Box of memories
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The first time Minerva McGonagall found the box she cried. She fell to her knees and cried, for hours, all alone in the cold empty castle, remembering everything that had been lost, everyone whose lives had been cut short too early. Since then, she had made peace with it. It wasn't that it didn't pain her anymore, but she preferred to focus on the positive, as her mother had always told her to do as a child. It was with those thoughts that she made her way up to Gryffindor Tower. The old school was vacant, with not a single student insight, as the summer holidays had already begun. All the staff had also opted for a vacation, and thus she alone remained at Hogwarts.
"Leo pede scriptor," she whispered, and the Fat Lady Portrait swung open, revealing the Gryffindor Common Room, devoid of life.
Without a second glance, Minerva headed straight to the 7th year girls dormitory, but just as she was about to cross the threshold of the door, she hesitated. Of course, she remembered all, or at least most of her students dearly, but something about the Marauders, as they liked to call themselves, their friends, and their legacy, just stuck with her more than any other student she had ever taught. This was the dormitory Lily, Marlene, Mary, Alice and Molly had shared for seven years, this was the dormitory Hermione Granger had never come back to after her 6th year, this was the dormitory where she had found the box of memories, not long after James' and Lily's death. Taking a deep breath, she entered the room. It looked just like it always did: five four-poster beds with heavy red curtains stood on each side of the windows, mahogany shelves and dressers lined the walls, and thick rugs covered the cold stone floor. Warm golden summer sunlight flooded the room, and a few dust particles floated peacefully in the air.
The elderly witch crossed the dormitory and kneeled in front of the dresser nearest to the bathroom. She opened the lowest drawer, and reached inside, feeling for the rough protruding asperity of the otherwise smooth wood at the back of it. Finally founding it, she activated the mechanism. It was a very simple, basic, muggle tactic, which worked wonders nonetheless, as no one had found the hiding spot for well over 20 years. With care, she took out the old cardboard box, which was painted red and gold. Gently cradling it, she lowered it on the floor in front of her and opened it. Bits and pieces of random objects, which most would probably even qualify as trash, lay in a mess inside of it. But to Minerva McGonagall, every single one of these objects was a precious treasure. She had watched every single one of them come to Hogwarts, being barely 11 years old, looking tiny in the ginormous Great Hall as they nervously sat on the stool, the Sorting Hat swallowing their heads, waiting for the verdict. She had watched smile after smile illuminate their faces when they got sorted into Gryffindor, when they won a Quidditch match when they did well in exams, and when they were happy amongst themselves. She saw the restlessness in Remus before the full moon, she noticed every new scar that appeared after, she saw his and his friends exhausted but relieved faces once it was over. She saw the worry in James' eyes whenever he looked at his friends, always doing his best to support them the best he could. She saw the insecurities and fears on Peter's face. She saw the small, barely noticeable, but still, present way Sirius flinched whenever professors called him "Mr. Black," and therefore never called him by anything but his first name again. She saw the feeble wariness in Lily's eyes whenever she looked at Severus, which only intensified with the years. She saw the distress in Mary's eyes when exams approached. She saw the nervousness with which Marlene looked at girls. She saw the dread that filled Molly's face whenever the War was mentioned. She saw the seriousness in Alice's gaze whenever Voldemort or the Death Eaters were spoken of.
But she also saw the burning intensity and fiery passion with which Remus and Sirius looked at each other. She saw the happy glow on James' and Lily's faces, blissfully in love. She saw the adoration in Marlene's eyes when she looked at Dorcas Meadowes. She saw the affection in Molly's and Arthur's eyes when they stared at each other. She saw the kindness and a million words left unspoken between Alice and Frank. And she cherished every single one of those happy memories, whenever her amazing students would look up at her with admiration and wonder, the soft tug in her chest, the urge to smile brightly at them, which she did. All the won Quidditch matches, and the raging parties in Gryffindor Tower, which she never disbanded and pretended not to notice instead. The brilliant test scores each of her students had gotten under her careful guidance, even if they might not have been the brightest at first. The pranks. The crazy, stupid pranks, which were often dangerous, yet a small part of her still swelled with pride at the ingeniousness of them. And that one month, where three of her students had done everything to help their best friend, achieving insanely complicated magic in the process. She had known, of course, she had known. And she also knew she shouldn't have permitted the success of their mission. But instead, she had helped them, making sure they found the right information and ingredients. Because in her eyes, nothing was as honorable and magnificent as the furious desire to help out a loved one, and go through heaven and hell for them. In many ways, they felt like her own children, even if she would never admit it.
Tears welled in her knowing, light green eyes, blurring her vision as she looked down at the box's contents. One by one she picked up the objects, remembering.
A string of dark green yarn, cut off from one of Lily's crocheted dresses.
An empty tube of dried, black eyeliner, Sirius' eyeliner.
A single splintered knitting needle, one of Molly's.
A tiny golden snitch, whose wings, all bent from catching and playing with, barely fluttered, belonging to James', who always showed off with it.
A page torn from a notebook, covered in Remus' handwriting, telling the story of a wolf who met a bird on a rainy afternoon.
A shard of a broken vinyl record, smudged with Marlene's telltale red lipstick.
A bright yellow worn scrunchie, probably Mary's.
A silver chain with an A-shaped pendant, belonging to Alice.
A wrapper from an old Pepper Imp, Peter's favorite candy.
Despite everything he had done, Minerva hadn't been able to bring herself to throw away that one specific object. She remembered giving him a Pepper Imp, every time he showed up at her office, looking lost and scared.
A little box with a blonde hair strand intertwined with a curly dark brown one and a dried daisy; Dorcas always braided daisies into Marlene's hair.
Matching Headgirl and Headboy pins; James and Lily's. She noticed a small doe and a stag had been etched into the back of each.
An old tea-bag, earl grey to be specific, with the letters S and R painted on it with black nail polish.
An old piece of maroon flannel, the very same flannel of Frank's shirt, which somehow always seemed to be worn by Alice.
A string of red wool, the color Molly always preferred for knitting sweaters, on which hung several Muggle bronze cogs.
And at the bottom of it all, a picture album, filled to the brim with polaroids and wizard photos, of them, laughing during a party, of a stag and a dog running through the Scottish Highlands, of them, resting under the shadow of the old oak tree next to the Black Lake, of them curling up on two minuscule couches in the common room, all together like one big happy family. There were many more, and she flicked through every single page, reading each annotation, observing drawing after drawing with meticulous attention. And on the last page, she saw it, for the very first time in over 20 years. A tiny smudge, as if something was written in invisible ink.
"Revelio," she said pointing at the yellowed paper with the tip of her wand.
Swirling black letters appeared on the previously black page.
"For Minerva McGonagall, our Professor, mentor, friend, second mother, who helped us we become who we are today," she read.
And right underneath it, in scrawny, irregular handwriting she recognized as James', it said:
"We know you will find this someday, after all, you knew us best. With love, the Marauders and friends."
A single tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek, as a grin stretched across her thin lips.
author's note: bittersweet oneshot with our queen, Minnie McG
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b-bye., daya
