Goodbye, Mr Potter

This is a homage of McGonagall who, I think, is one of the most underrated characters of the Harry Potter franchise.

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1. Goodbye, Mr Potter

She was faced away from him, in a high-backed chair, when he came in and sat down in the chair beside her. Turning to him, she smiled as she often did when in his presence. "Hello, Mr Potter. I trust your journey was calm – for you anyway." Harry nodded in reply, noting the ease of which it was to get there, to McGonagall's house. "I like it because it is quiet here." said the frail woman.

"It really is," he said, making his way to the window to look outside: white cliffs stood out across the mostly blue hue of the sea; a pleasant affair to look at, Harry thought as he pulled back from the window and sat back with the woman again.

In her hand, she held her wand frailly and limply, waving it in the direction of the fire. A bright blue flame flourished from the end, turning, quickly, into a calmer yellow, which set itself across the logs like a welcome guest. "How's the family? Hermione? Ron?" She often asked about the latter two when he came to visit, because even though she didn't care for the other two as much as she cared for Harry, she still cared for them very deeply. Harry told them how they'd been: Harry had recently been with the couple to couple's therapy, waiting outside with Ginny in hopes that they could work things out; but it wasn't to be. "I'm not surprised," she said when he had finished his story. Harry glanced at her. "What?" She replied; "I dunno I just didn't see it all working out for them, I mean I hoped it would of course – I don't know." The woman appeared flustered then, brandishing her wand at the flames again to stoke them. Then she replaced the artefact onto the other chair arm again.

"So," Harry began; "why did you call me here today, Professor-

"Minerva please," she barked back at him. "I haven't been your Professor in many years, Potter. And the reason I called you is that this may be the last I see of you," she said, her brows turning to a frown. "I am to begin my swan song, Potter; my ode to death." Potter's face sank: McGonagall had been the only consistent thing, other than his family of course, that he had; and to lose her – because he had hoped that she'd live forever – broke him more than he dared admit.

"Oh," he said. The frail form nodded and then smiled.

"Tea?" She asked, standing up almost immediately after asking, to take no care of whether he actually wanted a cup or not.

"Yes, thank you." He replied with an air of solemnity in his voice, which McGonagall caught, and she turned to him, smiling, and said.

"Don't think of this as a sad time, Potter. I know it's always meant to be a time of mourning, a time of tears if you will; but there is no need to get teary-eyed over me, my boy. As they say, when one door closes another one opens. I like that, Potter; it gives me hope for the future, and should maybe give you hope too.

When he turned to leave, later that day, McGonagall gave him a long, rectangular box to take with him; he went to open it, but she told him to wait until later. He nodded; and handing her back the teacup, he smiled at her one last time and then went in for a hug that lasted several minutes, but that – to Harry – should've lasted several minutes more. "Goodbye, Mr Potter," she said.

"Goodbye, Professor," he said; but McGonagall never bothered to correct him. Then he was gone.

In the darkening evening, Potter took out the box again and opened it. Inside, there was a note attached to her wand, which read:

Dear Harry,

I am glad to have seen you a final time, before I went. As a student, you were well-rounded and good-hearted, with the skills needed to solve any problem you encountered – though of course you had your friends to lighten the load that was placed upon you. Now, having seen you tackle those problems and many that I have never done – I name fathering a family as one – I am ready to say goodbye, Mr Potter; goodbye to this life and all its earthly woes. Attached, as you will have already seen, is my wand, which I will no longer need when I am gone. I suggest giving it back to Olivander to sell again would be wise.

McGonagall

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