Extra chapter (and quitea long one)to make up for the sporadic, irregular and infrequent updating and thank you for all the kind reviews!

Disclaimer from the beginning still applies – the characters, settings etc are not mine.

It was the middle of the summer holidays when Armando Dippet pushed open the door of Dumbledore's office.

"Albus, I must speak with you."

"What about, Headmaster?"

"You know the McGonagall girl best of any of us I think."

Dumbledore nodded.

Dippet sighed, "The ministry has decided to act against her parents."

"How?" queried Dumbledore.

"Her – her mother is to go to Azkaban."

"And her father?"

"The dementors have already performed the kiss."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, contemplating this.

"Albus, it was performed in his home. The girl she was there and – she – she witnessed it. And, well, afterwards, one of the dementors was, well, out of control…"

"What happened?" demanded Dumbledore desperately.

"It tried – tried to attack the girl."

"Is Minerva okay?"

Dippet took a deep breath, "Apparently – I can't be sure."

"How did she come to be there? She was supposed to be spending the summer with the McKinnon's."

"Apparently she disappeared from their home early this morning," Dippet replied, "Some sort of powerful summoning charm."

Dumbledore got to his feet, "I will go to the McGonagall manor immediately."

Dippet nodded, "Be careful though, Albus, do not forget the prophecy."

"And you, Headmaster, do not forget that this girl is more than merely the subject of an unpleasant prophecy." With that, Dumbledore grabbed Fawkes' tail and they were gone in a flash of fire.

Finding himself in the McGonagall Manor, Dumbledore surveyed his surroundings silently until a ministry official appeared.

"Can I help you, Professor?"

"I am looking for Miss McGonagall; I'm her Head of House."

"She's round on the main staircase," the official shook his head, eyes focussed on the ground, "Poor girl," he added softly, "No one in this job has ever witnessed the kiss, ministry regulations – no witnesses, performed by the dementors alone."

"Then how did Miss McGonagall end up witnessing it? She wasn't even supposed to be here." Dumbledore demanded, trying to keep his voice calm and the fury from his tone.

"That was the problem wasn't it," replied the official, "No one knew she was there."

Dumbledore shook his head in disgust; that was it – 'no one knew she was there.' He walked away, round the curve of the hallway to the main staircase where he saw her, sitting quietly seven stairs up. She was sitting rigidly, unmoving, frozen. A deathly pale covered her face, in stark contrast to her long dark hair, indeed, even her lips were white. Her brown eyes were bigger and darker than usual and there was a haunted look to them as they stared blankly ahead of her, unseeing, not even registering his entrance.

He moved carefully up the stairs towards her and sat down beside her.

"Minerva."

She didn't move, her expression remained empty and her eyes continued to gaze blankly into the hallway.

He placed a hand on hers, which rested on the step beside her, and was shocked to feel how cold she was.

"Minerva," he said again.

Still there was no response. She remained as though carved out of stone; or ice if her temperature was any indication.

He reached into his pocket and produced a block of chocolate. Carefully he broke off a piece and held it before her.

"Please eat this, Minerva," he implored her, "You will feel better."

Still without changing her expression, moving, or even looking at him, she finally spoke, in a hollow, emotionless voice.

"He wanted me to see."

Dumbledore looked at her curiously, "Who wanted you to see?" he asked, "And see what? The dementors?"

Her hand clenched when he said 'dementors', otherwise she did not even acknowledge that he had spoken.

"Minerva, please eat this, you need it."

She took the piece of chocolate from his hand, still rigid, still not turning to face him. She put the chocolate to her lips and ate it slowly.

Dumbledore waited.

"He knew it was coming. He wanted me to see it. That's why he brought me here. He wanted me to see 'the true face of the side I have chosen'."

"Your father?"

She nodded.

"He wanted me to know what I'd done – by telling you about Grindelwald, he – he thought it might change me I think, that I might…"

"Fulfil the prophecy?"

She nodded again.

"I'm so sorry, Minerva. You shouldn't have had to witness that…"

"He was right."

"What?"

"I have seen the truth, and I have changed."

"Minerva?"

"I truly believed there was good and evil; clear, distinct differences between them – but there isn't is there? They're mixed up together – good is just 'less evil' – I…"

Dumbledore placed his hand on her shoulder in an attempt at comfort.

"I don't know what to believe anymore. They took his soul," her voice cracked slightly, "I know he was evil, I know that, but – but they were supposed to be good and they took his soul, how is that good? Sir, how is that right?"

Her voice shook and tears rolled down her pale cheeks. Dumbledore held her in his arms as she sobbed brokenly, and found himself completely unable to think of anything to say.

It was in that moment that Dumbledore reached some further understanding of right and wrong and sitting there, holding his distraught student, he had to agree – the use of dementors was unjustified, wrong, and dangerous, and he would oppose it from then on.

An awkward silence filled the room as the remnants of the memory faded. Everyone stared uncomfortably at the pensieve, uncertain of how to react.

Harry could not help recalling the end of the previous term and felt a strong sympathy for his professor, but he had no idea of what to say or, for that matter, how to say it.

Finally Sirius's mother broke the silence, her yelling echoing outside the room. A number of the adults got to their feet and went to draw the curtains across the portrait once more.

McGonagall smiled softly at those who remained, mostly those who had not been in the Order before and had no opportunity to hear the story, nevertheless, the smile did not really reach her eyes.

"It was a long time ago," she told them softly, "I will not tell you that I've forgotten or that I feel it less; but I can at least assure you I have had more than fifty years to accept it."

Her hands shook slightly as she spoke and the sadness remained in her eyes, but otherwise she gave no indication that revisiting the memory had affected her.

The group who had gone to deal with the portrait returned, but an additional figure followed them and stood silently in the doorway as they took their seats.

"Minerva," he said softly.

She turned and her eyes fixed upon him.

"Albus," she murmured, reassured by his presence, as always.

He entered and took a seat, somewhat wearily.

"Is everything okay, Albus?" she asked gently.

"Dolores has been talking to Lucius Malfoy," he answered calmly.

"And Malfoy is with you-know-who."

Dumbledore nodded.

Minerva put her head in her hands, "What are we to do, Albus?" she asked anxiously.

He shook his head, "They do not know everything," he answered, "ButI think it may betime that our friends knew all, but I must let you decide."

"What if we have a traitor in our midst again, Albus?"

"That is a risk, Minerva, and I am afraid. I am afraid that in telling this it will not be me placed at risk, but you. That's why I will let you decide how much we tell."

"If you think it should all be told then it will be," she answered softly, "I trust you, Albus, always."

"I only wish I deserved your trust."

She reached for his hand, "You do," she told him firmly, "And you always will."

"I begin to fear that I am making mistakes, Minerva."

She bit her lip and repeated words she had once been told, words that had eventually become her guide in life, "If you try to choose what is right, you will be fine. You always seek what is right, Albus, so you have nothing to fear."

He didn't respond, but the look in his eyes took the truth from her words and gave the answer clearly – what if you try to do what is right, but end up doing what is wrong.

McGonagall looked away from his face and back at the hand she still held in her own.

"This is not our war," she whispered, "You said it yourself, as much as we wish it could be, it is not. We must help however we can – I see why you feel it should be told, and I will trust you, wherever you lead."

He bowed his head in assent, "So the time comes," he muttered softly.

They remained, silent and unmoving, side by side, until Lupin finally spoke.

"Shall I continue?" he asked.

McGonagall nodded and leaning forward peered into the pensieve, "My seventh year," she murmured thoughtfully.

Lupin took the strand of the memory with his wand and it began.

It was 2am but Minerva McGonagall could not sleep, once again her dreams had been filled with the dementors. She was sitting in the Gryffindor common room reading, or more accurately, pretending to read, her mind was far from the words on the page.

"Y'allright?"

She turned to the third year behind her.

"Hagrid," she said softly.

"Y'allright?" he asked again.

She gave a false smile, "Fine, thank you."

"No you're not." Hagrid put a considerable strain on the chair beside her as he joined her in front of the fire.

She didn't answer.

"Is it cos o' the things the others been saying?" Hagrid asked, "Cos you know it isn't true, you're not like the rest o' your family you know."

"How can you be so sure, Hagrid?"

"Professor Dumbledore trusts you don't he?"

Minerva sighed, "Do you really think Professor Dumbledore is always right, Hagrid?"

"He's been very good to me, Professor Dumbledore has, and he's a clever man is Professor Dumbledore, right most o' the time," Hagrid nodded his head emphatically, "Good man, Professor Dumbledore, my dad always said so."

Minerva gazed silently at the fire.

"What's wrong?" Hagrid demanded, "You don't agree about Professor Dumbledore?"

"My dad never said Dumbledore was a good man," she answered softly, "But he wasn't very interested in good men."

"You thinking about your family?"

Minerva sighed, "I haven't really got any family now. Not that I ever had much of one to begin with."

Hagrid nodded his head in understanding, "My dad's dead now," he muttered sadly, "Died last year."

Minerva nodded, "I'm sorry, Hagrid."

He shrugged, "I miss him o' course, always will won't I? Professor Dumbledore's been good to me though – like I say, he's a good man."

"I'm not sure there is such a thing, Hagrid."

"What you talking about?"

"You heard," she paused, "You heard what happened to my family didn't you? At least I suppose you did, everyone else seems to know."

"Yeah, I heard."

"If that's what good men do, Hagrid, then is there really any truth in the idea of a 'good man'."

"That's what the ministry did," Hagrid told her, "But they're not all the good men in the world – there's plenty more, like Professor Dumbledore – you think he thought what they did was right?"

"I don't know, Hagrid. I don't know what to think."

"You're upset," he told her, "You'll be alright in the end, same as how I was really upset when my dad first died, but now I'm alright, even though I miss him and all."

She smiled softly, "I don't miss my family, Hagrid, I know what they were. But I still hate what happened to my father. You've never seen a dementor's kiss, Hagrid, you don't know what it's like, that horrible cold feeling and the way they swoop down, and the – the look in," she swallowed, forcing back the tears that were threatening to overflow, "The look in someone's eyes, when they – they see that – that thing coming towards them, the terror, terror like you can't imagine and, and, and then the look just disappears and sud-suddenly the terror's gone and all there's nothing left – nothing – just emptiness…"

Hagrid put an enormous arm around her shoulders. "You shouldn't have 'ad to see that," he told her, "That wasn't right."

She choked on a sob and addressed her hands as she rubbed them together in her lap. "I can't forget it, Hagrid, not even for a minute; and I daren't sleep – the nightmares are so awful," she blinked away her tears and confessed shakily, "I've felt cold ever – ever since I saw it. Professor Dumbledore gave me chocolate but it didn't work – nothing works. I just feel cold all the time."

"You should tell Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid told her, "maybe he could help."

She shook her head.

"Hagrid, you don't understand."

"Understand what?" he asked her, confused.

"I don't trust him anymore, Hagrid, I can't. He was a part of it – he helped the ministry and he knew what would happen – he knew…"

"Its not his fault, you can't blame him for the dementors."

"I know it's not his fault, Hagrid. But I–I just can't trust him anymore – I'm not sure I can trust anyone."

Hagrid could think of no response, and Minerva soon realised that.

"You should get some sleep, Hagrid," she told him, "Besides; I'd like to be alone."

"You sure?" he asked her.

She nodded, "I need to think."

"Alright," he said and headed for the boys staircase.

"Hagrid."

"Yeah?"

"Promise you won't tell anyone what I said, including Dumbledore," she took a deep breath, "It's private."

He nodded, "Alright, I won't say a word, I promise."

She smiled slightly through her tears, "Thank you."

Hagrid nodded and continued up the staircase; he might not tell anyone, but he would certainly give the matter some consideration himself.

It was two nights later that Minerva, sitting in the common room still unable to sleep, was joined by Hagrid again.

"Minerva," he said softly.

She turned to look at him.

"You still having trouble sleeping?"

She retuned her gaze to the fire and nodded.

"Still cold?"

"I think I always will be, Hagrid."

"Maybe," he answered, "But maybe not. I got something for you."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He took something furry out from a pocket of his enormous coat.

"It's a visctepidus," he told her, holding out the creature which seemed to be mostly a large furry ball with a small snout visible at one end.

"Visctepidus?" she asked uncertainly.

"They're the most warm-hearted creatures there are," he told her, "They like to try to warm other people's hearts too, when theyre not happy. He's got such a warm heart it make his whole body hot, even if you put him in ice – I thought he might be able to help you – keep him with you and then he'll be able to warm you up and help you sleep, see?"

She nodded and held out her hand. The visctepidus sniffed at her fingers and then crawled on to her hand, along her arm and curled up against her chest, near her heart. She felt an incredible warming sensation spread through her, accompanied by a sudden feeling of comfort.

She stroked the little creature fondly and then looked up at Hagrid, "Thank you," she whispered, "I think he will help."

Hagrid nodded, "Good," he said, "I'll leave you be."

As he headed back up the staircase she called out to stop him.

"Hagrid."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for this – really – I – is there anything I can do for you, in return?"

He considered this for a moment.

"If you wouldn't mind…"

"What?"

"I'm having a bit o' trouble with my transfiguration."

She smiled warmly, "I'd love to help you."

Hope you liked this chapter - please tell me if you did, didn't or just want to comment on some aspect of the story. :-)