HA 9c: Pity

HIM AGAIN: Chapter 9: Human Intelligence - Pity

“Please inform me if there are any problems. That is all.”

The faculty dispersed, heading to their respective offices to make the last adjustments to lesson plans before the new school year began. House-elves began to appear, to clear away the cold cups of tea and coffee. Minerva saw Poppy look her up and down with an expression of vaguely disgruntled medical assessment, but luckily time was too short for any remonstrations.

The school corridors were blissfully silent as Minerva McGonagall headed back up to her own office, walking stick in hand. Well, she corrected herself, it wasn’t her office. It would always remain His office - but what sane person would object to that?

A mirror on the Fourth-Floor corridor provided her with a hint at what Poppy had seen. She halted and gave herself a quick glance. No, it was as she’d suspected - Poppy had no right to complain at all. The iron-haired woman in the mirror was hollow-cheeked and lined, but the improvement remained.

“Minerva, I’m extremely pleased with your progress,” she recalled her friend saying about eight years back. “Your body mass index is improving.”

“She means you’ve got some meat on your bones,” Rolanda had added cheekily.

“How disgraceful,” Minerva had replied. “I shall become bloated and fat.”

“If you become bloated and fat, I shall jump for joy.”

She’d laughed. To this day she still remembered Poppy and Rolanda’s encouraged faces; it had been the first time anyone had heard her laugh since Albus had died. What a debt she owed Eleanor Reeves - who had become a friend and now visited every fortnight for a chat! The old Minerva McGonagall was still dead, but the new one was no longer a living wreck, unable to communicate with anyone.

She still didn’t like to talk about it. Once the initial confidences had been extended - first to Eleanor and then to her friends - the subject was laid to rest, much like Albus. Instead she talked about other things, having leant on and socialised with her friends more at the counsellor’s urging. Only some nights, His birthday and the anniversary of His death remained intolerable - and then there was always Poppy or Rolanda to depend upon.

“Surely you don’t mean that I should descend on them whenever I’m upset?” she recalled herself asking Eleanor incredulously.

“Minerva, I think that’s exactly what you should do. You shouldn’t be alone at such times.”

“I guess I’m just too proud.”

However, in the end she’d swallowed her pride more than once - and felt better for it. Albus wasn’t coming back and part of her would always grieve for him but, as Eleanor had pointed out, He wouldn’t have wanted her to be unhappy. There was also the fact that she was engaged in exactly what He’d always most enjoyed: passing on knowledge to the next generation. That she was still not the woman she once was was of little consequence; if Poppy expected a full recovery then she was a fool.

Minerva shook her head as she ascended the staircase to the office. How often she dragged up the past, at the most irrelevant and inappropriate of moments! How frequently she teetered between bracing happiness and reflective melancholy! It was enough to give anyone a headache.
The office was tranquil and warm, overflowing with Albus-esque good-will. The former headmasters and headmistresses were dozing in their frames, and there was no movement at all - except for the action of a silver-haired figure shifting in its seat to look round at her.

Minerva had no idea why she was surprised; the visits had always been the same: brusque, unannounced, irregular. He often turned up whenever she least expected him, with the attitude of performing a menial, tedious task that was nonetheless unavoidable.

“Aberforth,” she said, walking around so as to see her visitor better.

Aberforth, as usual, looked grumpy and irritated, shoulders hunched and entire demeanour closed and hostile. His grizzled hair and beard were tangled in the singular manner of something that has been brushed carelessly with no attention to possible damage and with the effect of creating more snarls than before. The bristling brows were lowered and he stared at her coldly - yet that fact of his presence was an undeniable kindness.

“Professor,” he growled, giving her a curt nod as she moved around the desk to sit down.

“It’s a pleasure to see you,” Minerva said. “Perhaps you would like a cup of tea?”

“That’s highly doubtful. And no thanks.”

She waited, but Aberforth merely continued to half-glare at her.

“I hope you weren’t waiting here long?”

“Long enough.”

“My apologies; I was in a meeting.”

“I know.”

She waited again, knowing that if she was patient, he would eventually be forced to take the initiative. The silence stretched. Aberforth shifted in his seat.

“You are well?”

“Very well, thank you.” She made sure the last two words were obvious in their sincerity.

“Good, good.”

There was another awkward pause. Minerva felt her gratitude become exasperated.

“Have you come to give me some news?”

“No news,” Aberforth snarled, teasing his beard with his fingers. “The only news around nowadays is old news.”

“Indeed,” she replied, noting that he presented her with no alternative reason. “I suppose the Hog’s Head is very busy around this time of year?”

“Busy enough, busy enough.”

“My favourite is the Gillywater.”

“Yes, women of your age tend to like that.”

“Aberforth.” Minerva sat back in her chair. The face of the man before her was cragged and guarded, like a cliff-face. “If you are so very busy then you shouldn’t be leaving your pub to visit me.”

“I didn’t leave my pub solely to visit you. I was taking a break and thought I ought to drop by.”

“Ought to? I was not aware that you were under any obligation to visit me.”

Aberforth ground his teeth and looked thoroughly miffed. “You weren’t, were you?”

She’d already dared to go further down the line of enquiry than she ever had done before, these past ten years. One could never tell if Aberforth was offended enough to completely estrange himself but the grinding teeth suggested he was close to it. What harm was there in going further, attempting to draw out an admission?

“Aberforth - there’s absolutely no need for you to visit me the way you do. I do honestly appreciate your dutiful concern for me, but you don’t enjoy it and so you may as well-”

The old man rose from his chair suddenly, sharply, eyes flashing. “Don’t flatter yourself, woman! I have no concern for you and never had! Your incompetent staff can fuss their little heads over you but, believe it or not, I have more to busy myself with than old women! I detest this blasted place!”

Minerva sat, stunned at the sudden outburst. A raw nerve had certainly been touched. Aberforth’s tattered cloak swirled, the fire leapt - and he was gone. Anger and mere frustration fought a pitched battle in her head.

“I can do without pity, Aberforth,” she muttered under her breath. “Especially from men who cannot even bring themselves to admit that they feel it.”

“What a thoroughly undignified fellow,” commented Phineas Nigellus from the wall behind her.