Okay, this is the last one of this arc. Promise. Hugs!
20 December 1985
The carpetbag was packed, and sat on top of the large trunk (which was full of photographs, books, and other items Minerva hadn't wanted to part with) in the middle of the living room. All of the rest of it—the furniture, the decorations, and even the potted plants—would stay behind for the new owners, whomever they might be.
Minerva did a slow turn, her exhausted, aching eyes taking in the living room, the stairs, the kitchen for the last time. She released a sharp breath through her nose and picked up her bag, going to the front door.
Hagrid stood on her front step, still wearing his black armband from the burial and holding up a massive black umbrella over her head against the sleet. "Ready ter go, Professor?" he asked, and she nodded once, not meeting his gaze. He walked with her out to the thestral-drawn carriage that waited outside the gate, and then returned to the cottage under the umbrella to fetch her trunk.
Minerva gazed straight ahead at the seatback cushioning as the carriage groaned and creaked under Hagrid's added weight. A moment later, it juddered to life and started back for the school; she didn't look back once at her rain-soaked cottage, but still felt more tears rise threateningly in the corners of her vision.
"I'll see ter the trunk, Professor," Hagrid said quietly, once the carriage had made its ascent to the steps of the castle and she had disembarked.
"Thank you for everything, Hagrid," she replied in a low voice, before turning and walking through the doors to the staircase. The castle was extraordinarily quiet as she climbed the stairs to her private quarters; the students had nearly all gone home for their holidays. At the top of the seventh-floor landing, she met Pomona, who was also still in her black robes.
"I thought you could use some help," she said gently, falling into step beside her as they walked to Minerva's old bedroom.
"I haven't got much," Minerva replied, tapping her wand to the handle of the sealed door. It creaked open.
"No, but it could do with a bit of warming up in here," Pomona said, shivering. She pulled the dust cloths off of two wingback armchairs by the hearth and started a fire. Immediately, the room became brighter and warmer.
Minerva was setting some of her smaller items out on the vanity. She heard Pomona approach her carpetbag, which was sitting open on the bed. "Leave the framed pictures, please," she said quietly. "I'll handle them later."
"Of course." Pomona flicked her wand, and all of Minerva's robes and the rest of her clothing soared from the bag, neatly arranging themselves on hangers and the shoes along the floor of the wardrobe.
They worked in silence like this for a while, Minerva all too aware of Pomona's eyes on her. At last, all that could be done was done; Hagrid had brought the trunk, and once it had been emptied of everything except the photographs, both it and the carpetbag were stowed beneath the bed. The room was warm and bright in the glow of the crackling fire, and the torches had been lit as well.
"I can stay and make a cup of tea," Pomona offered.
"They'll be expecting you at dinner," Minerva replied, wrapping her arms around herself and looking down at her feet.
"You're going to Caithness for Christmas, aren't you? I saw your brothers leaving with the children after the—after. When do you leave?"
Minerva nodded briefly. "Soon."
Pomona gave her a slightly mistrustful look, but didn't push the matter. "I'm not far," she said. "You know that."
"Of course," said Minerva.
"You're sure you won't come dow—?"
"I'm exhausted, Pomona," she interrupted. "I'd really rather get a bit of sleep."
"All right," Pomona replied quietly. She came close and embraced Minerva, who returned the gesture, trying to convey some of her gratitude, even if she couldn't form the words. "I'll drop in tomorrow before I leave?"
"Fine," Minerva agreed, seeing her to the door.
And then, she was alone. She looked around the room; it hadn't changed at all in three years, and yet it felt as foreign and strange to her as anything. In fact, the entirety of Hogwarts felt as though it had ceased to fit her, just in the three weeks she'd been gone. She no longer knew where her home was, and this only added to the exhaustion and grief that were eating her from the inside out.
She sank down weakly into one of the wingback chairs, pulling off her wedding band and engagement ring. She yanked open a drawer in the small table between the chairs and tossed the rings inside, hearing them clatter against the back of it in a satisfying way. If she'd had the energy, she would've thrown them in with the pictures, Finn's wedding ring, his pocket watch, and the rest of his personal effects under the bed.
But all she could really manage now was lying back against this chair—she'd forgotten how comfortable they were.
Minerva rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers on one hand, giving a soft sigh. They were gone, now, all of them—her father, her mother…too many of her friends…and now, Elphinstone, the single person on earth who had loved her through all of it.
Tears filled Minerva's eyes, and she covered her face with both hands, doubling over in her chair as a huge sob tore through her. She wasn't one to despair, but she was nothing if not pragmatic—and any good pragmatist knows that there is a time and a place for everything.
