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 Six: Searching for Answers
Irma sighed and looked at the clock. Five more minutes and she could close the library for the night. Thankfully, most of the students had already left. Who wanted to spend their Friday evening in the library if they could help it after all, even this close to the end of term? Well, there was Miss Granger over in the corner, but even she looked as if she was packing up to go. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to argue with anyone about it being time to leave tonight because she was simply too darned tired to be overly polite about it.
What a horrible week this had been. It had started off so horrifyingly with Minerva being arrested before breakfast on Monday, and here it was Friday night, and what had passed between was simply a blur. Truly concentrating on anything other than what might be happening to her friend in Azkaban had been impossible. A small shipment of new Herbology texts had come in mid-week, and she'd had to re-catalogue them twice, and she still wasn't completely sure that she'd placed them properly because her mind just wasn't where it was supposed to be. Though, no doubt if they weren't right, she'd be sure to hear about it fairly quickly from Professor Sprout. At least she'd be nice about it if there were errors to be found. Thank heavens, the books hadn't been Potions' texts.
The main door swung shut with a sharp click, and Irma started at the sound and glanced quickly at the table where Hermione had spent the evening buried behind a large stack of books. It was empty. Only one or two books remained to be reshelved. Finally, it was time to check the stacks for lurkers and lock the doors. Her tired face grew grim. Then she could go back to her rooms and brood and pace the floor until it was time to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for awhile, following the pattern her hours had taken all week. She might not be able to do anything useful, but that certainly wasn't preventing her from worrying over the situation like a dog with a tasty bone.
The librarian got to her feet and turned towards the stacks to make her final evening rounds when the sound of the library door opening turned her back again. With surprise, she noted the dark figure of Professor Snape enter the library and glance around searchingly, apparently looking for her.
As she took note of his rather gaunt, pale face, she realized that she hadn't seen much of him over the last few days, not since their somewhat disheartening talk here within the stacks. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't even seen Snape at meals lately either, and she found herself wondering what he'd been up to, and whether or not it had anything at all to do with Minerva.
Whatever he'd been doing with his time, it hadn't been particularly good for him, judging by his appearance. Dark, ugly circles were now firmly etched into the pale flesh that surrounded his sharp eyes, and his robes hung somewhat loosely on his slender frame. His hair hung in lank and tangled strands, betraying even less care than was usually lavished on it. If appearances counted for anything, it appeared that this week hadn't been a good one for him either. In fact, it crossed Irma's mind that he looked very much as if he'd spent the week behind bars himself.
Then a shiver of apprehension ran through her, perhaps he had news to impart. Could that be why he was looking for her? If so, please let it be good news.
With her heart pounding a bit faster than it had been a few moments before, she called out to her after hour's visitor. "Good evening, Professor Snape. What can I do for you this evening? I was just about to close up."
Snape nodded and walked slowly across the intervening space to stand in front of her. He seemed oddly nervous, as if he was reluctant to speak to her for some reason. Which certainly wasn't the usual way that he approached her at all.
"Yes, I'm aware of the library's hours. I purposely waited until you were closing to approach you. I…need a favor." Snape's voice was soft and somewhat hesitant in tone.
Irma's eyebrows rose in surprise. Snape wanted a favor from her? This should be interesting.
"Certainly. How can I help you?" She watched him curiously.
His eyes shifted away from her face to scan the large shadowed room quickly. "Are we alone?"
"We should be. It's now past time for the library to close. I was just about to check the stacks to be sure that there weren't any students lingering in the far corners."
Snape nodded. "Why don't I help you with that, and then I'll tell you why I came. It would save time."
Severus Snape offering to help her finish her work? Now she was really curious. "All right. Why don't you check the restricted section, and I'll check out the regular stacks. It shouldn't take long."
With a brisk nod, he whirled around and strode across the room to do as she asked, disappearing from view down between two of the many rows of bookcases. Fortunately for the students' well being, no one was to be found lurking in the restricted section, but Madam Pince practically stumbled over the huddled form of Dennis Creevey, who was sound asleep in the back of one of the stacks next to a pile of books on magical creatures. She wasted no time waking him up and hustling him out of the library along with an armload of books that he wasn't even sure that he wanted. Once she'd locked the door securely behind him, she returned to her desk and the impatiently waiting Snape.
"We seem to be alone at last, Severus. How can I help you?" she asked.
"It's actually Minerva that I wish you to help," he said softly.
Her heart gave a leap. "Oh, how is Minerva? Do you know any more? When is the trial? Have they set a date? What can I do?"
Snape held up a hand and frowned. "Please. One question at a time. You're worse than Longbottom trying to get answers out of Granger."
A flush spread over her cheeks at his rebuke. "Sorry. It's just that it's been a very long week with virtually no news at all about what's been happening to her. I'm so worried. But if there's anything that I can do to help her, you should know that I'll do it. I told you that the last time we talked." Her fervent voice held a slightly chiding note.
He nodded. "Yes, I know you did." A sigh escaped his lips and suddenly he looked extremely tired. "Minerva's trial has been set for Monday morning."
"Monday? So soon. Will Albus be ready?" She held her breath waiting for his reply.
His ashen face set itself in grim lines. "As it stands now…no. There isn't anything that Albus has been able to come up with that can refute the evidence that the court will present against her."
Irma was horrified. "Oh, no. Oh, that's awful." She clutched at her arms and began to rub them as if suddenly chilled. "You mean that Minerva could end up having to stay in that horrible prison for the rest of her life," she whispered through stiff lips. That thought was almost unthinkable.
Snape's throat constricted slightly. If only that were true. At the very least, it would give them more time to help her. Should he tell Pince the truth? That if they weren't able to prove Minerva innocent, that there wouldn't be a rest of her life? No. It was bad enough that he knew it. There was no need to make things harder on Pince at this point. He needed her to be able to focus.
"I hope it won't come to that," he offered softly.
Irma raised her eyes to his seeking reassurance. "No, me either. You said you needed me to help her. Help her how?"
"You remember that I told you that there was a pensieve full of memories that appeared to be Minerva's."
She nodded. "Yes. You said that they seemed to show her casting…the Avada Kadavra."
Snape grimaced slightly. "Yes. That is what they seem to show. However, I don't believe that is the correct interpretation." How should he explain this? He didn't completely understand what he was looking for himself.
"I don't understand," she exclaimed. "Either they show that or they don't."
"The pensieve in question has no sound. No one can hear what's being said. It looks as if Minerva casts the killing curse because the victim, a man named Henry Grant, simply falls dead when she casts a spell on him, but because no one can actually hear what she said, it isn't certain."
"Well, that's good, right? It means there's some doubt." Irma looked hopefully at the Potions master.
He frowned and began to pace back and forth before her desk. "Yes, and no. Her wand clearly shows that the Avada Kadavra was cast."
Hope died once more. "Oh," she said in a small voice. "Then I still don't understand. That should confirm it, shouldn't it?"
"No!" Snape exclaimed emphatically, making Irma jump in surprise. As he noted her reaction, he stopped his pacing and took a deep breath before proceeding more calmly. "No. I don't think it's that simple. The sound was removed from the pensieve for a reason. I believe that that reason was to mask the fact that Minerva uttered quite a different spell than the one she's believed to have cast."
He paused before trying to explain. "When I was young, I vaguely remember hearing my father speak of a spell that could alter the cast spells of another. It took me a long time to even remember this much, and I don't remember any of the details, unfortunately. My father no longer can be asked about it, though I doubt he'd tell the truth regardless, but I have this fragment of memory stuck in my mind. The spell in question has a telltale washed out bluish green flash associated with it. The flash that accompanied the spell Minerva cast in the pensieve is that same color instead of the brilliant emerald it should have been if she'd actually cast Avada Kadavra."
Irma nodded. "I see. What does Minerva say about all this? Doesn't she remember what happened?"
"As a matter of fact…no. Someone oblivated this incident from her mind, most likely without her permission." He scowled darkly.
Irma's jaw dropped. "That's horrible. You mean that Minerva doesn't remember anything about this murder at all? Oh my goodness, she must be terrified. How dreadful to wonder whether you might have killed someone or not."
"She did not murder Henry Grant. I'm convinced of that," Snape snapped sharply. "Though I'll grant you, she probably did kill him. Still, if this spell was used, then it was used by someone else, and the fault lies with them…not Minerva."
"Well, can you demonstrate this spell? Show everyone how this could have been done?" Irma asked hopefully.
"That's why I'm here. I only have this faint childhood memory of hearing about the existence of this spell. It's not something that I've ever come across in actual practice. Obviously, it's extremely obscure dark magic. I can't prove it exists unless I can find the spell itself. I've spent every free moment of the last two days searching through all of dark arts spell books that I possess, only to come up empty. Then I searched through everything in the Headmaster's office, also to no effect. Now, I need to search…" he held a hand out in a sweeping gesture to indicate the library collection "…this. I was hoping that you might be willing to assist me."
Irma turned and looked at the collection as if she'd never seen it before. The two of them had to search all those thousands of books before Monday? Was it even possible?
"Severus, do you realize how long that would take with just the two of us? Can we get more people to help?"
"I know it won't be easy, but I'd rather not draft anyone else in this quest if I can avoid it. As it is, I was reluctant to include you in the search, but I doubt if I could simply physically look through that many books by myself, so I had little choice."
Now, it was Irma's turn to frown in annoyance. "Why were you reluctant to include me? You must know that you can trust me, and no one in this school knows the collection better than I do."
"I am well aware of that fact, Madam Pince. Trust had nothing to do with it. I'm just…unsure enough about what I'm searching for that I'm afraid if too many people do the searching, it might get overlooked. After all, I'm fairly confident that if I see the spell, I'll know if it's the right one, but how will you or anyone else be as certain? It's not your memory that we want to jog after all, it's mine."
She nodded reluctantly. It made sense, but could the two of them really get through all those books before Monday? Even if they narrowed their search as much as possible? Yes, they could. They had to, but it wouldn't be easy.
He cleared his throat awkwardly and looked down at her. "Still, you are quite right to say that you know the collection better than anyone else in the castle. I felt that if anyone here could aid me in this search, it would be you."
She suppressed a smile. That was quite a compliment coming from Snape, and she could see that he was a bit uncomfortable offering it.
"All right. Let's not waste any more time then. I assume that you think we should begin in the restricted section. From the way you've described this spell, it doesn't sound like something that would be in any of the more standard spell books. It wouldn't be appropriate material for the students to come across."
"No, if it's here, I'm quite certain that it would be in a more obscure tome without question. I can't imagine that it would be in the regular collection, so that narrows it down quite a bit right there." He turned to scan the immense room full of books with a bleak expression. There were still an awful lot of possibilities to be searched through. "I just hope that it can be found in one of them, because if it can't…" His voice trailed off faintly.
Irma went cold at that thought, and her heart caught in her chest once more at the grim and slightly lost look she saw in Snape's eyes.
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Ian Standish stood at the window of his private study and gazed out at his lands stretched out before him. His eyes followed the uneven ground of his snow dusted meadow, noting every sharp angled boulder, every sinuous tree that pushed itself up through its white robe, until it came to a small swiftly moving stream. The wide expanse of land on the other side of the stream rose gracefully into rolling hills covered here and there with tracts of tall straight timber. Rich land…beautiful land…McGonagall land. He'd coveted that land ever since he'd lost his grip on it nearly a half century ago. Now, it was within his grasp once more. You'd think he'd be more pleased, but somehow he wasn't savoring his impending victory nearly as much as he thought he would be.
A rustle of stiff cloth told him that he was no longer alone. With a small sigh, he downed the rest of his liquor and, thus fortified, turned to face his wife. For only she would dare to disturb him here. He found her holding the carafe of brandy in her bejeweled hand and staring at him with a look of disapproval on her wide face. Not that that indicated any change on her part. Disapproval had been her usual facial expression for as long as he could recall.
"A bit early in the day for this, isn't it, Ian?" Her voice was sharp and high pitched, and it grated on his rather frayed nerves.
Refusing to rise to her bait, he shrugged and turned back to the window. "I see no point in waiting."
Nelda replaced the brandy carafe on the sideboard with a thump. "No. You wouldn't," she said with a voice full of scorn.
Ian refrained from answering, and she crossed the room to stand beside him at the window. "So, will it now be yours?" she asked quietly.
Instead of answering her immediately, he turned away from the view and crossed to refill his drink from the crystal carafe. Once he'd replenished his courage, he sipped it slowly and finally turned back to face his waiting wife. "That's not certain yet."
"You're regretting this, aren't you? No." She held up a warning hand. "Don't bother to answer, I can see it in your eyes. You're finally beginning to realize that it's not only the land you've been coveting all these years; it's its owner. You're standing here dreaming of her, aren't you? You'd rather have some common murderess in your bed than the mother of your sons."
"Nonsense," he replied as his eyes slid from hers and he took a larger sip of his brandy. Shoving his other hand deeply into a pocket to still its slight tremor. "I was the one who turned in the evidence against her. I knew what I was doing, and I'd have hardly done it if I coveted her, as you suggest."
"Really? I'm certainly not convinced of that. I think this was simply another case of you not thinking things through completely. I can tell just by looking at you that you're regretting doing your duty and turning over that shocking pensieve you found. Did you offer it to her first? Try to use it as leverage, to get her to return to you? I know you Ian, you're always playing the angles."
Her voice became more emphatic…more strident. "Surely you made an attempt to get everything you wanted first before you went to extremes. I'm well aware that you've always regretted having to give up the heiress in order to get your heirs. You've never felt that I was as good as the high and mighty Minerva McGonagall. Certainly not as good as the all powerful Ian Standish deserved." Nelda's small eyes narrowed as she stared with contempt at her husband. "She wasn't even woman enough to be able to carry your children, yet you'd still take her back and put her over me, wouldn't you?"
With a snarl, Standish threw his glass into the nearby fireplace, not even noticing when the crystal shattered on the stones as he moved swiftly over to seize his startled wife by the wrist and twist it cruelly up behind her back. As she struggled against him and whined for her release, he placed his other hand against her throat and squeezed, just enough to make her eyes pop slightly and restrict her breathing.
"Yes, I would…in a heartbeat." He sneered contemptuously down into her face. "Minerva McGonagall is worth a hundred common trollops like you, my…dear…wife. You should be happy she turned me down. If she hadn't, I assure you, you'd already be out on your ample arse in the gutter. Now, get out of my sight before I decide that I'd be better off without you and send you packing anyway." With that he shoved her roughly away from him into the back of a settee.
Nelda grasped the wooden frame of the solid piece of furniture with a shaking hand and rubbed her abused throat as she gasped for breath. "You bastard," she spat. "I hope you never get your hands on the McGonagall lands."
"You'd better not get your wish, my dear, or you'll likely find yourself regretting it. Now, get out of my sight." He glowered furiously at her and took a single menacing step in her direction. With a pale face, she turned and fled, leaving him alone in the room once more.
Slowly, he turned back to the window, clenching and unclenching his fists as he stared out over his domain with unseeing eyes. What would happen if this scheme of his didn't work out as planned? What if, somehow, Minerva didn't get convicted? What if, even with his strong connections and excellent claim, he wasn't able to gain control of her estate after all? Could he survive the Dark Lord's ire?
Still trembling with anger and the sharp prickling of sudden fear, Ian returned to the sideboard for a fresh glass and another generous portion of brandy. No. He couldn't afford to think that way. It would work out. It would. Minerva would lose, and he'd win, and the Dark Lord would be appeased once more.
Once that happened, then it would be time to finally deal with his tiresome wife once and for all. That bitch was becoming far too much of a liability. She'd long outlived her usefulness to him anyway; there really wasn't any reason to keep her around any longer. Perhaps, once he'd fulfilled his obligation to the Dark Lord, the man might grant him a small boon in return and have some of his creatures dispose of her for him. Something painful and lingering would suit his tastes just fine.
After all, this whole untenable situation was all her fault in the first place. He'd never have had to go after Minerva this way if Nelda hadn't spent all his money and encouraged her wastrel sons to do the same. If it wasn't for her, he'd have been able to approach Minerva in a more leisurely fashion. With care and time to do a proper job of wooing her. Then she'd most likely have come back to him willingly, and brought her land with her.
Then she wouldn't be in Azkaban, waiting to die, and he wouldn't have to wait and worry over what would happen at that trial. Surely, she'll be convicted. It was a shame, and he never wanted that for her, but she brought it all on herself. He just had to be sure that it wasn't all in vain. He needed to get those lands. If it meant that Minerva had to die in order for that to happen, well, there was no turning back now. If he couldn't have her, at least no one else would either.
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Next Chapter: Minerva finds herself with time on her hands and too much to think about, while Severus is consumed with the desperate need not to fail.
