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 Three: At Last
Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway to the secluded storeroom full of books and watched the two people within as they patiently combed through the stacks of crumbling tomes that the room contained. He'd joined them in their searching last night, giving them all the meager details of the first day of the trial as the three of them looked through the books together. Neither of them had been particularly encouraged by what he'd had to say though, and the atmosphere in the room had remained as gloomy as its appearance.
Now as he watched his friends while they worked so hard to help Minerva, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern, both for the well being of the two in the room, who looked utterly exhausted, and for the success of their quest, which was looking more fruitless with each discarded book.
However, despite the dire way things looked at the moment, Minerva's life depended on what happened here in this room much more than it did on what happened in the courtroom, so it was important that none of them lose heart. Determinedly, Dumbledore stepped into the round, dusty chamber and addressed its busy occupants. "Good morning, Severus, Irma. Did either of you manage to get any sleep at all last night?"
Both Snape and Pince glanced up as he spoke to them, but only one of them bothered to favor him with a reply.
"Good morning, Headmaster," Pince stated with a weak smile. "I did get a few hours of sleep, but only because I was afraid that I was becoming so tired that I might miss something if I didn't. I'm not sure if Severus slept at all." She glanced uncertainly at her companion, who grimaced and raised his head reluctantly from the book he was almost finished with.
"I have no need of sleep at the moment. There'll be more than time enough for that once we've succeeded in finding the spell we're looking for," he stated flatly, obviously hoping not to be questioned further on this point. A hope that proved futile with Dumbledore's next words.
"Everyone needs sleep to function adequately, Severus. As Irma pointed out, it's easy to miss things when you're exhausted, and that wouldn't do Minerva any good at all."
"There are ways around the need for sleep, Albus. I will rest once the trial is over, and we've proved that Minerva is innocent." The glare that he shot across the room would have stopped the inquiries of most people, and his tone stated quite clearly that he wasn't about to argue about this any longer. Dumbledore took the hint. After all, there wasn't much time left, and if they didn't find what they were looking for soon, then they'd all have ample time to rest and regret it.
Irma Pince sighed and looked up at Dumbledore once more. "What's going to happen today at the trial?"
"I hope to speak to the Ministry Obliviators who checked Minerva for the scar that you saw in her mind, Severus. While none of us can prove that the memories that were removed were her memories of this incident, it's still suggestive that the scar exists at all, and bringing it up should encourage further doubts about the situation. After all, if someone obliviated memories from Minerva's mind, then they must have known what those memories contained and had a compelling reason to destroy them. Hiding the evidence of a murder would certainly qualify as such a reason," said Dumbledore sensibly.
Snape drew his eyebrows together in a tight dark scowl. "And who would have had a greater opportunity to do so than her "loving" husband, himself a trained Obliviator?" The scorn fairly dripped from his lips.
This bit of information shocked Irma Pince, who turned to Dumbledore in amazement. "Ian Standish is an Obliviator?"
"He trained as one in his youth, and was highly qualified in the field during the time of his marriage to Minerva," Dumbledore stated mildly.
"That…that…" words failed her as she struggled to express her disgust for the man they'd all come to despise. "That pusillanimous cretin!" she finally succeeded in exclaiming.
No argument was put forth from her companions.
"Indeed, " agreed Dumbledore with a faint twinkle in his eye. Then he sobered and continued discussing the coming day of testimony. "In addition to examining the Obliviator, I'll be putting on one or two character witnesses for Minerva today, but I don't expect that their testimony will take up that much time. The evidence against her was all presented and discussed yesterday, as was Standish's interests in Minerva's estate."
"Will Minerva testify?" asked Irma.
Dumbledore shook his head. "She didn't want to testify. She says that there's nothing that she can add to the proceedings since, without her memories, she has no knowledge of the incident in question. She couldn't answer any questions about anything that happened, and asking the questions would only allow Gallagher to go through all that damaging material again with no rebuttal from her."
"She could testify about Ian's attempt to blackmail her!" exclaimed Irma hotly.
"She could, but it would only be her word against his, nothing more."
Dumbledore sighed as Irma fell silent with a dissatisfied expression on her face. "I will attempt to stretch out the proceedings for as long as possible, but the trial is unlikely to go into a third day of testimony," he stated quietly.
With a look of fear in her eyes, Irma turned and looked at the mountain of books that they still had to go through, while Snape merely slammed shut the book he'd now finished with and got to his feet to place it with the rejects.
"Then it seems to me that the most helpful thing you could do at this point is to get out and let us keep working, Albus," he snarled abruptly.
Irma threw him a reproachful glance. One really shouldn't speak to the Headmaster that way, but she didn't dare to utter any protest as she looked at his stony countenance. Snape was a tense bundle of very raw nerves at this point, and the last thing she wanted to do was to say anything that would cause him to explode. They all knew what was at stake here, and time was running out. Even though he was ruder than he should have been, Snape was right. They needed to get back to work.
However, Dumbledore wasn't fazed in the slightest by the rudeness of his Potions master. In fact, he agreed with him and expected nothing else.
"You're right, Severus," he stated mildly. "It's time that I headed off to the Ministry. I…hope I'll see one or both of you there later today."
"As soon as we have anything worth showing to you, Albus, you'll be the first to know." Snape grabbed the next book in the pile that awaited him and buried his nose in it, not even glancing up to say goodbye. Pince and Dumbledore exchanged brief but encouraging smiles, and the Headmaster turned and left the room, closing the door tightly behind him.
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Dumbledore stood before the bench with the interest of everyone in the room focused tightly on him and called Arabella Figg to come forth and testify.
Immediately, Mrs. Figg rose from her place in the audience and began to push her way down through the rows of gawkers who were suddenly surprised to find themselves in actual contact with a real live witness. Everyone scrambled to get out of her way as quickly as possible, and the gaggle of humanity that crowded the room parted like a curtain, allowing the elderly woman to make a relatively dignified entrance down onto the main floor of the courtroom.
Minerva turned and watched her old friend make her way through the gaping throng, and was touched to see the effort that she'd made with her appearance. The ratty housecoat and tartan carpet slippers that made up her usual ensemble had been replaced today with a tasteful, if somewhat old-fashioned, robe of a conservative cut and a new looking pair of sensible tie oxfords which Arabella was making full use of if someone didn't pull their feet out of her way fast enough.
Once she'd made it down out of the visitor's tier, she paused and readjusted her garments, smiled encouragingly at Minerva, then raised her head confidently and crossed the room to the chair reserved for witnesses. Having already testified at one hearing, when she vouched for young Harry last year, she felt that she had some idea of what to expect this time around, and so was a bit more confident in her demeanor. She also had had a touch more warning this time than she'd had the last time she'd come to the Ministry to participate in a trial.
Taking her time, she settled herself in the waiting chair and smiled politely at Albus Dumbledore as he approached her.
Dumbledore nodded pleasantly. "Thank you for coming. Please, state your name for the court."
"My name is Arabella Doreen Figg," the witness stated in a clear, loud voice.
"Mrs. Figg, do you know the accused, Minerva McGonagall?" asked Dumbledore.
Mrs. Figg nodded vigorously, wanting to leave no doubt. "Yes, I do. I've known Minerva McGonagall since we were both girls, so as to say, pretty much most of her life and mine."
Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back and strolled casually around the floor. "What kind of person would you say she is?"
"Minerva McGonagall is one of the finest, most decent, hard-working people I've ever known. Never raises her voice, 'cept when she has no choice, of course; she's kind and helpful, good to everyone. A real lady, and let me tell you, they're scarcer than hen's teeth around these parts." She directed a glare at the audience as if daring them to disagree. Of course, nobody did.
"So you must have been rather shocked to hear of these proceedings then." Dumbledore paused in his pacing and turned back to look at his witness.
"Shocked! I'll say I was shocked. You could've knocked me over with a feather. I've never met a finer woman. She'd never hurt a soul…what didn't deserve it." As Dumbledore winced slightly, Figg anxiously backpedaled. "You know, if she was attacked or something. After all, she ended up in St. Mungo's just last year for coming to the rescue of an innocent person who was being viciously attacked by hooligans who worked for this very Ministry. But casting spells in the defense of yourself or others is a far cry from murdering anyone."
Figg straightened up and bristled with indignation. "The very idea that Minerva'd murder a living soul is unthinkable, and the whole of the wizarding community should know that. After all," she pointed an accusing finger out at the enthralled audience. "How many of you were taught by this woman? When she was teaching you Transfiguration, she likely taught the lot of you right from wrong as well, which ought to have clued a few of you in that she knows the difference herself."
She nodded decisively and turned a disapproving glare on Gallagher as he sat quietly at the prosecution's table and made hurried notes on a piece of parchment. "You should all be ashamed of yourselves for even suggesting such a thing. Minerva McGonagall a murderess? Nonsense! The very idea is laughable."
Dumbledore smiled serenely at his witness and executed a short bow. "Thank you, Mrs. Figg."
"Just telling the truth," exclaimed the woman firmly.
Then, as Dumbledore turned and headed back towards the defense table, Mrs. Figg rose to her feet, but before she could move away from the witness chair, Minister Gallagher stood up and stopped her.
"I have a few questions before you go, Mrs. Figg." He smiled pleasantly, and with a slightly wary expression, the older woman sank back down into the chair and waited for him to begin.
Gallagher stepped forward and addressed the nervous woman politely. "You're a Squib, aren't you, Mrs. Figg?"
Mrs. Figg frowned and raised her head a notch. "Yes, I am, but I don't see what that's got to do with anything. Just because I can't cast fancy spells like you can don't mean that I can't tell the difference between a decent, upright, honorable person and a no-good phony," she exclaimed hotly as she glared askance at the acting Minister of Magic.
"I'm sure that's true," said Gallagher smoothly. "How did you and Professor McGonagall meet, anyway?"
"We're close to the same age, and we met when we were both children. My mother was a dressmaker. She used to make all of Minerva's mother's dresses…some of Minerva's, too," answered Mrs. Figg with a touch of defiance in her tone.
"So she was an employee of the McGonagalls?" Gallagher's eyes gleamed with interest.
"No. She owned her own shop, which Mrs. McGonagall used to patronize as she could recognize quality when she saw it, and my Mum was the best in the area at what she did. Minerva would come into the shop with her mother quite often, and the two of us would play together. We played games and talked about what it would be like when we'd both go off to Hogwarts, mostly." She smiled wistfully.
"I see. So she treated you as an equal then, did she?"
"Yes, she did, even though we weren't exactly on the same social footing, you might say, but that didn't matter to her. Minerva was always kind and thoughtful to everyone no matter who they were, or who their parents were. Quality always shows, that's what my old Mum always said, and Minerva was quality down to her fingertips. Still is!"
Mrs. Figg nodded emphatically and smiled across the room at her old friend, who smiled gratefully back.
Gallagher's lips tightened fractionally, and he stepped closer to the witness chair. "So it's your assertion that Minerva McGonagall's behavior towards you never took your divergent social positions into account? That she never treated you as less important even though by your own admission, you weren't on the same social strata?"
"That's right." Mrs. Figg's face took on a stubborn cast.
"Forgive me, Mrs. Figg, but I find that rather difficult to believe. It seems to me that the truth is that regardless of your childhood relationship with Minerva McGonagall as you both grew up, your stations in the wizarding world diverged rather markedly, and I cannot believe that that didn't make a difference in your relationship."
"Well…" Mrs. Figg began, but Gallagher didn't give her time to get any further.
"After all, you did not go to Hogwarts with Professor McGonagall, did you?" he asked accusingly.
"No, obviously, I didn't, but…"
"And as a result of that, the two of you didn't remain in close contact, did you?" Gallagher raised an eyebrow.
"Well, no, I suppose not," Mrs. Figg admitted. "But we got back into contact later, and got to know each other again, and it was as if no time had passed at all."
"But time had passed, hadn't it? How much time, Mrs. Figg? A year? Ten years? Thirty?"
"Quite a bit…twenty or so years, I guess." Mrs. Figg shifted uneasily in her chair.
"So the truth is that you don't have any first hand knowledge of what sort of person Minerva McGonagall was during her marriage to Ian Standish or of how she treated or thought about those who worked for her."
"People don't change their spots that easily," she asserted firmly, trying to regain the ground she could see she'd lost.
"In your opinion…but you don't know. While Minerva McGonagall was married to Ian Standish, you weren't invited to the manor for tea, now were you?"
Mrs. Figg frowned. "No, I wasn't, but that don't matter a whit." The determined woman leaned forward in her chair and shook a reproachful finger at the smug man facing her.
"I know what you're trying to get me to say here, Mr. Acting Minister of Magic Gallagher, and it won't work. I've been listening to you and your implications and your snide remarks, and all I can say is, you're wrong. Minerva McGonagall never treated me any differently because I was a Squib or because my mother made her mother's dresses. So if you're trying to imply that she didn't care about this Henry Grant fellow because he was a servant and was beneath her socially, it's a load of twaddle! Class and social position don't matter to Minerva, and they never have!"
At the defense table across the room, Minerva allowed herself a smile for the loyalty of her friend.
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As stray dust motes danced in the meager shafts of sunlight that found their way through the small dirt encrusted windows in the room at the base of the Green tower, Irma Pince suddenly sat bolt upright in her chair and made an odd sort of strangled yelp. Snape's head snapped up instantly, and he turned away from the book he'd been plowing relentlessly through to stare across the table at his companion. "Have you found it?" he snapped anxiously.
Raising hopeful eyes to his, she nodded haltingly. "I'm not sure, but I think so."
With shaking fingers, she turned the heavy, black bound book in her grasp and slid it across the table to Snape who grasped it eagerly, pulled it towards him, and began to read where she indicated. While he read the spell information that filled the brittle page, Irma watched him tensely, hardly daring to breathe. It certainly appeared to be the spell that they were seeking, but she wouldn't dare to let herself believe it until Snape agreed with her. He'd be a much better judge than she was. As she watched his sharp eyes skim quickly across the faded lines of print, she prayed fervently to herself that it was the right one, and that their search was finally over.
A warm wash of excitement and relief flooded through her when she saw a satisfied smile spread itself across Snape's tired face draining away some of the ingrained tension as he whispered softly, "Yes. Yes, this is the one. This is it. At last."
The rare smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared though as he raised his head and met her anxious gaze with glittering eyes. "There's only one way to be absolutely sure, though. We'll need to test it out."
A little thrill of fear coursed through Irma at his intense gaze. She knew what that meant. Bravely, she nodded. "All right, let's do it, but this should work with any spell, right?"
Not sure why she was asking, he frowned as he answered, "That's what the book says, and I have no reason to doubt it."
"Good," Irma exclaimed happily. "So let's use something a bit less dangerous than Avada Kadavra to test it with, all right?"
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Next Chapter: Dumbledore discovers that he has more evidence to present after all.
