A loud thunderclap echoed through the window of the Hogwarts Headmistress’s office, as a persistent drizzle fell from the billowing clouds above. The storm had begun a short time after the Hogwarts Express had left Hogsmeade station for London. Professor McGonagall was sitting in her new office, reflecting on the loss of Dumbledore. Her thoughts strayed to Harry Potter, and she wondered how he was doing on his first night back at the Dursley’s. He’d informed her of his plans for the next few weeks after Dumbledore’s funeral. He would be staying at Privet Drive for three weeks, and then attending Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour’s wedding at the burrow. The wedding had been scheduled two weeks before Harry’s birthday. As for after the wedding, Harry had left her in the dark. As she continued staring at the dark clouds rolling slowly across the sky, she heard someone speak.
“Ah, Minerva, alone at last.”
The Headmistress froze in shock. She never thought she’d hear that voice again.
“Albus!”
“Over hear, Minerva,” said the voice, with a hint of amusement.
Standing, McGonagall followed the voice past the snoozing portraits on the wall to the one over her desk. She suddenly realised that it was not Dumbledore at all, but Dumbledore’s portrait. All at once, the emotional barriers that she had built up around herself came tumbling down, and a sharp lance of anger and sorrow pierced her heart. She felt an immense desire to scream at Dumbledore’s portrait for scaring her like that, but then the logical part of her brain, the part that she had let lead her most of her life, kicked in, and she controlled herself, settling slowly back into her armchair.
“I see that I took you quite by surprise, then.” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he said this.
“Yes, I “I “I suppose you did,” answered McGonagall, trying to regain her composure.
“Hmm, it seems as though in waiting to speak with you alone and pretending to be asleep, I have in fact drifted off like my companions. No matter, I am quite awake now. Minerva, I have some terribly important and extremely confidential information to discuss with you.” Dumbledore’s voice, or rather his portrait’s, had suddenly taken a very serious tone. McGonagall was still somewhat flustered, and was having trouble keeping up with Dumbledore.
“Before I tell you anything, make sure no-one can listen in on our conversation.” As McGonagall complied, casting silencing charms to go with the already impressive wards around the office, Dumbledore continued.
“Also, I’ll need proof that it is really you. What really is my favourite sweet?”
McGonagall looked slightly taken aback, before she smiled and answered, “Those Muggle Lindt chocolate balls. The milk chocolate ones, though you also enjoy the hazelnut variety.”
“Ah, yes, quite right. Better to be safe than sorry. Minerva, best you sit down. We have much to discuss.”
McGonagall took her seat behind the desk, then swivelled her chair to face the portrait.
“Minerva, I need to tell you how, or rather, why I died.”
This was not what McGonagall was expecting, and the surprise showed clearly on her face.
“Excuse me, Albus?”
Dumbledore continued as if he hadn’t heard.
“My death was expected. I had been planning for it since about Christmas two years ago, though until recently I never would have imagined it would end up as it did. In any case, what I am about to say must not leave this room. You must not tell anyone else, Harry included.”
McGonagall held her breath, eyes wide, apprehension and disbelief playing across her features.
“Severus killed me under my own orders.”
“No!” exclaimed McGonagall after a moment's silence, rising from her chair, the full force of her friend and mentor's revelation hitting her. “No! How could you do that to us, to Harry, to the
wizarding world? What about the school? What about Voldemort?!”
“Minerva, please, I have my reasons.”
With great difficulty, she calmed herself down, and sat back on her seat. In the silence that followed, the only sound that could be heard was the buzz and rattle of the silver instruments on the desk. Even the thunder and rain seemed to have paused.
“Minerva, I was never the one to defeat Tom. That job is for Harry. By ordering Severus to kill me, I was doing everything in my power to help Harry. I am not as quick or as agile, or even as magically powerful as I used to be, though I suspect the latter is merely psychological. Severus warned me of young Mr Malfoy’s plot to kill me as soon as he heard, though he was unaware of just how he planned to do it. I told him that Narcissa would most likely ask him to protect Draco, and that should she ask him to help, he should take an Unbreakable Vow. Though Tom was reasonably happy with Severus, we both felt he needed some way to cement Tom’s trust in him. I knew Draco would not be able to kill me. I have watched him in all the time he has been at the school. Though he may be exceedingly arrogant and prejudiced, he is not a killer. Severus was to come and finish the job. Severus of course protested, understandably, but in the end he trusted me, enough to kill me.
“It is actually very lucky that you sent Filius to Severus. He had not been informed of the Death Eaters’ arrival.”
McGonagall had sat speechless as she absorbed this. Struck by a sudden thought, she said, “But Severus stunned Filius. Surely, if he’d really been on our side, he'd have let him rejoin the fight?”
“If he had really been a Death Eater, he would have killed Filius, and most likely Ms Granger and Ms Lovegood. As it happened, he instructed them to go inside his office and look after him. Ms Granger and Ms Lovegood, as I take it from the overheard conversations in this room, would have quickly realised he had been stunned. From what I have heard, Filius rejoined the fight quite quickly.”
“Yes, yes, he did, I suppose. And yes, had Flitwick seen him joining the Death Eaters, it could have caused some complications.”
“Exactly,” said Dumbledore, a smile on his face. Even as a portrait he enjoyed teaching.
“But why kill yourself?”
“My dear Minerva, I was already dying. I had a year to go, maybe two if I was lucky, but I was unable to give much more to the Order’s effort. I cannot tell you why it is better this way, but the fact that I cannot tell you should convince you that it is important enough.”
“But we miss you, Albus.”
“Talk to me here.”
“But it’s just not the same.”
“No, it’s not,” said the portrait, “but there are more important things in life to worry about. Voldemort’s fall is just one of them.”
McGonagall just sniffed, her eyes suspiciously moist. The initial shock of actually speaking with Dumbledore’s portrait was wearing off, and she was beginning to realise what this all meant.
“Now, Minerva, has Harry informed you of his plans for the summer?”
“Yes, he has. He plans to stay with his relatives until Bill and Fleur’s wedding at the Burrow. He said he’ll attend the wedding, and then start his quest to defeat You-Kno-, I mean, V-Voldemort.”
“Hmm. Minerva, may I ask you a favour?” asked Dumbledore, though he knew McGonagall wouldn’t refuse.
“Of course, Albus, anything,” replied McGonagall.
“After the wedding, the next day would probably be most appropriate, tell Harry I need to speak with him. Bring him to Order Headquarters. I have a second portrait there, which I can travel to from here, much like Phineus over there.”
There was a grunt as Phineus Nigellus recognised his name, though his eyes remained tight shut as he continued to pretend to sleep.
“Of course Albus. I’m sure he won’t refuse.” McGonagall paused for a moment, and then asked the question that had been bugging her since she first saw the portrait those few days ago. “Albus, what are you. I mean, as a portrait. It feels as though I’m talking to you, the real you, but it can’t really be. I mean, that is basically immortality, isn’t it.”
“Minerva, to put it bluntly, I am two things. A copy of a personality, and a way to store information. I know everything that the real me knew, plus what you have told me in our conversation, and anything else I have overheard since I have been a portrait. The difference between a human and me is that I have no soul. I am merely a copy of a personality, and this personality cannot change. People change as they grow older and learn more. I won't. As such, over time, my personality will reconcile less and less with what I know, though it would likely be a slow process. This is why so many portraits you see, particularly old ones, are a bit.... off.”
At this point, McGonagall was put in the mind of Sir Cadogan, the unbalanced (both physically and mentally) knight of the North Tower, amongst others.
“As a portrait,” Dumbledore continued, “I have no sense of myself. The only reason I use the words “I” and “me” is habit. I am like a computer program, albeit a very complicated one.”
Professor McGonagall just looked confused at the mention of computer programs. Dumbledore smiled, and said, “Ask Harry, or probably better, Ms Granger.”
“I’ll do that, Albus.”
Professor McGonagall spent the rest of the night talking with Dumbledore’s portrait about the school and whether it would be closed, as well as times gone past. At that moment, to Minerva McGonagall, it almost was like Dumbledore was still alive. For the first time since the attack, she felt a sliver of happiness.
Harry Potter and the Wizard's Tome by godblesmaryoloughlin
Story Notes:
Re-write from previous fic. I started writing and planning it ages ago, so all similarities to the 7th book are coincidental (aside from Regulus' middle name, I changed it to the real one while re-writing, and I might select/change other minor details along those lines, but nothing significant).
Chapter Notes: OK, the re-write! First chapter up, I'll be updating as regularly as I can for a while, because I'm already up to the 11th chapter.