Acht

To Rikki, as a characteristically wild cuddle and a big thanks for a week I will most definitely never forget. Dear Be Frie, washbear, sponge, in short: mummy, thank you.

Sleep was an unknown luxury to Minerva that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face- every time she opened them again, exactly the same thing happened. It frustrated her in a way- and it made her desperate in another. She had always been able to suppress what was in her heart to the benefit of what was in her mind- and yet suddenly, exactly that act had become impossibly difficult.

And it sickened her. It sickened Minerva that when she turned around beneath the thin bed sheets, she felt her own sweat soaking her nightgown- it sickened her that when she sat up to take a sip of water, the tears from her eyes mingled with the fluid dripping down her forehead. Most of all, though, it sickened her that the drawers of her head, the drawers of her heart, had been opened at last after years and years of peaceful closure- and the contents had been spilled. And she, organized Minerva McGonagall, could for the first time in her life not see order in the chaos.

It frightened her.

Another turn and a few mighty kicks of her feet against the mattress later, Minerva settled her dark-haired head into the pillow with a nod- filled with a determination she did not feel. A decision had to be made- had to be made soon, and Minerva had always been good with decisions. That was a fact.

Unfortunately, she thought with heartfelt sarcasm, facts didn't really seem to matter anymore.

It was a different Minerva McGonagall who stepped into St. Mungo's the next morning- and not just on the inside- on the outside as well. Her face, though still pretty, had grown harder over one night- as if her usually delicate futures had suddenly been set in marble and had somehow failed to acquire the serenity that was so inherent to that particular material.

Her hair, deprived of its usual wave, was held back, not in a braid but in the bun that would later become the young woman's trademark- and her eyes were, for the very first time, more grey than green as she greeted the young nurse called Annabel with a calm nod.

"Good morning."

Her way towards his room was undisturbed, the way it usually was- yet it was only as she heavily leant one arm against the doorpost and was greeted by a merry, be it sleepy, "Mother! How are you feeling today?" a grim smile enfolded on Minerva's lips.

"Quite frankly, I am not that well, Albus. How are you?"

"Why, I am fine, of course, but what is wrong with you, mother- is it your rheumatism again?"

The worry in his eyes was genuine- it pained her- yet Minerva could not stop a dry chuckle from escaping her lips.

"No, my dear, dear Albus. It is not my rheumatism. I have to say goodbye to you, Albus. That's what's wrong."

For a moment, she believed he really understood what she said- yet then, the blur she had so become used to descended again over his no longer sapphire blue eyes- and as he spoke, she bitterly smiled.

"Goodbye? Mother- I don't understand…"

As Minerva bowed over him and pressed a kiss to his forehead, the auburn-haired man suddenly shut up. It was at that moment that, for the first time, the black-haired witch's marble façade was broken for a moment- as she smiled, nearly tenderly.

"Some things you just cannot understand yet, my Albus. But one day- one day you will. I still believe that. Good-bye."

As her dark green dress disappeared from the sight of the man on the bed, though, Minerva McGonagall made the mistake of not turning around, of not looking back.

Perhaps if she had- if she had, for the last time, cast a gaze at his lying form- if her eyes had locked with his once more- perhaps in that case she would have seen the sapphire flicker which was, just for a split second, painfully visible in his eyes.

Perhaps.