Hogwarts loomed under a gray sky, its stone walls heavy with centuries of magic and memories. Today, however, the castle felt different—quieter, solemn. The news of Professor Minerva McGonagall’s passing had sent shockwaves through the Wizarding World. Students and alumni alike had gathered to mourn the loss of a teacher, a protector, and a beacon of hope in the darkest of times.
In the vast courtyard, witches and wizards stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces somber. The banners of Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff hung limp, their vibrant colors muted in grief. Yet despite the loss, there was no division. Today, the houses stood as one, bound together by love and respect for the woman who had given her life to Hogwarts.
At the heart of the courtyard, a raised platform held a portrait of Professor McGonagall, her stern face softened by a rare smile. Around her, enchanted candles floated, their golden flames flickering in the cold wind. The crowd was silent, waiting.
Hermione Granger, now Headmistress, stepped onto the platform. Her robes fluttered softly, her face streaked with tears she made no effort to hide. She raised her wand, the tip glowing faintly, and began.
“Today, we say goodbye to one of the greatest witches to have ever graced these halls,” Hermione said, her voice trembling. “Minerva McGonagall was more than a teacher, more than a Headmistress. She was the heart of this castle.”
Hermione’s gaze swept over the crowd, her voice steadying. “She taught us to be brave, to stand tall in the face of adversity. But she also taught us kindness, fairness, and the importance of unity. It is because of her that many of us are here today, stronger, wiser, and more compassionate.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, but Hermione smiled faintly. “Today, Hogwarts mourns. But today, we also remember.”
Hermione raised her wand higher, casting a silver goblet into the air. With a flick and a steady voice, she cast, “Avifors.”
The goblet shimmered, transforming into a gleaming silver bird that took flight, its wings cutting through the gray sky. The crowd watched in silence as it disappeared into the clouds.
Harry Potter stepped forward, his expression grave. His wand was already in his hand. “Professor McGonagall was our champion. In our darkest hours, she was the one who held us together. She taught us not just magic but strength and integrity.”
He raised his wand, his voice ringing clear. “Expecto Patronum.”
A silver stag erupted from his wand, its antlers gleaming as it galloped through the air. Hermione followed with her otter, Ron with his Jack Russell terrier, and Ginny with her horse. One by one, the members of Dumbledore’s Army cast their Patronuses, each creature illuminating the courtyard with silvery light.
At the back of the crowd, Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson stood, their hands tightly clasped. They had never managed to produce Patronuses before. The magic had always eluded them, tied as it was to pure, happy memories—memories they often struggled to find. But today, something shifted.
Draco’s gray eyes glistened with unshed tears as he whispered, “She didn’t have to help us. After the war… after everything… she stood by us. She gave me a second chance.”
Pansy nodded, her own tears falling freely. “She told me I could be more than my mistakes. That I could rewrite my story.”
Draco’s grip on his wand tightened. He closed his eyes and let the memory wash over him: McGonagall’s firm voice echoing in the Great Hall as she defended him during his disciplinary hearing after the war. “He’s a child who was forced to make impossible choices. If we cannot show compassion now, when will we? I stand with him.”
Beside him, Pansy thought of McGonagall pulling her aside after the Battle of Hogwarts, speaking quietly but firmly. “You are not defined by what you did in fear, Miss Parkinson. You are defined by what you do in courage.”
Draco raised his wand, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “Expecto Patronum.”
A bright, silvery form burst from his wand—a sleek, powerful dragon, its wings spreading wide as it soared into the air. Pansy gasped, tears streaming down her face, but she didn’t falter. With a trembling hand, she lifted her own wand.
“Expecto Patronum,” she whispered.
A delicate dove emerged, its feathers shimmering like moonlight as it joined Draco’s dragon in the sky. The two Patronuses danced together, circling the others in the courtyard. The crowd turned to watch, astonished, as the two Slytherins stood in quiet awe, their faces lit by the glow of their magic.
From the shadows, the ghosts of Hogwarts watched. Fred Weasley floated beside George, his grin subdued but fond. “Leave it to McGonagall to get a couple of Slytherins to finally manage it,” he said quietly.
Colin Creevey’s ghost, shimmering and bright, added, “She always saw the best in people. Even when they couldn’t see it in themselves.”
As the Patronuses filled the air, thousands of wands were raised in tribute. The courtyard glowed like a sea of stars, the lights blending into a shimmering tapestry of silver and gold. And then, something extraordinary happened.
The castle itself seemed to shudder, a ripple of ancient magic sweeping through the crowd. Slowly, the colors of every robe began to change. Scarlet, green, blue, and yellow faded into a deep, royal purple—a color of unity, wisdom, and respect. The house banners merged into one, their symbols replaced by the crest of Hogwarts.
A gasp rippled through the crowd. For a moment, there were no Gryffindors, no Slytherins, no Ravenclaws, and no Hufflepuffs. There was only Hogwarts—united.
As the lights dimmed and the purple robes returned to their original colors, the crowd remained still, the weight of the moment settling over them. Harry lowered his wand, his voice steady but heavy with emotion.
“Let’s honor her by living the lessons she taught us,” he said. “By being brave, compassionate, and united. Let’s make her proud.”
The crowd erupted into applause, a bittersweet mix of tears and cheers. For a moment, grief was replaced by hope, the sense that McGonagall’s legacy would endure in every spell, every lesson, and every act of kindness.
As the crowd began to disperse, Draco and Pansy lingered, their gazes fixed on the glowing remnants of their Patronuses. For the first time in a long while, they felt something they hadn’t dared to hope for: peace.
And above them, the castle shone faintly with purple light, a lasting reminder of the unity forged in the shadow of loss. Professor Minerva McGonagall was gone, but her spirit remained, as eternal as the walls of Hogwarts itself.