Summary: Three moments in the mourning process of Albus Dumbledore, and the one moment that ties them all together. Part one: Harry
Hey guys – this story is mostly about Minerva McGonagall, and her mourning for Albus Dumbledore. I think the movie makes too big a deal about Harry's grief, and doesn't exactly show how torn up the other characters were. Minerva knew this man for over fifty years, and two and a half wars, while Harry knew him for six. I mean, I know Harry's the main character, but still! Just a little out of proportion, don't you think?
Just in case you can't figure it out for yourselves, this takes place directly after Dumbledore's death (in the movie) in the scene where Minerva attempts to comfort Harry but doesn't succeed. Oh, and kudos to the person who can catch the reference to A Very Potter Musical.
Disclaimer: Lots of people do fancy disclaimers, but I only have one thing to say: I, lalala777, do not own Harry Potter.
The Unfortunate Necessity of Saying Goodbye
Part one: Harry Potter
Harry caressed Dumbledore's Wand lightly, looking around the room where he had spent so much time this year, so much time with the beloved Headmaster of Hogwarts.
He reached into the pocket of his robes, wrapping the locket there around his fingers. He had found it was a fake when he threw it against the wall and it cracked open. A message had rolled out, one mocking Voldemort, saying 'he' had found the real locket and planned to destroy it. Now Harry didn't know where the locket was, or who R.A.B was either. Another mystery for Ron, Hermione, and him to solve. Another reason Albus Dumbledore's death was in vain.
The door creaked open, and Harry didn't have to turn around to know who it was. Only three people knew the Headmaster well enough to be let into his office at a time like this. The first, obviously, was Harry himself. The second was Severus Snape, but if Snape knew what was good for him, he'd stay far away from the castle for at least the next few months, if not for the rest of his life. Somehow, though, Harry knew that would be too good to be true. The third, of course, being Minerva McGonagall.
"Potter... in light of what has happened," the professor began in her Scottish lilt, choking a bit on 'happened'. It was as if she couldn't bear to accept the prior death.
Harry turned to face her, his expression blank and full of grief.
"If you should have the need to... talk to someone," she trailed off hesitantly.
Harry couldn't bear it anymore; he stalked quickly towards the door, brushing uncaringly past his professor.
"You should know," she snapped, but her usual sharpness was gone. He turned back to her, truly taking her in for the first time.
At first glance Minerva McGonagall appeared as she normally did. But as Harry looked closer, he noticed the subtle differences that indicated Professor McGonagall was falling apart. Her robes were creased in odd places, as if she had crumpled onto the ground recently. Her face was red, but not from anger. Her emerald eyes, which were, in her old age, probably her best feature, had lost that special glint that Harry had always attributed to her presence. Most noticeably of all being her raven hair, which was almost always pulled back into a tight, severe-looking bun, was falling haphazardly out of said bun, framing her face. If Harry had not fallen so far into his grief, he would've said it made her look remarkably younger.
"Professor Dumbledore..." He realized she had continued speaking, and snapped out of it, so to say.
"You meant a great deal to him," she finished, turning away slightly.
Suddenly, it came to Harry, like an epiphany. Why on earth was he the one crying and carrying on? He had known Dumbledore for six years; McGonagall had known Dumbledore for over half a century! She should be the one lovingly caressing his possessions, the one bent over his broken body as it lie unmoving under the Astronomy Tower. He should be comforting her. Instead, she stood tall and unmoving, grieving and dropping her stoic act only in private. Harry looked up to the sleeping portrait of Albus Dumbledore, and even lost in the world of dreams, it seemed he approved.
Suddenly, Harry understood.
The boy swooped forward, enveloping Minerva McGonagall in a tight hug.
The Transfiguration professor stood stiffly for a minute, then realized Harry was crying. "Oh Potter... Harry..." she whispered emotionally, then moved carefully and wrapped both her arms tightly around his waist.
Quidditch had done Harry some good physically, giving him enough muscle to unknowingly hoist his professor into the air so her feet dangled inches above the ground. His face buried in the crook between her neck and shoulder, Harry spoke. "Promise me something, Professor?" He murmured into her shoulder.
"Of course, Harry," Minerva swore, her voice heavy with the grief she was finally beginning to show.
"Promise me that you'll always be here. At Hogwarts, I mean," Harry clarified, stepping away slightly, though his arms were still hanging loosely around her waist.
She looked a little confused. "Of course, Harry. But... why?"
Harry sighed and stepped fully away, taking her by the hand like a child leading his mother to the candy store. He led his professor over up the small staircase and around to the little couch the Headmaster had shown him once or twice. Once they had both sat down and made themselves comfortable, he began.
"Do you remember when Umbridge put Professor Dumbledore on the run last year?"
Minerva's hand tightened around his, but she nodded grimly. Then she noticed Harry looking at her with a slightly curious expression. "What?" she asked defensively.
A ghost of a smile flitted across the boy's face. "Nothing." Then, seeing McGonagall's expression, he added, "I just thought you'd correct me with 'Professor Umbridge'."
Minerva looked a bit affronted. "When, Harry, have I ever given you the impression that I believe Dolores Umbridge was an actual professor? I believe teachers must... teach to earn the title," she put delicately.
"How about Snape then?" He mumbled. Then, seeming to realize exactly who he mentioned, he quickly shut his mouth, hoping he hadn't upset his professor.
There was a long silence, then out of the blue, Minerva quickly asked, "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"Nothing, they're the same thing," Harry replied automatically, then realized he had been tricked. His mouth opened and closed a few times, resembling a fish.
Minerva smirked triumphantly. "Now, Umbridge?" She prompted.
Harry started. "Oh yeah! Remember what you told me after we dropped Marietta off at the Ravenclaw Tower?"
Professor McGonagall thought for a moment, then shook her head. "I am afraid my memory isn't what it used to be," she explained. She clasped her hands in her lap, looking down.
"You said 'Potter, if you ever need anything, I'll always be here to listen'," Harry quoted quietly. "And then, when we were taking our Astronomy OWLs, you got hit by the stunners, and I realized much those words really meant. And then when I tried to find you later, Madam Pomfrey said you were in St. Mungo's, and I suddenly had to appreciate how you had always been there, unblinkingly, sternly, but always with a sort of love. Without you and Dumbledore, the school was… empty." Harry grew suddenly quiet. It had been a long time since he had gotten on a roll like that.
When he comprehended that Professor McGonagall hadn't said a word, he turned to her. She had tears in her eyes.
"Oh Harry, I don't believe anyone has ever been so kind," she gasped, tears running down her face. "I shall always be at this school, Mr. Potter, as long as it has need for me. As long as I am here to watch over her, Hogwarts will be in good hands," she vowed seriously.
"Good," Harry said firmly. "I couldn't picture anyone other than you or Professor Dumbledore running this school anyway. It'd be complete chaos, Professor."
"Harry, please call me Minerva, we're there." Seeing Harry's stunned and dubious look, she chuckled. "We've reached that point," she clarified. "Besides, I have a feeling I won't be your professor again, or at least not for a few years. We'll probably get caught up together in the middle in the war. I do imagine it must be easier to yell 'Minerva!' than it is to yell 'Professor McGonagall!' if you're trying to save my life."
Harry didn't really listen to that last bit. "How do you know I won't be coming back to Hogwarts?" Harry asked suspiciously.
"Believe it or not, Albus' omnipresent abilities do tend to rub off on a person," she defended, then seemed to remember who had died only hours before. Her smile faded.
As did Harry's. "I've only heard you call him by his first name once before that, you know. It was when I was in the hospital wing in my second year, and I still remember it."
"May I ask why?" Minerva breathed, so low that her Scottish accent was barely palpable. She looked up from her lap with her emerald eyes, matching his own. Matching his mother's.
"Because it was beautiful. Because it was one word, but it was so filled with emotion that even I, a twelve year old, could sense it. Because he didn't even notice." Harry bent down to meet her eyes, as she had looked at the floor halfway through his description, her face colored with shame. He took her hands where they rested on her lap and clutched them tightly in his. "Can I ask you something, Minerva?" He questioned.
The Transfiguration professor already seemed to know the question, but only answered in the affirmative.
"Did you love him?"
At first she was silent, then she began nodding, quite vigorously, in fact. Then it was a whispered word, a 'yes', and louder and louder, until it was a shout.
"Professor? Are you… Minerva?" Harry tried to get her attention. Then, realizing it wouldn't work, he sat back, watching her let off steam that she had gathered together for… well, that might be a good question to ask, you idiot, Harry chided himself.
When she had calmed down, Harry asked his question. "How long?" He implored simply.
"Since my sixth year at Hogwarts," she replied breathlessly.
The boy's eyes widened. "You were my age? You held in love for over fifty years?"
Professor McGonagall gazed at him sternly. "I am glad you think I'm so young, Harry."
Harry blushed lightly. "Let me try that again, then. You held in love for fifteen years?"
McGonagall chuckled. "Always the charmer, Potter. But yes, he was teaching me to become an Animagus, and although I'm sure you've seen pictures, he was quite the handsome wizard back then. We grew close, closer than professor and pupil, closer than even the closest of friends. We confided everything to each other, and somewhere between school and Grindlewald, I fell in love."
"I was going to tell him, you know. Madam Hooch, Professor Sprout, and I planned it. However, it didn't turn out quite the way we imagined."
Harry looked stunned. "He actually turned you down?" He gasped. "I always thought he loved you- I mean, I can't believe he could ever-"
"No," Minerva interrupted. "Far from it, in fact."
"What happened?" the boy asked, forever curious.
The professor sighed. "I'm afraid that is a story for another time."
Harry nodded in assent, respecting her need for space. "Of course."
Minerva clapped her hands together lightly, then stood. She held out a hand to Harry, and when he had taken it, pulled him off the couch. Apparently having misjudged her strength, he just gazed at her, impressed, for a moment, taking a second to comment on her unnatural muscle.
"Well, Potter," she began, as briskly as ever, "one does not survive two wars purely on magical skill, not even if-"
"-you're the most brilliant and powerful witch of your age?" Harry supplied.
Trying to act unaffected by his flattery, she retorted, "I believe Hermione Granger is the most brilliant witch of her age."
"Ah, but I think we're talking about different ages, Professor."
Minerva said nothing, but led him down the stairs and over to the door. "It's time to seek out your friends, for he was dear to all of us, not just you and me. I must confront the staff and decide what needs to be done. Voldemort will be taking over the Ministry soon, and we need to make plans for the rest of the school year, while at the same time ward and protect the school for the time being."
"You sound busy," Harry commented.
McGonagall nodded. "Would you send Miss Granger to the staff room? She's to help Professor Sinistra with the… funeral."
Harry gave her one last half smile, then turned to leave. This had certainly been a most interesting experience, but he had to allow himself more time to grieve. The death hadn't truly hit him yet, and he wanted to be alone with pillows and unbreakable items when it did. Maybe the Room of Requirement…
"Oh, and Harry?"
The boy in question turned back around. "Yes, Minerva?"
"I do trust you will not take any liberties with my name. There is only one other student who has permission, and I hope I can trust you as much as I trust her," Professor McGonagall warned.
"I would never abuse that privilege," Harry said seriously, to reassure the slightly frazzled teacher. "Just answer one question: who's the student?"
Minerva smiled genuinely, for the first time that night. "I believe you know her well: Hermione Granger, when she was in her second year."
Harry rolled his eyes, albeit jokingly. "I should have known."
"Remember, Minerva, don't blame yourself for what happened," Harry soothed.
"Quid pro quo," she replied promptly.
Harry looked more than a little confused. "What for what, Harry," she informed gently. "I won't blame myself as long as you don't blame yourself."
"Agreed," Harry nodded, laying a hand on her shoulder and gazing hard into her eyes.
"Good-bye for now, Minerva."
"In case I do not get another chance to tell you so, fare you well, Harry Potter. And remember, all we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us."
"I'll remember," Harry replied softly. Then, very anticlimactically, he turned and walked out the door.
When he was gone, Minerva sank to the floor, unable to stand on her own two feet. Harry had confirmed it, she couldn't deny it; Albus Dumbledore, the man she had loved since she was sixteen, was dead. The one man, in all the Wizarding World, who had understood her, who had been the best, if not exactly the most conventional, friend she had ever had, was gone forever in a flash of green light.
"Oh, Albus," she sighed, her whole body shaking with the force of her anguish, "what am I to do without you?" Then she laughed harshly. "If you were here, you'd tell me to proceed with my life as it was before you came along. But, Albus, you wouldn't understand. There was no life before you came along. No close friends. No immediate family. You wer-are my life."
A knock came at the door; Flitwick from the sound of it, asking her to let him in. Minerva snorted. He couldn't get in; Dumbledore's office was surely picky. She stood and smoothed down her crinkled robes. Then, effortlessly pulling her wand from within her sleeve, she waved it wordlessly over her body, instantly tidying her appearance. She had to give off the impression of control, at least a little. Opening the door, she smiled grimly at the short man.
Filius Flitwick shook his head in mock astonishment. "Stern and composed Minerva McGonagall. Not one to shed even a tear."
McGonagall only nodded in reply. "If you only knew," she muttered under her breath.
She had accepted the fact that her best friend, Albus Dumbledore, had truly died only hours ago. That would have to be enough for today.
~HP~HP~HP~
I'm going to skip around with Minerva's grieving process, so hold on tight! Leaving out the less necessary ones, throwing them around in a different order… All for the sake of the plot. I'm such a terrible person, playing with an imaginary person's feelings. This one was denial, in case anybody was curious.
Anyone catch the famous quote? Check again if you didn't! There will be one in the last three parts too, so see if you can pick up on those. I tried to fit in the more well known ones.
Please stay in tune for parts two, three, and four! And review if you get a chance!