A/N: Thank you to everyone who's taking the time to continue reading this story. Sorry theres been a delay; I've been so outraged and heartbroken at the way of the world at the moment that I've spent a lot of time educating myself further on institutional racism and campaigning for BLM to the best of my ability. To be honest, JK's recent posts on Twitter have also put me off writing anything HP related. As a queer person, I stand by trans and non binary people & their right to be who they are, freely & happily. With all that being said, on with the show...

Chapter Twelve

One Year Later

Minerva sat at her desk, head in hands. She was exhausted; this had been one of her worst weeks since the trial.

"Minerva, don't forget you have one more meeting before you can head home for the holidays." A calm, knowing voice came from behind her, as always, drawing a small smile onto her face.

"I haven't forgotten, Albus. Our dear Mr Potter will be here in about 5 minutes, I think. Unless he's late again, which is always a possibility. I've lost count of how many times I've suggested I transfigure him into a pocket watch." They both chuckled lightly, Minerva now facing the portrait of her old friend.

"You know what he's going to request, I'm sure?" Albus intoned, his face dropping into a more serious expression once his laughter subsided.

"Yes, I know what he's going to request. It's taken a lot of fighting on his part to change the wards on the portrait creations to allow it to happen, I believe my permission is the last hurdle for him on this particular endeavour." She replied, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "I know exactly what his argument will be in this case."

"Do you disagree with Harry, Minerva?" Albus asked, seemingly amused by the prospect.

"No, not as such. I'm just not sure I want to work in my office everyday with Severus Snape rolling his eyes and making his sarcastic comments at every decision I make."

Albus Dumbledore laughed heartily at the prospect. "Ah, my dear Minerva. I do believe we'll have such a lot of fun," he chortled, his eyes twinkling over his half moon spectacles.

A knock at the door drew her away from her conversation with her predecessor and friend, and she turned away to prepare herself for the inevitable. She straightened her glasses and smoothed her hair back away from her face before answering.

"Enter."

Harry Potter opened the door hastily, just as endearingly unsure of himself as ever before. She noticed he looked tired as she stood to greet him.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," she smiled as he walked towards her desk. She hadn't consciously decided to walk around it to draw him into a brief hug, but she was pleased to note that he reciprocated with a smile breaking out over his face.

"Professor McGonagall, how are you?"

"Very well Potter, thank you. How are you?"

He nodded, then shook his head with a slight smile. She tilted her own head to one side inquisitively at this.

"Will you ever just call me Harry?" He asked softly.

"If you like. I suppose we have reached that level of informality since the war, haven't we?" She said briskly, making him laugh again. "Now, Harry, what brings you to Hogwarts?"

He opened his mouth to reply but closed it again just as quickly, his eyes finding the portrait behind her for the first time.

"I wondered if he would be here, this time." Harry murmured, staring. His eyes looked brighter than usual, and his voice shook slightly. She turned towards the portrait of Albus, confused, until she saw his empty chair. She sighed.

"I'm sorry, Harry. He… I think he finds it difficult to face you, sometimes."

"He's been in that portrait once when I've visited this office. Sometimes I just need to talk to him!" His voice rose in frustration, looking even older and tireder than he had when he'd entered.

"I know, Potter." She sighed heavily, meeting his gaze as his eyes snapped to hers. "I mean, Harry. Sorry. That might take some getting used to." His face relaxed slightly at her admission.

"It's alright, Professor. I appreciate the effort." He didn't add "it's more than some people are doing" but he may as well have; the intensity of the anger directed at the empty portrait behind her spoke for itself.

"We haven't discussed why he's not been here when you have visited, Harry, but I do have a theory on his absence. Please, don't be too hard on him. He loves you, you know," She said quietly. She was startled when she saw his eyes fill with tears, and reached over the desk to pat his hand awkwardly. Maternal though she was towards the students she had been closest to, particularly this boy, it was simply not in her nature to provide emotional support.

"What's your theory, Professor?" He asked her, his green eyes still swimming with unshed tears. She passed him a tissue and leaned back in her chair, pondering how best to answer him.

"Well, I can't be entirely sure, Harry. Albus, even in this form, has a mind that reaches far beyond the capabilities of even the smartest amongst us. With that being said, if I were to capitulate on the topic… I would suggest that his reasoning is for your own wellbeing. Perhaps he wants you to find your feet in a post war world, without his guidance. After all, Harry… we must all remember that the true Albus Dumbledore is no longer with us, however difficult that may be." Her own eyes shone with tears at the thought. She was truly lucky to work side by side with his image, and there were times she could almost forget that he wasn't really here anymore. Almost.

Harry made an odd jerky movement that was somewhere between a shrug and a nod, his eyes focusing on one of the silver instruments that she had kept on her desk. It was one of the few things in her office that remained as a tribute to Albus; over the last year, she had slowly and carefully made the space her own while rebuilding the school. Had she not done so, she felt she would not have ever settled into her role as Headmistress.

Harry watched the instrument rotating, and as he did so, he saw a puff of smoke rise from it. Minerva watched curiously as he, seemingly following instinct, reached for his wand and gently tapped the instrument on its head. She let out a gasp as the next puff of smoke grew larger, a circular shape that rested on a four-legged stand. A prophecy.

Neither of them moved their gaze away from the rotating shape as it grew larger again, now with the smoke in the centre making the unmistakable shape of a recognisable face -

"Bella," Minerva gasped.

Harry slowly tapped the instrument with his wand again, and the face changed to his own. The smoke continued to rotate between them for a few seconds before dissipating slowly, clearing the air. A lengthy silence fell between them as they watched the instrument, wondering if anything else would happen.

"Do you remember," Harry spoke first, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "The night Umbridge caught us in a DA meeting, and she brought me and Marietta up here?"

Minerva nodded; how could she forget? She had loathed that woman.

"I remember… So this…?" She reached a slightly shaking finger to point at the instrument, and Harry nodded.

"He used this. A snake came out of it, and he said something about 'in essence divided' to it. I never remembered to ask what he meant, but I think I know now. He knew a part of Voldemort resided in me; that's why I had the vision of Nagini attacking Mr Weasley through the snake's eyes. This showed him."

He frowned in confusion, still looking at the empty space where the smoke had been.

She had explained to Harry about the second prophecy that had included her Bella soon after the trial. Once things were calmer than the initial frantic aftermath of the war, she had found herself torn in every direction. Bella's permanent address was her home, at her insistence. She had moved in the day her verdict had been finalised, and it had been there that the victims of Bellatrix Lestrange had visited to try and put their pain to rest. It had been one of the hardest periods of her life to date.

She had also found herself in charge of quickly rebuilding as much of Hogwarts castle as possible before September, so that the much-smaller number of students than usual could return to complete their Magical education.

At the same time, she provided an in depth interview with a trusted journalist regarding her support of Bella, who was still seen by the entire wizarding world as a murdering lunatic. Said 'lunatic' had trauma-induced nightmares almost every night, waking them up screaming frantically, which soon turned into heart-wrenching sobs. Yes, it had been one of the most demanding and challenging years of Minerva's life in many ways.

"Do you know how it works?" He asked abruptly, drawing her back to the present.

"No, I'm afraid not, Harry." She frowned. "Feel free to borrow it. It seems to have responded to your presence."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course." She nodded. "Would you like a cup of tea?" He responded with an affirmative, and she quickly produced a tea tray filled with the necessities. He burst out laughing when he spotted the Ginger Newts.

"Sorry," he said to her bemused look, "it just always reminds me of the time I thought you were about to dock Gryffindor 100 points or put me in a years worth of detentions, and instead you offered me a biscuit." He laughed again, his face creasing with mirth, and suddenly he looked no older than fifteen again. She couldn't help but laugh with him.

"Umbridge again?"

He nodded, rolling his eyes drastically.

They drank their tea discussing light-hearted topics; Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley in a relationship being the first.

"And I thought my own relationship would be the hottest gossip," she intoned sarcastically, making him laugh.

"I think they were grateful for yours and Bella's relationship, to be honest. Certainly took some of the pressure off."

"Happy to be of service. What about you, Harry?"

"Me?" He said innocently, but the light blush to his face said otherwise.

"How did Mr Weasley take to the knowledge you and his sister were back together?" She smirked.

"You don't miss a trick, do you Professor?" He laughed, shaking his head. "He took it well enough. Hermione really brings out the best in him, to be honest."

"It's nice, very nice, to see my Golden Trio happy," she told him, taking a sip of tea.

His face broke into the widest smile she had seen on his face in years, and her heart warmed at the sight.

"How … how is Bella?"

She heard the effort it took to ask, even after a year had passed since she had requested that those who remained present in their lives refer to her as Bella.

"Coping as well as to be expected. The therapeutic verdict was certainly unexpected, and certainly seems to have brought some semblance of peace to many, but for Bella… well. I fear it has only worsened her mental state, sometimes." Minerva admitted.

Harry looked conflicted at this information, she noticed. Not wanting to engage on the topic with him, she decided it was time to remind him why he was here.

"So, Harry. What is it I can do for you today? I assume you weren't here to just have tea and a chat with your old Professor," she smiled at him indulgently as he looked more than a little abashed.

"Well… no," he admitted. "It has been nice to catch up though!" He added quickly, his face burning red.

"I quite understand, Harry," she said softly, pouring them both another tea. "As it happens, I have an inkling as to why you might be here. You've been rather vocal about your wishes. I might have been excessively busy with other things for the past year, but even I've been aware of what you've been up to."

He nodded slowly, sipping his tea. "Is there a point in me trying to convince you?"

She regarded him carefully for a few moments, then nodded once. "Yes, Harry. I would say I could be persuaded to hear your side of the argument."

He visibly brightened, and set down his cup and saucer.

"You know better than most how Severus Snape hated my father, and how he harboured that resentment towards me while I was in school," he began, clearly having rehearsed his argument many times. She smiled internally at the thought of him practicing with Ginny Weasley, and gestured for him to continue. "Well, I think despite all of his mistakes, he deserves to be remembered as a Headmaster of Hogwarts. He may not have been seen as a hero, but he was. He saved us all through his actions as a double agent, and he kept the school as safe from harm as he could-" he broke off suddenly, staring at the cabinet to his right.

"What is it?"

"The Pensieve… it's gone," he muttered.

"I have it in my home. We… we have need of it. Dumbledore bequeathed it to me in his will," she added, almost defiantly. He raised his hands in understanding and surrender briefly.

"It's not that. I… I saw his memories once, when I should have been studying Occlumency, he had to leave for some reason, and I…" He closed his mouth, looking guilty. "I saw my dad, bullying him. I saw my mum defend him and he called her a Mudblood. Then during the battle, I saw his own memories, and how he begged for forgiveness and she never gave it to him." It all came spilling from him then, all the things he had never intended to say. All the flaws and fragility of the man he wished to have memorialised forever in the Headteacher's office of Hogwarts. She let him speak until he had exhausted himself, then extended a hand to pat his arm where it now rested on her desk.

"Alright, Harry. I understand. After the year I spent here with him in charge, I admit, I was loathe to allow this to happen, but I think you are correct. As flawed as he was, he was truly selfless in his war efforts and for that in itself, he deserves to be commemorated." Harry let out a long breath of relief and started to thank her profusely, but she shook her head and held up a hand to stop him. "No thanks necessary, Potter." She said briskly, making him smile. "I can't say I'm looking forward to my time as Headmistress with his snide comments every thirty seconds, but perhaps the odd silencing charm will have to suffice." Harry snorted at this, and ran his hand through his already messy hair in an act so reminiscent of his father, she felt the need to say gently, "He wasn't a bad person, you know. Your father."

Harry sighed softly. "I know. People are never black and white in such a way. Look at Snape. Look at -" he cut himself off apologetically, but she finished his thought for him.

"Bellatrix, yes. You're right in saying that Harry. Rarely is anything so simple as entirely good or entirely evil. It seems Albus was right all along to remind us that love was, and remains to be, the force that drives us to be better." She paused for a second, considering him. "Bellatrix didn't have the chance to make her own choice, however. Her mind was magically coerced. Life would have been very different had her father not made a deal with Voldemort."

Harry nodded as she allowed herself a rare moment to grieve the years she had lost, the damage that had been done. He saw the sadness in her eyes and felt solidarity with his ex-teacher at their hardships, their memories of the war would haunt both of them for a lifetime.

"I spoke to Neville, not long ago. He said he'd been to see you both, more than once?"

"Yes, that's correct," she said, smiling despite her slightly damp eyes. "Neville has brought us both a great amount of comfort, and I hope we have provided the same to him. I was delighted to be able to offer him a position as Professor Sprout's apprentice to begin in September," her smile widened as Harry shook his head in amused disbelief.

"Could you ever have imagined a young Neville as a Professor?" He snorted, unable to help himself. "He's brilliant, and all, but…" she joined in his laughter.

"I know. To me, he might always be the boy who so desperately wanted to please his grandmother that he begged me to allow him to take his Transfiguration O.W.L. Or, better yet, the boy who was so deplorably awful on a broomstick that he managed to break a wrist on his very first try," she smirked fondly, running a hand over her forehead in amusement at the memory.

"I have him to thank for my years as Gryffindor seeker," Harry laughed, and she nodded wisely in response before checking her watch. He took this as his cue to leave, and promptly stood. "I didn't mean to take up so much of your time, Professor," he started apologetically, but she held up her hands.

"Nonsense, Potter. Visit any time, I insist on that," she said seriously. She stepped around her desk to once more pull him into a brief hug, wondering when he had grown taller than her. He smiled his goodbyes at her before turning and walking quickly to the office door, barely glancing at the still-vacant portrait that would soon hold Albus Dumbledore once more, no doubt.

"Have the Floo Network link your home to this office, won't you Harry?"

"Yeah," he grinned at her, reaching the door only to pause. "Professor?"

She looked at him, concerned at the sudden change in his demeanour. He was steeling himself against his pain; it seemed he was never long without it, and it hurt her to see.

"Tell him… tell him I understand, will you? Tell him that I loved him, too." He stared for a long moment at the empty portrait of his Headmaster, before making a final swift exit.

Minerva reached the front door to the home she now considered theirs and tapped her wand against it to allow her through the security wards. In the first months following the verdict she had been forced to add many layers of safety to the Highland home, but it did not stop the influx of hate mail. Howlers every morning, envelopes filled with bubotuber pus or stinksap, graffiti'd articles of the interview she had provided to the The Scroll's youngest reporter and Editor in Chief - none other than Luna Lovegood herself. She had decided to create a new paper after her father had retired due to ill health following the war, noting that the Daily Prophet had rightly fallen into disrepute, and the Wizarding community of Great Britain deserved the truth.

Following interviews with all of the Golden Trio, Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, and even Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt himself, Minerva had finally agreed to tell their story. They had been met with anger, revulsion and hatred, and plenty of people had demanded her resignation as Headmistress even as she spent the year rebuilding Hogwarts and teaching the small group who had wished to complete their magical education after the war. There were glimmers of hope from the general public, however, which increased tenfold when the war hero Harry Potter had made a lengthy statement which comprised of his admiration of his Head of House and full support in her relationship with Bellatrix Lestrange - who was hence to be referred to as Bella Black once more.

Stepping inside her home, Minerva was more than a little startled when cold air greeted her instead of the warmth she had come to associate with Bella's cooking and continued spell practice. She could often be found in the kitchen creating new dishes which were often delicious, although sometimes were so disgusting that the couple were forced to have toast for dinner, something that amused Minerva no end. Bella had also been working on her spell casting with great success; her talents had clearly not been too badly damaged whilst confined to the Dark Arts, and as she grew in confidence, so did her skill. Her potioneering, however… After one too many explosions, Minerva was forced to admit that the woman may not have a particular proclivity for the subject. Not only were the consistent explosions a cause of many headaches, it seemed Bella was also very ill-adept at correctly labelling her creations. She had been forced to ban her partner from brewing potions in the kitchen, having no desire to accidentally swallow a Sleeping Draught instead of a berry blend smoothie first thing in the morning.

Expecting, therefore, to find her in the now book-free portion of their shared library space brewing something new and interesting, Minerva headed directly there, shedding her cloak along the way. The room was in darkness, all except for a glowing cauldron which stood to the far end of the room. No figure stood over it, and the fire beneath it had almost burned out. Minerva could see dark smoke rising in waves from the potion within, and knew immediately that something was wrong. Clutching her lit wand tightly in her hand, she moved carefully towards the curious scene, noticing the scent of the smoke as she drew nearer. She noted a hint of Valerian, almost burned beyond recognition, and wondered whether Bella had attempted a Forgetfulness potion despite her insistence that such a thing was more than ill-advised, it was plain lunacy. She had been certain they could work through their own mental warfare together.

She was a foot away from the cauldron now, which was still issuing a thick smoke, blurring everything in her vision the closer she got. This was, perhaps, the reason she had not yet noticed the bundle of black robes on the other side of the large cauldron. It took her three more steps, three of the slowest seconds in Minerva's life, before she registered the tangle of material at her feet. Two more, hurried now, as the panic rose like bile in her throat. Her knees hit the floor next to the tangle of black curls. Her hands frantically tugged at a body which lay face down on the floor until she could see the slack face of her beloved. Bella Black's eyes were closed, her lips parted very slightly. She was not breathing.