Disclaimer: Nope.
Author's Note: Hello everyone, and thank you so much for the reviews! I definitely got a mixed response to the last chapter, but I appreciated all of them.
Don't ever, ever apologize for having a different opinion, or a different interpretation, of a character than me. That's what's so wonderful about these books - the richness and complexity of the characters. I definitely disagree with you about Dumbledore's motivations, and I judge him much more harshly than you do. But I don't think that's a bad thing at all.
Thank you for saying what you did about the writing. Even though we disagree on Dumbledore's character, I hope you still get enjoyment through this part of the story. I'm glad you were still able to like the last chapter despite it all. I also love how you give me your honest opinion. I never want anyone to feel like they can't do that.
Yes, Dumbledore's guilt is consuming him. Although I do judge him harshly, I wanted to make him nuanced. There are people who judge him much more harshly than I do, and think he orchestrated and manipulated absolutely everything. I do enjoy those stories - in fact, I have several of them on my favorite stories list. But that's not the way I wanted to write him. In my fic, Dumbledore is aware of his wrongs and feels crushing guilt for every mistake he has made.
Anyway, I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter.
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She should have known this day was coming from the instant he arrived back at Hogwarts.
Minerva McGonagall sat quietly in the hospital wing, her heart heavy as she watched Madam Poppy Pomfrey perform diagnostic scans on the unconscious Albus Dumbledore. She should have seen the signs so much earlier - she'd known that the old man wasn't adjusting to being back at Hogwarts after everything that had happened.
Much of the warmth she had once felt towards him was gone; she certainly did not idolize him as she once had. But she couldn't help feeling overpowering worry and concern as she'd walked into his office today and seen his face.
There seemed to be far more lines in it than normal, and his blue eyes were so much duller. They no longer twinkled in the way she had known them to for so long. His smile had been wan, and even his voice did not hold the authority it once had. He'd tried to maintain normalcy by offering her a cup of tea and a lemon drop, but even that had seemed forced.
And then, his hands had begun shaking, and it had terrified Minerva. How long had this been going on? Had this happened before without her knowledge? Minerva had to admit that she hadn't been paying him as much attention as she had in all other years.
And then ... oh Merlin ... he had fainted. His eyes had become glazed over, and he hadn't responded when she called his name multiple times. When he slumped in his chair, that was when true fear had gripped her.
For years, she had known that Albus was old. But before, he'd always seemed to possess this ... vitality and strength within him. He had almost seemed ... immortal. It had only been since his return to Hogwarts that she had truly seen him look frail.
And now, as Madam Poppy Pomfrey continued to run her wand over him, Minerva felt guilt seize her heart. Had she been too harsh on him? She'd felt justified in treating him the way she had, because he'd made so many mistakes and hurt so many people.
She thought of sitting on that wall in her Animagus form, grieving the loss of her bright, promising students, Lily and James, and watching that ... pathetic family who had been tasked with looking after Harry. She remembered her first sighting of the boy ten years later as he walked into Hogwarts for the first time - his eyes had been so, so wide with awe and wonder, and he'd been so ... skinny. She hadn't wanted to acknowledge it at the time, and thought of all kinds of reasons to justify it ... but Harry was way too small for his age, and the way he'd gazed at Ronald Weasley, like he simply couldn't believe he had a friend ... it was heartbreaking.
She remembered his earnest face as he'd told her that the Philosopher's Stone was in danger. Surely he wouldn't be reckless enough to go after it himself? Surely he would trust her?
She remembered him in the hospital wing fighting for his life, because he hadn't listened to her. He'd taken it upon himself to go after the Stone. Merlin, he'd looked even more small and frail in that hospital bed, his ragged breathing making McGonagall feel sick with guilt. Why had he done it? Why? Was he determined to get himself killed?
She recalled all his other experiences, all his other brushes with death. The Chamber of Secrets. His horrible reaction to the Dementors. His bravery in that Godforsaken graveyard.
And she'd never forget Harry's incredibly sad eyes, and the stark, naked despair of Sirius as she learned of the Horcrux inside Harry, and of what Albus thought he'd have to do to end the war. She remembered all her bitter thoughts about how Albus had known that there had been a Horcrux in him ever since the night the Potters were murdered, and she'd felt sick to her stomach.
But as she sat with him now, she realized just how much it had all cost him. The fact that he felt so guilty didn't take away any of the wrongs he had done, and it didn't take away the coldness she'd felt towards him. There was a big part of her that still believed, even now, that he'd deserved every harsh word, every glare. She felt like she'd been fooled by him in a way she hadn't ever been by anyone else.
But she also couldn't help the empathy and compassion she felt for him now as he lay in the hospital wing. It had been several minutes, and he still hadn't woken up. Only the rise and fall of his chest reassured her that he was still alive.
She'd come to check on him between classes, as there was a short break in between them. Most students spent their breaks in the courtyard, and many took advantage of the many restrooms dotted throughout the castle. Minerva honestly didn't know why she'd felt the need to check on Albus - maybe there was some kind of weird sixth sense, some gut instinct in her that told her to do so. And Merlin, she was glad she had.
While she had been waiting for news on Albus's condition, she'd briefly stepped outside and called one of the Hogwarts house-elves. She'd instructed him to put a sign on her classroom door notifying students that her classes would be cancelled until further notice. There would no doubt be much speculation over why that was the case, and her more thoughtful students would wonder if something was wrong. It was very unlike her to cancel classes.
She thought of letting other staff members know what was happening, but decided not to panic them. She would wait to hear what the situation was first before she did anything. Plus, it wouldn't be right for everyone to crowd around the hospital wing while Madam Pomfrey was ascertaining what was wrong. Right now, the man seemed to be comfortable, though Minerva couldn't pretend that she wasn't scared by the fact that he hadn't once opened his eyes, or even moved a muscle, since he'd lost consciousness in his office.
Finally, Madam Pomfrey lowered her wand, her scans finished. She sat back, her face holding her professional, no-nonsense look. However, Minerva could see the crack in her mask, and knew immediately that something was indeed wrong.
"Minerva." The woman spoke, her eyes meeting McGonagall's. "Albus is suffering from magical exhaustion."
Minerva felt her stomach sink to the ground. Magical exhaustion - it was what she had been afraid Poppy would say.
Magical exhaustion was a condition that was most commonly associated with old age. It was similar to when a Muggle's body began to wear out because they had been around for a long time. Witches and wizards usually lived longer than Muggles, because their magic was essential in keeping them alive for longer.
But there came a point in a witch or wizard's life when their magical core was not able to sustain life anymore. Potions could be used to prolong their life, but depending on how severe the magical exhaustion was, they would only work for certain lengths of time. The longest anyone had stayed alive in this condition was several months, and the least amount of time was days.
At the end of Harry's first year, he'd suffered with it as well, but it was very different from the kind that affected older witches and wizards. Harry's case was unique, because it was caused by the toll that defending himself from Quirrell had taken on his body. It had severely injured his magical core, and at one point on that first night, it looked like he wasn't going to survive it. He had slipped into a coma, and his prognosis was grim. He needed a miracle to live.
But a miracle had happened. His body had recovered from the ordeal it had been put through, and Minerva silently wondered if it had also been Lily's sacrifice, as well as Poppy's life-saving potions, that had helped renew his magical core. It would make sense, considering how grim things had looked when he'd first been brought to the hospital wing.
Magical exhaustion could also occur in other ways. If a witch or wizard overexerted themselves by not taking breaks while warding, they could make themselves very ill. If someone was young enough and the case wasn't too serious, their magical core could recover. But this was why anyone working on warding was required to take breaks during the procedure. There were a few cases where not doing so was fatal to the witch or wizard.
But Albus was old and tired, and he had been put through a horrific ordeal at the end of the last school year. Minerva also didn't doubt that the emotional upheaval was a drain on his magic. For the first time in what seemed like a very long while, she felt nothing but empathy for the frail man lying on the bed before her, and any anger she harbored towards him momentarily evaporated.
Minerva spoke, her voice seeming to come from outside her body as she struggled to accept the implications of Poppy's diagnosis. "How ... how severe of a case is it?" she asked, knowing that she was failing to maintain her no-nonsense demeanor in the face of Albus's illness.
"I can see by the scans that he has been suffering for quite a while," Poppy said quietly.
Minerva felt a tidal wave of guilt sweep over her, because how could she not have seen it? "I ... I had no idea," she whispered. "I ..."
"Do not blame yourself, Minerva."
McGonagall's breath caught in her throat as she heard a weak voice come from the bed. Albus had opened his eyes, and he was looking at Minerva with a very tender, gentle expression.
"Albus?" Minerva closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to stay in control of her emotions.
"It is all right, Minerva." Albus reached out his hand to her, and Minerva took it.
"How much ... how much did you hear?" Minerva whispered, wondering how long he had been awake without opening his eyes.
Albus smiled gently, that knowing look in his exhausted blue eyes telling her everything. He didn't answer the question, but he didn't need to. "I did not want anyone to know," he said softly.
"Albus." Poppy, too, was struggling to maintain her professionalism. "Why didn't you ..."
Albus's eyes were unbearably sad. "I do not want a fuss, Poppy," he said to the school matron before his gaze met Minerva's. "I do not want my illness to ... interfere with the goings-on at Hogwarts."
"Interfere?" Minerva gasped. "You are unwell! You are ..." She stopped, unable to give voice to what she feared was the outcome of this.
But Albus came right out and said it, and it didn't surprise Minerva in the slightest - he was never afraid to say the difficult things. "I am dying," the old man said quietly, looking back and forth between the two women.
Minerva saw Poppy blink back tears. "Yes," she said softly.
Minerva felt her entire body seem to sink into the chair. She had suspected this to be the case, and had seen it in Poppy's expression. But the confirmation of it was something else entirely.
"How long do I have?" Albus asked, and there was no fear behind the question - only acceptance.
"I do not know for sure," Poppy replied, looking at Albus directly. "You know that it can be different with each case of magical exhaustion. There are potions I can give you ..."
"No."
It was just one word - but Albus's quiet utterance of it, and the vehemence behind it even in his weakened state - stopped Poppy in her tracks. Minerva felt her whole body go cold. "No?" she whispered. "What ... what are you saying, Albus?"
"I am an old man," Albus said, and each word was spoken with deliberation. "It is my time. I do not wish to prlong the inevitable."
Minerva felt a surge of both sadness and anger. She stared at the man, her control slipping. "You wish to die?" Her voice was low.
"You misunderstand me, Minerva." Albus's voice grew quieter, his eyes growing gentler. "I do not wish to die. I just know that my time is coming, and I am tired. I know what my body is telling me, and those potions will be wasted. They need to be used on the people who truly need their assistance."
Minerva felt tears spring to her eyes, and she attempted to blink them back. She needed to be strong for Albus - she would be no good to him if she wasn't.
"Albus," Poppy said, her eyes closed as she spoke, and Minerva knew she was having just as much of a hard time as she was. It was strangely comforting. "Those potions can ..."
But Albus held up a hand. "No, Poppy." He sounded very sure of his decision, and he had that stubborn light in his eyes that Minerva remembered seeing so many times, when he gave orders to all those who followed him. "I do not want them. Even if they were to help me now, it won't be long before I become ill again." His voice was exceedingly calm. "I can feel it," he whispered. "My time is coming, and it is my decision to make."
It was true. If someone with magical exhaustion was coherent enough to decide their own treatment, it was always up to them. A Healer could make suggestions, but in the end, it was the patient's choice. Poppy could not force Albus to take the potions, and Minerva knew that nothing she could say would change his mind.
"Albus," Poppy whispered, opening her eyes but looking away from Albus's gaze. Minerva was doing the same - both of them would break down if they looked at him right then.
"Please, Minerva, Poppy. Please look at me." Albus's voice was all too knowing.
It took several seconds for them to muster the strength, but Poppy and Minerva finally looked at the old man. He did not look the least bit disconcerted by what he had been told. Instead, he looked serene, and ... relieved.
Minerva couldn't help herself - she choked on a sob as she took Albus's old, wrinkled hand within hers. She'd spent so much time being angry with him lately ... "I'm sorry," she blurted out.
"Don't, Minerva. Just because I am dying does not erase the fact that your anger towards me was completely justified." Albus was speaking frankly, speaking everything Minerva was feeling out loud. He'd somehow always had the ability to do that, even without using the art of Legilimency. "I have made too many mistakes to count. Do not feel guilt over an emotion that you are absolutely right to feel in abundance."
Minerva swallowed thickly, and each word she spoke was a struggle. "You ... you're not refusing to take the potions because ... because you think you deserve this?" she choked.
"No." Albus said at once, and there was no hint of a lie in his voice. "No, Minerva. That is not why. I just know that I cannot prolong what is coming."
There was silence for several seconds before Poppy spoke. "Are you in pain?" she asked softly.
Minerva knew that one of the symptoms of magical exhaustion was pain throughout the entire body. Fever was another, and severe physical weakness was another. Most witches and wizards spent their last days in bed, and as the condition progressed, they were awake for shorter and shorter periods. Their bodies would eventually slip into a coma, and within hours or days, they would pass away.
"Please be honest with me," Poppy said gently. "If you won't let me treat the condition, at least let me take away any discomfort."
Albus nodded slowly as he met Poppy's eyes. "Yes," he replied, and Minerva knew he had been loath to admit this..
Poppy immediately left his bedside, and returned within a minute with a pain potion. She gently assisted him in sitting up, and handed it to him. "Thank you," Albus said quietly, settling back in the bed once he had finished it.
"Please let me know if you need anything else. I only want to make you as comfortable as possible," Poppy said before quickly walking away and shutting herself in her office. Minerva could see that she was moments away from losing control of her emotions.
Albus sighed sadly as he looked at Minerva. "I am sorry," he whispered. "I know how hard this is on her. She's a Healer, and naturally, she doesn't like being told not to help."
"Do you think it's any easier on me, Albus?" Minerva couldn't help herself; her voice had grown sharp with her distress.
Albus's gaze only grew softer and sadder. "I know this is difficult ..."
"Difficult?" It took every ounce of strength for Minerva not to jump out of her chair at that moment. "Difficult? Watching one of my oldest, dearest friends slowly die is difficult? I'd use a much stronger word than that, Albus."
"Minerva." Somehow, the way Albus said her name quieted her, and she took a deep breath, chastising herself for losing control. She was supposed to remain calm. She was supposed to be showing Albus that she could be trusted to be strong for him through all circumstances.
"Minerva." Albus's voice grew gentle again. "Are we really ... still friends?"
Minerva was flabbergasted by the pure uncertainty and vulnerability in Albus's voice. Never, ever, had she heard him sound so unsure of anything. He had always shown himself to be so unflappable whenever anyone argued with him, which had infuriated Minerva to no end. It gave the impression that he hadn't truly taken in what the person was disagreeing with him about, and it had made her believe that he thought he was always in the right.
Were they still friends? In many ways, Minerva was still so furious with him. By saying what she'd just said, was she reverting back to the person she had been, the one who followed his every order without question? She thought of Harry again, of his skinny frame upon his return to the wizarding world, of the look in his eyes as Ronald Weasley animatedly talked to him. She thought of his bravery as he stood at the stand during Sirius's trial, admitting that he and his relatives were not at all on good terms. She thought again of his face as she learned of the Horcrux inside him.
Albus had made so many questionable and outright awful decisions, but looking at him now, old and frail and guilt-stricken and ... and dying ...
Minerva couldn't answer his question verbally, as memories of his bad decisions battled with the memories of all the times they had shared. He had taught her so much about life, and her revelation about all of his wrongs had made her into a better person. But how could she discount all the good she had seen in him? There was so much advice he had given her that had seemed to come from a very genuine place.
Eventually, she mustered up the will to speak. "I will always care about you, Albus." She patted his hand gently. "And now is not the time to focus on old grudges."
Albus looked very emotional at this statement, and every instinct in Minerva told her that the emotion was real. This was proven even more to her when she saw the tears in Albus's eyes.
And it was then that more of her own tears fell, and she could no longer keep her stiff upper lip. She looked at the dying man before her and sobbed. She gripped his frail hand within hers, and she had the irrational thought that if she held it tightly enough, he wouldn't be able to slip away from her.
Finally, she wiped her eyes, and Albus smiled gently at her. "I would tell you not to mourn for me, once I'm gone," he said quietly.
"But if you did that, you'd be asking the impossible," Minerva replied softly.
Albus smiled. "All I do ask is that you take care of Hogwarts, and that you remember me as I was," he whispered. "I am no saint, Minerva. You know that now. I am nothing more than a selfish, flawed individual who thought he knew what was best for everyone."
Minerva couldn't argue with that, and she realized Albus hadn't expected her to. He didn't want her to whitewash his actions and reassure him that everything he'd done was right just because he was dying. He wasn't asking for forgiveness, either, as he gave her an all-too-knowing look. Minerva simply nodded at him in acceptance.
After a moment of silence, Albus continued. "This afternoon, I would like you to teach your classes," he said, and Minerva knew he was deadly serious. "Please, Minerva. I would rather not have interruptions to the students' education. Right now, learning is more important than ever."
Minerva nodded, because she knew he was right about this. As hard as it would be, she knew she had to do as he asked. "All right," she said, closing her eyes. After another moment, she asked, "Should I ... should I tell the students?"
Of course, she was going to tell the staff - she could never hide this from them. But how much was she supposed to share with the students? Many of them did not know him well, but he was so renowned in the wizarding world that many still admired and revered him.
"As I said, I do not want interruptions to their schedules," Albus said quietly. "But I also know that it would be unfair not to tell them the truth. Many of my mistakes, after all, have revolved around hiding things from people. Tell them the truth, Minerva, but please reassure them that things will be all right."
Minerva nodded again. She and the rest of the staff could do that. She knew she could depend on Pomona and Filius, especially. Her bond with them was incredibly strong.
"Thank you," Albus whispered. "I appreciate that more than you know."
"You're welcome," Minerva whispered back as she looked at him once again - blue eyes, white beard, and all. It was hard to believe that there would soon come a day when she would never see him again. A portrait of him would turn up in his office, but it would only be a cheap imitation of the real him. The real Albus Dumbledore was slowly fading away right before her eyes, and there was nothing she could do for him except hold his hand and hope to Merlin that his final journey, whenever it happened, was peaceful.
But as she looked into his eyes, something occurred to her that caused her immense pain. "You're ... not at peace, are you?" she whispered.
"No." Albus nodded sadly. "I am not. I've said and done too much wrong to deserve it."
Minerva felt so infinitely sad then, but she somehow held Albus's gaze. "I'm sorry," she murmured softly.
"As am I," Albus replied. "I will spend my last days attempting to make peace with myself, but I fear I will never find it before the end."
Minerva felt her throat constrict, and her heart felt like a huge weight was on top of it. She closed her eyes again, Albus's gentle and sad expression too much to bear at that moment.
Finally, when she was able to open them again, she asked, "Is there ... anyone you'd like to see?"
"Not today, Minerva," Albus answered, his exhaustion visible. It was clear that he needed rest. "But ... I know that I would like to see Harry very soon. I know that it may be too much to ask, but ..."
Minerva knew Harry - she knew him well, now, and when she replied, she was being honest. "He'll want to see you, too," she said. "I know he will."
"Sirius may have his issues with that," Albus said with a saddened sigh, and although Minerva did not have the details of it, she was sure that Sirius and Albus's confrontation had been a very unpleasant experience for both of them.
But Minerva also knew Harry's godfather. "Sirius will do as Harry asks," she assured him. "He knows that Harry still very much cares about you."
It was Albus's turn to close his eyes. "I know I do not deserve it, and I will not ask for that child's forgiveness," he whispered. "But I ..."
He didn't finish his sentence, but Minerva understood. "I know," she responded gently.
After another moment, Albus spoke again, and his voice was even more pained, filled with an endless ocean of regret that he was unable to wade through. "Aberforth," he whispered.
Minerva nodded. Unlike with Harry, she could not promise that Aberforth would come to him. Although she didn't know the ins and outs of their fractured bond, she could see the bitterness that suffused Aberforth's being whenever his brother's name was mentioned. She'd been in the Hog's Head on several occasions, and whenever Aberforth heard Albus's name ...
"I will try." It was all she could tell him, although she wished she could be more reassuring than that.
Albus smiled again, but it had layers of sadness behind it as he squeezed her hand. "I know you will," he whispered. "Thank you."
There were several moments of silence before Albus spoke again. "I am very tired, Minerva," he confessed quietly.
She knew that this was her cue to leave, and to maintain her responsibilities over Hogwarts. "I'll let you rest," she said, attempting to regain her usual decorum.
"Thank you." Albus smiled at her. "If you wish to, please come back later."
"I will," Minerva promised. She didn't know how much time Albus had left, but she knew she would spend as much of it with him as possible.
Because she knew that no matter what Albus had done, no matter how many mistakes he had made, he didn't deserve to be alone at a time like this. He needed those who still cared for him, and Minerva was determined to be his strength now, when his was running out.
She watched as his eyes closed, and he fell asleep within minutes. Only then did she get up, although every cell in her body protested against her leaving.
But she would do as he asked. If he was to have any measure of peace at all during this process, she would make sure she did her part to reassure him that Hogwarts would not falter.
And as she looked back at him one last time before exiting the hospital wing, she knew this was a promise she wouldn't break.