WARNING: Character Death

Epilogue

Minerva McGonagall slowly turned this way and that, gazing at her reflection in the mirror before her, before letting her eyes wander down to her belly. She intuitively supported it with a hand and chuckled. She had become quite a bit larger in the past couple of months, and by this time her usual darker robes occasionally failed to hide that fact when she moved and the fabric casually strained against her curves. She no longer just walked, but waddled through the corridors, and it often took her mere minutes to get up without aid. Albus often helped, though. He sometimes liked to pat her belly teasingly and feel the baby moving about.

Minerva quietly turned to face her bed, when suddenly a quite heavy kick came. The hand that laid upon her belly tightened, as she intuitively curled the fingers of her other around the edge of the bed to support herself. It had begun with little moving, soon becoming powerful enough for others to feel it and as of late even see it on the surface of her near huge belly. Now near the end of her supposedly nine months of carrying the child into her womb, his or maybe her kicking had become uncomfortable and sometimes even quite painful. She really hoped it would be a baby girl, because for one reason or another she didn't believe that she could bear it if the child would look like her deceased fiancé… or Voldemort. She certainly hoped even far more it would be Finnley's and not… his.

She straightened once again. "You're getting heavy, little one," she whispered, carefully patting her belly, before walking to the edge of the bed, pulling aside the covers, and uneasily sitting down. She sighed and ran her fingers over her belly momentarily, before laying down on her side and pulling up the covers, settling pseudo comfortably. Comfortable was no longer an option.

She tossed and turned. She didn't fall asleep. Another even heavier kick came, and she tightly shut her eyes, dealing with the pain that remained after the kicking. Minerva panted and puffed. She sighed and moaned. "You're just…" She couldn't do anything but swallow the rest as suddenly the not so unfamiliar pain in her already painful lumbar region came across. "You cannot be serious…" she groaned. A bit of rest appeared no option either.

She in annoyance threw aside the sheets and miserably heaved herself upright in the bed. Minerva quietly eased her legs over the edge of the bed and used both fists, pushing them into the bed on each side of her, getting up. She momentarily wobbled, before waddling over to the door. She wasn't really sure why she had moved into the direction of the corridor to begin with, but upon seeing the lights shimmer from underneath the door to Albus' quarters, what said Headmaster Dumbledore hadn't quite gone to bed yet either, she intuitively moved further into that direction and rapped cautiously onto Albus' door. "Enter," it sounded, and thus she quietly did.

"Minerva," it came, quite astounded.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I couldn't fall asleep," she said, automatically patting her belly, "I didn't mean to… I just– I just saw that your light was…"

"Ah, I see. Little one's not quite agreeing with your schedule," he said. "I would offer to share with you a bottle of Firewhiskey, but of course that's not acceptable. Would you care for a game of chess then?" He suggested. "At least until that little boy or girl is tired enough to give you a bit of rest? I wasn't going to bed anytime soon either way."

Minerva smiled. "That would be very nice," she said, and heavily leaned onto the edges of the armchair, before lowering herself into it. She gasped, eyes falling shut almost immediately, one hand reaching to support her belly. She then inhaled and exhaled a couple of times deeply, before letting her eyes open again to look at Albus, whose eyebrow worriedly quirked.

"Minerva, are you quite well?" He questioned, before quietly summoning the board from its usual shelf by a most lucid wave of his hand. It wouldn't be the very first time that a game of chess late night between them occurred. Them both would sometimes just discuss Transfiguration or another subject until unacceptable hours of the night, too.

"I'm fine," she replied. "I'm just… I'm a whale!" She chuckled, too.

"You radiate," Albus said. "When he's not kicking you."

"He?" Minerva asked, this time her eyebrow doing the quirking.

"By lack of certainty about the gender," Albus said and chuckled.

Minerva nodded, then averted all her attention to the board before her. She momentarily thought about every possibility and quietly made her move. She, used to Albus' technique, settled deeper into the armchair and watched the lines on his forehead crease as he carefully considered every option like usual. It somehow felt better to have her spine pushed against the back of the chair. A furrow creased her brow, when she suddenly felt something trickling between her legs. Great, now I just peed my panties.

Albus must have noticed, too. "Minerva? What's the matter?"

She didn't immediately reply. She just carefully resettled a bit, feeling a gush of water come forth. Minerva's mouth had formed this o of shock, feeling the water pore down her leg, and sudden realization dawned that this couldn't be a bit of urine anymore. It must have been…

"Minerva?"

"Walking's better," Minerva whispered, between panting. She slowly shoved herself to the edge of the bed and again used her fists to get up like she had soon enough learned to be the easiest if no one was there to aid her. There were, however, both Poppy and Albus, but she candidly refused to hold onto them just to get up. Even in between her heavy labor pains, at seven centimeters dilation, she was going to be stubborn.

Nine hours had passed by since Albus had taken Minerva to the infirmary, where Poppy had easily confirmed that indeed Minerva's water had broken, which said she must have gone in labor. Albus hadn't left her side since then. He had offered her his hand to squeeze multiple times, but she had refused it. Albus again neared her to give her support to get upright, but she resolutely pushed him away. Poppy's eyes rolled. When Minerva, however, felt wood underneath her feet, her immediate reaction was to reach over for Albus. He carefully supported her and was surprised to notice she happily allowed it. "I'm okay," she whispered, letting Albus hold one hand, while another supported her belly. She quietly began walking, Albus right by her side. Whenever she was laying, she wanted to be walking, and whenever she was walking, she wanted to be laying down.

They set off for another bit of walking about the infirmary. To especially the relief of Minerva herself, no one else was in the infirmary but them. Minerva and Albus walked very slow, but Albus didn't mind. He just held her hand and supported her weight, just walking half beside and half behind her. Suddenly her breathing came more heavily and ragged, and Albus knew what was going on. He intuitively tightened his hold on her, as Minerva's eyes squeezed shut, and she began panting for her life again. She doubled over with the intensity of the contraction and for the very first time ever since she had gone in labor, squeezed Albus' hand hard. "Would you like to sit?" He questioned, watching as she immediately shook her head.

Poppy rushed by their side, moving to support Minerva's other side, but Minerva's hand rose for her not to touch her, before turning to Albus and burying her face in his chest. Albus and Poppy shared a look, and Poppy quietly began massaging her painful lower back. "You're shivering," Albus said, never having let go of her hand. He tenderly stroked away a wisp of ebony hair from her sweaty forehead.

As the pain suddenly eased again – although not the one in her lower back – she slowly straightened herself up and began walking in the direction of the bed again, never once letting go of Albus' hand. He thus was bond to follow, as if he wouldn't have otherwise. They again walked very slow, just on Minerva's pace. When they eventually reached the bed Minerva had occupied, Albus helped her to sit on the edge, while Poppy thoughtfully reached for the wet towel and put it on her forehead, before hurrying away to get whatever, or maybe just to leave the two alone. She seemed to be more comfortable with Albus somehow.

Albus quietly helped her to lay on her side, Minerva holding onto the towel on her forehead. As she had settled as comfortably as was possible, she tiredly eyed her companion. "You don't have to…" she whispered and reached for his hand, as another milder contraction coursed through her. Her eyes again squeezed shut.

"Would you like me to go?" Albus questioned, willing to obey a woman in labor's wishes.

Her eyes fluttered open tiredly to look at him, and she slowly shook her head. "No, but I can imagine it isn't really first on your list to be with a woman in labor." She lovingly patted her belly. It wouldn't be much longer anymore. Soon enough, she would finally be rid of that belly and be able to hold her son or daughter in her arms after nine months of having carried him or her with her. A tear slipped past her barrier, and she intuitively batted her eyelashes a couple of times to keep more at bay, when she suddenly admitted, "I'm terrified, Albus."

Albus quietly reached for her cheek with his free hand, using his thumb to stroke away the tear that had come from her eye. "Of the pain?" Albus questioned, however, already aware of the answer.

Minerva's head shook. "I'm not terrified of the pain, even though this is the most uncomfortable I have ever felt in my life. My back's killing me. I'm just… I'm scared, that it isn't Finnley's. I'm scared that if it actually is Finnley's, he or she will remind me too much of what I have lost, and I won't be able to love him or her. I'm scared he or she would look too much like him."

Albus nodded. "You'll make it," he whispered, when Poppy came back hurrying into the room with something that looked like a pot of oil. She settled behind Minerva and hitched up the nightgown she was wearing, before opening the pot and taking a bit. She quietly pushed aside the pot of oil and began massaging her back. At first, Minerva arched away from the touch and squeezed Albus' hand as the coldness of the oil came in contact with her skin. Eventually, she arched into the touch, for it sure seemed to aid with the pain.

The sound of the door opening interrupted them. All eyes shot up to meet two first year Ravenclaws. Both seemed covered in ugly lilac bubbles. They remained waiting in the door. "Oh boy," Poppy whispered, getting up from behind Minerva, sharing a look with Albus. "Continue," she said to him, before walking in the direction of the two Ravenclaws. She easily waved a wand to let a paravane shield Minerva and Albus from view.

On the other side of the paravane, Albus thoughtfully raised his wand and cast a strong silencing charm. He looked into Minerva's eyes. She nodded, and thus he quietly got up and settled where Poppy had sat earlier, beginning to take over the massaging. "That feels so much better," Minerva breathed.

"I can't do this anymore!" Minerva screamed, holding onto the sheets so badly that her knuckles had become white. She fell into the pillows again and uselessly tried to shift in a more comfortable position. "I cannot do this anymore…" she begged, eyes wandering to the man beside her bed, Albus Dumbledore. Eleven hours after Minerva's amniotic fluid had gone, Poppy had confirmed she had finally dilated enough to begin pushing. She had done her best to push with the last two contractions, but I didn't seem and certainly didn't feel like anything was moving on down there.

Albus' eyes showed worry. She had refused squeezing his hand, or accepting any other aid of him, and thus he had just watched – even though tactfully turning away his head every time Poppy had come to check up on her and the baby's condition – from a chair beside her bed, facing her. He thus was a bit surprised to feel rather than see her hand releasing the pillow to lay upon his. He quietly turned his hand so she could hold onto it and smiled. "You can," he said, "I'm sure you can," he added, watching Minerva shake her head in something near despair. He could feel her hold onto his hand tighten and watched how she again squeezed her eyes tightly shut, to deal with the pain of another contraction.

"Push, Minerva," Poppy said.

Minerva just shook her head again, just panting hard until her contraction had gone, and she could open her eyes again. "I can't do this…" she begged, eyes wandering from Poppy over to Albus and then to the nurse again. Involuntary tears coursed down her cheeks. "I can't do this…" she repeated once again.

Poppy sighed. "Would you like to try another position?"

Minerva's head just shook. She was so exhausted and in so much pain… Some wisps of ebony had come down from their usual tight bun and were matted to her forehead and cheeks by a combination of sweat and tears. She couldn't do this anymore. Pushing wasn't really helping either way.

"You have got to push, or…"

Another high pitched scream interrupted her, as another heavy contraction announced itself. "Come on, Minerva," Albus whispered. He rose, never releasing Minerva's hand and sat down onto the side of her bed. Her eyes had fallen shut again. She intuitively rose a bit and clenched together her teeth, to push. Albus and Poppy momentarily shared a look of relief. Another scream announced the end of the contraction. Minerva's eyes tiredly fluttered open, and she almost immediately noticed Albus' new position. She smiled, before averting her attention to Poppy.

"You're advancing," she confirmed. "I can already see the head."

"You're doing wonderful," Albus whispered.

"Argh!" She screamed, then fell into the pillows entirely soaked with sweat after having been in labor for near thirteen hours, of which almost two pushing. Minerva rather felt than saw something wasn't entirely right, though. She barely got to open one bleary eye to look at the baby. "W–What's going on?" She questioned, but by then Poppy already had disappeared with the baby, too fast for an exhausted Minerva to notice the unique blue color of asphyxia. No screams were being heard. Minerva immediately rose in panic. "What's going on?" She questioned, especially alarmed because Poppy hadn't said anything.

"Shh," Albus comforted. "Everything's going to be alright," he whispered and carefully guided her to hide in his chest. Minutes ticked by in which Poppy's – and of course the new little one's – absence did nothing but cause more panic within them. Albus couldn't deny the feeling within himself either, but he couldn't show Minerva. Albus didn't fail to register the sound of irregular footfalls that announced Poppy and the baby's return. Neither Minerva or Albus could give any estimation of time that had passed until then.

Minerva quietly rose from Albus' chest seeing Poppy from the corner of her eyes, cautiously carrying a bundle which must be her baby boy or girl. Something, however, was amiss, she saw. Poppy's eyes were puffy and red. "I'm… I'm so sorry," she whispered, "The… I couldn't save him..." she said, tearing up once again, upon handing him to Minerva. She immediately disappeared again, and Albus suddenly felt the need to go after her and give her some comfort, but then again Minerva could most likely use it more.

She shivered, just carefully holding the bundle for a while, before reaching up to drag away the tip of the towel that shielded her son from view. She gasped, eying her little boy. He only appeared asleep. She carefully let her gaze wander over the mop of darker hair, the eyes delicately shut and the very characteristic nose, the lightly parted bluish lips… She quietly let her finger stroke over the fat little fingers and tiny finger nails. "Finnley's…" she whispered, before letting the tears finally fall.

A couple surely had escaped every now and then, but the howling that emitted from her throat now was just horrible. It conveyed the despair she felt. It just cut through morrow and bone. Albus quietly guided her into his chest again, to let her finally release the pain. Tears rolled down Albus' cheeks to disappear into his lengthy white beard, too. That's where the base, the deeper, of their companionship lay.

Minerva McGonagall no longer was the same passionate, lighthearted witch ever again.