[memoriesstillsting]

[Skrewtkeeper]

Hey!

Glad to see you've made it to my fan-fiction. I will be posting my first installment very soon probably while y'alls are asleep because that's when I'm braver.

Alright, I suppose I should put up a little descrip. or something so you know if you want to read it or not...no?

The aftermath of the first opening of the Chamber of Secrets leaves far more emotional damage than previously realized. Watch as Dumbledore attempts to fix what is broken.

Yeahhh, that's a lame summary. Basically what's happened is that the Chamber's been opened (the first time, circa 1940s), the killer caught, and an analysis of the aftereffects thereof. I'm also a heavy Albus/Minerva shipper, so the pairing is featured, but it isn't detailed, meaning that nothing serious happens as Minerva's still in school. LOTS of discussion, which I hope is in-character. :3 I am open to critiques also if anyone has any...hope you all enjoy! <3


-Skrewtkeeper

P.S. Bleh, I don't know how to post a title thread banner on this website. x____X So...anyone who does...HELP because I've seriously tried everything I could think of.

[Skrewtkeeper]

POST I.

The aftermath following Myrtle’s death went precisely as expected. Death was not an uncommon thing in the world and people came from all over to pay their respects. The response had been slightly overwhelming, but not unmanageable. With Armando’s failing health, he relied in his capable Deputy to see things through. And they went exactly as planned, without a hitch.

Perhaps her death would not have gathered so much attention if it had not occurred on school grounds. Dumbledore tried not to think of that, as he tried not to think of many things related to the girl and her death. If only he had not been so distracted, if only he had been there…

But he could hardly place the blame upon himself. He was not the perpetrator. He did not guide the girl to her death.

And neither was Hagrid responsible in his opinion. It had taken much encouragement, but Armando agreed that the boy could live on the grounds despite his allegations. The ministry however had not been so kind. Even without much proof (there were no spider bites on the girl after all; her corpse was perfectly preserved upon inspection so he did not believe her death was caused by the boy’s acromantula), Hagrid’s wand had been snapped. He would never reenter the Wizarding World as someone respected, though, Dumbledore mused ruefully, when had he ever been granted a full helping of respect? As a half-giant wizard, he inspired fear and at worst, scorn for his ‘halfbreed’ physique. It pained Dumbledore to think of that boy all alone, perhaps growing up at Azkaban as a number of the Ministry had suggested. He could not live with that so had at least exercised his persuasion in allowing the boy to stay on the grounds. It was all he could do. It would be foolish to face the Ministry head-on alone.

But his actions did feel very lackluster at times. Hagrid would never know a better life, would perhaps never achieve what he always wanted to do. Dumbledore often wondered if he was to blame…he knew that Hogwarts was not fully safe and confided in the students closest to him to be cautious, to never wander alone and forbid others from doing the same. The only problem was that it had not been enough, that something had slipped through the cracks of his carefully constructed plans for safety and wellbeing. The death shook them all and though it had left a very well-hidden mark upon Dumbledore, there were others who weren’t faring as well.

Myrtle had been somewhat of a loner, but her House mates had been especially troubled by her death. A Ravenclaw and an otherwise fine one at that had fallen victim to the evil lurking in the very school that had prided herself on being safe. Dumbledore had aided those teachers who needed help with the counseling, and most seemed to come to grips with what had happened; most had come to accept her death as an accident and not the horrible thing Dumbledore believed it was. He believed her death was no accident, but if it saved a few precious minds, perhaps the entire truth was best concealed.

Following her House mates came those who sat near her in class, those who knew her by sight, those who now knew she was gone. Dumbledore assisted in counseling the remaining few, but once again, others escaped his notice, had fallen through the cracks of his carefully constructed plans for bringing those who remained the hope they required. He had not been expecting it; it had been such a shock to him that she too would be bearing pain yet hiding it so well. He was unaware Minerva McGonagall would carry grief for a student she barely knew, but one day he came to know. And ultimately hoped that what he had to offer was enough.

It was a rather dreary day in late May. The school year was nearly over and students were itching to be let home. He could not blame them. After the unpleasantness and uncertainty that had filled their halls, a respite was something to look forward to. Safety was not something the children were taking for granted anymore; he had already allowed a few to go home early. Barring them, school resumed as normal as school could when a tragedy had struck its very core. In the beginning, counsel was offered to all, then those most affected, then not at all. It was ludicrous to continue to offer something that no one else needed…but he was always aware there had to be more who were suffering, who were merely quelling their grief to cope with the pressures that were on them now. The students had lost a lot of time due to the attacks and Myrtle’s death and were desperately trying to keep up with the load. Dumbledore could normally spot who was not coping well by sight alone, but even sight was flawed and true grief was often elusive in his countless inspections.

Minerva had come to his rooms not ten minutes before, asking for advice on an early application she had heard about—she was only in her fifth year, almost finished up with her O.W.L.s and was clearly ambitious about what she wanted and where she wanted to go. As much as Dumbledore greatly admired her approach to life, it also did not bode well to him. There was something wrong…and he was determined to figure it out.

It wasn’t so much in her idea to apply now as it was in finishing this application now. It surely could wait; she could turn it in whenever she wished and the school would most likely accept her. They had a brilliant Transfiguration program and he could just see the unbridled glee in her eyes at the idea of being accepted into such a prestigious school; not out of mere magical talent alone this time, but out of things she had accomplished, things she had done to prove her worth.

“Professor, what should I write here?” her voice interrupted his thoughts again, and he blinked and consulted the application before him.

“This field here?” he asked, placing his finger over it. He eyed her and watched as she nodded briskly without looking up.

“This is a personal statement, my dear,” he clarified for her. “They would like to know why they should consider you, why they should accept your application and your desire to attend there.”

She frowned. “Alright, how long should it be?”

“Perhaps five hundred words or so—not too long; they must read quite a few.”

“Could you…help me, Professor?” she asked uncertainly, biting her bottom lip. “I’m not sure what to write.”

He smiled at her. “Is not this why you are here? Of course I will help you, but perhaps you could tell me what you had in mind first…then I can assist you from there.”

She nodded to herself as if this idea made sense, and surprising him, she moved away from the desk and came to stand before the window. The rain was still falling, pattering upon the glass. “I’d be an asset to the school,” she spoke to the window, but her voice stunned him. It was cold and dark. Quite unlike the young lady he had come to know.

“Minerva,” he whispered, but she did not hear him.

“I follow instructions to the tee. I’m responsible and reliable,” the last word was through gritted teeth.

“Minerva,” he called again, more loudly this time. “Minerva, whatever is the matter?”

“I’m accomplished at most everything I pursue…until someone needs help.”

“Minerva!” he cried, startled. This was so unexpected of her. He knew her to be hard on herself at the best of times, but this was downright abuse. “I will not tolerate you to debase yourself in this way.”

She turned from the window, a deep frown set on her face. “Don’t they want the truth, Professor?” she questioned angrily, an edge to her voice. “I am being entirely truthful.”

“From your own viewpoint, maybe,” Dumbledore intoned sharply, “but I do not see what could possibly prompt such self-hatred in such a normally self-assured young witch.”

“You wouldn’t understand, Professor,” she replied lightly, brushing this offense off as if it were nothing. But the professor would not let this go so easily.

“Yes I will because you will tell me,” he said sharply again.

“Why does there have to be something wrong?!” Minerva questioned angrily, surprising him with the strength of her own wrath.

“Why indeed,” he retorted bitterly. “I will not stand for such behavior, Minerva. I will not.”

“You’ve stood for it before,” she accused, pointing a finger threateningly at him. “You’ve never cared before!”

Now he was frowning and stood, bringing himself to his own formidable height before he stepped toward her. She flinched at the power he was exuding (she was much shorter than he was, a mere girl of fifteen), but did not back down. He crossed his arms and said in a quiet, dangerous voice, “I do not know from where you have grasped the notion that I do not care, but it is simply untrue. Of course I care, I—”

He broke off at the pitiful look in her eye, the way her arm trembled as she continued pointing at him as though he were still the one to blame. He was shocked when he saw tears gathering in her beautiful eyes—Minerva so proud and true, so brave and intrepid…crying.

“You must not care,” Minerva almost whispered. “Hagrid can never…can never make anything of…himself. He’ll never achieve further education; he’ll never have a normal life. You can’t possibly care.”

Though her words caused something like flames to burst at his insides because he knew they were untrue, he breathed deeply and quelled his anger for the moment. He held up his hand and said, “That’s not true, Minerva.”

“Why was he so…why did he lose everything then?!” she exploded. “You know he didn’t do anything wrong!” Her pointing finger seemed to gain fervor at this statement and was threatening again. “He’ll never amount to anything and it’s all your fault! If you had just—”

“Listen to me, Minerva,” he cut in abruptly, his voice cold. “Hagrid’s fate is my fault. He is now to live on the grounds and not in Azkaban as the Ministry wishes him to stay. I’ve kept him here so he would be safe. Now that is entirely my fault. I could not persuade anything more. The governors agreed that under a more watchful eye, Hagrid’s fascination with his pets could be closely monitored so he could not prove a danger to himself or others.”

“It wasn’t his fault—” Minerva whispered, her hand falling to her side. “It wasn’t—”

“I know, I know,” he soothed with his voice, stepping closer to her and restraining himself from providing comfort further. Perhaps if she were younger…

“It was mine.”

“Minerva!”

Her eyes were wild and threatened him to challenge her again, but he did not take the bait. “Tell me,” he entreated softly. “Tell me how you are to blame.”

“I wasn’t there,” she whispered. “I wasn’t there to protect her…”

“Minerva…”

Tears were falling down her face and she miserably wiped them away with her hands. “Myrtle’s death and Hagrid’s…fate were my fault. I—” she lowered herself to the floor before the window, her back to it.

“I could have prevented them.”

“No you couldn’t have,” Dumbledore breathed gently, fishing through his robes for a handkerchief or something he could offer her. There had to be something… but Minerva wasn’t listening.

“No!” she shouted abruptly, and Dumbledore jumped at her unexpected tone. “I know who’s responsible—” the words made Dumbledore shudder; he was well-aware of the true perpetrator himself, but lacked necessary evidence to prove his well-grounded suspicions. “I just didn’t see it in time…”

“Minerva, this was not your fault,” he tried again, but she wasn’t finished.

She swiveled her head to face him. “How can you say that?!” she moaned, all of her grief, sadness, and anger at herself gripping her voice. “Myrtle was a loner. A loner, Professor! She was constantly teased—I know she was…She was probably horribly miserable all the time and I—I didn’t do a **** thing!”

The professor knelt beside her, finally finding a handkerchief in his many pockets and he uselessly held it out to her, but it seemed as though Minerva was beyond seeing. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said quietly.

“How wasn’t it, Professor?” she asked just as quietly, seeming to regain her discarded sense of sanity, but his hopes were dashed when she continued to speak. “I could’ve escorted her back to Ravenclaw Tower, but I didn’t…I let someone else…I let someone evil take her away…I—”

“Oh Minerva,” Dumbledore breathed brokenly, his heart clenching at her words. He knew exactly what had happened now. As of late, Minerva had retreated inward and he had not questioned her, thinking she was coping in her own quiet way—there was no wrong or right way to grieve after all, but it appeared that Tom had probably offered to take Myrtle back; he would be going in the same direction anyway—the Slytherin dungeon was within the same vicinity as Ravenclaw Tower. Only Tom Riddle had taken a detour this time, and left her body in a seldom-used girl’s bathroom. Dumbledore still could not adequately piece together how exactly he had killed her, but he was certain he somehow had. He had never sensed something so cold in someone alive before.

Dumbledore knew exactly how the situation would have played out. He did not need Legilimency to know why Minerva blamed herself so severely.

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A/N: This pans out at nearly 9,000 words so there is still more to come; it's just extremely difficult to chop up into smaller parts. Thanks for reading! ♥ (Also, the profanity filter IS NOT working. At least, not for this...word... )

[Duddahs]

GOOD! More Harry Potter inspired FanFic to read! Can hardly wait to dig in....

[misscharlotte]

I was wondering when you were going to start posting your story. I only found this a few minutes ago. I love the start so far. Look forward to the next posting skrewtkeeper.



...

PS... Thanks for the heads up. Looks like during the upgrade earlier this year they wiped my censored word list entirely. So, I've got some work to do.

[Skrewtkeeper]

Thank you for the support Duddahs and Grandpa. I actually keep forgetting to update, but I'll fix that tonight hopefully...
Next chapter's better anyway.

Hope you stick around!