But he shook his head, because he had to, and so he had to watch as she despaired. "There are Death Eaters still, Minerva," he said. In his ears his voice sounded old, and tired. But cutting off the head would not kill the snake, not quickly enough. Death Eaters would panic, and panic meant violence. There would be fighting, and chasing, and yet more death, before they could begin to relax and rebuild and perhaps properly grieve. Albus stood, stretching his aging bones, and sighed again. "There is work yet to do."