Mabye:
Maybe: "That's a good boy, Ron," said Dumbledore aimlessly. "You know, you're father's very proud of you. He always said you were the one that was most like him."
"I'm Dennis Creevey, sir."
"Oh. I'm sorry." Dumbledore closed his eyes, and as he slept Harry became livid.
"What's happened to Dumbledore?"
Snape eyed Harry with total disgust. There was something in his eyes, as if he blamed Harry for Dumbledore's condition.
"He's old, you fool," Snape said. His voice was vicious. "Help me lift him to his quarters."
They hoisted the frail, old man onto Snape's back, and they made quickly to Dumbledore's room. Inside his room, were mantles filled with burning pots of magical incense, books, and various Muggle paintings, mostly nudes. There was even a wall that displayed a thirteen-column row of vampire teeth.
The place reeked of urine, and death.
"Get out," said Snape.
"Is Dumbledore—" Harry began but Snape turned around to snarl at him.
"This is Dumbledore in his final years. Do you think he wants you to see him like this? Go off and brood about how sad your life's been. I have work to do."
Harry clenched his fist, but he allowed Dennis to drag him out of the room.
"He's just trying to get you riled up," Dennis comforted. " He's just being Snape."
"There's something strange going on," Harry replied in a low voice. "Did you see Snape's expression? It's like he blames me for Dumbledore's condition—Do you know anything about it, Dennis?"
The younger man was staring straight down, averting Harry's gaze.
"No...I don't know. It's Snape's way." Dennis sniffed. "I got to go check on the captives. Be right back—"
"Oh no you don't." Harry grabbed Dennis by his robe's neckfolds. "Tell me."
"Wingardium Levosa!" Dumbledore incanted and Harry began to rise unwillingly into the air. "NO! Stop it this instant! I don't want it—I don't want it..." Dumbledore eyes were full of tears, and Harry could not bear to yell at the frail man anymore. "I know, Harry, that you never wanted any of it. Not the fame, not the scar, not your life. But such is fate, and we all must do what we can, when we can." He straightened up, placing his back firmly against the wall, and then said slowly. "Goodbye, Harry." Suddenly, in one unspoken word, the magical nexus inside of Dumbledore's soul ripped open, erupting in lightning form, fusing a solid link of magical ectoplasm between Harry's levitated body and Dumbledore's limp form. The tube of energy grew brighter, drawing its essence so quickly from Dumbledore's body that he would jolt at right angles from the force of the intake. It pulsed like a blast-ended skrewt, vampiring away all his energy until he became a dry husk, barely recognizable to even Harry. Harry watched in horror as the energy infused him, and the familiar ley lines of Ancient Magic were open once more to him. He was once again whole. He was once again the Harry Potter who had defeated Voldemort. And all it took...was for Dumbledore to die. The final transference of energy ended, and Harry collapsed hard onto the ground. He felt like crying, and, at the same time, angry with the man who had given him his life back. "Liar! You said I always had a choice, old man!" He beat his fist on Dumbledore's dead chest. "You...said I had a choice. I don't want it. Take it back. Take it back..."
He then began to sob, and once he began, he found he could not stop. Draco was right. He wasn't a hero or a saviour. He was a harbinger of death. /find better way to cut scene. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------
All seven hundred students, and their twenty-five professors attended Dumbledore's funeral.
Mcgonagall's eyes were bleary red but her face was stoic, and her mouth was pursed tight. She rarely cried, and she would not do so now. Tears meant regret, and Dumbledore, she knew, had lived his life free from it. She would not disrespect his memory by crying.
That did not stop her students, many of who were crying uncontrollably.
In a corner of her eye, she saw her prized student standing aloofly still amidst the stands of the Quidditch pitch. Wulfric's eyes were beady, and they stared balefully at her.
"Hello, Wulfric," she said kindly. "Where is your father?"
"Dad's...drinking again," he said reluctantly.
"Oh." Mcgonagall took the boy's hand, and led him to the seats along with the other students.
"But...Professor!" Wulfric squirmed, unable to pry himself loose from McGonagall's firm grip. "They don't LIKE me. What are you doing?" She looked firmly into his eyes. "Do you know what Dumbledore wanted most in his life?" Wulfric thought quietly and then replied, "The demise of evil?" McGonagall laughed. "If only it were that simple. If only people came with labels. No, that may have been what he has done, but not truly what he has strived for." McGonagall sat Wulfric down into a chair next to a dark- haired Ravenclaw girl who was crying too much to notice the large boy besides her. "He wanted everyone to be happy. Especially the children. I'm not forcing you to befriend anyone. Just sit here and mourn with your fellow human beings—" "But—" The Professor had already left, gone to talk to the other professors on whether or not they should suspend classes and allow time for the children to recover. As well as allow time for themselves to grieve.
Maybe: "That's a good boy, Ron," said Dumbledore aimlessly. "You know, you're father's very proud of you. He always said you were the one that was most like him."
"I'm Dennis Creevey, sir."
"Oh. I'm sorry." Dumbledore closed his eyes, and as he slept Harry became livid.
"What's happened to Dumbledore?"
Snape eyed Harry with total disgust. There was something in his eyes, as if he blamed Harry for Dumbledore's condition.
"He's old, you fool," Snape said. His voice was vicious. "Help me lift him to his quarters."
They hoisted the frail, old man onto Snape's back, and they made quickly to Dumbledore's room. Inside his room, were mantles filled with burning pots of magical incense, books, and various Muggle paintings, mostly nudes. There was even a wall that displayed a thirteen-column row of vampire teeth.
The place reeked of urine, and death.
"Get out," said Snape.
"Is Dumbledore—" Harry began but Snape turned around to snarl at him.
"This is Dumbledore in his final years. Do you think he wants you to see him like this? Go off and brood about how sad your life's been. I have work to do."
Harry clenched his fist, but he allowed Dennis to drag him out of the room.
"He's just trying to get you riled up," Dennis comforted. " He's just being Snape."
"There's something strange going on," Harry replied in a low voice. "Did you see Snape's expression? It's like he blames me for Dumbledore's condition—Do you know anything about it, Dennis?"
The younger man was staring straight down, averting Harry's gaze.
"No...I don't know. It's Snape's way." Dennis sniffed. "I got to go check on the captives. Be right back—"
"Oh no you don't." Harry grabbed Dennis by his robe's neckfolds. "Tell me."
"Wingardium Levosa!" Dumbledore incanted and Harry began to rise unwillingly into the air. "NO! Stop it this instant! I don't want it—I don't want it..." Dumbledore eyes were full of tears, and Harry could not bear to yell at the frail man anymore. "I know, Harry, that you never wanted any of it. Not the fame, not the scar, not your life. But such is fate, and we all must do what we can, when we can." He straightened up, placing his back firmly against the wall, and then said slowly. "Goodbye, Harry." Suddenly, in one unspoken word, the magical nexus inside of Dumbledore's soul ripped open, erupting in lightning form, fusing a solid link of magical ectoplasm between Harry's levitated body and Dumbledore's limp form. The tube of energy grew brighter, drawing its essence so quickly from Dumbledore's body that he would jolt at right angles from the force of the intake. It pulsed like a blast-ended skrewt, vampiring away all his energy until he became a dry husk, barely recognizable to even Harry. Harry watched in horror as the energy infused him, and the familiar ley lines of Ancient Magic were open once more to him. He was once again whole. He was once again the Harry Potter who had defeated Voldemort. And all it took...was for Dumbledore to die. The final transference of energy ended, and Harry collapsed hard onto the ground. He felt like crying, and, at the same time, angry with the man who had given him his life back. "Liar! You said I always had a choice, old man!" He beat his fist on Dumbledore's dead chest. "You...said I had a choice. I don't want it. Take it back. Take it back..."
He then began to sob, and once he began, he found he could not stop. Draco was right. He wasn't a hero or a saviour. He was a harbinger of death. /find better way to cut scene. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------
All seven hundred students, and their twenty-five professors attended Dumbledore's funeral.
Mcgonagall's eyes were bleary red but her face was stoic, and her mouth was pursed tight. She rarely cried, and she would not do so now. Tears meant regret, and Dumbledore, she knew, had lived his life free from it. She would not disrespect his memory by crying.
That did not stop her students, many of who were crying uncontrollably.
In a corner of her eye, she saw her prized student standing aloofly still amidst the stands of the Quidditch pitch. Wulfric's eyes were beady, and they stared balefully at her.
"Hello, Wulfric," she said kindly. "Where is your father?"
"Dad's...drinking again," he said reluctantly.
"Oh." Mcgonagall took the boy's hand, and led him to the seats along with the other students.
"But...Professor!" Wulfric squirmed, unable to pry himself loose from McGonagall's firm grip. "They don't LIKE me. What are you doing?" She looked firmly into his eyes. "Do you know what Dumbledore wanted most in his life?" Wulfric thought quietly and then replied, "The demise of evil?" McGonagall laughed. "If only it were that simple. If only people came with labels. No, that may have been what he has done, but not truly what he has strived for." McGonagall sat Wulfric down into a chair next to a dark- haired Ravenclaw girl who was crying too much to notice the large boy besides her. "He wanted everyone to be happy. Especially the children. I'm not forcing you to befriend anyone. Just sit here and mourn with your fellow human beings—" "But—" The Professor had already left, gone to talk to the other professors on whether or not they should suspend classes and allow time for the children to recover. As well as allow time for themselves to grieve.
