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Him Again	By : Apocalypticat Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1312 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Minerva McGonagall sighed and stared around the large office which had become her prison. Most of the portraits were empty, with the exception of Armando Dippet�s, the subject of which was snoring softly in his chair, and the sunlight shining through the windows had a crystalline, cold quality which made her shiver. The day had never been destined to be a good one; she�d found a fossilised sherbet lemon behind a chest of drawers and had been unable to put it from her mind ever since. Neither had she been able to throw it away - she could feel the weight of it in her pocket, resting there like the heaviness in her soul.

To what depths, Minerva mused, did a woman have to sink in order to cherish a mouldy old sweet?

She turned weary eyes on the papers in front of her, but then let them drift away again - out of the windows and over the lush grounds, tracing the route dashed earlier that morning. Hopefully, at that ungodly hour, no student or staff member had been awake or observant enough to see the Headmistress staggering around in nothing but her night-wear and a dressing gown, limping down to stand shivering at a tomb.

She�d woken up suddenly, horribly, at just past midnight. His absence had been all around her - and it was his birthday; those were the only excuses she had for the ensuing outbreak of sentimentality. Minerva didn�t approve of being overly sentimental - especially when it led to someone her age clutching at a pillow and gulping, thinking: You were here. You slept here for so long, for so many years. And I never-

Movement was vital in order to cut the thought off. She slithered out from under the blankets and flung back the bed-hangings - and paced the room fretfully, cold to the bone but too agitated to go back to bed. Cold radiated upwards from the floor, filling her soul. She was still gulping and sniffing - like a five-year-old, she thought disgustedly - but no inner reprimands would halt the activity. A dam was breaking down; her eyes were filling with a deluge of suppressed water. You�d have turned a hundred and sixty-one today.

Her hands were moving without any conscious intervention from her brain, reaching for a wardrobe, clawing their way through masses of irrelevant robes to reach the one treasure she�d allowed herself. Albus was both everywhere and nowhere at once as her fingertips brushed something purple and embroidered - sitting and smiling at her from his desk, speaking to her seriously and intensely, verbally beating Fudge by her side, sitting next to her at the High Table, offering her a custard tart. The sapphire eyes twinkled, the beard was at first magnificent auburn, then snow-white, the face both boyish and wise - the cheerful enthusiasm of a child in union with the experience and power of the very greatest - and yet he seemed to shake his head sadly at her as he saw what she was doing.

You silly woman, she thought at herself savagely. What would He think of you?

She dared not imagine, and could not stop - and soon His dressing gown was in her hands, extravagant yet soft, seeming to retain some of its owner�s warmth as she wrapped it around herself. The material shook with the beating of the new wearer�s heart - it had not calmed her down at all; the gulps were becoming the beginnings of sobs.

Albus, I can�t-

A shadow danced in the corner of her eye. Minerva glanced upwards - and was struck by the image of herself in the full-length mirror on the other side of the room. The impression was ghostly, unnatural and most unlike Professor McGonagall. Even Hermione Granger would have had a hard time recognising her old Transfiguration teacher - her eyes wild and bloodshot, the flamboyant dressing gown obscuring her thin form, her greying hair tumbling uncontrollably down her shoulders.

His face swam before her, dismayed and appalled.

�Albus!�

Then the Headmistress was tearing from the room, through the dormant office and down the corridors. She�d forgotten her stick; she was soon gasping and stumbling, having to throw herself against the door to open it. The grounds were dark and freezing, beset with a howling wind that dulled the sound of her own ragged breathing. The dark and the tomb held no fear for her - how could they, when His spirit bestrode them all? The pain and the chill hadn�t prevented her from staying there for at least two hours, her hands knuckled in her eyes and the dressing gown flapping its guilty message around her.

Now that day and some semblance of sanity had been restored, exhaustion dragged at her. The papers blurred and refocused. Minerva hadn�t bothered going down to breakfast; one look in the mirror told her that Poppy would have made a fuss and insisted on putting her to bed, and some of the more sensitive lower years would have been alarmed.

You stupid woman, she thought again, massaging her temples.

A knock sounded at the office door.

Attempting to rouse herself, the Headmistress pulled herself up straight and folded her hands over each other. �Enter,� she said crisply.

The door creaked open to reveal Rolanda Hooch and Poppy Pomfrey. Rolanda�s mouth was in a thin, tense line and Poppy looked grim and worried - an expression that increased in intensity at the sight of Minerva; the jaw tightening and the brow descending. Rolanda gaped at the Headmistress in apparent horror. Minerva felt her hands curl into fists; evidently the day had not yet improved her appearance.

�Good afternoon, Madam Pomfrey, Madam Hooch,� she said, deciding to pretend that nothing was amiss. Her voice emerged cold and formal; she had no right to friends, not even former friends. �What can I do for you?�

Poppy took a deep breath, as if about to plunge into deep and troubled waters. �Minerva-�

Minerva started slightly and blinked. Her first name sounded unfamiliar, like the name of a stranger.

�-We - we need to talk. Things have gone - gone far enough.�

She opened her mouth to protest but Poppy was already drawing up a chair for herself, nodding for Rolanda to sit down in the other. Her eyes met Minerva�s in an unexpected, passionate plea. �Please, for sake of our friendship - whether or not you still want it to exist.�

Rolanda glanced at the other Professor with marked apprehension and seated herself uneasily, seemingly intent on looking at Minerva�s hands rather than her eyes. Poppy leaned forward, concern clouding her kind face.

�What do you wish to talk about?� Minerva asked innocently, before Poppy could open her mouth. Minerva was gone; they had a choice of meeting either the Headmistress or Professor McGonagall.

�Minerva, you look awful.�

There was no arguing with that. �I see.�

Poppy looked extremely awkward. �Listen, we know what this is about. We�re sorry - and please believe us; we are - for not seeing it before.� She paused and Minerva sensed her donning her professional persona before continuing. �Long-term grief is taking its toll on you both mentally and physically and so it�s my suggestion that-�

The Headmistress�s fingers twitched. �Grief?�

Poppy and Rolanda shot terrified looks at each other.

�Grief,� repeated the witch nervously. �Minerva, I think you should see a counsellor. I happen to know a very reliable one; a woman called Eleanor Reeves, whom I think would be-�

Minerva felt her lips stretching themselves into a desperate kind of grin. Poppy�s awkwardness, Rolanda�s conspicuous silence, the mentions of grief and counselling� Was it possible that they had seen? Had they happened to glance outside in the middle of the night and somehow pierced the darkness to spy her shame? Her fingers twisted convulsively; anything but that! What would they think of her?

An imaginary conversation flitted through her brain. Her former friends were gazing of the window with expressions of shock and pity. By Merlin, Rolanda, surely that can�t be..? A hand to a mouth in horror. What�s that she�s wearing? Isn�t that Dumbledore�s-? A head being shaken, its owner appalled. She�s lost it, Poppy. Look at her; she�s a living wreck.

�I don�t know what you mean, Poppy,� she said. The sunlight grew colder; her tiredness more severe.

Poppy stared at her, despair shaping her face into harsh lines. Minerva had never been a Leglimens, but her old friend�s dilemma was transparent: what on earth do I say now? She felt her cheek twitch and struggled to maintain control of her expression. Are you afraid to confront me about it? Are you afraid to ask me what I was doing last night?

How times had changed! They had once told each other everything - confiding all their desires, nightmares and emotions, weighting their hands with each other�s hearts. Now the desk between them was a veritable Berlin wall - but one that could never be breached.

�We�ve been blind, haven�t we?�

Rolanda was speaking, her head bowed and her broom-calloused hands working the fabric of her robes.

�I wish - I wish you�d trusted us enough to confide in us. I�m n-not saying we could�ve helped, not really, but still...� The hazel eyes met hers. �Seven years, Minerva. Seven years and we noticed nothing!�

Minerva rose from the desk shakily and walked over to the window, using her stick as a strut, unable to look at either of the witches still seated in their chairs. The grounds looked desolate, soulless; looking out she could see herself reeling madly down to the tomb again, a ridiculous scarecrow figure in a dead man�s dressing gown. The wood of the stick cut into her hands. Poppy and Rolanda�s stares were burning holes into her back; the pretence was over now, and could never be repaired. Professor McGonagall, the stern Headmistress, had too passed into the abyss.

�I�ve not been like that every night,� she said harshly. Give me some credit; last night was a - a particularly bad time.�

�Last night?� Poppy�s voice was high and querulous.

�I - I know what you saw.� The pause that followed was unendurable so she kept on speaking, thickly now. �I apologise. You should not have had to see that. It was foolish of me - I don�t know why I kept it.�

�Minerva..?�

�Kept what?� asked Rolanda.

Her hands tightened on the walking stick till the knuckles cracked. Her face was distorting now, bending itself out of her control; she was glad she had her back to them. �Please don�t try to deceive me. I�ve been deceiving myself for long enough; I know when people are trying. I know what you came here to say - and I quite agree. I will send my resignation to the Board of Governors today.�

Rolanda made a small choking noise. �Resignation!�

A chair was drawn back and Poppy�s shoes squeaked as she got up. �By Merlin no! Minerva, please, a counsellor is all that�s needed - and we cannot hope for a better Headmistress-�

Minerva laughed. �You cannot hope for a Headmistress who can communicate normally? The profession must be in dire straits indeed!�

�Minerva, stop it! Please, we never came to ask for your resignation. We came here to offer our help and understanding, such as it is - as late as it is. I swear if I had had any notion before that you were that close to him-�

�We were never close, never. We had a purely professional relationship. Sometimes I believed it was platonic-�

�The pair of you were friends!� Poppy was right next to her now but the Headmistress stared resolutely away. �Oh, you never said a word to anyone, did you? Not even to him?�

She shook her head, unable to speak.

�You should�ve given it a go,� said Rolanda quietly.

Her frame trembled. �Should have, should have - did not! This is purely fantastical speculation. He never wanted anything more than a Deputy and all this is perfectly ridiculous; he�s dead and that�s final. It is my inability to accept reality-�

�You�re grieving! You loved him and now he�s gone! These feelings are normal, Minerva, natural. Merlin, if I�d have seen it before-�

�Poppy�� There were no words, none at all. Her eyeballs were heating up from behind; soon her last reserves of self-control would be gone.

Arms encircled her. Poppy�s head was on her shoulder, her short stature for once aiding her. Rolanda was moving over to join in too - and two warm bodies crushed her between them. Minerva stood stock-still, head filled with images of three girls in Hogwarts school uniform embracing under a small oak tree by the lake. Her hands came up; the walking stick fell with a clatter. Rolanda was crying, whimpering apologies in her ear over and over. Minerva felt her own eyes overflowing, dripping their contents down weathered cheeks. What friends she had! The loneliness was fading, the prison had been broken open.

�Ah,� said Dippet worriedly, loudly, from the opposite wall. �Should I go and get someone?�

#

Minerva studied the scene critically. The two armchairs were placed a few feet apart - enough to be confidential but not so close as to be claustrophobic - and the tea set was positioned on the coffee table, ready to dispense a polite service. The chamber had been thoroughly cleaned beforehand; not a speck of dust dared float in the air. Minerva herself had selected a set of dark green robes to wear - ones that she judged to exude a professional, logical air - and had spent an unusual amount of time surveying herself in a mirror. She had a strange desire to ensure that Eleanor Reeves, of whatever character she may be possessed, would not find the area lacking, nor find her client �going to pieces.�

Of course, Poppy had probably exaggerated the situation and made her sound like a woman on the verge of grief-stricken prostration; Miss Reeves most likely expected to find a tear-stained invalid donned in black, clutching a small lace hankerchief. Well, Minerva thought, leaning on the walking stick, invalid is half correct.

Her eyes darted to the clock for the fifth time. Miss Reeves was due any minute. The more she thought about the concept, the less she liked it. For one thing, the idea of opening up her heart to a perfect stranger was almost incomprehensible and for another, counsellors were probably supposed to be strictly the province of actual tear-stained invalids near suicide, rather than foolish old women who simply could not move on after a tragedy and spent their days living in the past. How� attention-seeking, she thought.

The sound of Poppy�s voice reached her from her office - and there was a knock on the door to her chambers. Minerva braced herself and marched forward. The door opened, the tapestry swung aside - and Eleanor Reeves stood before her.

The first impression Minerva had was of a pair of uncommonly large, dark eyes, sitting in a round face like two pools. The second was of a set of calm blue robes hanging off a body that was too small for them and the third was a set of grey curls that had been tamed, with varying degrees of success, into a small ponytail that served to emphasise the owner�s lack of hair rather than length. Minerva was in the habit of assigning possible Animagi creatures to people, and the image that struck her was of a very small owl, head tilted to one side in a way that was slightly quizzical. The picture was neither alarming nor unappealing and she found herself shaking the proffered wizened hand readily enough.

�Minerva. I�m Miss Reeves, but you are welcome to call me Eleanor. Hogwarts is as beautiful as it was during my own days here - days long gone, I fear.�

The dark eyes quivered with a spark of amusement.

Minerva heard herself murmur something polite and meaningless. Eleanor Reeves smiled and peered over her shoulder at the prepared space - and promptly flicked her wand, transforming one of the armchairs into a recliner.

�I apologise for the alteration, but clients tend to prefer speaking when in a more relaxed position. Forgive me. I must say this is quite an ideal environment.� The counsellor beamed at the tea set out on the coffee table - and the Headmistress saw her eyes rove quickly around the rest of the room, before coming back to rest on herself. Minerva blinked; she was being assessed already before she had even begun talking. She cast a look around, wondering whether some out-of-place object had betrayed her, but her previous satisfaction remained preserved. She started at the sight of Miss Reeves already ensconced in the armchair and gesturing towards the recliner. Her muscles tensed. She had expected small talk and diversions in the form of sugar and tea and on subjects such as weather - not for the counsellor to charge determinedly to the meat of her purpose the moment she had arrived. Feeling distinctly ruffled, Minerva seated herself gingerly on the recliner.

Of course, she realised suddenly, the counsellor wanted her business over and done with as quickly as she did. It was a business like any other; Minerva was a client, a face to put a name to and nothing more. The sympathy extended would be professional, the listening something endured for payment. Perhaps she was even an interesting specimen, a psychological study in grief that the woman before her would eventually produce some article or report of. Her jaw tightened; she knew her thoughts were in the grip of cynicism.

�Now Minerva,� Poppy�s voice resounded in her head. �This isn�t the time to be rational - just blurt it all out.�

�Blurting out,� however, was more the province of Rolanda Hooch than Minerva McGonagall. Minerva McGonagall was a calm, self-controlled - some would say reserved - woman, who� A pang in her temple indicated the beginnings of a headache. The banshee in the mirror draped in Albus�s dressing gown battered against her skull, screaming. If that was Minerva McGonagall, then who was she?

�Minerva, just to put you at your ease,� Miss Reeves said, supporting her head with a rested elbow, �I would like to make two things absolutely clear. Firstly - and most importantly - nothing you ever say to me will ever leave this room. Everything is confidential, meaning that you are free to speak about anything you wish. Secondly, I am here to listen, and to understand - and to perhaps help you have insights you would not otherwise have. I�m not here to judge or condemn. I know nothing of your problem and so I come to you fresh and unbiased. I cannot help you based on the words of others; only your own words can tell me what I need to know to aid you. There�s no rush, no unnecessary haste� Talk whenever you wish. Please treat me as a sympathetic, impartial ear.�

The counsellor smiled encouragingly. Minerva sat at a loss, cradling the end of her walking stick in her hands. A kind of apathetic irritation weighted her. She had assumed that Miss Reeves would at least know something of the problem - the knowledge of complete ignorance and the fact that she would have to narrate everything from the beginning surely destroyed the point of the whole process. She looked up; the dark eyes were expectant. What could she say? �I loved my superior and now he�s dead.� Her lip curled at the absurdity of the image.

�You seem uneasy, Minerva,� Miss Reeves observed softly. �Does something about this situation trouble you? Not to put words into your mouth, but I assume that the idea of confiding to a stranger bothers you.�

�It does,� Minerva admitted. �I am not used to such spontaneous expression. It takes me a long time to trust people.�

�Is this the basis of your problem? That you find that hard?�

�No. Not of my main problem - though I dare say it has not helped. I suppose I could have been more forward about the issue to my colleagues and friends.�

�Was there a specific reason why you did not trust them? Only tell me if you feel the need to.�

�I felt it to be a stupid problem,� Minerva said forcefully, realising that she still thought so. �Many others have faced the same problem and have been in the same circumstances. It is ridiculous that a woman of my age cannot put the past behind her.�

�You have very high, specific expectations of yourself then.�

�I suppose so. I expect myself to overcome obstacles, certainly.�

�This �obstacle� is in the past, then?�

�Yes.�

�How long ago.�

Minerva�s jaw tightened more. They were approaching it now, drawing closer to her soul. �Seven, nearly eight years.�

Miss Reeves�s gaze became sharper. �During the Second War. Does it bear any relationship to those events?�

Minerva nodded, her throat dry. This delving was unpleasant, disturbing.

�May I ask what your situation was at the time? Again, don�t answer if-�

�I will.� The eyes had become whirlpools, drawing in her secrets like wrecked ships. �I was Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House at the time. I dare say you have heard of the Order of the Phoenix - I was a member of it and intensely involved. I was second-in-command��

�May I make an observation? There was a lot of uneasiness there, that was what I mainly got from that. Yet I don�t think it was necessarily your responsibilities that were the problem.�

�They weren�t.�

Miss Reeves sighed and leant back in her chair. Her shadowed orbs clouded. �Minerva, there is a lot of darkness surrounding the Second War - fear, grief, helplessness� You�ve said that the issue is one that you found hard to communicate to your friends; I think I�m encountering the same constraints here-�

�I�ll tell you!� Minerva found herself snapping. She glanced down at her veined hands. The implications were undoubtedly correct - evasion could not help, pride was something she should long have since abandoned - what woman who had behaved as she had that night had any right to pride? �That war took something precious from me - from the world. I did not realise how precious it was until it was gone. I cared about someone whom the war destroyed, with someone he most trusted as its instrument. Compared to this man - compared to what he did - we none of us have a right to peace. He worked tirelessly for it and yet never received it.� Her airways constricted. �I cared about him very much.�

Albus�s kind face rose before her. His deep, powerful voice reverberated in her ribcage; what wouldn�t she give to hear him again? What would she not suffer for one inane chat about socks?

�How painful - how very painful and difficult it must have been for you.�

�It�s been eight years. I should be over it. I cherish the friendship that I believe I had with him but there was no rational reason for me to have developed such fancies.�

�Minerva, what �should� or �shouldn�t� be is not the question. I think what you�ve just told me demonstrates that your feelings were - and are - considerably deeper than �fancies.� The length of time alone indicates real attachment there.�

�His name was Albus Dumbledore.�

The question hadn�t even been asked and yet now the utterance hung in the air like a sudden spell. His name! His name had finally passed her lips in its entirety - to fill a gaping void that was unbearable, intolerable. Irrepressible, the forbidden had spurted forth like an uncontrollable fountain or a surge of flame. Now there was someone in the world who knew - who had heard from her directly - who knew that Minerva McGonagall loved Albus Dumbledore - and loved him still, beyond all stretches! This was why, this was the admission; this was why she was become as she was, the banshee in the dressing gown.

�It was silly of me,� she said - and realised that it was a conclusion, rather than a starting statement, and that Miss Reeves�s eyes held the mirror and the tomb as completely as her own did.

�I do not think it was silly,� the counsellor whispered. �You were overcome - and no wonder, for I get the impression that you have spent most of the last eight years suppressing and hiding these emotions.�

Minerva nodded, shocked at how the words had slipped out.

�You were unaware that you loved him until he had gone?�

�Not - not entirely. I suppose - there were times when I-� The Headmistress paused, licked her lips nervously and continued. The past seemed incomprehensible; how could there ever have been a time when she did not adore his presence? �Sometimes he was my superior, other times he was my friend- and there were other periods still when I felt for him. But I don�t presume to have really known him� I idolised him from childhood, though in later years whether platonically or romantically I cannot say� I apologise; I�m rambling.�

�I think you should ramble more often, Minerva. You say from childhood?�

�He was my Transfiguration Professor and was the one to guide me in my first Animagus transformation.�

The stiff words meant nothing: the memories were returning, surfacing like ripples from the underwater movement of fish. Hindsight attached greater emotion to the visual snatches, the sounds and sensations of over sixty years before, daubing them more brightly and clearly than that old reality had made them, significance both ladening and lightening them. She pursued them - pursuit having been self-denied for so long.

#

He had already been halfway through the great epic of his life by the time she met him - yet his twinkling eyes were ageless, transcending century easily, despite the subsequent alteration of his hair and the deepening of lines in his face. That first day had made him just another face, just another teacher. Eleven-year-old Minerva didn�t know she�d just encountered the greatest wizard in the world - her main concern was ascertaining whether he was nice or nasty, strict or funny, attentive or complacent.

Rolanda and Poppy were moaning because Transfiguration, they�d heard, was the hardest subject on the curriculum, and the teacher was apparently �not to be crossed.� Minerva, however, had a truly �disgusting� level of enthusiasm.

�You read your Transfiguration textbook in your free time?� Rolanda said disbelievingly, as they lined up outside the castle. �You read it, all of it, of your own free will?�

�I found it interesting,� said Minerva, embarrassed.

�Rolanda, don�t be mean,� scolded Poppy. �You went flying before you came to Hogwarts.�

�Flying is a fun, natural activity.�

�I don�t think so. I�d rather keep my feet on the ground.�

�How boring!�

�Not boring, I just don�t like heights!�

There was a sudden hush: a teacher was approaching. Minerva looked up curiously to see a tall, thin man with auburn air and startlingly blue eyes. He was smiling benignly at them all but there was a power of presence about him, the precise nature of which was impossible to discern.

�Good morning, and my name is Professor Dumbledore,� he said as he let them into the classroom to seat themselves. �Welcome to Transfiguration - in which you have the dubious pleasure of my company for at least the next five years.� He beamed, and Minerva decided she liked him at once. �Now, expecting you to have perused the textbook is rather overly optimistic-�

�Please, sir, Minerva has,� Rolanda said loudly. Minerva flushed as everyone�s attention focussed on her and she shot a glare at Rolanda.

Dumbledore blinked and smiled at her, the blue eyes sparkling. �Excellent! Splendid! What is your name?�

�Minerva McGonagall, sir.�

�Well, I see I shall have Miss McGonagall to depend on as a beacon of knowledge if ever my memory fails me.�

He nodded at her happily and then proceeded to summarise the subject of Transfiguration, smiling approvingly at her every now and then.

#

Time passed, easing its way into major history so gradually that no one noticed.

Minerva entered the Auror department to find it bedecked in decoration and the sound of merriment. Bewildered, she turned to Olivia Prang, who was beaming and prattling about parties.

�What�s going on?�

�By Merlin, Min, haven�t you heard?� Olivia snatched up a paper ecstatically. �The problem�s gone! It�s all finished, all over!�

A copy of the Daily Prophet was thrust at her. The headline said something impossible about Grindelwald and defeat - her attention was mainly caught by a photo of a battered but dignified man with half-moon spectacles. Albus Dumbledore grinned from the front page; the impossible had been achieved.

Her heart lifted. Freedom had come in the place of the darkness, because of her old Transfiguration teacher. Her mentor had flung evil down and she felt a surge of warmth.

I must write him a letter or something.

#

�Minerva, there was no way I could possibly refuse your application,� said Albus as he showed her into the office that had once been his. �Not with such excellent references.�

�Most of the references came from you!�

�Precisely!�

Minerva gave a small smile. She was stepping into a role that had already been filled by a metaphorical giant - there was not even the remotest possibility she could ever compare - yet he treated her like an equal, welcoming her like the favourite student she�d once been, a protégé and friend. It was a compliment she did not deserve.

#

�Deputy?� she repeated, stunned.

�Who else, my dear Professor?� Albus said from across the desk, his eyes twinkling. �I can think of no one better to be my eventual successor.�

She felt herself blush at the high praise. Dumbledore was perfection; wise, handsome, powerful, kind and yet humble - who, she thought, could ever replace him?

#

�Snape killed Dumbledore,� said Harry. His green eyes were wide, his face ashen, shock and anger infused every line of his face.

The truth.

A chair was being pushed under her but inside she was still falling. Albus, with his clear blue eyes. Albus with his love of all, with all his qualities that would have not been out of place in a saint. Albus, humming as he walked around the castle, sucking on a sherbert lemon.

Gone.

She had a most peculiar urge to laugh - the concept was absurd, stupid, something the Weasley twins had cooked up! Instead she was talking - Merlin knew what about, something irrelevant and foolish� Life without Albus was looming before her, wreathed in misery�

He had been there for her, always. She had not been there for him.

�This is all my fault,� she said, with utter conviction.

But nothing sunk in until the night afterwards, after Fawkes�s song had confirmed the undisputable fact of events. The photo on the staff room wall pasted itself before her eyes: Albus and herself eternally dancing at the Yule ball. From her window she could see the Astronomy tower, pointing upwards like an accusatory finger. Her first ecstasy of grief was silent, tearless.

In all the commotion, Filch was too distracted to enquire as to why all the surfaces on the Transfiguration office corridor were smashed.

#

Minerva reached for a tissue, desperately trying to stem the tears. Eleanor Reeves watched her with compassion whilst making a soothing cup of tea.

�He would want you to be happy.�

The Headmistress wiped her eyes. The counsellor had just managed to convey everything knowable about the dead man in less than ten words.

�Albus wanted everyone to be happy.�
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Him Again