The Dam Breaks

Nobody was very surprised when Professor McGonagall didn't appear in the Great Hall for breakfast.

As a matter of fact, noted Horace Slughorn, he had never seen the room so empty at mealtime. "Ah, well," he sighed. Nothing has ever been solved by starving oneself, he thought, as he bit into a savory bit of banger. I wonder where Snape has got to?

/***/

The Headmaster paced the room like a caged panther.

"What more do you want from me, old man?" he screeched at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore that hung on the wall behind the desk. "What do I do now? You'd better have an idea, you son of a bitch, because I'm all out."

"I'm sorry, Severus. Truly I am," replied the painted Dumbledore. "But you must continue on your current path. If you give in now, everything you've sacrificed will have been in vain."

"I don't care anymore," Snape muttered.

"And everything she's sacrificed?" the portrait asked quietly.

"You bastard, you bloody bastard!" howled Snape. He seized the nearest object at hand—a large, crystal orb—and hurled it at the painting. It struck home and shattered into tiny pieces.

The other Headmasters' portraits scurried off to the safety of other paintings. Dumbledore's image stood there a moment, then said, apparently without irony, "You'd better clean that up before somebody gets hurt," and walked out of the frame.

/***/

Minerva woke with a sharp intake of breath.

What time was it?

A shaft of sunlight shone through a gap in the drapery, hinting that she had slept the night through.

Well, thought Minerva, at least the Draught of Dreamless Sleep works as advertised. Thank Merlin for small mercies, she added sardonically.

She squinted toward the antique clock on the wall, but couldn't read the time without her glasses. She groped for them on her bedside table, then remembered they had disappeared along with her clothes last night.

Suddenly she needed another shower.

When she emerged forty-five minutes later, she found Rolanda Hooch still perched on the settee in her sitting room.

The younger witch eyed her appraisingly. Minerva certainly looked better than she had last night, Rolanda thought. Her face was no longer ashen, and her hands did not shake as they clutched at the folds of her robes. Her hair was secured in its customary bun, not a strand out of place to betray the horrors its owner had endured only twelve hours before.

There's no one like Minerva McGonagall, Rolanda thought with admiration. "How did you sleep?" she asked.

"Well, thank you. And you, were you able to sleep at all?" asked Minerva.

"You know me, I could kip anywhere," answered Rolanda, hoping to re-establish some of their former easy camaraderie.

"I'm glad. Thank you for staying," Minerva said quietly.

"How are you?" asked Rolanda, feeling awkward.

"I'm fine," answered Minerva, wondering how often she would be required to repeat that hollow reassurance over the next few weeks. "You can let Poppy know that everything seems all right."

"Are you hungry? I could get a house-elf to bring you something," said Rolanda, searching for something concrete she could do for her friend.

The thought of food immediately soured Minerva's stomach. "No, thank you." She added, "Maybe later," when she saw the look of concern cross Rolanda's face.

I wonder if I'll ever be hungry again, mused Minerva to herself. I will never go back to the Great Hall, she thought suddenly and fiercely. The thought made her long for another shower, but she stood her ground.

"You should go, Ro," she said. When the other woman did not react, she added, "You need to eat and rest."

Rolanda sighed and looked at her friend. "I'll come by later," she said finally.

Please don't, thought Minerva. "Thanks, I'd like that," she said.

/***/

"Are you sure, Minerva? I don't mind watching over your Gryffindors until you're ready," said a worried Pomona Sprout. "They're a breeze now that the Weasley twins aren't there to make mischief," she added with a levity she didn't feel.

"Thank you, Pomona, but no. If I don't face them now, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to again," answered Minerva truthfully.

"You are an astonishing woman," said the Herbology teacher. She didn't add, If it were me, I'd have run screaming from the castle and never looked back.

"Or a very stupid one," retorted Minerva with a weak smile.

Pomona smiled back. "All right. But you know where to find me if you need me," she said.

"I do, thank you," said Minerva. She watched her friend disappear down the hallway.

Her heart pounded as she turned toward the portrait guarding the entrance. "Nunquam alieno," she said firmly. The portrait-hole swung open.

"Welcome back, Professor McGonagall," said the Fat Lady gently.

Minerva took some deep breaths, then stepped into the Gryffindor common room.

All conversation stopped when the Gryffindors saw their Head of House appear.

This was a mistake, thought Minerva immediately as perhaps two dozen pairs of eyes stared at her as if she were an apparition.

It was Neville Longbottom who broke the tension by doing the bravest thing he had ever done to that point: He walked up to Professor McGonagall, threw his arms around her and hugged her hard.

The spell broken, several other students followed suit, while still others began to applaud.

The outpouring of love from her cubs finally broke through the dam she had erected around her emotions since the events of the previous night. As she accepted and returned their embraces, she did something she hadn't done in all her years of teaching and mentoring her students.

She cried with them.