AN; Ahhhhh……at long last I update something. I like this story. Wrote out plans for eleven chapters in math class the other day. I'm so tired.

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Would anyone be extremely mad if I used songs from modern times in this story?

Voldie on Varsity Track- Hey! Has it really been three years? Probably four now… I'm sorry. It's just been so hectic for so long…still is. Well my new SN is irishwolf08 if you want to talk again. I think I'm doing okay. Not great but okay… huggles

princessmai101- thank you! I'm sorry about your grandmother…mine died of breast cancer too. A few years ago. I believe I will stick with this story. Along with my other one, SttUKE. Both of those have a soft spot in my heart.

kelpieater- Thank you!

Leta McGotor- Thanks so much!

Roonil- Thank you!

Time of Your Life

Memoir of Minerva

In the Final Battle, and the War against Grindelwald, I saw death. I saw murder and torture. I myself participated in those…activities. Some unwillingly, others I was happy to destroy. Never, absolutely never, have I ever flinched at a corpse as long as most of my friends have known me. From the age of six on, at least once a year I was attending a wake or a funeral. Almost all of them were open casket.

I remember the first time I saw Death and his work. How solemn and quiet the room was in the wake. How the air was thick with a mix of emotions at the funeral. How everyone didn't want to talk but they all wound up doing it anyway.

I was six.

Death had already caressed my face.

He was watching me and I knew it.

Death looked at me.

We got a black ministry owl at breakfast on a cold December day in the year of 1931. I don't remember the day or date, but I did know after that point in my life that black owls always meant bad news, Death.

But it wasn't one of my many brothers, or my Mum, or my Da that died. They were all sitting at the table with me. My younger brothers ( ) and I sat and chatted normally, talking of the latest neighbors to trick and such, while my three older brothers ( ) went chalk white and told us to shut up and bugger off.

Naturally me and my twin, Marx argued quite loudly at that suggestion, until we heard my Father sniffed, loudly. I never forgot the look of total anguish on his face, not even to this day. I just slide out from my seat and walked to the head of the table and hugged him. Mother kissed him on the temple and started whispering in his ear. Marx had looked shocked, I remember, while the other younger ones looked scared; we never saw our Father even come close to crying.

Even when Mother stabbed him in the hand with a knife when he teased her about something the year before.

Our Father, Malcolm McGonagall, was a large, muscular man. Father's hair was long and wild, making him look like a madman. But he was a gentle soul, until angered. His face was covered in a beard, trimmed slightly only at the bickering of our Mother. His eyes were blue. A very dark, deep blue. A kind of blue that reminded you of an ocean; calm at times, while stormy and violent at others. The same color blue all his children have, including me.

I had noticed his eyes had tears in them while he reread the letter from the Ministry. I think Mother and I were the only ones who noticed his tear-filled eyes.

Father closed his eyes and took many deep breaths. The lines on his face I had never noticed before were suddenly vividly obvious. I was scared. But I still clung onto him. Finally when his eyes opened he looked across the table at my brothers.

"There has been an… accident…" Father said.

Silence filled the Dining Hall. I gulped and clung harder to him.

Finally my eldest brother, Merick, spoke:

"F-Father…who…?"

Father was almost bawling at that point.

A sudden slam of the front door made me jump. The sound of running feet echoed through the Entrance Hall. Almost all of my Uncles ran into the room, but stopped short when they noticed us children were in the room. I blinked at looked at them. Someone was missing. I wasn't stupid enough where I couldn't put two-and-two together. When I realized who wasn't there, I cried. Long and hard.

A week later I was at my first Wake.

It was my Uncle Chris, my Fathers' youngest brother, who had died. He was one of the first victims of Grindelwald, though Father only told us he had been in an accident. I only found out what really happened when I went to Hogwarts and found a news article on it.

He wasn't much of an Uncle, more like a friend to me and my brothers.

One example was when Merick was twelve and in Hogwarts. He was at an older kid's party and got a drink laced with some sort of drug. Merick was terrified, he knew something was wrong but didn't call Mum or Da. He Flooed Uncle Chris, who got to Hogwarts and stayed with him all night in the boys' dormitory. Uncle Chris then proceeded to beat the crap out of the Sixth Year who gave him the drug; he also never told Da.

I'm sure that when the almost same exact same thing happened to me when I was in fifth year, he would have done the same thing. However, since he was dead at that time I was forced to try and find my brothers. Instead I found my Head of House. But that is for later...

Uncle Chris, though he wasn't in my life for long, had a lasting impression on me. According to my Father, by the time I could walk I was always with him. With him while he was at the bar (I hid under the tables and bars), while he was in the barn (I almost got trampled by his big stallion), or when he went on one of his drunken rages (I normally wound up trying to drag him back to the house when he passed out).

"Princess, you were his shadow and he was your guard."

Honestly, I don't remember a lot while I was under ten. But I do remember 'The Lion's Tail' bar he left for me in his will.

"Minerva, Princess…" Father started, "Uncle Chris left you something…"

"Did he leave the pendant we made?" I asked.

"The what? No, no…he left you the bar. Down in the village." He said.

"Oh."

"Until you are seventeen though you cannot legally own it. Or go in it really…"

"Oh."

"Er…so Uncle Mike will be looking after it since he has no job…"

"Ok."

Minerva went back to her coloring. Malcolm McGonagall blinked when he saw what she was drawing. It was the bar, with Chris, Minerva, and Marx standing out front.

From what I do remember of Uncle Chris, he always was an all-round jolly guy; especially when he had a few drinks in him. But at the time of his death he was very young by magical standards, only in his late forties. I didn't understand at the time that I would never see him again.

I thought that he was sleeping. That he would wake up after a while. Maybe he was sick.

I didn't understand, but at the same time I knew he was gone.

It's odd when someone in your family dies. You feel numb. There is a black hole in your stomach. Sleeping becomes your best friend.

Doing nothing is normal.

When Uncle Chris died, I drew.

At the Wake no one talked loudly. They whispered. Uncle Chris' casket was open, Father and Mother were saying their final farewells.

My eldest brother got leave from Auror trainging. Pegasuas was exhauasted and quiet. He touched his forehead then his lips and gently placed them on Uncle Chris' lips. He was nineteen.

Then Merick. His eyes were red and his lips trembled as he kissed Uncle Chris on the forehead. He was eleven.

Thomas came next. He had a defeated look in his eyes. He bare looked at Uncle Chris, he just held his hand then walked out of the room. He was nine.

Mother went forward again, only with the two youngest of the family, Troy and Marcus. The kids looked confused and merely waved at the silent corpse. Troy was three, Marcus was one.

Damien and Nicolas insisted they could go without help from Mother or Father. They went up slowly, a step-stool was set for them. They both looked so small standing next to the casket. They both kissed Uncle Chris goodbye and held his hand, but they dropped it quickly and left the room. Damien was four and Nicolas was five.

Marx went up quickly, kissed Uncle Chris' cheek and then left. He tripped as he walked away. He was six, but twenty minutes older then me.

I stood therefore a few minutes, until I realized everyone but I had gone up.

I walked up calmly, still not entirely sure what was going on.

He did look like he was sleeping…but when I leaned down to kiss him…

That's when I started crying. It was like kissing a ice-cube.

I cried. Then I left the room.

The McGonagall clan has had a special way of burying the dead. The eldest person in the family would either take bagpipes, flute, or an ocarina. Then they would play a song. Then give the deceased a Viking-like funeral. There was magic involved though. A spell is cast, one handed down from generation to generation. No one actually knows what it does, except the Leader or Elder if you wish. All that is known is when the tide from the ocean takes the burning boat out to sea, a mist forms and stays. For one month. Then is suddenly gone, along with the burning boat. It simply vanishes.

The same happened with my uncle.

As I stood on the cliff overlooking the sea near the manor someone was next to me. I was cold. I looked to my right and saw him. I would have a intimate relationship with him for the rest of my life. He had no features to distinguish him. Just a hooded figure whos face I would see early in my own life. I would finally meet with him face to face when I was twenty-one. But as I stood there, staring at him…

I blinked. Then smiled at him.

He wasn't smiling. But his teeth were bared.

Uncle Chris' burning boat floated gently into the mist as bagpipes sounded on the beach.

I was six years old.