Almost

Chapter 52: Dumbledore

McGonagall's hands were clasped as tight as the thin line of her lips, making Katherine suddenly very worried she was facing detention or expulsion despite not being a student.

"Come with me."

Three words. Three words was all it took to make Katherine far more terrified than Hermione, Quahog, and Hollinghunt combined. She didn't let go of Crawley's hand—honestly, she wasn't sure she could stand up straight without him right now, the shadowy school looming above them.

The gates opened to McGonagall without hesitation, and the three walked silently across the grounds. This castle that had, at one time, felt magnetic to Katherine now seemed ominous. Who knew what dungeon existed in there to throw her in, what medieval magical punishments were immortalized in the books of the library? It didn't help her feel any more at ease when they walked up to her office, the worry that she was cutting off the circulation to Crawley's hand a mere buzz in the back of her mind filled with fear. She forced herself to steady, keeping her shoulders back and her chin high. Ownership of her choices involved ownership of her consequences—this much of her pride she couldn't set down.

McGonagall took quick strides across the office towards her desk, but she didn't sit down as Katherine expected. Instead, she pulled out her wand and rapped on one of the portraits, waking a dozing man with long silver hair and an equally impressive beard.

"Albus, you have a visitor."

Katherine felt the back of her throat start to seize. What could he have to say to her? Could he punish her? Would they trap her in a portrait?

"Ah, Ms. Waine. I wondered when I might see you, though I cannot deny, I wished I wouldn't have to. And it seems you have not come alone."

Katherine stepped forward cautiously as he beckoned her with a hand of long, thin fingers, Ezra staying at her side. His eyes were racing around the office, trying to map out exit strategies and potential hazards.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore," he said gently, sitting up straighter in his chair. "And this, I take it, is Mr. Crawley? I've heard congratulations are in order."

Ezra nodded almost imperceptibly. Katherine stayed stoic, not even letting herself chew on her cheek.

"Is it time, Minerva?"

"I should say so," McGonagall said to him, her hands clasped on either end of her wand in front of her chest.

"I apologize, Katherine, for not meeting with you before. Consider it a man's dying optimism."

She still did not speak. Instead, she began counting the heartbeats she could feel in her hands, unsure if they were hers or Ezra's.

"I'm sure you are wondering what an old bit of paint would have to offer you in way of knowledge or understanding. I regret, the answer is often precious little. A portrait is but an impression of the individual it represents. And while I might not so humbly admit that I was a rather remarkable wizard, I was weary of the idea of leaving a bit of my soul behind—two dimensions was well enough."

15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20...

"I did leave a few scraps of information behind for you, however, that I believe you are ready to receive."

"You left information behind... for me?" Katherine croaked, breaking through her silence. "You've never met me."

"No, I did not meet you. Alas, just as you are only meeting my portrait, I only ever met your photograph. However, I knew when Mr. Ollivander, or Mr. Ollivander at the time, began considering turning to old magic to hide you... the tempering might be a possibility. While hiding you was the most important goal, all magic has a price. Especially magic with a very long memory."