A/N - thanks for the reviews.
Night 3
The castle was blanketed in the first heavy snowfall of the winter and her footsteps echoed through the unusually silent corridors. The students were huddled in groups, quietly reading the Daily Prophet; today no one was interested in snowball fights or games outside.
All around her were faces of those who had seen or heard too much, students who carried fear with them as easily as they carried their textbooks. Their eyes lifted from the newspaper as she passed and she knew that they were reading details of her own testimony.
For a split second she was back in the courtroom, the full Wizengamot seated around her as she gave her evidence in clear, clipped tones – always the teacher, even in this. Albus' presence in the court-room had been an anchor, although she was careful not to look at him too often or for too long. The events she described had happened while their friendship had been at its most strained and they had never discussed that night.
She'd been careful not to embellish or speculate; though the scene she described hardly needed exaggeration to be gruesome - it was already the stuff of nightmares. She recounted how she'd entered the house while the dark mark still burned above it, how with others she had dealt with the aftermath of the attack. It had been her sharp hearing that led her to the missing boy, eventually. She had been the one to draw him out of his makeshift hiding place, alerted by his quiet whimpers.
Little in the way of cross-examination had followed – a fact that was enough to disturb her. And then she'd been asked, almost as though it were a routine matter, if she had any evidence or suspicions about the identity of Death Eater's who had not been detained so far.
It would have been so easy, in that moment, to give names, to voice suspicions, to accuse others with no real evidence to substantiate her claims. As a close ally of Albus Dumbledore her stock in the wizarding world was high, she could have rid herself of enemies, gained revenge for real or perceived slights, destroyed lives – all with just a few words.
She shivered now at that memory, feeling as though the madness had reached out and touched her. It's ghostly fingertip running down her spine. She had politely declined to enter into groundless speculation, but now at least she had seen first hand what Albus had been fighting against in these last, desperate weeks.
While accusations flew around their world – both whispered and spoken aloud, he had to find a way to ensure the innocent were protected and the guilty punished. People had been afraid for so long, suspicion had lived amongst them like a neighbour and that was coming to a head now. As more people claimed they had been victims of the Imperius curse, more accusations were made. Those under suspicion used accusations like smoke screens, casting doubt all around them, while those who had lost family and loved ones demanded justice. Somewhere in all of that it seemed to matter less and less that those who were punished were actually guilty.
But Albus was back now, the sentence decided upon. It would be announced tomorrow in open court but her aim was to hear it from him first.
When she entered the study he was standing at the Pensieve. He straightened as he saw her; the last remnants of the silvery liquid dripped from his wand before he set it aside. They gazed at each other for a long, still moment as the events of the day crashed around them. Did he move first, or did she? Did it matter?
They met in the centre of the room, clinging together, their lips meeting hungrily, hands clasping and caressing urgently. In those first moments she recognised that there was nothing gentle or loving about their embrace.
But the urgency abated as quickly as it has come – their touches became languid and tender, as though having sought mutual reassurance that they were both still in one piece they could afford to slow down a little.
She didn't protest when he scooped her into his arms and carried her to his bed. As he laid her on the heavy coverings she could see the need in his eyes, was certain that it was reflected in her own. But she knew that in this moment neither of them could find the words to express that need. She abandoned any intention of articulating how she felt, allowing his touch to block out all of the fear and anger from earlier. It was a relief to dwell only in sensation; to think only about the way her body responded to his, about what they could give each other.
Afterwards they lay together, bodies still entangled, hardly noticing that they were still touching each other. She couldn't help thinking there was something self-indulgent and decadent about lying naked in the Headmaster's bed while the rest of the school was in the Great Hall. She said as much to Albus, who only chuckled and carried on stroking his hand along the exposed length of her spine – which apparently he found extremely absorbing.
It was still snowing outside and despite her over-developed sense of responsibility she was not even slightly tempted to give up the warmth and comfort of her current position. Although she thought she might try to persuade her companion to summon some food quite soon.
They hadn't talked about the day's events but she knew they would get to it sooner or later. Seeking oblivion in each other would only work for so long. Despite this she was surprised when Albus raised the subject, and by the way he did it.
"I had no idea you were there that night, the first I knew of it was when I saw your name on the witness list."
"Alastor knew,"
"It wasn't in his report – I knew someone had found the boy, not who."
"We weren't exactly communicating with each other then."
"No, we weren't." She glanced over at him and half thought about asking him if he thought they were doing any better now. But the moment passed.
He splayed his hand on the middle of her back and said quietly, "they were sentenced to life in Azkaban." She stiffened at his words and his touch immediately became soothing. He'd obviously been expecting her to either be upset or angry or both, but she wasn't sure when this had become about comforting her. That wasn't how it had started out at all.
"Too influential for the kiss I suppose," was her comment.
"Always so cynical Professor McGonagall."
"But not wrong?" The humour dropped from his face and the shadows returned. She bit her lip and wished she had it in her to be kinder to him at times like these.
"No, not in this instance. Bellatrix and Rodolphus made no attempt to defend themselves. They were proud of what they'd done, of how much loyalty they showed. But, Alice and Frank weren't killed."
"They're being moved to a long-term ward at St Mungo's," she said flatly. "I spoke to Augusta today." It wasn't a conversation she was keen to dwell upon, but it had been necessary somehow.
"How's the child – Neville?"
"Withdrawn," he slid down in the bed and pulled her into his arms. Surprising herself she didn't protest as he held her close and, after a moment she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. After a while she shifted a little in his arms, "I don't agree with death sentences, but the Wizengamot has given them to 'his' supporters – why hold back now?"
"You already know the answer to that." And she did; Bellatrix and Rodolphus might be unrepentant in their support for He Who Must Not Be Named – even going so far as to torture the Longbottoms to gain information about his whereabouts following his disappearance – but they had families whose vestiges of influence had surely saved their lives.
"It's so unfair, for them to have come through the war and then, just as everyone was starting to feel safer…"
"I knew there were Death Eaters still as large, I should have made sure people stayed alert."
"It wasn't your fault," his expression didn't alter and she reached up to cup his cheek with her hand and repeated the words. "It wasn't your fault." They stared at each other for a long moment, until at last he looked away.
"I voted for a life sentence," he said quietly. Clearly he expected her to be angered by this, but he had acted according to his conscience – to be angry wasn't appropriate somehow.
"You would have done that even if the rest of the Wizengamot wanted a death sentence."
"I would."
"Then don't be sorry." He slid his hand along her back, his expression far away as he seemed to be contemplating what she had said.
"Do you want something to eat?" He asked at last, "I thought supper by the fire, perhaps a game of chess?"
"That would be nice."
But when he started to get up she found she didn't want to let him go. So she pulled him back to her, kissing him gently until he responded. Too clever, too knowing hands roamed her body and thoughts of food, chess games, a quiet evening in front of the fire slipped away.
He lifted his lips from her body for long enough to ask softly, "again?" She felt powerful in that moment, knowing she could grant him what he desired the most. Her body responded, arching against him. His eyes slid shut and just before he kissed her she whispered the answer to his question.
"Still."
TBC
