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 Three: A Glimpse of the PastSnow drifted gently down outside the windows of Hogwarts, blanketing the castle and all those within with a fluffy harbinger of winter. Irma's mood, as she stood and watched it fall, was as black as the falling snow was white. It had been two days since Minerva had been bodily seized and dragged out of the castle to be taken off and thrown into the cold embrace of Azkaban prison, and her friend thought she'd go mad if she didn't hear something of her fate soon.
Two days of virtual silence. Dumbledore had tried to be encouraging, and she knew that he was attempting to get permission to go and see Minerva, to check on her, hopefully to help her, but Irma found it frustrating not to know if he'd succeeded or not. She'd only seen the Headmaster once since they'd talked in the entrance hall two days ago, and what he'd said then had been more confusing than comforting. He hadn't been at breakfast this morning, nor had half of the rest of the staff. Everyone was still a bit dazed by Minerva's unexpected arrest. The usual rhythms of the school had been thrown out of kilter; it felt as if the very heart of the castle had been torn out leaving a dying husk behind, which no one seemed to know how to cope with.
Slowly, Irma turned away from the window and returned to her desk. She sank down into her chair and simply stared off into space, having no clear idea just what she should be doing at the moment. Oh, there was the usual work to be done, but somehow it didn't seem as pressing anymore. There didn't seem to be any room in her mind for anything but Minerva. What was she doing? Was she in some cold, unpleasant cell? What had happened to her? Was she all right? Had they hurt her? Irma dropped her head into her hand and rubbed gently at her forehead. Somehow, she had to get past this mental fog she was in. It wasn't helping her to do her job nor was it helping her to discover anything about the fate of her friend.
Just then the door to the library opened, and Irma lifted her head, expecting to see an early student hoping to get some needed book before rushing off to class, but instead she saw an opportunity…in black.
Snape entered the library, nodded silently to her and crossed the room, disappearing into the stacks of the restricted section. Without stopping to think about it, Irma got to her feet and trailed after him. As she peered around the bookcases and looked down the long slender aisle between them, she saw the Potions master standing near the end of the aisle before the section that he usually frequented. His hand rested on the edge of one of the bookshelves, but he himself was staring off into space towards the nearest window, apparently as hypnotized by the falling snow as she'd been mere moments before.
Irma hesitated to approach him. Snape could be such a prickly person. You just never knew what you'd be confronted with when you spoke to him, but it seemed to her that next to the Headmaster, he was the most likely person to have some information about Minerva. He always seemed to know something about everything that happened around the school, and though he denied it, she couldn't completely shake the feeling that the man cared a lot more for the Transfigurations teacher than he'd admit. If so, then surely he'd want to know what was happening to her, and maybe, if asked politely, he might be willing to share some of that knowledge with her.
Taking a deep breath and straightening her robes determinedly, Irma started down the aisle to speak with Snape.
"Severus? May I have a word with you? Please?"
Her voice was soft and polite, but it obviously came as a surprise to the man in black because he was visibly startled as he turned back from wherever the window had taken him and focused his sharp eyes on her.
"Madam Pince." He drew a deep breath and released it slowly. "What can I do for you?"
"I was wondering if you'd had any news about Minerva. I haven't heard anything useful since she was taken away, and I know that the Headmaster was planning on asking permission to go and see her. I wondered if he'd succeeded and if he did, if you knew anything about it. You always seem so well informed about things." Her voice rose hopefully.
A flare of emotion flitted through his eyes for a brief moment, but before she could even begin to identify it, it was gone, leaving behind a face that could have been carved from granite for all the life it seemed to have in it.
"Albus was allowed to see her very briefly last evening. I don't really know the details."
Not exactly the truth since he'd ambushed the man upon his return and forced him to tell him even the tiniest nuance of his meeting with Minerva, but there was no reason to admit that publicly to anyone else.
"Oh." Irma's face fell slightly. "Well, do you know if she was all right at least? Had she been harmed in that awful place?"
Snape's expression darkened despite his attempt to keep it neutral, and he clenched his fists tightly within the concealing folds of his robe. He certainly called torn clothing, a bruised and bloodied face, evidence of physical pain and injury, not to mention evidence that she'd probably been threatened and terrorized, being harmed. Those moronic guards at the prison should be counting every breath they took because they had a limited number left to them even if they didn't realize it yet.
Aloud, he said, "Albus didn't talk much about her physical state, so I assume that she was not in need of medical attention. I really don't know anything else about her imprisonment that I can tell you."
Irma nodded reluctantly. "I see."
"Albus has been granted permission from the Ministry to act as her defending counsel during her trial," Snape added.
"Really?" Hope blossomed in Irma's voice. "That's wonderful. No one could do a better job than he could. Surely, he'll be able to convince the court that this is all some sort of mistake."
When Snape didn't respond, Irma spoke again. "This is all some sort of mistake, isn't it? I know that the Headmaster spoke of evidence of a crime from many years ago. Evidence brought to light by Ian Standish." Irma grimaced in distaste. "But surely it couldn't mean anything. That man was probably just trying to stir up trouble because Minerva didn't give him whatever it was that he wanted from her. Anyone with an ounce of sense would know that whatever he said should be taken with a grain of salt, maybe an entire shaker full."
Snape's eyes slid away from hers and when he still stood silently, not commenting on her observations, Irma began to get worried, and her concern and frustration bubbled over into more questions.
"Severus, the Headmaster wasn't specific as to what this evidence against Minerva was. Do you know what it is? Should we be worried? Why aren't you saying anything?"
The expression on Snape's face became far grimmer as he answered reluctantly, "The evidence against Minerva is very convincing. There is a pensieve full of memories that seem to belong to her. These memories show her actually killing the victim in question. Her wand, one that she freely admits was hers at that time, one that she…lost…many years ago, shows that the next to the last spell cast by it was Avada Kadavra."
Irma was shocked. "Could…could this evidence have somehow been created by Standish?" Nothing else would seem to make any sense. Minerva couldn't possibly actually kill someone. She simply couldn't.
Snape shook his head. "I have no idea. It doesn't seem as if it's possible, though I certainly wouldn't rule it out." Black brows drew together and lowered menacingly as he considered Standish and what the man was capable of.
"When is the trial?" Irma asked in a small voice.
"I don't think that's been decided yet."
"Will you be helping Albus to defend her?" Her eyes searched his face earnestly, seeking the reassurance that she didn't seem to be getting.
Snape's jaw tightened and his voice held a sharper edge. "Albus hardly needs my help to defend Minerva. He's not exactly a novice at this sort of thing."
"No, of course not, but I'd think he'd welcome all the help he could get. Especially if the evidence against her is really that convincing. Please, if there's anything that I can do to help in any way, don't hesitate to ask me. I want to be able to do something. She doesn't belong in Azkaban."
"No, she doesn't," he whispered softly. "On that point, we certainly agree."
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Dumbledore took a seat in the well-appointed office of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement and smiled politely.
"Thank you for letting me come and view the evidence against Minerva, Amelia. I appreciate your courtesy."
The square-jawed witch behind the highly polished desk in front of him nodded seriously.
"Of course, Albus. No one could expect you to do a proper job of defending Minerva if you haven't had a chance to view the evidence. As you well know, this is a common courtesy to extend. I certainly wouldn't want to deprive Minerva of her rights in any way."
Dumbledore nodded appreciatively. "I'm very glad to hear that. Does that mean that Minerva will also be able to view the contents of the pensieve? She would very much like to see them."
Amelia Bones raised an eyebrow. "I would argue that Minerva has already seen the contents of this particular pensieve. You won't disagree with me once you've seen them, I assure you. Clearly, they are her memories."
"Well, surely you won't argue that it has been fifty years since these particular memories were put into the pensieve in the first place. I don't know about you, but I often need to have my memory refreshed much sooner than that myself," Dumbledore said amiably.
Bones shrugged. "Nevertheless, they are her memories."
"Which she doesn't recall. It appears that all trace of these particular memories has been obliviated from her mind. As an examination by your court obliviators would show. Surely Minerva has a right to confront the evidence that you're trying to use to convict her of this crime?" Dumbledore's voice sharpened as Bones seemed determined to keep Minerva from seeing the pensieve of memories herself.
Bones sat back in her chair and frowned thoughtfully. "This is the first that I've heard of any claim by Minerva to have been obliviated."
"Haven't you questioned Minerva about this at all?" asked Dumbledore in surprise. "Isn't it proper procedure to try and obtain a statement from the accused before they're arrested and charged with a crime?"
Bones looked uncomfortable, and she shifted uneasily in her chair. "Ordinarily, that is the procedure, as you well know, and I will admit that things have been expedited more than usual in this case. However, once you've seen the evidence for yourself, Albus, you will no longer be able to accuse us of rushing to judgment without cause. From the evidence that we have to present, frankly a trial is almost a formality. You'll see what I mean once you've viewed the pensieve record. You're free to examine the wand as well, of course, and read the records we have that prove it to be Minerva's."
"So Minerva won't be allowed to view this most damning piece of evidence against her then?" None of this was the least bit encouraging.
"Minerva will be brought to the Ministry the day before her trial. If she wishes to see it then, she probably can do so, if there's time. I'm not at liberty to remove her from Azkaban and bring her here simply so she can peer into her past, and I'm certainly not going to authorize the transporting of valuable evidence all the way to the prison. There would be too much danger of damage to it. I'm afraid that's all I can do. You'll simply have to stand in for her, Albus. You'll be allowed to go out to the prison again before the trial. You can tell her what you saw then."
Reluctantly, Dumbledore nodded. "All right, Amelia."
The stern faced witch got up from behind her desk and gestured towards a connecting door. "I've had the wand and the pensieve placed on a table in the next room for you to view. Although I certainly trust you, Albus, a guard will remain inside the room at all times. Again, as you know, it's standard procedure. Once you've had a chance to view the evidence, feel free to ask me any questions that you have. I'll wait for you here."
Silently, Dumbledore rose from his seat, crossed the room and opened the door to the small antechamber that connected to Minister Bones' office. Inside were a single guard positioned next to a door that no doubt led out into the corridor beyond, and a long wooden table. On top of the table lay an ordinary wand, and a pensieve made of chipped white stone.
With a final nod to Amelia Bones, Dumbledore entered the small room and closed the door behind him. He crossed the intervening space and stared down at the stone bowl with its swirling, shining contents and strange runic decorations. A slight reluctance seized hold of the elder wizard, and he had to force himself to bend over and place his face into the contents of the bowl. He wasn't looking forward to this experience at all.
As was usual in pensieve viewing, there was a short period of disorientation, as if one was falling through the darkness of space, then Dumbledore found himself standing inside an unfamiliar building next to a much younger Minerva McGonagall. The young woman ignored his presence completely and moved forward with an expression of determination mixed with a bit of reluctance on her lovely face. Dumbledore followed in her footsteps, already knowing where they would take him.
They appeared to be in a stable. There was the heavy scent of animals in the air, and they were passing rows of stalls as their feet moved along a rough wooden floor strewn with straw. Some of the stalls were empty, while others contained horses that paid no attention to their passing at all.
Minerva stopped near a cross passage and opened her mouth. Clearly, she called out, but no sound could be heard. In fact, Dumbledore suddenly realized that unlike every other pensieve experience he'd ever had, this one was totally silent. None of the usual natural sounds of life could be heard. No footsteps, no stirring of the animals, no voices. Absolutely nothing at all.
Suddenly, a man of medium height and build with sandy hair and rather cold looking gray eyes appeared out of one of the stalls. A look of surprise crossed his face as he saw Minerva, but it was quickly replaced with a slightly impertinent smirk. There was certainly no fear in his expression, if anything, he appeared to anticipate a meeting quite eagerly. As he approached her, he wiped his hands on a piece of toweling, which he casually cast aside when he stood before her.
Minerva frowned and spoke to him. Seemingly puzzled by her words, he frowned slightly in return. Then he shook his head, appearing to answer negatively. She spoke again and abruptly drew her wand, aiming it towards the man. Dumbledore moved forward to get a good look at their confrontation, but found it confusing without any real hint of what they were saying to each other.
The man, who must be Henry Grant, raised his empty hands and backed away from Minerva, shaking his head. As he backed off, she advanced slowly in time to his steps away so the distance between them didn't diminish at all. It almost appears as if they were doing some old fashioned sort of dancing.
Both of them seemed to be doing a lot of talking, and neither looked particularly pleased at what the other was saying. Unfortunately, they were doing it much too quickly for Dumbledore to even guess at what they might be talking about. Suddenly, Minerva jerked her wand upward and, aiming it at Grant's chest; she stated something emphatically, and a bluish green flash erupted from the end of her wand. The bright aura enveloped the cringing man, who simply stopped and dropped lifelessly to the floor.
Dumbledore glanced down at Grant's face, but it was very clear that the man was dead. Then he raised his eyes and looked at Minerva. He half expected to see an expression of relief or satisfaction on her face, but what he saw was vivid shock. With a growing look of horror, she stared down at Grant's lifeless body with wide eyes. Then she gave the wand in her hand an incredulous look as if checking to see that it was indeed hers and not an unknown weapon of some sort. Her body began to shake, and the wand dropped from her now trembling fingers as she stepped forward and knelt down next to the corpse sprawled on the straw, pressing anxiously at his throat to check for a pulse that, quite obviously, was not there to be found.
Then suddenly the scene changed. There was an abrupt moment of disorientation and then Dumbledore found himself standing in much the same place as before, but now Minerva was standing as well. She seemed much calmer and was no longer trembling, but her face looked slightly puffy and tear streaked. Some unknown amount time had definitely passed, but there was no way to determine how much.
With an infinitely sad expression, she stood still for a moment and simply looked down at the body by her feet, running a nervous hand back and forth across her abdomen as she did so; then very slowly, she raised her right hand and aimed her wand at the earthly remains of Henry Grant. Her silent lips spoke some sort of incantation and immediately the body began to shrink and change. In extremely short order, there was no longer the body of a man lying on the dusty floor of the stable. In its place lay an ordinary log, such as one might cut for the fireplace.
Dumbledore pulled himself back out of the pensieve with a troubled expression on his face. Obviously, these were Minerva's memories, as Bones had stated; there couldn't be any doubt about that. The young woman who'd aimed her wand at Henry Grant and killed him was definitely Minerva, but from what he could see, she hadn't meant to kill him. As she'd stared down at his lifeless body, the expression on her face was one of horror and confusion. Clearly, she hadn't intended for Grant to die, yet anyone who casts Avada Kadavra intends for their victim to die, don't they? That is an integral part of making the spell work. Puzzling, indeed.
With a frown, Dumbledore picked up the wand that lay next to the pensieve. It took only a moment to perform the proper spell to bring out the ghosts of spells cast. First, there was the image of the transfiguration…clear and sharp. It was followed by the death of Grant, played out for him to watch again, though the image wavered a bit. It didn't seem to have quite the clarity of the previous spell.
With careful precision, Dumbledore continued back through several more spells. Each was quite ordinary, and all of them replayed sharply for his view. With a thoughtful expression on his face, he set the wand down next to the pensieve once more. Then he nodded respectfully to the watching guard, and turned to go back and confront Amelia.
When Dumbledore entered her office once more, Amelia Bones rose to her feet and regarded him with a sad expression on her broad face.
"It's difficult to watch, isn't it?" she asked quietly.
The Headmaster nodded. "Yes…a bit puzzling, too. Surely, you don't deny that Minerva doesn't appear to have expected Grant to die? The look on her face is clearly one of shock."
Bones sighed. "I will admit that she looked surprised, but I might have too the first time I cast a spell like that. Even if we intend for something to happen, sometimes it is rather shocking to actually confront the results of our actions. I can't let Minerva off simply because she didn't gloat over the body of her victim. He was clearly dead at her hand, and then she stood there and very deliberately transformed his body into a log for her fire. I'm sorry, Albus, but from what I was able to see, Minerva is guilty."
"Perhaps, but the image has obviously been altered. Pieces of the memory seem to have been removed," Dumbledore said.
"If you're referring to the part that would have taken place between the murder and the transfiguration, I imagine that those memories were never there in the first place, but if they have been removed, there's no way to know who removed them. The most logical person to have done so would be Minerva herself."
"Why do you suppose there's no sound to the memories? I've never run across any other pensieve preserved memories that don't have sound. I find that very odd." He was curious to see how they intended to explain this aberration.
Bones shrugged. "I never have either, but that doesn't mean that there's anything sinister about it. These memories are very old. Most people don't expect to keep memories in a pensieve for fifty years or more. Perhaps age has worked against us and the magical mechanism in the pensieve has simply malfunctioned. I don't think it matters."
Dumbledore considered her thoughtfully. "Perhaps...then again, perhaps it matters a great deal, and we simply don't know why yet." He emitted a soft sigh.
"None of this makes any sense, you know," he added. "Even if this happened the way you're assuming, it makes no sense for Minerva to place these memories in this pensieve and then lose track of it. The logical move would have been to destroy the thing entirely, or, at the very least, to have kept it with her. Leaving it for her ex-husband to find is totally illogical. You've known Minerva for years, Amelia. Does that strike you as something that she'd do?"
A flash of uncertainty crossed Bones' face. "No. Actually, it doesn't, but then I never would have expected her to commit a crime like this either. Who knows why we do some of the things we do, Albus? Minerva was very young at the time. Obviously, she acted in haste…wasn't thinking clearly. She put the pensieve into hiding and then forgot it was even there when she and Ian divorced and she left his home. How the pensieve came to be found where it was is really irrelevant."
"Is it?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't be so sure of that. Not at all."
Bones shifted uncomfortably, rustling her stiff robes but said nothing.
Dumbledore sighed once more. Clearly he wasn't going to be changing her mind at the moment; there was no point in continuing with this now. "At any rate, thank you for letting me make an examination of the evidence. I'll be in touch to arrange another visit to Azkaban."
He nodded to her and turned towards the door, but she stopped him with a word and turned him back. "Two more things before you go, Albus. A date has been set for the trial. It will begin Monday morning. That gives you just five days. I know that's not a lot of time, and I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do to change it. The decision wasn't mine."
As he nodded grimly, she picked up a sheet of parchment from her desk and handed it to him. "Then there's this. I thought you should know as soon as possible."
That sounded ominous. Dumbledore took the parchment somewhat reluctantly and read it over quickly, raising shocked eyes to hers when he was finished.
"You can't be serious."
"I'm afraid we are. The decree just became law a short while ago. It's been in the works for sometime. I think that Minister Gallagher simply felt that now was the time to implement it." Bones clipped off her words and pressed her lips together into a thin line as if she was trying to hold back further commentary.
"Because Minerva could serve as his first example, I suppose. You've known Minerva almost as long as I have Amelia. How can you truly believe her guilty of murder or deserving of punishment this cruel? Even if she's convicted, she's lived an exemplary life for over half a century, helped and educated countless productive members of our society, surely that should count for something. She doesn't deserve to be treated this way."
Bones looked uncomfortable once more and her monocle flashed blindly in the glare from her office lamps. Her voice was softer as she answered, "I know Albus, and I'm sorry, but it's out of my hands. Besides, if you do your job properly, it won't matter, will it?"
Dumbledore straightened up determinedly. "No, it won't. I know that it doesn't look good at the moment, but somehow I will prove that you're wrong about all of this."
Bones nodded soberly. "I truly hope that you can."
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Next Chapter: Snape does something he never, ever thought he'd do in order to get a glimpse of Minerva.
