Magic and manic

"WHY DID YOU KILL ME?!" Dumbledore asked.

He was in one of his moods and not to be messed with. Rowling stared and stared hard, at the life-size replicas of the characters from the poster that adorned her writing desk. It stood by the corner window, directly above her head, a hand-drawn gift from a lover of the magical world she had created. For the past few weeks, she had been working incessantly at the putting the final touches to her latest draft "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince", so much so that she had almost lost touch with reality. Her days were filled with a constant schedule of write, eat, sleep, while at night she formed scenes and sentences in her head to write in the morning as if she was running a marathon, and her deadline was the finish line. No one knew the pressure she had to deal with, from the media, publishers, as well as her readers, asking her to reveal something about her characters and their future. She was forced to write as fast as she could, as her previous one, "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix", had received such worldwide praise and criticism. There were so many questions coming her way that she finally decided that she could not take it any longer and pulled the plug, literally.

She shut down all her socials, her various websites and projects, called everyone she knew to tell them not to call her unless the world was about to end. Which might come true in some way, she thought, once the books come out. And now that she was finally done, her mind had started playing tricks.

"Answer me!" Dumbledore spoke again.

She tried to rub the tiredness out of her eyes, but the apparition refused to budge. Finally, she decided to answer. 

"Well, it could not be helped. Pardon me, but you had to die for the sake of the narrative. It had to be done."

"It had to be done, it had to be done," Dumbledore childishly mimicked her. He had chosen to dress in bright blue robes for the occasion, with his slightly askew silver cap.

"Do you have any idea how much havoc you're going to cause? How many tears will be spilt? How many people will start to hate you? And that too after the fact that you let this vile woman live?!"

Rowling turned her head to find Umbridge perched prettily on her easy chair, a vision in pink, complete with a bow and cup of tea. "Ahem. Now, now, Dumbledore. I don't think there is any need for such language. You are the eldest, and you should behave like one," she giggled.

"That is easy to say, but you are sure to appear in the next book, while I'm already dead. It's not fair!" he complained.

"To tell you the truth," said Harry, adjusting his glasses for the umpteenth time and twirling his wand, "I was a little concerned too. He has been hardly any help last time and now has died with this humongous task with very little clues. First, he completely ignores me and then overtakes my life and tells a fourteen-year-old to look for things to kill Voldemort with is just too much."

"You will have his help, you know, I have it all planned out. Maybe not directly, but somehow or the other, I assure you." Rowling tried to convince herself more than the others.

"It better not be me," she heard another acidic voice clad in black.

"You do realise," said Snape, that an entire generation of children are going to grow up hating me more than they hate Hitler or the Huns?"

"No, they won't," Rowling said. "Trust me, you're going to come out looking better than most of the other characters, once I finish writing about you. In fact, you will be more loved than Harry's father. And you, Dumbledore, your sacrifice will be the greatest one the magical world has ever seen."

"You can't be serious mate, " said Sirius, brushing away his thick locks from his handsome jaw.

"This guy? Be the hero? It would be a disaster!"

"I agree, " said Harry. "He has done nothing but make my life miserable. How is he going to help me?"

"I mean, look at him, he has nothing to make you like him. I, on the other hand…"

"You're already dead! You have no more say in the matter!" Rowling stated furiously.

"And anyway, you have hardly been there for Harry, living in a prison and then in hiding. What good has your presence done to our world anyway?" Snape sneered.

"I don't like it either. I don't like it at all!" Dumbledore screeched again.

"Tut, tut, such behaviour from the Headmaster is absolutely condemned by the Ministry, " Umbridge chimed in.

"I agree," said Harry again, though Rowling was not sure who he was agreeing with. 

"I challenge you to a duel, right here, right now. Let us find out once and for all who the real hero is here."

"No, no! I forbid you. This is my house, and no one is duelling anybody."

"Oh yes, yes, a duel. Come here, Harry, and we will learn a few things from these two."

"Listen to me, please."

"If I was the Headmaster, I would never have allowed this." 

And everyone started talking all at once.

Rowling was now growing desperate, and unable to control anyone, shut her eyes, and started to scream. 

"Mum, Mum!!!" someone said. 

She opened her eyes to see her son standing there, quite alone. She looked here and there, to make doubly sure. 

"Why were you screaming? And who were you talking to?" be asked.

"I, I must have fallen asleep and started dreaming."

"Oh, Mum. What's for dinner? I'm starving."

"I'll be right back," she said and went to the bathroom. 

When she came, she saw her son standing with her manuscript in his hands.

"WHY DID YOU KILL DUMBLEDORE?"