Chapter 28: Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

A/N: This chapter is built around the song Empty Chairs at Empty Tables from Les Miserables. There are some quotes from Chapter 36 of DH. This was harder to write than I thought it would be, but I love this chapter and hope that you do to. This is not the last chapter, I am in the process of writing one more that could possibly turn into two.

There's a grief that can't be spoken,

There's a pain goes on and on.

Empty chairs at empty tables,

Now my friends are dead and gone.

-Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

Augusta Longbottom sat on the steps that once led to where the high table sat in the Great Hall. To her left were the tired and bloody survivors of the battle. They were leaning against each other and holding their loved ones close. They were too exhausted to even celebrate the defeat of Lord Voldemort properly. At least they were smiling now.

Augusta's eyes settled on her grandson, holding the hand of the young woman with gentle eyes, and her heart swelled with pride. She would never forget him standing tall in front of the monster Tom Riddle had become. She no longer saw Louis or Frank or Alice. No, Neville Longbottom was his own man. He proved that today.

The Death Eaters were making their way to the castle. Scouting students said that they had Hagrid with them in chains- the half giant was hard to miss, even in the mass of black robes. Members of the Order and students of Hogwarts scrambled to prepare themselves for another round of fighting- to avenge the deaths of so many. But the entourage of evil stopped out on the ground, Lord Voldemort at the lead.

"Harry Potter is dead." The little breath of life that still remained within the castle walls seemed leave in a millisecond. "He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone."

Murmuring spread through the group. Lies. Lies. All lies. Why should they believe him now? "The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anybody who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."

Wands were gripped tightly and terror was seen on everyone's face. Could it be that Harry Potter, the Chosen One, had fallen? Lord Voldemort led his Death Eaters to the entrance of Hogwarts. The fighters crept out the front door to see for themselves. Lord Voldemort laid Harry Potter at his feet, his jeering smile made the bravest heart tremble.

People cried out in shock and horror. Harry Potter- the Boy Who Lived- dead? No. No. No. They screamed in their sorrow and anger. Augusta stood in the back of the crowd, heart in her throat. No. Minerva was supposed to save him. Minerva should have stopped him. Where was Minerva?

"Silence!" He called out and like magic, silence fell before him. "You see? Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"

"He beat you!" A voice called out. From her position, all Augusta could see in a red mop of hair, but she assumed the voice belonged to Ronald Weasley. There was more yelling- people were looking for blood now, but didn't quite have the courage to get it.

Well, it appeared one person did. Someone stood before the Dark Lord now, but she couldn't see. It wasn't until the devil Bellatrix Lestrange spoke up did Augusta's heart stop completely. "That's Neville Longbottom, my Lord. He comes from a rather delusional family…"

The Death Eaters were laughing, but Augusta didn't hear them. She was too busy pushing her way through the crowd. She would have ran all the way to her grandson if it wasn't for Kingsley Shacklebolt forcefully stopping her. She could only watch in terror as her grandson, her only solace left in this world, stood unprotected before one of the most powerful wizards to walk this earth.

"You are a pureblood, are you not, my brave boy?" Pureblood, thought Augusta in disgust. What does blood have to do with it? Tom Riddle was a halfblood, but perhaps Lord Voldemort had forgotten that. "You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You would make a very valuable Death Eater."

"I'll join you when hell freezes over." Oh, her precious boy. The crowd was cheering for him now, but none of them could join him- the Death Eaters seemed to be holding them back. Neville stood alone between safety and certain death. "Harry may be gone. People die every day, but they will not die in vain today! We will fight for them still! DUMBLEDORE's ARMY!"

Just as she thought she was about to witness her grandson's murder, a cry came from a different direction. A crowd of people were coming from over the hill. They were screaming and running toward the group of Death Eaters. All at once chaos broke out once again. The Death Eaters scattered; Lord Voldemort let out a roar of frustration and anger. Reinforcements had arrived. Harry Potter may be dead, but it seemed the defenders of Hogwarts were not.

Augusta didn't have time to mourn the Chosen One. Nor did she have time to shout for joy that more fighters had arrived. She thrust herself into the heart of the battle, searching desperately for her grandson. Each Death Eater that challenged her seemed to underestimate her. Wand whirling, she cut them down, every one.

Did they not know who she was? She, who befriended Alastor Moody in her youth- one of the greatest aurors of his generation. She, who wed the brave Louis Longbottom. She, who gave birth to Frank Longbottom- a great auror who was cursed before his time, a life she had yet to avenge. She, the grandmother of Neville Longbottom- the fearless leader of Dumbledore's Army and loyal friend to Harry Potter. She, who was the last to know Minerva McGonagall's intimate heart.

Did they not know what she was capable of? She knew every trick in the book. She had seen the horrors of Grindelwald's war and fought through the first war of the monster that called himself Lord Voldemort. They thought her old and weak. They thought she wouldn't have the energy. They knew nothing of revenge. They knew nothing of the pain of a widow and a mother who watched her son suffer. They knew nothing of the pride she felt for her grandson; how determined she was to make him proud in return.

Apparently, she wasn't the only one they underestimated. She cried tears of joy when Molly Weasley killed Bellatrix Lestrange. That woman was a force of nature when it came to her children. But then again, weren't they all? Augusta had had the privilege of watching the bitch die. And the satisfaction that had come with it was automatic. It was if a huge burden had been lifted off her chest. That was for Frank. Her baby boy. Frank and Alice. For Neville.

But she still hadn't found Neville. She asked every student she came upon. They all said different things. That he was back in the castle or coordinating with Shacklebolt or fighting in the courtyard. The worst she heard was that he was dueling Lord Voldemort himself. But when she finally found Lord Voldemort amidst the fighting, it was not her grandson that was dueling the Dark Lord.

It was Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. What an apt name. Because once again, he lived. He lived so they all could live. So that Lord Voldemort could die.

But she couldn't smile with happiness or jump with joy. Because to her right were the bodies of so many that couldn't. They would never smile again. This fight cost them their lives- lives they willingly gave, but that did not make it any more comforting. She could not brag to them about how brave her grandson was or how proud she was of every single one of them. Nor did they know the Dark Lord had been vanquished. All but one. Only one soul knew the moment her last breath left her that they had succeeded.

When the dust finally settled, the Hogwartians gathered their dead once more. It didn't take long to notice someone wasn't among the living or the dead. No one could recall seeing Minerva McGonagall since the beginning of the fighting. Augusta, however, knew where she would be and she knew she would not find her friend alive.

"Gather a few of your friends," she whispered to her grandson. "We need to bring someone home."

Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Lee Jordan followed the elderly woman out of the castle. They walked across the broken courtyard and burning lawn. After a few minutes of walking, the young men had an idea of where they were headed, but not the slightest inkling as to why.

Soon the white tomb of Albus Dumbledore came into view. It was untouched by the battle and someone had resealed it after Lord Voldemort had desecrated it weeks ago. As they got closer, a body could be seen laying at the base of the tomb. The woman was dressed in black and was laid out before the white marble as if to be a sacrifice to the great wizard.

Augusta let out a deep sigh. "Oh my dear, forgive me." She walked ahead of the group and knelt beside the still woman. She then pressed her lips gently to Minerva McGonagall's forehead. Neville's breath caught in his throat when he realized who had fallen here.

"Who did this?" spoke Lee, his eyes gleaming with anger.

"I think the better question is who did she get first?" Seamus pointed to a long pile of ashes. Neville picked up the dark, slender wand and performed the Prior Incantato incantation.

"Fiendfyre."

"She destroyed his snake," whispered Augusta. She was still sitting beside her friend, stroking Minerva's hair. "And he destroyed her."

No one spoke for a few minutes. Minerva's students could not believe she was gone. She had been more than their Head of House; more to them than any of the four could put into words. Finally, Augusta rose to her feet and took out her wand to levitate Minerva back to the castle, but Dean stopped her. He took out his own wand and turned to a rock on the ground. With an incantation he transfigured it into a stretcher.

"She deserves to be carried." Gently, the four placed her on the stretcher.

As they trekked back to the castle, people stopped whatever they were doing to watch the small, somber procession. Some people just stood silently, others cried out in sorrow. Students young and old shed tears for their beloved professor. The four young men who carried her never faltered in their steps. Minerva's body was no burden to them.

They had laid her body at the head of the hall, where she had sat for thirty years. She deserved no less. Augusta wished the people gathered in this hall now knew just how much she had sacrificed for them. But it wasn't her story to tell. Minerva would be remembered as a hero, not as the wife of a monster. And that was for the best.

Augusta had taken up a silent vigil beside Minerva. People came and paid their respects as the hours passed by. Some came by themselves. Others needed the support of their family or friends to say goodbye to their beloved Professor. They cried real tears and voiced true love and fond memories. She had been a professor at Hogwarts for so many years and had touched so many students. But they didn't know her. Not like she did. Not like Alastor, not like Louie, or Rheanna or Felicity. Or Tom.

It was a lonely feeling. To be the only one left who knew Minerva's pain; who felt her overwhelming grief. For all those years that Minerva was teaching and educating all those students, she was so alone. Every one of them had a wonderful story about how she touched their lives. And they touched hers. That was for sure. Her students, they were what had gotten her through losing Selene. Every face that passed through these hallowed halls had brought Minerva new life.

They told their stories to Augusta, Minerva's oldest friend. They cried to Augusta, who has yet to shed her tears. Augusta held their hands and patted their backs. She hugged the young ones close and stood in silence with the elders. Every student who knelt before the body reminded her of her time in this Hall. No, she had never been so bloodied or heartbroken in this castle, but she was sure these children had good times here as well. Like the ones that she and Minerva had experienced with their friends all those years ago.

She remembered them all so clearly, as if she were seventeen again. The way the candles lit up the Great Hall during the end of term feast. The way the banners shimmered their colors: red and gold, blue and bronze, yellow and black, green and silver. She could remember laughing with her friends, as generations of witches and wizards had before her, and after.

There was Felicity Rookwood in her memory, smiling and free. She had chopped off all her long curly dark hair that last year. She had a job lined up in Bulgaria studying some sort of magical creature or another. Her brown eyes were full of life and never before had she been prouder of the Ravenclaw robes that she wore.

The beautiful Rheanna- her red hair gleaming in the sun as she danced around the lawn by the Black Lake. Pearls hung around her neck and dripped from her ears. She would always draw the eye of every man and woman in a room, but her eyes only ever settled on one. Alastor Moody would never know how he won her heart, but he would forever cradle it safely within his arms. Augusta had never met a more gorgeous woman than the future Mrs. Moody.

And Louis, her Louis. Oh how she loved that man. Back then he had been tall and blonde and young. He loved to laugh and to make her laugh. In fact, she could only remember laughter around him when they were in this Hall. That was before all the pain and sorrow. Oh, how they had laughed and loved. She missed that man. And her Frank. But she still had her Neville. And for that she was thankful.

She even could recall a pale faced Tom Riddle. The boy before the monster. She could remember a time when he too could make them laugh. Tom, not Lord Voldemort, had been curious and smart. He played chess with Alastor and swapped wits with Felicity. But most of all he loved Minerva. Even to this day, this horrible day, she could remember the love that Tom held for Minerva.

The last face in her memory was Minerva. Headstrong, determined, happy Minerva. It had been so long since she had seen those green eyes gleam. Oh, there had been some good times since Selene's death, but never could she truly be happy again. But back then, she was a so full of life, so joyous. Nothing could stop her. Not the death of her father and brothers, nor her ungrateful mother. She was so intelligent and wicked with a wand.

Those were the faces she saw in this hall. Those were the souls she began to cry her tears for. They were gone, every single one of them. She was all that was left of her memories- the good and the bad. Her grief was all she had left. And for once, that was enough.

Oh my friends, my friends, forgive me,

That I live and you are gone.

There's a grief that can't be spoken,

There's a pain goes on and on.