by Loren
Professor Minerva McGonagall stopped at the statue of the gargoyle within Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She adjusted her skirt, took a deep sigh, and said clearly, "Pepper Imps."
The gargoyle's wings opened up to reveal a grand, stone, spiral staircase. She walked briskly upwards and opened the door at the top.
The room before her was a magnificent one; filled with glittering gadgets, ancient artifacts and a vast array of dusty books. The room itself had an air about it as if someone very important had lived there; this room had housed every Headmaster and Headmistress that Hogwarts had ever seen, including Professor Albus Dumbledore.
Professor McGonagall ambled over to the desk. Where there was once a plaque with Dumbledore's name stood one with HEADMISTRESS M. MCGONAGALL scrawled across it elegantly.
She sat down and sighed again- she had made a habit of sighing lately. Dumbledore's death had placed the weight of the world on her shoulders. She had always fancied herself a strong woman- one had to be, being second in command of the largest Wizarding school in Europe- but that was with Dumbledore in charge. He was the one that everyone looked to in a time of crisis; the irony was that now he was gone, the Wizarding World was in the midst of the worst crisis imaginable.
Professor McGonagall looked out the window. It was one of the clearest days that she had ever remembered seeing at Hogwarts. The sky was shockingly blue, with wisps of powder white clouds drifting by lazily. The vibrant green hills rolled across the grounds towards the sparkling lake. From a distance, she heard the familiar whistling of a steam engine, which could only mean one thing: It was the first of September.
She rose from her seat. Soon, the hordes of students, old and new alike, would be making their way up to the castle. She walked over to a glittering gold mirror in the corner of the room in order to check her reflection. As she pinned back a stray hair, she froze. From the corner of her eye, she thought she had seen... No, no... She must have been imagining things. The frame next to her was empty. Reassured, she turned on her heel and began to walk out.
"But, Minerva, where are you going in such a hurry?" a voice said.
Professor McGonagall stopped dead in her tracks and whipped around. She knew that voice, but she hadn’t heard it for many months. It was the voice of Albus Dumbledore.
She briskly walked over to the corner of the room and saw, very clearly, what she thought she had seen only a moment ago. A portrait of Albus Dumbledore, complete with a long, white beard, half- moon spectacles and twinkling blue eyes, was smiling back at her from under a handsome bronze frame.
"Albus!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed, in a tone of shock, excitement, apprehension, and sadness all in one.
Dumbledore kept smiling. "Yes, it is I, Minerva... Or rather... my portrait."
Professor McGonagall nearly toppled over, grabbing the end of a table for support. "Dear Merlin..." she whispered. "But... but Albus, why haven't you.... spoken before?"
"Our paintings do not immediately come alive after our deaths," Dumbledore explained. "I remember when Headmaster Dippet passed on, he didn’t return to us for over a year.”
“It’s nice to be on holiday,” a portrait across the room interrupted bitterly. “It’s a bit too busy in here sometimes. I used to enjoy a good nap; it’s impossible now that there’s people swarming in like bees every minute...”
“That’s enough, Armando,” Dumbledore said commandingly. “Anyway, Minerva, I found today to be a particularly important day to strike up a conversation with you.”
“The start of term,” Professor McGonagall mumbled, almost to herself.
“Naturally,” Dumbledore replied simply. "Things have changed at this school since I left. It won’t be easy. However, I want you to know that you have my entire confidence.”
Professor McGonagall examined the lines in Dumbledore’s ancient face... they seemed to be alive, moving as though etched into human flesh... but they were merely the strokes of a paintbrush.
“Albus,” she began shakily. “I don’t know if I can do it. You were always the one that was good at these things, good at keeping control and normalcy....”
Dumbledore laughed. “I was the one who was good at those things? Please, Minerva, let me refresh your memory. I was the one who hired a teacher who was housing Lord Voldemort underneath his turban. I was the one who allowed the memory of Tom Riddle to re-open the Chamber of Secrets. I was the one who allowed the Triwizard Tournament to be tampered with, causing the death of a student. I was the one who allowed Voldemort to control Harry Potter through legilimency. I was the one who allowed Death Eaters inside this school.” Dumbledore’s face looked sad and regretful.
“But Albus, those things were out of your control,” Professor McGonagall pleaded. “No one could have foreseen...”
“No,” Dumbledore interrupted. “But that does not erase them from history. It is up to you too keep this school in order, and other things will be taken care of in other ways.”
Professor McGonagall clutched her heart. “You don’t mean... Harry Potter?”
Dumbledore nodded. “The very one. I have known for seventeen years that this time would come, Minerva. It’s Harry’s duty to save the world... As for you, you must save this school.”
Suddenly, there was a tap at the door. Dumbledore winked at Professor McGonagall as she walked over to open it.
“Minerva, the students are arriving,” said the squeaky voice of Professor Flitwick.
“All right, Filius,” she replied. “I’ll meet you down there.”
As she shut the door, she turned around to face Dumbledore’s portrait one more time.
“Albus, I-” she began, but only the top of an ancient white head could be seen. The portrait was suddenly fast asleep, snoring loudly.