1. The Will
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of this story.
Harry was lying on his bed, hands clenching the bed sheets and his whole body trembling, heaving. Waves of emotions boiled up in him and his mind could not decide which should dominate. One minute he paced back and forth in his dorm room, his hands clutching tightly his wand as he went through his mind cursing Snape in every language he could. He all but barreled out of the room, vowing to find that greasy git of a bastard and kill him. His mind conjured images of Snape sneering, mocking him, or perhaps - no, surely - laughing right now at Dumbledore's untimely death.
He could just imagine Snape's words. "Well, it seems that even the so-called all powerful codger is capable to die. All those tales of his mighty powers, and he could not even defend himself against me. Defeated by Expelliarmus ! Ha, what a weakling!" And when Harry finally meets Snape: "Well, well, to what do I we his pleasure of having the famous Boy-Who-Lived at my doorsteps - and without his entourage, no less. Excuse me, Potter - I must prepare for the end of the world." Harry snarled as he imagined that ugly face and how his fist would feel as it connect with that gigantic nose.
And now, sorrow washed over, wrecking his body with sobs. Tears came pouring out of his eyes and he buried his face in his pillow. To never see Dumbledore again. And to never see that amused twinkle in his eyes. And to never be offered a lemon drop again by the old worn hands. How could he survive Voldemort without him? A knock at the window shocked him out of his reverie. No one would owl him here at Hogwarts. He glanced up. A grey barn owl, carrying a missive waited patiently by the window sill, brought him a reprieve from his tumbling thoughts. It was from Professor McGonagall.
Mr. Potter,
You are invited to attend the reading of the Will of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore on the 4th of July. If you would like to attend, please respond as soon as possible. Please be prepared by the morning of the said date, if you accept. We will arrange some people to pick you up.
Professor M. McGonagall
He stood. That's the day after tomorrow. He quickly scribbled a reply, and sent the owl off. What should he wear? Uncle Vernon certainly would not allow him to get his dress robes. He signed. Well, might as well tell him and see what happens. Having people like Tonks, or perhaps, Moody, coming in unexpectedly would be a recipe for disaster.