Portrait of A Love Lost by Gmariam
Harry Potter left the Great Hall after dinner and slowly made his way back to the Gryffindor common room. As he walked, he thought about the funeral that Hogwarts would be hosting the next day. He still could not believe that the headmaster was gone, murdered by his one of his own staff. But Harry had seen it with his own eyes, and the sad song which Fawkes had sung that night confirmed what no one wanted to believe: Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard of his time, was dead.
As Harry continued wandering the quiet corridors of the castle, his thoughts turned to all of the things he would miss about the late headmaster: the twinkle in his eye, his penchant for odd words, and his fondness for sweets. Harry silently pondered how little he knew about Professor Dumbledore, and the stories he would never get to hear now that the great wizard was gone. He was so caught up in his musings that he didn’t even see Ginny come out of the third floor girls’ bathroom until he walked right into her.
“Harry!” she exclaimed, stumbling backwards and throwing her arms out to catch her balance. “Watch where you’re going!”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, and extended his hand to help steady her. “I was just thinking about . . . you know . . .” He tried to let go of her hand, but she held on tight, joining her fingers with his.
“I know,” she said softly, looking at him sadly. “I miss him too.” Harry sighed and nodded in understanding, and together they set off down the hallway.
“There are just so many things I wanted to ask him,” Harry said quietly.
“Did he ever tell you what happened to his hand?” Ginny asked, and Harry shook his head.
“No, he kept putting it off. And now he’s gone, and no one will ever know but . . .” Harry trailed off when he realized that someone did know that particular tale, though Harry had little chance of hearing it from him.
“Who?” asked Ginny, curious.
“Snape,” Harry replied bitterly. As usual, whenever his thoughts turned to the murderous traitor who had killed Dumbledore, Harry felt his anger rise and his blood begin to boil. Now more than anything, he wanted to confront the former potions master who had committed such an unspeakable act of betrayal. He needed to, whether a prophecy ruled their fate or not.
As he recalled his last confrontation with Snape, Harry was reminded of the potions book he had used all year. He bitterly remembered that it had belonged to Snape once, when Snape had created a new name as a student at Hogwarts and called himself the Half-Blood Prince. Harry had stowed the book in the Room of Requirement, after he had used the Sectumsempra curse on Malfoy and needed to hide the book from Snape. He had not gone back for the book, but it occurred to Harry that he might do well to retrieve it, were he to meet his former professor in the future. Snape had bested him easily the night he escaped from Hogwarts and revealed his true identity, and Harry knew he would need all the help he could get when he met the greasy-haired man once more.
“Come on,” he said to Ginny, pulling her hand in a new direction.
“Where are we going?” she asked as she followed him up the main staircase.
“To the Room of Requirement,” he replied, leaping over the trick stair and leading her up to the seventh floor.
Once outside the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy where the Room of Requirement was magically concealed, Harry paced the corridor three times, thinking of the vast cavernous room where he had stashed the potions book. When the door appeared, he quickly glanced up and down the hallway before entering quietly. He took out his wand to light the way, and Ginny followed closely behind him.
“Wow,” she breathed, gazing around at the mountains of treasure that had been left behind by countless numbers of Hogwarts students. A pile of sherry bottles was stacked by the door, and a Fanged Frisbee struggled feebly to get off the ground. A gleaming golden bowling ball sat untouched with a set of tenpins and a pair of purple bowling shoes, and an enchanted string quartet played dimly in a far corner.
“I know,” said Harry softly. “Imagine what you could find here.” He lead the way down one of the many aisles of clutter toward the cabinet where he had stashed the potions book.
“Harry, this place is amazing,” Ginny said, holding up a stunningly carved wooden phoenix. “But what is it, and what are we looking for?”
“When you need to hide something, this place shows up,” Harry told her. “I hid the Half-Blood Prince’s book in here, after Snape caught me with Draco in the bathroom.”
Ginny wrinkled up her nose as she put down the phoenix. “Hermione won’t like that you came back for Snape’s book, you know.”
Harry grinned, and winked at her as he continued down the aisle. “Then we just won’t tell her, okay? At least not until one of those spells saves her life.”
“I don’t know, Harry,” said Ginny, reaching for a beautiful set of light blue robes. “It is Dark Magic, after all, she might be ri - ” The rest of her sentence was cut off by a loud crash and a strangled yelp.
Harry whirled around and rushed back to where Ginny was tangled up in the blue robes. A large portrait, covered in brown paper, had fallen from a nearby cabinet. It had knocked over several items before landing hard at Ginny’s feet. As Harry helped her out of the mess of blue robes, he heard a noise from the portrait that sounded like a person calling out. The voice was achingly familiar to his ears.
Harry stared at the portrait. It had a beautiful silver frame, which was covered in a flowing design of scrollwork. The brown paper had ripped across the front. “Hello?” he asked tentatively, holding his breath as his heart started pounding loudly in his ears.
The portrait uttered something Harry couldn’t understand. After a wide-eyed nod from Ginny, they tore the paper from the portrait, hoping to meet the painting’s subject, not daring to believe it might be -
“Professor Dumbledore,” Harry breathed.
The portrait featured a tall, thin man with long auburn hair and sparkling blue eyes, and Harry immediately recognized the headmaster’s younger self. Professor Dumbledore was dressed in exceptional midnight blue robes, and was standing next to a beautiful woman Harry had never seen before. She was also tall, and pale, but her eyes were closed, as if she were sleeping. Her long dark hair was arranged in a complicated series of braids and ribbons, and she was dressed in the same light blue robes that had fallen on Ginny. Harry heard Ginny murmur under her breath, “She looks familiar.” He did not recognize the woman himself.
“Good evening, Harry, and Miss Weasley.” The portrait Dumbledore nodded to them both, a smile on his face. “It is good to see you both, and together no less.”
“It’s good to see you, sir,” said Harry, his throat tight with emotion. He felt Ginny take his hand again, and when he looked at her, he saw that her eyes were very bright.
“I imagine it would be,” sighed the portrait. “The fact that I am able to speak with you can only mean one thing. I am very sorry for your loss, Harry.”
Harry frowned: was the headmaster offering condolences for his own death? Shaking off his confusion, Harry set in on the dozens of questions he had for the headmaster. “Sir, what happened? What are you doing here? How can we talk now? Who is that woman with you? Why did Snape - ”
The portrait Dumbledore raised his hands and laughed. It was the same laugh Harry had heard so often during his time at Hogwarts, and it caused him a sharp stab of pain to hear again. “One question at a time, Harry! I imagine you must have many, but I cannot answer them all.”
“But sir - ” Harry began.
“I am dead, Harry. Please allow me a small respite from questioning. I will tell you all you need to know, when the time is right.”
Harry was somewhat angry: Dumbledore had been putting off his questions for six years, and now even the headmaster’s portrait was evading him and treating him like a child. The man in the portrait seemed to sense Harry’s feelings, and sighed again.
“All right, then - a few answers.” The headmaster gathered his thoughts while Harry and Ginny settled comfortably on the floor to listen carefully.
“What am I doing here? I am here because I put myself, or rather this portrait, in this room. It was a very long time ago, and I had almost forgotten it was here. When the subject of a portrait dies, the portrait becomes animated, which is why I am now able to converse with you.
“As for the woman with me, you see she is not quite awake yet.” Harry thought he saw the smallest frown pass across Professor Dumbledore’s face, but it was instantly replaced as the headmaster’s eyes softened and he smiled at the beautiful woman next to him.
“Nevertheless - Harry, Ginny - this is my wife, Cathryn.”
* * *
A/N: This story was written for the August Challenge - Weddings. We do not know much about Professor Dumbledore's background, but it seemed to me that it was certainly possible that sometime over the course his long life he was once married. He is, after all, a man capable of great love. This story will tell that tale.
Many thanks to Ritta, mugglemathdork, for beta-reading this story! And as always, to J.K.Rowling for Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.