Left With More Than a Memory

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Hello All! Thank you for continuing to read, I appreciate you! A bit of a long one today but I felt it fit best into the story this way. Enjoy!

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John Murray was buried as a crystal clear dawn broke above the graveyard at the edge of the village. To have a burial at all was a privilege inexpressible by the group. Death Eaters were known to camp out at battle grounds, lying in wait for aurors that would return and attempt to retrieve the bodies of their fallen. This had forced most to abandon recovery operations. Fate had seen John fall next to another of his group moments before retreat. The young, Nicholas Braithwaite, stood next to Sophie and the children. He had risked his life to ensure John was returned to his family. And as he watched the young family say their final goodbyes he knew he would have done it all again a thousand times. The early hour had allowed him and others of John's team members to attend his burial and slip away safely again at day break. The families returned home in silence as a new sun cast long shadows ahead of them.

"""

The screech of the train's whistle brought reality back with crushing force to the platform. The McGonagalls looked from one to another of their group. None knew what to say, what to do. What could they? How does one begin to say a goodbye that could very well be the last? An eternity seemed to pass before Malcolm made the first move, embracing his sister.

"Take care of yourself alright Min?" He said in a shaky voice. "And please write. Anything at all just please write".

Her soul swelling with guilt and regret Minerva promised she would, fighting to pull away as she blinked rapidly up at the sky. As she walked away from Orla, Malcolm helped his sister with the trunks. Nothing more spoken passed between the siblings. Just a gentle squeeze of her forearm as Malcolm helped Minerva up onto the train. Louise walked over then. Her eyes, already red from her goodbyes to her mother, filled with fresh tears as she buried her head in her father's shoulder. Minerva couldn't bear to watch, so she moved into an open compartment. A minute or two later her niece sat silently down beside her. As the train jolted into motion Louise laid her head against Minerva's shoulder. Her aunt lowered her head gently to the side against it.

"""

"Do you need some help with your things?" Louise asked as she stood with Minerva, both somewhat dazed with tiredness by the rather roundabout trip back, on the dusk lit Hogsmeade platform.

"No no you go on ahead, I'll have them sent up. There's something I need in Hogsmeade"

Louise nodded and bid her aunt goodnight. Minerva did as she had said and made tracks for Hogsmeade as a fresh snow fell around her.

Minerva removed her hat and gloves as she pushed open the door of The Hog's Head Inn. The low murmur of conversation dropped to silence and all present turned to look at her as she walked in. She felt her cheeks flush, exacerbated by the sudden warmth of an open fire, under the pressure of complete observation. All eyes continued to follow her as she made her way to the bar. Leaning against it, Minerva got the attention of the young woman behind it.

"Could I speak to Mr Dumble-"

She stopped. Apparently roused to suspicion by the sudden quiet a tall, somewhat shaggy looking man had emerged from a door in the back wall of the pub. He came up behind the bartender. Minerva knew of Aberforth Dumbledore what almost everyone knew. Not very much. She could count on one hand the amount of times she had heard Albus mention him. He kept to himself, tended somewhat questionably to goats, and had been the owner of The Hog's Head longer than anyone cared to throw back their memories. He was the middle of the Dumbledore's, a few years younger than his brother, a few older than his sister. He blamed Albus for his sister's death and this had strained their relationship from the event onward. Minerva was almost startled as she saw him. Had she squinted, it could almost have been Albus standing in front of her.