Harry was eyeing the treacle tart, wondering if he could possibly finish just one more serving, when he noticed Professor McGonagall had stood and was moving purposefully towards the front of the Hall. They were coming to the close of the start-of-term feast and Harry decided that he couldn’t quite manage another bite. He nudged Ron, on his left, who had consumed even more than he, and was looking like he was starting to doze off. With a tiny jolt, Ron sat up straighter to watch the headmistress’ progress to the podium. She raised her right hand and immediately the clamour in the room ceased. She cleared her throat and began.
“I would like to take this opportunity to introduce myself to those of you who are new to Hogwarts. I am Professor Minerva McGonagall and I am headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry“”
Ron, his arms raised in triumph, let out a loud cheer at this.
“Thank you, Mr. Weasley. Although if I may be allowed to continue ...” Sheepishly, Ron lowered his arms, the tips of his ears more pink than usual. “On behalf of the rest of the teaching staff and myself, I would like to extend a very warm welcome to all returning students, and a special greeting to our first-years ...” She paused as the new students were applauded by their respective houses, the ghosts bobbing happily above their tables. Harry noticed that despite a more sparsely-filled table than in previous years, the Slytherins managed to make themselves heard along with the rest.
“I have a number of announcements,” she went on briskly. “First of all, I would like to thank all of you for your patience regarding the delayed start of term this year, and in your understanding with regards to the additional ten minutes which have been added to each of the lessons in order to ensure adequate teaching time despite the postponed commencement.” She glared round at the students who had dared groan at this pronouncement and they were abruptly silent.
“I also need to apologise to the students who so look forward to this activity, but there will be no Quidditch played this year.” She again stared down the boos and moans. ““ as I am very pleased and proud to announce that Hogwarts has been chosen as the host school for the first ever ‘Cedric Diggory Memorial Inter-School Tournament’!” The students burst into loud applause and jubilant cheering at this news which McGonagall allowed for some minutes before raising her hand for quiet once again. “I will be providing, over the next few days, information regarding the rules and guidelines for this event.
“Now, my next announcement has to do with another very special circumstance this year.” She surveyed the tables briefly, her eyes resting on those students who had been present during September, and, somewhat to Harry’s surprise, she beamed at them. He suddenly wondered what was coming. “I would like to acknowledge those whom the teaching staff and I have affectionately come to refer to as our ‘eighth years’. Would those students who have been assisting the professors this past month please stand.”
An immediate chorus of protests rang out.
“Oh come on, Professor ...”
“No, please, we needn’t, honestly.”
“It was nothing...”
Professor McGonagall glared at them. “Stand.”
And they stood. For although the headmistress had spoken quietly, her tone had left no doubt that she expected to be obeyed. “The young men and women who stand before you now,” she went on, “have provided over the last month invaluable assistance in returning Hogwarts to its previous glory. In addition, I also wish to express our tremendous gratitude for the courage, dedication and, above all, unwavering loyalty these very young people have exhibited over the years, towards the memory of their former headmaster Albus Dumbledore, and ultimately to this school.
“Please, join me now in acknowledging their outstanding contributions ...” She enthusiastically began the applause and the Great Hall echoed with the roar of approval that met her comments. It took many long minutes for the din to die down and Harry wondered if the others all felt as he did: pleased at the reaction, though much rather wishing they could sink down, unnoticed, into the floorboards. Harry also vaguely considered if he was blushing as furiously as Ron, who had turned an amazing shade of raspberry. Hermione was beaming but trying desperately to hide her flushed face with her fingers. Ginny, in true Fred and George fashion, was bowing and waving to the wildly clapping, cheering students.
When the bedlam had finally subsided, Professor McGonagall turned again to address her pupils. “Some of you, especially those in the fifth to seventh years, will come across these individuals in your lessons. They will not only be assisting the professors in ensuring proper skill development under our significant time restraints, but will themselves be endeavouring to attain NEWT level in a number of subjects. I trust that you will all welcome them with open arms.”
Professor McGonagall motioned for the ‘eighth years’ to sit back down and drew a deep breath. “And now, my final announcement before I send you off to your beds: lessons tomorrow will begin only after the midday meal.” She quelled, with a single sharp look, the few weak cheers at this. “The classes will be postponed in order for the entire school to take part in a memorial service to honour those Hogwarts’ individuals whom we have lain to rest in the past year. The service will commence precisely at ten o’clock.” She surveyed them all sharply. “I expect everyone to be prompt.” She paused before adding, “That is all. Good night.” She swept from the podium and throughout the Hall there was the familiar outburst of chattering and scraping of benches as the students got to their feet and made their way to the dormitories and to bed.
Shortly before ten o’clock the next morning, Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all trooped to the portrait hole, the last to leave the Gryffindor common room. They headed silently along the corridors and down the countless staircases on their way to the Great Hall for the memorial service.
Harry reflected as they walked that none of them had spoken much at all since breakfast and he was positive, though no one had voiced the thought, that the others were as reluctant as he to attend the service, to subject themselves once again to the ravages of grief that were much too recent an experience for them all.
As averse to attending as they were, the quartet somehow managed to arrive at the entrance doors to the Hall with a minute or two to spare. Standing in the doorway, they noticed immediately that the vast room was adorned as it had been at the end of Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s fourth year, after Cedric had been killed: large, black banners hung limply above the area where the head table usually stood, lending a sombre air to the proceedings. Harry thought bitterly that things were quite sombre enough already. His next thought was that arriving just in time was probably not the brightest idea in the world; most of the student body was already present and seated in the rows of chairs that replaced the usual house tables. Harry wondered briefly whether they would be able to find places together. He needn’t have worried. As soon as the four of them had begun walking up the centre aisle searching for empty spots, they saw Neville and Luna seated near the front of the right-hand section beckoning them over, half a row of empty chairs beside them. The friends smiled their thanks before each claiming a seat.
It was only a few moments after they had sat down that Professor McGonagall made her way to the podium for the second time in as many days to address the students. When she raised her hands for silence, the difference in noise level was nowhere near as drastic as it had been the previous night. There had been very little talking amongst the students this morning; most had been already sitting quietly awaiting the beginning of the service.
“Thank you all for your punctuality,” she began and then paused to glare at a single student, small enough to be in first- or second-year, who was creeping slowly along the far aisle, desperately trying to find an empty chair before he was noticed. The headmistress waited until he had sheepishly taken a seat before she continued. “I have the rather dubious task this morning of beginning this service which honours those people loyal to Hogwarts who lost their lives in the most recent battle against Voldemort and his followers.” She paused to clear her throat and Harry could see her eyes were beginning to shine in the candlelight from the enchanted ceiling. He felt a stab of sympathy towards the headmistress; this couldn’t be any easier on her than it was on the rest of them.
“Firstly, we will “” McGonagall stopped abruptly. Her eyes were fixed on the doors into the Great Hall. “Ah, yes ... Mr. Weasley. Please, come and join your family.” She beckoned to where Ron and the others were sitting.
Those in Harry’s row, along with the rest of the school, immediately swivelled in their seats to see the person she was addressing. They turned just in time to see George push himself away from the wall and amble down the aisle to the empty chair on Harry’s left. He glanced at Harry, reaching out to shake his hand. “How did you “” Harry whispered as Ginny reached across him to clasp briefly her brother’s hand in her own.
“Professor McGonagall,” George replied in an undertone as she had started speaking again. “Sent me an owl. Thought I’d want to be here.” He acknowledged his brother’s and Hermione’s quiet greetings with a wave.
“ ... these dedicated individuals that this school, in fact the entire wizarding community, owes a tremendous debt,” McGonagall was saying. She paused again and looked at the first row where the other teachers were sitting. “Could I ask the heads of house to join me, please?”
Silently, Professors Flitwick, Oblongata, Slughorn, and Sprout rose to stand at her side, facing the assembled. They each held a rolled parchment. McGonagall plucked an identical roll from the podium and they opened them at the same time. “We will begin,” McGonagall continued, “by reading the list of those who sacrificed their all for the greater good.”
The headmistress glanced at Oblongata who cleared her throat before announcing in her ringing voice, “Colin Creevey, sixth-year student ...”
As soon as she’d said his name, a huge picture of Colin appeared above the heads of the professors standing at the front of the Hall, as if it had been projected on some gigantic cinema screen. Colin’s image smiled and waved before ducking behind the camera he held in his hands.
A muffled sob burst forth somewhere in the Hall, presumably from Dennis, but Harry barely noticed. He was back in the battle, hidden by his Cloak, on his way to Voldemort, and he could see again the figure Neville and Oliver were bringing into the castle. Even in memory, Colin looked tiny.
Harry dragged himself back to the present. Oblongata was still reading from the scroll of Gryffindor students, each name accompanied by a cheerful, smiling picture which somehow made the whole thing that much more depressing.
As the new professor neared the end of her House’s alphabetical list, Harry could sense the tension building along his row; they all dreaded what was coming. She was soon at the final name which she read in that same clear voice: “Fred Weasley, former Gryffindor student.”
Tears stung Harry’s eyes, blurring Fred’s laughing image. He thought he could detect Hermione softly weeping next to Ginny, but blood was rushing in his head, making it difficult to hear. He could see Sprout starting to read her list of Hufflepuff students but he couldn’t make out any of the names she spoke. All he heard was the sounds of battle around him, the curses and the screaming filling his ears and that one, terrible cry that still wrenched apart his insides.
As if sensing his thoughts, Ginny reached for his hand, squeezing tightly. He squeezed back but didn’t turn his head, sure he would lose control if he were to look into her eyes.
Sprout had finished her list of Hufflepuff individuals and Flitwick was nearing the end of his before Harry was able to focus again on the proceedings. When it was Slughorn’s turn, Harry wondered what names would be included for Slytherin. Surely, the headmistress would not have included the supporters and children of Death Eaters?
There was only one name for the Potions professor to announce. “Professor Severus Snape, former master, head of Slytherin house, former headmaster, and member of the Order Phoenix.”
The picture of Snape which accompanied these words was surprising. In it, Snape looked younger, friendlier, his eyes softer than Harry had ever seen them when the man was alive. Harry wondered where McGonagall had managed to find it, and had a sneaking suspicion that the former professor had been gazing at Lily when it had been taken. The thought made him smile to himself. The impulse didn’t last long, though, for the headmistress had soon raised her own piece of parchment to read.
“Dobby,” she proclaimed, “Hogwarts employee and free elf.”
Dobby’s face was barely visible beneath his mountain of hats atop his head; at the image, Harry tried to laugh but the sound that he produced was half-smirk, half-sob.
Again, Harry missed a few names. Unbidden, he remembered the tiny hero shrieking, “You must not harm Harry Potter!” Then, suddenly, Harry was back at Shell Cottage, could hear the roar of the sea against the cliffs and feel the breeze on his bare skin, the soreness in his muscles, the ache in his chest as he dug the grave for his tiny friend.
“Remus Lupin,” McGonagall continued, “former master and member of the Order of the Phoenix. Nymphadora Tonks, auror and member of the Order of the Phoenix.” Though the backs of his eyes were burning, Harry smiled at the usual shocking pink hair Tonks sported in her photo. Grief squeezed his chest, though, as he forced his mind away from the thought of the infant the two of them had left behind.
Once McGonagall had finished her list, she rolled it back up, placed it on the podium, and nodded to the heads of house, who returned to the front row of seats, but remained standing.
“I would now ask,” the headmistress said, “that you rise for a few minutes of silence to honour the memory of these courageous individuals.”
The assembled rose almost as one, the usual scraping of chairs and shuffling at a minimum. Once they were in position, Professor McGonagall folded her hands in front of herself. With a quiet, “We shall begin,” she bowed her head. Most of the staff and students followed suit, Harry included. He was vaguely aware as he lowered his head that George was staring stoically ahead.
The rest of Harry’s row, though, was having some difficulty keeping their emotions in check. Luna had begun to cry quietly and Dean, in the row behind, reached forward at the sight of her distress to clasp her shoulder in his hand. Neville, his hands clenched into fists, stared at the floor, his jaw tight, his nostrils flared in an effort not to break down.
Concentrating on his shoes, willing himself not to give in to the feelings storming through him, Harry couldn’t believe how long a few minutes could be. Hearing a choking sound, he turned to George. Although he was still staring ahead, the tears were now streaming down the other man’s face. Embarrassed at this open display of emotion, Harry quickly averted his eyes but Ginny tugged at his sleeve on his other side. She motioned towards her brother, indicating that she expected Harry to comfort him. At a loss, Harry shrugged helplessly at her. She glared at him, her gestures more urgent. Awkwardly, Harry tentatively reached out his hand to pat George’s shoulder, Ginny nodding, but still motioning impatiently next to him. Without warning, George turned to Harry, grabbing him in a fierce hug. Caught off guard, Harry hesitated only a second or two before returning it.
A few moments later, when they were seated again, McGonagall addressed them all once more.
“This concludes the more formal portion of our ceremony,” she announced. “Loved ones of the fallen will proceed with these photographs of their friends or family members ...” She flicked her wand and framed portraits of the images that had been displayed as the names had been read appeared and floated in front of her in a large group as if awaiting orders. Another motion with her wrist, and the pictures soared through the air to land in specific hands. Two photographs made their way to Harry’s row: Fred’s landed on George’s lap, and Harry soon clutched Dobby’s in his hands.
“The family members will proceed,” the headmistress continued, “to the Entrance Hall where the portraits will be placed on a designated Memorial Wall for all to observe as they enter the school. All students are of course invited to join us. However, those wishing to leave may do so once the relatives have completed their procession. Our midday meal will commence at the usual time. Thank you for your attendance and participation. She raised her hands in a lifting motion and the assembled rose to their feet.
The friends and family of those that had passed on remained at the wall as the other students slowly began drifting away. Harry stayed with Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and George before Fred’s picture. George, his gaze fixed on the image of his twin, suddenly remarked, quietly, “Should I tell her? McGonagall, I mean.”
They all looked at him.
“Tell her what?” Ron asked.
He nodded his head towards Fred’s portrait. “That’s a picture of me.”
The others were stunned.
“What?”
“You’re joking!”
“Is it really?” Hermione said, appalled.
George turned to her, trying to grin. “No,” he admitted, shaking his head. ‘Not really.” Silent tears once again leaked out over his bottom lids. His voice thick with emotion, he winked at the image of his brother. “That one was yours, mate.” He nodded to the others. “Cheers,” he said softly, before turning and walking away.
Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry stayed where they were for a while longer, watching the movements of the inhabitants of the portraits. Harry frowned when he took a look at some of the others beside Fred; something wasn’t right, and it began to bother him. Scanning the Entrance Hall he found the person he sought, and strode quickly after her.
“Professor!” he called. “Professor McGonagall!”
She turned. “Yes, Mr. Potter?” she said, briskly.
Harry gestured towards the Memorial Wall. “The photos ... one of them is in the wrong place.”
“Wrong place?” she repeated.
“Sna“ Professor Snape,” Harry said. “He shouldn’t be there.”
McGonagall frowned at him. “I thought you, of all people, Potter, would understand why we chose to include him in “”
“No,” Harry said, cutting her off. “You don’t understand. I don’t mean we shouldn’t acknowledge him.” He exhaled forcibly, wondering how on earth to explain how he felt. “Professor Snape was ... erm ... he could be petty ... and vindictive ... and hostile. Oh, hell, he was a right prat most of the time ...” Harry could have sworn that the headmistress’ lips twitched at his comment but she didn’t speak. “But the fact is,” Harry went on, “he was loyal until his death: loyal to Dumbledore, to this school, and,” he added a little louder as McGonagall looked as if she might interrupt, “to the memory of a member of your own house.” Harry’s eyes burned at the thought of his mother, but he didn’t lose momentum. He knew he needed to do this. “I know Snape left, technically abandoning his post and all, but under the circumstances, there’s only one fitting place for his portrait “ and that’s in your office. On Dumbledore’s right hand.”
McGonagall didn’t respond immediately, but simply stared at Harry for a few, very long moments. Her eyes were sympathetic when she finally did speak. “You obviously feel strongly about this, Harry.”
“I do,” he agreed firmly, her renewed use of his first name not lost on him. “Minerva,” he added.
“I will bring your request before the rest of the faculty,” McGonagall said. “I cannot guarantee the outcome, but I will be sure to mention your conviction regarding the matter. The staff and I will certainly take that into consideration when reaching a decision.”
With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Harry standing in the Entrance Hall, watching her go.
As Happily Ever After As They're Gonna Get by cjbaggins
Chapter Endnotes: Astute fans will notice that I have written about Snape's portrait differently in this story than in my other Post-Hogwarts one called "Aftermath". After completing that other fic, I read an interview with Ms Rowling in which she commented that she had purposefully left Snape's portrait out of the headmaster (headmistress') office at the end of DH, but that she was sure Harry would be instrumental in seeing that it got placed there eventually. This is therefore my version of how it could end up there.
cj