Chapter One: She Who Had Survived
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"Albus!"
The woman's cry tore the evening sky apart. Away were the cheers, away was even the sobbing of them who had recognized one of the bodies on the grass- the dead bodies, most of them unharmed, killed by a well-cast Avada Kedavra curse. There was silence now.
Everybody now looked up, and saw.
They saw her.
And they heard her, again.
"Albus!"
With this, a tall, yet slender figure ran past them, crossing the lawn focusing just on one thing. A body- alive, or dead? The spectators did not know- but did she know, after all?
Who was she? In the agitation of the moment, many of the people present firstly mistook her for a ghost- a phantom, something, someone, not entirely of this world. She did look strange, after all, with her long, black-greyish hairs flowing behind her, and her entire face and body covered in mud- and… was that blood, on her left temple? It was, but she did not seem to care.
"Albus?"
Only as she knelt down beside him, beside Hogwarts' great Headmaster, they recognized her voice. It now was controlled again- not hysterical, as it had been in the first shock. It was the calm, yet determined voice of a woman who had managed to tame generations of Weasley boys –except, perhaps, the twins- and who had survived.
"Albus… Albus?"
Minerva sat down next to him, now. And though she saw the paleness of his face, she knew he could not be dead. She would feel it when he died. She would feel it.
"My God, Albus, what has happened?" she whispered as she carefully laid her hand on his cheek. But she already knew it. Lord Voldemort, before he died, had cast a spell on the Headmaster, on the only man he had ever feared. She hadn't recognized the spell, which was a good reason to be worried, because there weren't many spells Minerva McGonagall could not perform.
As he slowly, very slowly, way too slowly, opened his eyes, she bit her lips hard so as not to cry. A little stream of blood flew down her chin, but she didn't care. She would not cry. Her husband was dying, but this was not a moment to spill tears.
"Minerva?"
His voice was hoarse, yet as clear and friendly as it had always been. But he was weak. She saw it. Weaker than ever, and his cerulean blue eyes were so very far away.
"Minerva, I am dying." he then, softly, yet matter-of-factly, spoke.
"Don't say that." she flatly answered.
"It is the truth."
"I know, Albus, but please, don't say it."
He, despite the situation he was in, chuckled.
"I won't." he then promised. "Minerva…"
But his eyes closed again, and Minerva felt, to her great irritation, a tear roll down her right cheek. Just one. Not more.
He was dying.
Albus was dying.
She was to be a widow.
Minerva almost bitterly laughed when she thought about that. She, a widow? Had the world ever known that she was a wife in the first place?
The world.
With this, Minerva remembered the world around her. The people, most of them whom were crying. Crying over their Headmaster and their friend.
She wished she could cry as well. But she knew very well she could not do that. They were looking at her, all of them. Their eyes were pleading. Asking for guidance.
Come on, Minerva spoke to herself as she slowly rose to her feet again. Someone has to be strong, and if it has to be you, so be it.
Responsibility was a strange thing. And promises of long ago could have strange effects later on. Those two things she recalled on that very moment. Her husband was dying. She felt like crying, like yelling, like holding him and begging him not to let go.
But she couldn't. She just couldn't.
She had once accepted the post of Deputy Headmistress. It was the path she'd chosen. And she would act according to it.
Then, with a very carefully oppressed shiver in her voice, she almost stately raised her hands.
"Carry the wounded to the castle!"
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"Albus!"
The woman's cry tore the evening sky apart. Away were the cheers, away was even the sobbing of them who had recognized one of the bodies on the grass- the dead bodies, most of them unharmed, killed by a well-cast Avada Kedavra curse. There was silence now.
Everybody now looked up, and saw.
They saw her.
And they heard her, again.
"Albus!"
With this, a tall, yet slender figure ran past them, crossing the lawn focusing just on one thing. A body- alive, or dead? The spectators did not know- but did she know, after all?
Who was she? In the agitation of the moment, many of the people present firstly mistook her for a ghost- a phantom, something, someone, not entirely of this world. She did look strange, after all, with her long, black-greyish hairs flowing behind her, and her entire face and body covered in mud- and… was that blood, on her left temple? It was, but she did not seem to care.
"Albus?"
Only as she knelt down beside him, beside Hogwarts' great Headmaster, they recognized her voice. It now was controlled again- not hysterical, as it had been in the first shock. It was the calm, yet determined voice of a woman who had managed to tame generations of Weasley boys –except, perhaps, the twins- and who had survived.
"Albus… Albus?"
Minerva sat down next to him, now. And though she saw the paleness of his face, she knew he could not be dead. She would feel it when he died. She would feel it.
"My God, Albus, what has happened?" she whispered as she carefully laid her hand on his cheek. But she already knew it. Lord Voldemort, before he died, had cast a spell on the Headmaster, on the only man he had ever feared. She hadn't recognized the spell, which was a good reason to be worried, because there weren't many spells Minerva McGonagall could not perform.
As he slowly, very slowly, way too slowly, opened his eyes, she bit her lips hard so as not to cry. A little stream of blood flew down her chin, but she didn't care. She would not cry. Her husband was dying, but this was not a moment to spill tears.
"Minerva?"
His voice was hoarse, yet as clear and friendly as it had always been. But he was weak. She saw it. Weaker than ever, and his cerulean blue eyes were so very far away.
"Minerva, I am dying." he then, softly, yet matter-of-factly, spoke.
"Don't say that." she flatly answered.
"It is the truth."
"I know, Albus, but please, don't say it."
He, despite the situation he was in, chuckled.
"I won't." he then promised. "Minerva…"
But his eyes closed again, and Minerva felt, to her great irritation, a tear roll down her right cheek. Just one. Not more.
He was dying.
Albus was dying.
She was to be a widow.
Minerva almost bitterly laughed when she thought about that. She, a widow? Had the world ever known that she was a wife in the first place?
The world.
With this, Minerva remembered the world around her. The people, most of them whom were crying. Crying over their Headmaster and their friend.
She wished she could cry as well. But she knew very well she could not do that. They were looking at her, all of them. Their eyes were pleading. Asking for guidance.
Come on, Minerva spoke to herself as she slowly rose to her feet again. Someone has to be strong, and if it has to be you, so be it.
Responsibility was a strange thing. And promises of long ago could have strange effects later on. Those two things she recalled on that very moment. Her husband was dying. She felt like crying, like yelling, like holding him and begging him not to let go.
But she couldn't. She just couldn't.
She had once accepted the post of Deputy Headmistress. It was the path she'd chosen. And she would act according to it.
Then, with a very carefully oppressed shiver in her voice, she almost stately raised her hands.
"Carry the wounded to the castle!"