After

Minerva managed to get out of St. Mungo’s without getting sidetracked for long, and promising that she would write to Molly just as soon as possible. She apparated back to Hogwarts, and up to her office, feeling a renewed enthusiasm for correcting the space. She had always found frustration to be very good fuel for this kind of work.

She corrected the entire filing system and collected all of the more incriminating evidence she could against Severus, the Carrow twins, and the other death-eaters who had taken over the school at the beginning of the year. Most everyone knew who was to blame for what had happened at Hogwarts, but the Wizengamot is a notoriously paperwork-driven organisation. She had no doubt they would want documentation.

Finally, it had grown quite dark but much of the office was cleared and reorganised. For the second time that day, Minerva heard a familiar voice issue from the wall beside her. This time, however, the voice was not her own, but Albus Dumbledore’s. “Hello, Minerva.” 

Minerva did not turn to look at the portrait. She knew it wasn’t really Albus that was in that painting, just a copy of the better parts of his personality, but she felt so much anger and pain at the sound of his voice that she couldn’t bear to look. “I don’t want to talk to you,” She answered but made the statement even clearer by apparating directly out of the office. 

She appeared in her rooms in the castle and realised that she really should go to her summer house instead, but ignored that thought for the moment and went to her desk across the room. She had brought with her the documents she’d collected for the benefit of the Wizengamot and sat down to better organise what was before her. Some of what she read made her sick to the stomach. So-called ‘lesson plans’ for their sick version of the muggle studies course that included the teaching of the cruciatus curse. Rule changes that punished students for refusing to perform illegal curses. The beginning of the policy change that was to elevate Slytherin House and abolish the other three. She did what she could to put the information in order, and then closed all of the papers up in an old leather case and placed it on a shelf to her left, wishing she could put it out of her mind as easily as she could get it off her desk. 

She decided to focus for the moment on what needed to be done about those awful hearings. She chose two of the more influential representatives of the Wizengamot whom she considered good friends before she remembered that Amelia Bones was dead, and had to choose another. William Fendershanks, a ranking member of the Wizengamot, the chair of the committee for Judiciary Management, and a dear friend from her school days was the one Minerva felt most sure she could rely on. The second favour she called in was from a former student in her NEWT course, Calpurnia McClare, who was now a ranking member of the Wizengamot who sat on several judiciary sub and sub-sub-committees. By their combined power she had some hope that they could get her the leeway she was requesting. 

She wrote letters to each of them which did not do much to hide her frustration with the situation that the Wizengamot was putting herself and other survivors, including a number of school children, in. Then she set those to one side, it was far too late to send them now, but they would go out first thing in the morning. She wrote a brief note to Madam Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, checking in on her Elven colleagues, as well as asking if there were a possibility of using one of the private rooms above the pub for an Order meeting. That she did send along immediately, apparating to the owlery, to find that several of the school’s owls had moved back in. 

“Hello,” She said with a smile, she had hoped that there would be at least one but was very pleased to find more than half the flock had returned. “My, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” She said as her own Owl, Ariadne, fluttered from a high perch to land on her shoulder. She sent the owl off with the note and instructions to wait for a reply, “patiently, but not too patiently.”

After she had fluttered out of sight in the dark, Minerva apparated back to her desk and started work on another letter, to Molly Weasley. They needed to debrief with the younger members of the Order, especially that troublesome trio, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Oh god, how she did not want to see them. Of course, they were very dear to her, some students do make such an impact on their teachers, and this lot makes quite an impact wherever they go. But oh she did not want to see them now.

Minerva let her quill fall to the desk, giving up on this letter for a moment. She just didn’t know how she could look at these children, whom she had taken a hand in raising, and see that in the space of a year, they had grown up and grown old before their time. They had all seen and done and lost too much. There had been too many things that she and the other adults who should have been able to, could not save them from. 

And how could she look at the Weasley children when there was one red-headed troublemaker missing from the set? How was she to walk into 12 Grimmauld Place and speak to them without breaking down in tears at this immeasurable loss? At all of the immeasurable losses they had endured?

How was she to look at Neville Longbottom, the son of parents who had been so dear to her in their own school days, and not apologise for not protecting all of them better when she had the chance? 

How was she to look at Ginerva Weasley and not beg forgiveness for the events of her first year, and not seeing her start to disappear in the wake of Tom Riddle? 

How could she look at Hermione Granger and not cry pitying tears at the loss of her parents, who were such lovely people? 

How could she look at George Weasley and not fall apart at the thought that he was missing his mirror image, his partner in crime, the other half of her favorite devilish duo?

How could she look at Ronald Weasley and not break down at the thought that he had lost so much, friends, a brother, his sense of direction, and himself?

How could she look at Luna Lovegood and remain standing when the grief hit her that this child had endured more than most for longer, the torment that Minerva should have stopped?

How could she look at Percy Weasley and not scold him for leaving them when they needed him most or tearfully welcome him back?

How could she look at Harry James Potter, someone so dear to her, the son of people so dear to her, and not even be able to begin to apologise for all that she had missed, ignored, overlooked, or disregarded? 

Would she even recognise them after all that had happened? Would she be able to see those dear children past the scarred and battle-worn adults they should never have had to become? Would she ever be forgiven for all she had or hadn’t done? Would she be able to forgive herself?

There was no way of knowing, but in return for her seeing a very different version of each of those dear children, they would no doubt see a very different version of her. They had seen her at the height of battle, she had seen them fighting for their lives, there is no going back from that, and no personal image is undisturbed by that memory. Professor McGonagall was no longer the same stern transfiguration teacher they had known. That person did not exist anymore. She was far more human now. Weaker and much more vulnerable than they would have said she was six years ago, or even two years ago. They were no longer the mischievous, kindhearted, curious, clever, children that she had helped to raise. She could never see them the same way and she knew the reverse was also true. 

So she gathered her resolve and picked up her quill again. She couldn’t avoid them forever she was sure, so she had better start meeting the new renditions of them now and take the chance to reintroduce herself. She wrote,

Molly,

What time would be best? I’d like to talk to them together and put the stories straight if we can. Then we’ll be able to figure out what our story will be.

Best,

Professor  Minerva.