Good to See You

A true soldier fights not because she hates what is in front of her, but because she loves what is behind her.

The battlefield was roaring. Explosions and fire were everywhere, and the bodies on the ground could've looked like they were simply watching fireworks on a nice starless night, had they still been breathing. The bodies – children once, all of them – were scattered all over the ground, Order members, students and Death Eaters alike. Minerva had no time to discern who was who – she was too busy becoming not one of those bodies, while trying to save her remaining pupils' lives as well.

The disconcerting thing was, she couldn't.

There were too many students, too many Death Eaters, and she was one Minerva, and apparently that wasn't enough, for she knew she could never reach the children that were thrown Unforgivable Curses at in time. Not all of them. Yet she tried and felt every single muscle of hers ache and she didn't stop. Running, shouting, heart pounding, throwing spells at anyone who dared threaten the students. And once in a while, in the middle of a crossfire, she would wonder, with a familiar wetness in her eyes, why she hadn't died yet herself.

She had survived, always, every time. So many times. What made it all fatal were the persons she had outlived. Albus. Elphinstone. Robert, her baby brother. Amelia. Lily, James, Sirius– Countless students. People – children – she had taught. She wasn't supposed to see them die before her. Or was she? Was this God's plan for her?

Scratch that, Minerva, don't let your last resort be Divination–

But so many children, why–

Harry.

Harry.

No.

"NO!"

The fight had been over for quite some time. The wounded were being tended to, the wounded beyond help were long dead, and the heavy atmosphere in the Great Hall would have sure been able to choke somebody. There was choking, after all, but the cause were tears from somebody mourning for a loved one. Loved ones, sometimes. In moments like these Minerva understood how it felt like to be part of a family which was being ripped apart.

And as they all saw a mass of black people appearing, she was one of the first to go outside – she was considered the leader now, after all. The next thing she saw was something – or rather someone – in Hagrid's arms. Suddenly her whole world felt like turning, and she saw white for a moment.

The only thing I know is this: I am full of wounds and still standing on my feet.

It was over for good. That's what she told herself over and over. Yet, she could not believe her own thoughts while she looked at the dozens of corpses before her. It didn't feel like a victory. More like a massacre only narrowly won.

Minerva McGonagall was currently standing in front of the High Table, overlooking the scene. She had already dealt with the Ministry and the now-captured Death Eaters, and now she needed to make sure everything was in order here so she could soon go up and do all the necessary paperwork. To her office, that is. Her office, again. Two people had had to die in order for her to have permanent access to it, and since she had a feeling that she hadn't quite collected all pieces of the puzzle, she was confused and, most of all, angry. And sad. Tired.

That didn't make for a good combination, not exactly. What was one supposed to feel in such a situation? She had already endured it all once, after all. The flying hexes, the death, the screaming, the loss... Now she had relived it, and she still had no idea.

But someone had to care about business.

"Minerva?"

Oh, Poppy, I really don't need you right now.