Author Notes:
A drabble that turned into something more one summer evening. Re-reading OotP made me sad about Sirius once more, and combined with my thoughts on what would have happened if Harry received something closer to the childhood he should have. The effects on his future-and that of the Wizarding world-as a result.
Slightly slow to start, but bear with me!
Sunday, June 22nd. 1986
The village of Annascaul in County Kerry was known for many things. Most famously, for its son Tom Crean. He was an Antarctic explorer who is most well known for his attempts to reach the South Pole. Crean eventually found his way back to Annascaul and opened The South Pole Inn with his wife in 1927.
But to its residents it was known for many more local secrets. Like the cream buns served with hot mugs of tea at Lonergans cafe, the friendly couple who owned O'Donnells who would slip in an extra loaf of bread or bag of apples into their bag when someone was down on their luck, or the hand-made sweets boiled at 'Aunty Nellies' which were sold in paper bag twists. Down the road, right on Inch beach lay Sammy's, which did the best fish and chips in the area. But the real magic lay in the outskirts of the village. Off the beaten path, at the end of a winding trail surrounded by an efflorescence of flowers, was a white washed cottage, in a clearing on the edge of the woods.
Here was Maire's Cottage, affectionately known as 'The Secret Garden' to locals, and home to a local artist. The artist in question sold earrings and necklaces of finely spun glass, freshly glazed mugs and bowls with images of the picturesque local landscape painted onto the side, as well as numerous drawings, prints and paintings of the surrounding area that locals swore seemed almost magical. All the locals supported her work, and could often be seen encouraging tourists wandering down the hiking trails, or popping in for a day from Dingle or Tralee to pay her a visit. They never left empty handed.
She hadn't lived in the town for very long. In fact it had been many years since she'd visited that cottage as a child when her own grandmother had lived there. But she and her two children, known as the 'Tyrrell twins' had been there for just over two years. These 'twins' (although they were almost two years apart in age) were the real reason she lived here at all. They were her biggest secret. The real dark secret of Annascaul.
For her life had quite recently been much more tumultuous and full of pain and despair-very far removed from this idyllic little village and the lives of those in it. She was marked by a war they would never even hear a whisper about, one that threatened to destroy their very way of life, and she was still grieving those she had lost and those she could never forgive.
But the woman who was visiting Annascaul today did not know any of these secrets, local or famous. She marched her way through the village, her old fashioned tartan skirt raising an eyebrow or two as locals ambled to and fro on the quiet Sunday afternoon. She was directed to the cottage by a girl sweeping down the counter of the South Pole Inn, her expression and tone portraying her fondness for the artist.
"Maire Tyrrell? Well that's just 'round the corner from here. It's a bit hidden in there, but you should be able to find it alright if you just follow the path of the violets. Lovely work she does there. Looking for a souvenir?"
"Perhaps." the woman replied noncommittally, her thick accent contrasting with the younger girls lighter, almost melodic tone. "Thank you kindly for your assistance." The girl raised her eyebrows at the women's formal tone, but simply smiled in response.
The older woman headed towards the woods behind the pub, and began to make her way down the meandering path, her sharp eyes easily keeping track of the little bunches of purple and blue flowers that guided her way. She finally turned a corner and abruptly came upon a clearing which made her stop in surprise. A charming, white washed two-storey cottage looked as though it had been planted in the middle of the forest, almost hidden by an overwhelming amount of flora and plantlife. From the ivy climbing up the walls, to the wide array of plants, trees, flowers and herbs, she almost felt as though she had stumbled upon a wilder and more expansive version of one of her colleagues' offices.
It was, in a word, idyllic. A cat rested contentedly in a warm patch of sunlight next to a pair of abandoned children's bikes, and a trickling stream flowed adjacent to the pathway that circled the right side of the house. A small, hand-painted sign reading 'Máire's Cottage' was stuck into the earth next to a bunch of sunflowers that nearly met her own shoulders.
The woman almost felt reluctant to intrude upon what had been clearly created as a haven from the world. But she felt it was her duty to protect the occupants of this little home from some potential repercussions if she did not speak to them. She had barely taken a few steps forward when suddenly a woman in her mid-twenties emerged from a smaller building to the left of the main cottage. She was carrying a large basket and humming absentmindedly as she strode towards the house, her dark hair flowing behind her in the gentle summer breeze.
The two women spotted each other at the same time, recognition and shock obvious on both their features. It was harder to say who looked more surprised. While the older looked more stunned than anything, the younger looked a little angry, almost afraid.
They both appraised the other for a moment, the younger noting how the other hadn't seemed to have aged a day since she last saw her-from her perfectly pressed robes, to her severe hairstyle which was on par with her characteristically stern demeanour-as they were gathered by a pair of graves, the smell of the unrelenting November rain and freshly dug earth surrounding them. In turn, the older noted the addition of small wrinkles around her former students' eyes, and was saddened to see the tense, guarded way in which she held herself now, so different from her younger self. But when she finally broke the silence, she was taken aback by the raw hostility she could hear in her tone.
"Guess I should've expected it to be you Professor. Took you long enough." She looked slightly disgruntled, adjusting the basket that was held against her waist as she scanned the area surrounding the clearing.
"I beg your pardon?" the older woman began. "Mary, I.. you live..here?" She was sputtering, something she rarely, if ever, did. But this was one of the last people she expected to see here.
A former colleague from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had met with her for tea last week, and tipped her off that an unregistered family with extraordinary levels of seemingly accidental, and at times explosive magic were registering on their system on a regular basis over the past few months. They'd both come to the probable conclusion that it was a Muggle family with at least one or two Magical children, who simply had no idea how to handle them and their abilities.
Minerva McGonagall had always favoured an upfront, hands-on approach, and when her colleague had asked for her advice on this issue that didn't differ. She believed that approaching these families early on, and nipping this problem in the bud was the best course of action for everyone. They would come to understand their childrens' gifts much earlier and it would ultimately be a much more cohesive experience for both the child and the family to adapt to the Magical World. It also wouldn't draw the potential of unwanted attention of the Ministry and/or the Muggle police, which could lead to further problems down the line.
Her colleague had supplied her with only a name- Máire Tyrrell, and an approximation of their address once she had decided to assist this family in any way she could, expecting the children to be her pupils eventually. It had never crossed her mind that Máire Tyrrell and Mary MacDonald could possibly be the same person, despite knowing of the girl's Irish heritage. She hadn't seen her former student, a Gryffindor of her own house, in almost six years. If she had known whose home this was, she would have known right away that there was no requirement for her to explain anything about the Magical world. Mary had been one of her most talented students in the last twenty years, but hadn't seen hide nor hair of her since that last sorrowful night at the cemetery in Godric's Hollow.
This same student was looking at her with a shrewd expression, her fingers white where they were clutching the basket to her side. Minerva was surprised by the hostility she had been met with, and couldn't discern any logical reasoning for it.
"I suppose you better come in." Mary-or Maire perhaps-sighed as she glanced around the yard, her eyes narrowed. Her gaze flickered back to the children's bikes more than once before hastily rearranging her features into a tight smile and swiftly heading towards the house.
"Certainly." responded Minerva, her tone even despite her puzzlement. She glanced at the bikes as they passed them on their way into the house, but could not see anything strange or unusual about them. When she really considered it, she was surprised that Mary had children, let alone multiple children who were old enough to ride bikes, even as small as the ones there.
The living room they entered was wide and spacious, its white walls decorated with a mish mash of paintings and photographs, the array of sofas and armchairs covered in blankets and pillows in various shades of blue and turquoise, a stack of books on the coffee table next to an assortment of children's toys. They didn't linger here, but walked straight across it, and through the glass doors into a cosy, if slightly crowded little kitchen painted a bright sunshine yellow, which smelled of fresh bread and had a black and white tuxedo cat resting in the window.
"Tea?" she asked without turning around, as she tucked the basket she had been carrying below the table.
"Yes, thank you." Minerva replied as she entered the room behind her, noting the stiffness of the others' posture.
Maire began rummaging through the cupboard adjacent to the stove, and gestured for her former Professor to take a seat at the round table as she began to prepare tea. Neither woman spoke as she continued to prepare the tea and slice a few pieces of bread to serve with butter and jam, a Minerva took stock of her surroundings. This room, much like the one they had previously passed through, was bright and airy, full of colorful artwork and photographs lining the wall furthest from her. Despite being quite clean, the main counter was covered with baking supplies and a few aprons in different colours and sizes hung off the back of the door.
Maire soon joined her at the table, silently placing a steaming mug of tea alongside the pitcher of milk, sugar and plate of bread. Neither woman spoke for a few moments. Minerva took this opportunity to survey her former pupil further, from her dark brown hair to the wrinkles around her expressive brown eyes. She noted with sadness that she still kept the sleeve on her left arm pulled down tight to her wrist, covering what lay beneath. As they sipped their tea, the grandmother clock behind her kept ticking, she couldn't help but notice that Maire kept glancing nervously out the window, almost as though she was waiting for someone.
Finally, Minerva broke the silence.
"Tyrrell?" she queried, arching a brow as Maire finally met her gaze once more. She looked away just as quick, as though afraid to see what would meet her there.
"Mothers maiden name." she replied briskly, abruptly pulling a slice of bread towards her and beginning to butter it. "My father was a bit of a tosser, as you may recall, and anyways, the locals used to call this Tyrrell cottage anyways, so.."
"Plus it seems to have made an effective disguise of sorts for you, has it not?" Minerva asked coyly, taking a long sip of tea as she watched Mary take a deep breath, almost as though steeling herself, still keeping her gaze away from Minerva.
"You could say that."
"I might as well get right to the point then," Minerva began when her former student still remained evasive. "I did not expect to see any wizarding folk today, let alone one of my own former students. Though I have been equally surprised by your remarkable hostility towards my mere presence, something I have yet to discern the reasoning for."
"You weren't expecting me?" she replied, before shaking her head slightly. "Who'd you expect to have done it, Remus?" she snorted. "His condition wouldn't exactly make it easy, and I guess he was Prefect for a reason you know."
"Remus… Lupin? Why on earth would I expect Mr. Lupin to be here ?"
Minerva was now more confused than ever. She knew the two had been close friends throughout Hogwarts, but after all that had happened she couldn't fathom why he would be living with Mary. "And I think I know perfectly well who I chose to be Prefect." she retorted.
"Wait-What?" Mary was confused now, her brown eyes wide as she looked almost frozen.
"What does Remus Lupin have to do with anything?" Minerva asked her once more, her beady eyes narrowing in a familiar manner. Mary stared at her for a long moment before she glanced around the room, and once more, out the window to the front yard, almost as though it held the answers.
She leaned forward, rubbing her hands across her face before responding, keeping her eyes shut as she asked: "Minerva, why exactly are you here?"
She didn't move an inch further as Minerva quickly explained what had brought her to the town of Annascaul, keeping her gaze focused on the ground. Once Minerva had finished, a noticeable air of impatience in her voice, Mary remained still before speaking in a much quieter tone, filled with an emotion Minerva couldn't quite place. That tone made her feel suddenly anxious for this former student, who-she admitted somewhat begrudgingly-had secretly been one of her favourites when she was at Hogwarts, a time that felt like eons ago now.
"So, when you came here… you had no idea who it would be..?"she trailed off, looking as stunned as she had earlier in the front yard.
"No." Minerva observed her for a moment before continuing, her tone cautious. "As I expressed, I was thrown off by the Irish version of your name, as well as the change to your surname." Mary stood up, moving to gaze out the kitchen window properly, her back to her former professor. "Now Mary, please, what is going on?"
Maire sighed deeply, her small hands running over her head and through her hair before she crossed her arms, a nervous air about her. Minerva looked around the room again, eyeing the children's cereal boxes in the corner, the small sets of muddy shoes propped up against the skirting board.
"I wouldn't know how to begin." her voice brittle, she continued to look out the window.
"Mary.. you do, have children, am I correct?"
"Yes."
"More than one?"
"In a manner of speaking."
She didn't offer up anymore information, and Minerva paused as she tried to figure out what she meant by yet another evasive response, her mind furiously trying to understand what would be causing this time of response. First the hostility, then the confusion, and now the anxiety, and this.. was it… fear?
When she finally turned back around, Minerva was not prepared for the intensity she saw in her expression. Her lions (much like the Hufflepuffs) had always been so open, so unguarded with their expressions, contrasting with the aloof Ravenclaws and coy Slytherins. It was something she greatly admired in some of them, and something that made her fear for the other, more vulnerable of her house. Mary's expression was so fierce it made her lean back in surprise.
"I don't know if you will understand." sounding almost bitter, her anger leaking through as she leaned against the counter. "But Professor-Minerva.. Please, I need you to try. Try not to jump to any conclusions. Please, try to keep an open mind."
Well now she was definitely alarmed. She had seen this girl grow up in Hogwarts, survive through some of the worst years of the wizarding war they had just barely seen the back of. She had seen her get up to all sorts of mischief with a ragtag group of boys she could hardly bear thinking about, let alone speaking of. But even in all those situations where she had been in trouble, she had never looked as afraid, as angry or as desperate as she did now.
Before she could speak, the front door opened with a resounding thwack! That made the walls shake, announcing the entry of someone else to the house. Mary looked even paler than before, her freckles standing out on her skin. She hastily rearranged her features into a smile as the light, quick footsteps that could only belong to a child rounded the front room and made their way towards the kitchen. The air felt thick with tension, heavy with apprehension.
"Everything alright love?" Maire asked as someone else entered the room, her expression warm despite her fearful eyes.
Small in stature, the slight figure of six year old Harry Potter was unmistakable. From the untamable shock of black hair, with his round glasses perched on his little nose, he was the spitting image of his father, only in miniature. If it wasn't for such an overwhelming resemblance, she wouldn't have believed who was standing in front of her.
"Yes, I-Oh, hello." he looked at Minerva curiously, his green eyes lighting up with curiousity in such a familiar way it made her heart ache.
"Harry, this is Professor McGonagall, a teacher of mine from Hogwarts." Mary explained softly, looking between the two nervously. Harry's eyes lit up at the word Hogwarts, and Minerva smiled kindly despite her shock. She had been one of the last people to see Harry Potter's hasty, tragic exit from the Wizarding World, leaving him with those rotten relatives of his.
Or so she thought.
"Pleasure meet you." she replied, trying to make her voice as kind as possible.
"Nice to meet you." his adorable little smile was so sweet, for a moment all she could see was Lily Potter, and she took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. He turned back to Maire. "Could I have some juice please?"
While Maire poured him a glass of juice, Minerva watched the pair closely, her head spinning.
Harry Potter.
Here.
In Ireland.
Not in Little Whinging. In Surrey.
Not with his family. Lily's family. The only blood relatives he had left.
How did they not know? How did Albus not know? Minerva had never asked for any explicit details, but she presumed that Albus had warded the Dursley home to the 9's, and that if anything , anything at all happened to little Harry, either by their hands or a Death Eater resurgence, that he would be the first to know.
But apparently not.
She looked over Mary shrewdly, who didn't appear the least bit guilty for kidnapping the most famous child in the Wizarding World. If anything, she most closely resembled a lioness hovering over her cub, standing by his shoulder as Minerva stared at the two of them. He was wearing light, bright summer clothes, his shorts spattered with mud and flecks of it up and down his left arm.
"Now wash your hands." she instructed, and Harry stood on a stool in front of the sink in order to begin to do so. Mary sat back down at the table, smoothing down her skirt before muttering quietly enough so only she could hear. "It's not what it looks like."
"So you haven't kidnapped Harry Potter?" she asked baldly.
"Well, yes. But it's not so straightforward. Besides, it seems you lot didn't even know he was missing." Mary hissed back at her, so quiet she could barely hear her.
"While you may have a point," Minerva snapped, "That's no excuse! What on earth could have possibly made you take a child from his family?"
"Because that wasn't a family. Because despite what people like you and Dumbledore might think; there is never, ever a reason to leave a child in a place like that!" she spat, almost shaking.
Minerva froze, the harsh reality of that statement making her heart sink. Harry had noticed their whispering by now, and was looking at them with his eyebrows raised.
"Maire?" he asked, trepidation obvious in his voice as he stepped down from the stool.
"Yes, love?" she smiled at him, crossing her arms to hide how her hands were shaking, whether from rage or fear, Minerva wasn't sure. He glanced between the two of them more than once, his green eyes wide and fearful.
"Is.. is.." he stuttered painfully, and Minerva felt even more uneasy. "Is she here to-to take me back to them?" he was trembling slightly, obviously either having overheard part of their conversation, or having remarkable insight. Minerva felt a strong urge to reassure the child, even if she didn't know what it was he needed to hear, even if she didn't want to lie. Maire obviously felt the same, her eyes wide and anxious in her pale, thin face.
"Oh, love, please don't worry." she got up to crouch in front of him, her hands gripping his little shoulders gently. "I promise you will never have to go back there." she vowed, her voice barely concealing her rage, matching her fiery expression. Minerva didn't know what had occurred to lead to this situation, but the resolve in her students' voice reminded her that this may not be so black and white.
"Mam?" came another little voice, and the three of them turned to face the sound. Maire looked almost fearful now, but Harry looked calmer than he had a moment ago, relief breaking out across his features.
A small girl, maybe a year or two younger than Harry stood at the door, her hand clenched around the handle. Her eyes were narrowed at the three of them with a surprising intensity for someone so young. Even if Minerva had known nothing of Mary's social life in Hogwarts, of who she had been involved with, there was no mistaking who this child belonged to. Her long tangle of dark curls surrounded her pale face like a halo, and her delicate, aristocratic features were so overwhelmingly familiar it made her gasp, before silently scolding herself for her unnecessary dramatism.
"Vi, come in and meet a former teacher of mine. Professor McGonagall."
Violet.
Minerva stared at the small girl, whose eyes were as bright as her name, scarcely believing what she was seeing. It couldn't be.
Mary was watching the two children carefully as Violet moved into the room. The little girl clasped Harry's hand with her own, smiling so affectionately at him the fear left his eyes completely for the first time.
"Hello." she replied cautiously, her eyes flicking around the room, as though observing them all carefully.
"Why don't you two go out and play with Madra?" Maire suggested as she straightened up, her tone calmer than it had been a moment ago. The smaller girl narrowed her eyes again, looking up at Harry for his response. He stared at Maire for a moment until she smiled reassuringly.
"Okay." he agreed finally with a small smile. "Can we give him a bath later? He got muddy in the river."
"Again?" Maire sighed, pushing her hair away from her eyes. "I've told you two to keep him away from there the day after it's rained you know."
"We couldn't stop him!" Violet interjected, shrugging her little shoulders, barely managing to hide her cheeky smile. "We were playing and he came runnering in and dragged me away." she rolled her eyes. Minerva watched the girl as she spoke, her mannerisms and even that mischievous little smirk confirming her parentage as much as her looks.
"Yeah, well then don't play in the creek maybe?" Maire suggested, her tone full of mirth that made Harry chuckle mischievously.
"Maybe." Violet decried non committedly before she pulled Harry from the room, her gaze focusing on Minerva suspiciously for a moment as she left.
Maire sat back down with a sigh, pulling her hair into a loose bun behind her as Minerva tried to process what she had just seen. She knew she hadn't seen Maire since the days following that fateful night in Godric's Hollow, and had wondered from time to time what she had been doing with her life, but never in a million years would she have expected to find her here, with not only the orphan of her murdered friends, but with the child of her former lover. Her former, mass-murdering, Death Eater lover.
"Merlin's beard, she looks just like Sirius, except…" Minerva trailed off meaningfully as she looked at Mary in surprise. Mary didn't confirm that she was Sirius' child. She didn't need to. Anyone could have guessed. Her hair color may have been a little lighter than her father's due to Mary's own shade of honey brown, and her nose a little longer perhaps, but she was almost all Sirius but one crucial feature.
"Except for the eyes, I know. They're all Regulus. It's unnerving even if I barely knew his brother." she replied, staring into the depths of her mug. Regulus hadn't the distinct grey eyes of the Blacks like his elder brother had, they'd been a strange sort of bright blue, almost violet. Minerva hadn't known the boy a fraction as well as she thought she knew the elder, but his eyes were too distinct not to recognise. When Mary finally looked up and met Minerva's stunned expression, her brown eyes were teary.
"She's younger." Minerva observed, unsure of what else to say. "You must've been pregnant when-"
"Just about six weeks at their funeral." Mary replied, her fingers white around the mug. She let out a short, bitter laugh. "Talk about a surprise, eh?"
"I must say, it's a little eerie, seeing the two of them running around together. Those two dark heads bent together about to cause problems." the memories ran through her mind now, unbidden, of the two boys she had loved as though they were her own. She looked at Mary's stricken expression after she spoke. "Oh, I-I mean, I can't imagine how it is for you-"
"No, you can't." she snapped, angrily wiping a tear away. "You can't possibly understand how it is for me."
She stood up and moved to the window, watching the kids run around and play, her back to her former head of house. Neither of them spoke for some time, the only sound in the room the ticking of the grandfather clock occasionally broken by the distant peals of laughter from the front yard.
"Do they.. know..?" MInerva trailed off meaningfully, glancing at Mary from the corner of her eye, as equally curious as she was unsure of what else to say. Mary still hadn't offered up much by way of explanation for well, anything.
"Know what? That one of their fathers is imprisoned for supposedly betraying and causing the death of the other?" she pursed her lips. "No."
" Supposedly ?" Minerva demanded, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing. "You can't possibly be telling me you think Sirius is innocent."
"Well who's to say he isn't?" she snapped, pulling a large bowl from one of the cupboards and beginning to pour in the ingredients that were sitting on the counter already. She emptied one bag so furiously that flour coated the countertop. "It's not as if he ever got a trial."
"Maire," she paused, concerned for the sanity of the young mother now. "You must remember, you of all people-the evidence was overwhelmingly against him. I mean, Albus himself confirmed it. But of course he got a trial."
"He did not!" Slam! The bowl hit the table with a clatter, flour and sugar coating not only the counter, but the cupboard, walls, and much of Mary herself. She angrily waved her wand, clearing most of it from her as she whirled around to glare at Minerva.
"Mary, you must be mistaken.." Minerva began. "He had to have gotten a trial. All the Death Eaters did." She still found it difficult to associate the brethren of Lord Voldemort with the young boy she once knew, but the photos from the massacre the day after Halloween were impossible to forget. As was the sight of a scarred and orphaned Harry Potter alone on a doorstep in a Surrey suburb.
"Oh yeah?" she retorted. "When was it? How did he plead? Do you recall any press coverage from it? Because from the way people talk about any of the Potters now, you'd expect it to have been the trial of the century."
"I-I.." Minerva was stammering again, twice in one day. But Mary's words had made her pause once more, despite her conviction. Truth of the matter was, she couldn't recall any details about Sirius Blacks trial. The papers had been covered with the selfless act of Lily Potter for weeks, the unprecedented, miraculous survival of little Harry Potter, the murder of Peter Pettigrew and the needless casualties of those innocent Muggles. She knew more details than most of the Wizarding Community would be privy to, so she didn't need to read the papers. But the news had been unavoidable at the time, exacerbated by the tragic attack on Frank and Alice Longbottom several weeks later.
But try as she may, she couldn't recall a single detail about the trial of Sirius Black.
Maire raised an eyebrow smugly as Minerva struggled to respond. She was right, Sirius' trial should have been the most tantalising trial of the century, there was no way the papers wouldn't have reported it, even if it had been short. She remembered Filius telling her over a brew in the Three Broomsticks a few days afterwards of how Sirius had laughed and laughed when he was caught, before saying only one thing.
One damning, unforgivable thing: "It's all my fault."
Despite her desire for it not to be true, there was no denying what those words implied. Even if he hadn't; he had been the Secret Keeper, there was no getting around that. Unless..
"I spent weeks outside the courtrooms in the Ministry, weeks , waiting and waiting for his trial, or even a glimpse of him on the way in, knowing they might not let me attend." Mary interrupted Minerva's thoughts, pressing on Minerva's uncertainty. "I know enough about the judicial process to know that those types of suspects are always kept in those holding cells in the basement while they await trial. Even Crouch and the Lestranges." she spat the last word with disgust evident in her voice. There had been no love lost between Mary and Bellatrix Lestrange long before the war formally broke out.
"Right, of course," Minerva responded finally, her ingrained teaching habits pushing her to respond to facts with further knowledge. "Because of the act passed relating to Death Eaters-"
"I know the ruddy laws regarding criminal rights," she snapped, dusting flour off her skirt. "They never get sent to Azkaban before their trial. Marchbanks campaigned fairly hard on that one if you recall after that scandal a few years before. Death Eaters must await trial within the Ministry itself to make sure they don't come in contact with fellow dark wizards. They even had dementors come from Azkaban to guard the cells when they were having those trials every day."
"And you never saw him?" Minerva asked, her head spinning, Harry Potter's sudden appearance pushed far from her mind for the time being. She always held faith in her government, despite their missteps and occasional foolish mistakes. But they couldn't have made a mistake like this? And if they had…. Was there a chance that there was truth to what Mary was saying?
"Never." she seemed a little calmer now, and she covered her face with her hands before she spoke again. "I was there practically day and night for almost a week, barely sleeping or eating. I couldn't keep anything down when I did eat. I thought it was just the stress.. The grief. But.." she lowered her hands from her face to place a shaking hand over her flat stomach.
Her eyes were so full of grief and pain it made Minerva look away and watch her shaking hand instead, the tragic realisation dawning on her.
"You realised you were pregnant?" she asked unnecessarily. Maire nodded in response.
"I was hysterical by the 6th day after Halloween. Lily and James were buried by then, Albus Dumbledore wouldn't tell me where Harry was. I couldn't bring myself to face Remus again quite yet. Some of the Aurors tried to remove me when I started asking questions, demanding answers, and I was really kicking up about it, throwing a right strop." she smiled sadly. "They were threatening to arrest me, but thankfully Kings intervened, and he was concerned enough to bring me to St. Mungo's."
"Mary, I'm so sorry; that you've had to shoulder this alone." remembering once more, just how young she was. How young they all had been. The child soldiers they had trained in lieu of dreams for their futures. "How have I not heard about this? Surely the love-child heir to the Black family would have made the gossip circuit, if not the papers?"
Mary smirked, a semblance of her younger, more lighthearted self shining through. "Yeah, I hightailed it out of St. Mungo's as soon as they gave me the news. I rented a flat in Muggle London, and got a job in a florist shop. You know, those Muggle Herbology shops that sell flowers."
"You've been living as a Muggle?" Minerva couldn't help being surprised. Mary had been a very talented witch.
" Weeell .." she enunciated the word slowly, still smirking slightly. "They did have the most beautiful, long-lasting flowers all that year. Their competitors were just seething with jealousy. None of them could find a logical reason for such a massive improvement." Minerva shook her head at her antics.
"But every Magical birth is reported…" she couldn't help reminding the girl.
"Not if you give birth outside St. Mungos, don't have any type of Healer present, and use magical warding" she corrected. "Violet Alice Tyrrell Black. Merlin, what a mouthful, eh? She was born on June 18th the following year. You have no idea how much I missed Wizarding healing potions by the time she was born."
"How on earth did you manage to raise her by yourself? For what, four years?"
"My employer was great about it actually. Let me keep her behind the counter as I worked in the main shop in Lambeth. Not saying it wasn't hard though. I never thought I'd be a single, broke mother living all alone in the Muggle world. Both my parents and almost all my friends are dead. But I had this beautiful little baby who needed me to be okay, who needed me to protect her.. So I had no other choice. It took me over two years before I was recovered enough.. mentally, that is, to inquire after Harry."
Mary had always been strikingly blunt. Minerva had been so distracted by everything else that had happened in the last ten minutes that she had momentarily managed to forget about Harry. She schooled her face into what must have been a familiar formidable expression, as Maire set her mouth into a similar firm line.
"I figured that Petunia, her sister, would have gotten over her petty grievances once Lily died. That she would raise him as her own." she spoke softly, her gaze distant as though she was much further away than the little kitchen they sat in. Minerva felt a chill settle over her that didn't reflect the unusually warm summer day outside. "I just wanted.. To see him, you know? To check in, see how he'd grown. I felt horribly guilty for not going sooner, Sirius and I were made his godparents after all."
She paused when the dog barked twice, suddenly tense, but it was soon followed by loud laughter from the two kids. She relaxed once more, reheating her tea with a jab of her wand before continuing.
"Minerva, you wouldn't believe what I found there." her voice tight, controlled. "It was near Christmas. I wanted to see if perhaps I could take him out for the day, maybe see the decorations and city lights in London, maybe establish an I dunno.. Aunt like relationship? I left Vi with a friend and set off to Little Whinging. I didn't want to alarm them, because I remembered how… anti-wizarding they were. So I disillusioned myself and watched through the windows first."
"Maybe they were a little strict, but surely.." Minerva said desperately. She may be angry with Maire for her seemingly foolhardy actions, but she had seen too many abused kids fall through the cracks at Hogwarts not to take this seriously. Maire had always been a highly intelligent student, a voice of reason, and if she was saying that she felt there was a valid reason to remove Harry from his home, she trusted her judgement enough to at least listen before rushing off to the relevant authorities.
"This was more than strict, Minerva. This was like… this was almost as bad as what happened to Sirius. Perhaps without the Black madness."
Despite her current feelings regarding Sirius Black, she couldn't help but remember the bruises he came back to school with, the burn marks on his hands, the thin gauntness of his face, and haunted eyes. She could remember the horrific stories that James Potter himself had eventually come to her with, and how it had been bad enough that the Potter's had taken him in altogether one summer after he had almost died. She had wondered more than once if it was his cruel, dark parents who were to blame for corrupting the boy she had known to be so rebellious, yet so kind-hearted, and so fiercely loving. She still couldn't fathom how he could have changed so much in the two years following his graduation, but she couldn't help feeling as though his parents were somewhat responsible for leading him so far from the light.
But she too felt as though she was partially to blame for the tragedy that befell that ragtag group that had brought so much life and energy to Gryffindor tower. Surely she should have noticed if one of her own was becoming radicalised to such an extent that they would betray their closest friends..
But if there was a chance, a chance , that Sirius was innocent, one part of her was denying it wholeheartedly, pointing at the facts, the evidence, like she had been trained to, as she always did-while the other, her emotional and feeble heart, was jumping for joy shouting 'I knew it! I knew it!' Only for Albus confirming that he had made Sirius the secret keeper himself she would have never believed it when she first heard. If Maire was on to something.. Then who did she think was really responsible? How could she explain the whole secret keeper business?
However it was Harry who needed her attention right now, she needed the full story from Maire before she could even think about Sirius Black any further. Harry was the living, breathing, irrefutably innocent child whose life had already been fraught with so much sadness. She refocused her attention on Maire, who looked as serious as she had ever seen her.
"How bad?" she managed eventually, unsure if she wanted to hear, but knowing she had to.
"They hated him. You couldn't imagine the way they looked at him. I've never seen that much animosity directed at such a small child. I got there around 9:30, it was a Saturday. He was cooking the entire breakfast for them. When he burnt himself with some piping hot oil he was scolded, slapped and deprived of food. Who does that to a four year old?" Maire scrunched her eyes up tightly before continuing.
"I spent three hours watching them, and even if one could explain away the bruises and cuts that were barely beginning to heal, that was more than enough. While that imbecile Vernon read the paper, Petunia gossiped with a neighbor on the phone, and their son watched some insipid cartoon, Harry was made to do all the washing up, then promptly sent out to work on the garden, pulling stupid weeds and whatnot. Have you ever seen a four year old desperately trying to stop himself from crying as he worked through an untreated second degree burn in the middle of December without a coat?"
Minerva felt as though her heart had dropped through her stomach. How could they have let this happen? How could Albus have? It didn't matter that he was the 'saviour of the Wizarding World' as they had lauded him for years. This was a child. An innocent child. No child should be treated like a slave.
If Lily Potter could see what was going on now, Minerva had no doubt she'd be spitting with rage. She'd seen the redhead explode during arguments with James Potter far too many times over their years at Hogwarts. She'd always been a champion for justice, firmly against bullying, much like Maire here. She'd be angry enough over this happening to any child- Minerva had never forgotten how Sirius had broken down in Lily's arms one day before they were due to get the train home for Easter, his fear palpable-but the fact that it was her own child who had been treated so poorly, and by her own sister? Her own flesh and blood? Minerva felt choked with such deep shame, she felt she could scarcely breathe.
As Minerva tried to focus her churning thoughts, Maire kept speaking.
"Of course I stormed in there, guns blazing. They practically offered him to me. I nearly hexed that husband of hers when he actually said the words 'Good riddance'. It took weeks and weeks for Harry to trust me, weeks for him to be comfortable, to stop jumping in fright when a door slammed, or when a glass broke. It took so long to create this safe space for him."
Minerva didn't speak for a few minutes, crumbling the remnants of a piece of bread in her hands as she stared at the floor, her brain whirring and sorting and categorising her thoughts. She often took a few minutes to process massive news like this, making sure she was able to enact the best course of action; but once she made a decision on what to do, on what the right thing to do was-she wouldn't change her mind.
When she finally spoke, her crisp, cool demeanour had finally returned to her. But she could barely keep the tremble out of her voice. She wondered if Mary could hear it.
"Do you have a pensieve? Or perhaps a way for me to take a copy of any memories that will support this? I'll need substantial evidence to bring to Albus in order to start the work on granting you permanent custody."
Maires expression flitted from one of shock to one of pleased acceptance. She nodded resolutely before beckoning Minerva to follow her through the double doors, and back into the sitting room. The June sunlight was streaming in through the open door, accompanied by giggles that wafted in on the breeze. Minerva sat down on the wooden chair by the door, waiting to see what Maire was going to do.
"Harry, can you come in here?" she called, her voice warm, but with a flicker of uncertainty.
Harry appeared in the door a moment later, his big green eyes anxious. He tugged nervously at the hem of his shorts as he stood in the doorway, framed by the brightness of the exceptionally sunny day.
"Harry love," she beckoned him closer, and crouched down in front of him again so that they were eye level. "Do you remember when I told you that a time may come where I have to tell people about your Aunt and Uncle, about-about how they weren't good to you?"
He stared at her, biting his lip. "You mean.. I have to-to show?"
"Only if you feel okay with it. I just need to show Minnie here," she smiled warmly at Minerva, as though to show Harry there was nothing to fear. Minerva managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes at the nickname, but only just.
"Do I have to?" he whispered-although not very well-Minerva could still hear him from across the room. Mary gently pushed his fringe away from his forehead, looking at him with so much love, it made Minerva feel confident in her decision.
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," she assured him. "But Minnie here would understand, really, she would. She won't think anything bad about you."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're not the bad one Harry," she looked sad as she spoke, gently stroking his little face with her right hand. "She helped me save another little boy from some mean, nasty people before."
"Really?" he turned and looked at her with something akin to admiration evident in his bright eyes.
"Really." she assured him, watching him carefully, her heart heavy. "Harry, if you can show me.." she hesitated, looking at Maires intense expression once more, before plunging straight ahead. "If you can show me, I can make sure you never have to see them again."
"Promise?" he asked, softer and much less confident than his father had ever been.
"I promise," she vowed. "And a Scotswoman never breaks her promise." she winked at him and he smiled shyly back at her, his shoulders relaxing a little.
"Okay." he looked back at Maire, who leaned in and kissed his forehead before standing up to her full height once more. He shyly offered her his hand, and she clasped it in his before walking over to Minerva.
"Wait!" cried a little voice, and Minerva looked to the door to see Violet standing there. She ran over to Harry and reached for both of his hands. He looked at her with an expression that reminded her-in a way that made her heart sink even further-of the way Sirius Black used to look at James Potter whenever things had seemed particularly difficult in his home. When he had seemed particularly lost. A look of hope, of absolute trust.
Minerva wasn't certain if that made this easier, or perhaps even harder to bear. He had barely shown her the healing scars on his back before she shook her head, gesturing at Mary to tell the poor child to pull his shirt back down. She'd seen enough with just a glance.
Mary looked very solemn as she met Minerva's gaze, a sad sort of understanding passing between them. Minerva looked down to see Harry peeking up at her under his messy fringe. Little Violet stared at her as well, her gaze remarkably suspicious for a four year old.
"Thank you Harry." Minerva had never heard her voice so soft, but she wouldn't even acknowledge that. "Fancy a biscuit?"
As if on cue, the expressions of both the small children before her lit up, previous suspicions and fears forgotten.
"Ooh, yes please!"
"Biscuit! Biscuit!"
Noting how Mary barely withheld her own smile at their reaction, Minerva wordlessly summoned two shortbread biscuits from her bag, handing one to each child.
Minerva strode away from the house shortly afterwards with a determined glint in her eye and a bottle full of memories in her bag. She truly had her work cut out for her today.
She had an injunction to file with the Ministry on behalf of Sirius Black. But first she had to see a man about a pensieve. A man who was in a lot of trouble.
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