Chapter Ten

Minerva McGonagall sniffed dismissively and took a sip of tea.

"I don't know why you always sound so happy when you say, 'checkmate'. It's not as if I win that frequently."

Dumbledore chuckled and watched the damaged pieces pull themselves together and scurry back into the box. The surviving pieces either strode or limped across the board, depending upon their status.

"I never seem to have the chance to play very often." He waited until his victorious king had finished bowing pompously to the other pieces and then closed the lid. He heard Minerva's cup rattle against the saucer, and the logs popped and crackled in the fire while behind him, Fawkes whistled softly in his sleep. The simple sounds comforted him, and he closed his eyes, but he knew Minerva and, therefore, knew that the quiet would not last. Cracking open an eye, he studied her as she appeared to find the flower pattern on her saucer quite fascinating, and he could see her lips thin as she fought her doubts.

He sighed, accurately gauging the cause of her consternation, and Summoned his own drink.

"Do you think I made an error in judgement in wishing to approach Ophelia?"

Pursing her lips and frowning, she placed her cup on the table between them and rested her elbows on her knees; clasping her hands tightly and resting them against her chin, she peered at him over the gold rim of her glasses.

"At first, I agreed with Alastor; the risk of involving her overwhelmed any benefits and, therefore, she should be left well enough alone." The frown fluctuated into a look of pained concern, and her eyes closed momentarily as some thought disturbed her. "Then, Poppy told me about Walter Scrope."

Dumbledore nodded, indicating that he knew the name and the story.

Her fingers fluttering and drumming against the back of her hand were the only outward sign of her discomfiture with the Ministry's methods of maintaining secrecy. "The Ministry found him living as a Muggle who could do nothing more than clever parlour tricks, and yet, they took him from his wife and children. They tried to 'cure him' and ended up destroying him as effectively as any Dementor could. Poppy said he spent twenty-seven years in the Permanent Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo's before he died. As I understand it, they will treat Ophelia in the same fashion."

"Walter Scrope was practically a Squib when he was discovered living outside Ministry control; Ophelia is powerful, if limited, and therefore, much more of a threat to maintaining the secrecy regarding our world; I doubt that they would concern themselves too deeply with her rehabilitation."

Minerva nodded and relaxed back into the plush, crimson velvet chair. "I cannot say that helping her regain her memories and her power is anything less than the right thing to do. But I believe you may be giving her too much credit to assume that her gratitude will secure her as a member of the Order."

"Ophelia is a determined, resourceful, loyal and, above all, intelligent young woman. I believe she will see her role in this war and accept it gracefully, and despite your concerns, the benefits will overwhelm the risks."

"I wish I had your confidence," she said softly. "Merlin knows we need more help; everything seems much worse now and..." She placed her trembling fingers over her lips as if to dam the words.

"Everything is much worse now, Minerva, and there is no shame in fearing it," he whispered. "Our courage is not measured in our lack of fear, but in our ability to face it."

"Very trite." Despite herself, she laughed.

Dumbledore shrugged magnanimously and took another sip of tea. "As I said before, she is an intelligent woman and will see her role clearly."

Minerva sobered instantly and scrutinised the serene man in front of her and wished, not for the first time, that she were a Legilimens. He had been Sorted into Gryffindor, and no truer representative could exist, but she sometimes felt that Slytherin had lost a champion when the Hat had finally placed him.

"What do you mean?"

"Alastor was the Auror in charge of the investigation into the accident," he responded, mindful of Minerva's impatience. "It was rumoured that Death Eaters had been in some way responsible, and it was deemed imperative that the rumour be quickly nipped. He and his colleagues were dispatched to the site within minutes of the accident and quickly determined the cause to be non-magical. They searched for wizards, as is their priority in such matters, and found two amongst the devastation. An analysis of the wand remains indicated that one belonged to her, and with no evidence to suggest anything sinister, it was decided that one of the unfortunates was Ophelia Black, and the investigation ended."

"In hindsight, rather presumptive, but I fail to see how someone's oversight two decades ago could possibly help us now."

"You are quick to suggest an error, but Alastor was quicker to suggest conspiracy."

He smiled at Minerva's dismissive snort and continued as if she were deeply intrigued.

"He spent the best part of eight months determining the truth of the matter, and his constant vigilance has yielded surprising and disturbing evidence."

"Eight months?"

"Yes. I agonised over what should be done for the best; should I leave her and hope that her abilities remained inconspicuous, or should I attempt to heal her and reinstate her in our world? Meanwhile, Alastor scoured the records pertaining to the accident to discover how she survived and how it came about that she was left in a Muggle hospital."

"Alastor is not infallible."

"No," he conceded, "but it seemed strange that the local police found, quite by accident, what seven Aurors were trained to find and yet had somehow missed." He settled into his own chair, drained the teacup and Banished it to the table next to Minerva's. "The Ministry reports were beyond reproach, and he contacted those who were involved and still available to compare memories, and again, there was nothing suggestive of underhandedness. Dissatisfied, he... shall we say... borrowed police reports and compared those with his own notes. Again, there were no discrepancies, no fallacious recollections and no evidence to support any theory other than amazing good luck or improbable incompetence." He forestalled Minerva before she suggested which one seemed the most plausible. "I do and have always had the utmost faith in Alastor's abilities as an Auror, and despite his excessive tendency to dramatise, I believed that he was right."

"A conspiracy then? To what end?" Impatience and tension made her tone harsh and demanding. She disliked the way that he constantly drew out the moment, revelling in his listener's fascination and curiosity.

"Ophelia Black, you may be aware, is the illegitimate daughter of Capella Black, and when her mother died, guardianship passed to Elladora Black. There, Ophelia lived with her aunt...quite happily, I understand, and far more comfortably than in the small house on the Cumbrian coast. Little is known of those four years with her mother, and it is only through Andromeda Tonks that we know anything at all about her life before attending Hogwarts. Alas, there is very little in Madam Tonks' recollections, but one thing stands out: the first time Ophelia performed spontaneous magic within the Black household, Andromeda recalls that the poor child panicked. It appears that Capella had taken great pains to instil dread into Ophelia about her abilities and to pre-empt any situations that would encourage them from developing." He frowned as he spoke; it was that one fact disclosed by Andromeda that had interested him above all others, and he wished he knew more about Capella Black to determine what prompted her to smother her daughter's nascent magical abilities.

Minerva shook her head sadly; it was not unknown for families to repress what they considered odd behaviour in their children, but it was usually only true in Muggle families where they were ignorant of the Wizarding world. Other incidences of repression tended to be causes of concern.

"It took considerable effort on the part of the family to encourage her to explore her abilities. Soon afterwards, Andromeda left to marry Ted and was subsequently excised from the family, and after that, we catch up with her when she joins the school."

"I remember her Sorting; the Hat seemed to have had difficulty placing her," she said while plucking breadcrumbs from her skirt and placing them on the saucer, feigning contented tolerance as he unwound his story. She knew from long experience that he never responded favourably to impatience, and it was better for her nerves if she just allowed herself to be swept along with the story. "She was certainly pleased to be sorted into Slytherin."

"Yes, Andromeda mentioned that Ophelia wanted to be close to Narcissa; their relationship was very strong, and the Hat placed her where she most needed to be. Indeed, the bond between them was strong enough to compel Narcissa to offer her husband's home to Ophelia when the school broke for the holidays. We only have a few accounts relating to her stays at Malfoy Manor, but they seem to suggest that the arrangement was a pleasant one. Of course, in time, Mr. Malfoy's allegiances began to affect the home, and I believe that Narcissa arranged for Ophelia to live with Andromeda to protect her from Voldemort's influence, but unwittingly precipitated the awful destiny awaiting the young girl. In her short life, you see, she was in the very hearts of the Malfoy and Black families, privy to their words and deeds. As a result, someone may have considered her ideally placed to gather information about those families and their ties to Voldemort. Alastor believed that because of that, she was somehow intercepted between Andromeda's home and the terrible derailment."

"Intercepted? By the Ministry?"

"Alastor believed so," he said solemnly. "The pressure on the Ministry to apprehend Death Eaters was immense, and sadly, many strategies were employed to achieve results. I remember several complaints being levied against Minister Crouch and his Elite Aurors, involving unlawful arrests and dubious questioning techniques. In search of answers, Alastor located and spoke with Sigmund Norwood, who had been in charge of the Elite Aurors and who had been discharged from service shortly after Minister Crouch resigned, and persuaded him to divulge any information regarding Ophelia.

Sigmund was an old man riddled with regrets and readily eased his conscience, such as it was, by confessing to Alastor that he did oversee the abduction and interrogation of Ophelia. They removed her from the train via Portkey and questioned her under Veritaserum, subjecting her to a most gruelling ordeal. They returned her to the train and cast a Memory Modifying Curse, their crime hidden and unknown. We both know only too well the devastating consequences of a badly applied Obliviate charm. The carnage of the train wreck may have enhanced the degree of memory loss and confusion, and so the remnants of her mind would have been almost irreparably damaged." In the dimming light, he saw Minerva's expression darken and her knuckles whiten as she gripped the chair arms. "Alastor and his team had already completed their search and left the scene as the Muggle emergency services arrived, and in the chaos, her body was simply slipped out with the survivors."

"But to use a child! The poor girl must have been terrified." She covered her mouth once more and closed her eyes as if it could stop the images playing in her head. "It was unfortunate that she travelled by Muggle rail that day."

"Andromeda was looking after Nymphadora at the time so the duty fell willingly to her husband, Ted, and as he was unable to use the Floo-network or Disapparate, they had little choice in the mode of transport. He was injured in the accident and spent several days unconscious, ironically, in the same hospital. When he regained his senses, he was questioned by the Muggle police and Alastor, but his statement, again, indicated no foul play, and the investigation was closed with the tragic determination that Ophelia had perished." He shook his head sadly, and behind him, Fawkes trilled sympathetically.

Minerva dispersed the outrage and tried to think dispassionately. A young girl had been taken and persecuted by Ministry officials; in so doing, they had been forced to hurt her and steal her memories, and now, all that was going to be restored. She could easily determine that Ophelia would have no respect or admiration for the Ministry, but she failed to see why she would willingly join the Order rather than return directly to her family. Watching Dumbledore as she pondered, she noticed that his gaze had drifted off into the fireplace; the flames danced in his half moons, and his expression was weary and strained.

"There's something else, isn't there?" She saw his eyes close and his lips draw back as if her words had wounded him. "Did you think her ideally placed, Albus?"

His slow nod was almost imperceptible. She allowed herself a moment to be shocked and then forced herself to think as a leader responsible for those who fought and died. She shuddered and felt the burden's weight descend unpleasantly. It was easy to adopt the moral high ground, free from responsibility and blame. It was easy to forget that information had been the most desperately sought resource in a time when the Death Eaters seemed to have had every advantage. She had gratefully devoured each nugget the spies served and had used it remorselessly. Wartime allowed no scruples, and times of peace suffocated in recriminations. She would not diminish Dumbledore's efforts with reprimands or deny her own culpability with her subordination.

"Did the Ministry suspect that Ophelia was assisting us?" She kept her voice steady and bland.

"It did occur to me."

"And?" She queried gently.

"Sigmund did indeed take Ophelia from the train on Ministry orders, but I doubt that they made the decision based on any connection to us; I suspect that her family was enough of a reason to intercept her."

"Did Ophelia know she was assisting us?"

"I thought it best that she should remain as innocent of her involvement as possible."

"Should someone wish to question her?" She responded more spitefully than she had intended and instantly felt ashamed when he winced. However, he bowed his head, acknowledging and accepting her dagger gracefully.

"I'm sorry; that was uncalled for."

"Minerva, my dear, a conscience is a luxury unwisely indulged in during a war; I was forced, occasionally, to treat it as a vice. I can hardly expect you to accept that now any more easily than I could then." He continued, interrupting another more heartfelt apology, "I suffer for some of my decisions but have learnt to accept them as necessary and, therefore, do not regret them; too many people have died to allow me that."

"I understand."

He studied her fondly with a mix of amusement and disbelief until her temper flared.

"I am not so young or naïve, Albus, that I have not lived to wonder at some of the decisions I have made."

"Of course; forgive me."

"So, Albus, how did she manage to help us?"

"A go-between from the Order, someone she trusted, would visit with her."

"The only person who springs to mind is... Sirius."

"Yes. His connections to his family were tenuous but extant and, therefore, he was granted access to Ophelia. It was a simple matter for him to listen to her as they played. The arrangement lasted until she left the care of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy to live with Andromeda; Sirius, of course, continued with the visits as soon as the move occurred. I daresay she was a joy to him. More tea, Minerva?"

"What? Oh, yes, please." They watched as the empty cups blinked out of existence and two fresh ones, billowing steam and complete with milk and sugar, appeared with barely a rattle of china. The house-elves had also generously sent up a platter of sandwiches and cakes. Minerva Summoned her teacup and a sandwich, checking the filling before plucking it from the air and taking a delicate bite. How would Ophelia, a grown woman, view those memories without the benefit of time's buffering to smooth the edges and shadow the tension? Would a different perspective turn those treasured moments into agonising betrayals?

"We cannot assume that the Ophelia we knew is somehow going to emerge and continue from where she left off?"

"No," he said wearily, "but I believe that Sirius' impact on her was great enough to make her see what was right and wrong with the Wizarding world. There were hints of her dawning realisation during the latter months of her stay at Hogwarts; incidents suggested that she was struggling with the notion that her family was not what she thought or hoped it to be. Her Head of House was increasingly concerned with her behaviour towards her housemates and felt obliged to pay more attention to her than he felt necessary for one so young."

Sometimes he felt much older than he was and never more so than now as she sat primly on her chair, dismissing his callousness as good strategising. "Failing that, it will strike her that the only ones left who have any claim on her are those very same people she was growing to distrust; people who had embroiled themselves deeply in the philosophies and ranks of Voldemort." He watched the cup slowly descend back to her lap and the fingers tighten around its delicate handle; above the crackling fire, he heard her breath catch and the teacup rattling against its saucer. "She will remember the despicable treatment she received at the hands of the Ministry and discover the loyalties of her family to be repellent."

"And run willingly into our arms?" She scoffed.

"She will find it difficult to live unprotected in our world."

He had hinted at it, and she was prepared for the subtle implication in the simple declaration, but it still surprised her. "You're going to use blackmail," she stated as despondently as she could.

"Minerva, my dear," he soothed, "when the time comes, I will do nothing."