First of all, thanks to you all who have read this story! I hope you will continue to do so in the future. A special thank you to Anna and who have left wonderful reviews. A big hug also to who favourited/followed this story. I hope I will not disappoint you with the next chapters. This story will have approximately 12 chapters – it might be a bit slow at the beginning, as you may have noticed, but it will speed up. :)

The picture

by sevy MMAD

"I always stay here during the summer, Poppy."declared Minerva as if it were obvious.

"Not alone," objected Madam Pomfrey.

"No, not alone" agreed Minerva, without being able to add anything else. "Not alone," she repeated, sighing.

Before Poppy could comment on those words, Pomona and Rolanda barged in loudly, hugging Minerva McGonagall without taking any notice of her stiff attitude – after all, when had she been relaxed? - happily recounting everything which had happened during their holidays. Minerva, thankful for the timely interruption, tried her best to listen to them despite not actually caring overly much for the topic, in order to avoid thinking about something else (and with something else she meant someone else).

"Alright, alright" interrupted Minerva, trying to seem cheery, "how about we move all your enthusiasm somewhere else, before you destroy my office?"

The three friends readily agreed.

"Where shall we go?" asked Poppy, ever the practical one.

"The Quiddich pitch!" exclaimed promptly Rolanda Hooch. The others rolled their eyes.

"Near the lake", was Pomona suggestion. "It's just wonderful in this period of the year. Of course, the best place used to be the one near the little oak, but well, now that there's Dumbledore's t..."

Professor Sprout stopped dead, shocked by what she had said. Of course, she always had had the tendency to blabber about when she was excited, but still... An unnatural wave of silence had descended on them, while everyone turned to Minerva, waiting for her reaction.

Noticing that she was being observed, Minerva tried to maintain a reasonably calm expression – without actually managing very well. Various emotions swiftly passed in her eyes, none of them staying there long enough to be deciphered. Finally she spoke:

"I think I would prefer to go to the teacher's lounge."

Seconds after she had uttered he words, the three friends were already dragging her to that room. She followed them without really looking where she was going, lost in her thoughts.

Albus... Dumbledore's tomb... he is Dumbledore, Albus... but why are they talking of tombs? He must be alive, he must!

Repressing the half sob which was threatening to come up her throat, she firmly refused to shed any tears. She had become really good at this, she mused. Really good.

But he's not, he's not alive, he's dead! Minerva, please don't be stupid and try to remember: he's dead, he won't come back to you. He's dead, dead, gone forever.

None of her friends, so solicitous and desperately trying to make her forget the accident, noticed anything. Once they arrived to the teacher's lounge, Poppy seemed to decide that her new purpose in life was to make Minerva eat some chocolate, while Pomona was being overly caring ad Rolanda was excitedly describing some handsome man she would introduce to her and who was "absolutely perfect for her!".

Minerva took her head in her hands before standing up and decidedly asserting:

"Stop it, all of you! I don't need any chocolate, attention, and I definitely don't need to go out with a man, Rolanda! Now, if you would excuse me..."

Without giving them the time to reply, she left the room and headed towards her chambers, cursing the day her friends had come back to Hogwarts.

Just as she was going past the gargoyle in front of the stairs leading to her office and chambers, Minerva McGranitt crossed Filius Flitwick, who greeted her with a big smile and a mouse-like voice. Cursing again silently her bad luck, she answered politely. After a few sentences, the wizard noticed she was not quite participating to the conversation; thus, he decided to leave her be and said goodbye.

A few minutes afterwards, Minerva was in her rooms. In the palms of her hands he held a photograph, shot a few years before – actually, probably at most one year before his death. It had been a sunny day, in July, and they had had a picnic. In the picture, her hair was down, freed from the constricting bun she always wore, and she was laughing, somewhat exasperated, trying to get Albus to give her her hairpins back. He was laughing as well, refusing to give in. It had been Severus, she remembered, who had taken the photograph – they hadn't even noticed he was there, actually, before he did that – claiming he wanted some evidence that the Deputy was not as strict as she wanted everyone to believe and that Albus's craziness was contagious.

It had not been a perfect time – Voldemort was still alive, people were dying everyday, but Minerva had the impression she had been so much happier, before.

Half an hour later, Minerva McGonagall was asleep on her bed, still completely dressed, her bun perfectly in place, her cheeks slightly marked by the few lonely tears she had allowed herself to cry in the privacy of her own room. She didn't notice it when three women sneaked in, put her hairpins away and tucked her in, not daring to try to separate her from the photograph she was clutching in her hands as if it were the most precious thing she had.