Chapter Five by Nerweniel
Severus Snape was dead.
The realization dawned rather slowly, but it dawned nonetheless and Minerva simply stood there- watching a slight, curly line of green smoke escaping from the tip of her wand- hardly believing what she had done. But the pale face, eyes opened wide during the last moment, before the final crash had come, of her colleague did not lie. She, Minerva McGonagall, had not only murdered her top student- she had also killed her fellow Head of House and kind-of friend on top of it.
And had it really been worth it? First Hermione, the girl she had once almost loved like a daughter, despite the fact that she was not of magical blood- and now Severus, the closest person to a son Albus and she had ever had.
Albus.
It was this one, single word, only those two, short syllables, that convinced her that she had to continue this. Severus's death had been worth it- everything would be worth it, just to make Albus pay. So he had chosen the powerless path of wisdom. So he really had chosen the easy way, the one leading over roses rather than over knives.
But roses too, had their thorns, and he would realize that one day.
Yet as for now, her only chance lay in disappearing. The so-called suicide of Hermione had been accepted without suspicion- but if Severus committed suicide too, people would start to talk about it. Gossip would start- and no matter how she despised it, a gossiping tongue often turned out to be an honest tongue as well. And sooner or later, someone would realize that.
But if she vanished- if she simply left that wrecked hell of a Hogwarts which hadn't been her home anymore for a long, long time, and went on the desperately needed search for him-who-needed-to-help-her, then she held a chance. They would probably worry about her, think she had been murdered as well, or something similar. No-one would, of course, suspect the proud and rightful Deputy Headmistress of a crime this horrible- no-one, except he who know her better than anyone.
Albus would know immediately that it was her hand who had painted the wicked smile of death on the Potion Master's face. Albus would watch Hermione's broken body, and he would know it was her wand that had ended the girl's young life by a firm period.
And perhaps he would realize that not she, but he was guilty. That he, who had broken Minerva's heart, had pushed her over the line, had driven her towards the path in life she had tried to avoid for so many years. That he and not she had taken the decision.
As she left the room, barely casting a look at the dead, abandoned body of her second victim ever, she could honestly state that all feelings of guilt had disappeared, and all what remained was a remarkably light feeling inside of her stomach. She was winning, and she would keep on winning. As long as her hate was strong enough, it would feed her. And as long as it would feed her, she would live to win, to be the queen.
For a moment, Minerva wondered whether she was going mad, but those thoughts were very easily chased from her conscious mind. She was not mad, she was not insane.
She was right.
And he would pay.
Minerva never heard the scream of Madam Pomfrey which woke up the whole castle, less than ten minutes after she had left the room...