Dumbledore's death in the style of Jilly Cooper

The cry of AvadaKedavra still echoed down the corridor like an agitated bird in search of a window to freedom.

As he watched Voldemortflee the scene, Dumbledore's eyes glistened in the light of the thousand candles that lined the walls. They were youthful eyes, eyes that had refused to age as the face around them wisened graciously over centuries. Eyes that had lost none of their vigour even as they shone their last.

They were the eyes that Professor McGonagall had fallen in love with fifty years ago, yet only now as he lay dying in her arms could she speak of it.

"Albus," she wept, "I have loved you since the day you strode into Hogwarts. To think I never told you! To think I never..."

"Minerva," smiled Dumbledore, "One does not achieve the title of greatest wizard alive without picking up on the finer details. I have always known. Can you forgive an old fool for his inaction?"

Even as his robust chest heaved its final breaths, Dumbledore exuded an intoxicating allure.

"Perhaps a kiss," he added, boyishly mischievous to the last, "might not be so unreasonable a request?"

Professor McGonagall leant forward and closed her eyes. In an instant she was transported back into the arms the beautiful young man, his eyes gleaming that same twinkle, who had haunted her dreams for so many years. As they kissed, decades of unspoken desire were forgotten in an instant of shared excitement that transcended the frustration, heartbreak and solitude of their pasts. They had shared so much, but never this.

But soon eternity had ended and Dumbledore lay dying once more.

"But Albus, what of Potter?" asked Professor McGonagall, fortified by the love she now knew would live forever and beyond.

Dumbledore took one last majestic breath. His eyes expressed a final glint.

"If he survives book seven," came the reply, "I shall be heartily disappointed."

Tim Gomersall

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