Reposted by request
A/N Thank you Maria for taking the time to beta this.
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The light had not yet arrived in the western sky when a head appeared in the fireplace. Albus' slumber had been so restless that it would have been inaccurate to say that it was the slight popping noise in the next room that awoke him.
Alastor was so distracted, so preoccupied by whatever it was he was doing, that Albus noticed him before the auror realized he was being observed.
"Alastor?"
The usually stoic auror looked uncharacteristically emotional. He blinked too often and couldn't seem to locate his voice. When he finally found it, the usually brisk, concise man couldn't seem to get any pertinent details out.
"The mark-"
Voldemort and his followers always left their dark mark, their insignia, in the sky over houses after their attacks. The voice Albus used to question the auror was quite unlike his own. "Where?"
Alastor couldn't seem to bring himself to look at Dumbledore. "Aberdeen"
In itself the word really designated nothing. Moody hadn't said the name of a person or a family, just a town. Just one of many towns in Scotland. In that town there were hundreds, no, thousands of homes. It really didn't have to be that house. But even without being told, Albus knew exactly which house it was.
All too late Albus realized the cause of his overwhelming sense of foreboding, the incredibly obvious thing that was to happen the same day that the students were to go home. The teachers go home as well.
Suddenly Albus didn't mind Alastor's unwillingness to give details. He had no more desire to hear the words than the auror had desire to say them. He already knew. And yet, he had to know. "Is she-"
Alastor nodded, but didn't speak.
Albus could feel the despair welling up inside him. "Did they-did she suffer?"
The well seasoned auror had to make an effort to clear his throat several times before he could get any words out. "Aye. It-it's bad. Real bad." Alastor paused for a moment. "They didn't use the Killing curse."
Albus' eyes closed as he continued to listen to Alastor's strained words. His hands grasped his desk, needing something, anything to hold onto. Now that Moody had found his voice, he seemed to Albus to be rambling.
"I tried to avoid using the Floo Network, you know how insecure it is. Ted Tonks, one of the Ministry people, tried to go to the castle to notify you, but of course he couldn't find it because of the Fidelius Charm. The Longbottoms are on their way. No need for you to come out, but I knew you would want to know."
Ignoring Alastor's suggestion of a lack of need, Albus spoke in less than a whisper. "I'll be right there."
"Do you need directions? Have you ever been there before?"
The question seemed almost comical - 'Had he ever been there before?' Of course Alastor had no way of knowing, just a few days ago Albus had lied to him, disavowing any intimate relationship with Minerva.
Years before, when Armando Dippet had still been alive and Headmaster, before this business with Voldemort had started, in a time when it wasn't necessary for him to be contacted by Floo in the middle of the night twice, three times a week by Ministry and Order people, he had spent many a night there. Holidays, breaks, bits of the summer, even one whole glorious summer when neither the Wizengamot or the International Confederation of Wizards had deemed it necessary to meet. It was a house, like its owner, that he knew well. Had known well.
To Moody, all he could say was, "Yes, I've been there before."
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When Albus arrived the first thing he noticed was Frank Longbottom being ill in amongst one of Minerva's flowerbeds. The Ministry auror had trampled upon some of the overgrowth in his haste to move away from the door.
As he thought of how angry Minerva would be when she saw, it was agony to realize he would never again get to hear her soft Scottish brogue thicken in anger or desire. He needed to see her. As he moved to the door, Alastor intercepted him.
"Albus, you can't go in. It isn't secure yet."
With a glimmer of hope revived, Albus questioned the other man. "What do you mean it isn't secure? No one has been in yet? How do you know she is in there?"
Alastor was unmercifully quick to extinguish any hope. "I was inside, I saw her. Some of the hit wizards are still going through the house, checking for any surprises that might have been left. We can't move the bo-" Moody faltered for a moment. "-Touch anything until they finish."
Moody ran a hand along the stubble that had managed to grow in the past few days. "If only I had waited. If only I made sure she got home safely. If only-"
If only, if only, if only. So many 'if only's' ran through his own mind. A thought managed to pierce through the shroud of his grief. "Pomana, Rolanda, Filius, my other professors-"
Alastor seemed to regain some of his composure with the slight change of topic. "They are all being accounted for. It looks like McGonagall was the only one targeted."
While he was relieved to learn his other professors were safe, it was all his fears coming true. Only Minerva had been targeted. It was because of him. He wondered how Voldemort had come to know about his relationship with Minerva. They had always been so very careful; in what way had they slipped, allowing the knowledge to get back to him?
Alastor intruded upon his thoughts. "Albus, we need to know what McGonagall knew. There were shattered potion vials inside, probably Veritaserum. We have to assume that You-Know-Who knows anything she knew."
Alastor's attempt to impersonalize Minerva, to distance himself from her, did not escape Albus' notice. It was an old auror habit, a coping mechanism that had been adapted by many who had lived though the long, difficult years of Grindelwald.
Albus closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to regain control of his emotions. "Everything. She knew everything. I kept no secrets from her."
Though Alastor was here with assurances of the safety of his staff, Albus realized there had been or shortly would be another casualty, Severus Snape. Despite knowing some choices could never be remade, Severus had willingly taken steps to if not make amends at least, try to thwart some of the worst of what was yet to come. If only he hadn't told her this night. If only, if only, if only.
Alastor gave a snort, not of amusement, but of weary defeat. "Well, I would say that would qualify as 'a devastating blow' to the Order and the Ministry."
"She was my secret keeper."
He didn't mean it literally, just that Minerva was the one person he had always known would never betray him. Alastor's confused look made him realize the other possible interpretation of his words, which was also true.
Since it had become clear earlier in the year that Voldemort had some specific grudge against him, Albus had transferred most of the castle's wards and protections, like the Fidelius Charm, to Minerva. The protective charms remained in place only so long as the one upholding them lived. His intent had been that, if Voldemort had succeeded in an attempt on his life, the castle would remain secure.
Ted Tonks approached to question Alastor. "Moody, I can't figure out who else to notify. Parents are deceased. She isn't…wasn't married and she had no children. Does anyone know if she had siblings?"
Alice was nearby and shook her head while wiping at her eyes. "No, she was an only child."
Alice gave a slight smile as the tears she had wiped away were replaced. "I told her Frank and I were thinking about having a baby when this was all over. Minerva told me to make sure to have more than one. She never had any brothers or sisters, and she said she always felt like she missed half the experience of being a child because of it."
Frank put a comforting arm around his wife as her tears increased with her next words. "She said not to wait. 'Don't let fear of things that may or may not happen keep you from going after the things you really want in life.' At least, if something happened to one of us, the other would still have a part of the other to go on loving."
Albus knew Alice had no way of knowing how cutting her repetition of Minerva's words were. Had he only yielded to the want so long in Minerva's eyes, he would have a child to cling to now in his mourning, instead of nothing.
Ted's response was no more comforting. "Well, at least that's something to be grateful for, McGonagall having no family. I hate everything about this job, but that has to be the worst part - notifying the families afterwards."
Albus tried to keep at bay the realization that had he not worked so desperately to push Minerva away these past few months, he wouldn't have to be here at all. Were it not for that, she would have once again spent the summer at the castle. Right now, at this very moment, he could have been asleep laying with her in his arms, blissfully unaware of all this.
He had to see her again. Just once more. Alastor again tried to stop him.
"Albus, it's not the way you'd want to remember her. It's horrible in there."
Albus just pushed past him and into the house.
It was easy to tell that the Death Eaters who had been here had been kept waiting three days. They had thoroughly vandalized and violated the house to pass the time. The colored glass shards he walked upon were the only remnants of an assortment of hand-blown glass figurines collected over a lifetime. Minerva's many sets of chess pieces looked to have been used for bludger practice. Furniture, paintings, curtains, all slashed. They had even gone so far as to scrape off the wall paper in some spots. As he followed the trail to the sitting room he grew more outraged with every step.
None of it prepared him for actually seeing her. If only, if only, if only the furniture had been the only thing slashed.
There were a series of more superficial wounds, but the dagger still lodged in her throat signified the last and most significant. There had been so much blood that it had dried and covered her like a coat of paint. It was only after seeing in the corner fabric scraps the color of the robes he had seen her in last that he realized she had been stripped from the waist up. So much blood and yet bleeding to death he almost would have expected to see more blood.
Even with her eyes still open, seeming to accuse him he couldn't think of her as looking horrible. She still looked like his Minerva and his Minerva could never look anything but beautiful to him. Despair took hold of him as the reality of it all set in. To never again be able to hold her, to make love to her, to see the smile she reserved just for him, to never again hear her wonderfully throaty laughter, to see her lips pursed in frustration at some student's stunt or rule breaking, to never again wake up beside her, or to brush his hands against hers and experience the spark of electricity, the sensation created by the magics of two powerful mages meeting.
The irony of it all was too much for him. To have pushed her away for her own protection, only to have sent her to her death. To think that her last few minutes, perhaps even hours, had been spent in terror, alone.
Desiring to be closer to her, he stepped over the broken potion vials littering the floor around her. Just once more he needed to touch her, one last time to press his lips against hers.
Reaching out and tenderly stroking her face, it was almost as if he could still feel that spark. He remembered it so well, it was like it was still there. It seemed almost real. If only wishing could make it so.
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A/N Thanks to all who reviewed the earlier part. A special /bonk/ for those who already read this part when it was posted last time but managed to forget the (hopefully) extremely obvious, but easily overlookable other thing that happens the day that the students go home. Namely, that the professors also go home.