A ficlet that popped into my head while re-reading Deathly Hallows a couple of days ago.
I thought writing a bit on Dumbledore's death would be worthwhile, and in my opinion, it was.
This fandom isn't really something I've written about seriously. Who knows? Maybe I'll write more of these if I ever feel up to it.
Please
He knew it would come down to this in the end. To face death was to face humanity's most feared of enemies, worse than Lord Voldemort, worse than the Cruciatus Curse, worse than the poison he had drunk not even hours ago in order to retrieve the wretched Horcrux. No, death meant the light leaving his body; but that price, he knew, came with something immortal, forever existing and forever warm. His heart, his soul, he did not know, but his anticipation and adrenaline drowned out the childish fears that rattled his exhausted brain.
He was about to die. And he was prepared to go down, body crumbled and heart stopped.
He had ordered him to do it, his mind made up as he would rather die painlessly; quickly with Avada Kedavra rather than suffer due to the curse that would inevitably kill him by the end of the year anyway. The plan was most definitely in motion; the Death Eaters had infiltrated the castle. The Order would be fighting off the evil ones; he had faith that they would win.
He knew that they would win.
And now they were cornered atop the highest tower, he and the Boy Who Lived; The Chosen One; Harry Potter. Amycus and Alecto and Fenrir... Oh, how he should have known. How foolish of him to expect no less; how stupid of him to expect the boy to come alone.
He pitied the poor teenage boy in the middle of the small posse, trembling from his silvery-blonde head to the very tips of his shoes with his wand raised in what he probably thought to be a threatening gesture. It was supposed to be a threat against his life; the poor boy wished to protect his family from the Dark Lord.
But... didn't everyone?
Oh, come on. Please Severus, escape and finish this. Don't allow Draco to do this.
Lady Luck smiled upon him as he stood on the tallest of towers. A mop of black hair appeared – Thank you, Severus, thank you...! – and wide black eyes stared, nearly understandingly at him, though the expression was only momentary and soon enveloped in an obvious – though only to him – faux-murderous gaze.
"Severus, please..."
The safety to the metaphorical gun had been turned off, the fake weapon cocked and the trigger pulled.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Green light and then he knew nothing at all. His body flew gracefully off the tower, and his physical being was falling and falling. He was gone before he hit the ground in a heap, but his soul... It knew where he was going; he was but a form of his phoenix flying to God only knew where.
God...
The flapping of his wings invigorated his soul. All was well and all was nothing.