The day that I lost you, is the day that I died.
It has been almost seven years now, and I still do not know where you are, or if you are still even alive. According to the newspaper, there had been no survivors but I cannot help but hope that they were wrong. That you had escaped, alive, and that you are just in hiding with Willow and Rowan. I have not seen my friend since that day either, but at least I know she lives. I keep hoping that the next day will bring me news of you, or that you will return to me, but I am disappointed each day. If Albus knows anything of your whereabouts, he says nothing to me. I do understand why, for the most part, yet at the same time I do not. It isn't fair.
Everything has changed since you've gone.
I am still a professor at Hogwarts, but I do not have the love for it as I once did. It's more or less just my job, and nothing more. I have become sterner, as several of my students have pointed out, and now when I get angry my lips draw into a thin line. I have started wearing my hair up in a tight bun that both Pomona and Poppy have dubbed, 'The Bun of Doom’. I know how you loved to see my hair down and flowing freely, but I cannot bear to have it that way anymore. It serves as a constant reminder of you, and of how things were. My heart cannot take it.
This is the one time in my life I curse your Metamorphmagus ability. You could be right next to me, and I would never even know it.
I am a grieving widow, yet you were never my spouse. That chance was robbed from us.
I see Alex, from time to time. She and Lenny are now living together, and dear Alexandria has given thought to adopting Lenny's children as her own. I envy them and the life that they share. That life should have been ours, but now it serves as a constant reminder of something that will never be. I must confess that I actively avoid seeing them because of the envy that courses through me. That is not something one should feel when visiting one's friends. I should be happy for them, yet I cannot be.
I can never be the same again.
Each day, I suffer. What do the Muggle doctor's call it? The five stages of grief? I go through each stage, day after day.
I am tired of feeling this way, Sky.
I am beyond the point of grief. I have grieved for you for far too long. Now I am just….done.
I am done. As much as it pains me to say so.
I have written you every day for the last seven years. I have no idea, if you are even alive, if you have read them. Maybe they have found you, maybe they have not. The owl returns to me with no response every time, so I can only assume that they are reaching someone.
This will be my last letter.
I must move on with my life. I admit, I will never be the same without you, but I have also accepted this version of me. It is the only version I have left. I do not know if this is my way of finally accepting the fact that you are gone and that you are never coming back or not. The thought does hurt my heart, but it is more of just an empty ache.
I can live with that, as much as it pains me to say so.
Elphinstone Urquart has asked for my hand twice now. I have turned him down both times. However if he asks me a third time, I will not deny him. It is time for me to move on, and if doing so means to marry someone that I do not love to heal the wound you have left in my heart, then so be it. I will never love him as I have you and that is my burden to bear, but if I am given the chance of a happier life so easily, I would be a fool not to accept it. You would tell me the same.
Wherever you are…..I hope you are happy.
I hope, that you return to me.
While I am ready to move on, I know, in my heart, that I never truly will. Not without you.
I love you. And I always will.
As Minerva sealed up the letter, her eyes swiveling to the owl that had just given her an expectant 'hoot’, something caught her eye. Her gaze was drawn to the open window and her heart stuttered in her chest. With one swift movement she was leaving her desk and crossing the room in three long strides, hands braced on the window sill as she peered out across the quiet school grounds.
She could have sworn she had seen the form of an American kestrel fluttering past her window, but she couldn't have been sure. The bird seemed to have vanished into thin air.
She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, letting it out again as she let her emerald gaze fall across the vast landscape, mountains just visible beyond the dark trees. The setting sun glinted beautifully off of the great lake in the distance, a slight breeze playing across her face.
In that instant, Minerva McGonagall was at peace. For the first time, in seven years.
An irritated sounding 'hoot’ stirred her from her musings and a small smile curled the corner of her lips, the woman turning from the window to stride back to her writing desk. She took the sealed envelope up in her hands, delicately brushing the pad of her thumb across the dried name printed across it for a moment before she presented it to the owl perched on the desk. Without a backwards glance the bird took flight and soared out the window, disappearing into the setting sun.
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