Sacred

Minerva stood at the end of her driveway.

Her house was small. Not more than a cottage, really, situated on a modest plot of land. It was small and tidy, with a well trimmed lawn in the front and a small but cozy garden in the back. Aside from the heavy wards she had placed around her home, she also had a fence spanning the entire property for privacy. There were charms, of course, that one could place on a home that accomplished the same thing, but Minerva had always been partial to the look of a fence.

She approached the small cottage now, gravel crunching underfoot as she walked down the small driveway. A figure sat on her porch, perched on the step as still as a statue. She did not need to look to know who it was that was waiting for her.

She should’ve known.

“You’re late.”

“I know.”

It wasn’t fair to the girl, not really. Minerva had taken more time than necessary to compose herself before going home, even though she knew they would all be anxiously waiting the news. She wondered if they already knew, if owls had flown in while she’d stood at the apparition point in an attempt to gather herself before returning home.

Bellatrix stared at her, hands clasped on her lap. To an outsider, she looked perfectly poised and calm, her face suspiciously blank.

But Minerva knew better.

She saw the tension in her shoulders, the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of her jaw. She saw the way her eyes had darkened even though she wore the same blank expression that seemed to be Regulus’s trademark.

She was scared.

So was Minerva.

Neither spoke. Bellatrix could’ve demanded the results. She could’ve screamed at Minerva, cursed her, raised her wand and struck her down. All of it would’ve been preferable to the eerie silence that surrounded her. But she didn't need to scream or demand. She knew. Of course she knew.

Minerva’s hand moved infinitesimally to the girl. Barely a twitching of her fingers, really, but Bellatrix caught it, her gaze drifting downward.

Her jaw tightened.

Confirmation.

“So that’s that then.” She said in a small voice. Minerva felt her resolve waver.

“Bella..”

“When do we leave?”

Minerva sighed.

She could offer Bellatrix empty promises, vows that she would appeal, that she would rescue them, that no harm would befall them. She wanted to, with a desperation so palpable she could taste it.

But she could accomplish none of it.

The reality was that they had lost, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. 

Euphemia had raged at the Minister, had called him names, had screamed and threatened, tears streaming down her face until she removed from the room, dragged out by her husband while she swore Walburga would never get her hands on Sirius again. 

Minerva had watched it all silently. 

“You’re to be at the Ministry at 6.” Bellatrix nodded, her face as blank and impassive as ever.

“I suppose we should get packed then.” She said stiffly.

“I am sorry, Bella. I did everything I could.” The girl stood and turned, walking towards the door. Minerva watched her, her heart growing heavier with every step. With every fiber of her being she wanted to grab the child, to grab them all and disappear from here. They could go somewhere far away, somewhere their families would never find them and they would know safety and security. They would know love.

But she didn’t.

She let Bellatrix walk through the day, let her break the news to her sisters and cousin, let her pack them all up. She heard nothing from the bedrooms. She wondered if Bellatrix had cast a silencing charm, or if there was simply nothing left to say. 

She didn't check. 

Minerva sat in the kitchen, a cup of tea clutched in her hands that grew steadily colder as the minutes ticked by.

And when the time came, when the grandfather clock that had been handed down through generations of McGonagall’s rang out, Minerva apparated them all the atrium of the Ministry.

And she let them go.