A/N: this is my shot on how Minerva McGonagall dealt with the death of Albus Dumbledore on the day of his funeral. My first Harry Potter fanfic, and I know it's not brilliant. The brilliant one is J.K. Rowling who made up the characters I've borrowed for this short story. I own nothing.
She stared blankly forward. Her ears heard the words that were being said, but they never made it to the brain. It was like listening to someone speaking below water; catching a few words every now and then, but never fully understand what the person is talking about. Doing her best to avoid staring too much at the still body lying in front of her, she shifted to look down at her left hand. The mild sunshine was reflected in the golden band she gently touched. Nobody could see the ring she had worn there on her finger for the last couple of decades or so, nobody except those who knew. Once they had been a handful in on the secret, however, time had flown by, and now she was left alone with only her best friend to understand the extension of her grief. For a quick second she lifted her eyes and glanced towards the sky. Light blue. "Just like his eyes," she murmured silently to herself. And as she closed her eyes briefly, she felt someone take her hand and squeeze it tightly. "I know."
Before she knew it, the man up there speaking – she didn't even remember his name for the time being – had finished. Moments later she saw the body of her husband for the last time. And then, he was gone. Without any thought at all in her head, she got up. Felt she wouldn't be able to handle it. The talking, the condolences, the "oh, it must be hard on you, professor, given that you worked so close together for all those years." So she marched straight up to the castle and locked herself into her office. Pacing back and forth she desperately needed something to do. Anything. Paperwork. Always lots of it. She dived into a giant stack of exams with a quill and red ink. Only to find out ten minutes later that she wasn't even sure if she was looking through her second- or third years' exams. With a sigh she let the quill fall to the desk. Heading for her private quarters – the long way – she passed by the gargoyle statue. Her breath got stuck in her throat. With her index finger she lightly touched the cold stone. She hadn't yet been in there. Couldn't make herself to say the password and enter. Considering that it was her office now, nobody else except was able to enter. But still, she could not. The memories of things experienced and emotions felt in that room were overwhelming. A touch. A kiss. Incidents happened on the top of his desk between stacks of Ministry reports, inkwells and quill. His smell. No. Almost running she headed further down the hallway and shut the door a little to firmly.
There was one thing she wanted so badly at the moment, more than anything. She wanted to make disappear the awful pain in her heart and that abnormal lump in her throat that was making it hard for her to breathe. She wanted to let it all out. She wanted to cry. Not a single tear had she shed since that night. Her emerald green eyes had remained painfully dry. Dry and open. She couldn't stand being there in her rooms either. She felt trapped. The students had all been ordered to their respective common rooms, and the other guests had – thank God – left. For now. Rumbling aimlessly about the castle with all sorts of heart-breaking memories and self-destructive thoughts, she suddenly found herself in the Trophy Room, of all places. She was just about to turn around on her heels and leave when her eyes caught a glimpse of something. A cup. And not just any cup. Her cup.
Gryffindor's Seeker has the snitch. He has it in his hands! Gryffindor has won the Quidditch Cup! But what's this! It looks like Captain Ferguson has been seriously injured. He falls. The Gryffindor captain is falling and there's blood. Commentator Myriam Johnson's voice was at its edge. He's being taken to the Hospital Wing in a hurry. Please stay calm everyone, this is nothing our terrific Madam Durham can't fix. Headmaster Dippet enchanted his voice with a sonorous, and began talking. The moment has now come to present the winning team with the trophy. Head of House professor Albus Dumbledore will do the honor. Would co-captain and second-in-command miss Minerva McGonagall please step forward? She had walked up to the professor on shaken knees, to loud cheers from her fellow gryffindors. Her Head of House had given her the Cup, and as she was receiving it in her hands, their eyes made contact. The moment seemed to last for an eternity and the seventeen-year old girl had never experienced anything like it. That was when she knew she had fallen in love with Albus Dumbledore.
Painfully and slowly she was dragged back to reality. She walked up to the cup with stiff moves and distinguished her own name, second from above. It looked unclean, and a sudden inspiration came to the witch's head. In the blink of an eye she had all Muggle tools at hand and began polishing as if her life depended on it cleanliness of that certain trophy.
Madam Poppy Pomfrey was on watch that night, and she was just finishing her last round whan she thought she detected some sort of sound coming from behind a closed door. With her wand ready she carefully pushed the door open a few inches. Never would she have expected the sight that met her. Minerva? The name had escaped her mouth in pure surprise. And right there among the hundreds of golden trophies could she spot the bent back of her best friend. Their eyes met as the latter turned around. An involuntarily gasp left her lips as she saw the normally composed and tidy person there on the floor all covered in dirt and sweat. She looked like hell. Truth to be told. Oh, my dear, what are you doing? In a couple of fast strides she was by her friend's side and embracing her in a loving hug. Cleaning, came the gruff reply. It won't do anyone any good if you exhaust yourself to the bone in the middle of the night. How long have you been down here anyway? I...I don't know. A couple of hours I guess. However, the dozen or so of freshly polished trophies spoke of more than just a couple of hours. Oh, sweetie, were the words Minerva heard as she was pulled in an even tighter embrace. You have to let go, you know. Even though it's going to hurt a lot, you have to let it all go. I just can't. The response came out like a half choked whisper. The lump in her throat all of sudden began to grow. Bigger and bigger, until she felt like she was drowning and all she could swallow was air. I…I can't… Out. With that the tall witch stormed out the door and left a completely stunned Poppy Pomfrey behind.
She ran. She didn't care about where her steps would take her, but she knew she had to run. However, without any warning at all, something made her stop. It took her only a quick moment to realize where she was standing.
This was their place. The large oak tree had once been young and fragile with only a few sticks to make a wee shadow. Bits of incidents happened a long time ago came to her mind. She tried to block them out, but her efforts were meaningless. Her over exhausted and tired body couldn't take it any longer, and she fell down to the ground.
Poppy Pomfrey stood by the window in her private quarters, overlooking the pretty green grounds of Hogwarts lying there in peaceful darkness. She sighed and was about to draw the curtains when her eyes spotted an animal sitting all alone underneath a tree on the outskirts of the grounds. She looked closer. A cat. And had Poppy Pomfrey been able to look even closer, she would have seen the cat's shoulders shaking uncontrollably and its emerald green eyes filled with tears.
The End.
I'd be really happy for any response, good or bad. Just your thoughts on the story. Thanks!