Dumbledore's death in the style of James Ellroy

Albus Dumbledore bumbled into the Interview Room 4, quite pompous and reserved, unable to quite understand how it had come to this. Dressed in heavy satin robes he commanded more than his five foot eight frame would suggest. Sat next to the large portrait of John F. Kennedy Jr that bore down on all who stepped into the room, his lip began to quiver and his fingers began to toy with his cuffs.

"The game's up Albus. There's no point fighting it." Dumbledore sat silent looking at Hicks with a mild contempt. Hicks continued to pace the room.

"Face it. You're finished." Hicks spat.

"If that is so, then you shall join me."

"You're wrong. I am not so easily influenced. Magic does not exist."

"Oh, but it does. It has always existed and always will." Dumbledore sat back in his chair.

"Prove it."

"In here!" Dumbledore laughed. " You wouldn't survive the onslaught."

"Try me."

"Very well."

Albus Dumbledore stood up and began to incant a spell of the highest magnitude.

"If you're sure," he nodded to Hicks, indicating he should make some space; obligingly Hicks took three paces back.

"Nothing is happening?"

Dumbledore smiled and closed his eyes. "Prepare to be stunned"

With glee, the police officer looked around the room in anticipation of a large conjured beast. Instead he found nothing.

"So?" Hicks questioned.

"So, this..." From underneath his robes Dumbledore reveals an Israeli Uzi sub-machine gun and fills Hicks with twenty-four rounds of 9mm bullets.

"That's magic, baby"

Hicks lay dead on the floor and Dumbledore considered the body. A smile began to form on his face.

"Harry's my son!" he shouted, before turning the gun on himself and ending his life...

Jon Smith