The Last Request of Albus Dumbledore

Hello everyone - my apologies for the delay - I know I am behind but I am a little busy at the moment and the muse *kicks muse* has run away to join the circus. Anyway - here is the next offering of this little piece, which is actually harder to write than if I had killed Severus off.

*sighs* Must be because I have so much experience.

Dedicated to blossoming art - who I am concocting something special for, but because of my time constraints you may have to wait!

~ SS19

Chapter One - The News Breaks

HOGWARTS HEADMASTER FOUND DEAD

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore was found dead yesterday morning by a member of the teaching staff at Hogwarts School. Although the cause of death is as yet unconfirmed, the Daily Prophet has learned that the probable cause is most likely the battle in the Department of Mysteries, which took place earlier this year. Professor Dumbledore, famed for his defeat of the Dark Wizard Grindlewald more than fifty years ago, was well-known for his magical prowess and his determination to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was unavailable to comment on Dumbledore's death, and his successor of the Headship has yet to be revealed. Tributes have been pouring in from across the Wizarding World for Dumbledore, and his funeral is expected to take place later this week at Hogwarts.

The Burrow was silent, and that in itself was a strange thing. The many floors of bedrooms and staircases, haphazardly piled on top of each other, were usually bustling with noise and laughter and chatter, and magical enchantments that animated even the most mundane and simple of objects. Today, however, the knitting needles lay motionless, and the plates were stacked in dirty piles on the side of the sink, and even the clock had stopped chiming. The rooms were dark, curtains open yet very little natural light seeming to penetrate the only occupied room in the house, the dining room. There was food on the plates and pumpkin juice in the glasses and post unopened on the rectangular table, but not one of the people sat around the table had been willing to move - to talk - to break the silence that had fallen.

Harry Potter sat, the front page of the Daily Prophet staring up at him, seemingly unable to breathe. The front page, black headline scrawling across the top and confirming his worst fears, was dominated by a large photograph of Albus Dumbledore giving a speech at Hogwarts to members of staff, students and Ministry officials, before Harry's time. The photograph, in full yet somewhat dusty colour, showed him wearing cyan robes and stood behind his lectern, hands outstretched as he thanked those for attending with a smile and a flamboyant bow. He seemed so happy and youthful and powerful and controlled - and now - and Harry did not know how to feel, so he did not even allow his emotions to show.

Beside him, one hand clamped to her mouth, was one of his two best friends - Hermione Granger - and there were silent tears running down her cheeks as she stared ahead of herself, unable to read the article despite her natural desire to devour the written word - for no matter what words they had chosen, she knew they would have not done justice to the wise Headmaster of Hogwarts, who had been so intelligent and so astute, so determined to do good, one of her idols, someone she had studied since she had been eight years old and had found out about magic - someone she had been honoured to share a building with, because he had been exactly what she wanted to be. She had been honoured to be able to learn from him.

Ron Weasley had closed one hand around Hermione's elbow when they had first read the headline to comfort her, and found himself unable to pull that hand away. He needed the comfort too - Dumbledore had always seen something in him, had rewarded him with fifty points in his first year, and since then the older Headmaster had seen something worthy in the youngest Weasley boy, having seen all of his family go through Hogwarts and yet never seeing him as one of them - Dumbledore had always seen him as his own person. Ron owed the life of his two best friends to that man, especially Harry, and although he had resented the connection that his best friend and the most powerful wizard of all time had shared, he had understood the need for it too - and he wished that Dumbledore was still there to protect Harry.

Arthur Weasley could feel his wife shaking in his arms, both of her hands hiding her face - he could feel his own pain in his chest as he contemplated what exactly would happen now - what could possibly happen? Their leader was gone, and he suddenly felt exposed - Professor Dumbledore had always protected Molly, him and his family - and Hogwarts had been a safe haven simply because of his presence - but now, would the school be open to attack? How could they continue to fight without Dumbledore? Dumbledore had taught Molly and he understood why she was so devastated - Dumbledore had been, quite simply, a light in the dark world that they inhabited - and now that light had been extinguished. But Arthur could not take his eyes off Harry, sat at the table, white and emotionless and blank and thin, and he knew that this would not be bearable for the younger man - and Harry simply pushed away from the table and walked away.

The Hogwarts staffroom was filled with people, and almost every chair was taken, but there was no sound - just quiet. The quiet of people who do not know what to say, the quiet of people who do not want to speak, because it might confirm something, the quiet of people who have lost someone who means so much to them and they do not even know how - or why. They need to talk, though, they need to discuss what has happened, what might happen, what should happen - the future of the school - what they should tell the students - what they should tell the parents - what they should tell the Daily Prophet and the journalists demanding a story.

"You know why we are here, and I do wish it was under better circumstances."

Minerva McGonagall stood and took her place in the centre of the staffroom, forcing her knees not to shake and wishing her eyes were not quite so red - but she had cried once again when she had seen the headline of the Prophet, even though it had been she who had discovered Albus twenty-four hours before, lying as if sleeping under a blanket on his sofa, eyes closed and face relaxed. One hand was clenched, as if he had been holding onto something - but the room was quiet and the portraits were gone. She had gone through many emotions there and then - shock, horror, terror, denial and then the state she was in now - devastated acceptance of the fact her dearest and oldest friend was gone, and now she was expected to support everyone else through this difficult time, even when she simply wanted to lock herself away with the memories of the last fifty years and try to understand what she was supposed to do now.

"I do not know who will be succeeding Albus as Headmaster, as the will has not been yet. However, it will be done tomorrow."

Pomona Sprout was twisting her handkerchief between her fingers, watching her friend and colleague attempting to sound calm and composed, and surprised at just how strong Minerva seemed. Pomona, herself, was struggling - the idea of the Headmaster being dead and gone was hard for her to understand - as the Head of Hufflepuff House, she had such a good relationship with the Headmaster, and had always seen him as a steadfast man who was able to protect all of his students, able to inspire respect, able to make all of them feel safe - and that was something what would never change.

"Poppy has determined that it was a piece of Dark Magic - he would not have been able to survive - but it would be been quick, and I suppose that should be some comfort to us all. Ministry officials will be visiting this afternoon to examine his office, as unhappy as I am about it."

Filius Flitwick was watching his colleagues carefully, nearly swallowed up in his large armchair. As one of the few male members of staff, he was supposed to seem strong, he supposed - and he was not one for emotions, because Ravenclaws found many of them unnecessary - but that did not mean he was not privately grieving for the loss of Albus Dumbledore - one of the most talented Charms scholars Filius had met, and an incredibly powerful wizard beside that, and Filius had learnt so much from him - had been allowed to teach beside him - and now he was worried about the uncertainty of the future and what would happen after this - how could Hogwarts survive without Albus Dumbledore, who had been apparently killed from inside Hogwarts. Why would anyone return here?

"Of course, we have to discuss the matter of the - funeral, but that will wait until all of us our present." Her eyes wandered to the only empty chair, the dark leather with mahogany legs, next to the fireplace.

"Where is he, Minerva?"

"I don't know."

"Does he know?"

"He knows."

"What will happen to him?"

That is a question she cannot even think how to answer - because with Albus Dumbledore gone, how could their final member of staff survive? How would he be protected from those that threatened him, the nightmares that the teachers saw only the consequences of, and Albus had only ever been allowed to heal.

What would happen to him?

12 Grimmauld Place had been quiet since the death of its owner, that summer - but now an even more unnatural silence had settled, and it was that which had infiltrated into the hearts of those who remained, gathered, brought together by terrible news and mourning. The news that their leader, their commander, their King, had fallen, was dead, taken away, and now they had to decide how they would regroup, what they would do next, whether they would fight back or simply accept defeat - because none of them knew if they could continue to fight now. Would they even be able to?

Alastor Moody was glaring at the window, as if the curtains had committed some great sin, or perhaps they were a Death-Eater awaiting trial - either way, the glare was terrible - fuelled by anger and hate and injustice. How could Albus Dumbledore be dead? He had so much respect for the older wizard, a wizard who was able to calm him, and had taken Alastor into his counsel so many times, and Alastor had learnt so much from him - the power of mercy, the power of love, and their friendship had been warm and enduring and mutual. Albus Dumbledore had been such a great wizard - to be killed so simply, so easily, by Voldemort - it was unfair and Alastor hated the world for allowing it to happen - and he hated himself for allowing someone else, someone else he cared about, to be stolen by that darkness once more.

The Ministry would be in turmoil - this, Kingsley Shacklebolt knew well. This was a strike at the heart of all that was good in the world, no matter what some Ministers thought of the eccentric Albus Dumbledore, they all knew that he had symbolism - he was a symbol of protection and the fight against You-Know-Who and a herald for those who did not wish to give into the darkness. The death of him would shatter morale and wills more than any attack by You-Know-Who could ever achieve.

Remus Lupin was sat nearby, staring into nothingness. There was something knotting uncomfortably inside his stomach - he had only just started to accept the death of Sirius Black - and now this had happened. He had always been particularly devoted to the wise Headmaster of Hogwarts because Albus had been kind to him, Albus had given a chance and a home at Hogwarts to teach - a position in the Order - even though he knew, all the while, that Remus was a werewolf. He owed his life to Dumbledore, otherwise he would have been imprisoned or executed by the Ministry by now - and yet - Albus had always bestowed such love on Remus that the other had finally felt worthy of something, despite what happened to him once a month - but he would not cry. He had cried enough tears in his lifetime - there could be no more.

And he was thinking of Harry, and what the poor boy had to be feeling now - he had just lost hid Godfather - how could he cope with the loss of Albus Dumbledore too, the one man who had been such a steady presence in his life?

There was much laughter and talk in the dining room of Riddle Mansion, accompanied with overflowing goblets of wine and an air that stank of triumph and delight. Candles were lit and they were seated around the table, their Lord at the head, and even he was content to let them talk - they spoke of only one thing - the death of the Muggle-Lover, the death of the other side's leader, the death of the one thing that had been standing in their way - and now they knew that they could not be stopped, and they were hungry for battle - to strike while the other side was weak and suffering and pained.

His father was still incarcerated in Azkaban and his mother was hardly a defence against the Death-Eaters, and although he knew he should have been pleased with this news, Draco Malfoy was struggling. It was not that he did not believe in the cause, and it was not that he was a traitor to his Lord - but this, the death of Dumbledore, made everything so much more real - and he knew now that his master would truly be unstoppable - there would be nothing to stand in his way - and it would begin - the deaths and the fighting and the subjugation of Muggles and Mudbloods. Everything he, as a Malfoy, had been brought up to want and believe in - but everything a boy with a conscience simply could not abide.

Bellatrix was simply delighted by this turn of events, finishing another goblet of wine and shooting a glance at her master, who was contemplating something she could not see - Dumbledore was dead! Sirius Black was dead, killed by her own hand, and she had gained much favour with her master. They were so near to victory now - it tasted like - it tasted like - alcohol - on the back of her tongue, and she continued to drink, and she wondered if perhaps, this time, her master would be in such a good mood, he would be willing to let her be with him much more.

Lord Voldemort allowed himself the smallest of smiles. It did not become him to be overconfident - but he was happy to be arrogant and at least a little smug - for he had managed to destroy Albus Dumbledore, and that was a task that was not undertaken lightly. He did not remember the curse that he had cast on the older wizard, but he did not need to - the meaning was, Dumbledore was dead, his armies would be shattered, and Lord Voldemort would be triumphant. He would take his rightful place as leader of the Wizarding World, and he would finally be able to move - he would kill Harry Potter and he would win. That, alone, was worth a goblet of wine. He swallowed the ruby liquid, even though it reminded him of ash, and returned his gaze to the object of his contemplation. The man with the goblet that was untouched and the dark hair that was mostly hiding his face, the face that was showing tiredness and exhaustion and a hint of something Lord Voldemort could not understand or even identify, and he thought perhaps he should demand to know the reason for such distraction, but tonight he simply did not have the inclination - so he took another sip of his wine and watched as Severus Snape stood, swept from the room in a flurry of black, and the door was closed behind him.

Harry was sitting in his room at the Burrow, which he shared with Ron. He had looked at the Quidditch posters and their robes in the wardrobe and he had tried to find something to distract himself - but instead he had simply slumped against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his shins. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to tear things apart but he felt so empty. He could not move, because moving took too much energy and he did not possess it. First Sirius, and now Dumbledore - why did he have to lose everyone? People became his protectors and then they were threatened and then they died - Dumbledore had been there for six years, twinkling blue eyes and a kindly smile, he had always been a presence in Harry's life, and Harry had truly seen him as a father figure - and now he was gone.

The door to the staffroom opened and Severus stepped into the warm room, undoing his travelling robe and hanging it on the cloak stand, lingering near the door. He examined his colleagues - gathered around the fire, talking softly amongst themselves. He could see their grief like it was another person in the room, so very tangible, and something inside him snapped, as if the truth had finally fitted into place in his muddled brain. He could not do this. He could not pretend. He turned and left the room again, wanting to cry, wanting to scream and shout and destroy something but also too numb to feel anything. He just could not believe that Albus was gone - leaning against the wall, head lowered, he remembered - he had been in Severus' life for twenty five years with his sherbet lemons and his ill-timed humour and his ability to make Severus feel like he was worth something - gone in a single moment.

"Harry?" A voice called him from the doorway, "It's Arthur." Arthur peered around the bed at Harry. "Are you all right?"

Harry glanced up at him. "No." He said suddenly.

Arthur came over and sat beside him, "He was a good man. He cared a lot for you. I can imagine how you must be feeling."

"It's just…" Harry paused, his voice trembling, "He was always…he was always…there…"

Arthur put both arms around him and pulled him close so that Harry could finally let go, and cry into his chest.

"Professor Snape?" Hagrid's booming voice was almost soft as the half-giant neared where Severus was sitting in the corridor. "Are yeh all right?"

"Do I look 'all right', you imbecile?" Severus snapped. He regretted his harsh tone immediately, "Hagrid, I'm so-"

"O'course yeh not all right - silly question." Hagrid sat beside him, "Thought yeh might want to talk?"

Severus glanced across at the half-giant with the kind black eyes, "It's just…" He paused, his voice trembling, "He was always…there."

Hagrid put one arm around him and Severus allowed himself that moment of weakness, needing the warmth and letting the tear fall from his eye as he finally accepted that Albus Dumbledore was gone.