AN: I OWN NOTHING OF THE HARRY POTTER FRANCHISE!!!!

O Captian, My Captain,

Harry stared at the tombstone before him. Engraved were the words, 'Here lies, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, brother, headmaster, professor, hero, and friend.' The school term was over, he'd never be back at Hogwarts. He was flooded with the memory of Dumbledore, falling, falling from the tower after their fearful trip to the cave, object won in hand.

O CAPTAIN, my Captain, our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;

Harry clutched the locket, not because it was valuable that he protected it so, but because of what it cost him to attain it. He remembered, after Snape had gone and he was able to go back to Dumbledore, the faces of the people.

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

He remembered, Dumbledore lying, unmoving, unwilling, on the ground, stiff as ice.

But O heart! heart! heart!
The bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck, my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

He remembered hoping things would be ok as they arrived in Hogsmead. He hoped the night was done. He had hoped to one day see the end of the war with Dumbledore by his side, the crowds cheering as they walked by. He wouldn't have cared if they cheered for him, but only for Dumbledore.

O Captain! My Captain! Rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up - for you the flag is flung - for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths - for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

If it weren't for him, Harry knew he'd been in that grave as well. Dumbledore wasn't just his headmaster to him. To Harry, he was his father. Harry felt as though his father had been murdered not only a first or second time, but for the third.

Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream, that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

Harry felt tears sting his eyes as he fell to his knees before the grave. He called out, again, and again, and again for him, for his father. No answer came. He saw him, once more, the icy grip of death upon him.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

On the deck my Captain lies, fallen cold and dead....