Each passing day felt as though the countdown toward his death was speeding up.
It was not that Albus Dumbledore was scared of death. He, in fact, welcomed it as a deadline, as a way to force him into action and out of contemplation. The Dark curse on his hand and eventually throughout his body sparked the fire that had produced these Horcrux information session, and it launched theories and plans out of his head. It would be nice to leave his legacy in this world-a hopefully tasteful portrait near the window-and journey into the next great adventure.
The only thing holding him back from truly accepting the end of his life was the execution of said plans. Harry was not progressing in his persuasion of Horace Slughorn as much as Albus desired, and Severus still showed resentment over the role that had both been chosen for him and by him. The anxiety Albus felt about potentially not giving the young Gryffindor what he needed to begin his search caused his brow to furrow and his usually smiling face to fall. The idea that Severus might shrug off the robes of his assigned task also worried him, though he did not believe it to be likely.
Albus longed for the relieving moment when nothing was standing in the way of acceptance.