A/N - thanks for the reviews - I'm glad you are enjoying the tale so far.

Repentance – part 8

The strained atmosphere surrounding the Headmaster and his Deputy was a matter of discussion at Hogwarts over the weeks that followed. Numerous theories were offered to explain the coolness between them, with many observers attributing the rift to the arrival of Severus Snape as junior potions master. Anyone who knew her well felt sure that Minerva would object strenuously to the presence of such a person within the school – let alone with a teaching position.

If those who understood more of what went on in the castle thought there might be a personal element at play, then they kept that opinion to themselves and the two people in question politely, but determinedly, rebuffed all attempts to discuss the subject. Slowly but surely everyone adjusted to the new situation, to the entirely professional but distant relationship between the school's two most senior staff. Except, though it was carefully hidden, the Headmaster and his Deputy were both thoroughly miserable.

Minerva wasn't sleeping well. Her dreams were filled with tangled, confused images; they flickered between two sets of memories before veering into darker realms, in her nightmares other aspects of her friendship with Albus were betrayals.

She had taken to waking in the cold light of dawn, sipping scalding hot tea as she watched the mist creep across the grounds. And, the truth was, in those hours her thoughts dwelt more in the past than in the present.

When the wards around Grindelwald's fortress had fallen she had been on the way to her bed-chamber. She hadn't known exactly when the information she had sent would be used so it was pure luck that she wasn't with Grindelwald at the time. She'd had no doubt as soon as the attack began he would know who had betrayed him. For days she had lived with thekowledge that if he were to realise he woud kill her - and enjoy causing her immense pain along the way.

The fight to take the castle was brief but brutal. She'd watched it from the shadows, her animagus form making it possible for her to stay out of sight. She'd watched the people she'd lived with for the last year fall, hopelessly outnumbered by the aurors who poured in. Carefully she had made her way through the long, dark passageways, skirting skirmishes, keeping out of trouble, heading inexorably towards Grindelwald's personal quarters. After everything she had been through the worst possible outcome would be for him to escape – and if no one else could prevent that, then she was determined to try.

But she didn't make it that far. Deep into the fortress, gnarled hands snatched her up and her initial impulse to scratch and hiss receded as soon as she had realised that she recognised the scent of the man who held her. Alastor.

She'd transformed back and made herself resist the temptation to fling herself into his arms. She'd thought she had seen a flicker of relief in his eyes – but if it had been there it vanished immediately.

"I've been searching for you," he said gruffly, "we need to get out of here." She had no plans to argue, but before she could respond the very walls seemed to tremble around them. Alastor grabbed her hand and started dragging her after him.

"What's happening?"

"Albus has gone after Grindelwald," there was another thunderous explosion, plaster and masonry had showered them as they passed. "It seems he's found him."

"We can't just leave him." She'd tried to stop, tried to go back but Alastor had been stronger.

"This is the way it was planned, the way it has to be. Albus knows what he's doing." An expression she didn't recognise crossed his face.

"What?"

"Since we got word that you were Grindelwald's secret keeper, that we would be able to breach the wards he's been like a man possessed. He made me promise to get you out if it was the last thing I did and I have no intention of it turning out to be."

The next hours had always remained a blur. Alastor had managed to spirit her away to a Ministry safe-house and it had been there, in the early hours of the morning that she had received word that Grindelwald was dead and that Albus barely lived. But before she could really process that information, with the wizarding world's celebrations still ringing in her ears, she had descended into hell.

Alastor lost control of the situation almost immediately – and politics took over. Her de-briefing had lasted for days and at times it felt that she was the one who was being accused. But that had barely been the start. Within days it became clear that justice was to be metered out swiftly to Grindelwald's allies and supporters and she was to be the prosecution's star witness. With Albus still unconscious and Alastor being kept away from her there was no one to help, no one to turn to.

Her testimony before a closed session of the wizengamot remained one of the most lengthy on record, even decades later. It left her exhausted and burdened by the knowledge that her evidence had sent men and women to their deaths. She had told the truth, but there was something indecent about the haste with which their trials were conducted and she hated being a party to it. The Ministry at least had the sense to protect her, she was cross-examined for days but her identity was never revealed. Although some of the accused may very well have put the pieces together – and realised who had been the spy in their midst. She had lived under guard, secluded from the world while the trials went on. And the worst came at the end when she had to give evidence against her own father.

It was impossible not to remember Albus' warning from so many months ago, impossible not to feel as though she were betraying her own flesh and blood – even though no one would doubt that her father had betrayed her first. But there was no respite, no escape and no doubt that he knew exactly what she had done. There was no touching death bed scene, no last minute reconciliation, no forgiveness. He went to his grave cursing her, raving to the dark Lord to punish his worthless child.

Under the circumstances she had done the only thing she could, turned to the only group of people who could protect her. Her offer to the Ministry to help track down the rest of Grindelwald's followers was immediately accepted. Before the breath had even left her father's body she and Alastor were in south America seeking renegade wizards. Weeks later when Albus regained consciousness they were deep under cover – and there was nothing he could have said or done anyway.

That time in her life is not one she cares to dwell upon. But she and Alastor had made an effective and deadly team, tracking their quarry halfway across the globe, taking prisoners – some of the time. Sick of herself, body and soul, her life had been of very little value to her then and on more occasions than she wanted to think about, it had only been Alastor's incessant paranoia that kept them both alive.

Finally, the trails had run cold, the world had moved on and she had caught her breath for long enough to recognise she had no idea who she was or what she was doing. She had dragged herself home to Scotland, buried herself in the crumbling family estate and could easily have rotted away there with no one any the wiser – except that one day she had found her unfinished transfiguration thesis.

It would be fair to say that losing herself in academia, in the study of complex subjects, saved her. By the time she had completed her Masters she had taken her first, tentative steps away from her old life. She had started to believe that she would survive and she had gained the first measure of acceptance of her actions, the first measure of peace.

She wasn't the only person whose life had been shattered by the war. She had studied with those who had barely survived themselves; who had lost family members, partners, children and beside them she had not appeared abnormally damaged. Her reserve and reticence was scarcely remarked upon – all anyone cared about was her mind. It was the first time for many years that she had remembered that once she had been a brilliant scholar.

On her graduation it had been Beauxbatons who had claimed their alumni and given her an opportunity to learn to teach. Her sojourn there had been uncomfortable at times; her old school had been dealing with its own wounds, coming to terms with its own acts of betrayal and too many people there remembered who her father had been and questioned her loyalties. But she had discovered that she could teach and she had learnt to keep people at arms length, until she was sure they could be trusted.

Her tea had long since cooled and she sighed as she cast it aside. As she did a movement outside caught her attention and she watched as a familiar figure, one she'd recognise anywhere, emerged from the early morning mist. Even from this distance, safely tucked away in her tower, she could tell that Albus was deep in thought and that his thoughts were neither happy nor comfortable. She knew him too well not to acknowledge that she was at least part of the reason for his disquiet.

There had been times over the years, mostly in out of the way places where her life had seemed a fragile, insubstantial thing, when she had greeted the dawn with memories of the kiss they had shared. For a long time it had seemed like the last moment in her life that hadn't been tarnished – and for that reason it had always been precious. Was it any less precious now she knew there was more to the memory?

He had been her friend for 20 years; there was no one in her life she trusted more. Was she really going to let that mean nothing, throw it all away? Was she going to punish him for telling her the truth and just conveniently forget about the fact that he had said he would never be sorry for their stolen night? Was she going to allow his guilt to continue on its destructive course?

The one thing she was sure of, perhaps the only thing she was sure of, was that this time it was to be her choice. She had insight enough to realise that Albus had been distant and remote over the last couple of weeks because he was giving her the power to make the next move. If she did nothing he would not force her hand, he wouldn't cause a scene or demand her forgiveness. This was his way of acknowledging that he had denied her the opportunity to make the decision last time – of not making the same mistake twice.

The figure that had been carefully walking around the lake suddenly stopped and turning Albus looked straight up at her window – as though he could tell she was watching him, as though he knew what she was thinking about. She couldn't move, could do nothing to interrupt the moment and the wave of power that seemed to flow between them. Frozen in place, she could only watch, fearful that the intensity would break the glass that separated them. And then suddenly, in as little time as it took to blink, it was over. He had resumed his walk once more, heading in an entirely different direction. She closed her eyes – trying not to think that her heart was hammering in her chest. This couldn't go on. Someone had to do something. She had to do something.

TBC