For the Debate Club at The Golden Snitch.
Round one: Light characters always deserve the happy endings.' — character: Minerva McGonagall.
Emma — Durmstrang.
The tiredness in her bones was nothing new. Minerva was not a young woman anymore and that night (adrenaline, the thrill of battle even if war is wrong) left her with an ache that pierced her bones and teared muscles apart. Even her heart was suffering, but that was something else altogether.
The battle was over but no one seemed to be relaxed. She took a step into the Great Hall; its destroyed walls and the sky without its usual enchantment saddened her. This was her home; the place where she could be a witch, where her magic was a gift and not a curse. This was her home; the place where she found the strength to move on when everything else (Elphinstone, Dougal, everyone) fell.
Everyone was grieving. She saw Potter with his friends, already trying to get out of the oppressive place and find solace to breathe after the year —years, her mind corrected— they had. She wished she could do the same and avoid these feelings again. It was too soon even if years had passed since she faced a death so personal.
Last year, with Albus' death, Minerva was able to go on knowing he would have wished that for her and for all his students. Now, watching as those students laid dead on the ground while the stupid caretaker cleaned the rubble from the destroyed walls, was heartbreaking.
It was worse when she made the rounds.
She knew all of those kids personally. Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and the odd Slytherin. The war hadn't cared and killed them all the same. Those left alive weren't smiling. They weren't crying either and most were just staring blankly at the dead.
Those were the worst because Minerva knew them, cared for them, loved them even. They were the family she couldn't have on her own.
When she saw Remus and Nymphadora, quiet tears fell from her eyes but she refused to openly cry. The kids around her had no one but her (and Pomona, Filius and Horace. Sinistra, Hooch and Vector and Babbling. Hagrid) and she had to be strong.
She had been strong before and knew how hard it was to wake up every single day. It was difficult to think of ways to move on, of reasons to still be alive. She always found them in the students.
(The same students that now were dead.)
(But there were even more alive.)
Minerva could be strong, would be strong. That was her lot in life and she would take it and use it as armour to be better, to grow as a person and become someone who could guide and lead and protect.
She would never be Dumbledore, that was sure, but she could go on. She would move on.
(And never forget.)
"How are you, Minerva?" Molly Weasley asked.
Minerva took a look at her dishevelled hair, the red eyes and the black bags under them. Even though, Molly smiled at her and offered her a cup of tea.
She took the cup from shaking hands and breathed in the scent of Earl Grey.
"Good," was all she said and she sipped from the teacup. Molly nodded and did the same from hers. The woman was visibly tired and Minerva sympathised with her. She might never admit it out loud, but she had loved (still loved) Fred dearly. "Once, Fred and I had a conversation about you."
Molly's eyes lit up with curiosity and the pain that comes with loss. Minerva grimaced; her own loss was still too fresh in her heart, and though it had been less violent, the ache still took her by surprise most of the time.
"Oh?" Molly asked, the sound of her voice drowning any pity Minerva might have had for herself. While she considered herself a strong woman, Molly was on another level. "Do tell me. I almost never get to hear something good from that pair."
It made Minerva laugh to know Molly could still find in her heart to hear from her dead child.
It made Minerva want to cry to know Molly could still find it in her heart to hear from her dead child.
"I remember the day clearly," Minerva said, looking at the place where an inconsolable George still held his brother's hand and spoke to him with a soft expression even if he couldn't hear anything. "He approached me days before your birthday, Molly, and said he wanted something special for you. He might have been thirteen or twelve at the time, but his eyes... Anyway. He told me how he had no money for a gift, and George had already bought something. Fred didn't want to share that time because George's gift was something personal."
"George gave me a music box with a single shard of Occamy egg inside and a photo of us when he was a child," Molly shared, smiling. Then her voice half broke and she took another sip from her cup. "My boy could have bought something for himself if he had sold the shard, but he included a note. It said, Mum, you give us so much and we give you headaches. I got you something nice this time."
Minerva laughed. The gentler of the two, George could know exactly what to say to make someone smile.
"Fred wanted something on par," Minerva said after a few seconds of silence. She didn't want the silence. "He pressed and begged until I taught him how to conjure. A sixth-year subject taught to a twelve-year-old boy! And he learnt it, Molly."
"And he gave me a tiny jewel," Molly said, reminiscing. "I still have it, Minerva. I couldn't believe he had conjured it and took to Old Priscilla at Diagon. She said it was an authentic diamond. It hasn't disappeared yet."
Minerva sighed. "We are old, Molly," she said. "Old, and weary, and we have already lost so much."
She would never dare to say she understood the pain of losing a child to a grieving mother, but all the students that still were there... They were her family. Not sons or daughters, but maybe the same as nieces and nephews. They were what kept Minerva sane.
"We still have so much, Minerva," Molly reminded her, shaking her head and putting the teacup on the floor. "Look around you, Professor. Your school still stands. Your home isn't intact, but it's still here and new children will come in a couple of months. Look at my children! They depend on me and even on you. They count on us to keep them on their toes. To make sure nothing like this happens again."
Minerva took her words and held her close to her heart. They were true and they were hope because she was still a teacher and the school would open its doors again in September. It would be safe this time, with Voldemort gone, but she would make sure it wasn't only safe but also home.
"Thank you, Molly," she said.
Her friend smiled. "We needed it, didn't we? Tea always helps."
Minerva saw Molly walking tiredly to her family. She saw how George left Fred's body and embraced his mother; how he cried on her shoulder like a little boy.
(Minerva would make sure no other little boys cried like that because of a psychopath who believed himself superior.)
She saw Potter return and she smiled, awed at how he could inspire them all to overcome the evil around.
That's when the smiles came back. First, a shared grin between Potter and Longbottom, then between Longbottom and Abbott. Then, Abbott and Bones, and Bones and Nott. Soon, the Great Hall was sharing a single smile, still grieving but hopeful.
Minerva let that magic soothe her pains.
They had lost too much. Lives, blood, childhoods... But they had prevailed. And they deserved to be happy.
And, for the first time in decades, all was well.