87. Wish You Were Here
She had thought that one of two things might kill her upon her return to Hogwarts. Facing Severus Snape every day or seeing Albus everywhere, even though he wasn't actually there.
She had been wrong.
In part. Those two things were definitely torturing her. But as it turned out, there was something even worse. Or two somethings. It didn't feel quite right to refer to them as human beings.
Amycus and Alecto Carrow, whose methods of teaching involved using the Cruciatus Curse on students and lecturing them about how Muggles were worth as much as the dirt underneath their shoes.
Their appointment had been announced together with Snape's promotion to headmaster – at the last possible moment on the first of September. Most likely so the Daily Prophet and Voldemort's new regime had more time to shift the blame for Albus' death from Snape to Potter. That had infuriated Minerva more than anything else. Until she had been forced to work with the Carrows. Though the term 'working together' fitted their situation rather loosely.
Currently, Alecto was busy throwing a knife at her.
"Watch out, Professor!" yelled Ginny Weasley, on whom Minerva had been focusing her attention.
She now whirled around, saw the knife and raised her wand just in time. The knife nicked her skin before it burst into a bunch of butterflies that fluttered past her harmlessly. Minerva suddenly remembered Albus performing that same spell years and years ago to stop a flying Easter egg from hitting her. The desperate longing for Albus that came with that memory almost brought her to her knees right there.
Meanwhile, Miss Weasley was incensed when she saw those few drops of blood the knife had drawn from Minerva's cheek. "You bloody coward!" she screamed at Alecto. "Throwing knives at people who have their backs turned! You and your brother are worse than a..."
"That's enough, Miss Weasley!" Minerva cut her off, though she was sure that whatever colourful comparison Miss Weasley had been about to make would have been perfectly accurate. "Return to your dormitory immediately!"
Her student was about to protest, but Alecto beat her to it. "That little brat is not going nowhere. I'm not done with her yet!"
She started towards Ginny Weasley, but Minerva blocked her path. "Yes, you are. Miss Weasley is in my house and so I will deal with her and this little, er, act of vandalism as I see fit." Minerva glanced at the graffiti on the wall as she said this.
Dumbledore's Army – still recruiting.
Under different circumstances she would have gone ballistic if she had caught anyone spraying anything on the walls of Hogwarts Castle in the middle of the night. Right now she felt oddly proud and dangerously close to tears.
"This isn't vandalism. This is an open rebellion and I'll beat that kind of thinking right out of her!" Alecto's face split into a vicious grin. "And you can't stop me because my brother and me are in charge of punishments now, not you!"
Minerva regarded her coolly. "It's 'my brother and I.' But I suppose I can't expect you to be in control of the English language any more than you are in control of my students."
With an angry cry Alecto whipped out her wand since she no longer had her knife. "I'll show you who's in control here, you old hag!"
"I believe you already tried that just a few months ago and I beat you," Minerva reminded her. "Do you really want me to do that again?"
"A few months ago you thought that Mudblood lover you all adored so much was still alive and coming back to protect you. But your precious Dumbledore is gone now. Went flying out of the window like a puppet, only we cut his strings, didn't we? I'm sure the Dark Lord won't mind if I reunite you with your former master!" Alecto's wand poked her in the chest while Minerva just stood there, holding her own wand loosely in her hand. She couldn't help herself. The thought of being reunited with Albus was not at all as terrifying as Alecto had intended it to be.
Ginny Weasley, who of course had not listened to Minerva's command to go back to Gryffindor Tower, eyed her worriedly. But it was a sharper, male voice that spoke next. "What is going on here?"
Minerva stiffened as Severus Snape emerged from the shadows.
"I was just about to punish a student – and perhaps her teacher as well," Alecto explained eagerly.
"But that is not your job, now is it?" Snape snarled. "If there's a problem with one of my teachers, then I will deal with it."
"Really? Because they don't seem to respect you at all," Alecto argued and for the first time she almost made Minerva laugh.
Snape on the other hand glared at the female Death Eater. "Then it seems this is my chance to fix that. I'll handle it. You're dismissed." When she looked at him uncomprehendingly, Snape rolled his eyes and added, "That means get out of my sight!"
Alecto bared her teeth, clearly not happy with the dismissal, but she decided not to argue. For now. "I'll get you next time, missy," she promised Ginny and walked away.
After glancing at the graffiti on the wall, Snape also focused on the girl. "You and your little mutinous friends Longbottom and Lovegood will scrub this wall and every other wall you sullied bright and early tomorrow morning. And you better hope that Filch will lend you some of his cleaning rags because you won't be using any magic."
"Or what?" Miss Weasley asked defiantly.
"Or Gryffindor will lose five points for every hour it's still there," Minerva cut in.
Judging by the shocked expression on Miss Weasley's face, she considered this to be a personal betrayal. But Minerva was still a teacher and there were still rules. Usually she would have taken fifty points.
"And now, do I need to accompany you to make sure you'll actually go back to bed?" Minerva asked pointedly.
Before her student could answer, Snape said, "She'll manage on her own if she knows what's good for her. I want a word with you, Minerva."
Suddenly Minerva wished Miss Weasley would insist on being tucked in by her Head of House, but she was clearly still angry that Minerva had agreed with her punishment. She turned and left her alone with Snape in the semi-darkness of the barely lit corridor.
Snape's eyes went to the cut on her cheek. "I thought I told you to be smarter than this."
"Did you? I try not to listen to anything you say, seeing as it's all lies anyway," Minerva said drily.
"Do you know who's nearly impossible to lie to?" Snape retorted, unimpressed by her accusation. "The Dark Lord. He respects your magical blood, which is why you're still here and why you can stay here as long as you do what you're told. But if you keep challenging the Carrows, one might start to think that you're actually trying to challenge the Dark Lord."
Minerva managed a small, grim smile. "Then one would be right, wouldn't they?"
"Are you really that desperate to die?" Snape hissed, sounding more exasperated than threatening.
"Why? Are you going to kill me?" Minerva shot back. "No? I didn't think so. You don't seem to have the stomach for it anymore. Your lapdog was right about one thing just now. I do not respect you, your 'Dark Lord' or these two monsters that you gave permission to call themselves professors."
"I didn't hire them!" Snape said indignantly.
"Then what are you doing, headmaster?" Minerva was honestly curious, at least a little. Lately she had only seen him run from one scene of student rebellion to the next as he tried to get the situation back under control. Which was getting more and more difficult because no one, not the students (aside from most Slytherins), not the teachers and not even the Carrows seemed to like him. In return, he didn't seem to be on anyone's side either.
"I can tell you what I'm not going to do," Snape replied quietly. "I'm not going to explain myself to someone who refuses to listen."
Minerva frowned. For a moment she thought that sounded almost reasonable.
Then someone on the floor above them screamed.
They both began to move in that direction. Snape reached for Minerva's arm. "I'll take care of this," he said, telling her to stay away.
"Don't you touch me or my students!" Minerva flared up instantly and Snape's hand fell away.
He gave up on trying to control her or she ignored him, whichever way one wanted to look at it, and they proceeded upstairs – only to find almost the exact same scene as before. Except this time it was Alecto's brother Amycus who had caught and was proceeding to torture Luna Lovegood for her own act of graffiti spraying.
It registered with Minerva only briefly that Snape seemed just as determined to stop the Carrows. She was too concerned, frustrated and angry about being trapped in what felt like a nightmare that was so much worse than she could have ever imagined.
And without Albus, Minerva could imagine a great many terrible things.
The arrival of the Christmas holidays was a blessing and a curse at the same time. The school emptied faster than ever. All parents wanted their children back home with them. Not even the Chamber of Secrets, Sirius Black and Dolores Umbridge combined could have inspired that much fear. And they weren't wrong. There had been the very real possibility that You-Know-Who could have decided to force the students to stay in the castle for the holidays – essentially turning Hogwarts into his second prison next to Azkaban.
In many ways it already was. Dementors were stationed around the boundary walls, all secret passageways had been blocked, there were guards at every exit and regular patrols of the school by Death Eaters. Even for a Tabby cat it had become very difficult to sneak around. So far Minerva had only used her Animagus form to visit Albus' grave without drawing attention to herself.
As a result, she hadn't been able to do anything for what was left of the Order. Then again, she hadn't been able to do much for Hogwarts either. Students she had taught for the past six years like Dean Thomas were still banned from returning to the school and others kept disappearing when someone in their family stepped out of line and they were needed as hostages. Every time this happened Minerva went quickly from rage to helplessness and back to rage over feeling so powerless. Most of all, and worst of all, she felt like she was letting Albus down.
She still missed him so much it was like having a phantom limb. Sometimes she had a sudden thought that she knew he would have liked to hear and she actually turned around to tell him. Other times she would shiver with cold and imagine the feeling of his hands rubbing her arms for warmth. Or she would open her eyes after dozing off and expect to find him watching her, smiling as though she was his sole reason for being.
But of course he was never there and when that realisation dawned on her, the anguish of his loss hit her all over again. Instead of getting better in any way, the pain had become a physical one. Whenever Minerva looked at a particular spot where Albus had used to be or saw something that reminded her of him, her heart constricted painfully in her chest. And in this castle Albus was everywhere.
Hogwarts was now empty for the holidays and her family was far away in France where Minerva didn't dare to join them. She was alone and had all the time in the world to miss the man without whom enjoying Christmas seemed impossible. Grief had become her only companion, like a Patronus that worked in reverse.
Conjuring an actual Patronus was challenging at times. It was inadvisable to go down into the village without one. Hogsmeade was filled with Death Eaters and Dementors and since some of the Death Eaters had gone home for Christmas, there were even more Dementors now. Minerva needed a moment and a couple of deep breaths to find the love and joy underneath her pain. The love would always be there, of course, the joy was harder to come by. It felt like a distant memory, but still there was gratitude. Despite her torment, she would never not be grateful to have loved and to have been loved so completely.
Accompanied by her sleek, silver cat Patronus Minerva made her way into Hogsmeade. But not without making a beeline for Albus' grave first. She brushed off the snow and placed some Christmas roses on the white marble. She wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come. It seemed pointless to ask the same question over and over again. There would be no answer anyway. In a brief moment of utter desperation Minerva had thought about entering the headmaster's office. She was pretty sure that she had seen Snape leave earlier to do God knows what. The office should be empty and if she went there, she would get an answer. Albus' portrait would have to be awake by now. Minerva had always been adamant that she didn't want it, but perhaps Albus had been right. Perhaps a little piece of him was better than nothing at all? Or, if Minerva was right, it would be a whole lot worse.
Abruptly, so as to not change her mind, she continued on her way to Hogsmeade. Even as she pushed open the door to the Hog's Head, she still wasn't sure if this was a good idea. The pub was empty at first glance, which wasn't surprising because of the holidays and the Dementors gliding up and down High Street. Then Aberforth emerged from the storage room and paused in surprise.
"That invitation to have a drink any time... does that include Christmas?" Minerva asked.
"'course it does. What does it matter what day it is?" Aberforth shrugged.
Minerva slowly made her way towards the bar. "Some people would say that no one should be alone this time of year."
Aberforth's brow furrowed. "If you came here hoping for some kind of inspirational speech, you'll be disappointed. I'm not my brother," he pointed out unnecessarily.
She knew perfectly well which brother she was talking to – and it was not the one she wanted. Minerva grimaced. "I'm here because you promised to drink with me until I could no longer form a coherent thought."
"Has that clever brain of yours ever actually stopped thinking?" Aberforth asked, eyeing her sceptically.
Minerva considered the question. "We will need," she said slowly, "a lot of whisky."
Aberforth grinned at her. "That I can do."
He reached for a bottle and two glasses. It was the same brand he had poured for her when she had sat at this bar for the first time. She had told him then that her father had liked to drink this particular whisky. Aberforth didn't explain his choice, but Minerva noticed the gesture and she felt a little warmer even before she downed her glass in one gulp.
"It would have taken my brother forever to finish that one glass," Aberforth commented that appreciatively. "Couldn't hold his whisky. He hated the stuff."
Surprised, Minerva set down her glass. "He never told me that."
"That's not the only thing he didn't tell you, is it?" Aberforth said offhandedly.
"No," Minerva replied, refusing to rise to the bait, "but it might be the silliest. What did he think I would say? Or do?"
"Perhaps he was worried you might realise that he wasn't actually the brother who had better taste and more style," Aberforth suggested while he refilled her glass with a bit of a flourish.
"Is that your life's ambition then? To be considered 'stylish'?" The word tasted ridiculous on her tongue.
Aberforth's expression matched her tone. "Obviously. That's why I live in a dirty, old pub and am known for having a thing for goats."
Minerva snorted into her glass, glad that she hadn't been in the process of drinking it just now.
"I'm guessing that's the first time you've laughed." He didn't have to specify since when. It was clear what he meant. Since the day her world had ended.
But the world had changed for all of them. She wasn't the only one in pain. "There's not much to laugh about for anyone right now."
"But you wouldn't be laughing even if there were."
She didn't disagree with that assessment of the range of emotions that was currently available to her.
"I was like that. After Ariana died. Guess I'm still like that, actually." Aberforth watched the amber liquid in his glass swirl, lost in thought. Then he looked back up at her. "You didn't want me to tell you that it gets better, did you?"
Minerva shook her head. "I prefer not to be lied to."
"That's ironic."
"Why?"
"Because my brother lied to you constantly."
"Aberforth, don't start!" Minerva said and then added softly, "Please." She didn't know what she had been hoping for exactly. She knew Aberforth and what to expect from him. Hand-holding had never been his style. But she had thought that things might be a little different now. That perhaps they could share their grief and their memories of Albus. She should have remembered that their memories were very different.
"Right. You're going to say that he didn't lie. He simply withheld the truth. But he hid it a little too well, don't you think? Didn't he suggest that there was some sort of plan? That his death would be useful in some way? Well? Where's the use? What's the plan?"
This was so not what Minerva wanted. She didn't want to hear someone else voice her darkest thoughts that crept up on her sometimes in her moments of despair. "It's Potter," she said with as much determination as she could muster. He had to be the answer. She knew he was the answer. Albus had told her as much countless of times, with his words as much as with his actions.
"How old is that boy? Seventeen? And he's supposed to save us all? Alone? When Albus couldn't even do it?" Aberforth's anger knew no bounds. It wasn't surprising. He had enough darkness inside of him to fuel that feeling, and the light, Minerva knew, was much harder to find after having suffered a heart-breaking loss. Although she suspected that they each mourned a different Dumbledore. "Who knows if Potter is even still alive?"
"He's alive." This time her tone left no room for protest. "They would shout if from the rooftops and possibly show us his body if they had got to him."
"Then I hope for the boy that he's run as far away from here as he could," Aberforth said darkly.
Minerva understood the need to protect Potter, but she also understood the futility of it. "Potter has only ever run in one direction and that's towards danger, not away from it," she told Aberforth. "He's out there doing what Albus wanted him to do."
"And what's that?"
"I don't know," Minerva was forced to admit. "Potter wouldn't tell me the last time I saw him."
Aberforth smirked. "I wonder who taught him that move."
There was some truth to that and Minerva might have had a similar thought when Potter had refused to answer her. But she had got over her irritation with him very quickly. Every day she opened the Daily Prophet and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw his name in connection with some ridiculous new accusation. As long as they were still making up lies about him because they had nothing else to report, there was hope. "I don't have to know to believe," she said.
"That explains Potter's behaviour then," Aberforth sneered. "If he was taught by you and Albus, he couldn't possibly know any better."
"He wouldn't know how to just give up when the going gets tough, no," Minerva agreed, giving Aberforth a pointed look.
"You haven't given up then?" he challenged her. "You're still fighting for that school of yours that's no longer actually yours?"
She gritted her teeth. "I'm trying."
"Why?" That piercing gaze, those X-raying eyes were so similar to the ones Minerva missed more than anything, and yet they were also vastly different. They were harsh. Accusatory. Full of doubt. Perhaps even pity.
When, actually, Minerva was the one who pitied Aberforth. For being so... empty and resentful. Defeatist, Albus had called it once. She had thought that she felt the same way and that they would be kindred spirits. But she now realised that wasn't the case.
"Because I've lived a life with two great love stories," she said. The steadiness in her voice surprised even herself a little. "One was a man. And I had to let him go for now. But the other one... is still sitting right there, up on that hill, and I will not let that be taken away from me, too."
Aberforth looked at her for a long time. He didn't agree with her decision, but he also didn't disagree, at least not out loud, which was probably the best she could hope for. "Then you were right. You will need a lot more whisky." He topped off both of their glasses and raised his. "To living with ghosts."
Despite her exasperation with him, Minerva followed suit. "To living the best way we know how."
They clinked glasses and proceeded to empty the bottle over the next couple of hours. They would have opened another one, but Minerva had to leave before curfew, which was absurd, but she was in no state to start a fight with the Death Eaters on patrol. She wasn't as drunk as she had hoped to be either. Or maybe, she thought as she looked down on Albus' grave once again, there simply was no state of inebriation strong enough to erase the pain.
Or the love.
Witnessing Aberforth's anger had cured her of her own. Albus hadn't wanted to leave her and he definitely had never wanted to hurt her. If he could see her now in all her misery and a long way from truly accepting his death, it would be the worst kind of torture for him. Minerva really hoped he wasn't watching.
Just in case he was, she made herself take a step forward. She pressed two fingers to her cold lips and then touched the very spot where the white marble was engraved with Albus' name. She whispered the words he had said to her for so many wonderful years on this very day, "Merry Christmas, my love."
It didn't feel like a very Merry Christmas at all, but she'd had a lot of them. And she also still had the first Christmas present Albus had ever given her, that magical candle that had never burned down, though Minerva suspected that it would do so now. But before then, it would smell of home and of him and when she closed her eyes, a part of him would still be with her.
A/N: And it's Christmas again. Told you this book would be faster than the others. In fact, I think the end isn't far off, which feels really strange to me after three years of working on this story (on and off). But all good things must come to an end, right? Ideally while they're still good. But I guess that part is for you all to decide.