After

As she sat there, unmoving, she felt a rush of air behind her, and turned, expecting one of the ghosts, or perhaps an attempted sneak attack by Peeves. In reality, there was a large hole in the glasswork in one of the windows across the room. She eventually managed to stand up from the sunken couch and crossed the room to the broken window. The glass had been collected up, but left, likely by some tired but helpful student who had come for rest but found distraction much easier. She used the swept-up pieces to carefully replace the small diamond-shaped panes, finding distraction much easier than peace. 

Having work to do steadied her hands and focused her attention. It didn’t take her long to set the window to rights and when she had her heart had settled back into a normal pattern and her hands were no longer shaking. She nodded once in a gesture of satisfaction and started to turn away from the window and search out a new project when she heard a voice from somewhere to her left. A most familiar voice. 

“You’re being a coward, you know, Minerva,” It said with a slightly disgusted ring to her voice. 

“I don’t want to hear anything from you. What do you know?” Minerva retorted without looking at the portrait that was speaking from her spot on the wall. 

“I know you.” The portrait said with a smirk and an accented lilt in her voice. 

“Not really,” Minerva scoffed, shaking her head and glancing back at the portrait she was arguing with

The portrait of Minerva McGonagall, aged 28 years, which had kept watch over Gryffindor Common room for a number of years now, replied with a scoff very much like that of her older counterpart.“I am you, ya daft bitch.” 

“No, I am you, but you are not me,” Minerva replied firmly, still barely glancing at the portrait of her younger self. There were a lot of things that Minerva had learned in the seventy-six years since she had been twenty-eight years old, she was a much different person than had been captured in that painting. 

The portrait replied in the same confident, almost arrogant, way that a younger Minerva would have, “Oh please, I know I look twenty-eight but I’ve been hanging around this castle almost as long as you have, I know what goes on.” 

“And you respond to things as I would’ve when I was twenty-eight,” Minerva replied as if she were explaining the situation and wishing she weren’t having this conversation. Most of the time her portrait was a very helpful thing to have as she was the only person she trusted to report on the goings on of Gryffindor Tower, but sometimes dealing with her younger self was tiresome, to say the least.

“Yes, perhaps I do. But that isn’t my point. If ye’ll shut up long enough I’ll tell ya what I’m actually sayin’,” Minerva heard her own accent deepen. She had forgotten how she used to lose control of it when she was upset. She had forgotten how free-spoken she used to be. 

She sighed and almost smiled, saying, “Fine, what is your point?”

“The point is that I may not be you anymore, but I was once, and Merlin knows I’ve talked to ya enough since then that I think I can still say I know ya, and I know ye’re braver than this. We’re braver than this.” The portrait spoke, impassioned as Minerva once was in her youth. 

Minerva was silent for a brief moment before she said softly, “I think that maybe you are braver than me.” 

The portrait did not look impressed with her older self. “Ye’re bein’ feckin’ ridiculous, you do know that don’t you? Cut the drama, Minerva, what do you even have to brave? There’s nothing there. The only danger is inside yer head. Severus is dead, and good riddance, he can’t hurt ya. The Carrows are locked up in Azkaban by now, they can’t hurt ya. If ya could stop being so damn guilty for things that ya didn’t do, then ye’d already be done with the job.” 

Present-day Minerva was not pleased that she was being lectured by her twenty-eight-year-old self, (though she is the only twenty-eight-year-old that Minerva would ever take advice from.) but she had to admit that she had a point.  “Alright,” She replied loudly, shutting her portrait self up, “Stop talking. You’re point’s been taken.” 

“Fine,” The portrait grouched back, “then do somethin’ aboot et.” The younger Minerva gestured to the door out of the common room. 

Both Minerva’s huffed agitatedly at the other, then shot each other the same scorching look, and cracked the same almost imperceptible smile. 

“Good god, was I really ever this annoying?” Minerva sighed, somewhere between exasperation and amusement. 

“Don’t change the subject, ye’ve got a job te do,” Painting Minerva responded with a chastising look. 

“Fine. Fine. Fine.” Elder Minerva conceded, She looked at her younger self and smiled ever so slightly, “You are the only person I would ever say this to willingly, you’re right.” 

“We’re right,” The portrait said generously, smiling back. 

They nodded once to each other by way of parting and Minerva crossed the common room with a more confident step, exiting the portrait hole into the corridor and marching back in the direction of her office.