17 July 1997

Following several hours of willing herself to sleep, at five o'clock in the morning, Minerva had to finally accept that her attempts had been and would remain fruitless. Her heart sank at the thought that this would be the seventh day running when a full night's sleep had eluded her.

The knowledge that she would be again subjected to Poppy's worried and concerned stares at breakfast did nothing more to alleviate the feeling of complete and utter exhaustion and weariness that had plagued her ever since Albus had been found lying on the cobblestones beneath the Astronomy Tower.

Minerva felt her eyes prickle as the image of Albus' mangled body crossed her mind. Yet, there were no more tears left to fall. Instead, with an uncharacteristic defeated sigh, Minerva briefly put a hand to her eyes before sitting up and getting out of bed.

She rubbed her chest unconsciously, then made her way to her small sitting room and sat down heavily in one of her armchairs. Her chest was causing her grief again. Her bones, her head, her eyes... the list went on.

At this point, Minerva was unsure whether this was as a result of the damage caused by Dolores' curses - indeed, Healers at St Mungo's had warned her that this might happen.

Alternatively, the lack of care she had been showing herself since Albus' death was possibly another explanation for her constant feeling of unease, tiredness and pain. Or, perhaps even if was a combination of both.

Minerva sighed and closed her eyes. Perhaps no breakfast, she thought, thinking of Poppy's watching eyes again. She knew Poppy's concern came from a good place, but Minerva did not wish to discuss last month's events with anyone just yet.

She knew Albus would not approve of her shutting herself away like this – he had told her as much when she had buried herself in work almost immediately after Finn's death and had refused to discuss what had happened with anyone until several months later.

She recalled that it had been Albus who had been the one to comfort her when she had finally allowed herself to grieve properly. He had been the one who had known exactly what to say, where to be, and what to do when she had needed him the most.

She could have done with that sort of help now, she thought wistfully. Because although she would have liked to honour Albus' memory by following the advice he had given her in 1985, the heavy weight that had lodged itself in her heart and the back of her throat whenever Albus' name came up in conversation meant that Minerva felt unable to do so.

Minerva sighed, and then attempted to close her eyes again. Distantly, she was aware of bells in the castle ringing to mark the passing of 6 o'clock before she finally drifted into a light and troubled sleep.

It was only a little over two hours later when she finally opened her eyes again. A thin trace of sunlight was peeking through her closed curtains. It illuminated Minerva's small coffee table upon which the last chess game she and Albus had ever played was arranged.

They had never managed to finish the game for reasons Minerva had now forgotten. Either way, she had not found it in herself these last few weeks to dismantle the board. She had settled with studying it instead and had concluded only a couple of weeks back that Albus most likely would have won had they finished the game.

Minerva pulled her eyes away from the board then prepared to stand up. As expected, the short two hours of rest she had managed to get in her small armchair had ironically led to the most pain she had felt in a while — clearly age did not agree with sitting in an armchair for a little longer than two hours.

With a shaky breath, she smoothed down her robes, and her hair, and then straightened her back which creaked and popped. Then, with only ten minutes to eight, Minerva began to tidy her rooms to give her something to do before Pomona arrived.

It was only once Minerva placed the last few items in their respective spots that there came a gentle knock on her door, as if right on cue. Minerva smoothed down her robes, quickly wiped her eyes then took a deep breath before going to open the door.

"Morning, dear," she said, attempting to conceal the croakiness of her voice.

Pomona did not appear convinced. She pursed her lips and gave her friend an unusually severe and pointed look. "Your absence was noticed at breakfast," she said, stepping aside so that Minerva could come out and lock her door. "I would be surprised if Poppy wasn't marching here right now."

Minerva sighed. "Too bad I won't be here to greet her," she said, hoping Pomona would now drop the topic. She slipped her keys into her pocket and checked that the door was really locked, before then following Pomona down the hall and towards the castle doors. "Where are we meeting Albert?" she asked.

"At the safehouse," Pomona replied. "He left to travel a few days ago — didn't want to disapparate there with us, so I'm told."

There was a pregnant pause.

"I'm sure he will—"

Pomona shook her head, stopping Minerva in her tracks. "He won't, dear. At least he won't forgive me for quite some time yet," she added tiredly. "The fact that he even agreed to go into hiding is a miracle." She shook her head again as they finally stopped walking. "The row we had, Minerva, you can't even begin to imagine... I feel terrible."

"For trying to protect him?"

"For forcing him away from his work, and his child and everyone else he knows so that he can hide alone in a tiny cottage for Merlin knows how long."

Pomona bit her lip as her eyebrows knit together to form an upset and anxious line.

It wasn't the first time this topic had been discussed between the two friends. Indeed, this had been an ongoing conversation between Minerva and Pomona ever since the last day of term. With Albus gone, and the Ministry most likely going to fall into the hands of Voldemort and his Death Eaters soon, Pomona had been debating what she should do about her husband and her daughter.

Her daughter, Grace, was a half-blood which, in this current climate, was an important fact. Though Pomona knew Grace's status would not be very problematic should the Death Eaters come to Hogwarts, it was her husband's status as a muggle that proved troublesome. She had only come to a solution very recently.

Minerva sighed and reached out to give Pomona's hand a reassuring squeeze. "You are doing this with the best of intentions, Pomona. I'm sure he knows that too, deep down."

Pomona sniffed and nodded. "I hope so," she said quietly, wiping her eyes. She then appeared to shake herself. "Side-along?"

"It will have to be, I'm afraid," Minerva said. "I still don't know where it is that you are taking me."

Pomona smiled slightly as Minerva sniffed and pursed her lips. "Have a little faith, dear," she teased, catching Minerva's eye.

Minerva smiled reluctantly too.

"Ready?"

Minerva nodded and slipped her hand through the crook of Pomona's arm. A few seconds later and their feet come into contact with new ground. The impact of the landing was not a pleasant one - it almost rivalled the nauseating feeling of disapparation. Minerva felt herself clutching Pomona's arm a little tighter than usual as she attempted to steady herself.

Pomona did not seem to mind. "It's that's one," she said, indicating at the house with a nod of the head.

Minerva followed Pomona's gaze. Behind the thin white curtains, she could just make out what she presumed to be Albert's shadow. Possibly he had been peering out of the window for a few moments knowing that Minerva and Pomona would turn up to perform the Fidelius charm; it had been agreed that Minerva and Pomona would be the Secret Keepers.

Minerva cleared her throat. "Best get on, then," she said.