McGonagall: Can I Survive After Hearing Such a Huge Secret?
Time seemed to freeze.
Dumbledore's eyes widened behind his half-moon spectacles, his gaze locked onto the ghostly young girl standing quietly behind Tom. For a brief moment, the world around him ceased to exist. His lips trembled, parting slightly, as though he were witnessing an impossible miracle—something that should never, ever have occurred.
Slowly, inexorably, his memories were dragged back to that distant summer.
The summer Ariana died.
That tragic accident had shaped his entire life. Because of it, Albus Dumbledore rose to become one of the greatest wizards of the era. Yet it was also because of that same accident that he lost the two most precious things he had ever had: his family, and his peace of mind.
He had once told Harry that, when gazing into the Mirror of Erised, he saw himself holding a pair of thick woolen socks. But those socks had never truly been about socks. They were the embodiment of his longing—his yearning for a warmth he had lost forever.
What he truly wished for was not comfort, but time.
Time to return to the past.
Time to go back to the small home in Godric's Hollow.
Time to stand once more beside Ariana, Aberforth, and their parents, when the family was still whole.
The world believed he opposed power and the Dark Arts out of moral righteousness. But was that really true?
No.
What Albus Dumbledore had always rejected was not power itself, nor the Dark Arts in isolation. What he despised—what he loathed with every fiber of his being—was himself.
The self who had chased power too recklessly.
The self who had failed to protect his sister.
The self whose choices had indirectly led to Ariana's death.
And now—
What was he seeing?
Standing before him was Ariana Dumbledore.
Whole. Intact. Smiling.
The family bond he had torn apart with his own hands was suddenly appearing before him again, as if untouched by tragedy.
"Phew… Ariana, long time no see."
Dumbledore took a deep breath, forcing down the storm of emotions raging in his chest. With great effort, he maintained a calm, measured tone.
"I didn't expect Aberforth would actually agree to let you come to Hogwarts," he said carefully. "What urgent matter could possibly have persuaded him to allow your portrait to connect to the castle?"
His gaze shifted toward Tom.
"And you, Tom. Where did you obtain this painting? Was it prepared by the Lovegood family? Or did you bring it here for a specific reason?"
Then, after a brief pause, he added gently, "If it is not urgent, could you excuse us for a moment? There are some things I would like to discuss with Ariana alone."
It could only be said that this was Albus Dumbledore through and through. Even when confronted with the sister he had mourned for decades, he instinctively constructed a "reasonable" explanation for what he was seeing.
(´･_･`) ???
Tom slowly raised his head, utterly baffled.
What painting?
What portrait?
This old man was clearly talking nonsense.
They weren't portraits at all. They were the real thing. Flesh and blood—well, flesh and blood in Tom's case, and very-much-dead-but-still-here in Ariana's.
'Though… Ariana's condition does seem a little strange,' Tom thought. 'But if there's anyone in the world who can deal with something like this, it's Dumbledore.'
This was the first time Tom had heard the word "Obscurial," but he was certain it wasn't referring to himself.
Madam Margaretha had mentioned that one of them was an Obscurial. The way she had looked at Ariana earlier, combined with Ariana's current abnormal state, made the answer painfully obvious.
With that conclusion reached, Tom prepared to leave.
Before doing so, he nodded politely toward Madam Margaretha. A small whiteboard appeared in his paws.
[Thank you for leading the way, Madam. Sorry for the trouble I caused along the way.]
Then, without further hesitation, he grabbed Ariana and leapt straight out of the picture frame.
"Wait!"
Dumbledore's composure shattered instantly.
"You're not portraits?! Ariana— is it really you? You're back?!"
He stared at the ghostly girl before him. She looked no different from a living person. His heart felt as though it had stopped beating.
"Brother Albus… long time no see."
The joy of reunion momentarily suppressed the unease in Ariana's heart. She smiled warmly at the familiar yet distant figure before her.
"You've grown old."
Instinctively, Dumbledore reached out to touch her.
His fingers passed straight through her.
Though her face was vivid and her colors bright, she was like the moon reflected in water—close, yet untouchable.
He drew a shaky breath.
"Ariana… my sister. You're still in this world? But how is that possible?"
She had died. He knew that better than anyone. Her soul should have departed long ago.
And yet she stood before him now.
"Tom brought me here!"
Ariana's eyes lit up as she pulled the large blue cat closer to her.
"He's the one who brought me out of that empty place."
In an instant, Dumbledore's gaze sharpened, piercing through his spectacles toward Tom. When he saw Ariana holding onto him—and saw that a cat and a soul could interact normally—his expression grew dangerously cold.
'Oh no,' Tom thought. 'That look… He thinks I used Dark Arts, doesn't he?!'
He might not fear Dumbledore, but being misunderstood was another matter entirely.
Frantically, Tom raised his paw. The whiteboard reappeared.
[Principal, calm down! Please don't misunderstand—I really didn't do anything bad!]
"That's right, Brother!"
Ariana hurriedly floated in front of Tom, blocking Dumbledore's line of sight.
"If it weren't for Tom, I might have been stuck in that empty place for decades before seeing you again! He's a good cat!"
She smiled brightly.
"He even asked if I had any words to pass on to you, and said he'd come back to visit me again if he had the chance!"
Dumbledore's gaze softened slightly, but her words gave him pause.
"An empty place? You didn't go to the world after death?"
He frowned. "Can you describe it?"
Tom immediately began drawing.
[A pure white space, with nothing but the small wooden house where Ariana lives.]
When Dumbledore saw the simple sketch, his breath caught.
"This is…"
"Our home in Godric's Hollow!" Ariana exclaimed.
She looked at Tom in amazement. "I didn't know you could draw so well—it looks exactly like it!"
"Meow~"
Tom puffed up proudly.
"The Mist-Enveloped Realm…" Dumbledore murmured.
Then he looked at Tom with genuine warmth.
"Thank you. If you had already been Sorted, I would award a great many points to your House."
He understood his own heart better than anyone. If he hadn't known Ariana was waiting there, he might have chosen to wait for Grindelwald instead.
'That naturally evil Dark Lord… even after death, does he intend to obstruct my reunion with my family?'
(Grindelwald: ???)
"Brother," Ariana suddenly said, floating closer. "There's something I want to tell you."
"I don't blame you."
Those words struck harder than any curse.
Dumbledore staggered back, barely catching himself against the desk. Tears welled in his eyes.
After a long moment, he opened them again—relief and liberation filling his gaze.
"I don't blame Grindelwald either," Ariana continued cheerfully.
"So… when are the two of you getting married?"
Dumbledore: ?
Tom: (°□°;)
This was going to be the death of him.
Professor McGonagall, who had just entered the Headmaster's Office:
"…Did I just hear something I was never meant to hear?"
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