30th of September 2018

8. 30th of September 2018

Minerva entered the office, and something about her air made Severus uneasy. Because he knew, the same way he had always known, without ever been able to put a name on that particular ability of his, that something was wrong.

And in this case something was terribly wrong. He looked closer and felt his limbs go heavy: Minerva McGonagall was sitting ramrod straight, with tears streaming down her face, while staring at something on her desk, her hands shaking badly enough for it to be visible even to him.

He hesitated only for a moment before asking. It was Minerva after all, and he didn't need to be oblique when wanting information.

"What has happened?"

Minerva didn't stop crying; she only wiped the tears off her face before answering.

"I'm trying to find my quill."

"Minerva, that wasn't what he asked." The low, careful comment came from Albus's portrait frame. He was worried too; Severus could see that in the way he moved: seemingly trying to work himself free of the canvas.

With a shaky inhalation, Minerva leaned her head back against the back of her chair and covered her face with her hands.

"Ronald Weasley is dead. He was killed driving a car, of all the stupid, stupid things."

Ronald Weasley? The one single person that had managed to survive more idiotic injuries than any student he could remember. And there was so many things he could have said as a response to what Minerva had said:

"Not all that surprising. We all saw what his driving abilities did to the Whomping Willow."

"Well, it was bound to be a reason he played Keeper rather than Seeker."

Or, why not the simple:

"It's called 'natural selection'."

But Minerva's despair and Albus's crestfallen face held him back.

"The car was hit by a truck," said Minerva, and then she cried again.

"Do you know how Hermione is taking it?" asked Albus. "And Molly and Arthur?"

"No. I've just found out what had happened." Minerva shook her head.

"We need to go to her," said Albus, whose eyes were blank with tears, and he looked older than he had when Minerva entered the room. "We need to offer them our comfort and support. And maybe they can offer us some too."

Minerva nodded her agreement, and Severus could see—actually see—how she would go along with everything the old man suggested, even knowing what she did. Severus felt his flesh crawling to the extent that he wanted to claw at his body.

It would be Albus who would seek Hermione Weasley out, dragging Minerva along with him. He would offer her his platitudes; his own brand of miserable, useless words of wisdom that didn't help in any way and only served to make you more desolate, since they also forced you to hide your anger and sorrow.

And what would that do to Hermione Weasley?

She, who together with that dimwitted pair of boys had managed to survive the Dark Lord, would be offered backhanded words of comfort, forcing her to slog on with life, bearing it only because of the duties those words would impose on her.

"I'll go." He found himself talking without making the decision to speak.

It was pleasing to see Albus gaping at him in surprise though, so he gave him a deliberate sneer and a glare, just to show him he had no intention of letting him do it.

"Severus," said Minerva. "I will not let you—"

"You can't stop me." He cut her off, and not surprising considering the circumstance, it was easy enough. "You both know that between the three of us, I'm the one best equipped to deal with her, even though I find her choice of husband abysmal, verging on the distasteful."

"How you even have the gall to say that, I have no idea!" Minerva blasted the words at him. "You, who have terrorized her from the first day she set foot in this school."

Albus's face changed. It morphed into the menacing mask he wore when needed, directing it at him, forgetting maybe that Severus had seen it before. "Indeed, Severus. I don't know how you expect us to believe that you would offer her comfort? You never liked her." His last accusatory sentence was accompanied with the blue glitter in his eyes that had nothing to do with the twinkle that was usually present.

"No matter what you two say, I'm still the only one of us who has lost my love to an unnecessary and meaningless death which could have been prevented." Albus's portrait paled, and Severus turned to Minerva.

"Hermione Weasley teaches the students moderately well. For the common good ..." Minerva made a sound very close to a growl, while Albus paled even more. "We want Hermione Weasley to come through this as unscathed as possible."

He met Albus's eyes straight on.

"Your special brand of coaxing people into doing what you wish them to has no place here."

Albus smiled. The smile was sad, surprisingly.

"I never realised how angry you were at me. In my defence, I thought you on the verge of doing yourself

harm."

Severus didn't want to listen. It had been his lowest point, and he had never emerged from it. Not really.

"Maybe you are right," Albus continued. "Maybe you are the one that should go. Anger is a way to cope, and it's very likely you will make her furious." Albus would have sounded whimsical if it hadn't been for the underlying tone of sorrow.

Severus couldn't help smirking as Minerva turned her anger on Albus this time.

"He'll make it worse. And I want her back here as soon as possible."

"How very compassionate of you, Minerva." Severus was pleased to see he made her blush with what he hoped was shame.

"I didn't mean it that way, and you know it," she said, shamefaced. "And you even said so yourself."

"But I don't call myself her friend. I'll take her classes until she is ready to return." Severus rose and straightened his robe.

Minerva shook her head. She didn't like losing the initiative, the old crone, she never had.

"No, that wouldn't work, I—"

"I have followed her classes for years. I know exactly how she teaches."

"You're a portrait!"

"Binns is a ghost. What is your point?"

"Minerva," said Albus. "Let him do this."

At that moment Minerva looked decades older than she had just a moment ago, diminished even. Then she nodded, and without saying anything more, she sat down again.

Severus, ignoring Albus's encouraging nod in his direction, left his frame and went to seek out a painting from which he could talk to Hermione Weasley.