A/N: Just a nagging little plot bunny I had. As far as I know, Bill was not mentioned at Dumbledore's funeral, and I felt like he deserved some closure too. : )

My Hero

"Well, then," said Madam Pomfrey as she finished applying the fresh bandages to my face. "That's that, you're free to leave. Just remember to take the turquoise potion every morning and…"

I tune Madam Pomfrey out as she jabbers on and on about odd-colored potions and how many times my bandages need to be changed. I hope Mum and Fleur are listening. I'm relieved and grateful to be going back to the Burrow. How my youngest brother and his friends survive spending so much time in the Hospital Wing, I'll never know. Poppy is excellent, but staring at blank stone walls gets old fast. Luckily Fleur comes as often as possible, in between her shifts at Gringotts and working on the wedding arrangements.

My smart, beautiful Fleur. She has definitely helped me with all of these dark thoughts I've been thinking. And a day has rarely gone by without family or a member of the Order stopping by.

But there's one person that I'll never be able to talk to again. I couldn't even say a proper goodbye.

"Bill?" Mum is staring at me, her gaze concerned and questioning. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah. Just give me a moment outside, alright?"

"Sure. We'll be in the entrance hall." Mum still looks worried, but Fleur is looking at me with understanding.

I make my way out to the familiar, now silent grounds, squinting in the bright sunlight. The students left two weeks ago, and although most of the teachers are still here, a sense of loss and emptiness pervades the air.

Finally I reach the gleaming white tomb, framed by the shimmering lake. The Giant Squid is visible nearby, but I get the feeling that it's not sunbathing. Could it be mourning him too?

I look back at the white tomb. Sorrow fills me. To think that this great man, my childhood hero, the seemingly invincible Albus Dumbledore was dead, never to come back, is hard to realize.

I still remember my obsession with him when I was younger. I tried to get as many of his Chocolate Frog cards as possible – I distinctly remember stealing all of Charlie's when I was nine, to this day he still thinks the twins did it. Don't get me wrong. I was fascinated by Harry Potter, defeater of You-Know-Who, but he didn't hold a candle to Albus Dumbledore in my book. Some of my earliest memories are of sitting in Dad's lap as he told story after story about the great wizard Albus Dumbledore, about his battles with the evil wizard Grindelwald, about his research and discoveries, and multiple other adventures.

I could try to console myself with thoughts of his long, productive life, but he didn't deserve to have it ended prematurely by a trusted friend. But I'm not here to think about Snape, I'm here to pay my respects to my hero.

"'E knows."

I turn quickly and wince as the scar tissue on my face and neck stretches. I didn't realize I had said anything aloud. Fleur is standing beside me, staring at the white tomb solemnly.

I nod, my throat suddenly constricted.

"'E was a wonderful man."

"Yeah," I say, and sight shakily. "He was."

Slowly I feel calm and at peace. Dumbledore did not die in vain, and I will not rest until You-Know-Who is defeated or I die, whichever comes first.

I inhale deeply and step closer to the tomb, about two feet away from the shining surface.

"Goodbye."

And with that, I turn around, take the hand of my fiancée, and head back toward the distant figure of my mother, her vibrant hair shining in the breeze. I'm going home.

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