Chapter 29: The Measure of a Hero
A/N: I have one little chapter left after this. Thank you all for reading. And all of your loving reviews.
The breeze rustled the leaves of the large trees that grew in the quiet cemetery. It was the beginning of autumn and the leaves were just beginning to change colors. A short wrought iron fence lined the small valley, encasing hundreds of headstones and mausoleums. It was an ancient cemetery where only the oldest wizarding families laid their dead to rest.
The McGonagall family had a large mausoleum near the entrance. The intricate markings on the grey stone were faded now, but the grand name was still legible. Inside laid the bodies of generations of men and women who carried the McGonagall surname. Golden plaques on white marble bore the names of those who did the pureblood line proud. Outside the mausoleum were lesser names of the family line- second cousins and forgotten aunts rested here.
Emory and Stanton McGonagall, along with every son who had died in war, had special headstones given by the Ministry of Magic to honor their sacrifice. There were many similar headstones on a hill near Hogwarts now to remember those who gave their lives fighting Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
Minerva and Tom Riddle had chosen to bury their little girl next to her uncles. This is where Augusta Longbottom chose to lay Minerva to rest as well, instead of next to her mother and father in the mausoleum. This caused a bit of discussion among the community as Minerva McGonagall as the last pureblood to carry her family name. But Augusta stayed firm to her decision, that Minerva belonged next to her daughter. Her headstone bore the honor of a war hero, just like her brothers.
What most people did not know was that there was another grave on the other side of Selene Riddle's final resting place. Carved into the stone were the simple words: A father and husband- Tom Riddle. Harry made this choice himself. After watching all the memories McGonagall had entrusted to him, he felt that Minerva would have wanted the man she fell in love with all those years ago to be near her in her afterlife. Lord Voldemort would not have deserved that honor, but Harry felt that perhaps Tom Riddle did.
Harry and Ginny stood in front of these three graves today. It had been six months since the Battle of Hogwarts. They had, of course, been here at the small, private funeral when Minerva McGonagall was finally returned to the earth. A very public and crowded memorial service for her had been held at Hogwarts later. Harry had not been able to return since then.
But now that he was here, he was at a loss for words. Ginny was sitting on the ground in front of her beloved professor's grave. She was speaking to the stone in front of her as if it were the woman herself. At the moment, she was giving a report about how the repairs at Hogwarts were coming. Harry envied his girlfriend's ability to talk with such ease.
Harry knew the letter in his bands by heart now; he knew every word, every stroke of the quill. What he didn't know is why she wrote it- why had she not just told him all of this before? He wondered if she knew that her words had led him into the Forbidden Forest that night, ready to die. She couldn't have known about the piece of Lord Voldemort's soul that rested inside of him. Harry was under the impression that Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape were the only ones to know.
He could imagine that she would have been horrified to know he could have died at her advice. What he wished he could have told her is that her words brought him peace. If he had died, if that had been the end, as it was for her, he would have died knowing he made the right decision. He trusted his friends to have finished the job. All that would have stood between Lord Voldemort and mortality would have been the life of a snake and the courage to face and kill the man.
"Harry?" Ginny looked at him with pity in her eyes. He imagined he did look rather pitiful. Here was the Boy Who Lived (again), the Chosen One, the Hero of Hogwarts, clutching a piece of parchment at the foot of the true hero's grave. Ginny pressed a kiss to his cheek and said, "I'm going to walk around a bit. Come and find me when you're done."
"But I don't know-"
"If you don't feel her here, that's fine. But I tried taking you to her classroom, her office, and to what's left of the Quidditch pitch. You need to make peace with her."
Harry scrunched up his nose up his nose at the memories. Professor McGonagall's office had become a shrine in her memory; students flocked there like homing pigeons. The Quidditch pitch just depressed him- half the pitch had been destroyed in the battle. Not to mention every time he stepped foot into Hogwarts he was hounded with people and questions and he could never find a moment of peace. Even after Ginny threatened to transfigure everyone who disturbed him into a pin cushion, he still couldn't find peace within Hogwarts.
Sighing, he lowered himself to the ground at the foot of McGonagall's grave. It then occurred to him that he had never gotten the chance to thank her for what she had done to bring an end to the war. In fact, Harry wasn't sure he had thanked her for everything she had done for him. It was her creativity and determination that had gotten his Hogwart's letter to him when he was eleven years old. She had never mentioned it, but he knew, as Deputy Headmistress, it as part of her duties.
He could remember the first time he saw her (or at least, the first time her remembered meeting her). It was the first time he stepped foot in Hogwarts seven years ago. Thin, tall, and intimidating, Harry immediately thought she was someone not to be crossed. He smiled at that thought now. But that wasn't the first time she had met him. She had been there on the night his parents had died. He had just found this out. She had watched Dumbledore leave him on his aunt and uncle's doorstep. He didn't know why this mattered so much to him, but the fact that she had been there on that awful night comforted him.
This train of thought brought him back to the letter- Minerva McGonagall's final words to him. Harry unfolded the letter and smoothed out the parchment. He was not sure what compelled him to begin speaking, but he read out the letter to her headstone with no hesitation.
Harry Potter,
You were hardly three months old when your mother brought you to see Hogwarts. A time you will never remember, but one that I have been recalling over and over again as you have grown up. As I looked down at you, all I could think was all the trouble you were going to cause when you came to Hogwarts. Because even at three months old, you were your father's son. At the time, I never would have thought the next time I would see you would be that dreadful October night in 1981. I do not know if Albus or Hagrid ever told you that I was there that night, to see you safely to your Aunt and Uncle's home. You were sleeping so innocently with not a care in the world. I begged Albus not to leave you there, but as always he was right. You needed your Aunt's protection, which was something no one else could give you.
You see, Mr. Potter, family is everything. Albus failed to see that family does not always follow a blood line. Yes, your mother's sister protected you, but it shall be the family you are not related to that will protect you now. Trust in them. Secrets are not healthy, no matter how many Albus saw fit to keep. Oh, it made him a leader and a powerful man, but it alienated him from those who swore to protect and follow him. If you are truly your father's son, you will not make this mistake. Yes, it was his trusting nature that ultimately led to his death, but he was happy with his life because he knew he had friends that would do anything for him and his family. Trust and love, Mr. Potter, are what make a life worth living. For if you do not love to your fullest potential, then all you will have in the end are regrets.
If you have not already figured it out (or Ms. Granger has not already pointed it out to you), I am protected by my family just as you were. Tom's memory that I gave you should have made that clear. There are many types of magic: most people see magic as good or dark. I do not believe in Dark Magic. Magic has no master. It has no inclination for one side of a war or another. People saw the creation of Horcruxes as dark magic, because in order to create a Horcrux, you have to commit murder. It doesn't just create a piece of your soul, it rips your soul apart. The magic itself, however, is self-preserving. It is merely the transfer of life: one life taken for one life saved. Unbeknownst to most though is its sister spell. A Horcrux is used to save your own life. The spell Tom used on me can save someone else's life- to bind two souls together instead of ripping them apart.
My life is bound to his. But I have lived my life and I would gladly lay it down if it meant the end of Lord Voldemort. Most people don't want to die, but in a war one comes to the conclusion that the chances of their survival are very slim. People say that a man fighting for his life fights the hardest. I don't agree with this. I believe that the people who have accepted they are going to die give the best fight, because they are willing to die for the people around them. I have accepted my death, Mr. Potter, and I hope you do the same. You will kill Lord Voldemort. Of this I have no doubt. And I shall die, just as I should have all those years ago with Selene.
I am at peace with the end of my life, but I know that you will feel guilt for being responsible for my death. Which is why I am writing to you now. I want to reassure you that you should not be burdened with my death. I have lived a long life and am content with how it will end, at your hands. It makes me proud that my death will mean that you have fulfilled your destiny by bringing an end to Lord Voldemort's reign. I know what it is to live with the guilt of being responsible the death of someone dear to me. Tom became a horrible monster…and it he murdered too many of my friends, colleagues, and students to count. But you can end that- you will end that.
You have all my faith, Mr. Potter. And I wish the best of you for the rest of your life. I ask that you live, Harry. I want you to live as the hero you are.
-Minerva McGonagall
Harry looked around for his girlfriend when he finished, but she was already several yards way, exploring the other gravestones. He felt a lump in his throat at the sudden thought that he could be standing at Ginny Weasley's grave if it hadn't been for Minerva McGonagall. Hermione may not be alive as well. In fact, when McGonagall decided to go back to her husband, she saved hundreds of lives.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Hero of Hogwarts, cried for his beloved professor. He cried for the true hero of the wizarding world. And he cried for the life he had not begun to look forward to until now. This is how Ginny found him. She joined him on the ground and wrapped her arm around him. Together, they cried for Minerva McGonagall.