Time

Life as a portrait was hardly what one could call living. The world moves on without you, yet occasionally someone younger stops by and asks for your advice, or has a question about your life before you died and became part of the decorations. You kept memories, but the emotions connected to them always felt just out of reach, which was a stark reminder that you weren't human – not any more. You were an enchanted portrait, made of canvas, paint and just a hint of magic – just enough to preserve the very basics of who you were as a person.

At the time he was painted, Rufus remembered feeling it was all a waste of time. Why sit like a ponce for an hour when there was an incompetent Ministry to run and a Dark Lord on the loose with a strange obsession with an arrogant teenaged boy? What advice could he give to future Ministers that could remotely be useful, apart from chuck everyone with a Dark Mark on their arm into Azkaban and be done with it?

He still remembered being killed in the very room he was now condemned to look out to for the rest of his life in canvas. It hadn't been a particularly pleasant experience, but the masked thugs got bored rather quickly when he refused to speak, despite their crucio's. He was an Auror, damn it, he had been trained to never reveal anything confidential regardless of circumstance. Dying with dignity was his final act of service.

Of course, when the war was over and the Potter boy won, Rufus had to admit it was nice having young Shacks now inhabiting the office. Shacklebolt had been an excellent Auror – Rufus had mentored the kid himself when he'd been fresh out of the Academy – and given his work with the Order of the Phoenix, had the public's support to lead the Wizarding world during the recovery process.

Kingsley was a rather sociable person, Rufus discovered quite early on once Kingsley had won the office. People were always stopping by, either by appointment or on a whim, sometimes even for no reason at all other than to say 'hello'. Rufus watched it all from his position on the wall, nodding politely to those he knew and occasionally offering a smile to those he once counted as close friends. Minerva was a frequent visitor in Kingsley's early days as Minister as they worked on legislation pertaining to Hogwarts. It has nearly knocked him off his painted chair when, while Kingsley dashed to the next room to get a bottle of wine, said six words that made him realise that he was dead, and being canvas and paint wasn't what one would call living.

"I miss you, by the way," she had said, with that little smile of hers, as she looked directly at him.

He had stared back, taking in his old friend's changed appearance – thinner, greyer, but those green eyes of hers were as alive as ever. "You too, Min," he finally managed to choke out. Old Auror's like him weren't known for their emotional skill, but for the first time, he wished he had the ability to feel properly in this canvas. Everyone alive was able to have closure after the war, after losing loved ones, however he was stagnant, trapped in a snapshot of time where war was the only thing on his mind unless he actively tried to think of something else.

Over time, he'd built a rapport with Kingsley, and unlike most of the other active Ministerial portraits, he was never shunted off behind the curtain. Kingsley asked for, and respected, his opinion on new bill and policy proposals, sometimes they'd talk about their days in the Force, other times they'd go deeper and talk about their personal lives – not something Rufus ever did with colleagues, but, well, these were strange times he was now living in. Not that he had ever had much of a personal life besides bottles of firewhiskey and the occasional fling with a witch, but that didn't stop Kingsley speaking to him about the two witches he seemed to care far too much about – the war widow Andromeda Tonks nee Black, who Kingsley was clearly harbouring strong feelings for, and Hermione Granger, war hero and member of the Golden Trio, who Kingsley doted upon like an elder brother, and had taken her under his wing the second she said she'd like to work in the Ministry.

Rufus had seen the Granger girl quite a few times in Kingsley's office, always giving his portrait a warm smile whenever she entered. Even he had to admit, she had grown into a strong and stunning young woman. The first time she'd been there, she'd thanked him for protecting Potter's location in the face of torture – yet another moment Rufus had nearly fallen off his painted chair in shock. He remembered her from delivering the Dumbledore Will – Rufus admired anyone willing to stand up to him, although from the conversations he had overheard between her and Kingsley since, he would bet his golden picture frame that she would end up in magical law one day, despite her protestations during their first encounter.

He didn't really speak to her – only if Kingsley asked him to offer his thoughts on the conversations he was having with the woman – but he certainly listened to the things she said and her opinions on the wizarding world. Some, he thought, would call her views and ideals 'radical', however he knew enough about both muggle and wizard politics to see that she was just a decade or so ahead of her time. "She has a big future ahead of her," he said to Kingsley once, and the current Minister nodded his head, almost in defeat.

"She'll have my job one day," he sighed, hint of pride, worry and humour lacing his words.

"Minister Granger does have a ring to it," he agreed. Spending his days conversing with a witch like Hermione Granger? He could think of worse ways to spend his afterlife.

"Nah," Kingsley said, frowning. "Granger-Weasley. She's marrying him."

Rufus raised a painted eyebrow at the dark tone of Kingsley's voice. He assumed they were discussing the third member of the Golden Trio – Ronald. "You don't approve?"

Kingsley poured himself a glass of firewhiskey. "Not really," he admitted quietly. "Neither does Minerva. But they're young and in love, so what can you do, eh?" He downed his drink in one go, still frowning, before walking over to put on his cloak. "'Night, Rufus," he said, before flooing out of the office.

Time was rather meaningless when one was a portrait. With no way of knowing the real London weather, Rufus didn't really pay attention to dates and things like that. During Yule, there were decorations around the office, and Summer had Kingsley complaining non-stop about the heat. That was the only way Rufus kept track of the outside world.

It was during one of the obsolete times when Hermione was alone in Kingsley's office. The Minister had left a note for her, telling her to make herself at home while he had an emergency meeting, and that he wouldn't be too long. Rufus saw the glittering ring on her left ring finger and did what Kingsley and Minerva had most likely done - conceded defeat. Not that Rufus knew much about jewels, or diamonds, or engagement rings, but even he thought the rock was a bit gaudy. She needed something much more delicate and understated, he thought.

"Shacksy tells me you're going for your J. D.," Rufus said with the faintest hint of a smirk on his rougish face. He hadn't meant to startle her, but she was clearly uncomfortable being there without Kingsley – or anyone – to talk to.

She gave a small jump at his voice, but calmed down when she saw it was just his portrait. She gave a grin. "I'll only admit to it if you refrain from saying 'I told you so'," she bartered, walking over to sit on the edge of Kingsley's desk.

"My honour," Rufus replied, placing a hand over the left side of his chest.

Hermione chuckled. "I'm graduating from Oxford next Spring," she confirmed, unable to stop herself from smiling, "with a muggle J. D. and a Juris Doctor Magica."

Rufus raised his eyebrows – far less wild in painted form than what they were in real life. This witch would take Minerva's 'most powerful' crown at this rate. "You realise you're only the sev-"

"Seventh person in history to do the double?" Hermione asked. "Yeah. I'm a precocious over-achiever, so it's to be expected, really," she said dryly, her lips twitching as she tried not to smile too much.

Kingsley had returned soon after, and Hermione had him read over one of her latest proposals she wanted to float around the Wizengamot about creature recognition. Rufus sat back, realising that several years -at least – must have passed since the first time he'd seen the young woman in Kingsley's office and she'd thanked him for his sacrifice. Memory and time were indeed strange when one was nothing more than canvas and paint, but he vowed to try and keep better track of things. He'd grown into his role of offering advice and conversation, but he only had a limited capacity for remembering what he had lived through as a portrait. He suddenly wished he had been painted with a quill and some parchment.

More time passed as the wizarding world was back to its former glory pre-war. Much to Rufus' immense relief, Shacks had finally asked Andromeda out. He'd met the woman several times since – she still looked strikingly like her older sister, but had cut her hair into a rather short style which toned down the similarities. He had to admit, she and Kingsley were a good match. Rufus himself was delighted to meet young Master Teddy, Andromeda's grandson, and the son of the late and infamously clumsy Auror Tonks. He had inherited the same appearance shifting talents of his mother and was often sporting vibrant hair that Rufus knew would make Tonks proud. He had taken to regaling the child with stories of his mother's escapades during her time working for him, and he was all too aware that Andromeda was also listening in with watery eyes.

"You're a grand-dad," Rufus told Kingsley one day, almost teasing.

"Shut it, Scrimgeour," Kingsley snarked back, not even looking up from his paperwork, but Rufus knew he was smiling. Good for you, lad, he thought fondly, sitting back in his chair.

It was odd to watch time pass by, half included yet really only a piece of decoration the living could interact with. He watched Kingsley and Minerva make a bet over several bottles of firewhiskey on how long the Granger-Weasley marriage would last, he listened intently as Teddy practiced his reading while Kingsley was minding him at work to give Andromeda a day off, he offered a rather shocked congratulations when Kingsley confided his plans to propose to Andy over the coming Christmas and, most surprisingly, saw the day Minerva McGonagall told Kingsley she was taking long-service leave from the school, a mere thirty years after she was entitled to it.

"I'll bet you she's met someone," Kingsley had said to him the minute she had left the office.

The next day when Gawain Robards, current head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, also put in his notice of an extended sabbatical, Kingsley and Rufus were so shocked they gaped silently at each other for several minutes once he had left the office. "Do you think…?"

"Lucky devil," Rufus said, gobsmacked.

It was only a few weeks later that they realised they were wrong. Minerva was in Italy with Septima Vector, one of the teachers at Hogwarts, and Gawain – Gawain – had run off with Narcissa bloody Malfoy, of all people.

Rufus wondered what the world was coming to, where an Auror could openly date the former wife of one of the Dark Lord's inner circle, and Minerva McGonagall, the only person he knew who worked harder than he did, took a vacation.

"I think I might retire," Kingsley lamented after a while. "This is madness."

"Don't you fucking dare," Rufus threatened him. "Percy Weasley will run and I really don't want to spend my days stuck here with him."

Kingsley shuddered. "Point taken, boss," he said to the portrait, giving a mock salute.

Rufus wasn't sure how many years had passed, but it seemed like all of a sudden, there was an increasing number of small children frequenting the office. A lot of them had red hair, although there was the occasional non-Weasley. Kingsley and Andromeda had decided to adopt, the Minister's assistants were either on or returning from maternity leave, Hermione had a daughter and a son and had been promoted to be the Director of Magical Law – one step below managing the entire Law Enforcement Department – and Minerva had come over to tell Kingsley she was retiring in precisely 4 years.

"I'm not living through Potter's and Weasley's and Potter-Weasley-Lupin's reigning havoc over my bloody school," she had said during one of her and Kingsley's late-night talks. "The castle barely survived them all last time – the Giant Squid is still missing a tentacle – I'm too old for this, Kingsley." With Kingsley merely laughing into his tumbler of gin, Minerva fixed her piercing gaze on Rufus's portrait. "Back me up here, Scrimgeour, or so help me-" which only succeeded in making Kingsley laugh even louder and Rufus sniggering into the side of his canvas.

"I mean," Minerva continued on irately, pacing around the office, "he named his child James Sirius. Those two names alone spike fear into past teachers. And Albus bloody Severus – two of the most irritating men I've ever had to deal with. Why Harry chose those two names is beyond me. No good will come from this, I assure you."

"I overheard some interesting conversations at Christmas," Kingsley told her, smirking. "They're all already excited to plan pranks with their Uncle Fred's ghost."

Minerva made an indignant noise and held up her hand. "Nope. I don't want to know." She finished the rest of her drink and poured herself another generous amount. "Luckily Rose and Hugo are miniature Hermione's," she sighed. "Maybe they'll be a good influence."

Rufus suddenly recalled a previous conversation he had had with Mrs. Granger Weasley. "Wasn't it Hermione's idea to steal that dragon from Gringotts during the war?" he asked innocently.

Kinglsey snickered, and joined in. "Indeed it was. And she also confessed to me – while very drunk, mind you," he stage-whispered to Minerva, "That she brewed Polyjuice potion in her second year."

"And she started that Dumbledore's Army club-"

"Sent Dolly Umbridge to the Centaurs-"

"Blackmailed Rita Skeeter-"

Minerva blanched as they listed off some of Hermione's more rule-breaking deeds. "Dear Circe, you're right," she said weakly. "She's the worst of the lot."

It was after Minerva had left that Kingsley gave a confused look to Rufus. "Weren't we meant to be talking her out of retiring?"

Rufus shrugged. "Terrifying her is far more amusing. I like knowing I can still achieve that, even in death."

Kingsley was still laughing as he flooed home, leaving Rufus alone to contemplate his strange existence, as what usually happened when there was no one in the office. He wondered if portraits were able to be killed. He couldn't see himself still having jovial conversations with a Minister in a century or so. Maybe that's why all the others slept so much – they had seen enough of humanity and wanted nothing else to do with it.

He couldn't blame them, really.

He wasn't sure if it was the same night – or even the same week – he was struggling with his memory once more – but it was after Kingsley had once more retired for the night and, to Rufus's surprise, the grate sprang to life with green flames.

It was dark and he couldn't see, but despite the franticness of the voice calling for Kingsley, he knew it was Hermione. "Kings, are you still here?"

Rufus cleared his throat. "He's left for the night," he told her apologetically. He heard her exhale in defeat. "Can I help with anything, Hermione?" It wasn't often he used her name – he usually addressed her as Director just because he liked to see a Gryffindor try to hide their pride – but even being unable to see a thing without the candles lit, he knew something was wrong.

"No," she sighed after a while. A candle on the Minister's desk ignited as she sat down and started writing on some parchment. Rufus heard the scratching of the quill, and after a while, a sniffle. He would feel awkward, if a two dimensional painting was capable of feeling. He swallowed hard, wondering if what he was about to say was indeed the right thing to say.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Her head snapped to look at the portrait, and for the first time, Rufus saw proper evidence that she'd been crying. Instead of answering him, she levitated a letter over to hover in front of his portrait.

Going to print tomorrow. Can't stop it, sorry – Cuffe's orders. At least now you can do some damage control.

-Daphne

Under the letter was a mock-up of a Daily Prophet article, complete with photographs. Rufus recognised Ronald Weasley, although the Auror's arresting him and his young female companion for public drunkenness were perfect strangers. "Ah," he said.

"How do I stop this, Rufus?" she asked him tearfully after removing the letters from in front of him.

"You can't," he told her softly, unable to even comprehend what emotional turmoil the witch must be going through. "You can just hope he learns from his mistakes."

She gave an uncharacteristic snort and held her head in her hands. "What would you do?" she asked, raising her head back up to look at him.

Rufus was silent for a moment. "If I were alive, or if I were you?" he asked.

"Hmm. Both; indulge me," she said, a bit of life back in her.

"Well," Rufus said, "if I were alive, I'd be hexing his bollocks off," he said firmly, and was pleased to see that that statement bought a smile to Hermione's face. "I'd then have to ask you to defend me in court for the charge of assault with intent, but I'm sure you'd get me off," he added dryly.

Hermione sniggered and her smile grew wider. "Well I've yet to lose a case, so you're in safe hands," she said, smirking at him. She ran her fingers through her unruly hair before prompting him to give his second answer.

He considered his words carefully. "I think you should be having a serious conversation with your husband about his priorities and responsibilities," he said slowly. He wasn't really good at this sort of thing. He hoped he was doing it right.

Hermione made a noise of agreement. "My greatest fear," she said thickly, "is that something like this will happen when they're at Hogwarts and the Prophet's delivered at breakfast."

He didn't have to even ask who 'they' were – he knew it was young Rose and Hugo she was speaking of. He'd seen them both a few times in the office, looking remarkably like their mother. They didn't even have the Weasley red hair. "You need to tell him that," he said as gently as he could.

"Yeah," she agreed with a whisper. She sighed, before standing up and running her fingers along the top of his frame. "Thanks, Rufus," she said, now touching her fingertips to the canvas.

He resisted the urge to move his own painted ones to meet hers. "You look after yourself," he told her.

As she left, Rufus traced the parts of the canvas she had touched. It was the closest thing to human contact he'd had since he had woken up in this two-dimensional world. As he sat back in his chair once more, his thoughts turned to Hermione. He'd seen her change from teenager to confident young woman. He knew she had her demons from war but had fought through them. The bright young thing he remembered from the first time she had spoken to his portrait was now an assertive Department Director, managing to juggle motherhood and fulltime work and make it look easy. It was cruel, he thought, that Ronald was the one in the wrong, yet she's the one left humiliated.

It was then that he realised that all these years spent with Kingsley meant that he knew her far better than she knew him, and that didn't sit well with him. He only knew her from what other people said about her, not from her directly. He'd talk to her more, he decided. Get to know her a bit better before this prestigious office was her own.

That moment, unbeknownst to Rufus, was fast approaching indeed.

A/N: So uh…bit of an obscure character, but I write Rufus in another of my stories and I rather like him. This wont be updated all too often, this chapter just…sort of…happened? Story is mostly planned out, it'll be shortish but I'm back at uni now so I'm busy with real life haha. Anyway! Hope you liked it, and please review! x