Chapter Ten
"ALBUS!"
For a moment, the world froze- and the young woman, knuckles of her right hand white and tense around her wand, turned her head, as if in slow motion, towards the spot where the man in question stood.
Two months had passed, and Minerva, though a little paler and a little thinner, had survived them without any harm. True, there had been the occasional cuts and wounds, or spells gone wrong- but the dark green gleam in her eyes was still undefeated, and the Auror-in-Training badge on her chest still unbroken.
"It's- okay, Minerva, I'm alright."
It was true. A quick counter spell had prevented the auburn-haired wizard from a rather nasty curse coming his way- but only just. Still it was his small group which gained a small victory on that day- and so it was with a tired smile on his face that, later that night, the man stretched his back with a yawn, sitting in front of the tent Minerva and he had shared during the past weeks.
"We're getting closer, Min. Every day- a little. They can't possibly keep this up- the Muggles are well on their way towards defeating Hitler too, did you know that? Winston sent an owl last night."
The twinkle in his eyes was optimistic- but Minerva was not fooled.
"Thank God the Muggles have a Minister without a manic fear for everything bird-like, for once. Makes things a whole lot easier." was her sole, dry reply- and the auburn-haired wizard frowned.
"Minerva, what's wrong?"
The young witch nearly smiled as she, tenderly, rested a hand against the man's cheek. He really did know her too well- she had not wanted to bother him with her thoughts- and yet somewhere, she knew she had to tell him. Him, of all people.
"I- I don't know- it's just-"
Albus observed the black-haired woman as she frowned, then relaxed- then frowned again, and finally, she exploded.
"Why are we here, trying to get rid of Grindelwald instead of- Albus, shouldn't we be liberating the camps? You don't know- you can't know- who knows how many men and women- how many children die every day we linger here? They're dying, Albus, I feel it in my blood, in my heartbeat. They're dying and here we sit- doing nothing."
The accusation in her last words was as obvious as it was unrighteous- and Minerva herself was the first one to realize that- but not to lower her eyes, as blue eyes bored into green ones, a split second later.
"Minerva, you know that that isn't true."
His voice was soft- and hurt- but suddenly, a gush of anger low in her stomach made that she didn't care anymore- and Minerva McGonagall, more than ever a daughter of the people who'd been subjected to repression for millennia, and who had survived, rose to her full height- which was, the way it always was, a tallness that once more surprised Albus.
"Oh isn't it, Albus? Oh isn't it? Is your family dying? Are your people being killed with gas and with I don't know what, merely because- well, I don't even know why! Are your parents, are your grandparents and sisters being tortured at this very moment? Answer me, Albus! Are they?"
The man merely moved his head- and with near imperceptible nod, he answered
"No, they are not. Both my parents were murdered back in 1940 by followers of Grindelwald, as well as the greater part of my extended family. Goodnight, Minerva."
As the fabric of the tent fell back behind his back and hid him from his sight, Minerva's mouth closed.
She couldn't remember having felt this bad ever before.