Minerva stood at the edge of the darkened scorched mark. Large chunks of dragon flesh were scattered nearby, dotting the landscape like a spreading infection. A wing with part of the chest cavity fluttered in the wind. She knew that if she turned, she would be able to see the two back legs and tail at the edge of what used to be the nest, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the scorch mark on the stone.

Most of the arena had already been dismantled, but not this part. It hadn't been touched since…since…

"I knew I would find you out here," Albus' voice had her turning away and Minerva brushed a loose strand of greying hair behind her ear. Her bun had been made sloppily when she pulled herself from bed, but she hadn't bothered to fix it. Hadn't even bothered to do more than throw on a thick robe over her sleep wear.

Her eyes swept up and down Albus' form and she realized that neither did he. His beard fluttered in the wind, unkempt and loose. His nightcap was crooked on his head, nearly falling off and covering one ear completely. Albus didn't seem to notice.

"Couldn't sleep?" She asked him, smiling wryly. It felt thin on her lips, fake.

"It appears that not many could," he turned to look at the castle and she followed his gaze. It was nearing the time between late and early, only a few hours from dawn, and yet the castle was ablaze with light. She could see Gryffindor Tower from here, and nearly every window was lit.

"How many," she asked, voice cracking as her eyes welled with tears.

Albus looked at her for a long moment, his spectacles at the end of his nose and gaze sad. "Several spectators, two from Beauxbatons, one from Durmstrang, four Hufflepuffs, seven Ravenclaws, two Slytherins, and…thirteen Gryffindors."

Minerva sobbed and suddenly her oldest friend was there, holding her as she cried into his robe. Twenty-nine students…dead. She had seen the black body bags littering the courtyard, but she had been too afraid to look.

"Oh, Albus," she gasped into his shoulder. "How did this happen?"

"I don't know," he confessed, rubbing his weathered hand up and down her back. "But I will."

Minerva nodded her head slowly, stepping out of his hold and wiping her face of the evidence. She looked back at the charred stone, the pieces of the dragon still littering it. She had never seen a splinching done by portkey, but it looked horrific. Clasping her hands in front of her, she prayed to magic itself that the Horntail was the only thing that was splinched.

"Have the found anything?" She asked after a long moment as Albus stood next to her. He was watching the stars as she stared at the partial corpse.

"Only some dead Death Eaters," he answered after a long moment. "Nobody we know. Their bodies are still being identified by the Aurors."

The wind picked up, catching some of her hair and yanking at her robes. Minerva shivered from the cold, but she didn't bother with a heating charm. Instead, she tucked her hair back once more and caught Albus' blue eyes with her own. "Is it him? Is he back?"

"I don't know yet, but it's possible," Albus sighed heavily, looking every bit his age in that moment. There was usually an air of joviality to him, a spiritedness that made him appear decades younger. But here, in this moment…he looked ancient.

"Oh, Albus," Minerva sighed with him, reaching out with one hand to clasp his forearm. "Is there…" she paused, fighting to find the courage to ask the question. Even being a Gryffindor, it took her a long while. "Is there any word, of Potter and Severus?"

Minerva clutched her eyes tightly shut as Albus shook his head sadly and her grip tightened. She didn't fight him as he flipped his arm around and caught her hand with his. Tomorrow, there would be no time for grief. Families had to be called, funerals arranged, interview and interrogations conducted, and an international search for their missing savior would begin.

But tonight…tonight they stood in the broken arena, cast in night shadows as the stars twinkled brightly above. Together they waited as the sun rose, their hands clasped tightly and silently mourned.