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4 May 1998
Minerva took in the sight before her. Books lay in tatters on the floor of the library, pages torn or even ripped completely from the book they use to be in. Ink was smudged and shelves were splintered and falling.
Standing beside her, Irma was leaning heavily on her cane and she looked devasted at the sight of her beloved library in such disrepair.
"I know the priority is to rebuild the castle, Minerva," Irma began, "but this library holds some material that no other library in the world owns. It would be a tragedy if our resources were lost—not only for our students but for visiting academics as well."
Minerva was inclined to agree. Irma had been Hogwarts' Librarian for longer than Minerva could even remember. The collection at Hogwarts was unparalleled, and there had been many occasions when Ministry workers, scholars, and academics from abroad, came to use the resources Irma had so carefully collected and conserved. It was awful to see a whole lifetime of work spread out in one chaotic heap on the floor.
"I do agree with you, Irma," Minerva said. "What do you need?"
"A time-turner," Irma said, and she only looked as though she was half-joking. "I will need help to restore everything. Not just the shelves, but the books and manuscripts. I will need trained conservators and bookbinders, Minerva. I am afraid it will not be inexpensive—"
"I am sure we can leverage some funding from the Ministry and other academic institutions who rely on our resources here," Minerva replied. "Seeing as our materials are useful, and have been much used, by members of the entire Wizarding Community. This is almost as much of a loss to us as it is to them."
Irma nodded slowly and she appeared to put more of her weight on her cane. It still surprised Minerva to find Irma still up and standing this late in the day and after the events of the previous day, given how much Irma's arthritis had progressed. It seemed ridiculous that this was a disease both muggles and wizards found as difficult to cure.
"If you share the names of those you need to help you," Minerva said, "I can send for them. I recall Florentine Wells was planning on pursuing a career in libraries, and has shadowed a few librarians including yourself, in the past. I am sure she would be happy to help as well."
Irma nodded. "Florentine's help would be much appreciated. As it happens, we have spoken already," she said. "But I can contact the conservators and bookbinders myself. You have already much on your plate, Minerva. I can take care of the library myself, and relieve you of that task at least."
She sighed and began to move, her wince not unnoticed by Minerva.
"If you need anything from me—"
"You shall be the first to know," Irma interrupted, without turning around. "At least the office is intact," she added. "I shall be there if you need me."
"Thank you, Irma," Minerva replied, and Irma gave a half-wave with her free hand.
Irma had always been a pragmatic woman. Stern, perhaps, but Minerva had always respected her for it. As she watched Irma walk carefully down the stacks to her office, Minerva suddenly felt almost overwhelming relief that the librarian had made it through the night, along with so many of her colleagues as well.
She had not allowed herself to properly probe at some of the memories she had of the Battle yet, for fear that the grief, horror and anger would be too overpowering. But speaking with Irma had somehow allowed some of Minerva's suppressed thoughts and feelings to trickle through the gaps of the mental wall she had built around the events of two days ago.
Only once she heard Irma's office door close, did Minerva finally sigh and leave the library. Even within magic, reparations would take at least a month before they would be complete and the castle well again. Minerva had worked on strengthening the charms around the castle as well as the covered bridge and the moving staircases which had proved harder to fix than most had predicted.
She had also been in regular correspondence with Kingsley and the Obliviator Department regarding Hermione Granger's parents, another situation that was proving more and more difficult to solve.
Minerva walked up through some of the restored corridors, and then also through some less restored corridors, en route to her office behind the Transfigurations classroom - she did not want to sit in the Headteacher's office with Albus and Severus' watchful eyes looking at her.
It was a Sunday so the castle was quieter than it had been over the past two days. Minerva had insisted that those who had thrown themselves into the castle reparations actually took some time to rest and took some time so that they could at least process what they had witnessed and experienced. Clearly, she needed to follow her own advice, Minerva thought.
She reached the Transfiguration classroom and then entered her office nearby. Everything was exactly how it had been several weeks ago, and several months before that. She had not redecorated the room for years. A large bookshelf still stood at the end of the room, running from one side to the other. Her desk was still by the window, and her pointed hat still sat on the edge of the table, exactly where she had left it when she had last left the office, before the battle.
A very small framed photograph of Elphinstone sat beside her hat. And next to that, was a photograph of her and Albus being awarded a prize for their paper on animagus transformations. Suddenly, the letter she had brought from Malcolm and Helen's cottage that morning, weighed down in her pocket. She took it out and looked at the envelope again:
Minerva
Her name lay in green ink on the cream envelope in the curled and slanted handwriting that had once belonged to Albus. Minerva brushed her thumb over the letters, torn once more at the desire to read Albus' words but also the fear of discovering what they said.
She went to the desk at the end of the room, and slowly lowered herself into a chair as she pulled the parchment from the envelope.
My dearest Minerva,
I do hope this letter finds you well.
I have many apologies to make, my dear friend, and more than I could quite possibly fit on a side of parchment. I will begin by apologising, for not having confided in you the information that you are no doubt privy to now. I hope, someday, you will come to understand my reasoning for doing so. It was by no means an easy decision, although I accept that that is hardly a helpful excuse.
If you are reading this, my dear, then it is likely it has been a year since my death. However, I will concede that it might even be years - I can understand why you might not have been eager to read this letter immediately.
If you were angry with me, Minerva, or if you still are, I understand. I would very much like you to know that that is all right. You have every right to be. But I hope that in time, you might come to forgive me, or at least understand, partly, why I acted as I did. Leaving you in this manner had never been my intention.
If the events I am writing about are recent, then I would like you to know that my pensive is free for you to use as you will — you will find answers to certain questions there.
Words fail me again, as they so often do when I attempt to explain my actions to you. I can only hope that this letter will find you, safely, so that I might wish my best and warmest wishes to you, my dearest friend. You have meant a great deal to me over these last years, Minerva, and I can only apologise if I did not make that clear enough when I was alive.
And now, although there are many other things I would like to say to you, Minerva, I must end this letter for fear of it getting too long. I will finish by saying that you have been my greatest source of support over the years, and my greatest ally. Wise, reliable and most importantly, kind, I could not be more grateful to you for being by my side all these years. I know others inside and outside this castle feel the same way as I do.
Take care of yourself, Minerva.
Your dear friend,
Albus
And finally, after three whole days trying to suppress the memories of what had happened, and a whole year refusing to address the pain of having lost her closest friend, Minerva cried. She drew the letter close to her chest as she shut her eyes and let the tears pool and then pour down her cheeks.
She was furious with Albus, for having kept so much from her all these years. She was angry with him for having left her so soon.
But, mostly she was upset that he had not allowed her the chance to say goodbye. She remembered the last time they had spoken, her mind had often drifted back to those last few moments.
She had thought it odd at the time, how sentimental he had been. But he must have known then what was going to happen. And he had not told her. He had hinted at it perhaps, but Minerva had left that room in the firm belief that she would be seeing him again later. For a cup of tea perhaps, or a hot chocolate in his case. And they would have finished their chess game, or spoken about a new interesting piece in Transfiguration Today, or they would have spoken about the school and their plans. But none of that had happened.
Reading the letter she now clutched in her hands, Minerva longed more than ever to have Albus sitting beside her, to hear him speak his own words rather than remember his voice as she read them.
When Minerva finally returned to Caithness, Malcolm was waiting for her in the living room. He had the newspaper held in his hands, and his glasses were perched at the end of his nose, but as soon as Minerva entered the room he instantly stood up. Minerva doubted he had been reading the paper at all, instead, it seemed as though he had only been waiting to hear the key in the lock and the sound of her feet crossing the hallway.
"Success?" he said, flicking his wand so that the candle flames grew brighter.
Minerva nodded. She had only just returned from St Mungo's, after a welcomed development regarding Miss Granger's parents.
"Jean Granger has her memory back, and it is only a matter of time before her husband is well again, too. I have just been to speak with Miss Granger. She should be at St Mungo's right now."
"What a relief," Malcolm said, removing his spectacles and putting them in his shirt pocket as their father had so often done when they were younger. He smiled tiredly. "You must be feeling quite pleased with yourself. There's dinner waiting for you in the kitchen if you fancy it?"
Minerva nodded. "I would. Thank you, Malcolm."
He smiled and led the way into the kitchen. "Sit," he instructed, and he began to get things prepared.
Normally, Minerva would have helped, but Malcolm had made it clear very early on that he did not want her lifting so much as her little finger. Minerva did not think she had ever seen him so protective since the time she had returned from St Mungo's after being hit by the stunning spells.
He set two bowls of plain pasta on the table. "My speciality," he said, and Minerva smiled. "Cheese?"
"Go on then."
He flicked his wand and some grated cheese appeared in their bowls.
"Is Helen upstairs?"
Malcolm shook his head. "Isobel is working late and Martin too. Their babysitter had a family emergency so Helen's gone to the rescue," Malcolm explained. "It's just us tonight, Minerva. We thought you could do with a bit of peace and quiet."
Minerva had not realised how obvious she had been, every time she had jumped at loud noises made by her great nieces and nephews over the weekend. Clearly, her nervousness had been noticeable enough for Malcolm and Helen to realise that she needed time and space to recover.
She lowered her fork so that it rested against the edge of her bowl. "Thank you, for looking after me," she said, and she meant it. She could not remember the last time someone had really taken care of her. Pomona always looked out for her this year, yes, and there was Poppy and Filius and Horace who looked out for her also. But most of the time, they were all too busy reacting to horrific events and dealing with pressing matters to really give themselves enough time to look after one another.
Malcolm and Helen's generosity and care meant more to Minerva now than she would ever be able to express, let alone repay.
"Don't be daft," Malcolm said, and he reached out to hold her hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze. "We'll always look after you, Minerva. Just like you look after us. None of us can even begin to imagine what you went through, but if you do ever need to talk about—about anything, really—we'll be there for you, to listen."
Minerva nodded and brushed away a tear. "Thank you," she said quietly.
He smiled slightly. "It's our job to look out for you, Minerva. I'm afraid you're stuck with us lot," he said. "We missed you this year. Quite a lot, if you can believe it?"
Minerva laughed weakly. "Well, I missed you too," she said. "Very much so. The children too."
"Meg, Charlotte and Rosie asked about you every day. And Helen's had that room prepared for you ever since you left our house last year." He smiled. "I'm glad you're here with us again."
"As am I."
He smiled. "More cheese?"
"No thank you. Any more and I will be having cheese with pasta instead of pasta with cheese."
Malcolm laughed.