She didn't understand what was happening as they ran. Screams. The world around them seemed to be collapsing as they weaved through the spells, shoving and pushing through the crowds, and all she could hear above the pounding in her ears were the screams. Bits of stone fell from overhead and scones fell from their mounts as a veritable light show erupted around them. She couldn't call out as her shoulder threatened dislocation and they moved faster. The praetorians were flooding the corridor, ignoring the two as they moved, shouting directions as they went. There was just so much screaming.
Without a word she was thrown bodily through a molding door and into darkness as it shut quickly behind them. It smelled of moth balls and mold, and it would probably be wise not to consider what her right hand was residing in. A faint rush of air and the tip of his wand glowed softly, casting them both in shadow. "What good is having wiles, woman, if you refuse to use them?"
"I don't particularly appreciate your tone Mr. Daniels. I'm sorry if I don't feel especially seductive this week." She snapped at him, through heavy breaths and took pleasure in the faint blush that crept up his neck. 'No more than a boy,' she realized despite his outward confidence. She was brought out of her reverie as the small broom cupboard gave a lurch and the wall before them rolled past like an ocean wave.
"We don't have much time professor," he said, batting the loose hair away from his eyes. "The majority of green sector is out there; some have managed to remove their collars, but most are simply carrying clubs, knives, and I think I saw a rolling pin in the mix. The other sectors have joined in, and even most of the guard is simply dropping their wands. The ministry is being overrun, and he won't last the hour."
A dull roar filled her ears. There had to be something, anything, that she could do. They were so close; she couldn't just abandon that now. He may not be her Albus anymore, but he was still Albus.
"I need time Daniels. Go; tell the others to give me as much time as possible. I need to try. If nothing else, it might cut down on casualties for both sides."
He just shook his head, his eyes staring just over her right shoulder, apologetic. "The headmaster and his wife arrived just before the event. I've been instructed to keep you safe. The last thing that would involve is letting you out of this room. Our side has been instructed not to harm you, but I wouldn't put it past one of the guards at this point. I'm sorry professor," he said grimacing.
With a searing flash, he was on his back staring up at the ceiling. "So am I Daniels," she said, patting his shoulder and pointing her wand at the door. "The spell should wear off in about fifteen minutes. Find Severus and the others. Get as many of the children to safety as you can, and don't worry about me. I'm a big girl, and anyway," she added wryly, "I've died once, hell, I've probably died a thousand times over already, so what's once more."
She couldn't see beyond the smoke; all she could make out were the outlines and hammering footfalls of those running past. She couldn't hear beyond the groans flowing through the air or the screams of those still fighting. Her cheek stung where the hex had grazed her and a falling piece of debris had done a number on her shoulder.
She ducked where she could, mounds of bodies from both sides creating perfect cover and stunning where she couldn't. She tripped as her foot caught in someone's cloak and landed face to face with one of the dead. A small boy with sandy hair, perhaps no more than twelve, stared back at her with incomprehension filling his one eye, the other missing with the rest of his face. Her heart stopped and she barely managed to roll over before her stomach emptied.
The air began to glow around her as she made her way toward Albus' office, the green hue foreshadowing the event to come. They were getting closer, but so was she. She could see the faces of those she knew floating in her mind's eye: Arthur, Tonks, Remus, Molly, Alastor, Albus. She could see him most of all, his short hair, cold eyes, the rage that flared. His image began to morph slowly. His eyes warmed, and began to glow as she always remembered them, and his hair grew. She could feel as sense of calm flood her as he smiled. "I'm coming love," he whispered, and he was gone.
There was a subtle change in the air, nothing more than a shift as her fingers trailed over the red mark that yet to fade along her neck. If she didn't know any better, she might even call it an omen. 'Good thing I know better,' she thought.
With another turn, there was silence. The corridor leading to his door was empty, and her feet slowed. She moved cautiously, stilted, toward the open door in front of her. He couldn't have left a bigger clue if he had plastered a giant sign on his door saying This is a trap.
With a deep breath, she raised her wand and walked through the doorway. He stood with his back to her, bracing himself with both hands atop his desk. He seemed so much smaller, so much more tired, than she could ever recall. Papers and quills littered the floor; the only thing left in its rightful place was her picture to his right. She could feel the tension radiating from him, and he seemed to be leaning more heavily on his left leg. If it weren't for the waves of his rage crashing over her, his bowed head would seem defeated.
"What ever you do, don't say it. Just don't say it," he said without turning around, his voice shaking.
She lowered her wand and stepped into the room, avoiding the clutter around her. She reached out and grabbed his arm, invading his space. She needed to make him understand, to try. She forced herself to ignore the smell of blood and filth that hit her. Horror filled her eyes and her hand dropped to cover her mouth as she stared at him.
He suppressed the flare of pain and hurt immediately, and his eyes were cold again as he turned from her. "Oh, Albus," she breathed.
"A physical manifestation for the soul within. A monstrous exterior for the one you see within, hmm Minerva? I'm sure it's most fitting."
His face was burned almost beyond recognition, his beard completely singed away and the skin was an angry red. His black armor was covered in flash marks where spells had connected. The first volley had made contact before he or his guard were able to react, and the evidence of his people's rage was now plain on his face. It was his eyes, though, that truly stilled her heart. They were mad.