurling in a nervous rhythm, releasing a small fraction of the energy so tightly contained in his spare frame.
Dumbledore smiled sadly up at him. "No, it wouldn't. That Gryffindor nobility of spirit that you insist upon sneering at is at the very foundation of who Minerva is, my boy. She simply isn't capable of looking out for herself first, if the consequences might hurt someone else. That's also why I know that she's innocent of this crime, no matter how bad it looks."
"I definitely agree with you there. It's inconceivable that Minerva could murder anyone. However, she didn't seem as certain. And I have to admit that the evidence in that pensieve copy was incredibly damning."
Dumbledore nodded. "Considering the strength of the evidence against her, I'm not surprised that she was uncertain. Especially, given that she no longer has any memories of the events in question. However, I've known Minerva McGonagall since before you were born. I believe that she's quite capable of killing if necessary in defense of another, hopefully also in defense of her own life. She's quite powerful enough and skilled enough but murder? No. Never. Minerva would never kill anyone who couldn't defend himself. There simply has to be another answer, and you and I are going to have to find it before it's too late."
Snape nodded sharply and momentarily halted his pacing to stare back at Dumbledore. "Yes, we are, and every moment we delay will make things worse for her. Time is our enemy. The first thing that we have to do is find a way to get her out of Azkaban. Now that the dementors are no longer in charge there, she'll be in much greater personal danger. No amount of time spent there awaiting trial will be safe for her." His voice was infused with a sense of urgency.
Dumbledore frowned and leaned forward. "Why do you say that, Severus?"
"I'd think it would be obvious," the Potions master snapped. "The dementors sapped the will of their prisoners. Existing under their control was a hell of the mind and the emotions, but unless the prisoner was condemned to their kiss," Snape's lips curled in distaste, "they weren't usually harmed physically. After all, the dementors only continued to feed on those who survived and had the emotions to attract them, so it was to their advantage to keep their prisoners in decent physical shape."
Snape's eyes gleamed and the taut lines of his body stiffened slightly. "Now that the dementors have joined up with the Dark Lord, the Ministry, with rather dubious judgment, if you ask me, has chosen to replace them with the some of the less savory members of society, and has entrusted the running of the prison to them. Many of these people thrive on cruelty. No one has ever cared overly much for those condemned to Azkaban, but the situation now is as bad as it's ever been. From what I understand, deaths amongst the prison population have risen substantially since they took over. Minerva will be the only female prisoner in the entire prison. There were a few others once, but apparently they didn't survive the changeover. The guards, of course, are all male. She will be abused there, Albus. It's simply a matter of when and how badly. We have to find some way to stop it!" His voice had risen with his agitation.
Dumbledore frowned in concern. "I'm well aware of the situation that Minerva finds herself in, but as bad as it is, rushing to trial isn't the answer either. The evidence against her is very strong, and at the moment, we aren't prepared to counter it. We need more time. Time to investigate the situation. Time to find the evidence we need to clear her name."
Snape laid his hands flat on the desk and leaned forward, pleading his case. "Minerva may not have that time, Albus. Surely you could use your influence with the Ministry to have her moved to a cell there instead of having to endure the horrors of Azkaban? After all, she hasn't been convicted of anything yet. It was my understanding that was why those Ministry cells existed. They should be put to use. She shouldn't be in that prison!"
"I did try, Severus." Dumbledore eyed his friend sympathetically. "Unfortunately, this promises to be a fairly high profile trial, and the interim Minister of Magic, Klaas Gallagher, wants to use it to further his chances of attaining the position permanently. Not that anyone would come right out and admit that, of course, but that's what all the double talk that I received boiled down to."
"This shouldn't be a high profile case. Henry Grant was a nobody stablehand. He disappeared fifty years ago and until now, no one gave a damn!" The angry frown on Snape's face looked as if it had been permanently engraved.
Dumbledore nodded patiently. "True, but Minerva isn't a nobody. She's a very well known and highly respected member of the community. As the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, she has a very high level of visibility, and now it's become general knowledge that she was once married to a fairly well connected, influential, and apparently wealthy man, who also has some involvement in this affair. While few people will follow the trial because they'll care about Henry Grant, many more will wish to see how such a prominent member of our society is treated when charged with such a shocking crime. While many will want her treated right, others will be equally interested to see that she doesn't get any unfair advantage because of her high position in society."
Snape exploded, smacking his hands hard against the surface of the desk and returning to his agitated pacing. "Damn it! There has to be something we can do to get her out of that place. You don't seem to be overly concerned about her, Albus. Frankly, I'd expect better of you."
"Of course, I'm concerned, Severus. Minerva is one of my oldest and dearest friends. I don't want any harm to befall her, and I want her freed just as much as you do." He paused and reconsidered as he stared earnestly up at the agitated younger man. "Well…perhaps I should say almost as much. After all, I'm not the one here who's in love with her."
Caught off guard by this completely unexpected remark, the suddenly ashen Snape ceased his pacing and went very still. His breath caught in his throat and then licking his dry lips nervously, he tried to deny it to them both.
"Love? Don't be absurd, Albus. I'm not in love with Minerva. She's my colleague…and…and my friend, that's all." Suddenly, admitting to friendship seemed by far the lesser of two evils. "I just don't want to see her suffer. She doesn't deserve it."
Dumbledore nodded slowly and emitted a soft sigh. "Of course, Severus." He paused and then added quietly, "Neither do I."
An uncomfortable silence hovered between them for a few moments while they both directed their attention anywhere but at each other, then Dumbledore cleared his throat authoritatively and sat back in his chair.
"Well, we need to settle on a plan of action. I've already obtained official permission to defend her at her trial. The next step will be to obtain permission to visit her in Azkaban and speak to her about all of this. I need to hear her account of things first hand if I'm to do an adequate job of representing her."
Snape nodded in agreement, grasping at a fragile ray of hope. "Yes, if they know that you'll be coming to see her regularly, then that might stay the worst of the abuse. They would have to be careful with someone who hasn't been convicted of a crime yet." He refused to even think about what would happen to her if she actually was convicted of this crime. They simply had to find a way to prevent that from ever happening.
"Yes. You're absolutely correct about that. Then I'll need to go to the Ministry and obtain permission to view all the evidence against her."
"The copy of the pensieve memories is still in Minerva's rooms if you want to see it," Snape offered.
"Yes, I will want to see that at some point, but I've already heard your impression of it, and I think I'd prefer to see the actual pensieve with her memories inside it first. From what you've said, the quality of the copy isn't really all that good, and I'd like my first impression to be a vivid one."
Dumbledore paused and considered his Potions master thoughtfully. "Since the quality of the copy isn't particularly good, maybe things won't seem as dire once I've seen the real pensieve of memories."
Snape sighed. "Frankly, I doubt that it will matter. The copy had no sound, and you couldn't enter the memories for a complete view, but the images themselves seemed quite clear, and I'm afraid that it seemed quite dire enough to me."
He hesitated as his mind returned once more to the puzzle of the pensieve copy. "There was something about it that bothered me though."
"Oh?" The Headmaster looked hopeful.
"I'm afraid that I'm not exactly sure just what it was, unfortunately," he admitted reluctantly.
"Well, hopefully it will come to you soon," Dumbledore said.
"That's what Minerva said," he murmured softly.
Then the Potions master frowned once more. "The key here is Ian Standish. That man knows much more about all this than he's saying. His suddenly just happening upon this pensieve after all these years simply isn't believable. He knew it was there. Most likely, he put it there himself. Minerva has a scar in her memory. She was obliviated to wipe all hint of this incident from her mind. Standish was apparently trained as an Obliviator by the time this all happened. He must've been the one who destroyed her memories. Therefore, he knew all about this incident when it happened, and he's remained silent all these years, holding onto this evidence until it was of use to him. Does that sound like an innocent man to you?"
"No. But there doesn't seem to be any way to prove that he had any prior knowledge of this. Minerva certainly can't prove that he did if she doesn't remember any of it herself. He apparently doesn't appear in the pensieve. The memories clearly are not his, and the incriminating wand found with the pensieve was Minerva's wand without a doubt. There doesn't seem to be any way to tie Ian Standish to this crime, and that's not what we should be focusing on anyway. We need to keep our focus on Minerva. She's innocent, and we need to find some way to prove it."
An image of Minerva's face, full of pain and worry, suddenly appeared sharp and vivid in front of Snape's eyes, and he blinked abruptly to banish it before answering softly, "Yes, Albus, we do…before it's too late."
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Irma Pince sat down behind her desk and stared blindly around the currently empty library. All day long, all she heard from every table, every group of whispering students, was…is it true? Did Professor McGonagall really murder someone? She'd had to hold herself back from yelling angrily at them all. How could they so easily believe such lies? Of course, Minerva wasn't a murderess! Didn't they know her at all? Hadn't they been paying any attention to their teacher during all this time spent in her classroom?
Oh, rationally, she knew that they were young, and charges such as these were shocking, and one tended to believe that if someone was arrested there must be good reason for it. However, in this case, she knew better. She knew without a doubt that this was all some horrid misunderstanding, and so she'd tried to be patient with the students and had simply admonished them to pay attention to their work, but she couldn't really blame them for wondering what was going on, after all, she wondered, too.
The day had crawled by in agonizing slowness, but now, finally, it was almost time to go down to the Great Hall for dinner. Time to have to face the whispers again. This time they'd most probably come from her colleagues, who should certainly know better. All she'd been able to think about today was her friend, and what she must be going through.
Azkaban prison. Simply thinking the name numbed Irma's heart with cold fear. How could Minerva survive being forced into such an awful place? The Headmaster simply had to find a way to get her back again before something horrible befell her there. He just had to.
The more she'd gone over all this in her mind, the more she realized that Minerva knew that this was going to happen. That was why she'd been so sad when she'd spoken of having to go away. Why she'd been so unsure whether or not she'd be allowed to return. Oh, if only she'd been willing to share her fears. There might've been something that Irma could've done to help her.
The librarian frowned. This had to be Ian Standish's fault. That man had caused nothing but pain and heartache for Minerva from the moment she'd been forced into marrying him. Certainly, he'd been aiming to cause her trouble when he showed up here. There seemed to be little doubt about that.
Irma sighed to herself and got to her feet. She needed to know more about what had happened. All day she'd been hoping for some word, but it had all been silence so far. Would Albus tell her if she asked? Would she dare? Or perhaps she should ask Severus. He seemed to know what the truth was, too. No matter how much that man denied it, it seemed very clear to her that he cared a great deal for Minerva. Certainly, he'd be trying to help her now. But would asking him for information be any easier than asking the Headmaster?
Irma snorted softly to herself. Stupid question. Well, she'd go to dinner and see what her options were, but someone needed to tell her something soon or she was never going to be able to sleep tonight at all.
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Next Chapter: Minerva discovers some harsh realities about life in Azkaban.
