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coyotegothTITLE: The Changing of the Guard
CHARACTERS: Albus Dumbledore; Armando Dippet (headmaster during CoS diary memory)
RATING: gen
WARNINGS: none
FEEDBACK: welcomed
ARCHIVING: please ask
WORD COUNT: ~2300
Although this story technically takes place in the same ficton as the rest of my Harry Potter story, it is set much earlier, at the end of the 1954 Hogwarts school year; it was written for the June Mentors Challenge at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
omniocular. (The post linked to includes a list of prompts, and posting guidelines for nonmembers, should anyone be interested.) No spoilers or warnings; it involves a conversation between new appointee Albus Dumbledore, and the departing former Headmaster, Armando Dippet (from the Chamber of Secrets diary memory).
The Changing of the Guard
Portraits fidget in their frames; fingers tap against a desk. Headmaster Dippet looks from the parchment he is reading to the fireplace, and back again. Even as he does this, an owl flies in, depositing yet another scroll on his desk; the flame of his candle dances as the owl flies away. “That’s one thing I won’t miss,” Dippet mutters to himself. “Merlin’s beard- where is he? It's time I was away, before any more of these...”
Suddenly, there is a flash of green flame in the fireplace; a figure dressed in purple robes comes spinning into view.
“You’re late,” Dippet says tetchily; he half rises, and then quickly sits back down. “Oh, do mind the carpet- I just had it charmed...”
“Pray forgive my tardiness, my dear Armando,” Dumbledore says, stepping out of the fireplace as he takes out his wand; he has a rolled-up bundle under one arm. He gives the wand a wave; all traces of ash vanish. “I’m afraid I took the liberty of stopping at Diagon Alley for some refreshments, on the way here.” He turns to the portraits of former Headmasters that line the walls of the study. "Good evening, everyone."
“Mmm," mutters Dippet to himself, as Dumbledore and the portraits exchange greetings, "new boots, too, I see.”
“Oh, yes,” says Dumbledore, as he unties the string from around the package. He unfurls it over Dippet’s desktop in one brisk motion; it unrolls into a tablecloth and full tea service, complete with steaming tea kettle and plate of biscuits. “Do you like them? I find the buckles quite...”
“Are those butterscotch?” asks Dippet, squinting at the biscuits; he reaches out a shaking hand for one. “My healer says I shouldn’t, but... oh, do take a seat.”
“I’m quite certain that you’ve earned a few minor indulgences,” replies Dumbledore, inclining his head politely; he pours tea, and then sits. “The tea, of course, is Brewsteep’s personal blend, sweetened with his finest clover honey.”
“My favorite,” Dippet says grudgingly, picking up his cup. “If you’re trying to win my forgiveness for your tardiness, Albus, you’re doing an excellent job.”
“Alas, I should have known that you would see through my machinations,” says Dumbledore with a smile. “Lemon drop?”
“Heavens, no- well, just one.” Dumbledore sips at his tea, as Dippet selects a candy. “I should say I have earned a few indulgences,” Dippet grumbles. “I’ve been getting an earful from Abraxas Malfoy and the board of governors ever since your selection was announced.” He wags a finger at Dumbledore. “Not to mention old families like the Scrimgeours and the Blacks. Never thought I’d see the board agree on anything; I’m surprised they permitted your appointment in the first place.”
“I must confess, I share your bafflement,” Dumbledore says brightly, taking a lemon drop himself. “Minister Bagnold must have caught them in a weak moment. Were they receptive to my new staff hires?”
“I got the owl just before you arrived,” grumbles Dippet. “Merlin, but I won’t miss the paperwork.” He fumblingly unties the parchment, and spreads it out. “First year we’ve had enrollment back to pre-war levels, and what happens? You replace half the staff- this place will be a madhouse.” He moves the candle closer, and squints at the scroll.
“Professor Algebra retiring... no surprise there... Kettleburn, eh? Did they ever grow that hand back? Flitwick; I remember his grandfather... mmm...
“Merlin’s beard!” he suddenly yelps. “Hagrid- Rubeus Hagrid? Working with Ogg? Honestly, Albus- you’ll have a werewolf teaching potions next!”
“Well, if I did, it would give Horace time to...” Dumbledore begins.
“McGonagall?” Dippet interjects. “I thought she’d gone Ministry- how in the name of the Seven Stones did you persuade her?”
“Minerva was quite surprisingly receptive to my offer,” replies Dumbledore, “and, I must confess, she said a few things concerning my ability that I flatly refuse to repeat, lest I begin blushing like a first year. Mind you, she greatly regrets the lack of your own able stewardship.”
“I’m sure she does,” Dippet says, pouring himself another cup of tea. “You sound like Abraxas Malfoy- he spent all afternoon going on and on about my hundred and fifty years’ devotion to the school; made me want to hex him unconscious.”
“Still, how very kind of him to make an appearance himself, on behalf of the board of governors- I do hope you were properly appreciative of the honor,” Dumbledore says, eyes twinkling.
“Honor? Pah- making me hold that squalling blond brat of his, with Horace going on about how it’s a natural for Slytherin. Wretched child soiled my robes.” Dippet shakes his head. “That family built half this castle, and they’ll never let us forget it...” he begins, then breaks off, to address the portraits dotting the walls. "Ladies and gentlemen- would you all please excuse us? Confidential Hogwarts business to discuss with the new Headmaster." When the portraits had trooped out of their frames (not without some grumbling), Dippet leaned over to Dumbledore and murmured, “Do you remember that scandal old Catarac Malfoy had to buy his way out of, with the veela and the third years? Paid for this entire wing...”
“I’m afraid that was before my term of tenure,” Dumbledore replies gently. “Catarac Malfoy passed away roughly thirty years ago.”
“Yes, yes- I remember.” Dippet breaks off, to nibble at a biscuit. “Oh- and Abraxas also had an offer for you: he wants to commission a mural of your defeat of Maximilian Grindelwald, for the Great Hall. Quite an honor, actually- an entire sequence in motion, ending with your casting the Ava...”
“How very kind of him to think of it,” Dumbledore says quietly, putting down his teacup. “Most would consider that ancient history, to be duly forgotten.”
Dippet shakes his head. “Honestly, Albus- I know there’s no changing your mind, but there’s no shame in it. Maximilian was a brilliant student- one of Ravenclaw’s best; we were lucky he didn’t go Durmstrang- but later on, once he began those... those researches- well, he had to be stopped.”
“You are, of course, correct,” Dumbledore murmurs. “However, I fear that such a mural might be too... distracting. I am here to guide children down the path of knowledge, not to lead them into battle.”
“Mmm- you never did have much stomach for that sort of thing. I’ll warrant that’s why you stayed on at Hogwarts so long, back when Grindelwald was gaining power during the Muggles’ Second World War,” Dippet says shrewdly. “All through the business with the Chamber of Secrets, and with...” He breaks off abruptly.
“Yes,” Dumbledore says quietly. “With Tom.”
Dippet shifts uncomfortably, and sets his own cup down. “Bad business, that,” he mutters. “Orphan... brilliant student... even with that dueling accident, with the Moody boy...” He shakes his head, and looks away. “I was actually contacted by the headmaster at Durmstrang about him. He wanted Tom to travel there for a year, all expenses paid... never did discover how he heard about... seemed a bad idea...”
He breaks off, and restlessly fidgets in his chair; Dumbledore watches him silently. Finally, Dippet wheezingly pushes himself to his feet, and walks over to the window. He opens the curtains, and gazes out at the sunset.
“The view,” he finally says. “The sunset over the mountains- it’s the one thing I’ll truly miss about this place. Well- that, and the food.” There is a pause. “Do you know,” Dippet finally continues, “as best I can determine, Hogwarts is the single oldest Wizarding establishment in the entire United Kingdom. Before the Ministry, or even the Wizard’s Council; before Azkaban itself was carved from the face of the rock; back when wizards were simply outcasts of Mugglekind, driven into hiding by torch-waving religious fanatics... Hogwarts was here for them. I can remember one of the ghosts telling me of the days when Hogwarts was a simple wooden tower, warped and drafty. At least that hasn’t changed...” He snorts briefly. “You know all this, of course, can't think why I'm... the point is- all of that history, that tradition, stretching back through the ages... it’s almost like a... a blanket of sorts, that keeps one warm against the chill. Hogwarts has survived the goblin revolts, and the Black Death... giants... dragons... It just seems... eternal, as though nothing bad will ever happen, or ever could. I..." He breaks off, and looks at Dumbledore. "Merlin's beard, it's almost eight o' clock; I can't spend the whole night..."
"No, of course not," says Dumbledore, getting to his feet.
"You have to understand," Dippet says then. "I am old; I feel the drafts constantly now- without Horace's potions, I would have had to have retired decades ago. My body aches; my eyesight dims; I have grown weary, and weak with the passing of the years. And besides, you could be accusing an innocent man! There's never been any proof... even with that business with the Chamber... Have you any proof? Any hard evidence?"
"No," says Dumbledore, looking at him steadily. "Only rumors."
"Well, this is what I mean," says Dippet, looking uncomfortable. "These are serious matters..." He then sighs, and looks out the window for a long moment. Dumbledore watches him, as he stares out into the night. "I will confess," Dippet finally says, "the burden of this position has worn heavily on me of late; I rather look forward to seeing the cares of this office devolve to another. I... I almost feel guilty for saying that, but... well, Hogwarts had one of the smoothest, most peaceful passages in its history under my headmastership. A few minor scandals over ninety years, a few deaths, but nothing...” He breaks off. “I should have paid more heed to your concerns,” he finally says. “Tom, and that group of his... I let things go on too long. Has there been any word of him, since he left Borgin and Burkes?”
“Only rumors, as I said,” says Dumbledore, “and mind you, I have been looking.”
“I have no doubt of it- you were my most brilliant pupil...” Dippet sighs, and looks at Dumbledore for a long moment. “Your hair,” Dippet finally says. “When you left for Germany, it was still auburn. Now, it’s as white as the snow.”
“Indeed,” says Dumbledore, before rolling up the tea service. Once he is finished, he turns back to the other man. "Pray forgive me for taking up so much of your time, my dear Armando. I wish you peace and fulfillment in your retirement." So saying, he lifts a hand in farewell, and then tucks the tablecloth under an arm as he heads for the fireplace. He has almost reached it, when: "Albus."
He turns; Dippet is drawing his wand. After a moment, Dippet reaches into a pocket, and pulls out three crystal vials. He touches the wand to his forehead, drawing out memories which he deposits in the vials; he avoids Dumbledore's gaze as he hands the vials over. "Probably naught of any use," he mutters. "Suspicions... rumors..."
"I have every confidence that they will be of the greatest possible value," says Dumbledore, tucking them away. "What are your plans now?"
"Plans?" Dippet snorts a laugh. "At my age, breathing is a plan. No, Albus- I'll leave the plans to you, as always." He looks around the room, then at Dumbledore. "You know- it occurs to me that your position here could make an ideal foundation for evaluating promising students- recruiting, even, were you so inclined. There are those that would gladly follow your lead, in the matter of Tom and his group, or anything else- the Moody boy, for one..."
"I am glad to see that we are of one mind on the matter," says Dumbledore. "Not the sort of direct approach Millicent would favor, perhaps, but a chance to work more delicately- to locate Tom, to talk things over..."
Dippet snorts again. "You won't have to try too hard," Dippet mutters. "From what I hear, he's planning to come right back..." He breaks off, and again fails to meet Dumbledore's gaze.
Dumbledore nods. "Yes, I have heard similar rumors," he says quietly. "That Tom plans to return to Hogwarts, perhaps to... well, I will not speculate overmuch on that. If he does return to Hogwarts, then I shall hear him out, and hope that he will listen to reason."
"Reason." Dippet looks at Dumbledore for a long moment. “I fear you may have a steep price to pay, for my carelessness and neglect.”
“If so, then I am ready to pay it,” says Dumbledore quietly, before walking over to Dippet. "But it has not yet come to that. And, as you say- Hogwarts’ history under your headmastership has been remarkably tranquil; generation after generation of students owes their education to the diligence of your stewardship. If you failed to see the first signs of trouble, back when the day was young... well, you were scarcely alone in such a failing." He puts a hand on Dippet's shoulder. "No; your eyesight has grown dim in the service of this school, and a noble service it is. Rest easy, old friend; it is no longer your burden to bear.”
“I am quite ready to rest easy,” Dippet murmurs. “When one reaches my age, one can sense the end approaching. I only hope that it will be painless, and quick.”
“I have no doubt of it,” replies Dumbledore, taking Dippet’s hands in his. “You may be certain that when that day comes, your painting will be hung so that it faces the window, and the sunset.”
Dippet nods; he seems about to say something else; then steps hastily into the fireplace, and is gone. Dumbledore pauses in silent thought for a long moment, and then walks to the window, where he stands in contemplation of the night sky.
CHARACTERS: Albus Dumbledore; Armando Dippet (headmaster during CoS diary memory)
RATING: gen
WARNINGS: none
FEEDBACK: welcomed
ARCHIVING: please ask
WORD COUNT: ~2300
Although this story technically takes place in the same ficton as the rest of my Harry Potter story, it is set much earlier, at the end of the 1954 Hogwarts school year; it was written for the June Mentors Challenge at
omniocular. (The post linked to includes a list of prompts, and posting guidelines for nonmembers, should anyone be interested.) No spoilers or warnings; it involves a conversation between new appointee Albus Dumbledore, and the departing former Headmaster, Armando Dippet (from the Chamber of Secrets diary memory). The Changing of the Guard
Portraits fidget in their frames; fingers tap against a desk. Headmaster Dippet looks from the parchment he is reading to the fireplace, and back again. Even as he does this, an owl flies in, depositing yet another scroll on his desk; the flame of his candle dances as the owl flies away. “That’s one thing I won’t miss,” Dippet mutters to himself. “Merlin’s beard- where is he? It's time I was away, before any more of these...”
Suddenly, there is a flash of green flame in the fireplace; a figure dressed in purple robes comes spinning into view.
“You’re late,” Dippet says tetchily; he half rises, and then quickly sits back down. “Oh, do mind the carpet- I just had it charmed...”
“Pray forgive my tardiness, my dear Armando,” Dumbledore says, stepping out of the fireplace as he takes out his wand; he has a rolled-up bundle under one arm. He gives the wand a wave; all traces of ash vanish. “I’m afraid I took the liberty of stopping at Diagon Alley for some refreshments, on the way here.” He turns to the portraits of former Headmasters that line the walls of the study. "Good evening, everyone."
“Mmm," mutters Dippet to himself, as Dumbledore and the portraits exchange greetings, "new boots, too, I see.”
“Oh, yes,” says Dumbledore, as he unties the string from around the package. He unfurls it over Dippet’s desktop in one brisk motion; it unrolls into a tablecloth and full tea service, complete with steaming tea kettle and plate of biscuits. “Do you like them? I find the buckles quite...”
“Are those butterscotch?” asks Dippet, squinting at the biscuits; he reaches out a shaking hand for one. “My healer says I shouldn’t, but... oh, do take a seat.”
“I’m quite certain that you’ve earned a few minor indulgences,” replies Dumbledore, inclining his head politely; he pours tea, and then sits. “The tea, of course, is Brewsteep’s personal blend, sweetened with his finest clover honey.”
“My favorite,” Dippet says grudgingly, picking up his cup. “If you’re trying to win my forgiveness for your tardiness, Albus, you’re doing an excellent job.”
“Alas, I should have known that you would see through my machinations,” says Dumbledore with a smile. “Lemon drop?”
“Heavens, no- well, just one.” Dumbledore sips at his tea, as Dippet selects a candy. “I should say I have earned a few indulgences,” Dippet grumbles. “I’ve been getting an earful from Abraxas Malfoy and the board of governors ever since your selection was announced.” He wags a finger at Dumbledore. “Not to mention old families like the Scrimgeours and the Blacks. Never thought I’d see the board agree on anything; I’m surprised they permitted your appointment in the first place.”
“I must confess, I share your bafflement,” Dumbledore says brightly, taking a lemon drop himself. “Minister Bagnold must have caught them in a weak moment. Were they receptive to my new staff hires?”
“I got the owl just before you arrived,” grumbles Dippet. “Merlin, but I won’t miss the paperwork.” He fumblingly unties the parchment, and spreads it out. “First year we’ve had enrollment back to pre-war levels, and what happens? You replace half the staff- this place will be a madhouse.” He moves the candle closer, and squints at the scroll.
“Professor Algebra retiring... no surprise there... Kettleburn, eh? Did they ever grow that hand back? Flitwick; I remember his grandfather... mmm...
“Merlin’s beard!” he suddenly yelps. “Hagrid- Rubeus Hagrid? Working with Ogg? Honestly, Albus- you’ll have a werewolf teaching potions next!”
“Well, if I did, it would give Horace time to...” Dumbledore begins.
“McGonagall?” Dippet interjects. “I thought she’d gone Ministry- how in the name of the Seven Stones did you persuade her?”
“Minerva was quite surprisingly receptive to my offer,” replies Dumbledore, “and, I must confess, she said a few things concerning my ability that I flatly refuse to repeat, lest I begin blushing like a first year. Mind you, she greatly regrets the lack of your own able stewardship.”
“I’m sure she does,” Dippet says, pouring himself another cup of tea. “You sound like Abraxas Malfoy- he spent all afternoon going on and on about my hundred and fifty years’ devotion to the school; made me want to hex him unconscious.”
“Still, how very kind of him to make an appearance himself, on behalf of the board of governors- I do hope you were properly appreciative of the honor,” Dumbledore says, eyes twinkling.
“Honor? Pah- making me hold that squalling blond brat of his, with Horace going on about how it’s a natural for Slytherin. Wretched child soiled my robes.” Dippet shakes his head. “That family built half this castle, and they’ll never let us forget it...” he begins, then breaks off, to address the portraits dotting the walls. "Ladies and gentlemen- would you all please excuse us? Confidential Hogwarts business to discuss with the new Headmaster." When the portraits had trooped out of their frames (not without some grumbling), Dippet leaned over to Dumbledore and murmured, “Do you remember that scandal old Catarac Malfoy had to buy his way out of, with the veela and the third years? Paid for this entire wing...”
“I’m afraid that was before my term of tenure,” Dumbledore replies gently. “Catarac Malfoy passed away roughly thirty years ago.”
“Yes, yes- I remember.” Dippet breaks off, to nibble at a biscuit. “Oh- and Abraxas also had an offer for you: he wants to commission a mural of your defeat of Maximilian Grindelwald, for the Great Hall. Quite an honor, actually- an entire sequence in motion, ending with your casting the Ava...”
“How very kind of him to think of it,” Dumbledore says quietly, putting down his teacup. “Most would consider that ancient history, to be duly forgotten.”
Dippet shakes his head. “Honestly, Albus- I know there’s no changing your mind, but there’s no shame in it. Maximilian was a brilliant student- one of Ravenclaw’s best; we were lucky he didn’t go Durmstrang- but later on, once he began those... those researches- well, he had to be stopped.”
“You are, of course, correct,” Dumbledore murmurs. “However, I fear that such a mural might be too... distracting. I am here to guide children down the path of knowledge, not to lead them into battle.”
“Mmm- you never did have much stomach for that sort of thing. I’ll warrant that’s why you stayed on at Hogwarts so long, back when Grindelwald was gaining power during the Muggles’ Second World War,” Dippet says shrewdly. “All through the business with the Chamber of Secrets, and with...” He breaks off abruptly.
“Yes,” Dumbledore says quietly. “With Tom.”
Dippet shifts uncomfortably, and sets his own cup down. “Bad business, that,” he mutters. “Orphan... brilliant student... even with that dueling accident, with the Moody boy...” He shakes his head, and looks away. “I was actually contacted by the headmaster at Durmstrang about him. He wanted Tom to travel there for a year, all expenses paid... never did discover how he heard about... seemed a bad idea...”
He breaks off, and restlessly fidgets in his chair; Dumbledore watches him silently. Finally, Dippet wheezingly pushes himself to his feet, and walks over to the window. He opens the curtains, and gazes out at the sunset.
“The view,” he finally says. “The sunset over the mountains- it’s the one thing I’ll truly miss about this place. Well- that, and the food.” There is a pause. “Do you know,” Dippet finally continues, “as best I can determine, Hogwarts is the single oldest Wizarding establishment in the entire United Kingdom. Before the Ministry, or even the Wizard’s Council; before Azkaban itself was carved from the face of the rock; back when wizards were simply outcasts of Mugglekind, driven into hiding by torch-waving religious fanatics... Hogwarts was here for them. I can remember one of the ghosts telling me of the days when Hogwarts was a simple wooden tower, warped and drafty. At least that hasn’t changed...” He snorts briefly. “You know all this, of course, can't think why I'm... the point is- all of that history, that tradition, stretching back through the ages... it’s almost like a... a blanket of sorts, that keeps one warm against the chill. Hogwarts has survived the goblin revolts, and the Black Death... giants... dragons... It just seems... eternal, as though nothing bad will ever happen, or ever could. I..." He breaks off, and looks at Dumbledore. "Merlin's beard, it's almost eight o' clock; I can't spend the whole night..."
"No, of course not," says Dumbledore, getting to his feet.
"You have to understand," Dippet says then. "I am old; I feel the drafts constantly now- without Horace's potions, I would have had to have retired decades ago. My body aches; my eyesight dims; I have grown weary, and weak with the passing of the years. And besides, you could be accusing an innocent man! There's never been any proof... even with that business with the Chamber... Have you any proof? Any hard evidence?"
"No," says Dumbledore, looking at him steadily. "Only rumors."
"Well, this is what I mean," says Dippet, looking uncomfortable. "These are serious matters..." He then sighs, and looks out the window for a long moment. Dumbledore watches him, as he stares out into the night. "I will confess," Dippet finally says, "the burden of this position has worn heavily on me of late; I rather look forward to seeing the cares of this office devolve to another. I... I almost feel guilty for saying that, but... well, Hogwarts had one of the smoothest, most peaceful passages in its history under my headmastership. A few minor scandals over ninety years, a few deaths, but nothing...” He breaks off. “I should have paid more heed to your concerns,” he finally says. “Tom, and that group of his... I let things go on too long. Has there been any word of him, since he left Borgin and Burkes?”
“Only rumors, as I said,” says Dumbledore, “and mind you, I have been looking.”
“I have no doubt of it- you were my most brilliant pupil...” Dippet sighs, and looks at Dumbledore for a long moment. “Your hair,” Dippet finally says. “When you left for Germany, it was still auburn. Now, it’s as white as the snow.”
“Indeed,” says Dumbledore, before rolling up the tea service. Once he is finished, he turns back to the other man. "Pray forgive me for taking up so much of your time, my dear Armando. I wish you peace and fulfillment in your retirement." So saying, he lifts a hand in farewell, and then tucks the tablecloth under an arm as he heads for the fireplace. He has almost reached it, when: "Albus."
He turns; Dippet is drawing his wand. After a moment, Dippet reaches into a pocket, and pulls out three crystal vials. He touches the wand to his forehead, drawing out memories which he deposits in the vials; he avoids Dumbledore's gaze as he hands the vials over. "Probably naught of any use," he mutters. "Suspicions... rumors..."
"I have every confidence that they will be of the greatest possible value," says Dumbledore, tucking them away. "What are your plans now?"
"Plans?" Dippet snorts a laugh. "At my age, breathing is a plan. No, Albus- I'll leave the plans to you, as always." He looks around the room, then at Dumbledore. "You know- it occurs to me that your position here could make an ideal foundation for evaluating promising students- recruiting, even, were you so inclined. There are those that would gladly follow your lead, in the matter of Tom and his group, or anything else- the Moody boy, for one..."
"I am glad to see that we are of one mind on the matter," says Dumbledore. "Not the sort of direct approach Millicent would favor, perhaps, but a chance to work more delicately- to locate Tom, to talk things over..."
Dippet snorts again. "You won't have to try too hard," Dippet mutters. "From what I hear, he's planning to come right back..." He breaks off, and again fails to meet Dumbledore's gaze.
Dumbledore nods. "Yes, I have heard similar rumors," he says quietly. "That Tom plans to return to Hogwarts, perhaps to... well, I will not speculate overmuch on that. If he does return to Hogwarts, then I shall hear him out, and hope that he will listen to reason."
"Reason." Dippet looks at Dumbledore for a long moment. “I fear you may have a steep price to pay, for my carelessness and neglect.”
“If so, then I am ready to pay it,” says Dumbledore quietly, before walking over to Dippet. "But it has not yet come to that. And, as you say- Hogwarts’ history under your headmastership has been remarkably tranquil; generation after generation of students owes their education to the diligence of your stewardship. If you failed to see the first signs of trouble, back when the day was young... well, you were scarcely alone in such a failing." He puts a hand on Dippet's shoulder. "No; your eyesight has grown dim in the service of this school, and a noble service it is. Rest easy, old friend; it is no longer your burden to bear.”
“I am quite ready to rest easy,” Dippet murmurs. “When one reaches my age, one can sense the end approaching. I only hope that it will be painless, and quick.”
“I have no doubt of it,” replies Dumbledore, taking Dippet’s hands in his. “You may be certain that when that day comes, your painting will be hung so that it faces the window, and the sunset.”
Dippet nods; he seems about to say something else; then steps hastily into the fireplace, and is gone. Dumbledore pauses in silent thought for a long moment, and then walks to the window, where he stands in contemplation of the night sky.
