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 Forty One: And So It Begins…

Minerva felt as if her insides had turned to ice, and she had a hard time not shivering as she stood with Albus and two burly guards in a small anteroom off the new courtroom that Minister Gallagher had created on the Atrium level of Ministry Headquarters. She peeked inside the large, airy room through a crack in the door and watched as the banks of seats filled up with chattering members of the general public, all of them apparently eager for the spectacle to begin.

How would they react when she was brought in? Would they jeer at the murderess? Or would they simply whisper loudly behind their hands to each other, trying to assess the truth of the matter. Which would be harder to ignore?

Turning away from the audience, Minerva considered the rest of the room. The main bench where the Wizengamot interrogators would sit was definitely lower and more accessible than the one in the shadowy courtroom hidden away in the lower depths of the building, but it still looked extremely intimidating to her. Set at an angle in front of the bench, there was a single chair waiting to be occupied by the various witnesses who would be called to present evidence. The tables for the defense and the presenting interrogator faced the bench from opposite sides of the room. There wasn't a chain in sight. A small thing to be grateful for, she reminded herself.

Albus touched Minerva lightly on the shoulder. "It's time to go in. Are you ready?"

She glanced up into his confident and familiar face and nodded, attempting a weak smile. "As ready as I ever will be, I suppose." Deliberately, she straightened up and lifted her chin. No matter how much she doubted her chances at this trial, nor indeed, how uncertain she was about her own guilt, she wasn't about to let Albus down by appearing weak and cowardly in front of the court. He was doing his best to defend her. The least she could do was appear worthy of his defense.

His hand tightened briefly in reassurance, and then dropped away from her to rest at his side. Pushing open the door, they entered the room together. An orgy of flashbulbs burst in the quiet air, startling her briefly, though they shouldn't have. She certainly knew that the press would not be excluded from this little show trial. Indeed from the number of questions that were hurled in her direction to accompany the bright popping, it almost seemed as if the press made up the majority of those awaiting the start of the trial.

She tried to keep her gaze focused only on her seat, but she couldn't help but look up once or twice as they crossed the room. Most of the faces that stared back at her were complete strangers, or only vaguely familiar, and it was impossible to tell their level of hostility from only a quick glance. She could only hope that they all hadn't already made up their minds about her guilt.

In reality, it was only a few steps from the doorway to the table where they were to sit for the duration of the trial, but it seemed like an eternity passed before they'd managed to cross that space and Minerva could slip into her seat, turn her back to the mass of staring, whispering people, and focus on the bench where the people who held her life in their hands would sit.

As she pulled out her chair to sit down, waiting for the latent flashbulb dazzle to go away and her vision to properly return, she caught a brief glimpse of a small island of friendly faces in the midst of the sea of gawkers. Molly Weasley, her son Bill, and Remus Lupin all smiled encouraging smiles in her direction from a spot halfway up the rows of spectators, and she tried to smile back at them. As hard as it was to feel confident about these proceedings, she was trying her best to appear outwardly calm and serene, and the unexpected sight of encouraging friends helped immensely.

Once Dumbledore and McGonagall were seated, a door on the other side of the room opened and Minister Gallagher swept in, followed several paces back by Percy Weasley, who was no doubt acting as Court Scribe for the trial. When Fudge had been Minister of Magic, he usually sat on the bench and presided over the trials as one of the panel, but Gallagher wasn't an official member of the Wizengemot, a detail he no doubt sought to remedy by attaining the position of Minister of Magic permanently.

Klaus Gallagher was a tall man with a shock of wavy blond hair. He had a square jaw and slightly hooded gray eyes, which seldom mirrored the smile that seemed perpetually engraved on his lips. He was a skillful politician, and this trial was his chance to shine. With confident strides, he crossed the room, smiled attractively for the audience, pausing so that he could be photographed to good effect, nodded solemnly to Dumbledore, and slid into his seat, artfully draping his sober black robes around him. The more awkward Percy trailed along in his shadow, and took his seat at the same table, importantly arranging and rearranging his parchment, ink and quill to his satisfaction.

Once the acting Minister of Magic had taken his seat, yet another door opened and three impressive personages dressed in plum-colored robes adorned with silver W's made their entrance. They crossed the room and took their seats in the center of the tall bench facing the audience. Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement sat in the middle, flanked by two men. One was a tall, slightly stooped elderly man with an enormous nose and beady, quick eyes, while the other was a younger, rather fat man with graying hair and a huge walrus moustache.

Once everyone was seated, Amelia Bones looked out at the courtroom, and picked up a gray marble ball that rested in a matching marble dish in front of her. Swiftly, she struck the dish with the ball, eliciting a sharp retort that reverberated around the courtroom. When she removed her hand from the ball, it began to glow a bright purple, signifying the opening of the court.

"Nineteenth of December, murder trial of Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hogsmeade, Scotland is now begun. Interrogators: Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Athelbert Julius Carstairs, senior interrogator of the Wizengamot; Jeriah Marcus Blackstone, Undersecretary, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, presiding. Klaus Leander Gallagher, Acting Minister of Magic, chief prosecutorial interrogator. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, advocate for the defense. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley."

Madam Bones paused and scanned the courtroom, her monocle glinting sharply in the torchlight, but every eye was fastened on her and no sound, save for the occasional rustle of clothing, could be heard so she continued, "We will begin with a reading of the charges…"

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Snape sat at one end of a heavy oak table and carefully examined the book in front of him for traps and spells. It seemed to be clear, as most of them had been so far, though the first one he'd touched had had a very nasty stinging hex embedded in the spine. The fingers of his left hand still tingled slightly from his contact with it. So it seemed to pay to be careful, though he hated to waste the extra time. The massive pendulum that marked off the hours and minutes in his mind was getting louder and louder with each ponderous swing.

With a sigh, his companion closed the book that she'd been looking through and, getting to her feet, she took it across the room and placed it on a shelf that they'd designated for rejects. Books that didn't cover their subject matter, books that neither of them could read, and books that they'd eliminated from consideration after examining them thoroughly. The morning was still young and the pile of books quite small in comparison with those that were still waiting to be examined.

Irma turned around and placed a hand on her lower back, massaging the muscles as she tried to work a kink out before resuming her place at the table. Snape was passing books though his tests quite rapidly. At the rate he was going, they'd both be able to spend their time reading soon. Which was all to the good. There was a part of her that was terrified that she might not recognize the proper spell when she saw it.

In fact, she'd already asked Snape's opinion several times about things that she'd come across. None of these books seemed to be as cut and dried as those she was more familiar with. She found herself wondering if Dark Magic wasn't called dark simply because so often the explanations and descriptions of effects were so much more murky than for those dealing with spells of the light side of magic. Irma took her seat once more and pulled another crumbling tome towards her with a sigh. Maybe this one would be the one. She had to keep hoping.

Once he'd transferred his stack of books to Irma's side of the table, Snape got to his feet and crossed the room to the shelves where most of the waiting books remained. Slowly, he examined the titles on a single shelf. One of them was immediately levitated across the room to rest with the rejects, but the others were swiftly sent to his end of the table to be more carefully examined.

Extracting an ancient timepiece from his pocket, he flipped open the cover and examined the face. The trial had begun. Impatiently, he closed the watch and jammed it back into his pocket. Then he returned to his seat and began to examine the next batch of books for traps. With deliberate care, he banished Minerva's face from his mind. He couldn't afford to let images of what he couldn't change distract him from what he had to do. Thinking about her and what she was enduring wouldn't help. This was all he should be focusing on now. This was all he could do; he could only hope that it would be enough, and not too little…too late.

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"I call Mr. Ian Standish to give testimony," stated Minister Gallagher in a clear loud voice.

There was a brief rustling in the audience, and Ian Standish, wearing a dark blue robe of a conservative cut, rose to his feet from a seat several rows behind where Minister Gallagher was standing. He made his way to the front of the courtroom and strode briskly across the floor to seat himself in the chair that was intended for witnesses. With an air of confidence, he glanced around the courtroom, taking in the size and composition of his audience. When he came to the defense table, his gaze passed over both Dumbledore and McGonagall as if neither was there at all.

Once satisfied that he'd made his presence felt, he turned his attention politely to the bench and waited to be spoken to.

Madam Bones nodded to Ian cordially and said, "Please, state your name for the record."

"My name is Ian Kyle Standish." Standish complied with a pleasant smile.

Minister Gallagher had used the time while Ian was making his entrance to cross the room to a small table that stood against the front of the bench where the Wizengamot members sat. Now, he picked up a white stone bowl from that table and approached Ian with it held carefully in his hands. "The first thing we need to do, Mr. Standish is to have you identify a few items that we'll need to enter into evidence."

Ian nodded and leaned casually back in his chair. "Very well."

Gallagher held up the bowl. "Do you recognize this, Mr. Standish?"

"Yes, Minister. It's a pensieve that I found hidden in a concealed cupboard at my home. I turned it in to the Ministry myself." Somehow, he managed to look both highly self-satisfied and sadly disappointed at the same time.

Gallagher nodded and then he turned back to the table, set the pensieve down, and picked up a woman's ring that lay next to it. Crossing the distance to the witness chair again, Gallagher handed the ring to Standish.

"This is a small woman's ring made of gold with a stylized M engraved on it. Have you ever seen it before, Mr. Standish?"

Standish made a show of carefully examining the ring. "Yes, it's identical to a ring that Minerva McGonagall used to wear quite frequently. I haven't seen it in many years." He handed the ring back to Gallagher, who accepted it and returned it to the table without comment, exchanging the ring for a wand, which he also handed to the witness.

"Finally, do you recognize this wand, Mr. Standish?" he asked.

Ian nodded again as he accepted the wand, turning it lightly in his hands. "Yes. I found this wand in the same cupboard where the pensieve had been hidden." He handed the wand back to Gallagher.

"Did you recognize the wand? Was it yours by any chance?"

Ian smiled. "No. It certainly wasn't mine, but I did recognize it, although I hadn't seen it for many years. It was one that had belonged to my former wife, Minerva McGonagall."

There was a brief murmur from the avidly watching audience at this. Gallagher turned and shot a sharp look at Minerva as he asked, "The same Minerva McGonagall who sits here before us today accused of murder?"

"Yes. The very same," intoned Ian solemnly as his cold gaze fell on Minerva and forced her to work very hard to suppress a shiver of fear and revulsion.

"When was the last time that you saw that wand, Mr. Standish?" asked Gallagher calmly.

"Well, I don't remember for certain. Sometime early in our marriage. Minerva lost it, or claimed that she had at the time. I never saw it after that."

Gallagher nodded and returned the wand to the table. "Would the loss of the wand happen to correspond to the time of the disappearance of Henry Grant?" he asked casually.

Ian nodded. "Yes, as I recall, it did."

With a decisive smile, Gallagher continued, "Very well. We'll return to the matter of the wand later. Right now, I'd like to establish your relationship with the defendant."

Ian nodded and schooled his face into a somber expression.

"You have described Minerva McGonagall as your former wife. How long were you married?"

"We were married for six years. The marriage was dissolved amicably almost fifty years ago."

"I see. May I ask why you divorced?"

"I needed to produce an heir to carry on the family line. After a time, it became apparent that Minerva wasn't able to have children. Ours had been an arranged marriage. There were clauses in the marriage contract that allowed for the dissolution of the marriage with no loss to either party if children could not be produced from the union. We invoked that clause and divorced quietly."

Minerva tried to ignore a sudden tightening of her throat. Though Ian hadn't said anything that wasn't true, to hear her most private pain spelled out so coldly, in such a public forum, felt as if someone had plunged a knife into her heart. She resolutely kept her eyes riveted to the front of the courtroom, not daring to look either to the right or left in case she caught anyone's eye.

"Were you acquainted with Henry Grant, the victim in this proceeding?" asked Gallagher.

"Yes, of course. He worked for me during my marriage to Minerva. He took care of the horses and lived in a flat over the stables. He seemed to be a good worker, though I didn't really know him that well personally." Ian shifted uncomfortably in his chair and his eyes slid away from the Minister for the first time. Suddenly, Minerva had a strong sense that he was lying. Somehow she had a feeling that Ian had known Henry Grant much better than he was willing to admit.

"Was it a surprise when he disappeared from your employ?" asked Gallagher.

"Oh, yes." Ian nodded emphatically. "One day he was there, and the next he was gone. I was very surprised."

"Didn't that concern you?" Gallagher sounded surprised himself.

"His going was a surprise, the fact that he'd done it wasn't all that much of a shock. Grant had a reputation as a somewhat casual worker, so it didn't seem too hard to believe that he'd simply decided to leave without telling anyone. His rooms over the stable had been cleared of his belongings, so the natural thought was that he'd done it himself and left voluntarily. I'd had some misgivings about hiring him in the first place because of his reputation for being a bit unreliable, but he was very good with the horses and good groomsmen could be difficult to find, so I gave him a shot. Up until this point, it seemed to have worked out just fine."

Gallagher turned and deliberately paced away from Ian towards the audience before swinging back and asking the question he'd been aiming at. "How did you happen to find this pensieve that revealed a rather different end to your association with Grant than you'd believed to this point?"

Ian settled comfortably into his chair and assumed a serious demeanor. "The pensieve was hidden in a secret cupboard in the back of a wardrobe in the room that had belonged to Minerva while we were married. No one had used that room since she left me. My current wife preferred the more lavish suite on the other side of my own bedroom. Since the children's rooms and the guest rooms were all in other wings of the house, I simply left Minerva's room the way she left it and no one really gave it much notice."

"So what sent you into the room now?" the Minister asked.

"My wife, Nelda, had decided that she wanted to redo much of the house. She wanted to turn Minerva's old room into an office for herself. Nelda has always been a bit…sensitive…about Minerva. I think that she's always felt a bit inadequate in comparison to my first wife, though she has no real reason to, certainly. Yes, her family history isn't quite as illustrious as the McGonagalls, but that's really irrelevant in the face of the fact that she was able to provide me with three fine sons to carry on the Standish line."

Ian's eyes gleamed faintly, and he glanced pointedly at Minerva who stared back as impassively as she could manage. Failing to get the reaction he apparently hoped for, he turned away and continued, "I've always tried to reassure Nelda on this point, but that feeling has seemed to persist. Anyway, I thought that before she went into the room to see what she wanted to have done with it, I'd take a look through it to be sure that there weren't any lingering reminders of Minerva to cause her any unexpected pain. While I was inspecting a wardrobe, I happened to put my hand against the back wall and a hidden compartment opened up. When I looked inside, I found both the pensieve and the wand resting on the floor."

Gallagher glanced significantly towards the audience for a moment to judge the reaction to this statement before turning back to Standish to inquire, "What did you do then?"

"Well, I was surprised, of course. I certainly had no idea that a hidden cupboard was even there. Naturally curious, I removed the wand and the pensieve and seeing that the pensieve contained memories, I looked inside to see what those memories were."

"And what did you find when you looked into the pensieve, Mr. Standish?" Gallagher's voice held a note of anticipation.

"I found myself in the old stables along with my former wife, looking just as she had when we were married. It seemed clear that the memory in the pensieve belonged to her, and I followed her into the stable as she sought out Henry Grant. I watched, at first quite mystified, and then equally horrified, as Minerva argued with Grant and then drew her wand and cast a spell that struck him down before my eyes. As I continued to watch in shocked dismay, she knelt and checked to be sure that he was dead."

"And was he?" asked Gallagher pointedly.

"Oh, yes," exclaimed Ian. "Henry Grant was most certainly quite dead, and as far as I could see, Minerva was the one who killed him."

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Next Chapter: The trial continues and Dumbledore gets his chance to question Ian Standish.