The sun sank slowly behind the great white tomb, giving it a pale majestic glow. It was the most amazing sunset that the wizarding and muggle world alike had seen in a while. Just looking at the deep, blood-painted sun and the orange-yellow flames that surrounded it made one feel as if the sky was consuming them and everything else in its path. The brave men and women who had fought to defend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, however, felt that the fire couldn't come soon enough. They had all lost someone that night. Albus Dumbledore was not only the greatest wizard of the modern age, he was a father, brother, friend, teacher, and headmaster to all of them. The students and Order members alike had looked up to him, adored him. Somehow, in the aftermath of Dumbledore's death, time seemed to stand still. They all felt frozen by their grief. Life went on, however, and as the sun sank even lower behind the mountains, enshrouding the castle in darkness, the Order of the Phoenix members reflected on their situation.
Harry Potter stood in what had been Dumbledore's office, for it was his no longer. All of the strange instruments assorted about the room were ownerless; the pensieve lay forgotten on its pedestal. The Sorting Hat, patched as heavily as heavily as ever, sat smugly on its stool, whistling a tune. Harry supposed it must be working on a new song. Unable to bear it, he knocked the hat off of its resting-place and stomped on it with his foot, beating out his frustration, his anger, his grief. He channeled all his feelings into his right leg as he practically mutilated what was left of the Hat. How dare it make up a new Sorting Song, without Dumbledore there to hear it? He had said it himself: Music is a magic beyond all they did here. Remembering his first year, the first time he had heard him speak, calmed Harry down, if only slightly. The idea of Hogwarts continuing to live and thrive without Dumbledore to guide it was unbearable. But the Wizarding World would never be the same without Hogwarts open. He was torn between the thoughts of wanting it to stay open and how different it would be without the eccentric headmaster.
He finally sank to the floor, hating himself for what he had just done, hating Dumbledore for leaving him. But most of all, there was a deep, boiling hatred inside of him that he saved especially for one person: Severus Snape. He had been right all along, hadn't he? He alone had been the one to accuse Snape of still being faithful to Voldemort, and no one had believed him. Not even Dumbledore, who had trusted him until the very end. Harry smiled ruefully, without humour. Trust. That had been Dumbledore's greatest feature. It has also been the cause of his downfall.
It was unfair, really, how Dumbledore was taken away from him at his weakest moment. He had already lost his parents, then Sirius, and now Dumbledore, his only link he had to the knowledge of Voldemort's past. How was he supposed to find the last of the last of the horcruxes without him? He was the one with all the answers; he would have known what to do.
Harry steeled himself. What was he thinking? He was being stupid. He wasn't a child anymore; he could handle it whatever it was that Voldemort threw at him. After all, he'd faced Voldemort before, four times in fact; wasn't he the only the only one who could get rid of him? With renewed courage he heaved himself off the floor of the office, where he'd been sitting cradling the Sorting hat in his arms. Stepping out of Dumbledore's office and staring at the gargoyle that guarded it, he stopped suddenly as he felt a small tugging at his leg.
Dobby was standing there, dressed in his oddest ensemble yet. He had on one of Ron's maroon jumpers, five of Hermione's elf hats piled on his head, a Gryffindor scarf tied around his middle, and pair of swimming trunks decorated with tiny mermaids, and mismatched socks. He was looking up at Harry with an extremely pitiful look on his face. Harry was sure that at any moment he was sure to burst into a torrent of tears. However, they didn't come.
"Dobby hears the most things in the kitchens, Harry Potter, sir," he squeaked, voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Most dreadful, utterly terrible things, sir. The other house elves, sir, they tells Dobby that D-Dumbledore...That the Headmaster is...is..." The tears finally burst from his eyes, soaking the front of his jumper. His hats teetered and fell to the ground. Harry knelt to comfort him.
"It's...it's all right Dobby." Harry muttered, unsure of what to say. He wasn't very good at this sort of thing. Dobby wailed at the top of his lungs.
"D-Dumbledore was so g-g-good to D-Dobby, sir, almost as good as Harry Potter sir. He is hiring when no one else is, g-giving him pay and vacations!" He stopped to wipe his nose on his scarf. Again, Harry didn't know what to say. Suddenly, inspiration struck him.
"Dumbledore will only ever be gone from Hogwarts when no one is loyal to him, Dobby. If we don't forget about him, if remember everything he taught us, he'll still be here somehow. He'll be guiding us, leading the way..." Harry trailed off, lost in thought. Dobby stared at him in awe.
"That is very wise, Harry Potter, sir! Dobby never thinks of it like that. Though Dobby is still very sad, sir, he thinks he could go on living." He sniffled, then looked at Harry with adoration in his eyes. "After all, sir, Dobby still had Harry Potter sir! Please excuse Dobby for a moment, sir, Dobby is going to the kitchens to reassures the other house elves that all is not lost, sir!"
He hugged Harry around the ankle, then ran down a corridor that certainly didn't lead to the kitchens. Harry was about to call after him when he came striding back.
"Oops...Dobby forgot..." He snapped his fingers and was gone in a puff of smoke.
Harry grinned. Dobby's such a strange house elf, he thought. He suddenly remembered what he had said a few seconds ago.
"All is not lost..."