After

Minerva’s life devolved into nothing but funerals and paperwork. Over the next ten days, half of the Wix world was shut down and there were fifty-six funerals for fifty-nine fallen friends, colleagues, and former students. There were memorial services for those who were lost during the course of the war. There was a stone memorial set in Hogsmeade that listed the names of every person killed in the course of the two wars against Voldemort. It was, necessarily, quite large. 

Minerva attended most of these events, knowing that she was a required presence as a leader of the Order of the Pheonix or as a teacher and Head of House. She did attend Fred Weasley’s funeral, though the only thing she would ever remember about it was that George Weasley had practically fallen on her, in tears, when she said how dearly she would miss him. 

Over those same ten days, she secured, with the aid of the remainder of the Board of Governors, a massive fund from the government for the rebuilding and re-furnishing of Hogwarts. She sent rush orders for necessary furniture and was assured that everything, even the five massive tables for the Great Hall would be in place before September. She conferred with Pomona and then sent out orders to every Magical Greenhouse in Europe in order to obtain the necessary specimens, both seeds and mature plants, she received confirmation, and condolences, from around the continent.

She heard from both of her ministry contacts that they were already working on getting a postponement for the start of those unpleasant hearings. She left it in their hands and hoped that something might be done. 

Then there were the lesson plans for the entirety of the Transfiguration curriculum, which had to be changed to correct for all that had been missed. And she sent out word that there would be an opportunity offered to all those students who had been displaced in the last year of their education to join the seventh-year class. She printed that, and reassurances that Hogwarts would reopen at the start of term, in the major Wix Newspapers throughout Britain and Ireland. 

She received confirmation from the surviving Hogwarts Staff that they would be willing to return to their posts. She sent her thanks in return, then posted job ads for the Muggle Studies and Defense against the Dark Arts professorships, and assistant professor positions in Astronomy, Potions, History of Magic, Defense against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, Runes, Alchemy, Magical Theory, and her own Transfiguration. She specifically sent an ad for the Assistant Professorship in Care of Magical Creatures to Charlie Weasley at 12 Grimmauld Place. (She’s not always known for subtlety) And she began to receive letters in return for some of the positions, including a note from Charlie expressing interest in her offer. She scheduled several interviews, in Hogsmeade, for obvious reasons. 

But all of this progress felt like nothing. A few drops in the bucket, nothing more. There was so so much more to be done. 

Minerva had just begun to move her own things into the Head Teacher’s office, in some attempt to reclaim the space. She had a few of Albus’s things that she had taken from the office after he died. She changed the desk out for her own and then realised she hadn’t gone through any of the drawers. She summoned it back and pulled out files and unimportant papers until she got to the second drawer on the left-hand side. 

She opened that drawer to a bottle, containing a swirling silver mist that she recognised all too well as memory, and a note addressed to her. 

It was in Severus’s writing but she couldn’t fathom why he would have left her a note. After all that they had done and said, all that had passed between them. Perhaps, if she was lucky, it would be some kind of explanation. It was sealed, but opened when she touched it, Severus had been very good at tricky little bits of magic like that.  It read:

Minerva,

This vial was left in my possession by Albus Dumbledore, it should explain everything. You deserve an explanation after all that we have done. I would apologise, but I know it would never be enough for you, so I will simply say, I hope you’re glad to see me dead.

Severus.

That was typical of him. No apologies, not even a written explanation. Just a short sarcastic note leading her on and passing the blame to Albus. She may have deserved an explanation, in fact, she knew she did, but she didn’t want one now. Not like this. 

She didn’t want to sit through a plethora of memories that show them plotting their stupid plans behind her back. She did want to watch as they turned to each other and excluded her from idiotic plans that she might have changed for the better. She didn’t want to watch as they sat together plotting while she did everything else required to run a school and keep the children in their care safe and well. She ran herself ragged for years while they just added more on and distracted her with that work so that they could sit up in this tower, uninterrupted by their actual jobs, and plan their sick little war games using the kids she cared about as pawns and throwing them about like bait. She raised them, spent her life making them brave, teaching them all they needed to know, encouraging them to be kind, and enabling them to use all the skills at their disposal to reach their goals. Then the two of them used those kids like it was some kind of training ground for soldiers instead of a school that they worked at. 

She raised them. She raised them and those two set them up to be sacrificed. They let her raise them to be sacrificed. 

It was too much. She couldn’t take any more. As she stood there with that vial in her hand she considered pitching it out the open window. She didn’t want to know. She would rather stay mad at them and never know the context than learn more and have to know why they did the moronic things they did. She didn’t throw it out the window but set it aside on a shelf near the cabinet that held the pensieve. 

Perhaps later, when she was settled into her life as headteacher, when the grief wasn’t so fresh, when she wasn’t so hurt by it all, she would want to see what Albus and Severus had left for her. But for now, she did not want to know. 

Thankfully, there was a letter, dropped on her desk by a pygmy owl she recognised as Ron’s pet. It landed on the back of Minerva’s unoccupied chair, clearly tired from its very long flight. 

“Oh, poor pet. It’s a terribly long way from London, and for such a little one,” Minerva muttered to the overworked owl, fetching an owl treat from the bag in her desk. She left it for him to eat when he was sufficiently recovered. 

The note was from Arthur, which Minerva had not been expecting, and addressed to one of the many fake titles she had been informally given by the members of the Order. It read:

General,

Molly and I both think that the kids are sufficiently recovered. I’m afraid there’s not much enthusiasm around here, but we’re better off than we were. It would probably be best to get them to start talking soon. Tomorrow afternoon? Any time the next day? Whenever you feel it’s best. 

Arthur.

P.S. Several of the kids have questions that fall into your realm of expertise anyway, so I’m sure they’ll be grateful to see you. I’ll be grateful if you can answer then so they’ll stop asking me.

P.P.S. It seems to me that Charlie really is interested in that position at Hogwarts, I’ll put a little pressure on him for you. 

Well, that was yet another thing on her ever-growing to-do list. One she was dreading. She sat down behind her desk, forgetting all about Pigwidgeon, who was still sitting on the back of it. He hopped down to her desk and began pecking at the owl treat she’d left there. 

She propped an elbow on the arm of her chair and slouched forward, resting her head in her hand. “Ugh, how am I to do all of this? I can barely stand to think about it let alone actually go and talk to them. I’m tearing up just imagining it. How ridiculous,” she complained to the owl, who ignored her, focusing on the snack before him. “But of course, it has to be done,” She sighed, resignedly.

“But is it always you that has to do everything?” The portrait of Headmaster Dippet, who had been feigning sleep up to that point, asked kindly. 

“Yes,” Minerva answered with a glance at the painting, “No one else is going to do it, besides, I’m in charge, I’m the head of the Order, I have to be the one with the plan,” She said, almost offended at the insinuation that just anyone could do what she does. 

“I meant no offence, my dear Headmistress, only to suggest that perhaps you should learn to delegate some tasks,” Headmaster Dippet said with a kindly, but chastening look over his glasses. 

“Hmm, well, find me someone to delegate to and I might consider it,” Minerva answered with a sigh, turning back to her desk to get back to work, thinking that this discussion had reached its end. 

“Professor Vector is a very capable individual, seemingly so is Madam Pomfrey. Pomona and Filius are well-documented to be competent. I wonder you don’t ask their assistance with this, rather strenuous, workload,” Dippet answered, clearly unsatisfied with leaving Minerva on her own again. 

“Oh certainly, they could do it, but how could I ask them too? These are their students too, they’ve lost people too. I would rather rebuild the entire castle from the ground up on my own before asking someone else to step into this position. I wouldn’t wish this kind of pain on Delores Umbridge,” Minerva answered, rolling her eyes, then pausing to consider and adding, “Well, maybe I would, but that isn’t the point.” 

“I fail to see your point, but I can see that you’ve worked all of this out in your head, so I shall simply take the loss in this match and go back to sleep,” Armando said, rolling his eyes and settling back in his frame. “I never could get you to see reason, even when you were a student. Stubborn, you’re just stubborn,” He muttered, going back to pretending to be asleep. 

Minerva might have argued with him, but she couldn’t decide if that would prove or disprove her stubbornness. So instead she turned back to the work at hand and wrote a reply to Arthur as Pigwidgeon was preparing for his return flight.