My heart is dying — can hardly speak
Albus Dumbledore was gone, and for three days afterward she was gracefully suspended over Hogwarts like a delicate mobile, operating in ellipses solely on a pure adrenaline runoff from the stew of emotions and heartache slow-boiling inside her.
Initially, it had been easy to seal the cracks in her demeanor, eyes sheathed and hands appropriately placed. No one would see a single tear or shaking finger. She conducted business as usual in the most unusual circumstances she'd ever faced, but somehow it all came naturally to the Transfiguration professor.
Organizing a massive funeral for their dearly departed headmaster, arranging for hundreds of students to leave no later than nine o' clock next morning, and trying to convince a board of so-called governors that the school should remain open for the next year were daunting tasks alone; altogether they left her with barely an inch to breathe. And on top of everything, one professor in particular was wanted for murder, making her a target for relentless inquiry and more Ministry grief than she could shake her wand at. But she kept her head under the waves, sucked what air she could through a narrow reed, and carried on, as was expected of her. Surrounding herself with work was all she could do — and all she'd ever done — to stay the inner turmoil she felt.
The first day had been an absolute blur while the second was slower, easier to navigate, though not by much. That day, she, her students, and swarms of mourners from near and far oversaw the burial of a legend that would never really die, even if he'd left them in body much sooner than they'd wished. Forever his name would be synonymous with virtue and self-sacrifice, while Severus Snape's would ring with contempt and treachery. They would be merciless, just as the latter had been.
Minerva did not speak at the service. Several noticed that she had gone very pale, as if she, too, had perished, and her phantom was all that remained to manage the school's muddled affairs. She drifted from place to place automatically, seldom even glanced at the food that was presented to her, and yet she was still outwardly composed and professional as ever, albeit softer spoken and nearly expressionless. Staff and students both worried in muffled whispers, and, of course, Poppy and Pomona fussed louder than she'd liked. She ignored it all because she didn't want their pity. She wouldn't allow it, even if they had to tie her down and hex her for acknowledgement.
·
There had been a somewhat hastily prepared Leaving Feast that eventually turned into a celebration of Albus' life and world-renouned efforts for future peace. She'd lingered, mostly for good show, and then left without a word, stealing away into the dark of the summer night. Surely she had been spotted but she would not be concerned with it. Two seats were already vacant; they couldn't possibly miss a third all that much.
If one were watching closely, they might have seen a grey tabby slinking down corridors or against outer walls. She headed along the edge of the lake, tail high and pace even. The moon was incomplete, its misshapen reflection hanging on the brisk waters. All was still, almost too much so for her comfort, but she carried on, destination in sight.
She reached the Astronomy Tower and was inside within moments, human again after ascending the stairs. It was the one place that no one dared to be or would think to look for others. There, she was safely hidden from watchful eyes and sympathetic murmurings. It was ironic that she would feel secure on any level at the site of his death, but she couldn't explain it, not even to herself. A strange, familiar warmth hovered about her, almost as if his spirit were still hanging around, twinkling and smiling gently. She shivered, knowing this to be impossible, but the friendly, invisible embrace stuck with her, even as she stepped away from it and out onto the ledge from which he'd fallen, already felled.
A breeze blew and the smell of singed walls accompanied the fading tingle of magic that had struck them. The account Harry had provided was foggy at best, and it was hard to imagine exactly what had gone on. Who had cast first? Had Severus hesitated even a bit? She shuddered at the thought of the Potions Master and the crime committed not only against her, but all of them. She had trusted him, not just because Albus did, but because she had genuinely cultivated a liking for him over the years, and because he had never given her a reason to doubt his real allegiance, even as others had tried to convince her otherwise. She swallowed hard, knowing that the former was not entirely true, and that made it all the more difficult to accept, to comprehend what he, their greatest ally, had done. Briefly she wondered where he had gotten to and if she would see him again before the war was over. Her heart cried out in anguish beneath her breast. Seeing him again would mean certain death for her as well, if not by his hand then perhaps her own.
She was the only visitor to the room since the tragedy. Soon enough, Ministry officials would come bustling in to survey and erase the last traces of Albus from Hogwarts and, as they saw it, from everyone's memories. The Ministry, ever the brilliant entity of magical government, believed people were much easier to corral and tame when their torches had been put out. She frowned hard, the muscles in her face protesting a little at the sudden change. No, they would never forget, not even for a moment. But there would be many fights and many more casualties to come in the name of Albus Dumbledore. War did not differentiate between brave or foolhardy or kind, good cause or bad cause. She hoped, with all the hope she could muster, that it would be worth it in the end.
Minerva sighed to the night, sorrow gnawing at her edges and urging a flood, though it did not come. Slowly she turned away from the battlements and became a cat once more before her head could find her hands. The tabby sprinted away from the tower and made for the main hallways of the castle, sights set upon the office that she so reluctantly now called her own. As she roused the gargoyle and waited for the spiral steps to take her upward, she tiredly wondered if Albus' portrait was still slumbering. Her stomach clenched and she found herself hoping again.
·
Much like the first, the third day flew by like someone had taken a time turner to it and executed a fast-forward mode. The students said their good-byes and had been ushered onto the Hogwarts Express somberly, but with spirits much higher than the previous few days. She'd heard talk of Harry and his two best friends aiming not to return at the beginning of the fall term. It was a predictably valiant decision, and while it pained her to see them off for the last time, they would remain in her thoughts. She could never blame Harry for continuing with Albus' work, whatever it might have been. The boy was just doing what he thought to be right.
Before she knew it, mid-morning had fallen into mid-afternoon which had rapidly slipped into dusk. As the sun set upon the school, its emptiness became very apparent to her. The lack of adolescent sounds were a stark contrast to the silence that now took precedence. Even a great majority of the staff had returned to their personal homes and families for the holidays, probably because it was the only chance they would have before all hell was sure to break loose. With no kin and no other place to go to, Minerva made Hogwarts her home, just as she had the past several years.
However, she fully expected it to feel alien this time around. The corridors and the classrooms would always be a little less full. The Great Hall held more shadows now than ever before. The wards had taken on her own magical force but she could sense a disconnect as she went to maintain them. Resident ghosts, even Peeves, had made themselves scarce. It was positively eerie, and she realized that, with the exception of a few, she was alone.
Night fell over the countryside, blanketing it in warm darkness. After a day of tending to things here and there around the place, conversing endlessly and setting dates for meetings with officials and Order members, and finally having a small bite to eat so as to settle her jangled nerves, Minerva found herself wandering up to the circular room she had so desperately dreaded being in since his departure.
"Get used to it," she ground out to no one, surprising herself a little in that she still had a physical voice. All thought as of late had been confined to her head, and she was amazed her vocal chords hadn't given up on themselves. With fervor she entered the office and swept straight to the desk to immerse herself in whatever mindless tasks she could find. As she turned and sat, a pair of azure eyes hooked and caught her in their gaze from the wall. Before she knew it, the portrait was speaking, and she felt the barriers begin to dissolve around her.
"Do not feel so, my dear. It will only hinder your great strength, and there is still much work to be done." With that, Minerva was no longer paralyzed, but the pain she felt made her writhe and grasp desperately for things that were no longer there. She was suddenly awash with the raw emotion she had tried to bury and she was quickly overwhelmed. The painting continued, as if reading her mind, "You'll know what to do when the time comes." Finally, she wept.
My heart is dying and I won't ever leave the castle keep
Disclaimer: The magical world and the endearing characters that inhabit it all belong to the great J.K. Rowling. The lyrics here and in the summary are from the song "Castle Keep", which belongs to the talented band Wolf People. Whoever you are, thanks for reading. :) To be continued.