After

Madam Rosmerta wrote back in less than an hour, saying that she would be more than happy to host the meeting and asking if she were allowed to take part as she had had a very worrying letter sent from the ministry earlier that day. That raised Minerva’s eyebrow, the Ministry was casting a wide net if they were even summoning Rosmerta. 

She set that note aside to let Ariadne go on her nightly hunt, and sat back in her chair, pondering the rush on this series of hearings. The Ministry is not a governing body known for efficiency, why was there such a hurry to account for the events of the week prior? The over-zealous nature of the summons concerned her. Who stood to gain from these hearings? What was the purpose of assigning blame to individuals when a wartime policy was in effect and no actions could be taken against them? She could only assume that it was to appease a concerned public and to reassure the world that the people in charge of some of the most sensitive areas of Wix life were not unrepentant killers. That included herself and the other professors, she knew. They wanted them to be blameless, but how could they be? Minerva herself had killed four people that night that she could be sure of.

Karina Morozov, a Russian replant who had not attended Hogwarts, but rather been educated in magic by private pureblood tutors. Her parents had been involved with Grindlewald, though they were never arrested, and Karina had taken her cues from them and joined up with the first pureblood-supremacy movement that came up. Minerva killed her by knocking her off of the ramparts with a particularly vicious blasting charm. (Apparently, those expensive tutors didn’t teach her cushioning spells.) 

Giles Halliday was a graduate of Hogwarts School in 1964, a Ravenclaw while he was there, and particularly talented in Divination according to the professor at the time. He didn’t seem to be very talented in seeing the future, in Minerva’s opinion, or he wouldn’t have attempted to take her by surprise when he was so much her inferior in terms of magical ability. He certainly didn’t see it coming when Minerva killed him by magically running him through with a sword that had been hanging on the wall in the first-floor trophy room. 

Gwendolynn Heavyweather-Rosier was a Slytherin like her mother, though Minerva had so hoped that she would take after her Hufflepuff father. He had been rather mild-mannered and agreeable, pureblood but did not think much of it, a rather nice man. His wife and daughter were… not that. Gwendolynn was pushy, brash, cunning, and tricky, she had taken too much pride in her ‘pureblood’ status, Minerva didn’t know if there was a kind bone in her body. She’d married Balsam Rosier and the pair joined the Death-eaters at the end of the first war. Minerva killed her after she called her out by name to distract her from attacking Arthur Weasley who was already working on her husband. Gwendolynn was never one to back down from a challenge to her ability, but she wasn’t tricky enough to outpace Minerva’s spells and she was sent spinning the length of the hall until she slammed against the wall and moved no more.

Dorcas Kimble was a graduate of Hogwarts as well, a Slytherin but always unassuming when she was in school, never showing any particularly strong ability in any form of magic, never causing any trouble outright. Minerva had been surprised to find that she had joined Voldemort’s ranks. She had also been surprised to find that someone so ill-equipped to compete with her had attempted to duel her in the first place. Minerva killed her in the courtyard with a well-timed stunner that pushed her into the way of a cascade of falling stones. That was, technically, an accident, but a death she had caused nonetheless. 

Minerva normally abhors violence, much preferring to outstrategise and capture opposing combatants. However, these deaths she felt no remorse for. That concerned her, she couldn’t account for the fact that she didn’t feel any remorse at all. It was as if all compassion she’d ever had was drained away in the midst of that battle and she felt no regret now. 

 After having been such a proponent of outpacing and out-strategising the enemy it was odd that she should be so remorseless, and only slightly disgusted with herself, at these deaths she had caused. She felt that she really should feel worse than she did. She should be disgusted by her actions and should be worrying that she should have taken another route or used a different spell, but she wasn’t really. 

“They brought it on themselves,” She muttered as she shook off the pensive mood she had been in and began to write again. She had to put together her own account of events before she could expect the rest of the Order to follow suit.