Chapter Four: And Now He Was Gone
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Minerva softly closed the door of her quarters behind her, then stood still and listened. No footsteps. Poppy had not followed her, to her great surprise. Good.
With a nervous shrug of her shoulder, she turned towards the room. And gasped, though she did not know why. It was her room, she'd seen it a thousand times. Yet now, it suddenly seemed cold… cold and unwelcoming. And it was empty.
But what had she then expected? Minerva silently scolded herself as she shook her head and sat down. Immediately- as if she'd been stung by a bee- she jumped to her feet again, breathing quickly. Not a bee was present, though.
It was a book.
A very normal, quite old, leather-covered book. "The Founders: Facts" was written on it in dark burgundy letters. But that didn't matter really. The only thing that really mattered was the simple fact, that Albus, her Albus, had, barely one day ago, sat there, on that very couch, with that very book in his hands.
With a slight movement of her eyebrows, Minerva allowed her trembling hands to open it. Her thin fingers slid over the yellowy pages, until they found the one they'd been looking for. The one where the long, dark blue bookmarker sat. The one Albus had been reading, only one day before…
But she mustn't think of that.
But what must she think of, then?
With a nervous gesture, Minerva put her forefinger on the soft parchment, and started to read. Read the one passage Albus had underlined, with that strange artifact Muggles usually called a pencil. He must have been the only wizard who'd used it…
Minerva almost smiled as she whispered out loud the words.
"Rowena Ravenclaw," she muttered. "was a witch with remarkably long, black hair and emerald-colored eyes. She was tall, taller than some wizards even, and her skin had the strange, milky white color so many Scotswomen have."
And the text went on and on, but those words, those two sentences had Albus underlined. No less, no more. Minerva smiled. She knew why he'd underlined them, why he had even twice underlined the penultimate word. He'd always had an obsession for the Founders- which was only natural, perhaps, as a Headmaster of Hogwarts. And since he'd heard that his wife was one of the last descendants of Rowena Ravenclaw herself…
Minerva sat down as she softly, as if so as not to break the almost holy silence, closed the book. Yes, it was true, Rowena Ravenclaw was a foremother of her. Albus had always been on about how strangely great the resemblance between them was. Minerva, though, had then always dryly commented that he could hardly say anything about a resemblance, since he'd never met Ravenclaw herself. Albus, then, had always grinned and said "but I am married to her, my dear". Minerva had then always rolled her eyes.
And now he was gone.
As she felt silent tears pricking behind her eyes, Minerva shook her head and gritted her teeth.
Don't cry. Crying doesn't help. Crying won't bring him back.
No, it wouldn't. Nothing would.
With a desperate sigh, she stood up and, with an almost automatic gesture, turned the door knob and entered the bathroom. She almost shrieked as she saw a terribly-looking, totally creepy woman, standing in the middle of her bathroom. Only three full seconds later, she realized that it was her own reflection in the mirror. She helplessly laughed as she saw her own face. She laughed and laughed, until she realized she was getting hysterical and slapped herself hard in the face. The laughing immediately stopped… only a guilty feeling in her stomach remained. Here she was, laughing, while…
With a slight shook of her head, Minerva narrowed her eyes and examined her reflection. The indeed strangely pale face, now covered in a grayish dust, only interrupted by two single lines, one under each eye, where her tears had rolled down. Her eyes were all red and puffy, stained blood was shattered on a deep cut on her right temple, her hairs were all tangled and loose.
With a slow, mechanical gesture, Minerva took a wash cloth, and started to wash the dirt and blood off her face. It slightly stung, the water in the open wound, but Minerva didn't even filch. This pain was nothing. Nothing compared to…
After she'd "done" her face, she started to comb her long, black hair with just that tiny hint of grey in it. And then she saw it.
And then she saw it, and the last ruins of what had once been her world collapsed.
Such a silly thing.
But it stood there, there, on her dressing-table, in her bathroom, in her quarters. In their quarters… in the rooms she'd shared with Albus with forty years.
It stood there.
His, his very own, purple, empty cup of hot cocoa.
And she succumbed.
Minerva McGonagall, proud, strong Minerva McGonagall fell on her knees before her dressing table, rested her head on her arms, finally gave in and cried, cried loudly, cried desperately, cried as if her hart had been torn out.
As a matter of fact, it had.
=======================================
Minerva softly closed the door of her quarters behind her, then stood still and listened. No footsteps. Poppy had not followed her, to her great surprise. Good.
With a nervous shrug of her shoulder, she turned towards the room. And gasped, though she did not know why. It was her room, she'd seen it a thousand times. Yet now, it suddenly seemed cold… cold and unwelcoming. And it was empty.
But what had she then expected? Minerva silently scolded herself as she shook her head and sat down. Immediately- as if she'd been stung by a bee- she jumped to her feet again, breathing quickly. Not a bee was present, though.
It was a book.
A very normal, quite old, leather-covered book. "The Founders: Facts" was written on it in dark burgundy letters. But that didn't matter really. The only thing that really mattered was the simple fact, that Albus, her Albus, had, barely one day ago, sat there, on that very couch, with that very book in his hands.
With a slight movement of her eyebrows, Minerva allowed her trembling hands to open it. Her thin fingers slid over the yellowy pages, until they found the one they'd been looking for. The one where the long, dark blue bookmarker sat. The one Albus had been reading, only one day before…
But she mustn't think of that.
But what must she think of, then?
With a nervous gesture, Minerva put her forefinger on the soft parchment, and started to read. Read the one passage Albus had underlined, with that strange artifact Muggles usually called a pencil. He must have been the only wizard who'd used it…
Minerva almost smiled as she whispered out loud the words.
"Rowena Ravenclaw," she muttered. "was a witch with remarkably long, black hair and emerald-colored eyes. She was tall, taller than some wizards even, and her skin had the strange, milky white color so many Scotswomen have."
And the text went on and on, but those words, those two sentences had Albus underlined. No less, no more. Minerva smiled. She knew why he'd underlined them, why he had even twice underlined the penultimate word. He'd always had an obsession for the Founders- which was only natural, perhaps, as a Headmaster of Hogwarts. And since he'd heard that his wife was one of the last descendants of Rowena Ravenclaw herself…
Minerva sat down as she softly, as if so as not to break the almost holy silence, closed the book. Yes, it was true, Rowena Ravenclaw was a foremother of her. Albus had always been on about how strangely great the resemblance between them was. Minerva, though, had then always dryly commented that he could hardly say anything about a resemblance, since he'd never met Ravenclaw herself. Albus, then, had always grinned and said "but I am married to her, my dear". Minerva had then always rolled her eyes.
And now he was gone.
As she felt silent tears pricking behind her eyes, Minerva shook her head and gritted her teeth.
Don't cry. Crying doesn't help. Crying won't bring him back.
No, it wouldn't. Nothing would.
With a desperate sigh, she stood up and, with an almost automatic gesture, turned the door knob and entered the bathroom. She almost shrieked as she saw a terribly-looking, totally creepy woman, standing in the middle of her bathroom. Only three full seconds later, she realized that it was her own reflection in the mirror. She helplessly laughed as she saw her own face. She laughed and laughed, until she realized she was getting hysterical and slapped herself hard in the face. The laughing immediately stopped… only a guilty feeling in her stomach remained. Here she was, laughing, while…
With a slight shook of her head, Minerva narrowed her eyes and examined her reflection. The indeed strangely pale face, now covered in a grayish dust, only interrupted by two single lines, one under each eye, where her tears had rolled down. Her eyes were all red and puffy, stained blood was shattered on a deep cut on her right temple, her hairs were all tangled and loose.
With a slow, mechanical gesture, Minerva took a wash cloth, and started to wash the dirt and blood off her face. It slightly stung, the water in the open wound, but Minerva didn't even filch. This pain was nothing. Nothing compared to…
After she'd "done" her face, she started to comb her long, black hair with just that tiny hint of grey in it. And then she saw it.
And then she saw it, and the last ruins of what had once been her world collapsed.
Such a silly thing.
But it stood there, there, on her dressing-table, in her bathroom, in her quarters. In their quarters… in the rooms she'd shared with Albus with forty years.
It stood there.
His, his very own, purple, empty cup of hot cocoa.
And she succumbed.
Minerva McGonagall, proud, strong Minerva McGonagall fell on her knees before her dressing table, rested her head on her arms, finally gave in and cried, cried loudly, cried desperately, cried as if her hart had been torn out.
As a matter of fact, it had.