A/N: Written by Chaser 1 of Pride of Portree for QLFC Round 10

Prompt: Dilys Derwent

Optional prompts: (word) confined, (word) history, (song) 'Forever Young' by Jay-Z ft. Mr Hudson

Thank you to my teammates for betaing this.

Word count: 2438

10 August 1741

Dilys Derwent beamed in delight as she settled onto the stool the artist had chosen for her official portrait. The act of painting or being painted had never appealed to her before; the few times she had tried to sit still long enough for it, her mind had drifted to the myriad other things she could have been doing. This time, however, was different. She was thrilled to begin her new role as Headmistress, and she was determined to savour every second of it — even the irksome ones.

"Tilt your head to the left," the artist, William, instructed her in a tone that brooked no argument. "Now, hold still."

She did as he bid, forcing her body to remain as steady as the stone pillar she hoped to one day become for the children. Her chest filled with warmth as she thought about it. It was such an honour to be given the chance to become a part of Hogwarts' illustrious history. She only hoped she could do the position justice.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw William reach for a paintbrush and dip it into one of the coloured panels on his easel. Idly, she wondered where he would begin.

It didn't take long for boredom to set in, and her gaze started perusing the room — what she could see of it, anyway — with a critical eye. She had finished furnishing it with her possessions, but it still felt foreign to her. Before long, her eyes settled on the portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses that lined the walls. They were, she had been told, there to advise and serve her to the best of their ability during her time in office. And one day, if she proved herself worthy enough to hold her position until she died, her portrait would be mounted on the wall beside them so that her spirit could continue to fulfil her duty for centuries to come.

-x-

5 April 1768

"You — She was a brave woman," the Acting Headmaster finished, turning his head away as if he could not bear to look at her any longer.

Dilys wiped the tears from her eyes. Hearing about her human self's death at sixty-three years of age had been more distressing than she had anticipated. Apart from her creator and, now, this man, the woman was the only person she had ever met, but she had expected to retain some degree of emotional separation. But listening to the story of how the witch had died protecting her students from a rogue dragon made it feel like she had been the one to sacrifice herself to give her charges time to escape.

I suppose that means Dilys succeeded in fashioning me after her, she thought, both proud and troubled by the idea. She had spent over two decades studying the woman's history and idiosyncrasies, but she had never realised just how real it would come to feel for her.

Catching sight of herself in the mirror that hung on the wall opposite her cupboard, she noticed how much she had changed since the day she had first been painted. Her hair, once golden blonde, had faded to vivid silver, and soft wrinkles spread out from her eyes like wings. She still wore the robes the woman had donned the day of the painting, but the style had changed to suit the fashions of the time.

The spells the artist had cast over her had done their job well. She had aged with the woman until the day she died. She would never be all that Dilys had been, but Dilys was all that she was and knew.

I am Dilys, she thought, taking comfort from the prospect, and she will live on through me — forever.

-x-

2 September 1790

Dilys wandered through the portraits of Hogwarts, enjoying the scenery as she searched for lost or confused students. After years spent locked in a cupboard, waiting for her human self to return to tell her more about her life, being busy and needed was the best feeling in the world. Her other portrait hung at St Mungo's, so she was able to move between the two locations at her leisure. Between the two places, there was always a task to be done, whether it was assisting the students or encouraging young healers.

Spotting a young boy at the end of the corridor, Dilys smiled and made her way over to the portrait nearest to him. He was staring at a piece of parchment with a wide, helpless gaze that made it clear he was a first year.

"Good evening," she greeted him. He flinched and spun around in confusion. "Over here, dear. In the painting."

When his eyes met hers, she noticed the sheen of someone on the verge of crying.

"Are you lost? It is quite easy to get waylaid here at Hogwarts; it is a big castle, is it not?" At his cautious nod, she continued, "Would you like to tell me where you're headed? I used to be the Headmistress here, so I should know where it is. Of course, even I still lose my way sometimes."

The boy smiled at the joke despite himself. "I need to find the Astronomy Tower."

"No wonder you're having trouble finding it! That's a long way away from here. If you would like, I can show you the way there."

His face lit up with a grateful smile. "Yes, please."

"Follow me, then."

As they made their way through the castle, she asked him about his first two days at school. By the time they reached the classroom, he was grinning and laughing as if he hadn't a care in the world. One of his classmates was waiting outside when they arrived, so she left him there with the gentle suggestion to ask the portraits for help in the future.

As she returned to the Headmaster's office, planning on making her way through her portrait to St Mungo's to check in on their new interns, she hummed a quiet song to herself. Interacting with the young students had always been her human self's favourite aspect of the role of Headmistress, and she could see why.

She was glad she would be able to continue doing so forever. She was young for a witch and, unlike her human counterpart, she was not confined by the limits of a human body.

-x-

6 May 1876

Dilys' eyes jerked open as Eupraxia Mole, the most recent Headmistress, stumbled out of the fireplace in a panic. Panting out great, rasping breaths, she turned to face the wall of portraits. "Rancorous' plan to evict Peeves failed, and the poltergeist is on a rampage. He is setting off weapons and threatening the students. Amrose, inform the Heads of House that they need to evacuate the students post-haste. Dilys, order the house-elves to use their magic to identify and fetch any stragglers. The rest of you, go through all the paintings in the castle and tell any students you find to flee or take cover."

Hiking up her robes in a rather unladylike fashion, Dilys sprinted out of her frame, ignoring the ruckus that was starting up behind her. After 108 years of roaming the school, her feet instinctively took the shortest path to the kitchens. Once there, it didn't take long for her to rouse the house-elves, who all Disapparated with a chorus of snapping fingers.

Without pausing for breath, she spun on her heel and ran back the way she had come. There were students to warn and ghosts to alert.

She was met with the loud din of students clamouring to reach the doors, despite the professors' best attempts to keep them orderly. Passing them, she decided to loop around the bathrooms, calling out for anyone inside to evacuate.

Dilys skidded to a stop at the sight of Peeves chasing a boy through the halls, cackling wildly as he tormented him. "Peeves, stop!"

He pulled a face but otherwise ignored her.

She threw herself forward —

— only to smack into a solid wall that sent her reeling backwards. Rubbing her forehead to ease the pain, she glared at the place where she knew the glass barrier of her portrait lay.

It was easy to forget that the realm she lived in wasn't the same one everyone else inhabited. Since it was all she had ever known, it had never bothered her before. For the first time, she felt trapped and confined by the painted land she lived in. She was able to share her knowledge and run errands all she liked, but she couldn't interfere in a physical sense. Unlike her human predecessor, who had seen danger and thrown herself in front of it, she couldn't give her life to defend her charges.

She was able to live forever, but she couldn't even do what her human self had done with such ease.

A loud crack reverberated through the air, and Peeves surged back in fright. A house-elf had appeared between him and the child, her eyes shining with defiance. "You will leave now or Tilly will make you leave."

The poltergeist fled, leaving Dilys and Tilly alone with the shaken child. The house-elf hurried to tend to the boy as Dilys sagged against the glass wall of her portrait, wishing she could be there as well.

-x-

8 January 1920

Sighing, Dilys paced the perimeter of her frame, trying to release some of her pent-up energy. The other portraits adorning the Headmaster's walls eyed her but, to her relief, refrained from commenting on her restlessness. In the immediate aftermath of Peeves' tantrum, they had all tried to talk to her about her sudden change in mood, but they seemed to have accepted that she was not willing to discuss it with them.

That one day had changed everything. What had once given her simpleminded joy now brought her nothing but frustration. Instead of revelling in her ability to help the students work through their problems, she talked to them while struggling not to remember how powerless she really was. Instead of taking pleasure in talking new healers through difficult or rare maladies, she was bitter that she wasn't able to help their patients firsthand.

People had noticed; she knew they had. When they thought she was sleeping, the other portraits whispered about her change in mood. They said the spell had worked too well, that ageing alongside the real Dilys for all of those years had made them so alike that her mind was part-human. And she had been an active witch who far preferred applying knowledge to acquiring it, after all.

She hadn't put much stock in the rumours at first — not until she noticed that the last few Headmasters had opted to have their portraits repainted every few years instead. It meant they didn't have as much time to impart their knowledge and experiences to the new portraits, but that seemed to be the point.

In a way, she was relieved. The system wasn't as effective as hers had been, but none of the other portraits had grown as uneasy as she had, so it was worth it if the theory was right.

But, whether it was true or not, it was too late for them to do anything for her. The portraits had all been warded to protect them from harm, magical or not, so she was going to be stuck that way.

Forever.

-x-

6 May 1978

As she sat in her portrait at St Mungo's, Dilys fiddled with the corner of her sleeve, wondering what it would be like to have to change her robes on a regular basis like humans did. One of the ladies on the fourth floor had been painted in her chambers, so she had access to a variety of clothes that she frequently made use of. To Dilys, however, it seemed like a pointless waste of time.

Then again, everything did.

She looked up with wary acceptance as a wounded couple staggered through the front door of the hospital and over to the Welcome Witch. Ever since the war started, St Mungo's had been busier than ever. Most of the issues were the result of minor altercations, but they still required prompt attention. The healers were overworked and understaffed, but there was little she could do about it.

But Dilys — the human Dilys — had vowed to protect and aid the patients of the hospital in whatever way she could.

So she took a deep breath and, putting her personal feelings aside, moved to a closer painting so she could uphold that promise.

-x-

25 June 1995

When Albus Dumbledore entered his office a few hours past midnight, closing the door behind him, he was met with stony silence. The portraits had all heard rumours of the events that had transpired the night before, but none of them wanted to believe they were true. Gossip spread like wildfire in places like Hogwarts, growing and distorting itself until it had turned from a flame into a powerful blaze. It was possible — not likely, but possible — that that was all this was.

But when he turned to face them, his expression was one of total fatigue. "I am afraid," he began, his voice as calm as ever, "that what we most feared has come to pass. The Ministry refuses to believe me, but Lord Voldemort has returned... and he killed Cedric Diggory."

Dilys fell to her knees as cries of outrage and fear flooded the room. The memories of the first war still plagued her in her dreams. There had been so much loss, so much pain, so much tragedy. And now they were back at the start again: They had won one war only to find themselves engaged in another.

And it would never end. It was going to happen again, and again, and again, and again, until it all bled together into one big war. If history repeated itself, she was doomed to its endless cycle, confined by her cage of glass and paint.

She would have given anything to break free. Not just to be able to help, but to be able to live and die as humans did.

Like the 'real' Dilys had.

She closed her eyes, gasping for breath. That was the catch, wasn't it? She was Dilys, but also she wasn't; she was her shadow, doomed to walk the world forever.

Her eyes flickered open again. She might have been the lesser Dilys, but she still had a duty to uphold.