Drie

The room was painted white, just like its door had been. Minerva was nearly blinded by the heavy reflection of the early afternoon sunlight against the walls- and for some reason this typical, yet so cold colouring nearly scared her more than the prospect of seeing the man in the obviously occupied bed in the corner of the room. It was thus with a determined step, not in the least tentative or hesitant, that she stepped forwards mere seconds later- only to look down on him and watch- only to watch.

The mere situation of being speechless had not often before occurred to the calm, pulled-together Miss Minerva McGonagall- nor had the concept "being unable to move" ever had any meaning for her- and yet now, all of a sudden, it had.

It was, she decided, not so much the idea of seeing Albus lying, weak and wounded, in a hospital bed. She'd had time enough to get used to that one, after all, and after having expected him to be dead, it had been a relief at that. Even now Minerva, as inexperienced in Healing Magic as she most certainly was, knew by one single look at the man in the bed that- physically- he would once be entirely alright again.

What frightened her, though- what rendered her speechless and dumbfounded, was the look in his eyes.

Minerva had seen many, many emotions mirrored in those eyes of his- those bizarre, yet warm, pools of an unknown blue liquid. She'd seen them stir for joy- she had witnessed them cry for sadness… she had allowed her own, green eyes to lock with them as they swirled with anger- but never, never before had she witness emptiness in them.

Never. She'd never imagined emptiness to be possible in those eyes, too, because even though some sides of Albus would always remain a mystery to her, one fact about him had she realized very soon in their friendship. And that was, that Albus's life lay not in his gestures, in his words or in his heart- it lay in his eyes. Those same eyes which were so very empty now.

But he was not dead, and that she realized, too, for his chest rose with every breath he took, and air escaped his slightly parted lips as Minerva gently took a place on a chair next to his bed. He seemed to sleep and perhaps in a way he did- and yet there were those eyes, opened and empty, staring at the ceiling, at the wall, at everything but her- and Minerva couldn't but remember another time.

When he had looked at her with exactly those beautiful, blue eyes of his- when they had shone with kindness, with- did she dare to say it- love for her, and for her alone- when they had, without speaking one word, gently caressed her and asked her for permission and when they had gained that permission, too.

"We found him like this, Minerva. He was transported here right away, seems to be asleep right now, but we have noticed he never closes his eyes. Sometimes he speaks- and we fear the hexes of the fight have caused permanent brain damage."

Poppy's voice sounded almost automatic as she repeated the medical details of her patient for about the hundredth time- yet she, unlike most people, knew Minerva McGonagall well enough to read the hurt she did not show, and gently rested a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"I am so sorry, Min. I know you- cared about him."

Her last words were deliberately diligently chosen, as she know her friend did not like to have her emotions displayed too openly- but Minerva was way too far gone to even notice.

"It's okay, Poppy. Can I- talk to him for a while? Stay with him for a bit?"

"Of course."

As soon as her friend had closed the door of the hospital room behind her back, Minerva finally, finally allowed her pent up emotions to find some sort of outlet- but not through tears. All the young Auror permitted herself was a very deep, frustrated sigh- and even that was a lot already.

Covering his left hand, resting atop of the sheets, with her own right one, Minerva looked down on the man she had loved in secret for almost six years, only to see his body, and not the soul she had so desperately been in love with. As suddenly, it stirred, she nearly retreated her hand- yet then found back her so well-known Gryffindor courage and simply stroked his hand as, apparently, he woke up.

"What are you doing here?"

It was a pretty logical question in the given circumstances, of course, but still it somehow disturbed Minerva. Even though the question wasn't asked in a rude manner- more as if he was somehow… worried- it was still a very direct one, and Minerva did think Albus loved her better than this.

"I- I'm visiting you, Albus. You were wounded during your fight against Grindelwald, remember?"

His frown seemed so sincere- so Albus, so true- and for a short moment, Minerva really thought it was all going to be alright. And yet then he spoke up- and every word cut straight through her heart.

"Don't be so silly, Miss. You'd better leave this place, by the way, it is not safe here. The Auror camp is right behind that bush, and the Lord Grindelwald's troops can't be too far away from here either."

Still he seemed sincere, honest, and truthfully worried about her welfare- and yet Minerva couldn't keep one, angry tear from rolling down her cheek as she shook her head in frustration.

"No, Albus, he is dead! You defeated him, don't you remember?"

At these words of hers, a change came over the man's features- and for a moment, Minerva felt hope again but then, as he spoke up again, she found herself being broken all over again.

"No, Mother, I swear I did not "defeat" Aberforth. I daresay he is just in his room, playing with that goat of his."

"Albus, I am not your mother, I am Minerva!"

Her pleas went unheard, though- for the babbling went on, and on, and on- and even though she was sure it was undoubtedly Albus speaking, she knew he was definitely confused. Times, places, persons, facts- everything seemed so complicated to him, and yet so damned clear at the same time.

It broke her heart to see him this way- and yet she vowed to return. For one thing was clearer than ever to her now- and that was, that she loved him. That she had fallen in love with that wonderful man she had known for such a long time, and that she would do everything to retrieve that man. No matter what.

And if he were never to- but no, she must not think like that.

That night, Minerva McGonagall cried herself to sleep for the first time in a very long time.

And dreamt, too…