Hello! First of all, I have to accept that giving you this chapter in 2 weeks was a complete failor. I don't know how long it took, but most certainly a whole months. So (as always), I apologize for obliging you to wait that long! Also, I warn you that next chapter will certainly not come before the 30 of June, because I have exams, and I'll concentrate on preparing them and then passing them by!

Whatever, this is the following chapter. Much thoughts and descisions. I like it though. And, if anyone is interested in beta-reading, send me a message!

Have a good read, and thanks for reading of reviewing (to Gin781 for the previous chapter!)

Bergere.

But what could I do?

Going home, for dinner, should have relieved me a lot and I should have been able to disconnect from my problems. This, sadly, was more of a dream, and I wasn't really feeling better at the end of the day.

I came home as soon as I could, just after telling Neville I was leaving. He had immediately nodded and I could say, but the sight of his face, that he was wondering about how I felt. I did feel very bad, and was looking forward to some peace. But, the thing I really didn't want to do was to talk about what was happening to me, what my problems were. To Ron I could, but Neville was not a close friend enough for doing this. That's why I was so glad that he didn't ask any question, and just looked at me that way: I don't know what I would have done if I had had to answer something.

When I entered my dining-room, I found both my husband and my best-friend talking. They were sitting in an armchair for Harry and in the couch for Ron, holding a glass of an alcohol I identified as Fire-whiskey, and I could see they were talking about some important matter. It wasn't something they usually did when both together, preferring to remind each other some memories of Hogwarts. But, this time, they were clearly preoccupied. I was a few meters away from them, but I could see Ron's cheek paler than usually, and Harry was brushing his hair again and again. Without trying to be discreet, I approached, and could catch a few words before they saw me. '…you can't be serious?' asked Ron clearly in wonder while Harry was nodding. My curiosity was awoken by these words, and I said 'Hello' in order to tell them I was here.

Both immediately stood up, as if I had pronounced some magical order, and I could see Ron blushing as I asked what they were talking about. Both shook there head hard as Harry repeated it was nothing, some Quidditch matter. The way they were standing just as the expression on their face denounced them easily. Ron never knew how to lie to me. I really wanted to know what preoccupied them so much. So, I sat on the couch next to him, kissed him in a fast kiss on the lips, and explained them that I had decided to come home on today because I needed to cut of from Hogwarts and all this heir stuff. They were turning to be calmer, thinking that I hadn't heard or wasn't interested. I asked 'So, what was it? Tell me…' Ron opened his mouths to tell me that it was some Quidditch question but I didn't let him any time to try an improper explanation. I breathed, and decided to begin up the explanations.

'Both of you will stop lying! I know you well enough to say that you were talking about some really serious matter. When it's Quidditch, your eyes are like lightened… this time, it was more like concern.' Both looked at their feet, clearly showing I had caught them lying. I could see Ron was just too shameful to think, and Harry seemed to be looking for the best thing to do. 'Your expression now also shows it might be about me so… Do tell me the truth!' Ron looked at me, and said 'Well, that's true we were talking about you but…' He just couldn't go on, because my 'charming' best-friend stopped him before he could reveal any compromising information. I sent him one of my best dark looks and was ready to answer something disagreeable when he touched my hand and told me 'Please, before yelling, let me explain. I'll tell you what I can…' I looked at him with curiosity as I could see Ron staring astonished and trying to ask him soundlessly what the bloody hell he was going to do: this sure wasn't prepared.

Harry took a deep breath and indicated to Ron not to interfere. 'I can't tell you everything because… Because… I just can't. However, I know you'll never abandon until you know the more you can learn. That is why I'll tell you what I can tell.' I nodded; waiting for something I feared would be dangerous, important. 'It's about this mission of yours. Yes, we have a kind of idea. I admit it.' Oh Merlin… I was now very eager to know: maybe they would give me a clue. Maybe it would even be this special clue I needed to open the locked door of the mystery. My eyes shinned a bit harder just before Harry went on. 'You know as well as I do that we can't tell you what our idea is but…' My smile saddened and a sudden need to cry overwhelmed me. I fought hard against it as he was going on '…what we can do is giving you an advice and talking about where you are in your researches'.

Okay. That was really not what I would have liked to happen, but it was just what was possible, and I decided to satisfy myself with it. I asked in a little voice if he could tell me what he felt authorized to tell and he smiled, satisfied that I had accepted it so easily. However, as I listened, I felt incredibly tired and empty: this day should really have been erased. 'I can tell you to… follow your heart. And I can tell you that the answer is, according to both of us, nearer than what you think…' Why that, again? I couldn't bear it anymore. Why did people go on with sibylline explanations? Following my heart; it was nice, yes. I really was ready to do so… but what did it mean? What was it for? How could I do this? What was the bloody link between my feelings and the headmaster of Hogwarts? There wasn't. Or at least there was nothing clear; not one tiny little thing I could see and that'd be a first clue. The only clue I had was this reference to my feelings, my heart… I couldn't consider it as a true and proper clue. It wasn't.

Whatever, I nodded very slowly as they were silent again, and Ron, putting an arm around my waist (because he now was sitting next to me), was the one to break this silence. 'Do you want to tell us where you are in your… work?' Again, I nodded, and he kissed me gently on the lips, very kindly. I breathed. Now that they asked this way, I understood that I really needed to talk about this: it really was too much. 'I found out that the entrance to her apartments won't open until I give the name of the future headmaster as a password. And I can't find out who it is. It's not Flitwick, and not Neville either.' I paused, they looked at me. 'I can't find what man is worth the job and…' I couldn't end up my sentence. Ron cut me and began 'And if it's…' But he couldn't go to the end of his explanation either, because Harry gave him a punch so that he remained silent. That really was great… As a result to this brilliant intervention of both my husband and my best friend, none of us began talking again for quite a long amount of time. That really wasn't what I would have liked to earn as a comfort by being back home.

Strangely, I didn't feel like I was going to cry. There were a lot of feelings fighting in my head, but… no coming tears. I was sad, but… not about to cry. Finally, Ron decided it was more than time to stop all this. 'I'm sorry… it's just that, if you believe we are true and we're not, you'll be horribly… disappointed.' That sounded quite like a good apology; and I knew that he wouldn't lie now. 'Whatever,' he went on, 'can't you try as many names as possible until the door open.' Yes, I had thought of it, a little bit… but I definitely couldn't. It'd be, as I felt, unfair, a pure cheating. I couldn't cheat in such a matter, first of all because I didn't want to do so. I felt like all this was a kind of initiation, some quest I had to go through, before going stronger to normal life. If I cheated, even a little bit, it would change the whole thing, transform everything. Also, it'd also have been like betraying her.

Sorry, I think I already told you about all this. That's just… the memories being back. I answered, though, to what my husband had said. 'I can't… It's… I can't. It's like betraying her confidence and my mission.' Harry nodded. I had thought he'd understand easily, and I was true. And… that wasn't because my husband is narrow-minded, or anything of that kind. No, it's not for such a reason at all. It's just that Harry had a mission (much more important, and complex, and etc, I don't deny it), and he knows that sometimes you can't be biasing, you have to do something. And, it often happens that these are moral obligations. I could see that for a moment Ron didn't really catch why it was such a problem for me, but he didn't ask, and kept his wonderings for himself. I gave him a pale smile.

For a few seconds I hesitated, but decided that I could tell them about everything; everything but what I felt about her, really. I breathed, and began another explanation. 'Well, you see… The problem I have is that I can't go on. I can't because when, in my mind, I look for someone who could replace professor McGonagall and rule Hogwarts… I just think in dead people. Past friends…' My voice stopped in a sigh, and I saw Ron unexpectedly smiling. He kissed me, and told me: 'That's why I love you… you always think in things so well. Sometimes, it makes things harder… but that's still great of you.' I thought that for me, that was why I loved him: because he knew how to be so kind. Still, I sighed. Harry coughed a little. He seemed to be hesitating. In wonder, I looked at him, raising an elbow.

'Who… who do you think in?' Oh… that was it. I knew he still felt guilty, sometimes, about the numerous deaths that were the cost of the victory. Of course, he wasn't responsible for them, and he on the contrary had saved a lot of us. That was worth an answer. 'Well, of course, the first I think of are Dumbledore and McGonagall herself.' They nodded, that was logical. Actually, that was a bit of a lie: I thought of her more than of Dumbledore. Maybe because I had had enough time to accept his death or… I don't know. 'And then I think in Snape, and Lupin. The others are like secondary.' 'I understand', Harry said. 'I mean, I understand why you think in them both for such a matter.' Ron shook his head to show he was okay. Once more, we remained silent.

Finally, I was the one to break it. 'Sometimes, I feel like it's going to drive me mad…' I looked at them both. They were listening, but I could tell that they couldn't go in what I said. Whatever the attention they paid, it was impossible that they would see what I meant. I was too much in my thoughts and my feelings: somewhat in another world they couldn't reach. It was pure soliloquy that this conversation. I finally didn't care that much, because I just needed things to flow out: the illusion of an auditory was largely enough for me to be satisfied. It was… well, it was just talking and putting things into an oral expression. That was all. And they listened and nodded, while my words entered and exited their minds before they could catch their meaning. My husband hand was holding me tight, and that was also all I needed: a presence, to put me out of my loneliness. Of course, their lack of reaction wasn't what I had dreamt of… but at least they weren't contradicting me. It happened to be a good point.

Harry left around midnight, saying that Ginny was going to kill him. I gave him a pale smile and made him swear not to tell her about my misfortunes and my problems: I didn't want her to get worried about me. She was a great friend… but I didn't feel like telling her. Whatever, Ron and I went to bed, and he fell asleep in a few instants. My husband had always been that way… sleeping anywhere, anytime. It made me smile a bit, but then I spend a whole hour turning round in my bed. I couldn't find a way to fall asleep, and it made me feel awfully nervous. I thought about things again and again. The girl crying, what she had said; and there were also my memories of professor McGonagall. Unable to bear it anymore, I finally got out of the bed as discreetly as possible, and walked to my kitchen. Automatically, I put some orange juice into a glass, drank it, and sat in a chair, looking at the walls of the room. My mind was still floating from an idea to another, and I knew I couldn't sleep, but that I couldn't empty my mind either. Sighing, I decided to go upstairs and take a look at the box. I, actually, used it whenever I felt helpless. Like a last possible way to remain in here.

Trying not to awake Ron (and that was actually unlikeable), I put all the charms out and accioed the box. I walked downstairs again, and sat in the very same chair. Opening the box, I breathed deeply. It had no particular fragrance, but to me, this air was different from the outside atmosphere. I know (and already knew) that it was purely psychological, but I couldn't help it. On the top, there were the letters I had received not two weeks before. Also, there were the letters of my admission to NEWT without even passing them by, and the green-inked letter of admission to Hogwarts; but I hadn't any copy of her will yet. I got it months later. Whatever, I put all these things out: I knew them very well, and it wasn't what I needed now. I needed something new. The next thing in the box was a piece of the Daily Prophet that I had kept ever since… years. Yes, I'd take a look at this.

"Today, happened one of the most harsh and painful events in a few days. Professor Albus Dumbledore, famous all over the world and headmaster of Hogwarts, was buried in the garden of the school..." And then there was a picture, and pages that would give more information. I remembered that day now. It had been a difficult moment to live, also, but not as terrible as her burial: very different actually. Basically, no Official had had the shameless behaviour of doing a speech during his funeral.

Whatever, I tried not to concentrate on her burial, and looked carefully at the picture. I couldn't remember why this was with my souvenirs of her. The photo mainly showed the burning marble in which his body was now disappearing. I remembered it had been painful. But it was so far ago that I had forgotten part of the pain and the sadness. Most of it was now just a vague remembrance. As I took a closer look to the picture, I understood why it was in the box. She was on it, in all the dignity of sadness, the dignity of pain, the dignity of her self. My heart started beating harder, and I understood that taking a look at the box surely wasn't the right thing to do if I wanted to sleep and be up in the morning in order to be back at Hogwarts. I had no class on Wednesday, but I had said I'd be back in the morning: I had to be. Whatever… it was too late now that I was plunged in the memories that this photo shared, and I glanced at her image with all the intensity I could put in it.

I think it was the only picture I had of her. Her portrait would appear in the headmaster office once there'd be a new one, and I of course had no picture of her person. That is to say that it was the only thing I had on her physical self other than my memories. Memories or known to be unclear, they are huge liars but they know how to hide their lies so well that we don't see the subterfuge. Wizard's pictures, moreover, have this unbelievably great advantage that they keep the image and the movement: she seemed to be completely alive in it. Whatever, on that picture, she was seating in the first rank, next to Scrimgeour. She seemed to be softly biting her lips, slightly, discreetly, like if she was trying to pull out her feelings. I remember thinking that she might have been preventing herself from crying. That was surely the truth. She was seating as straight as possible, and she was giving the impression that no feeling was ruling her heart. Her face was quite neutral, hiding her pain and her sadness behind a mask of indifference and complete coldness. I know, I knew, and even the day of the burial I had known, that she was herself overwhelmed.

To me, losing her had been like being separated from a model, a mentor. I had always thought that he was a bit hers. But, she had had the privilege to know him well, to work with him for years. I doubted none that they were close friends. And now, he was disappearing for ever in a round of flames. How terrible! As I looked at the picture, I felt sorry for her. But she was able to keep her role, though. Maybe it was imagination, but it seemed to me that in her eyes, there was the painful light of understanding. No wonder that burials always had this kind of effect on people: you are hit by the fact that it's the last farewell, the complete adieu.

I was sitting with the empty glass in my crisped hand, completely absorbed in my contemplation, and the idea came. I had to do this; it looked like the best I could manage. I would go at the tomb with the young girl, Julia. We would just take a look at it. It was what had to be done. After that, she'd be able to earn conscience of the reality of death. Her bloody true and real death: I hated to admit it, but I had accepted it. Not well, not without regrets… but it was clear to me that she was dead.

I went to bed, the glass still on the table, feeling much better because I was going to do something good. Something I feared, but which was still a good thing to do. Really: I was convinced of it, and finally could find a way to fall asleep. That was it.

Here it was. Tell we whatever what your opinion is!

Thanks a lot!