After the Funeral
Long after the funeral of Albus Dumbledore, once the last of the mourners had left and the remaining students were sent on the Hogwarts Express to their homes, Minerva sat alone without moving, gathering her scattered thoughts in what had been the Headmaster's office, staring at one particular painting on the wall. She could see him resting peacefully in his golden frame with his half moon spectacles still perched crookedly upon his long nose, but he seemed to be an illusion. Her memory wound back to when she had last heard the soothing sounds of his voice that flowed, as if they were music. She noticed an envelope with her name written on it in Dumbledores familiar scrawl.
She fingered it carefully and then opened it carefully and read what were obviously the last words he had ever wrote.
My dear Minerva
If you have this envelope in Your Hand then I know I have passed over to the next great adventure.
Don't grieve too long for me as I expected to die sometime this year by Severus's hand. He was loath to abide by my order but he will do it when the time comes. I have placed a memory into a bottle for safe keeping that explains why It was necessary for this action to take place. I trust you will understand in time why I deemed it necessary...
Minerva could not finish reading the letter as tears forming in her eyes blurred the words, except the last three that read 'with Love Albus.'
Dropping the letter back down onto the ornate desk, she tried to block the words unconsciously as they hurt her. In retrospect she realized that he had always known he was not going to be there much longer, just as he had been saying for years that the end of Hogwarts was a certainty. Unable to prevent them, the threatening tears started to pour unrestrained down her face, blurring her vision as she watched the light fade from the room.
The room was almost dark as the sun removed its warming rays and the twilight arrived. Albus felt curiously detached. He felt a peace unlike anything he had known as he rested within the framework of the painting.
He could sense Minerva sitting and staring unseeing towards him He wanted to comfort her but felt too tired to speak to her just then. Time passed as he thought over his long life filled with his triumphs and his regrets.
His eyes were covered by heavily leaden lids as his mind which seemed to be still as razor sharp saw himself as a boy, then a man, slowly aging and then he slipped quietly into a deep restorative sleep.