Having taken the list Alastor offered through the Floo, Albus waved the auror off. Returning to his desk, he perused the names of the night's casualties. Halfway down, a name caught his attention and made him halt.
Albus knew so many people, he traveled in so many circles, that seldom was there a morning that he couldn't recognize at least a few names. Wizengamot members seemed a particular draw for Voldemort, but there was no shortage of former students, ministry personnel, and other old acquaintances for him to choose from.
"Albus?"
His just finished breakfast sat heavily in Albus's stomach as he contemplated this latest name. What possible threat had he posed for Voldemort? Having been retired from the Ministry for more than thirty years, the man had had no involvement in any of the work against Voldemort. The man had been elderly and in poor health - he likely wouldn't have lived much longer even without Voldemort's interference!
How much longer could this continue? Clearly the Ministry and the Order were impotent to put an end to Voldemort and his followers, so how long would it be before the Death Eaters' penchant for death and devastation would cause them to turn on their own? How many more lives and families would they destroy before their appetite for destruction caused them to consume themselves?
So distracted and distraught was he that Albus didn't even register the other presence in the room until he felt the parchment being taken out of his hand. He turned to find Minerva, arms laden with the paperwork from the just finished first week of classes.
Minerva. Minerva, whom he had so recently almost lost. Minerva, whom he so recently had lost.
She found the cause of his distraction easily enough. She knew him so well. "Oh Albus! I'm so sorry - your friend Lyndon."
He wished he could say that it had been Minerva taking advantage of his moment of vulnerability, or at least that he honestly couldn't remember which one of them had been the one to make the first move, but it had been him.
As she started to express her sympathy, one of his hands moved to caress her cheek. She just looked at him inquiringly while his other hand took the stack of parchments from her arms. He watched her eyes follow the stack as he missed the desk by more than a foot.
The papers were still falling when he pulled her towards him.