Chapter Seven

The next months drifted away quickly for Minerva- and years later, she would remember them as the impatient blur they had indeed been. Finally having found a goal in her life, which she'd always felt as so very useless, Minerva was glad when she could, finally, look forward to something again- and her last months before graduation passed without much things happening.

She studied hard for her NEWTs, though- and the result was amazing indeed. At the graduation ceremony that year, Headmaster Dippet was glad to announce that for the first time since his Deputy Headmaster had graduated from Hogwarts, another student had managed to receive an O on all their NEWTs.

And Minerva was proud- but only because she knew that she could hardly have started Auror training with any less. She was proud of herself, of her achievement, but even stronger than that pride was the bitter knowledge that she no longer had a family to join in that pride. Her classmates' parents were nearly all there at graduation- and though she knew the steel smile she'd pasted on her lips in the morning fooled most of them, Minerva knew only too well that Albus could read the hidden hurt in her eyes. How could he not, after all.

For if there was one thing she'd dreaded her graduation for, it had been the goodbye of her Professor, friend- and lover. She knew that, though they could now, gradually, bring their relationship out in the open, she'd miss being close to him all day. She'd miss the late night chess games, she'd miss stolen kisses between classes- but most of all, perhaps, she'd miss his presence- the knowledge that he was near and that despite everything, there was still something left to survive for.

In a way, Minerva was scared of herself and her own reactions to the relative loneliness she was heading for. Of course she'd not lose him the way she had lost her parents- suddenly and unexpectedly- but still. Most of all, perhaps, she was afraid to give in. Albus had told her about all rumours, no matter how horrid, which he had heard about the Nazi camps her parents now resided in- because she'd asked him to be honest with her. He had done so, and she appreciated it- even though there wasn't a night when she didn't wake up from a nightmare in a ball of sweat, only to see, with the eyes of her mind, the figures of her sisters, her parents, her grandparents, in the darkness of the corners of the room.

He'd told her, too, that she had to stay realistic and that, no matter how much he hoped for them to survive, the chance was very slim indeed.

BBC mentions gas.

And yet why had she been chosen to survive, then? When she'd been eleven, she'd asked herself the question why she had turned out to be witch, while neither of her sisters looked as if they had so much as one trace of magic flowing through their veins- but never had she imagined that circumstance to have such consequences.

In a way, it was her magic which had saved her- and yet the question "Why?' remained. Why her- why not the others- especially, why not Tosia? Though Minerva was two years her sister's senior, somehow she had always admired the younger girl. Though she'd of course been very young, it had always been obvious that of the three sisters, the middle one was destined to be the beauty- with her, like Minerva's, black hair and her dark, big eyes. Her brains, perhaps, had never been quite as quick as Minerva's- but still she had been a clever young woman, and along with her naïve, intuitive goodness she'd been a perfect little angel indeed.

So perfect that even Minerva thought it hard to be angry with her- to envy her- and it frustrated her. True, Minerva had always had a courage, a determination, unknown to the younger girl- but still. The two girls had had their arguments- and somehow, Minerva felt they had mostly been her fault.

And that, the girl breathed, leaning her head on her hands, one night, wasn't a pleasant realization at all.

In her dreams, she always saw the same image. And though she didn't miss her other family members any less, it was always Tosia. Dirty and thin, huge eyes begging and silently, silently asking Minerva that one, accusing question.

Minerva, Minerva, why have you left me alone?

And the young witch knew it was unfair to herself to torture her own mind with these visions- but she could stop neither them, nor the questions they provoked and kept on provoking.

Tosia, Tosia, I have never left you.