Work Text:
She used to love this office. Fortunate, considering the number of hours she had amassed in there over the years, the trips varying from an instant spent darting in for a needed list or letter to chess games to interminable arguments over budgets and punishments. Once, during the Chamber of Secrets fiasco, she had fallen asleep in one of the chairs, later mortified and furious with him for not waking her.
That had been before, when she was a welcome visitor, not the rightful occupant. Before, when the mere sight of this office didn’t cause bile to rise in her throat and pain and anger, fear and confusion to hit her like a punch in the gut, --like his corpse had hit the ground-- forcing the breath from her body.
If left to her own devices, she would work where she always had and not set foot in this office, but with the Board of Governors pondering the future of Hogwarts, she knew it was important to appear every inch the Headmistress. So she found herself here, in his office and sitting stiffly at his desk, every particle of her being concentrated on doing her work and not thinking about anything else.
Until a voice broke the silence, infinitely kind and so gentle that she feared it would eat through the sheer will holding her together like acid through skin. “Minerva.”
Her quill paused for the tiniest of moments. “I need to keep my train of thought. I will speak to you later.”
The other portraits shifted and murmured amongst themselves, but he was not deterred. “Minerva.”
She signed her name with more force than necessary, and kept her eyes on the desk. “Dumbledore, I told you that I. Am. Busy.” Dumbledore, she was speaking to Dumbledore, just another former Headmaster; this was not Albus, the man she had sworn to stand beside and had failed so utterly.
--his body broken and bleeding, white hair stained in a grotesque mockery of his former auburn, no life in his eyes or his soul and there was so much pain waiting for her that only necessity kept at bay--
He did not even let her finish. “Minerva.”
In the silence that followed, the portraits heard a teardrop splash on parchment. “As I am sure you are aware, I have much work to do, so I would appreciate if you could permit me to work in peace.”
Every painted eye glared at the newest portrait, but he was so focused on the current Headmistress he did not notice. “Minerva, please talk to me--"
“If anyone comes by, tell them I will return shortly.” Her voice was ever so slightly choked, and the papers she hastily gathered were trembling, but her expression was as confidently severe as ever as she hurried from the office, back straight.
The moment the door closed behind her, Phineas snorted. “I always said you would be the end of this school, Dumbledore, but to do so as a portrait shows more talent than I would have credited you with.”
Finally deigning to look at his fellow portraits, Albus’s face was serene, though the furrow in his brow betrayed his upset. “She is doing a wonderful job keeping the school afloat; I am merely worried about her own wellbeing.”
“You have a strange way of showing it.” Phineas gave him a contemptuous look. “Are all Gryffindors incapable of leaving well enough alone?”
Albus’s voice was no longer patient. “If no one says anything to her she will work herself into the ground.”
“She will not.” Both men were temporarily shocked into silence by this new voice entering the fray. Dilys rarely involved herself in Phineas’s squabbles with various Headmasters. “Do you think she would do anything to harm the school?” She glared at Albus. “She needs that work. She doesn’t have time to mourn you and she knows it. It’s a fortunate excuse, yes, but she knows that, too. If you have something to say regarding the running of Hogwarts, do so, but stop trying to comfort her. She can’t accept it, not from you, not right now. She cannot even look at your portrait.” Sometimes Dilys thought she would lose her mind, spending an eternity cooped up with so many clueless males. “Let her do her job, and you do yours.”
Before Albus could respond, the door opened and Minerva walked back in, her eyes suspiciously red but her features controlled and confident. She did not even glance at the portraits as she took her seat, and the remainder of the afternoon was spent in silence.