Almost

Chapter 53: What Comes

The ground fell away and they landed once more in McGonagall's office. Katherine barely felt her feet beneath her. She stood there, not feeling at all like she thought she should. In movies, moments like this were fuzzy, even frozen. Like the world stopped spinning. But Katherine was taken aback by how normal the office was. The instruments on the shelves still whirred. She could hear every mundane chattering word and snore from the portraits. She could smell the tea McGonagall had brewed. She had barely ingested Dumbledore's words, let alone determined what they meant.

Ezra was staring down at her from across the pensieve. He walked over to her and put a hand gently on her shoulder, then looked up at the portrait still sitting serenely behind McGonagall's desk.

"How dare you," he said quietly, looking like he might jump across the office and break the frame in half. But Katherine raised her hand to his, drawing his attention back. She stared across the office at the portraits, so he waited for her to say something. Anything.

"There are sixteen Headmasters wearing black," she finally offered, her voice as clear and crisp as the day he met her.

"What?" Ezra asked.

"Seven wearing purple. Three in orange."

"Katherine—"

"I count ten in navy. Eight in gray."

He put his free hand on her cheek, wiping away a tear that was falling.

"Twelve have on more than three colors. Five have on more than four."

"What on earth happened?" McGonagall asked, coming towards her. But Ezra gave her a scathing look that stopped her in her tracks.

"Ask your hero over there," he said, jutting his chin towards the portrait, now sitting up straighter in his chair and looking carefully at Katherine.

"'It cannot absolve me.'"

"What?" Ezra said gently, turning at his fiancée's muttering.

"The portrait, it's just an imprint." Katherine pawed at the indent on her right ring finger, clutching it so tightly Ezra worried she might snap it clean off. "I think I need to sit."

Ezra took her arm and hurried her to a chair. He was watching her face, trying to see what she was thinking. He knew what was happening inside him—he was angry. Angry that this fate was given to her not for her safety, but for this old man's sick curiosity. He had toyed with her future out of his own interest. Had played on George's fears. Had marked Katherine's path for her from before she was born. She who loved the quiet, who had no interest in boundless power, who craved independence—he'd left her in the world with no guidance and ensured the best knowledge was destroyed.

Katherine's face betrayed none of this. She looked hollow, withdrawn, and stared at her watch.

"62 seconds," she said when she shuddered. And though she looked uncomfortable, still writhed, she looked like she didn't have the will to fight it.

She just sat in that discomfort, starting to speak a few times but unable to get the words out. Finally, she turned to Ezra as her shoulders dropped and her neck stretched up. "I can't think of a question to ask. Not a single question. That was too many answers at once."

McGonagall was just as in the dark as before. "Answers?" she said. "What did you find?"

Katherine asked Crawley to tell her. She sat and listened, hoping it might make more sense the second time. The portrait stood up at some point and walked away, as if it was too much for him to hear. He had been spared the information for a reason. The man next to him, however, with the chin length dark hair and black robes, inhaled every word.