She was a pathetic excuse for a human.

Minerva McGonagall sat in her study, sobbing.

She failed him once again.

The sobs wrenched through her lungs, aching.

She couldn't help Harry when he needed her most. What kind of a teacher, deputy, order member was she?

Thankfully her study was guarded by a silencing charm.

Minerva couldn't save herself from a few stunners. She couldn't stop the ill treatment of Harry at the Dursleys. Her senses didn't detect that Moody wasn't really himself. She couldn't stop the Minister from using a dementor to kill a prisoner. Didn't know the cup was a portkey.

Mirrors shattered as magic was uncontrollable.

She fetched Snape, he killed Dumbledore. Couldn't help the school, a failure when she was acting Head, Ginny Weasley in the chamber. A snake set lose. The whole Umbridge matter.

Filled with self loathing, nails digging into her palms so she could stop this self pity cry.

Didn't know Quirril had another man on his head. Didn't save Lilly and James or Sirius. Let the Malfoys' torture her Gryffindors.

Hating herself. She was weak, despicable.

Snape overtook her rule at Hogwarts. The Carrows were here. Dumbledore never told her anything. He obviously didn't trust her, but he trusted a death eater. What kind of a screwed up person was she.

Helpless. Self-centered. Cold. She wanted to jump into the fire and burn.

Harry defeated Voldemort by himself. She couldn't even dream to have helped him. She was silly, unimportant.

Her wand lay on the table. She knew the spell.

He will not be single-handed. What could she have done anyway? Umbridge was making Harry bleed with the awful quill in detention. Tom Riddle used his pet snake to kill Myrtle.

Maybe death would be the one thing she got right in life.