Finally they were all gone. Albus Dumbledore let out a long soft sigh, his breath steaming in the cold air. He could see the surrounding streets now; it would be dawn soon. He could also see Minerva's face.

In that queer black and white light of the false dawn, her face was stark ivory and around her eyes were dark circles, clearly visible. Her lips were white. She looked ghastly. And his love for her hit him like a falling wall, and he gently kissed her hair.

Then there was the sound of wings, beating softly on the still air. Fawkes hovered in front of him.

Phoenix magic, he thought suddenly. It could whisk him and Minerva back to Hogwarts, which was proof against any human magical apparition; it had saved Harry from basilisk poison back in his second year at school. Perhaps - "Fawkes. Is there anything you can do?"

Fawkes flew onto his shoulder and peered into Minerva McGonagall's still face. But no tears fell from the magical bird's eyes. He turned to Dumbledore, and those soft dark eyes now mutely shared his despair.

"No?"

Fawkes shook his magnificent head, and flew off his shoulder to again hover just in front of him.

"No." Dumbledore said it softly, finally. He kissed Minerva's hair again, then shifted her weight to cover her from the cold with his cloak. Her head now nestled again into his shoulder, her breath barely perceptible against his neck, he smiled at Fawkes sadly.

"My friend, I cannot come with you," he said. "I have one last task to complete here. But I have one more favour that I would ask of you, if you would. Would you come into the attic of the Black house in a short while? And carry Minerva home?"

If Fawkes had possessed the ability to argue, the sudden alarmed glint in his eyes would have been the precursor to several shrewd questions. But even phoenixes lack an articulated jaw, and he contented himself with cawing softly, then nodding.

"Thank you, my old friend." A final caw, an affectionate nip at his beard, then Fawkes was gone, a single phoenix feather drifting softly to the street.

Albus went back into the Black house.

Once he was inside the magical front door he Apparated directly into the attic; never a particularly safe thing to do inside a house so strongly bespelled, but he could not bear to walk past that dreadful bedroom again. He walked to the centre of the room, and then levitated Minerva's unmoving form directly over the spot where she had fallen such a short time before. Her hair had mostly fallen out of its bun, and he moved the long wisps of it away from her face with infinite care.

"I am sorry, Minerva. So absolutely sorry." He took off his long purple cloak and placed it on the dusty attic floor. "I was foolish, the foolish old man that you've so often called me; but worse, I was arrogant." He took her in his arms again and knelt to place her on the cloak; but he held her in his arms for a long moment before letting her go. "I trusted my own judgement too much, I didn't listen to your warnings, and my hubris has led us here." He lowered her onto the thick fabric, and shifted the cloak around her to keep her warm. Then he stopped, and took both her pale hands in his.

Looking deep into her unresponsive face, wishing with his whole heart that her eyes would flutter open, he said softly, "I have wasted my whole life, Minerva, my whole long life. I've spent it making plans and fighting battles, but never had the courage to say what I always felt about you, until now, when it's just too late."

He stood.

"Forgive me, my Minerva. Please, someday, forgive me that I must leave you alone."

He took out his wand.

"You know," a rather nasal voice mused, "I've watched you do some revoltingly sentimental and, quite frankly, really stupid things over the years, Headmaster, but if you do this one I truly believe you will have completely outdone yourself."

"Phineas?"

"Do put your wand away, Dumbledore. Do you really think I feel comfortable chatting to an emotionally distraught wizard while his wand is in his hand?"

"Where are you?"

"Over here, on the wall to your left. Shift some of the packing boxes out of the way."

The packing boxes vanished with a quick flick of Albus' wrist, and a large portrait of Phineas Nigellus was uncovered.

"I didn't mean for you to vanish the boxes – they held some quite valuable objects. Oh, well, too late now."

"What are you doing here?"

"Charming little spot, isn't it?" Phineas sneered. "I used to be hung in the front hallway – you know, a proper spot for one of the most distinguished wizards of my family. But as soon as that woman downstairs took possession of the place she had her own portrait hung up there instead – and I ended up here." He sniffed. "I rarely visit – it's a lousy view."

"I'm afraid I don't have time right now to discuss it, Phineas." Dumbledore's face was set. "I have work to do."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Dumbledore. You're going to try to reverse the Permanent Transfiguration spell, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Thereby taking on the effects of it upon yourself, and releasing Professor McGonagall from her voluntary sacrifice."

"Yes."

"Despite the fact that the Permanent Transfiguration spell has never been cast before, so you have no idea of whether or not Professor McGonagall's condition is permanent, or how the spell has actually affected her power or her mind. Nor do you knowhow a reversal spell will in practice work upon a magic which has never been tried and which is reliant upon voluntary sacrifice. A reversal spell could, quite plausibly, render you both catatonic, and restore that wretched rat Pettigrew – who could never have made it through Sytherin House, by the way – to human form. But, despite not knowing a single thing about the entire business, you are willing to do it regardless." Phineas arched an eyebrow. "And you are, supposedly, the greatest wizard of your generation. I despair for your students."

Dumbledore had not put away his wand. "I feel it is worth the risk, Phineas."

"Will she? Given that she tried to shield you from the Avada Kedavra, and performed an unknown and extremely powerful form of magic to stop you from having to kill that rather revolting rat, I very much doubt it."

"She will be alive and well. That is all I care about."

"She's alive now, you half-wit!" Phineas snapped. "And if you really meant any of that insufferable guff about 'wanting her forgiveness' that you were spouting a few minutes ago, you would try to earn it by exploring all possible avenues before committing yourself to a course of action which is both uncertain and irreversible – not to mention suicidal! You do have a staff of supposedly senior practitioners of magic, don't you? Take her back to Hogwarts and for once in your life, ask for help!"

Albus' eyebrows had lowered in sudden anger, but at the conclusion of Phineas' tirade, his wand hand dropped back down to his side and his determined face relaxed into sadness. "Hubris," he said softly. "I'm guilty of it again."

He tucked his wand back into his robe pocket and knelt down to pick up Minerva, now snugly wrapped in his cloak. The first shafts of dawn light began to find their way through the attic windows. As if on cue Fawkes suddenly swooped into the room.

He nodded gravely to the portrait. "Thank you, Phineas." Then he reached up his free hand to touch Fawkes' tail feathers, and the three of them disappeared.

Phineas Nigellus watched as the single phoenix feather wafted to the floor where Minerva McGonagall had lain. "She really showed," he said softly to the empty air, "a most remarkable bravery."

Then the portrait too was empty.