Ok, first of all, I simply just forgot to write it before, but if anyone is interested in beta-reading this, mostly in order to... erase most english awfulness, then, well, just MP me, or anything! I'd be honoured!
One more thing: I thank all the people who are reading this story. I hope you still like it (and of course am not against a review ^^) and I wish you a good moment in reading! So... here is the new chapter of this story, dealing with... many things! Kinda sad still...
Hope you enjoy!
Bergère.
Is it the same again
The next morning, I awoke slightly, trying to remember everything properly. I had taught for the first time in my life. I had taught her classes. I had. Incredible! But I had done it though; and I was to do it again on today; and then for the rest of the week; and then the following week. And then it would be over. And I would also supposedly have found out who was to be her heir. The two weeks were to be short, I thought.
On that day, I only had two hours of class, one with the 3rd years again, and another one with 7th years. Both were in the afternoon, and I decided to dedicate my morning time to my researches. I took a shower and put a pair of jeans on with the first tee-shirt I could find: now, I was going to work on my own and didn't need to think in what I wore. I thought I'd think of that later on, and I just asked Winky a few slices of bread. The house-elf was growing old, but had insisted on the fact that I would ask her if I needed something, and ask no one else. I did so, and that's why the elf appeared with her usual 'pop', caring a plate full of much more things that what I had asked for. I thank her very much; grateful that she was still so nice; and I remembered she hadn't had a gift for quite a long time. After a very hard time accepting she was free, she had got attached to me. 'I'm sorry I didn't offer you a single present for the next few years…' I saw her smiling a shy smile, and when on. 'Would you like something, especially since I'll leave her again in a short amount of time?'
She looked at me, and before I could even think that this would happen, she began sobbing and big and painful tears flew out of her large eyes. I remained helpless for a few seconds, because I just couldn't understand why she cried: it wasn't anymore the time she got drunk because she had been fired; so, why? Moreover, for me, the beginning of the day had been quite good, and these tears next to me made me feel bad also. I knelt next to her, put a hand on her small waist, and asked with a low and gentle tone of voice: 'What's the matter Winky? Explain me…' The elf nearly fell on my shoulder, and after a few more sobs, she swept her tears away from her cheeks and looked at me with much distress. 'It's…' she tried, 'it's because professor McGonagall used to give me a little something for Christmas, and even for my birthday, and…' She couldn't go on, and after all I didn't need a single word more to understand.
I myself fell on the floor, or nearly. Now, I was incredibly sad; I shared her despair with mine. And I was also incredibly astonished: I would never have thought that she would do such a thing as buying a present to a free house-elf. I had even more respect for her (if I could possibly have more) now that I knew that… but now, she was dead. I began crying myself, and as I cried harder, my hands hiding my face, I could hear Winky sobbing less. It was now her trying to comfort me and not the contrary anymore. She placed her hand on my back and murmured some nice words, which I didn't dare to hear. They were empty, and after all, I was at loss of words. The silence sounded strange, and Winky broke it up with her little high-pitched voice. 'Don't cry…' But that was no use and she hesitated, stepped back a little, and glanced at me before adding seriously: 'There's one simple thing you can do for us both…' I looked at her in wonder, with my eyes that still weren't dry. I was very much like a teenager, being so sensible… but I really couldn't help it. My voice was broken and rough when I asked: 'What is it?' She had a cute shy smile, and her eyes seemed to be fixed on mine; but as she remained silent, I thought she would never speak. I thought I'd never know. She however told me: 'Find out what she wanted you to discover…' she paused, 'be what she wanted you to be…' She stared at me and disappeared: after hearing a 'pop', I saw she wasn't there anymore. I sighed… she was all right.
I wasn't really hungry anymore, but made an effort to eat a piece of bread, even if I was still having a hard time swallowing. Then, I tried to analyse what clues I had, and understood my helps were over: I had used all my cards, and I just had to do with my brain on my own. I burnt my list which was no use now, put all her letters in a same envelop after re-reading them (they were to be put in my childish secret-box on top of my cupboard). I was alone, sitting at the desk of my room, trying to find possible headmasters to-be. Who? Who would be great enough for this overwhelmingly hard and interesting task? I thought it was impossible to decide of such a thing, because no one was truly worth that job. But the fact was that someone had to do it, someone the castle had already chosen. And, whatever she'd said or not (because in the letters the information was unclear about whether she knew who I was looking for), I was convinced that she had died knowing very well the name… This name I was having such a hard time finding.
Taking a decision because I couldn't bear sitting there anymore, in the middle of my room, without truly working, I left everything in there and just walked to the portrait whose poem was kind of haunting me. I knew what it meant, now… I knew it, but I still couldn't resolve the problem it shared and enter the room. I felt like the solution to my problem was inside… but to get inside, I needed to solve the problem: that is to say everything was linked, and I was turning round. When I reached the large door protected by the painting, I glanced at it intensely and smirked ironically: now, I had moved from my room to here, and it didn't give me anything! I was still totally helpless.
I really wanted to find out: I was a very mature person (Thank Merlin, I was 50!) but about her, anything that had to do with her, I had remained a teenager, shaking in front of her judgement, desperately eager to get her approval! And the fact was that I had always been quite of a far away person for her; I didn't know her and never have, and all my dreams about having a kind of close relationship to her were not more consistent than shadows… oh! I'm just repeating the same words and ideas again. Sorry.
Everyone was telling me about my heart: following what it said, etc. I closed my eyes a few instants, but couldn't concentrate: the eyes of the man of the portrait on me drove me mad. He, also, was waiting for me to do something, anything. I shook my head and walked to her classroom, where I had taught. I would seat there: at a student's table maybe (I had seen her from there for 6 years, it had a sentimental meaning to me), and try to imagine who she would have chosen. Who, except all these perfect persons who would have been worth the job if not dead. The names were in my mind again: Dumbledore, Lupin, Snape… and her. Not Harry, Flitwick or Kingsley either, the portrait had been clear on the fact they weren't the chosen ones'. I was deeply in thoughts as my legs drove me naturally to the classroom I wanted to reach, when I heard the sound of a sob. My own eyes were dry now, but I still felt painful in the inside, and these tears made me feel bad again.
Who would be crying here, and why? As I was looking for this person, I saw a young teenager girl hidden in the shadow of a corner, her hands placed on her eyes so that I couldn't see her face, without even trying to prevent her tears from rushing. Without even hesitating, I approached: as I felt bad enough for the whole inhabitants of the caste, I didn't want any pain to survive in anyone else's eyes. Once in front of her, I knelt and placed a hand on her shoulder. As she was lost in her visible despair, she hadn't heard the sound of my steps: she tried to go away from me while opening her eyes and seeing me. Not even one second after, she had recognized me, and cried even harder. I had this disagreeable feeling that my presence was heartache to everyone, Winky at first, and now the little Finnigan I had just recognized. I sat on the floor and took both her hands on mine and then remained silent for a short amount of time, hoping she'll say something. She didn't, and I decided to begin the difficult conversation myself. 'What is the matter Julia?' She stared at me, and her eyes full of tears saddened me. She therefore answered with an abnormally high-pitched voice because of her feelings: 'I…' she seemed to hesitate as if afraid I'd laugh at her despair. I encouraged her with a confident smile, having an expression nice and serious all the same. 'She…'
I felt like she was going to say something very important, and asked her if she wanted to talk in my office. She nodded and I helped her standing and walking to the room. I saw that, as she was entering the classroom and then the office (her office, professor McGonagall's office,) she looked at everything with a curious expression I couldn't define. Like if she was trying to picture it all in her mind. She sat as I did, and I asked if she wanted some hot tea which she accepted. As I opened a drawer, looking for handkerchiefs, I found the bow of her ginger biscuits and that was awfully strange. It was such a surprise to me that I thought I would cry again. I preferred not to put it on the desk and closed the drawer. This would have been too much for me to act naturally and listen carefully to what my pupil was going to say. I needed to be able to concentrate properly.
I breathed deeply and then looked at her again and encouraged her as gently as possible. She had a little cough, and while I answered her unpronounced question that I would never laugh at what she was going to say, she told me: 'It's just that she… she's dead and…' she paused. 'You're here and…' She then burst in tears again before adding between two sobs: '…you see? So strange… dead…' I was dumbfounded and touched, moved: she was feeling just the way I felt and that was unbelievable… a really incredible thing. She certainly saw my expression and thought it was unclear in my mind because she added in wonder: 'you know who she is, don't you?' I forced myself into a pale smile and nodded, hoping she wouldn't see the sad light in the depths of my eyes: I had to comfort her, not fall into sadness. I hesitated on how to act well, how to help her –and my own self also by the way- without crying. I told her a few of these reassuring words which never make sense: she seemed to be just as sad as before, and I was totally helpless. I asked, 'Were you at the burial?' She just shook her head to indicate she hadn't been able to do so, and I felt it might be even more difficult for her to accept she was dead without having seen this event. But what was worse was this sensation of helplessness.
I felt a need and a will to tell her my feelings as they were, but I also knew I really couldn't. I however had to do something, act… I had to, for both of us I had to choose the right words, do the right things. I hesitated still. And, finally, I decided to tell her a little part of my story. Maybe it wouldn't comfort her right now, but I was absolutely certain that it would help her in accepting she was mortal. Yes, professor McGonagall was mortal…
I told her the story. A simplified and chosen story, but after all, my story… But, before doing so, I opened the drawer again and put the biscuits' box on the desk. I saw her eyes widen as I opened it and offered her one of them. She took one with a shy movement full of emotions and looked astonished at me, as I was fighting against both tears and feelings: I had to speak and tell her. 'Do you want me to tell you about something?' I could see that she didn't have a single idea of what I wanted to tell her about, but she nodded and a little flame of curiosity lightened in her eyes, chasing part of her sadness. That, at least, was a good point. I also hesitated between a personal way to tell her, or the fairy tale genre. But I chose the first one even if it meant that it was going to be even harder that way. 'I have always admired professor McGonagall much,' I said. It sounded so strange. And this only person to whom I was telling about my true feelings towards her was a 3rd year student. But I felt she deserved it, I could have confidence… and the future of the conversation confirmed it.
I told her about how, when young, I had always thought she was a great teacher, I had always been impressed by her means of teaching. She had always seemed to be a very interesting person, with her impressive knowledge. I told her that I did understand that it was difficult to have her being dead, even more if she also had seen part of her numerous qualities. In front of me, she was listening carefully, nodding as I talked. I took a biscuit in the box, made an effort not to shake as the smell of it reached my nose, and ate a little piece of it. She was waiting for me to go on, and I just couldn't stop here: my own tongue was running on its own. 'Did you ever talk to her, in here?' I asked, and I also pointed the box between us. She answered she had. I smiled a smile of understanding because I knew she would see what I meant. 'So you might know this box, don't you?' She nodded, and I could see she swallowed hardly just as I did. Was I that much like a teenager? I added: 'I never understood why she loved them that much…' Both of us smiled and we couldn't help a little and sincere laugh, in remembrance of the taste of the biscuit (a bit from the taste it had when she wasn't there), the way she asked –in a rhetorical way- if you wanted one, how it meant that she had something important or else personal to tell us. It was short but nice, and when it stopped I saw at the light in her eyes that she had confidence in me and that she felt a little better: I had quite succeeded. She seemed to hesitate half a second and then told me: 'Last time was next Friday…'
Oh Merlin! It was so sad… Poor Julia might really feel bad. I wondered how she could be that strong –or at least look that strong (I mean that, if I personally had seen her the day before her death, I'd feel more than pain and melancholy) - and my expression was the one of wonder. 'She seemed all right… But now that I know I think it was visible…' Her voice expired in a sigh, and I felt a rush of admiration towards her. But more than anything my conscience was hit by the fact that I was an adult, I was the teacher… It was up to me to help her, and not listening to her pains. I just couldn't let her suffer with these memories without doing at least a little something. I now remembered how she used to do. She was always quite distant, but was very concerned about her pupils (even Slytherins, which was admirable!) and with her own manners found a way to make you feel better. Now it was my turn, and I had to find my way to assure my role. How?
A sudden idea came. A strange idea… I wasn't sure I had a real right to do that, but it also seemed to be the only possible thing to do. I closed the box with a little metallic noise, and gave it to her. She looked astonished at me: 'Take it,' I said, 'it'll help you accepting, mourning…' I could see she was afraid but wished to take it as well. I decided to add: 'You can… it's no one's if it's not been taken already. The only untouched places are her quarters. In here, everything has gone where it had to go.' She therefore wasn't totally convinced. 'I was there when they read the will…' My voice was rough now and I was coming to have a hard time talking correctly. I knew what I had to do. It was as a matter of fact strange that this box was still here. Some books were the only remaining things, because they were waiting for the coming teacher to choose the books he would need to put the rest in the library. All the other objects had been moved here or there, apart from what her apartments contained. I actually wondered on who would dare to touch that place, like violating the sanctity of the place. And, whatever, this box was here, in my hands.
She seemed convinced because she had a movement to take the box, but stopped as her hand touched it. 'You?' she asked. I understood what she meant, and the answer came naturally. 'If it's no one's, you can take it. If it were mine I'd give it to you…' I breathed. 'I have other souvenirs of her…' And she finally took it with a smile. She was glad, and so did I: I had done my job… I sometimes regret in an egotist way not to have it still, but I know it was what I had to do.
She left and when I remained lonely in there I felt sadness coming back. I wanted to cry. This day, apart from this half-tainted conversation, was for the moment only made of tears and sad memories. I hadn't progressed either on my researches.
Sighing, I decided I would go home for dinner: I needed to see Ron, and was so eager to get comfort that I couldn't help a will to leave now. But for now I had class, I had a role to play.
So here it is... just tell me :D
