In Your Head
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That particular morning, it took the young, black-haired witch with her intelligent, green eyes five minutes to realize that she had finished her toast and was nibbling on her fingers. It took her another minute to absent-mindedly remove the tip of her long braid form her cup of coffee- and yet less than another one to return to her intense reading and re-reading of the already slightly yellowish newspaper article lying in front of her.
She'd read the line atop of the page over and over again, not really believing it, but knowing that she had to. It couldn't be a gossip- this was The Daily Prophet, and even though Minerva didn't like all reporters of that particular newspaper too dearly, she had to admit that they would never lie about something like this. Along with that, of course, Minerva realized bitterly, it was also the perfect explanation for quite a few of her unanswered letters.
She didn't have to raise her head and look up at the calendar on her wall to realize that it had been six years, six years to the spot, that she had first met him. Her Auror training had only been half completed by then, but an acute lack of trained forces along with her status as youngest Animagus of the century had incited Alastor Moody- Head Auror of the Ministry- to invite her to a meeting nonetheless.
She'd been very excited on that day- the fifteenth of October 1939, mere days after her nineteenth birthday- as she had, rather nervously, hat firmly planted atop of her black-haired head, ascended the stairs leading to the place she was heading to- one of the larger halls of the Ministry of Magic. He had come running down those same stairs- and only her quick, literally cat-like, reflexes had prevented the both of them from tumbling down. Her hat had fallen, though, and in a vain attempt to grab it, one velvet-clad knee had rather nastily hit one the marble stairs.
Tears had sprung into her eyes, but she had managed to keep them back. In fact, she'd just been about to throw a rather snappish reply into her "attacker's" face, when a polite and rather concerned apology came, along with a helpful arm to help her to her feet again.
"Thank you, Sir, I will be able to stand on my own now."
Polite apology or not, after all, the fact that her knee damn hurt would not become an excuse for weakness now. It wasn't weakness which had brought Minerva McGonagall to where she was - and it would certainly not be weakness with which she would start this meeting, this meeting which could become so very important for the future she knew she had to build for herself.
An amused twinkle slipped into the man's vivid, blue eyes, and for some reason Minerva found herself fighting the urge to smile.
"Are you sure, Miss McGonagall? I would not want to be the cause of the death of one of our most promising Aurors-in-Training."
It was at that moment that Minerva realized that the man who'd accidentally almost pushed her off the chairs wasn't just some kind of simply Ministry official. He knew her name- he even knew her position- and with a renewed examining look she looked up to his face. He was older than her by quite a few years, but he was no old man- and his long, auburn hair and beard were only very barely streaked with grey. There were a few wrinkles in his face, but those strangely clear blue eyes immediately dismissed every faint appearance of getting older, or even of middle age.
Minerva found herself smiling and not really knowing why as she, rather ashamed of her somewhat snappish remark of earlier, slightly lowered her head.
"You won't be, Sir. I am perfectly alive. Thank you." she added as, with a few steps and a quick gesture, he offered her her own, fallen, hat.
"And I am very glad you are. Now shall I accompany you to the meeting? I fear it's about to start any minute, and I don't think this is something either of us wants to be late for."
His words had proved to be very true, Minerva bitterly remembered as she sat there at her breakfast table, six years later. It was on that day that the war against Grindelwald had become official- it was on that day that she had received the chance of her life- the chance to continue her Auror Training as a sort of apprenticeship. It would be dangerous, they had told her, but it would be worth it.
It had been worth it. Now, six year after date, she was a full blown Ministry Auror, celebrated and honoured after the war had ended- the war which Albus had won in the end. Albus.
She half-closed her eyes. It had been months since she'd last seen him, back in Germany. The morning of the last battle it had been, that he had last smiled at her, that she had last talked to him- that they had last shared-
What had happened the previous night had, perhaps, been a mistake of both of them- that Minerva did not know. But she, from her side, had been prepared to fight for it anyways- and then he had all of a sudden disappeared.
Only then, Minerva realized that she held the answer to all her questions of the previous months in her left hand.
"ALBUS DUMBLEDORE: WAR HERO GONE CRAZY?"