Chapter Eight: Alone

"On the muggle front, captured allied commanders were executed throughout German-occupied Europe yesterday. Names have not yet been released.

"To the West, increasing pleas for help from the American Ministry continue to go unnoticed. American Minister of Magic, Sabastian March, states the following:

"'All residents of these United States may join the effort in Europe on their own volition, but this Ministry is tied to the political policy of its country, as dictated by the Foreign Muggle-Magical Act of 1775. Until this country joins the muggle effort, we are bound as a magical nation to officially abstain from the conflict in Europe. We shall continue to aid in whatever manner we can and will fight with great American fervor if and when we are eligible to enter the battle.'

"Increasing reports of ally-inferi wandering battlefields have officials questioning their current method of burial. Cries for stricter cremation statutes will be among the topics discussed amongst Allied forces in future conferences.

"A war-driven student attack at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has left six dead with no survivors. Internal investigations have begun; further details currently unknown.

"French Ambassador Fourmentier was found dead this morning in his Marseilles home. Foul play is suspected, Fourmentier having allegedly been exposed to the cruciatus curse prior to death."

The usual static followed.

That was all for this hour.

Minerva swallowed, her eyes having glazed over as she stared at the radio along with the rest of the Gryffindors. Everything was awful out there, wasn't it? Maybe it was just as bad inside.

She blinked gently to herself and looked around the room at the others who seemed to be thinking the same as she.

Her eyes locked with Jez whose grimy hand was wrapped around Gwen's. He had not yet changed nor bathed since practice. None of the team had. They all wanted to hear the newscast. And of course the rest of the Gryffindors felt the same. The common room had never been so full and yet so quiet.

This was the first time in a long time that it felt like they were a unit, the Gryffindors. Of course they had been sorted based on some common traits, but they were, in effect, a group of prideful people. People who thought highly of themselves did not often get on until there was a reason to and that reason was most evident in the cluster of students that inhabited the room.

No one wanted to move for fear of ruining this moment of unity.

And no one wanted to speak, for there was nothing to say.

Minerva glanced over at Harris, Walter and Horace. Even these boys whom she suspected of having at least some off-handed relation to these goings-on at Hogwarts seemed put out by the news. The usual smug smirks on their faces were replaced by blank, sad expressions.

The girl swallowed.

Music began to play from the radio. It was a talented brass band number, but who was in the mood to enjoy it?

Students began to stand up and slowly pull out books or travel up to their rooms.

Minerva of course stayed where she was. She had no desire to go to her room. There would be no warmth there, only sadness and emptiness. No one wanted to be in a room where the dead once slept.

From across the way, Gwen and Jez moved as their own sort of unit in Minerva's direction with Gwen's hand still in Jez's. Good for them. It was good that they felt like they had a friendship in one another. Hell, it was good that they found romance in one another. It meant that Minerva had no obligations to either of them.

The couple stopped in front of Minerva, much to her surprise, a downcast expression residing on either visage.

"Minerva?" Gwen seemed unsure of herself as she spoke, as if it really were unclear whether or not she could. Had their relationship disintegrated to such sludge that it couldn't be repaired?

The Head Girl blinked with a passive eye. She didn't care very much.

She tried hard to sound more interested than she felt, or if not interested, professional. "Yes?"

"I," Gwen looked up at Jez and then turned her head back to the other girl. Tears pooled in her eyes. "I want us to be friends again." Her usually perfect skin grew red as she visibly fought back the impulse to cry.

Minerva was unfazed as she watched Gwen. It wasn't that she was heartless. It wasn't that she didn't care. She felt things deep down, or at least, she wanted to feel things, but there was something about Gwen that seemed insincere, always. It was the drama of this display. No one could seem so passive and then turn into such a wreck. It was one thing to hold in emotions, but to be devoid of them and suddenly wrought with them, that was not right.

Gwen inhaled the wetness that she kept inside. "Can we?"

The Head Girl glanced up at Jez whose hands were on her shaking shoulders. The boy looked as put-out as the girl before him, though his face was dry.

"We never stopped being friends," Minerva stated diplomatically.

As if someone had flicked a wand, Gwen let it out. She let the tears fall, draining down her reddening face. She let her head fall against Minerva's shoulder. She let her arms wrap around her remaining roommate.

And Minerva fell back against the settee, Gwen toppling down with her as if she were the pillow for which she had always longed. The blonde girl buried her face in the dark haired's white blouse, the tears seeping through to dampen skin. But that was hardly something Minerva noticed at the time—it was the shaking-wailing-leaking bit that struck her the most. The quaking lacked any control at all and the sobbing was only mitigated by the need for air.

Minerva looked helplessly up at Jez whose eyes had grown wet, though he showed the composure which Gwen lacked. He simply shook his head and raised his arms as if to say, 'What else is there to do?'.

The girl did the only thing she could do and wrapped her arms tightly around the bawling creature.

She wished that she felt more. She wished that her usually accessible (nay inherent) ability to empathize would bring about sadness and tears, but there was none of that. Her mood was impassive. There was no room left in her to feel today. And if there was, it would not be given to Gwen.

Forgiveness came easily to her—she was not too proud to keep anyone from her small circle of friends if they wanted to be there, but wasn't this too abrasive a reconciliation? Was it Minerva that Gwen wanted? Or just someone strong enough to cry on? It hardly mattered, did it? It was too late. She had offered herself as the sacrificial handkerchief and there would be no more talk of the validity of their friendship. They were friends again. At least so long as Gwen thought it useful.

But maybe that's what made it so easy to just lay there and accept what was happening. When the tears were over, when Gwen felt better, then they would return to politely accepting that they would only be friends when the need was there.

It was really Helen that Gwen was grieving for. She had not lost anyone the way everyone else had before now and even if she did, she still would have lost her best mate. The reality of it all was that Gwen was looking to fill that void, to bring comforting words to the silence. And Minerva understood that. She would not be getting in the way of this girl's grieving process. Merlin knows she would want someone if the worst were to happen in her life.

And that was the thought which brought tears back to Min's eyes.

Occasionally the circumstances of the world reminded her that man was not infallible; not her father, her mother, her Albus. She did not let many in her mind's eye and they all could be gone in a single blink.

Poof.

Minerva took in a deep breath as her throat started to swell at the thought.

She understood Gwen. She understood her better than the girl could ever guess. And so she let the girl cry into her shoulder until the tears ran dry.

No one wanted to be alone.


R&R SVP