An interesting thing... this is the first and probably only thing I will write that covers 'life after Dumbledore's death'. I just love him too much to see him anywhere but in the world of life.
Go see this story on The Hogwarts Quill, too! It was posted there first! (If they ever decide to validate it--pretty please?) Look for me as "Temperate Storm".
The moonlight illuminated Harry's frozen fear.
He knew that he was not looking at a ghost, for a ghost could not have roused him from his sleep, fitful as it was--but the spirit of Albus Dumbledore smiling at him was still making him go rigid under his bedcovers with apprehension.
He hated ghosts. He had always hated ghosts. Sweet Merlin, ever since the days before Hogwarts when he had been a small child huddled down in raggedy blankets, hiding in the cupboard that was all he could call his own, he had shuddered and sobbed with the fright of imagining pearly white figures reaching out cold hands to him...
"Having trouble sleeping?"
Harry flinched as his dead headmaster broke the quiet. He felt like no less than a little kid--sitting here and being reprimanded by a beloved teacher.
No, more than just a beloved teacher. Sometimes Harry had dared to dream that Professor Dumbledore could be--
No. Those thoughts, like the man himself, were best left freshly buried. Unspoken. By speaking of them his yearning for those dead dreams to somehow become true became stronger....
When he had felt that hand stroke across his shoulders and shake him gently out of nightmares, he had thought for a second--but it was childish to want that--
"Harry?"
You're not a ghost, the boy thought. He couldn't speak; he swallowed painfully.
Dumbledore seemed to be able to hear his thoughts; he shook his head of pearl-white, glowing silver hair and replied softly. "No, I am no ghost." He smiled, and his spirit-blue eyes twinkled in their familiar way, when he saw that Harry did not understand and wanted him to explain further as always; however, he let his smile be explanation enough this time.
Seeing such a soothing smile so soon after the nightmarish events at the tower, after seeing the last pained, pleading look on the same face now smiling peacefully at him, was the pulled string that made Harry come undone. Tears slipped from his cheeks to the bedcovers, suddenly, silently. There were no sobs or cries or whimpers; his voice was lost. He had no voice. He wondered if he'd ever had one--a voice box to be snatched away for his soundless scream as Dumbledore fell away from him...
The spirit-Dumbledore's eyes widened; then he quickly reached for the boy, gripped his shoulders, pulled him to his chest. He stroked the boy's hair and back gently while the latter sobbed quietly--just when the headmaster thought that Harry could support himself, the boy's arms locked together around him. Now they held each other in a wordless and yet understanding embrace, even if one of them could hardly see through his tears. There was infinite sadness and longing, tenderness and agony in that strong hold that the both of them could feel.
Harry did not want Dumbledore to ever leave him again. Touching a ghost felt colder than the freezing waters of the giant squid's lake, but the spirit of his old headmaster was warm, warmer than the blood in Harry's own veins, such a comforting warmth that Harry could almost pretend that the man comforting him was still alive and well, and that he himself could speak the words lodged in his throat.
I'm glad you're here.
I miss you so much.
Don't leave me...!
I'm sorry--I'm sorry, so sorry about what happened up there--the tower--I--
"Shhhhhh..." was Dumbledore's tender response to his churning thoughts, the way that he soothed at least some of his pupil's grief. He was glad to see that the boy was no longer trembling, now convinced that he was not a ghost--even if he did not know just what that meant his headmaster was.
"I cannot come back to this world, Harry," Dumbledore went on gently, whispering so as not to wake the other boys in the dormitory. "My time alive in that way is over. But I did come back for you.... I wanted to see you again, just for a short while, to clear things up before I went on...you see, my mother taught me long ago to always finish what I started and take care of those I care deeply about... as well as saying a proper goodbye."
Harry's grip slackened, then dropped completely. Eventually his grieving hiccoughing slowed, stopped, and he began to snore softly. He had, in many ways, cried himself to sleep.
He is at peace... for now. That is all I can do for him. I can no longer protect him from Voldemort... Harry must face him alone.
Albus Dumbledore's white form began to fade slowly. When it was entirely gone, only a small, pale young man twisted in bedcovers was left of an otherworldly farewell.
"Harry," Ron said gently. "Harry. Wake up, mate."
Wait a moment. Ron, gentle? He must be dreaming...
"Harry."
He was so annoyed at being woken in such a fashion that he had said "I'm up, Ron!" before realizing the full implications of such a thing.
My voice is back again. Like it never left.
"...Well, then, let's go downstairs," Ron went on, ever oblivious.
There was a silver hair on his pillow. Harry smiled sadly and followed his best friend down into the Gryffindor common room.
(sighs) I have an urge to cry now. Help me suppress that urge with REVIEWS!!!
... Oh, come on, they even made the button green!