“No!”
The word left Minerva's lips as nothing but a small exhale. Thick tears blurred her vision and began streaming down her reddened cheeks.
She fell to her knees, desperately clutching her chest as if to try and mend the broken heart barely beating behind her rib cage. Exhaustion filled her, and she felt as if she would shatter at any given moment. The battle had gone on for endless hours, establishing a tiredness and fragility throughout her system. The victory and her adoration for the actions of Harry was what had given her the strength to go and find her love, help where she could with the injured. But the world, her world, was still broken.
They might have won. But the world had fallen apart. They had won. But at what cost?
In front of her lay Remus Lupin. That brave, beautiful boy. She looked upon his face and saw the scrawny eleven year old who’d walked into Hogwarts so many years ago. The boy who’d, though reluctant at first, had opened up to her and become nothing short of a cherished son. The boy who’d grown into the man laying before her now. A man who’d become everything she’d ever wished for him, everything she’d been sure he could be. Everything and so much more. And he wasn’t wounded. He wasn’t in need of any help. In fact, Remus Lupin would never ever be in need of her help again. Not as Professor McGonagall. Not as Minerva. Not as Minnie. Never again.
He looked peaceful though, almost serene, maybe even more so than he ever had in life. That serious countenance had followed him since he was just a boy. But there were no lines on his face now. No determination. No seriousness. If she had tried hard enough, she could have pretended he was sleeping.
But he wasn’t, was he? He was dead. Gone.
Just like his best friends James and Lily. Like the great love of his life, Sirius. Like Marlene and Dorcas. Like Tonks, and Fred Weasley. Like countless others of her students. Of her friends. All dead. All. Gone. The finality of it all crashed down on Minerva.
The wail that left the professor's lips bewildered her. She never lost it, but there was screaming and crying everywhere. Parents who’d lost their children. Children who’d lost their parents. Lost friends. Lost loves. The loss lingered though the soot polluting the air. Clinging to every particle. It filled her lungs. Consumed her very being. They might have won the battle. But at what cost?
They might have won the war. But what would it cost them? How would they ever move on?
There was so little left. And so many left broken.
Reconciling with this fact dawning on her, Minerva felt all power drain from her body. Why had she survived? Why should she have to live with this agony? What she wouldn’t do to switch places with so many of the people laying in the Great Hall before her. She would’ve given anything. The sobs left her shaking uncontrollably.
“My love,” met her ear as a nothing but a faint whisper, “you did everything you could.”
Of course Poppy was the one who would guide Minerva through this agonising grief. Her arms were embracing her now, holding her up as she was falling apart, with a gentleness no other could attain. Being in the arms of her love mended Minerva's wounds, made her feel safe in a way she thought would’ve been taken from her by the horrors of the battle and war. She was home, and she could breathe - even if it was for just a moment.
“I can’t bear this,” she finally managed to breathe out.
“Shhh,” Poppy stroked her hair, “we will be alright, my dear. We will make it through this, and we will honour all of them.”
The pain was inexplicable. It hurt so intensely that Minerva thought her heart, and possibly even her soul, might physically break into a million pieces. But the warmth of Poppy’s love kept her together. Like it always had. Like it had during the first war. Through losing Lily and James, through believing that Sirius had betrayed them. Through leaving Harry in that god-awful home for so many years, unable to aid him. Poppy was always there to ease her pain. To comfort and nurse her back to health.
Their love had stood strong for decades now. Managing to survive through the unthinkable, time and time again. Then maybe this wasn’t the breaking point after all? Would their love manage to guide them through all this hurt, all this pain, once again? She had to believe it would. They were going to make it through. Together, they were going to make it through. They had to. She had to. For James and Lily. For Remus and Sirius. For Fred and Tonks and Alastor. For all of them. For Harry and Hermione and Ron, for all who had survived. And she had to survive for her love, for Poppy, that extraordinary woman. Their love deserved the serenity of peace, to be able to be just that - love. And though it felt unbearable at this moment, Minerva now believed that she could endure and that she would make it. And in time she, and her beloved, would once more open their arms as the new generations of brave, young witches and wizards would walk the great halls of Hogwarts. In that way the fallen would be honoured, and she would be damn sure they’d never be forgotten.
That day, in that moment, the world might’ve fallen apart for the great Minerva McGonagall. But it would also be the beginning of a new time. A brighter time. A time she could be proud of, and when the time came, a time which she would leave behind with no bitterness. Simply with joy to once more meet the very people she’d lost this day. Though they’d be by her side along the way. Because the love she had for them would be enough to carry on their legacies, and though she could not see them - she could feel them. And for now, that would have to be enough.