Disclaimer: I don't own anything, just this computer. I did use some lines word from word you might recognize from the Half-Blood Prince, specifically from the funeral.

I hope you enjoy!

The Unfortunate Necessity of Saying Goodbye

Part II: Hermione

Hermione tore down the hall, worried she was to be late. And she respected Albus Dumbledore way too much to be late.

She slowed as she reached the steps that led down into the entrance hall, her dress rustling with every step. As she descended the stairs, she took in the group gathered below with a sweep of her kohl lined eyes.

As morbid as it was to even think, the death of its beloved headmaster had left Hogwarts so unified there was barely a division of house. Except for the older Slytherins, which were probably already Deatheaters, all students were leaning on each other, and from Hermione's point of view, it was truly something beautiful to behold. The teachers, of course, were there also, comforting first years and exchanging sad, lost looks with their colleagues. Only one person did Hermione not see, and that person was Minerva McGonagall.

Harry was standing with Ron, taking care of some particularly depressed Hufflepuffs, when he looked up. Noticing his friend's glazed over look, Ron asked, "What?" Harry just nodded towards the stairs.

The redhead turned, and when he caught sight of what Harry had been staring at, his mouth dropped open. "Wow..."

As more heads turned towards the stairs, the population of Hogwarts was stunned. Hermione Granger slowly made her way down to them, the perfect picture of beautiful devastation. The black silk of her strapless dress clung to her stomach and breasts then fell in folds from her hips, pooling at her feet. She was barefoot, her high heels dangling from the fingers of her left hand. She wore no jewelry, and no makeup excepting her black-lined hazel eyes. Her hair was down and untamed, falling in curls down her back and around her face.

The spell was broken when she reached the bottom of the stairs, blushing from the attention. She made her way towards Harry and Ron, pausing a few times along the way to hug a Slytherin first year and lay a hand on the shoulder of a silently mourning Neville Longbottom.

"Boys," she acknowledged, nodding.

"Hermione," they said in unison. They both wore black dress robes, like most of the male student population. "Ready?" Harry asked, holding out an arm.

"Where's Professor McGonagall?" the girl asked.

"In her rooms; she won't come out," Madame Hooch replied from a few feet away. She turned back to the students. "Now, come everyone, let's go on down..."

"I'll go get her," Hermione told her best friends, handing her shoes to Ron. "Go on and save us a seat in front."

Harry nodded, then impulsively hugged her. "If she needs anything," he began.

"I'll let you know," Hermione finished. "I promise."

She turned away from them, lifting her skirts and taking off towards the Head of Gryffindor apartments.

Reaching to knock on the door, she instead said the password and let herself in. Minerva probably was not in a state to let anyone inside her rooms, preferring to grieve by herself.

"Professor? Minerva?" she called quietly, looking around the elder lady's rooms. She was just about to give up when she heard sniffling noises coming from the bedroom. She slipped through the open door, stunned by what she saw.

There were clothes strewn over every surface, and the only visible thing in the room was the shaking lump in the middle of the bed. Hermione made her way next to her professor, her hand hovering over the silken black hair before descending and stroking it soothingly.

Minerva shot up, feeling the unfamiliar touch. "Oh, Hermione, it's just you." She relaxed, though Hermione had to suppress a flinch at how awful the professor looked.

Everyone knew Minerva McGonagall hadn't been eating, or sleeping, or really anything of the sort. She had sunk into a deep depression, not smiling, never laughing; she wasn't even her normal stern and witty self. Hermione shook her head softly. "Minerva, what's up?" she questioned, gesturing the mess of clothes.

McGonagall blushed lightly. "Trying to find something to wear."

Hermione let a smile slip across her face, "Well, then, let's make you beautiful, then."

Hermione led Minerva off the bed and over to the bathroom, forcing her inside. "Wash your face and calm down," she ordered. "I can transfigure you something."

Moments later, Hermione stuck a dress through the crack in the doorway. Minerva took it, then gave a small exclamation of horror. "Hermione, I'm the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts! I can't wear this! It's positively improper!"

"Correction. You're the Headmistress of Hogwarts and going to your best friend's funeral. You can wear whatever the hell you want." She knew it was harsh, but it was necessary.

A small voice spoke up from the bathroom. "Touché." There was a rustling of fabric, then Minerva stepped out.

The dress, like Hermione's, was black silk. It, however, had off-the-shoulder sleeves made of a gauzy, see-through material and was straight and not exactly clingy, but definitely not puffed out. It was, in short, beautiful and made McGonagall look about twenty years younger.

Hermione forced the older woman down on the stool in front of her vanity and unpinned her hair, beginning to brush her teacher's long locks.

"You know, Professor Dumbledore made me promise him something before he died." She paused. "He said he knew I was close to Harry, closer and more mature than Ron was. He said I was like a daughter to him, that he would never dare attempt to use me." She chuckled. "I said, you're damn right you shouldn't. He laughed and told me he would tell me straight out. He told me I must protect Harry, I must stay with him until the end, even if it meant-"

"-your life," Minerva finished.

"Yes," Hermione whispered. "And I told him, 'Professor, you needn't even ask' and then I cried. He seemed to understand, he hugged me and told me someone told him the same forty years ago. He had done it for the woman he loved during the Grindlewald war, threw himself in front of her..."

*Flashback*

"You must be Minerva McGonagall, my dear. I am told you mean a great deal to a certain Albus Dumbledore. Lovers, maybe? No, silly me, you must be seventy years younger than him!" He lowered his voice. "I shall not let him die, my dear, if you join my ranks. Imagine, we could be great together!"

A small grey tabby cat morphed back into a beautiful young woman. "Never!"

The man frowned. "Very well, then. Avada Kedavra!"

Minerva could only register the weight of a purple-clad arm pushing her back, a voice yelling 'No, Minerva! I lo- Please! Don't leave me!' before she lost conscience.

*End Flashback*

"He told you that, did he, my dear?" Minerva asked, surprised.

"Why, yes, why do you ask?" Hermione questioned. "Did you know her?"

But Minerva didn't seem to hear her. "All those years..."

Hermione interrupted her. "Everyone knew you loved Professor Dumbledore, Minerva. And everyone knew he loved you back. You never heard about it because no one really gossiped about it... it was always so obvious. There were no doubts, no questions asked."

"You know," the professor began. "The day I was going to tell him, we were interrupted by a sixth year student. I had gone to a ball with the boy in fifth year, and he had never left me alone since. He- his name was-"

"Tom Riddle," Hermione finished.

"Yes," Minerva whispered.

"He's been after you, hasn't he? Wants you to join him, leave Dumbledore behind. Probably wants you more than Harry."

"Stop," she shouted. She turned around, the glamour fading away. "Do you see what he's done to me!" The dark circles under her eyes were nearly black, and her waistline was even smaller than Hermione could've imagined.

"I feel numb! So numb, I hardly feel alive. I cannot- I can't live without him," she sounded so broken, Hermione could've cried.

"We'll make it through, Minerva, I promise."

"I remember when he used to call me Tabby. How, when I had nightmares, he'd bundle me up in his arms and whisper sweet nothings in my ear, and how he'd-"

"Enough! Minerva, we have to get you downstairs. I can't- won't give You-Know-Who the satisfaction of knowing you didn't go to his funeral." She hauled her Transfiguration professor off the stool, putting another quick glamour in place. "But I am talking to Madam Pomfrey later," she warned.

They were in the hall when Minerva felt like something was missing. She looked down, making sure she hadn't forgotten a piece of clothing, when she noticing a piece of hair obscuring her vision.

She turned angrily to the girl supporting her. "Hermione, where, may I ask, are my hairpins?"

"Professor, do you remember when you helped me pick out a dress for the Yule Ball, and you mentioned Professor Dumbledore had always liked it when your hair down?" Minerva said nothing. "Please, honor his memory. You look beautiful."

"Very well."

HPHPHP

"Hem Hem, is this seat taken?"

Harry and Ron were spared making an icy retort by a rather upset Rolanda Hooch and Poppy Pomfrey.

"Yes, it is, I'm afraid, Dolores," Rolanda snapped. "Two very important people." Ron and Harry glanced at each other in shock; they hadn't known Madam Hooch had ever even spoken to Hermione.

"And who might that be?" Umbridge asked innocently. Ron snickered; obviously she thought no one could be more important than her.

"Oh, only Dumbledore's best friend and the Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall-" Hooch started.

"-and the most brilliant student Hogwarts has seen since Minerva McGonagall-" Poppy added.

"-which would be Hermione Granger," came two voices from behind them. Umbridge whipped around, nearly falling over. Her expression was comical, slipping back and forth between horror and anger.

"You two," she hissed.

"Fred! George!" Ron smiled, then seemed to remember where they were and his smile dropped. "You guys came, huh?"

"Of course. Dumbledore is the greatest man we've ever met-"

"And we've come to pay our respects," Fred finished for his brother.

Umbridge, upset about being pushed to the back of the conversation, screeched, "The Minister of Magic will hear about you saving seats!"

They watched her stalk off, stunned. "What is this? A funeral or a first year class with Lockhart?" Poppy remarked, astonished.

"Forget her, let's sit," Rolanda brushed off. "I'm sure Professor McGonagall and Miss Granger will be here in a few minutes."

The faculty, excepting Hagrid and Snape, sat in the front row. Molly and the rest of the Weasleys sat on the other side of the front. Ron, Harry, and the two seats between them were located closer to the middle, Ron sitting on the aisle and Harry next to Ginny.

Suddenly, there was a loud outburst of whispers.

"Her hair's down? It hasn't been down since her school days; makes her look younger-"

"-Why, she's barely pulled together at all-"

"-You know, I always thought her and Dumbledore were more than friends. To close to be platonic, if you ask me-"

"-Oh give it up, she has a right to be upset . They were close-"

"-Completely undignified, the way she's leaning on that girl-"

"-She's beautiful-"

Hermione cautiously escorted McGonagall down the path, but the woman was getting a bit cumbersome. Harry saw her trouble, and began to get up and help, but someone else beat him to it.

Sybil Trelawney slid a shaking arm around Minerva's waist, giving Hermione a firm nod of greeting. Then, she began talking soothingly to the Transfiguration professor. "Come now, Minerva. Albus wouldn't want you to be like this, he'd want you to be strong."

"She's right, Professor," Hermione added. "Um, Professor Trelawney? Ron and Harry have a seat, right over here…"

They led the shaking woman to the designated seat, Ron jumping up to help ease her down. Ron then sat back down next to her, Hermione sitting next to Harry, who immediately grabbed her hand.

Then the merpeople began to sing, seeming to be sorry to see Dumbledore go. There was a rustling of leaves from the forest; the centaurs stood there, proud and unyielding, yet their heads bowed in respect for the greatest wizard of the age. Hermione felt a hand nudge hers: Minerva. She grabbed it and held it tightly. The professor shied away from the middle, from Ron, and towards her and Harry. Hermione sighed; she knew Ron had no real love for their Transfiguration professor, only respect.

Hagrid was walking slowly up the aisle between the chairs. He was crying silently, his face gleaming with tears, and in his arms, wrapped in purple velvet spangled with golden stars, was what Harry knew to be Dumbledore's body. Hermione and Ginny clutched his hands tightly, and Minerva bowed her head, unable to look.

Hagrid placed the body carefully upon the table. Now he retreated down the aisle, blowing his nose with loud trumpeting noises that drew scandalized looks from some, including, Harry saw, Dolores Umbridge ... but Harry knew that Dumbledore would not have cared. Ron tried to make a friendly gesture to Hagrid as he passed, laying a hand on the half-giant's arm, but Hagrid's eyes were so swollen it was a wonder he could see where he was going.

When Hermione looked up and down their row, she noticed hands were all connected, even between two such as Slughorn and Kingsley Shacklebolt. That was a bit odd, but the need for comfort was understandable.

The music stopped and Minerva looked up from her lap to face the front again. A little tufty-haired man in plain black robes had got to his feet and stood now in front of Dumbledore's body. She could not hear what he was saying. Odd words floated into her mind through the haze of grief and penetrated her thoughts. 'Nobility of spirit' ... 'intellectual contribution' ... 'greatness of heart' ... it did not mean very much. It had little to do with Dumbledore as she had known him. The absolute love of lemon drops, the lengths he would go to in order to protect a friend, his contagious grin, the twinkle in his bright blue eyes that she had fallen in love with… She suddenly remembered Dumbledore's idea of a few words: 'nitwit', 'oddment', 'blubber' and 'tweak'.

"This is all wrong," Hermione whispered. Minerva agreed, whispering her thoughts in the girls ear. Hermione couldn't help but let her mouth twitch. Harry noticed and asked her what she was thinking. Hermione told him and he had to fight to suppress a grin. This was a funeral, what was wrong with him?

The little man in black had stopped speaking at last, standing there awkwardly. "Is anyone else to speak Minister?" he called to the man a few rows back.

Scrimgeour didn't get a chance to reply, however, for Minerva McGonagall stood up. "If you do not mind, Minister, I would like to say a few words."

The Minister, trapped between a rock and a hard place, could only nod.

Minerva walked to the front of the gathering. She turned around and began to speak, her voice carrying to the very back of the crowd. "Albus Dumbledore was, and forever will be, my best friend. He loved to laugh, and eat lots and lots of lemon drops." She smiled fondly. "He never turned down a single person, whether they needed help, advice, or even redemption. And he took many people into his heart and care" –her eyes fell on Trelawney- "and always, whether it turned out the right way or not, wanted the best for everyone."

Her voice began to crack. "And he loved Hogwarts," she added loudly, "more than any headmaster ever has, and gave more to this school than anyone could ever dream of. He gave up any hope of a personal life he could ever have to defeat the dark wizard Grindlewald, and played a huge part in the continuing battle against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And he never asked for anything back."

"I want all my students to know," she started again, "that the Headmaster would want us to be strong. An American muggle once wisely said, 'a house divided against itself cannot stand'. Forget about house boundaries and be one; I can promise you we will need to be resilient in the years to come. He would want us to remember the happy things, and I hope all of you will remember only the best things about him… Thank you all."

There a silence, then Lee Jordan stood up in the back. "I remember the twinkle he always had in his eye, Professor McGonagall!" he shouted.

"Yeah, and Professor, I remember how he always offered us lemon drops in the hallway!" a third year, Rosalina Meadows yelled. A couple 'yeah's echoed that statement.

Before long the students were all on their feet, yelling this and that about the wonderful Albus Dumbledore, and McGonagall could've cried. Eventually, they were placated, and Minerva only nodded and shot one of her rare smiles at them before she resumed her seat.

"That was beautiful, Professor," Hermione whispered, weeping.

"Thank you, Hermione," Minerva replied roughly, hoarse from speaking so loudly.

Soon enough the funeral was over, but not before everyone went up to the body to say their last words to the greatest wizard of the age. Filius Flitwick's were probably the most memorable.

The short man had spoken softly to the white marble, then said louder, "I never said thank you for that, and all thanks to Professor McGonagall for reminding me to." Soon, everyone was repeating the same words, and Minerva only wished Albus had been there to see it. It would've brought tears to his eyes.

'I never said thank you for that; I never said thank you for that'

An hour later, everyone had left except for two women. One was crumpled up against the side of the tomb, the other standing helplessly a few feet away.

"Come on Minerva, let's go eat something." Hermione broke the silence carefully.

"You are not going to let me waste away, are you?"

"Never. Now come with me," Hermione held out her hand.

Grasping it, the black haired witch stood up. This death wouldn't be the end of Minerva McGonagall.

HPHPHP

Well, that's depression! Next, anger.

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-lala-