Chapter 4
Minerva didn't show any emotion as she slowly, with the aid of her former Transfiguration Professor, eyed the rubble that had once been her home. Finnley and she had bought it with everything the two youthful Aurors had had only one year earlier, a bit before their marriage. It hadn't been much, but at least it had been home. Nothing of it was actually left now, though.
Quietly, while unconsciously leaning onto Albus a bit harder, Minerva began making her way to the building. Albus just followed, without commenting. Upon reaching what had once been Minerva's lively garden, he could feel her shake. That's where it had all happened. He momentarily tightened his hold on her, reminding her she wasn't alone in this. He wasn't sure if it made any difference, but he furiously hoped it did.
He almost lifted her over what had once been her door in order to get inside, since most of the beams and walls of which their house had been built had come down to obstruct their way. She was a little stronger again, but aid was of course welcome. Albus surely understood she really had to do this in order to be able to go on with life. She really needed to say goodbye to the house she had called home and to her fiancé. Since she hadn't been able to be there at his funeral, Finnley's grave would become their next destination, if at least Minerva was up for it still after this.
Minerva gasped, looking on at basically everything that had belonged to her and Finnley lying turned over carelessly, as if war had gone on there. She could feel the tentacles of that feeling called pain surround her as suddenly realization downed upon her: there had. A war actually had gone on there. She unconsciously bit down on her lower lip to keep herself from crying. Finnley had been courageous, so she felt that strange, irrational need to be the strongest she could possibly be right now.
Again she gasped, upon letting her eyes fall onto the shreds of broken glass from the wooden picture frame that had held a picture of her and Finnley together taken on the night he had asked her to marry him. She had said yes, even before his question had been finished. She slowly lowered herself onto her knees in the rubble, releasing her hold on Albus.
He just watched her, as Minerva quietly reached for the picture underneath the chips of sharp glass. She accidently cut the middle finger tip and winced, retracting it by pure reflex. Bright red blood almost immediately began welling up at the surface of her skin. Albus quietly sat down beside her, supporting her with one hand on the small of her spine, before using an artistic little swipe of his wand at the cut to heal it with magic. Almost at once the skin sealed itself again. The red blood bead disappeared, and for just an instant a thin white line could be seen right where the cut had been, before that as well disappeared, as if nothing had happened.
Minerva didn't look up. She just carefully reached for the picture again and this time effectively dragged the moving colorless picture from under the shreds of glass without hurting herself. She almost intuitively held the picture to her heart, before lowering her head. Albus could see the effort his former pupil had not to cry in despair at the pain she felt inside upon clutching the picture of her together with her beloved.
Minerva slowly raised her head, looking at what once had been the neat living room. Nothing was still upright. Minerva gasped, and Albus momentarily thought that finally she would let her tears fall, but being a true Gryffindor, she didn't. She wasn't ready yet. She would show her feelings once she had learned to deal with them alone, if ever… Keeping everything bottled up inside wasn't going to be better. He wouldn't watch the battered younger Minerva fall down the abyss without trying to intervene if he could, but – he sighed – for now he would give her the time she needed.
"Minerva?" Albus whispered. "Is there something you would like to take with to Hogwarts?"
She slowly raised her eyes to meet Albus'. Silence fell between both of them. The much younger Animagus then whispered, "Is there even anything left whole?" She asked, and Albus couldn't say whether or not this question was meant rhetorical or not. He sighed once again, before laying his hand atop of hers, patting it and squeezing. He would have given a lot to change everything, but he couldn't.
"What's left?" Minerva whispered more to herself than anyone else.
