Dear Professor Dumbledore,

How are you, Sir? Wait. That has to be the stupidest question that anyone has ever asked you, including all your conversations with Fudge. I'm sorry, Sir, I don't have much tact. I mean, how good can you be? You're dead! I'm sorry; I'm just… a little upset.

You may be questioning my sanity, after all, I'm writing a letter to a dead man! Sir, you wouldn't be the first, and, yes, I am including myself in this little tally.

My mother insisted that I write this letter, you know, to get rid of some of these emotional demons that have been running through my head since your death. I don't know if it will help or not, but, hey, it's worth a shot. I'll try anything.

Here we go.

First of all, I'm angry. Furious! If I ever get my hands on Snape (I refuse to refer to him as Professor any longer), I will curse him so hard, that they will have to send me to Azkaban. I'm dead serious. I'm sorry, Sir; there I go again, talking about death. Shut up, brain! Sorry Sir, I told you I was angry.

I'm also mad at you, Sir. Why the hell did you see fit to die? Don't you know there's a war on! You're our leader, our rallying point! You were the voice of logic! Of reason! God, Professor! You gave us reason to hope.

That's another of my emotions.

Emptiness.

I feel overcome with grief. It's like a poison, spreading through my system, shutting things down, weighing down on me, making me into a vacant shell of a person. It's like a demonter gave me a little kiss. I can hardly draw a breath, without it hurting. Everything hurts. And it's not just me, it's as if the entire school, no, the entire world, even the muggles have forgotten what it was to smile, to be happy, to be at peace. Everything is full of pain. But since it's not a physical pain, there is no cure.

Do you want to know the worst part of this is? YOU! DON'T! BLOODY! CARE! That's right. You were never afraid of death, which makes it IMPOSSIBLE for me to grieve for you! Dammit! Sir.

I think the thing that scares me the most, is that there are no longer two protective barriers between me and You-Know-Who. I mean Voldemort. Now, we only have Harry Potter, who may or may not be the chosen one. I mean, I believe in him, but the world seemed a lot safer when you were around, Sir.

That's another evil emotion running through my head. My whole body, really. Ever since Cedric Diggory died, I've had this constant weight of fear. See, I believed yours and Harry Potter's story, even when the rest of the Wizarding World didn't. I hate the Daily Prophet.

You know, I think my mother was right.

I do feel better. A little.

I hope you don't think that we've given up. More students have talked about joining your infamous Dumbledore's Army. I don't know who's going to lead it, considering Harry Potter's leaving school. We'll manage, Professor.

Isn't it strange? How the sun still rises and sets? People are born, and then they die (albeit, many die too soon). I even heard that someone's getting married this summer. Then again, it may just be another Hogwarts rumor. You know us students and our love of all things gossip.

How can life possibly exist without you, Sir?

And yet, I don't believe that you are truly gone. You know what Harry Potter says? That you can only truly be gone from this place until there are none that are loyal to you. I'm not quite sure what he means by that, but I like the general idea. Besides, all that energy and life, sorry, you possessed, it has to be somewhere, right? I mean, if energy can be neither created nor destroyed, it has to go somewhere, right? Maybe it's matter that can neither created nor destroyed… I forgot which. Still, I think that in some sense, you are still with us, and I don't mean the portrait hanging in your old office, Sir.

Are you confused?

Me too, Sir.

There I go, asking you stupid questions again. You can't be confused by anything, you're…. Sorry, Professor.

I think that I should probably end this letter, before I make an even bigger fool of myself. As if you're not mocking me from where ever you are right now. I'm sorry if I've offended you… can you be offended right now? God, I need to learn when to shut my mouth, you probably hate me.

I'm sorry, Sir. But I do think that I'm going to start listening to my mother. I do feel a little better. I guess you adults know what you're talking about sometimes, but to be honest Sir, I still can't make out some of your speeches.

Yours most sincerely,

x

AN/Disclaimer: I own nothing.

This could be written by whomever you wish, but probably not someone close to Harry. Maybe a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff? You decide.

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