After

Minerva was working in the Charm’s department, which had suffered only some minor damages, though the classroom where Filius taught first years had taken a blow from outside and taken part of the wall down. She repaired and replaced things where they belonged, though she had to vanish a lot of broken feathers and torn parchment. She had begun to tally up the new things she would have to order before the school could go back to running the way it should. The number was already high and only grew. 

She finished in the charms department and worked her way back downstairs, carefully searching the walls and floor for burns, cracks, blood, and other easily cleaned things. 

She found herself on the ground floor again, though there was little to be done in the way of basic repairs. The portraits were off the walls, The trophy cases had been removed for repair, and there were missing suits of armor and statues, but the walls were all sound, the floor was level, the ceilings weren’t likely to come crashing down, and the doors were all back in their frames. The main staircase was reconstructed, trick step and all. The blood stains and scorch marks were gone. She should have felt some kind of satisfaction, but she didn’t. 

The Library was still wrecked, the three ground-floor classroom’s furniture couldn’t be salvaged, and despite her repairs, the Great Hall had never looked so far from great. All Minerva could see were the problems she still faced. So she went on. 

She remembered their librarian, Irma Pince’s face when she saw what they had done to her immaculately kept library, she had looked close to fainting. So she went back to work there and managed to push through the shelves that had fallen in front of the doors of their own accord after the battle had ended. 

This was one of her favorite places in the school, especially when it was full of whispered conversations between complaining fourth years, or intense theoretical discussions between N.E.W.T students. When it was alive with a quiet kind of learning. But it wasn’t like that now. The books which had been kept so perfectly ordered were scattered across the floor. Study tables were broken, the circulation desk was smashed in, and the restricted section flowed freely over the banister that was meant to contain it. 

She sighed as she began clearing a pathway, stacking books at random in order to clear the floor. She quickly repaired a few tables and set to stacking books there too. She slowly and carefully restored the detailed woodworking of the circulation desk that Irma held dominion over, knowing that if she didn’t do it right she would hear about it. 

She had just satisfied herself that the front panel was correct when she heard voices just outside the castle. Her heart lifted momentarily before it sank lower than the floor. Someone had come looking, and she couldn’t say she was upset about that, but she had to answer for everything she had done now. Worse yet she had to look someone in the eye, she had to be seen and treated kindly and be spoken to gently and she didn’t know if she could take it. She wanted nothing more than to see the people she cared about alive and well, but not like this. Not after what had happened, what they had seen her do, what they had seen happen to her. Not after what she had seen happen to them, she didn’t know how to act, how to look at them. 

So when she heard Poppy call out, “Minerva? Where are you?” She didn’t reveal herself. 

She heard Septimia call sarcastically, “Minerva? I want you to tell me you’re not here and that the castle is spontaneously repairing itself,” a few moments later, closer to where she was in the library. 

She took a deep breath and stepped out of the Library doors that she had just repaired. The two of them were staring aound in wonder, having not made it any further than the doors to the Great Hall. They didn’t know the half of it. She stood there for a moment, not calling their attention to her, their backs to her at the moment. She noticed that Poppy was still in uniform, and realised that she must have been working this whole time. They were a lot alike that way.

“The castle is spontaneously repairing itself,” She stated sarcastically, and both of the other women turned, too quickly, to look at her. She almost felt relieved to see them but she couldn’t bring herself to feel much of anything.

“Merlin’s beard. What have you done?” Poppy asked, scanning her friend’s appearance and rightly deciding, even from a distance, that she was quite unwell. 

“Not enough,” Minerva muttered so they couldn’t hear, they’d only disagree and prolong the conversation. 

“Did you ever leave at all?” Septimia asked, losing the sarcastic demeanor she’d come in with, just sounding concerned for Minerva. 

Minerva answered that question with a question. “Would it make you feel better if I said yes?” She still didn’t meet their gaze. 

“Yes, but only if it were the truth,” Poppy said, shaking her head, “But I can see from here that it’s not, so don’t bother lying.” 

“Fine,” Minerva answered shortly, she hadn’t moved any closer to them, and they were rooted to the spot. Minerva wondered why they came no closer, and why she found herself unable to move either. 

After a beat of silence in which neither younger witch could think of what to say, Minerva said, “What are you doing here?” 

They both seemed somewhat shocked by the question. Septimia took a few steps closer as she answered, “We came to find you, of course.” Her tone was too tearful, too sentimental, too genuine.

Poppy fixed that with her own brand of sarcastic meanness, “You daft old bitch, why else would we be here?” 

“Daft am I?” Minerva asked sarcastically, though she was much happier trading barbed comments with Poppy than hearing Septimia’s pitying reassurances. “Well I was just daft enough to fix your hospital wing for you, you’re very welcome,” She added sharply. 

Poppy turned in that direction, a curious expression coming to her face. “Did you? Why? I would’ve.”

“You probably will anyway,” Minerva said sarcastically as Poppy crossed the hall and waved open the doors to the hospital wing. 

The healer turned back to look at Minerva, though she couldn’t get the older witch to look her in the eye. “You’ve done all of this? On your own?” She asked half in awe and half in exasperation, looking around the main corridor, having seen only that and the entrance hall and not the rest of the ground floor, the courtyard, or the greenhouses. She knew when she saw her that Minerva was not well, and the extent of the repairs concerned her already. Though she had to admit that not having to start from scratch with her hospital wing was an unimaginable relief.

Minerva answered simply, “Yes.” She wished that they would leave again. How could they be so kind and concerned about her when she couldn’t even muster up the energy to care for herself? 

Septimia, still in shock, asked, “Why?” She was deeply concerned with the extent of the repairs she could see. Minerva had done so much, and she looked so exhausted and a little lost. That expression frightened her and she knew that no one had been looking after her mentor, including herself. She decided then and there to remedy that oversight. 

Minerva answered, sounding flippant and dismissive, “If I’m going to be headmistress I’d better have a school to preside over.” She turned back to the library as if she thought they wouldn’t stop her. 

Septimia hurried across the hall and intercepted her path back through the library doors. She reached out to place a hand on her shoulder, but Minerva stepped back. Septimia dropped her hand and said, “Please… just stop…for a moment.” 

“I can’t,” Minerva responded, not looking at Septimia. She was so deeply disheartened by the fact that no matter how many repairs she did she could still see the death and destruction all around her. Yet, the work was her only distraction from the tragedy that had befallen her and her home.

Septimia spotted something amiss, and, trying to distract her friend and colleague she asked, “Where’s your wand?”

Minerva was too tired to lie. “Gone. I don’t need it,” she answered honestly, trying to step around Septimia again, but the younger witch moved back in her way. 

“You’ve been doing this wandlessly?” Poppy asked, having joined them across the hall.

Minerva’s shoulders dropped and she rolled her eyes, they were going to act like it was a big ordeal for her to work wandlessly. “Yes. I burnt the damn thing.” 

Poppy and Septimia shared a concerned and horrified look. They had both had the same wands since they were eleven, they couldn’t imagine purposefully destroying something which had become an extension of themselves. 

“You burnt it?” Septimia asked, stunned. 

Minerva, who had gone through four wands before her last one, each one having been destroyed in some tragic circumstance, didn’t see that as such a shocking thing. “Yes. Why shouldn’t I?” She asked, but she didn’t care about their answers. “Now move, I’m in no mood to stand around talking.” 

Poppy shook her head, “Oh no, you’re about to be my first patient in the new hospital wing.” She tried to take her by the arm to drag her there but Minerva jerked her arm away before she could. 

“Don’t,” She hissed, shaking slightly, though no one could tell if that was from repressed tears or rage. “I’m fine for now. Go home,” She ordered, stepping between them, and they didn’t stop her this time. 

“This is home,” Septimia responded quickly, hoping to catch her attention and work her way through Minerva’s pain. She sighed and added, “or at least it was.” 

Minerva stopped in the ornate doorway of the library, but she didn’t turn back around. The tension in her shoulders released and she released a deep sigh. “Will it ever be home again?” She asked, more so to herself than to them.

Poppy couldn’t handle an emotional scene then, so she said lightly, “Well, the way you’ve been going it should be home again by noon tomorrow.” 

Minerva just shook her head, she had no response for Poppy’s attempt to lighten the atmosphere. 

Poppy and Septimia shared a concerned look when she still didn’t turn around, just leaning slightly on one side of the door frame. They fell silent, knowing that she must be in so much pain without knowing how to help. If she hadn’t left the castle, if she had spent all of the days after what happened there in the battlefield, what was left of her home, working, then she’d been surrounded by constant reminders of what was lost. She had cleaned away blood that belonged to people she had loved and cared for, put up walls she had leaned on for decades, and looked out over destruction that used to be home. Nothing to remind her of what was saved. Of course, they were hurting too and doubted if they would ever stop, but at least they had had time among other people, surviving and learning to be okay with that. 

Minerva knew they must be hurting too. Of course, they were, but it was like she couldn’t quite relate. It felt like living underwater, or behind glass, separate and cold. She wanted to push through whatever barrier it was that held her back, but she didn’t know how, or even what it was. Sadly she realised, she chose the school and they chose her and each other and the rest of the order and the people who mattered. Minerva scolded herself for not choosing them, she chose things and places over people, even if she had fooled herself into thinking that she was doing all of this so that others wouldn’t have to. What she had really done is hide from the human element of what had happened, as if all things could be remedied by putting wood and stone together again. 

Minerva turned around, giving up on closing them out. “Noon tomorrow seems rather soon. We have until September, I think we can push the deadline back some,” She said quietly. She leaned against the doorframe again, feeling the exhaustion she had been ignoring.

The concerned younger witches shared a glance, looking somewhat relieved. “I think we have more than enough time to procrastinate a little,” Septimia answered. 

“Will you come to St. Mungo’s or somewhere else outside of here?” Poppy asked pleadingly, taking a few steps closer. 

Minerva felt her heart sink, she looked around the hall, at all of the new repairs, and then thought of all of the missing portraits and suits of armour and statues and trophy cases. The school was still a battlefield in recovery, and they were the only people left there, and if they left it would be empty of all life. How could she leave it like that?

She was silently indecisive long enough for Poppy to retreat from that position. “Or we can stay,” She said, gesturing between herself and Septimia, who nodded her agreement.

“I know I should leave, but…” Minerva couldn’t form a coherent reason for all that was keeping her from leaving. 

“Alright, so we’re staying,” Septimia said calmly, shrugging slightly and turning to the hospital wing’s open doors. “I’ll make some tea.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Poppy said, following her. 

Minerva let them walk away for a moment, watching as Poppy started pointing out the details of the repairs she’d made. She tried to just be glad that they had come. She took a deep breath and crossed the corridor to the open hospital wing doors.