The Last Request of Albus Dumbledore

I do adore this story. I really do. ~ SS19

Chapter Five: A Marble Tomb

Minerva McGonagall blinked twice and swallowed hard to remove the lump in her throat as she examined her reflection almost critically in the mirror. She was wearing her black hat. She wore this hat only to funerals. The last funeral had been someone she had not known as well as others; she had only gone to support Albus.

Now Albus was the one she would see laid to rest. She turned to her visitor. "I hate this hat."

Severus was sat on Minerva's tartan sofa. He was distant - had been all morning - wearing robes of complete black. His usual stiff white collar was not visible today. If it wasn't for the paleness of his skin, he would have seemed like nothing more than a shadow. She watched him. "How are you feeling?"

Severus glanced toward her. His eyes were tired and sadder than normal. "Numb." That she could understand. She too felt it - cold. It took things longer to process inside her mind, and she found answering questions harder. Shock, at what had happened. She tire to smile at him but the expression was wan. "I know." She felt this need, the maternal urge, to try to comfort Severus - the Severus who had been very close to the Headmaster and was now facing a bleak future alone - the Severus who had been elevated to a position he did not want - "Have you spoken to him?"

"Briefly." Severus answered. "It is almost surreal." He shook his head and twisted his fingers together in his lap. "I do not want to believe it. I feel like it's a dream."

Minerva nodded at that. She understood that. "I know."

Severus stared at her, as if contemplating whether he should speak the next words aloud. He had never been the most forthcoming of people - but Minerva knew too that his very world had been shattered and pieces lay at his feet. "Do you - " He hesitated, "Do you keep expecting him to come into the Great Hall and laugh at us for being so silly?" His voice shook just a little, "I keep thinking I hear his voice - those damned sherbet lemons - winding me up." He looked away and a frown crumpled his forehead, "When does it become real? When does it become - when do we accept that he will never stand in the Great Hall again?"

Minerva crossed to him and sat beside him on her sofa, "These things take time. They hurt - Severus - but in time, the pain starts to fade. You know that."

"He always seemed immortal." This was the part that was bothering Severus the most, she could tell. And she knew why - she had felt it too - Albus, with his bright personality and grace and immature sense of humour, had never seemed old. He had never seemed vulnerable. His presence, in her life and in Severus' life and in all their lives, had been so very influential and so great that to consider him not being there any longer was painful. Unbelievable. "He's still with us in part, Severus."

"Is that how you are coping with this? Platitudes, such as that? Cliches?" Severus sounded almost angry now. Minerva wanted to sooth him, but he had never been one for physical comfort, either. "How else are we supposed to cope, Severus, if not through cliches? How else can we rationalise the fact that both of us are about to head to Albus' funeral." She was surprised she could say the word out loud, and almost regretted it when Severus flinched. But she was practical and pragmatic, and this was her way of dealing with situations that threatened her. She needed Severus' inner strength, now.

They all did.

He reached into his robes and pulled out a piece of parchment, folded many times. "I have to read this." He gave it to her. "I wrote it last night. I don't even particularly like it. But I do not know what else to say. What even is a eulogy? Am I supposed to make some sad speech about how much he meant to all of us, and how powerful he was? Because that will not help any of those listening."

Minerva scoured the scrawling handwriting, understanding the underlying concern in Severus' words. This eulogy was impersonal. She knew, as did others, that Severus had known Albus in a different way to others. Their understanding of each other was much deeper than they could ever hope to achieve with Albus. "You need to say what you are comfortable saying, Severus. Only you can know what you would like to tell us."

Severus took the parchment off her and put it back in his pocket. "I am waiting for someone to tell me what to do."

Minerva half-smiled at this, "Unfortunately, Severus, you need to tell us what to do now - you are in charge."

"I never wanted this." His tone was so vehement that she believed him. "I just want an end to the war."

"I know, Severus. I know. Albus is doing what he thinks is best." She believed that, too. She reached over and straightened the buttons on his cloak. "We're all here for you, Severus - all of us staff are behind you. We'll support you."

He watched her, examining the truth behind her words, before nodding once. "Thank you."

It was a marble tomb. That was all Severus' confused and muddled brain would process as he clutched the parchment in his sweat-sheened palm and tried to remember how to inhale. The tomb had carvings around the sides, runes and other such magical markings. He found himself trying to understand them, to decipher them, because that stopped him thinking about the body. The body that was cradled so very reverently in Hagrid's arms as the half-giant, audibly crying, made his way through the rows of students, staff and friends and toward the front where the tomb was situated. Severus knew that Albus was under a purple cloak - that had been his personal insistence, after all - but it did not help. It did not create an illusion as he had so desperately hoped - in fact, it drove the truth further into his aching heart.

That there was no life to be had in that body. He clasped his hands tighter together and looked down at his fingernails as Hagrid neared him. He could not bear this - it hurt too much - and he could feel the grief constricting his chest, so tight that it was difficult to breathe. He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced his mind to focus - he would need to speak in a moment, and it would not do to show emotion. He needed to be as impassive as possible - he looked down at the eulogy again, remembering the words - knowing that he could speak these, these simple syllables that carried no emotions and could have been written in a textbooks, these words that were, quite simply, a betrayal of him, Albus, the relationship they shared…

Hagrid had passed him now, and Severus knew that he needed to stand. His knees were locked and he seemed to have forgotten how to make his legs work. Minerva, next to him, pressed one hand briefly to his thigh and the touch woke him. Detachedly watching as Hagrid placed his precious burden into the tomb but not looking at the body, Severus gathered every ounce of strength he was told he possessed, and faced the students and staff. This was his first public appearance as Headmaster of Hogwarts - this sorry task, to talk about his predecessor - the students were morose and silent, watching him. Officials of the Ministry, too - reporters, waiting to see how Severus would treat this situation. He was genuinely nervous and felt slightly ill - he wished Albus could have offered him some - comfort or wisdom - he looked back at his parchment, well aware that he had paused for silence and knowing too that he needed to speak. But he couldn't. He couldn't do this - not to him, and certainly not to Albus.

He owed Albus so much more than platitudes and cliches.

Harry had only looked up when Snape had stood to face his audience. This was Hogwarts' new Headmaster, and Harry did not think he had been so angry about anything - how had Snape managed to convince Dumbledore to write that? He watched Snape hesitate, recognising the expression on the Potions' Master face but unwilling to believe it. Could it be that Snape was truly grieving for his leader? He had never associated emotion with Snape - and Snape seemed rather scathing of Dumbledore in public. Harry did not think anything could change his Gryffindor heart and mind about the Head of Slytherin - he was probably responsible for this, in some way -

"I do not plan to stand here and talk about Albus Dumbledore the wizard." Snape's soft voice, never much above a murmur yet still loud enough to be heard, penetrated Harry's angry haze of thoughts and he watched the other more closely. His voice sounded like Harry's. Empty. As if something had been stolen from the tone, as if a life had been permanently altered. "You all know him - and it would do him no justice. After all, you need only look at the back of his chocolate frog card to know the basics." Snape continued. "Many of you will only have seen the wizard who leads us all in this fight - the scholar who dedicated his life to magic - the politician who supported the Ministry and helped with their crises - the Headmaster who has successfully led Hogwarts to a new age of outstanding results and achievements. To his friends and colleagues, he was a constant support, a bringer of good humour and in most cases - tooth decay."

Harry heard the laughter amongst the front rows and realised that Dumbledore offered sweets to more than just Harry.

Snape lingered, before continuing, "He was so much more than just that. He was a light in the darkest of times, there to guide and to warm. His perceptions and perspectives were razor sharp, and he could detect even the most subtle of emotions. He never judged anyone - no matter what sins they had committed - everyone was permitted a second chance with Albus Dumbledore, everyone was given that moment to redeem themselves. Some…more than others." He glanced toward the tomb and his sentence faltered. "Albus Dumbledore's familiar was a phoenix. It was chosen because there is no other animal, or creature, in this whole world, that could represent him better. Phoenixes are immortal in the sense that they cannot die - and though the physical manifestation of him may be gone - he lives on in the school - in his staff - and especially in his students."

His gaze moved across the young faces, and Harry stared back. Their eyes met and there was no hatred there - Harry almost thought there could have been understanding. "Headmaster Dumbledore would have given his life for every student here - every child sat before me - he had such great dreams and visions for each of you, and was very proud of you all. That was his greatest strength." Still their gazes were locked. "The ability to see worth, where others did not. The ability to believe -" Snape looked away, "There was something worth saving." He stepped down from the lectern and turned to the tomb, but did not speak. He simply regarded it in silence, before lowering himself back into the chair.

It took Harry two minutes to realise that there were tears on his cheeks and he raised his hand to wipe them away.

Harry wandered the grounds of Hogwarts for a long while after the funeral, contemplating what he had seen and heard. He was not sure how long he could keep going - first Sirius, and now Dumbledore. Why was it that every paternal figure he had met their own grisly end? He crossed past the Forbidden Forest, avoiding Hagrid's hut, and instead headed toward the lake. It was still uncomfortably warm for the start of September, and his Invisibility Cloak was heavy. But he wanted to be able to think in private - he did not want anyone to find him. As he neared the lake, and the tomb that had been added to the landscape, he saw that he was not alone. A figure, all in black, was watching the tomb, arms folded. It was Snape. Harry knew he should turn back. This was dishonourable, and prying. But something made him stay - something made him draw closer. Snape was talking.

"I hope that I did you justice. In fact, I probably simply inflated your ego slightly more than it already was. But at least it wasn't impersonal. Of course, I couldn't have said what I wanted to say - that would have been too dangerous. I imagine I will have to explain my actual words when the time comes - but until then -" He broke off and rested a hand against the cold marble. "But what would I have said if I had been able to speak my mind, anyway? What could I have possibly said? You did not need me to say it - you knew already. You knew how much you meant to me. You knew how much I needed you. As a result, you will know how much this hurts. I have not lost anyone this close to me in so many years - I had forgotten how - acute the pain is. The thought that you might never come barging into my office without knocking first just to tell me some Hogwarts gossip, the thought that I can never go to your office and demand a rematch of a chess game, the thought that you won't be there to pick me up from the ground when I fall in the Forbidden Forest -"

He broke off, his voice gaining an uncomfortable tremble, and he leaned on the tomb, head resting in his hands. "Tell me what to do next, Headmaster. Tell me how to feel, and how to think - because I do not think I can do this without you."

A flutter of wings and Snape suddenly had company. Fawkes had landed on the tomb next to where Severus was resting, singing a gentle note that warmed Harry's heart and distracted Severus. "Hello, Fawkes. Will you be leaving Hogwarts too?"

Fawkes simply stared at him, and Snape sighed. "You can't answer. You're a phoenix. I'm experiencing insanity, now, talking to a phoenix." He stroked Fawkes' crest gently. "You are so much like him."

Harry suddenly felt terrible. He should not be here, he shuffled backward and rustled the grass - Snape whirled and examined the trees, "Who's there?" He was reaching for his wand, but he could not see Harry - Harry breathed in and stayed still. After a moment, Snape shook his head. "I have to go. Goodbye, Albus." He stalked off in the direction of the castle, leaving Fawkes behind. Harry watched him go, and then turned his attention back to the tomb - to find Fawkes, staring straight at him, with the gaze that was so very familiar - that piercing gaze…

Pouring himself a neat glass of Firewhiskey - last year's birthday present, if he recalled - Severus settled into his armchair by the fire and tiredly pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache beginning in his temples. He examined the new item in his lap - the Daily Prophet. Unfolding the sheets, he read the headline - before throwing it into the fire. He would not read any further. Instead, he savoured a large mouthful of the whiskey and closed his eyes, listening to the crackling of the fire. He would move to his new office in the morning - tonight, he just wanted to be by himself. He knew why, of course, the reason for this self inflicted solitude. Putting the beaker down, he opened his eyes once more and pulled back his left sleeve. "Come on then." He whispered to his Mark. "I'm waiting."

Two more minutes, breathing in and out and closing his mind to those who had no permission to see - and then - the pain that could only be associated with one thing.

A summon from Lord Voldemort.