A/N: This is the sequel, as it were, to Finality, though it can stand on its own, I think. I feel it entirely unfair of me to simply leave you hanging as I have here, so I promise an update later on today... (Yes, it's so late, it's tomorrow here. xD). You know, I only split it like this because I have several versions of what could possibly follow and I'm still stricken with indecision. At least I have the essential parts written... I shan't say anymore lest I reveal everything right here, right now. :D Enjoy what follows!

=~*~=

"Professor McGonagall?"

The woman turned in her seat, her name somehow retaining that sense of importance in her mind and soul; it seemed entirely mad that there could still be importance tying things together anymore.

"Thank you," she replied distantly to the faceless messenger. She knew what the parcel contained, and dared not open it. She would only see his writing, the words he penned, and would be lost forever. To think that he had written the words of his will one evening unbeknownst to her, struck a deep chord within her. Surely, a man sensed when his time was to come, but how could he have known? And dying by what she presumed to be a friend! Her entire soul ached. . . .

The beautiful summer day taunted her, ridiculed her, laughed at her. What was beautiful when the very reason for life was dead? Minerva turned her eyes towards that marble sepulcher, that beautifully smooth ivory resting place for her beloved. . . . He would never again say the three words she had taken so marginally, so lightly…the three declarative words she had taken for granted.

Tears came, but none fell. People remained among the congregation, and Professor McGonagall still found the weakness to weep in front of a crowd grievous to be borne. The weeping would come when she returned to bed herself that night…alone.

She cringed inwardly; the emotion this thought evoked pressed upon her, yet she failed to yield unto it. She was stronger than this. Her sheer will to hold tears back would suffice. Effortlessly, she mantled that stern, schoolmistress façade, displeased at how softer it felt upon her face. . . . The usual corners were not so sharp. It was as though someone had filed them away. . . .

She cast a single glare to the grave, that shining silver emblem of the last indication she had loved another before turning away for what she determined as forever. As the throng conversed amongst themselves, Minerva slipped away while everyone was occupied. . . .The only flaw in her plan was the fact that her escape had not been as discreet as intended. A silent boy of sixteen watched her with sadness in his emerald eyes before he turned to the three people surrounding either side of him.

Hermione noticed the glazed look in his eyes and knew at once that something was wrong. She let go of Ron and edged closer to Harry before whispering, "Harry, what is it?"

Beyond all power of spoken words, he pointed to the single witch painfully making her way back to the castle. . . . Hermione issued a soft cry of surprise before burying her face into Ron's neck again for solace while Ginny simply looked on in reverent silence. Harry noticed none of this. Why would McGonagall leave a meeting so important as this early? Surely, she had duties to attend to, but Harry felt quite strongly that the death of a colleague so close to her as Dumbledore would certainly be observed with more grace than formality. . . . It wracked him to the core. What could be possibly wrong?

=~*~=

Harry observed without confiding to his friends further; surely, they noticed that not all was well with him, with their acting Headmistress, with them all in a way, but this obstruction would be best dealt with alone; he acknowledged that and accepted it. The only potential problem was slipping from beneath the arms of his companions to pursue that which had never been pursued before. . . . He never thought twice of his professors' feelings on anything at all, except this matter pertaining to this single professor. . . . What he feared more than anything was that he was stepping into the bowels of the storm that were forbidden to him, to them all. Yet, some unexplainable force nudged him on. In order to leave that great castle of a school, this problem needed resolution. It was required of him; he owed it to the last professor that still cared for him.

Harry spoke little to his friends and Ginny about his convictions on the matter. They apparently had decided, as a whole, to avoid bothering him with offhand conversation to make him feel better. Even Ron was contributing to the silence. It was a most noticeable change. Harry was happy with his friends' concern for him…their concern would gradually lessen after his quest had been completed, yet he was glad for the excuse to observe even further. Had anyone known about this sudden obsession for his Transfiguration professor, they would have thought him insane. Harry couldn't even explain it to himself--he breathed again when she, in all normality, sliced the air with a submissive wave of her hand to produce the food they ate at every meal -regardless of the fact that she did so in her normal seat, leaving that great throne-like chair empty and creating a dark chasm at the staff table-. It was evident that she was coping, but coping was a word used when one could not function normally. She was the same in all outward appearance. Coping was a word used for those ready to shatter into a million pieces. Harry could not quite picture such a strong influence shattering. Professors such as that did not shatter- it was not in their nature. They held fast, regardless of the circumstances. Yet, he could not help but wonder that the very matriarch of the school hid that pain from the eyes of the world. Women were rather strange creatures; they bottled up those emotions that could produce hurricanes in the very sky…

He made his decision one evening as she pulled supper from the very air yet again. It was four days after the great Headmaster's death, and she never had looked more exhausted. His gaze turned towards the rest of the staff; he was pleased to observe with a swift glance to the school matron, sitting on the other side of the great empty seat, that he was not alone in his worry. He was saddened to note that his professor barely touched her food before leaving early, as she always appeared to do these days.

Harry excused himself from the table, murmuring, "See you later." Both Hermione and Ginny nodded in understanding. Ron, however, had lost whatever he had gained in tactfulness. "War arr yew goin?" he questioned, his mouth full of food. Harry did not miss the disgusted glare Hermione shot at the side of Ron's face as he continued to chew, completely unaware of the growing danger beside him.

Harry almost grinned, and it felt wonderful…cleansing, even. "I have…things to do," he replied offhandedly, not bothering to feign the awkwardness he felt at such a preordained task such as this; it was beyond anything he had ever done.

"Wat kye of tings?"

Hermione's anger escalated at the remark, and she hissed dangerously in Ron's ear, "You warthog. Harry has some things he needs to do. Is that all right?!"

Realization glowed in Ron's eyes- a dim light of recognition before they shone with understanding. "'Kay Huree."

Hermione rolled her eyes, aghast at his insensitivity before shooting an apologetic glance to Harry. Harry nodded in understanding before turning away and making his silent journey to the quarters of which he avoided at all costs.