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 Eight: A Journey BeginsFootsteps echoed outside the door to her cell causing a slight shiver to run down Minerva's spine. It must be time to go. The day had dragged along so slowly that it had felt as if the weak winter sun was forever hovering over the point of a sundial, reluctant to fall and give the dominion of the moon its time. Night was finally winning its battle though, and the shadows outside her window had been growing longer and longer until the dimness of dusk swallowed them completely.
As she turned away from the darkening window, the door behind her opened, admitting Andrew Pitt with a cloak over his arm and a smirk lighting up his fleshy face.
"Good afternoon, Professor. Are you ready to go? It's time for your trip to the Ministry of Magic."
Minerva raised an eyebrow. "And if I said no, Mr. Pitt? Would I be allowed to remain?"
The man laughed, a short harsh sound. "I do admire your aplomb, I must admit. Most men who face what you're facing handle it all a whole lot worse, believe me. However, whether I admire you or not, it's still time to go, but cheer up. From what I hear, you'll only be at the Ministry for a day or two at the most, then you'll be right back here with us. Well, at least for a short while."
As Minerva swallowed back the stab of fear that jabbed her at his words, he stepped closer and lowered his voice. "I haven't decided yet whether or not to let Quent, and some of the other boys, give you a going away present before we string you up, so I'd advise you to keep your thoughts about your treatment here to yourself. I can make it quick or I can stretch it out for a long while. You might just think about that while you're away."
He met her eyes, and they stared coldly at each other for a long moment before Minerva looked away. It was a truly horrible feeling to be completely at the mercy of those who had so little mercy in their hearts.
Pitt grinned as she looked away, and gestured for one of the guards that backed him up to come forward. With a sly grin of his own, Roy stepped forward and yanked Minerva's arms firmly behind her back, tying them tightly with a strong piece of rope. Then, once she was securely bound, Roy stepped back and Pitt took the cloak from his arm and slid it around her shoulders.
"It's a long cold trip, Professor." His eyes met hers as he grinned while he fastened the cloak securely around her throat and caressed the skin of her cheek lightly with the back of his hand.
"And heaven forbid I should freeze to death before you can hang me, right?" she answered frostily.
Pitt laughed once more and shook his head. "I'm going to miss you, Professor."
"It's a shame I can't say the same, Mr. Pitt," she retorted coldly.
His only response was to laugh shortly again before he turned and left the cell. Roy shoved Minerva roughly until she followed his boss out the door, then the small group of them walked back down through the prison heading for the boat dock. Minerva's now painfully stiff muscles and joints forcing a fairly slow pace.
The trip back to the small square apparition platform was uneventful. In the gathering dusk, the prison island was nothing but a huge gray rock with waves lashing its sides. It fell away into the distance very quickly, and she felt a moment's relief at leaving it behind, even though it was a virtual certainty that she'd be returning all too soon, to die and be buried forever within its walls.
When the boat arrived at the platform, two Aurors were waiting for her. One of them, she didn't recognize at all, but the other one, to her surprise, was Kingsley Shacklebolt. The relief she felt at seeing him smile compassionately at her, was a surge of physical warmth. Other than Albus, she hadn't seen a friendly face since she'd been taken from Hogwarts, and she hadn't realized until this very moment how much that lack had hurt her.
Shacklebolt reached down and carefully helped her to climb up from the rocking deck of the boat, which she probably couldn't have managed alone with her arms tied behind her, and squeezed her elbow warmly as he did so. "Are you all right?" his low voice asked softly, concern quite obvious in his compassionate brown eyes.
She smiled hesitantly at him and nodded once as she murmured in return, "Yes, as well as can be expected."
The guards from the prison didn't linger long once she'd been turned over to the Aurors, though Roy did put a hand to his forehead in a mocking salute and give her his toothy grin as he jumped back down into the boat. "We'll be seeing you soon, I reckon," he called back, then with a laugh, he and his companion turned the boat away and headed back across the sea towards Azkaban.
Shacklebolt's partner produced a Portkey in the shape of a woolen scarf. The long sinuous piece of handicraft was draped around the three of them as they huddled together on the cold platform in the gathering darkness and sought protection and comfort from the bitter wind in the meager warmth of each other.
Minerva wasn't even aware of the change when it came, so lost in her thoughts was she, and the first she knew of it was when Shacklebolt shook her arm slightly and whispered, "We're here."
At the sound of his voice, she lifted her head and opened her eyes to see that they were standing in the middle of a narrow alley with brick walls and an unevenly paved surface beneath their feet. There was no sign of the red call box that she recalled from her previous trips to the Ministry of Magic, but then it occurred to her that they probably didn't take prisoners in through the front door as if they were ordinary members of the law abiding public.
So she simply straightened up and waited, enjoying that fact that for the first time in a week, she wasn't freezing. There was a light rain coming down, but it wasn't accompanied by the bitterly cold wind that had been her constant companion for days now. It wasn't even completely dark here, for though London was fairly far north in the global sense, it was nowhere near as northern a clime as the icy North Sea was.
The other Auror, a young red-headed man, whose name was apparently Jenkins, stepped a few paces away and aimed his wand at a pair of rusted metal doors imbedded into the pavement at their feet. With a muttered word and a flash of purple, the doors creaked open and a metal cage rumbled up out of the ground. Once it stood still at street level, waiting, Jenkins slid open the barred door and stepped inside. Shacklebolt gestured for Minerva to follow so she did. Once Shacklebolt himself had joined them, the door swung shut, and the cage began a slow and bone jarring descent back into the earth.
Minerva tilted her head back and watched as the metal doors closed over them, blocking out the gray sliver of daylight and plunging them into complete darkness. The ride down in the cage seemed to take forever, but in reality, it probably wasn't more than a minute. When the lift stopped, Jenkins slid the cage doors aside, then placed a glowing key against the facing wall. It split silently down the middle and opened to reveal a long featureless corridor.
They trouped slowly down the hall without saying a word. When they came to a cross corridor, Minerva looked to her left and noted a bank of lifts. They turned away from the lifts and walked down another featureless hallway, heading towards a plain black door. At least that's where she assumed that they were heading since there didn't seem to be anywhere else they could go.
She was wrong, though. Just before they reached the black door, the corridor walls fell away on the left and revealed a set of stairs leading further down. They turned here and descended the stairs. So far there had been no sign that anyone else was anywhere within the structure. No voices, no people, not even the sound of distant footsteps, and the total silence was beginning to unnerve the already tightly wound woman.
All this walking was beginning to wear on Minerva, too, and her left leg in particular ached rather fiercely by this point. The constant severe weather at the prison had been very hard on her physically even without all the added abuse. When she looked at the two burly men with wands at the ready who were deemed necessary to prevent the escape of one bound and injured elderly witch, she couldn't help but shake her head at the irony. Apparently, she really must be a more fearsome creature than she'd ever imagined.
When they finally reached the end of the staircase, just for a moment, Minerva thought she was back at Hogwarts. Where the corridors on the upper floor had been brightly lit and of more modern appearance, this level looked positively medieval. The walls and floors were lined with dark stone, and the lighting was provided by widely spaced smoky torches set in wrought iron wall sconces.
They moved off down the corridors past one heavy, locked door after another. As they came to the end of the corridor and turned into another one, Minerva's attention was drawn to the large open room in front of her. Her footsteps faltered, and she veered to the side and stopped so that she could look within.
As she quickly scanned the huge darkened room, she realized that she'd been here before, many years earlier. Indeed, its haunting image was forever burned into her memory. This was where they'd tried the Death Eaters after Voldemort's first fall.
Jenkins gave a short exclamation at her stopping, but Shacklebolt laid a hand on his arm and quietly told him that he'd handle it. The younger man frowned slightly, but gave a reluctant nod and stepped back, clearly willing to defer to his more experienced partner, though still a bit unhappy at this deviation from their orders.
Minerva's worried eyes took in the row after row of empty benches where the public would sit. Then she turned to look up at the tall shadowy benches where the judges would be. But her eyes kept coming back to that single wooden chair, as it stood alone in the center of the room with its chains lying quiescent by its side. In her mind, she already sat in that chair, and was bound by those chains, as the room full of faceless people smirked at her and called out for her punishment.
Suddenly, she became aware of a warm hand descending lightly onto her shoulder. Stiffly, she turned her head and looked up into Shacklebolt's understanding eyes.
"The trial won't be held here, Minerva," he said gently.
Her lips parted in surprise. "Then where?" she whispered.
Grasping her arm gently, he guided her back into the hallway, and they slowly continued on. "They've constructed a new courtroom on the Atrium level of the Ministry for civil and criminal trials. It has easier access to the lifts for the general public. It's also a bit larger, so they can have a wider audience. Something that Minister Gallagher insisted on." His expressive face darkened slightly.
"No doubt," murmured Minerva in response.
"It's much brighter than this one, too. No dark torches and heavy stone. The new courtroom is much lighter and more open. It should photograph extremely well," he stated dryly.
Minerva sighed. Just as she'd feared. "Is there…is there a chair?" Her voice faltered.
"With chains?" he asked gently.
She nodded. For some irrational reason, the thought of sitting bound by those horrible chains, in front of so many people she knew, distressed her even more than the thought of her execution did.
"No. No chair. No chains. The accused has the right to have a defender by his or her side, so a different approach has been taken here. There are only five seats on the bench, which isn't quite as tall, and facing it will be two tables. One where the defendant and his or her defense council will sit, and the other for the appointed interrogator, who will present the evidence."
That sounded much better to Minerva, and she nodded with a sense of relief.
Just then, they came to a stop in front of one of the heavy wooden doors with the large iron locks on them. Two guards of impressive size stood menacingly to either side. Another indication of how important, and apparently dangerous, a prisoner she was being made out to be. Jenkins nodded to one of the guards and then waited until the man had unlocked the cell door and stepped back, before opening it and stepping aside waiting for Shacklebolt to make the next move. The tall Auror gestured for Minerva to precede them inside, so she squared her shoulders and did so.
The cell she entered was an infinite improvement over the ones she'd had at Azkaban. There was a cot against one wall with warm looking blankets, and a pillow that didn't look as if someone had stomped all over it with muddy hobnailed boots. Against the opposite wall, there stood a small table and a couple of chairs, and best of all, there was an attached lavatory. No more chamber pots. She'd never appreciated indoor plumbing quite as much as she did now after doing without it for an entire week. How anyone survived for years under those dismal conditions, she didn't even want to think about, but with a sudden pang, she realized that that at least would never be her fate. This room was actually warm and was decently lit as well. No window, but she wasn't expecting that this far underground.
Once inside, Kingsley removed the cloak from her shoulders and the chafing rope from her wrists. As she turned to face him while rubbing the circulation back into her hands, he took note of the torn and dirty rags that she was wearing, and frowned.
"I'll speak to my superiors about providing you with something better to wear, Minerva, and perhaps the chance to use a shower facility. In the meantime, I can do this much for you."
He withdrew his wand and cast a mild scouring charm on her. As it swept over her, she could feel the change it made as her hair fell softly once more instead of hanging in limp, greasy strings; the clothes on her back felt less stiff, and her hands were no longer caked with dirt. The best change, though, was that the incredibly embarrassing odor of sweat and blood and grime that had been her constant companion for days, vanished in an instant.
Her eyes filled with tears as she looked through suddenly clear spectacles at the difference it made in her hands. Slowly, she lifted one of them and ran it through her hair, feeling its softness once more. "Oh, thank you," she whispered. "That feels so much better."
Shacklebolt smiled slightly, though a frown still lingered in his eyes as he took in all of her bruises and cuts. "You're quite welcome. I wish I could do more, but my healing skills aren't the best. Now, you just relax, someone will be bringing you dinner before long, and I know that Dumbledore will be by this evening to visit."
She nodded gratefully.
"And try not to worry, too much," Shacklebolt added as he paused in the doorway. "Dumbledore will find a way to prove your innocence. You just need to have a little faith."
Minerva stood in the middle of the room and stared thoughtfully after Shacklebolt as he closed the door and left. "Have a little faith…" she murmured.
In what? Faith that Albus could pull a hare from the hat? Wasn't that the Muggle phrase that was used to mean a last minute success at something by means of a miracle? Well, it would take a miracle to turn her situation around, and somehow she just couldn't quite make herself believe that even Albus could manage one of those. Not this time.
Slowly, she turned around and hobbled over to the cot. Gratefully, she sank down onto its soft surface. With a wistful smile, she ran a caressing hand across the surface of the snowy pillowcase. Clean sheets. Clean sheets, and warm blankets, and a bed that didn't feel as if it had rocks for mattress ticking. Perhaps, that was all the miracle she should expect. At least for tonight, she'd rest well. If she could get her mind to stop running in circles, of course.
The smile faded from her lips. Tonight and probably tomorrow night, but after that, how many more would she have? How many days were left to her now? Two, three…four? Probably no more than that. Suddenly a shiver of the deepest fear shook her whole body, and her trembling hand crept upward to rest gently on her throat.
Would it hurt much to be hanged? To strangle to death as the weight of your own body prevented breath from reaching your lungs. How could it not hurt? Could she really manage to continue pretending to be brave when she was faced with that reality? For that's what it felt like, as if she was merely playacting. Putting on a brave front because that was expected of her. The Head…no, the former Head of Gryffindor House should never be seen as anything other than brave. It's what was expected by everyone, but could she do it in the face of all this? She covered her mouth with her hands and leaned back against the wall. She honestly didn't know.
A noise at the door roused her from her fears, and she sat up straight once more. Would this be Albus? If it were, would Severus be with him? How would she react if she saw him again? She wanted to…desperately. But could she somehow keep from embarrassing both of them?
Her heart pounded harder in anticipation, as the door began to creak open, and she heard one of the guards say gruffly, "You won't have much time, sir."
The voice that answered stilled the breath in her chest as effectively as any noose.
"That's all right. I won't require very much time. I'll knock when I'm ready to leave."
Then before she could even manage to take another breath, the door swung inward and Ian Standish walked into the cell.
Minerva gaped at him in amazement. Standish had more gall than anyone she'd ever met. Having her tried, and no doubt convicted, for murder apparently wasn't enough for the man. He had to come and gloat, as well.
As the door swung shut and locked behind him, Ian turned his gaze on Minerva and frowned slightly, a bit more shaken by what he saw than he'd expected to be. In her dress of rags and with bruises covering her face, she hardly looked like the same woman that he last saw glaring at him as she boldly refused his offer of help. The expression of utter contempt that she directed his way did look familiar, though, unfortunately.
Well, everything that had happened was her choice. He'd offered to help her, hadn't he? If she was too proud and arrogant to take him up on it, then so be it. Her death was on her own head…not on his. Perhaps her week in prison had given her a bit more wisdom. He could only try and see.
He smiled confidently. "Hello, Minerva."
Narrowing her eyes, Minerva pushed herself slowly to her feet to face the man who'd destroyed her life.
Outrage flowed through her veins like heady wine. "What the hell are you doing here, Ian?"
Good question. As he stood facing her obvious fury and scorn, it suddenly dawned on him that coming here had probably been a mistake, but something within him had forced him to make this one last attempt to get her to see reason, to make all this easier on them both. At any rate, it was too late to change things now, so he took a deep breath and soldiered on.
With studied casualness, he raised his shoulders and let them drop. "What with the trial starting tomorrow, I thought that this might be our last chance to talk."
She straightened up and spoke coldly. "What makes you think we needed another chance to talk? I've said all that I have to say to you. I despise you more than anyone else on the face of this earth. If you had any doubt, now you don't. Now, get out and stop fouling my cell with your presence."
"You know all of this unpleasantness could have been easily avoided. If you'd just cooperated with me," he stated reasonably.
"Cooperated?" she cut him off sharply. "You mean if I'd given in to your blackmail, returned to your repulsive arms, given you control over my wealth, you'd have buried the evidence of a murder? That fact disturbs me greatly. Mostly because it doesn't disturb you in the slightest."
Her tone continued sharp and angry. "You've known about Henry Grant for years, haven't you? Were you aware of his death when it happened? Were you the one who obliviated the memories from my mind, Ian? Then waited all this time until you could use it to your own advantage? You're a bigger monster than I ever dreamed that you were, and that's saying something."
Her fury battered at him like a physical presence, and he took an instinctive step back towards the safety of the corridor.
"I can still help you, if you'll only listen to me." He spread his hands imploringly. "If you'd confess… explain…throw yourself on the mercy of the court, I have it on good authority that Amelia would find a way to commute the death sentence. Mercy to such a well-known pillar of the community would play well, you know. Upstanding citizens always like to believe that someone they consider one of their own will be treated better than the common rabble. Grant had a reputation as an unsavory character. No one will care that much about him anyway. You wouldn't have to die, and I'd do all that I could to see that your imprisonment was as pleasant as possible. I might even be able to get you moved out of Azkaban. Of course, I'd expect payment for my support. You'd still have to sign over your estate to me."
Flabbergasted by his brazenness, she simply stood there and stared at him for a moment. Then as swiftly as she could manage, even with a decided limp, she crossed the room and slapped his face as hard as she was able.
"Get out!" she screamed. She was so livid with rage by now that her body was trembling from head to foot.
Pressing a hand to his reddened cheek, Ian backed swiftly away from her ire and knocked firmly on the cell door.
"Guard!" he bellowed.
As the door swung open, Ian stepped towards the opening and paused to look back with a vicious expression on his face. "You'll regret that, Minerva. That was your last chance. I've already spoken to several very highly placed and sympathetic individuals about obtaining your estate. Once you're dead, it will be mine. You've achieved nothing here except the certainty of your death."
"Oh, I don't know about that," she retorted. "I've wanted to slap your face again for a very long time. Who says that wishes never come true?"
With a final glower, Standish swept from the room and the door slammed and locked behind him.
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Next Chapter: Minerva gets to see Severus again. If this chapter contains formatting errors, I apologize. I can't seem to use the preview/edit feature at the moment.
