AN: Hello everybody. Firstly I want to apologise for the lack of story updates in the past few weeks, unfortunately I was struck down by covid and was able to keep up with my usual schedule and irl work commitments. However, I am now well again and hoping to get back to posting.
I have also seen the new Fantastic Beasts film last Sunday, and I have to say I fell in love with it! Secrets of Dumbledore has to be my favourite one so far and I loved the deep dive into Albus's past and the understanding it gave about him as a person, a human and not just the powerful wizard we see in HP. Has anybody else seen it? What are your thoughts?
T/W for this chapter- memories involving child abuse, description is kept to a minimum but please keep yourselves safe.
-MP-
Chapter Nineteen: Minerva and Malcolm
It was late in the evening, and the sky was pitch black as it often was during January. Harry had finished work for the day and instead of going home he decided to explore the memory cabinet again, typically he would have apparated to his destination but had chosen to walk there instead, aiming to clear his mind.
The street lights were on but in normal London fashion they were dim and didn't equally illuminate the paths, just offering small bursts of light before darkness fell around him again. A repeating loop of light and dark as he trudged closer to Grimmauld Place, he listened to the crunching sound of the pavement underfoot, its sound allowing his mind to wander freely.
January was biting cold and tonight was no exception, he pulled his long black coat tighter against himself trying to fend out the stinging cold lashing his face and body. He could have used a warming charm without alarming any of the muggles nearby but he chose to feel the sharpness of the weather instead.
His mind was bouncing between two schools of thought, he remained first on his insistence in pursuing the memory cabinet despite their reservations. But there was a constant gnawing at his consciousness regarding Ginny, whether he should be keeping her in the dark. Placating her with excuses about stress and Minerva's hospitalisation whilst guilt knotting his stomach. Should he come clean to Ginny? Some of the many questions that echoed inside him matched the thudding of his feet on the pavement.
Once arriving at Grimmauld Place, he took a moment to pause on the corner and stare down at the empty street. He couldn't help but draw parallels to when he first visited during his teenage years, the palpable fear echoing from his memory of watching the circling death eaters from his window.
It was the times his mind wandered back unwillingly, dredging up a memory that would catch him off guard, rearing almost from nowhere to ruin his day. Sometimes so vividly he would be frozen as the scenes replayed around him. He was very thankful that it didn't happen as often as it used to, until more recently that is.
He had reached the steps of number twelve, his hands now fisted in his pockets clinging to his wand in his right hand and some loose change in the other. Harry glanced at the muggles on either side happily getting on with their evenings, before unlocking the door and stepping inside.
After closing it behind him, his first job was to creep past the awful portrait that remained permanently covered on the hallway wall. Knowing that if he disturbed it then his ears would be filled by the vile shrieking woman that lay underneath, and even after all of the years he still detested her.
Harry then walked into the kitchen and greeted an elderly Kreacher who was just finishing up the dinner he had prepared for him. The elf had made cheese pie, chips and broccoli and the smell of which caused Harry's stomach to rumble with anticipation. He slipped his coat off and slid into the closest chair.
"This looks lovely, Kreacher." Harry said, smiling gratefully at the house elf.
Kreacher bowed in response. "Thank you Master. You are most welcome… it was no trouble at all."
"Well I am thankful all the same." He nodded, before picking up his cutlery and eating greedily. Spooning large mouthfuls as he made several sounds of approval.
He then headed upstairs to one of the back bedrooms where he stored the memory cabinet and pensieve, instinctively undoing the wards which he had manipulated to only grant him access as he let his eyes dance over the numerous bottles within.
Earlier in the day when he was stuck at his desk completing paperwork, he let his mind gleefully wander to the subject of the memory cabinet. In particular what memory he wanted to choose next, and he knew just the one he was most interested in. It was in the same deep emerald bottle as the first memory of McGonagall's childhood, which made him want to see what the other contained.
The only difference between the two was their dates, as the second bottle was dated approximately 6-7 years after the first. He curled his fingers around it and pulled it off the shelf and turned it over several times in his hand to examine it.
Harry recognised the writing, knowing that Minerva had labelled it herself. He smiled and felt his heart ache all at the same moment. He felt both guilty for betraying Ginny even though she was away for the night at a friends, and for going against the advice of his friends…. And ultimately for looking at something he wasn't entirely sure Minerva ever wanted to be seen by anybody else.
Yet, there was a constant nagging inside him. A question of what if. Could he forgive himself if there was a way to help Minerva and he never found it, could he live with himself if he left her to rot in St Mungo's for the rest of her life a shell of her former self?
He shoved all those thoughts and emotions aside, looking plainly at the rectangular bottle in his hand. He made his choice when he pulled out the cork and poured the swirling misty liquid into the pensieve and lowered his face into the basin.
Quickly, he found himself transported back to the same area of Caithness as the previous time. The same rocky hillside, with the tangy sea air filling his nostrils from the nearby sea. He turned around to the sound of voices and the stone cottage came into view, as did the shadows of moving figures concealed by the curtained windows.
Harry walked over to the house and let himself inside, following the voices until he found the source of them in the living room. There was a girl around age nine and a boy of about seven having a whispered argument between themselves. The girl seemed angry and scornful whilst the boy looked exasperated, both small children wielding emotions far bigger than them.
"Malcolm! I told you not to do that, you will get caught!" The angry girl had her hands fisted against her sides as she burned a serious look into the boy.
"I didn't mean to Minerva, it's just one of our tricks!" He whispered back defiantly.
Harry now realised he was witnessing a scene between Minerva and one of her younger brothers Malcolm, they were standing either side of a broken plate on the floor.
Minerva then leant down the ground and waved her hand over the broken pieces to knit them back together, she let out a heavy sigh of relief when she could see it had worked.
"Thank goodness!" She sighed, lifting her hand to her chest feeling the racing pulse underneath. "Please, try to be careful Malc."
She was about to stand up when Harry felt a presence behind him, he turned and saw the furious face of Mr McGonagall- the children's father.
Harry watched helplessly as the boy stumbled back and squeaked from fear, drawing Minerva's attention away from the mended crockery to the shadow cast over her by the dominating man. Her eyes widened and fixed on him, she stood up slowly and lifted her hands out in front of her.
"I'm sorry Daddy. I know I shouldn't have!" She croaked, tears rapidly welling in her eyes.
The voice that roared from the man made the hair on his arms, followed by the goosebumps spreading across his body. Even in a memory the fear he created was palpable, making Harry, a fully grown adult, feel on edge. He stepped back himself and looked on as the scene unfolded.
"HOW DARE YOU USE THAT FILTH IN THIS HOUSE!" He spat.
Minerva's Father grabbed her forcefully by the collar and yanked her to her feet, causing her to cry out. She repeated "Dad! I'm sorry… I'm sorry!"
Her pleas were met with more footsteps echoing from another area of the house, seconds later her mother appeared wearing an alarmed expression as he looked between the two faces of her children.
"Put her down Robert!" She demanded.
The man didn't let her go, he kept a firm grip as he turned his blotchy red face around to face the woman. His brown eyes filled with hatred as he laid them on his wife and each of his children in turn.
Minerva squirmed beneath him to no avail, he just tightened his grip. "NO ISOBEL. I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS!"
Isobel looked at her daughter's frightened face and then at her Husband. "Why.. what did she do?" Her face reflecting the mellowing of anger which was replaced with a seriousness, a sharp and considerate expression.
Harry's eyes widened in shock from what he was hearing. Was he really going to hear a mother support this treatment of her daughter? How could she side with a man who lashed out as Robert did?
The little boy came out from behind the sofa he was hiding behind, tears soaking his flushed little face. "She fixed a broken plate." He admitted, his guilty eyes pleading with his sisters.
"WITH MAGIC!" The Father bellowed over the voices from the rest of the family.
Isobel fell silent and looked sadly at her daughter, who was cowering more and more at her Father's ministrations. Harry wondered whether she would defend her child, as any mother ought to do but he soon had his questions answered.
She shook her head and laid a gentle hand on her Husband's arm. "Minerva you have been told about using your tricks. You know your Father doesn't like it."
Minerva nodded. "I know Mother. I'm sorry." Her watery eyes looked up at her Father, desperately trying to make him feel how apologetic she was. "I am Daddy.. I am really sorry." Her voice squeaked, trying to escape from inside of her as her body trembled from how scared she felt.
Instead of comfort or acceptance, something entirely different came next. Her Father didn't step aside, or apologise for his terrible behaviour. Instead Harry was about to witness him do something a parent should never do to a child, as he lifted his hand and he struck her hard across her head. So forcefully that the sound echoed around the room and she fell to the floor, breaking out into a heart wrenching sob as she clung to her stinging face.
Her Father, satisfied with his work, left the room and the family listened as the front door slammed behind him signalling his exit.
Isobel went over to her daughter and gently lifted her to her feet, Harry could see the beginnings of tears in her own eyes too. She moved Minerva's hand away from her face revealing the beginnings of a bruise forming underneath her eye, she sighed heavily and pulled her into a hug. They silently held each other for a few minutes, a helpless Minerva hiccoughing against her mother's chest through the sobs.
Her mother began to whisper soothingly into her ear, brushing her hair with her hand. "I am so, so sorry Minnie girl."
Isobel continued to offer comfort to her child. "You were just trying to protect your brother. I understand my beautiful Minerva."
Minerva blinked back at her mother, still drawing in shaky breaths as her began to recover from her ordeal.
She stepped back and cupped her daughter's face in her hand. "You won't have to hide your gifts forever, but please, please be more careful." Her hands then fell from her daughter's face and she walked away leaving her two children alone again.
Minerva wiped her sodden face and tried to compose herself, and her brother Malcolm was back at her side.
"What did Mamma mean, we don't have to hide forever?"
For the first time in this memory Harry watched a smile appear on Minerva's thin lips. The tone of her voice sounded just a fraction lighter than before, despite the purple marks clouding her face.
"When we are eleven years old we get to go somewhere else. To help us with our tricks, just for a while."
The boy frowned at his sister. "How do you know this?"
Minerva gained a more confident look, aiming to give her brother some hope even in the darkest times they were sharing. "Mamma told me. That's how."
Malcolm smiled and answered simply "Okay then." As that was enough of an explanation for a seven year old boy. He then cuddled into his sister's side and squeezed her enthusiastically.
"Thank you." He said as he looked up at his sister. His eyes full of gratitude and love.
Minerva squeezed her little brother back. "Anytime."
The memory then began to disappear around Harry and within seconds he found himself back in the bedroom at Grimmauld Place, his own heart thudding in his chest.
He stepped back feeling the need to collect himself, empathising with what Minerva had experienced in her childhood. It was no wonder she prided herself on her stern nature and sheer strength she exuded; she had been that way her whole life. She had to be, forced to be… it was never by choice.
Harry was about to put away the pensieve and close the cabinet when a multicoloured glow caught his eye, it took a second for him to realise it was the cabinet that was emitting the various bright colours that were spangled around the room casting a glow of red, green, blue, orange of every colour over the walls, floor… soaking everything in sight.
He blinked at it and shook his head thinking he was just tired, but when he opened them he knew he hadn't imagined it. The bottles were still glowing, but they weren't just moments before when he had pulled out the emerald green bottle.
After staring blankly at the cabinet for a few minutes, he couldn't ascertain why the phenomenon was occurring and in a slight panic he shut it and locked the wards. He turned around and leant himself against it, his breathing heavy and his chest rising up and down in quick succession.
Why had Minerva preserved these terrible memories of her childhood? Why had the bottles begun to glow of their own accord? Why are they glowing so many different colours?
Harry squeezed his eyes closed tightly, willing the thudding in his chest to subside, to give him room to think. He had so many questions whirring around his head and had no idea on how to answer any of them, he knew he had to do some more research into the complicated magic behind memories… he may even have to enlist Hermione's help. His head hung down towards his chest, wondering what on earth he was going to do next.
-MP-
