McGonagall's Buried Past
"I know your parents, Ronald Weasley!" declared the head of Gryffindor House. "You are no different than they were. You have the same temper that I had to quell in them."
Ron's eyes stung with tears and he felt the anger burst out of him. "What do you know about kids anyway? I mean, you never had any! How do you know what we go through?"
McGonagall studied him thoughtfully then walked to the window and pushed it open. Ron remained in his seat, shaking with emotion. He wished she would hex him or yell at him, not remain quiet. Finally she spoke.
"Mr. Weasley, do me a favor and turn around that picture that is directly in front of you on my desk."
As odd a request as it seemed, Ron did what she asked and found himself staring at a young boy about fourteen. He was dressed in Gryffindor robes and had a broad smile. What really caught Ron's attention were the young man's eyes. They seemed familiar . . . those eyes . . . Ron jerked his head toward McGonagall, a dawning look of comprehension met his face. He swallowed hard and stood with the photograph in his hand.
"P-Professor? Is this . . . ?"
"Yes, Mr. Weasley—that is my son . . . and only child," she replied, her voice wavering.
"Gosh, I'm sorry. I mean, I didn't know." Ron stammered, wishing he could take back what he had said earlier.
McGonagall turned to face him. "Very few people at Hogwarts do. I must ask that you not repeat what you are about to hear," she said sternly. Ron could only nod as she began.
"Sean started out here like the other students. I knew he would get his letter, being from a good Wizarding family, and I watched with pride from the High Table as he was sorted into Gryffindor House. When he entered his first year, I was teaching Transfiguration, having taken over when Professor Dumbledore became Headmaster. Because I was his teacher as well as his mother, I tried to be impartial and keep Sean the student separate from Sean the son. I knew it would be hard for him to blend in when his friends knew I taught a class, but Sean and I tried to keep his life here as normal as possible. He had great talents and favorite classes in which he excelled. Of course, he did well in mine. He also liked Potions, oddly enough," McGonagall said with a forced laugh.
Ron gave her a puzzled look and she understood. "No, Mr. Weasley, Professor Snape had not started teaching yet. When Sean reached his fourth year, he had become adept at complex spells. He liked to experiment from books. When we went home for the holidays, he would hex nearly anything that moved. He said incantations with great authority like he meant it. My son was a . . . an excellent student, Mr. Weasley."
"I bet he made a good prefect," Ron said encouragingly.
"He would have, yes," whispered McGonagall. The words formed a cold fist around Ron's heart. "During the second term of his fourth year, he was showing off his talent to other students by aiming his wand at things in front of him—small animals, trees, that sort. He had done so many spells in the past that he suddenly got the wild notion to try the Killing Curse."
Ron's mouth fell open and McGonagall continued, "Until then he had been very careful, I made sure of it. I wasn't going to have my son hurt by a spell gone wrong. He knew about the curse and what it entailed. Sean had full knowledge of the incantation, wand movement, and results. It was the same for all of them." She walked back and gazed out the window. Running her hand along the sill, she forced herself to finish the story.
"He rolled up his sleeves and shouted the incantation 'Avada Kedavra' and aimed his wand point-blank at something. The beam from his wand ricocheted off its intended target and . . . " Her voice trailed off as she gripped the window sill for support.
Choking back tears, she concluded. "Sean was hit in the chest and died before he touched the ground. Someone ran to get me, and I went to where he lay—the expression he had made still on his face. Professor Dumbledore carried him back to the Hospital wing and stretched him out on a bed, but I knew in my heart of hearts my son was gone." She sat at her desk and took the picture from Ron.
Running a finger along the frame, she said, "Professor Dumbledore sat with me that first night and said I could leave Hogwarts if I wanted, but I chose to stay and teach because it was what I had trained for all those years ago. I see a lot of Sean in my students."
She took a deep breath. "Now if you'll excuse me, Mr. Weasley."
Ron started to leave then asked, "Professor?"
"Yes?"
"May I ask you something kind of personal?" McGonagall nodded slightly. "Did Sean know what he wanted to do after Hogwarts?"
"An Auror," she whispered hoarsely.
Ron turned and walked out, closing the door behind him. McGonagall gently replaced the picture and cried with her face in her hands.