DISCLAIMER: Alas, I own nothing. otherwise there would be no need for me to be writing fan fiction, would there?
A/N: It's February. so I figured a death fic was in order. I hate February. -_-
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He had been sick for a long time, but it wasn't debilitating until recently, and for the last two weeks, he hadn't been able to get out of bed. His friends and colleagues traveled far and wide to find a cure for his disease, or at least something to delay the inevitable; seeking the help of wizards and Muggles alike. None was found. Now they were here, back at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, his home for most of his long life. Here, he said, was where he wanted it to end.
It was late at night, and it was Minerva McGonagall's turn to visit him. She went into her longtime friend's bedchambers and sat down on the stool next to his bed. "How are you feeling?" she asked, even though she knew her question was pointless.
"Surprisingly good," he said softly, and managed to smile at her.
His voice was so weak, his smile so frail. it made her heart ache. Tears stung her eyes, but she managed to hold them at bay.
"Don't be sad, Minerva," he said. "I'm not."
She didn't answer. The last thing she wanted to be told as she watched her friend die was to not be sad. How could she be anything else?
"Why should I be sad?" he asked. "Because I'm dying?"
"Well, everyone else is."
He smiled. "I'm not afraid to die. Death is part of life."
She knew that, but it always felt like death came so soon. He wasn't that old - older than her, but not as old as some. And what would they do without him? How would the staff deal with the loss of this friend of all? Where would the students be without his guidance? What would any of them do without him?
"I've always wondered what it would be like," he continued. "How will it happen? Will my heart stop? Will my eyes close and never open again? Will I even know it happened?"
"The rest of us will," Minerva said quietly.
He didn't reply to this right away. His previous speech had taken away much of his strength, and he remained silent for a few moments, taking in short, raspy breaths. His body gave an involuntary shiver. It was cold. so cold.
"I have lived my life," he said hoarsely, "and it has been everything I hoped for and more."
The stinging in Minerva's eyes was growing stronger. She blinked rapidly several times to keep the tears back; tears that were not only of grief, but of anger and frustration as well. It was like he was just giving up, that he didn't want to go on living any more, that he didn't care about all the people who loved him and would be hurt by his passing. How could he be so selfish, to surrender his life without a fight and let everyone stand by, helpless, as he faded into nothing?
He studied her for a few moments, watched the tears she refused to let fall, and spoke again. "Do not dwell on these thoughts of death," he said. "Think back to life. how much you used to love it."
She closed her eyes and tried to recall a happy memory, but all her thoughts were of him. A bittersweet smile crossed her face as she found both.
He smiled, too. "What are you thinking about?"
"The first time we met," she replied. "It was your first year teaching, and my third as a student, and I was so upset because the Divination instructor told me I would never amount to anything. When class was over, you asked me to stay behind, and you listened as I told you everything. and then you said I was doing things with a wand that most of the older students couldn't."
He chuckled. "Well, it was the truth." Then he coughed.
Her temporary joy vanished, and she reached out and took his hand, shocked at how cold it had become. "You can't leave us," she said, her voice breaking and the tears finally escaping from their prison. "Think of all the students like me that are still yet to come."
It was comforting to know he was loved, but it broke his heart to see Minerva McGonagall reduced to this. In all the long years he'd known her, she'd never been anything but strong and steadfast as a mountain. But even mountains eventually crumbled and blew away in the wind. "It is my time," he whispered, "and my mission I pass on to you, your colleagues, and whoever you find to take my place."
She shook her head, still refusing to believe this fate. "No."
"Yes," he said, and his breathing became labored. "I would not. trade this. life. had. for all. time in the world."
It couldn't be. There had to be something. A charm, a potion, a spell, something, anything. Her heart beat faster as his grip became weaker. How could a life be so long and so short at the same time?
With the last of his strength, he looked at her and smiled. "I am at peace," he said softly. "Be the same, my dear friend."
He closed his eyes, too weary to keep them open; not in death, but in sleep. She sat next to him for a few moments, watching him as he rested. His breathing was steady, and the look on his face was not one of despair, but of content. He had accepted his fate, even if those around him had not.
She stood up and let go of his hand, watching it fall down onto the white sheets next to his inert body. Eternal serenity would soon be his, but it would be long before it came to anyone else. She did not say anything to him as she slowly turned around and made her way toward the door. All that remained to be said between them had been spoken.
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Her husband was waiting for her outside.
"How is he?" Albus Dumbledore asked.
Minerva closed her eyes and shook her head. "He will not make it through the night."
They embraced each other and spent the next hour drowning in their own tears.
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In the morning, they announced with heavy hearts that the long life of Professor Filius J. Flitwick had ended.
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