"Have you decided?"
The Headmistress looked up wearily at the mediwitch, who returned her gaze with a sad smile. "Yes, Poppy, I'm afraid I have. I can almost hear my bones cracking in the morning."
"Well, I'm happy for you, Minerva. It's about time you spend your life caring for yourself rather than herding the young ones." She patted the taller witch on the shoulder encouragingly. "It's what Albus would wish for, you know."
For a moment Minerva was silent. She fell back into her chair, cheeks cupped in her hands as she sat staring thoughtfully at the emptiness before her. She finally spoke when she realized the edginess of her conversational partner, "Yes, I suppose he would."
"Is there something on your mind?" Poppy prompted, leaning around the corner of the Headmistress's desk. The portrait behind Minerva - Severus Snape's, she noted - also inched closer in equal parts amusement and curiosity, much to Poppy's annoyance. "Shoo," She hissed, waving her hand dismissively.
"What? I'm not doing anything," he crossed his arms and glared back as intensely as his namesake would.
"You're listening in on a private conversation," Poppy retorted. She gestured to the disinterested portraits on the walls, "Why can't you be like them?"
"I didn't choose to be hung right behind McGonagall's desk, you daft woman," Snape snapped.
"Who are you calling daft?" The enraged mediwitch cried back, pointing an accusing finger at Snape's direction, "Learn some manners, you greasy git!"
Where Minerva sat, the usual banter between Snape's portrait and her best friend faded into familiar background noise. She leaned back into her chair with a sigh. "It's Albus, Poppy," she explained defeatedly, watching the mediwitch turn to her in concern. "It's just a conversation from long ago, but he's wrote a letter to me, and have asked that I not read it until the very day I retire."
"What is it about then?" Poppy asked curiously. When Minerva didn't answer, she prompted again, "Well? Today is your last day, Min. Have you had a look?"
"No, I haven't." Minerva shook her head resolutely. "Frankly, I'm no longer certain that what he wrote half a century ago holds the same truth today."
Agitated, Poppy pushed with a hint of impatience, "What? Why wouldn't it?"
With her face in her hands, Minerva responded reluctantly, "I don't know- it just wouldn't," She trailed off uncertainly, "When he said it, I was eighteen. I was his student. How long ago was that? Our relationship has changed so much over the years..." It bothered her, it did. That memory from long ago, the first and last time he cried before her, and the sky cried with him. That was the image she had imprinted in her mind of their strange conversation. "Besides, he never mentioned it again, ever."
"I don't understand," Poppy shook her head, "He wrote you a letter for you to read when you retire as the Hogwarts Headmistress, in what, 1944? How did he even know that you were going to become the Headmistress? For all I remember, you headed straight for the Auror's office after graduation."
"Merlin, I don't know!" Minerva cried in confusion. "I thought he was joking - good-humored or not, it could not have been the truth. But when I succeeded him as Headmistress, I remembered our exchange and it irked me every time I thought of retiring. You know my lack of faith in Divination. And if it wasn't a crystal ball's doing then I don't know how he came to that conclusion."
"Suppose he knew," Snape's portrait drawled from behind in an annoyed tone, "Shouldn't you be reading Dumbledore's letter instead of whining pathetically into your paws twelve hours before your train arrives?"
"I'm not whining, Severus," Minerva managed in suppressed distress. The portrait smirked smugly in return, and she fought back the urge to splash cold water at the canvas.
"As rude as he is," Poppy's eyes shot daggers at the portrait, "Snape's right. Albus knows many things that we don't, except what hours to lay off the Sherbet Lemons if he wants to maintain his figure. Now, where did he put that blasted parchment?"
"He didn't tell me." Minerva sighed knowingly at the aghast expressions she received. "Trust me, I too think it's ridiculous." Suddenly her eyes flashed with hope. She turned to Albus's portrait, who laid in a sweet slumber in his purple armchair. "Albus," she called softly, until the portrait's eyes fluttered open. He was still dazed when he recognized her. "Yes, my dear? I don't recall scheduling a chess match this evening."
"No, you haven't," she smiled. "I need to ask you something urgently."
"Ah, ask away then." He shifted in his seat as his awareness of the setting grew. As a portrait, he liked being needed, especially when he was needed by the fiercely independent Minerva. There were only a handful of times when she had consulted his opinion during her years as Headmistress, and personally he thought he could offer more than what she had asked of him.
Minerva hesitated as she phrased her question, but eventually she inquired, "Has Albus ever mentioned a letter to you that was specifically for me to read when I retire? A parchment, a message, anything of the like?"
The Albus sitting in the flat armchair rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "As far as I can remember, none whatsoever."
Minerva looked crestfallen. "I see. Thank you for your input, Professor."
The portrait piped up at her downturned lips. "He did, however, lecture me on a number of his secret hiding places. He said I might want to pass the information on to our desperate treasure hunters." The lively twinkle returned to his eyes as hers brightened with a trace of hope, "You may want to start with the Room of Requirement."
An hour later, Minerva and Poppy had rummaged through the curious possessions held in the Room of Requirement, the Headmaster's office, and managed to interrogate poor Fawkes during his daily visit for Sherbet Lemons, all to no avail. Snape had uncharacteristically searched the Dungeons for the Headmistress's sake, and Albus had commanded all Hogwarts portraits and ghosts to search the grounds for a mysterious envelope.
"I can't imagine someone hiding a letter to such great lengths and then expecting another to find it," Poppy said, exasperated, as she flipped a drawer and allowed the contents to fall unceremoniously onto the ground.
"It's me, dear, what did you expect?" Chimed in Albus's portrait. He was back sitting in his comfortable armchair after issuing his commands. "Knowing me, it could have been transfigured into something else entirely. Or she might have to look in my Pensieve."
"Well, you were strangely assured that she would find it," Snape countered sarcastically.
"In eventuality, yes. My namesake has faith in the right people, yourself included." The smile from Albus's end was met with a disgusted scowl. Snape's portrait disappeared from the canvas as he mumbled something about looking in the Astronomy Tower.
The door slammed open, and Minerva came in slouching. "Any luck?" She asked, watching Poppy rummage through a heap of tiny sparkling objects on the ground that she had no idea existed in the decade of her occupancy. Poppy replied in the negative. Minerva sighed, "I give up, Albus," she said to the portrait, "Either you forgot about it as well or I'm just not destined to find it."
She sank into her chair when a small, low voice snuck into her ear. "All you have to do is ask."
Spinning around in surprise, Minerva drew her wand and pointed it at the speaker, but no one was standing behind her. "Who-?"
"Your manners, Miss McGonagall. I am, in every way, your senior." She squinted and saw in the very back corner of the room, the Sorting Hat speaking in her direction. His voice sounded so soft yet traveled so far.
"What do you know of Albus's letter?" Minerva walked towards the hat. It sat more upright with a pleased grin when he had gotten her attention.
"I know that it is not a parchment, not, in fact, written at all. You could say it is a message of sorts," he suggested, the dark slits of his eyes narrowing, "However, there are conditions that I must honor. I am to ask you three questions, in private, and you must answer in the absolute truth."
With one scoop, Minerva held the Sorting Hat in her hand and gestured for the portraits to leave her office. She nodded once at Poppy and the mediwitch left as well, leaving her alone with the hat.
"Well then, we haven't got all day, have we?" She sat the hat down on her desk and pulled her chair close, sitting upright and stern as if she was talking to a colleague at a meeting.
"Indeed," the hat gave a small, almost creepy smile.
"Before you proceed," Minerva held up a hand hushing the hat, "Why didn't you speak up an hour ago when I first mentioned the letter?"
The slits of his eyes sunk dramatically and his smile widened, "Why, I thought it was an entertaining ordeal. I was waiting for you to give up."
Minerva groaned into her hands. "Right, you were never quite cooperative."
"Ever since the day you threatened to shred me had I put you in Ravenclaw, no."
"Thank you for clarifying," Minerva regained her composure, "I'm ready."
"Minerva McGonagall, are you retiring from your position as the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry today, of your own free will and with no intention to resume your position?"
"Yes, the world be damned if there comes a day that I have to resume this position. I can hardly climb the two steps leading to my chambers." She smiled wryly.
"Come now, you don't look that old," the hat said nonchalantly, before continuing, "Then I must ask, are you married, engaged, in a relationship of romantic nature, and do you have a family at this time?"
"No, I have no family left, and I am long past the age of having a relationship."
"Well explained," the hat looked pleased, as if he was expecting her answer. "The third is an open-ended question. If given the chance, with whom do you wish to spend the rest of your life?"
The hat waited patiently as silence ensued. At last, she answered in a feeble voice, "That is an extremely private question. Why do you ask?"
"It is no more private than my second question, and entirely hypothetical. I am merely following Headmaster Dumbledore's instructions."
"You should know that my chance is over, and he is dead."
"My suggestion is to answer the question, Miss McGonagall." The hat added, "Standing by your assumptions, nothing will change, no matter what answer you give."
"Then why add to the heartache?" She withdrew from her desk and looked away, swallowing the lump in her throat.
The hat observed her behavior carefully, until finally he decided to wait no more. "Was I wrong to put you in Gryffindor, Miss McGonagall?" He asked in his small, stern voice.
The Headmistress looked back at him in surprise. "No," she said resolutely.
"Then I ask again," the hat said with finality, "If given the chance, who do you wish to spend the rest of your life with?"
Minerva shut her eyes and clutched the arms of her chair. "Albus," she uttered, her expression pained and her throat tight, "Albus Dumbledore."
"Very well," The hat bowed in satisfaction. He eyed the possessions on her desk and settled on the quill at the corner. "You should write a note."
She eyed him warily and picked up the quill while conjuring a clean piece of parchment. "Is that part of the Professor's instructions as well?"
"No, but it keeps people sane," the hat spoke flatly, "Now, write the following: 'To whom it may concern, I, Minerva McGonagall, shall not return to Hogwarts for an indefinite length of time-"
"Why is that?" Minerva questioned sharply.
"Why, aren't you retiring?"
"Yes, but do you presume that I will not visit Poppy and Rolanda every so often?"
The tip of the hat dipped in the affirmative. "I presumed so."
"That is incredibly unwise of an all-knowing hat."
"My instructions are in your and your acquaintances' best interests," the hat said firmly.
"You're relaying them, not giving them," Minerva countered, "Besides, they're my friends, not acquaintances. You should know as much."
"Write your own letter then," the hat exclaimed impatiently, "Designate whichever broomstick closet to Miss Hooch and Scotland's thickest syringes to Miss Pomfrey." He mumbled something inaudible as Minerva's quill danced swiftly across the parchment.
Eventually she stopped, and the hat who had now recovered from his momentary outburst eyed her signature with a weary glance. "Are we done now?"
"Yes, I appreciate your patience," she spoke in her best professor voice and folded the parchment. Conjuring an envelope, she wrote the recipients' names onto the back and sealed it with the letter inside. Then she turned to the hat and looked at him expectantly.
"Thank goodness." The hat gave her a meaningful look. "Close your eyes and put your hand inside the crown." The brim lifted, allowing her space, which Minerva hesitantly took.
When her hand was buried within the fabric, Minerva felt a small flat device materialize in her hand. Her fingers traced the two rings and the hourglass. No sooner had she touched the device than she recognized what it was.
"Miss McGonagall," the hat's voice prompted her out of her momentary surprise. "I have one more message from Headmaster Dumbledore that I wish to relay."
"What would that be?" Her voice came out hoarse in apprehension upon realizing what was due to happen.
"That he apologizes for his selfishness." His last syllables lengthened as the time warped and twisted around Minerva, and she found herself surrounded by images moving so fast around her that she could barely tell what was happening.
For several moments she found herself staring at a fast-moving, younger Albus strolling around the Headmaster's office, oblivious to her presence, then Fawkes flying about and herself moving in and out of the space. She watched the grey hair being replaced by auburn tresses, then his purple robes substituted by midnight blue and his spectacles no more, until eventually she saw Albus rather than herself moving in and out through the door and Armando sitting at the desk. Time continued to pass until even Armando looked significantly younger and healthier than how she remembered him to be. Then she felt the blinding swirl slow and everything fall into place. Her last vision before the swirling came to a stop was Armando's back disappearing behind the door to his bedchambers.