A/N

Here's another chapter! Once again, this is set during Harry's fourth year – it's still dealing with the day Harry 'returned' from that graveyard in Little Hangleton, with Cedric's body and the information of Voldemort's return.

Who cares?: Hehe, thanks for the review. Hope you find this chapter interesting too!

Oh, and I do have an announcement to make. I realized, when I was submitting this story, that it might come across as being one with the ship of Sirius/McGonagall. I'd just like to say that this isn't a pairing at all; it's more like a student/teacher relationship (and not a romantic one at that). I had wanted to list this fic under the characters of McGonagall and Sirius, but I realized that it might give off the wrong impression. Sorry if I've disappointed anyone, but...well, McGonagall and Sirius...I mean, really...he was, what, 36? And she's, I dunno...in her 60s/70s? And let's not go into the thought of them having...anything going on when he was still in school. I just...do not see that happening!

Thanks to MoreThanACrush for asking if I was going to make it a MM/SB pairing - which, by doing so, reminded me that I had forgotten to write that it wasn't a pairing fic. So...thanks for that!

Anyway, on with the story!

Hope you enjoy it!

Chapter Three: Stories, Tea and Pensieves

The meeting with Madame Maxime had not been a very comfortable one, but it had been manageable. And if she was to be completely honest, Minerva McGonagall was quite glad that Durmstrang's principal, Igor Karkaroff, was nowhere to be seen.

She didn't think she would be able to handle his snide comments on the death of one of Hogwarts' students.

"Zis is terrible news," repeated Madame Maxime, as they both left her office. "Terrible news indeed. Who would want…who could do such a thing to a student?"

"Just the one man we've all heard of," said McGonagall, through clenched teeth. She waved Madame Maxime off politely, and, for a moment, stood still where she was, pondering what she should do next.

Ah, I believe Potter's still in the hospital wing.

Walking briskly, she headed towards the hospital wing, unconsciously wondering what sort of condition Potter would be in. It seemed…unfair that Fate had decided to throw so much on his young, unhappy shoulders.

She was deep in thought and almost at her destination, when she rounded the corner and collided rather solidly with another sturdy body.

Glasses askew, she glared ahead of her.

"Severus, what in the-" her reprimand died out in her throat as she saw the Potions' Professor's face. It was pale, all too pale and…was that a trace of loathing and anger in his eyes?

"Minerva," acknowledged Snape, tersely. "Forgive me. I must be on my way." A muscle ticked in his jaw as he nodded briefly at her before walking away, his dark robes billowing behind him.

Well, thought McGonagall, as she straightened her glasses, that was…interesting. I wonder what's gotten into him. Hang on, did he just leave the hospital wing?

Suddenly concerned – for who or what she couldn't really tell – she continued walking briskly forward, coming to a halt when she saw a dog bounding out of the hospital wing, its tail wagging. She recognized the dog as the one Dumbledore had asked her to fetch from Hagrid's hut.

"What in the world…?" she murmured, as the dog stopped and stared at her, ears perked up. She stared down at the dog, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I thought you were in Albus' office…" she reprimanded.

The dog wagged its tail. "Then what are you doing wandering around…oh dear, what were you doing in the hospital wing?" The stern expression found itself on her face again. "You, dog, I'm talking to you. What were you- ack!"

She couldn't step out of the way in time as the dog bounded towards her. Expecting the worst, she raised her hands to cast a spell, when the dog simply slowed down and – affectionately – rubbed its head against her knee, before giving her a shrill bark and dashing down the corridor.

What-?

"Where do you think you're going?" exclaimed McGonagall, as she turned to stare after its retreating figure. "I am not sure if you're allowed to run around the hallways and-" She stopped, sighing. He was already out of her sight.

I'll have to have a word about the dog with Albus, she thought, grimly, before heading once more to the hospital wing. She had barely managed to get through the door when she was met by the figure of Dumbledore.

"Ah, Minerva," he said, as pleasantly as he could, given the circumstances. "I was wondering where you were. How is Pomona?"

McGonagall flinched slightly as she thought of the Head of Hufflepuff.

"She is…with the rest of her House," she said, softly. "I don't think she will be leaving them for a while…"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, sadly, "the students will need their Head of House. Especially to deal with the aftermath of this whole thing…"

"Albus, I bumped into Severus on the way here and he didn't seem-"

"-too pleased?" McGonagall nodded. "Ah, yes, I'm afraid that he wasn't too pleased with what I asked him to do…but still…it has to be done. Especially now, since-"

The Transfiguration professor waited for him to continue, but he didn't. She shook her head; he'd tell her whenever he felt like it. There was no point for her to press him for information. Not on this issue anyway.

"By the way, that dog you asked me to accompany to your office…" McGonagall frowned, "is currently roaming the corridors, unattended. Did you know of that?"

There was a strange sort of pause during which McGonagall found herself the recipient of a very intense, very probing blue-eyed stare.

Dumbledore finally sighed, as though having sensed his Deputy's discomfort.

"Yes, I did know of it," he said, quietly. "In fact, it was I who asked him to leave; he has some tasks that need to be carried out…some important tasks…"

"Albus," said McGonagall, slowly, "what tasks can a dog have to carry out?"

"You'd be surprised, my dear…"

"Try me," said McGonagall, unable to resist. Dumbledore shook his head.

"No…no, I think I will tell you when I have found-" He stopped suddenly, blue eyes glazed over as he stared at a spot over her head for a moment. "-On the contrary, given our current situation, perhaps it would be better…"

Again, even though she waited for him to continue, to elaborate on what he was saying, the elderly wizard just fell silent, causing her to sigh inwardly.

Fine then, she thought, keep your secrets, Albus.

"How is Potter?" she questioned, remembering her reason for deciding to visit the hospital wing in the first place. "He has not been…hurt too much, has he? Physically, I mean?"

Dumbledore shook his head slowly.

"No, physically, all Harry needs is a couple of hours of some good, restful sleep," he said, his expression softening. "Mentally, however…"

"Well you can't very well blame him for that," said McGonagall, curtly. "He saw Diggory…he saw him being killed…"

"Yes, he did," agreed Dumbledore. "Although I cannot help but wonder what might have happened should Peter's aim have been…awry…"

Dark eyes narrowed at the Headmaster.

"Peter?" she echoed. "Peter who? Was he the one who…killed Diggory?" Dumbledore's blue eyes focused on her once more – and she absently noted that they weren't twinkling as they almost always did.

"Peter Pettigrew," he said, simply. "And yes, he did kill Cedric Diggory."

His Deputy stared at him out of her dark eyes, eyebrows raised.

"I beg your pardon?"

Dumbledore sighed.

"Peter Pettigrew, Minerva. Surely you remember him? He was one of your Gryffindors, I believe, and was also a…good friend of three other, famous, Gryffindors-"

"-And he died thirteen years ago," cut in McGonagall. Along with thirteen other Muggles.

"Of course, Minerva, of course…that is the general, widespread belief, is it not?" He was twiddling his thumbs as he, once more, stared at a spot over the top of her head. "In fact, I myself believed that the boy was dead – killed, in a most brutal manner – but…alas, I was proven wrong last year." He shook his head. "To think, that all this time, he-"

"-Albus, Albus, I do not know exactly what happened but…listen to me Albus, Pettigrew is dead. All that they found of him in that sewer was one if his fingers; he's dead."

"He is thought to be dead, yes," agreed Dumbledore. McGonagall shook her head adamantly.

"No, Albus, he is dead. We attended the funeral service held in his honor, did we not? We spoke to his mother, comforted his mother…you even made a speech on him, as his school Headmaster-"

Dumbledore, however, had stopped listening to her. Having lowered his gaze back to his Deputy's eyes, he could see the warring emotions in the depths of her eyes.

After speaking to Harry in his office, and then later giving Severus and Sirius their individual tasks, he had known that he would have to tell the Transfiguration professor the truth that he himself had been told just last year. It had not been a task that he had looked forward to, a few minutes ago, and it had resulted in him deciding to talk to her later; perhaps after a week or two had passed, when the Order members were all gathered.

But he now knew that he could not put it off.

"-Minerva," he said, cutting off whatever it was that she was saying. "We need to talk."

There was a slight pause.

"We are talking now, Albus."

"Yes, but I need to speak to you about another matter, rather, a few other matters…and I would much rather do it in private, where information will not fall on unwanted ears."

"I was going to see Potter-"

"-Harry is fine, but, of course, I understand your concern. You may see him after I speak to you." He gestured before him with a wide sweep of his arm. "After you, Minerva." With a barely audible sigh, McGonagall turned around and started walking, this time heading for the Headmaster's office.

This day was turning out to be…quite a strange and taxing one.

A short while later:

For the first time since the day her younger self had been told that the position of Hogwarts' Transfiguration Professor was free, and it would be a great honour to have her take it up, Minerva McGonagall fidgeted in her seat opposite the Headmaster.

As always, Albus had conjured up some tea and a number of biscuits…but Minerva only played with the white and blue tea cup in her hands, allowing its warmth to seep into her fingers.

She looked up at her colleague, her friend, as he cleared his throat.

"Minerva…I am afraid that you will not like what it is that I am to speak to you about. There is nothing that I can do about that, except to just ask you to hear the whole story before walking out of my office in a huff. Can you do that?"

"Yes," said McGonagall. "I will."

"Good." There was a slight pause. "Tell me, Minerva, what do you know of the events of that fateful Halloween night of 1981?"

McGonagall gaped at the elderly wizard, wondering, for a moment, if she had misheard him. When he looked expectantly at her, however, she knew that she had not.

"The Potters were killed, and You-Know-Who disappeared, having been seemingly 'killed' by Harry Potter."

"Yes, but, honestly Minerva, can you not say his real name? Surely a witch of your considerable intellect is not incapable of realizing the power we give him when we refuse to call him by the name Voldemort?"

"Force of habit," muttered the witch, "I do not like that name, the name he has chosen for himself, and it certainly is not his real name. I would call him by his real name……but he does not deserve that any longer. He is not the one he was when he still bore his true name."

Dumbledore nodded sagely and decided not to press the matter. He did not need her annoyed with him now.

"And on that same night," he said, continuing their earlier conversation, "Peter Pettigrew was apparently killed, along with thirteen other Muggles. And the one responsible for everything that happened that night – except for Voldemort's 'disappearance' – was Sirius Black."

McGonagall was proud to note that she didn't even flinch at Dumbledore's words.

"There is no 'apparently' about it, Albus; Peter Pettigrew was killed. By Black. James and Lily were betrayed; again, by Black."

"And that is where I must start to disagree with you, Minerva," said Dumbledore, shaking his head remorsefully. "For that story is not, by any means, accurate…nor does it truthfully describe the events that took place on that night, fourteen years ago."

"Albus," there was a weary, somewhat warning note in the Transfiguration's Professor's voice. "Albus, please, I cannot understand why you are bringing up these…past memories, but I can honestly tell you that I do not want to experience-"

"-It is necessary, Minerva," interrupted Dumbledore, sadly. "As Harry told us, Lord Voldemort has returned to a human form, and his Death Eaters have been summoned to him-"

"-Severus!" It suddenly registered in McGonagall's head why the Potions' master had looked so…pale and touchy.

"Yes, he felt the call of the Dark Mark," said Dumbledore, sounding…old, "but he did not go to him. And yet…I-" he paused for a moment. "I have asked him to take up his role as a spy, once more. Just as I have asked a…friend to gather up the members of the Order of the Phoenix."

McGonagall slumped back in her seat.

"Then it is starting. Again," she whispered, closing her eyes against the horrid, morbid memories that resurfaced in her mind, mainly concerning her former students and how war pitted them against each other. Against her.

"Yes, it is," said Dumbledore, a steely note in his voice. "And we will be prepared this time. Lord Voldemort will be strong, stronger, perhaps, than he was during the last war, but we cannot let him emerge successful. We are fortunate that young Harry…that young Harry survived, and returned to inform us of this. Although it is clear that we will not have the Ministry's help…"

McGonagall snorted.

"That Ministry has never done anything good," she said, heatedly. "Cornelius never was an ideal candidate for the position he's in now; heaven knows how he was elected."

"But he is the Minister of Magic, and it would do us well to remember that," added Dumbledore. "If he will not believe us, none in his Ministry will."

"But surely-" Dumbledore waved his hand casually, stopping her in mid-sentence.

"Enough of that," he said, "We can discuss that later. For the moment, I would like to return to what we were talking about earlier; namely, about Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black." He glanced at the dark-haired woman somewhat sternly as she opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, and was satisfied when she said nothing.

Waving his wand at one of the cupboards in the corner of the office, he started to push aside a few of the rolls of parchment, and the ink bottles that littered the space on the table before him. With an apologetic glance at his companion, he also Vanished the teapot, the tray, the biscuits and both of their cups.

McGonagall realized why he did all of this when the silver Pensieve dropped down between the two of them. For a moment, all she could do was stare at it.

"…Why-?" she questioned, after a moment or two.

"Because you will understand this better when you see it," said Dumbledore, as he took a deep breath and tapped his wand to his head before dipping the thing into the basin of the Pensieve. He repeated this a few times, before he gestured at his companion. "After you, my dear."

A/N

Well, I hope that was alright. It was a bit longer than the previous chapters, but I didn't really want to stop it at any other point. Of course, the next chapter will be a sort of continuation of this scene...and will be up, hopefully, soon.

See ya soon!

Siriusgirl1