Minerva swallowed, eying the otherwise lonely Headmaster office. Everything still appeared just like Albus must have left it; as if waiting for his return. However, he would not return. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Never would he be returning to this office unless in a frame joining the other deceased Headmasters, and Headmistresses. "Is it really true, Minerva?" Dillys shrieked, and at once a wave of questions and what more washed over the Deputy Headmistress, that now no longer would be just… the Deputy. She sighed, and raised her hand to silence everyone. No one dared to say even one more thing, having been able to meet the famous McGonagall temper in some of her more heated conversations with Albus, or others. Rumors did fly fast. Through portrait, or ghosts; or living.
Her teal green eyes quietly slid over every little thing that was Albus' – now hers. She weakly let the tip of one finger trail the edge of one of the many little tables on which were set his too famous delicate looking silver instruments. She would have to continue without him, just like life continued as if nothing had happened, and just like these magical silver instruments would continue whirring, and puffing, even though the heart of their owner wasn't beating anymore. Without warning, Minerva suddenly waved her arm across the table, wiping everything off of it. Albus' magical silver instruments were no longer whirring, nor puffing. She felt much better now. A rage inevitably took over her being, and Minerva mercilessly continued to rip everything apart as much she could – ignoring every gasp that might have come forth from the portrait owners.
After an hour of having allowed her famous McGonagall temper, and the grief of losing the one that was most dear to her, to fully overtake her, she sank down on her knees in the decrees of what had once been a most particular looking, homey office. She hadn't really been satisfied with the office alone, having ended up in his personal quarters where all was ripped apart now as well. She shakily reached for a pair of red fluffy socks. She had given them to him last Christmas. She quietly picked them up, and smelled. The smell of Albus already had left the article. Still, she longingly buried her nose in the fabric, finally beginning to cry. "Why!" She wailed.
She nearly suffocated that night in her sobs, but she made it through… The rest of her existence would be nothing but pull through…