1(I'm not quite sure what did it but it does appear my muse has received a kick in the right place, huge thanks to Branda for beta reading this)
Tea and biscuits
Minerva McGonagall sat silently in the home of her dearest friend Alastor Moody. She couldn't say she was particularly fond of the Moody household, everything seemed to be scattered absolutely everywhere. Clothes were strewn across every surface, ornaments and strange dark magic detectors sat in every patch of free space. One literally had to wade their way through the clutter to reach the table she currently sat at now opposite the form of her friend. Alastor claimed the mess was merely another clever device to distract deatheaters who should be impossibly lucky enough to break into his home, for they would never find anything. Although this may have been true Minerva knew full well it was merely a smart excuse for his laziness though heaven forbid she should even try to clear it up herself.
It had been three days since Minerva's promotion to headmistress, three days since she and Alastor had been labelled the orders new joint leaders of the order, three days since… three days since that horribly aching had begun in her heart, three days since her eyes changed the only outward sign to sudden change in viewpoint, the sudden pointlessness of it all. Three days since the love of her life was viciously taken from her.
Raising the teacup to her lips Minerva lightly sipped at the tea Alastor had prepared for her, ignoring as best she could the stinging in her eyes, the slow shattering of her heart, the movement of her soul away from the world and the slow realisation that never again would she hear her lover's laughter. Never again would she awake to his twinkling eyes; never again would she wrap her arms around him and be the rock; never again would she sigh at his foolish jokes or laugh at his boyish beam when he saw the presents under the tree. Never again would she be able to taste those soft lips and whisper the words she had said so rarely – too rarely, 'I love you'.
"Shall I get out the scotch?" Alastor questioned his friend lightly as he observed her, strong, masked Minerva without a single tear gleaming in her broken hearted eyes.
"I think that would be best Alastor."