Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, and all these other people are characters belonging to J.K. Rowling. I claim no rights to them, their surroundings, or their situations. Much to my sorrow.

--- 1 Dumbledore: Those Who Favour Fire

Dawn was just creeping over the horizon--a cold, gloomy dawn promising a grey and miserable day--when the first of the cloaked and hooded figures appeared outside the walls of Hogwarts Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Staring up solemnly at the imposing parapets of the grand old building, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore--called by some the greatest wizard of his time--wore no expression to speak of. An elderly man in appearance, Dumbledore had been at Hogwarts for many, many years; first arriving as a student, then taking his place among the faculty as Transfigurations instructor, and finally appointed to the position of Headmaster. Though the school had stood for centuries prior to his arrival, there were many in the wizarding world today to whom the name Dumbledore was synonymous with the name Hogwarts.

The old wizard himself could scarcely remember a time when the school had not been his home. Despite the long years of his service, still he was able to recall the names and faces of every person he had ever known there. And despite the vast, yawning chasms that had opened between some--death being not the least of them; though not, sad to say, the greatest--he regarded each and every individual that had passed through those hallowed halls as a member of a vast extended family. His own family.

Brothers and sisters, children and grandchildren, black sheep and white. Dear friends and comrades. Heirs to the things that he had himself had inherited, preserved and cherished. Renegades who would tear down and ruin that inheritance. Vehemently though both sides might try to deny it, the magic that flowed through their souls formed a bond between them all that rivaled any ties of blood--rivaled and, in some cases, far surpassed.

But in all those years, he reflected sadly, with everything he had witnessed--memories upon memories, so many that he'd had to find a place outside his own head to warehouse the excess--never until today had he been able to say that he felt truly...old.

"To think that I should have lived to see a day like this," he murmured to himself, blinking rapidly once or twice as he pondered the history tied up in the ancient structure. The weather was entirely appropriate to the occasion, though it occurred to Dumbledore fleetingly that a full-blown thunderstorm would have been more appropriate still. Never mind, let it be...rain would be only an impediment to the grim work that lay before him.

He closed his eyes, casting his mind back over the familiar walls of his office and the portraits of the former Headmasters that had hung within. Packed away now, en route to a new and secret location, they had cried out in protest when he'd broken the news to them...the first and only time he could recall the entire lot united on any issue. Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, all had protested that it was an atrocity, an unthinkable travesty...but all had reluctantly agreed, in the end, that it was the only logical solution to the current dilemma, and offered the best hope for the future.

Did it truly take something of this magnitude to bring them together? he wondered unhappily. Well. Perhaps if it were so, it was not altogether a bad thing. The old Sorting Hat had said, often and truthfully enough, that the only way the school could hope to stand in the face of its darkest adversaries was in a spirit of unity. Such unity had too often eluded the rival Houses. But was its purchase, even now, worth so dear a price...

A clear, piercing, heartbreakingly beautiful cry sounded overhead, and Fawkes the phoenix came gliding in to perch on Dumbledore's shoulder, crooning softly to him as though in answer to his troubled thoughts. The old wizard smiled at the gorgeous bird, reflecting that there were indeed times when, for humans as for the Phoenix, the only route to salvation led through destruction.

He fervently hoped that this would prove to be one of those times.

"A'right, Professor Dumbledore, sir?" Dumbledore turned to see the half-giant, Hagrid, approaching from the direction of his small hut, a large sack slung over his shoulder. His faithful boarhound, Fang, loped as always at his heels, blissfully unaware of the weighty matters at hand. Though the large man's expression was one of resignation, and he appeared calm, tears streamed unchecked down the kindly face, dripping unnoticed from the ends of his great bushy beard.

"Is all in readiness, Hagrid?" Dumbledore asked softly.

"Aye, the paddocks're cleared out, an' the stables an' all...bin over 'em all an 'alf-dozen times. All the creatures are safe in the clear." Hagrid sniffed slightly, wiping his face roughly with his sleeve. "Finally go' the Squid on its way, tha' was a righ' pain. Woun' up lettin' some of 'em loose though. No way ter take 'em along, some creatures jus' don' take well ter travelin'. But they should do a'right...on their own..."

Dumbledore patted the gamekeeper's massive arm comfortingly. "I am certain that they will, Hagrid. And take comfort; they surely will never forget their time in your care. No creature could wish for greater kindness than you have shown to those in your keeping..."

"Th-thanks, sir...but I'll miss 'em...tha' I will..." At this the great shoulders began to heave, and Hagrid turned away, snuffling miserably into his beard.

Catching a flicker of movement near the castle walls, Dumbledore tensed for a moment, but quickly identified the figures moving toward them. "They are coming," he said softly. "Gather your courage, Hagrid. The time is very near, and we shall all need your strength to see us through this." The big man scrubbed at his face and nodded, pulling himself together as best he could.

With Professor McGonagall in the lead, flanked by the House Prefects, the fifth- through seventh-year students of House Gryffindor came out of the school in an unusually silent, subdued group. They were followed closely by their Hufflepuff counterparts, then the Ravenclaws, and finally, the much smaller group of Slytherin students who remained at the school--led by Professor Snape, who looked if possible more grim and dour than usual.

They represented only a fraction of the usual school complement. The first- through fourth-year students had been sent home on indefinite hiatus several weeks earlier. A good many of the older students had been called home by their families as well. Most of the seventh-years had attained the age of majority and were here of their own accord; as for the fifth- and sixth-years, apart from a scattered few who were legally emancipated for one reason or another, their families understood what was at stake and had chosen to let them stay on.

Among them also walked the teachers who were not Heads of Houses, including the centaur Firenze, Madame Hooch, Professors Vector and Sinistra, and Professor Trelawney. Most of the school's non-teaching staff had already been evacuated, but here and there among those emerging could also be seen a faithful retainer who had insisted on remaining to bear witness, including old Filch and a wretched, bawling Dobby--his head all but completely obscured by a great shapeless mound of hats, all knitted by Hermione Granger.

Remus Lupin and Mad-Eye Moody were here as well; they'd constituted the castle's security force for the past several weeks. Cornelius Fudge had fiercely opposed this plan, requiring Dumbledore to call in a good fifty years' worth of favors in order to prevail, and Fudge had flatly refused to authorise a single Auror's presence. An accounting was due, there, once this unpleasant business was finished with, the Headmaster thought grimly as he raised his hand to acknowledge them, receiving a subdued wave and a curt nod in return.

Madame Pomfrey and several assistants brought up the rear, carrying satchels filled with an assortment of remedies which might be needed before the morning's work was done.

Every person present carried an unlighted torch. A fair number, Quidditch team members all, were also carrying their broomsticks. Not a single smile was to be seen, not even among the Slytherins, most of whom looked more petrified than anything. And with good reason, Dumbledore thought somberly. Dangerous times had come upon Hogwarts, and it might very well be the Slytherins who faced the greatest peril of all.

Those who had stayed, when their peers had answered the summons of Voldemort.

The distinct sound of several Apparations were heard nearby. Within a heartbeat, every wand in the vicinity was out and at the ready; but Dumbledore quickly gestured that all was well. It was, as he'd expected, Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius Black, the Weasleys, and the other members of the Order, arriving exactly on schedule. The nervous students lowered their wands, their mutterings silenced immediately by quelling looks from their teachers.

Dumbledore greeted each of the new arrivals with a warm handclasp, gratitude welling up in his heart for their steadfast support. No words were exchanged; the final debate had been put to rest late the night before. Though not everyone agreed that this was the only possible course of action, all had committed to it. On my word, the Headmaster thought painfully. Because I have asked it of them. Such confidence was more than gratifying, it was humbling beyond measure.

"All right, everyone, gather around, let me take a head count..." Minerva McGonagall's gaze swept over the Gryffindor students in her charge, swiftly tallying their number and then nodding sharply in satisfaction. "All here, Albus." Similar reports came in momentarily from the other Heads of Houses.

Professor Sprout noted, "The final preparations for the Whomping Willow are complete as well, Albus."

"Very good. Now we must only wait for--ah, there they are." From beneath the ground all around them, pale translucent shapes, barely visible in the growing light of dawn, arose one by one to form an insubstantial crowd of their own behind the forlorn gathering of mortals. With a shriek of protest, rattling and clanking with a half-dozen castoff student belongings, the poltergeist Peeves broke into the sunlight, and bounced into a carriage specially prepared for his occupancy. Tied on behind the carriage was a small cart containing a single portaloo, to which the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly-Headless Nick, chivalrously escorted a distraught Moaning Myrtle.

"Is that everyone?" McGonagall finally asked, looking anxiously around at the bizarre assemblage. "Merlin help anyone we've forgotten, or overlooked..."

"If we have, they'll have to fend for themselves," Snape remarked, coming up to Dumbledore along with the rest of the faculty. "We dare take no more time to search for stragglers. If we're really going to do this, we had best do it now and be gone. We can't hope to remain unobserved for long."

"Quite right, Severus," Dumbledore murmured. "I have already deactivated all but the most formidable of the school's defences. If you will all join me now, please, in removing the final wards...take your assigned places..."

McGonagall moved off to his right, Snape to his left, the other teachers and the most senior students following their lead, with a member of the Order stepping in here and there to lend their assistance in what promised to be a very difficult undertaking. They fanned out until they stretched in a wide half-circle around the front of the school, with Dumbledore positioned directly before the main doors. To his immediate right stood Harry Potter; to his left, Draco Malfoy, both young faces still marked with the evidence of their last violent disagreement. Dumbledore had chosen them for these positions intentionally, over the objections of several of his associates; he was most pleased to note that for once neither had a glance to spare for the other, their own bitter rivalry set aside in the face of this most terrible necessity.

When everyone was in position, he calmly spoke the words that would carry the signal to the wizards and witches positioned along the front of the castle. As one, they raised their wands and began the complex, antique spell that would strip the venerable school of its protective wards.

The casting took some time, and tested the limits of each participant's spellcasting ability with torturously convoluted phrasing and intricate, exacting gestures. The uninvolved students (chiefly fifth-years,) keeping a nervous watch on the grounds and the sky all around, trembled at what they heard; though they could decipher only bits and pieces of the incantation, they could feel its power thrumming through the air around them, the ground beneath their feet...it resonated in their very bones. Those participating in the spell had no attention to spare for such details, but the fifth-years, as well as Filch, would later inform them that their hair had been standing on end, the air surrounding them fairly crackling with magical energy held firmly in check, awaiting the proper moment for its release.

Finally, his voice rising over the others in powerfully ringing words of arcane command, Dumbledore raised his hands and clapped them together once, then spread his arms toward the school.

A sound like a thunderclap rolled across the grounds, accompanied by a shock wave that began in the very heart of the castle, and rolled inexorably outward, knocked almost everyone present off their feet. Every doorway and window was dazzlingly lit, just for a moment, but this went unnoticed by most.

When the wave had passed and the sound faded away, Dumbledore, one of the few still standing, scrutinised the walls carefully, and nodded slowly in satisfaction. "Well. That's that," he said briskly. "Come, come, on your feet everyone...our task is not yet complete." He offered a hand to Draco, who had just sat up, shaking his head and looking a bit dazed.

The young Slytherin--how very young he is, Dumbledore thought, he and Harry and the others; how unfair that they should come of age at a time like this--looked up in surprise, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at the Headmaster's sudden attention. Harry, too, was looking on quite astonished, and perhaps a bit hurt. Well, there was no help for it.

Malfoy's longstanding accusation of favoritism was, unfortunately, not altogether wrong. Nor was it altogether unjustified, and Dumbledore suspected the young Slytherin knew, in his heart of hearts, that Harry Potter truly was the better man. But the Headmaster had also long suspected that heart was neither so icy nor so craven as was commonly assumed, a belief that had been vindicated when Draco chose to stay on at Hogwarts while so many of his Slytherin brethren had rallied to Voldemort's cause.

In any case, it was irrelevant now. The time for playing favourites was over.

Hauling Draco to his feet with an ease that astonished the young man, Dumbledore clapped him on the shoulder with an encouraging "Well done!" and smiled at Harry to include him in the praise, before turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

"Well done, one and all," he repeated, raising his voice and checking to see that he had everyone's attention. "You are all aware of the preparations that have been made...and now it has come down to it; as much as it pains us all to undertake this task, let us be resolved to do it swiftly and well. We owe Hogwarts no less.

"I regret that there is not time to mark this moment with the appropriate solemnity. Please light your torches. Minerva, if you would be so kind?"

Her face pale, hand trembling slightly, Professor McGonagall touched her wand to the tip of the torch Dumbledore now held out toward her, murmuring the appropriate words to ignite it. More than one person had raised the question of why something as cumbersome as a Muggle torch should be used for this task, when a wand was so much easier and more efficient. He could answer only that it seemed ungrateful, somehow, to turn their magic directly against the institution that had served so faithfully in fostering its growth for so many years.

He turned to find that the members of the Headless Hunt had arrayed themselves silently behind him in two rows facing one another; an eerie, foreboding honour guard as he walked up to the wall of the school, heavy-hearted but resolute.

Whispering a final benediction in a very old tongue, too softly for anyone else to hear, he raised the torch and thrust it against the stone.

Though everyone had been warned what to expect, a collective gasp arose from the crowd as the solid granite caught fire and began to smoke and curl like so much kindling.

Steadfastly ignoring the general reaction, Dumbledore walked slowly along the wall, drawing the torch along it as he went, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Already the flames at his beginning point were spreading up and out, licking hungrily at the stone. They crept toward the nearest open window as though eager to find their way inside and consume the place from within.

"All right, everyone," McGonagall called, her voice cracking slightly despite a valiant effort at control. "You know what must be done. Spread out...Quidditch players, up aloft with you, and I do not want to see any of you dawdling for a last look! Everyone is to be back here in ten minutes, no more!"

The Quidditch players (joined by Fred and George Weasley, who had been recalled for the occasion and had brought along a large quantity of their Whiz-Bangs and other volatile products) took off, torches blazing in their hands, each with a predetermined window, chimney or other destination to drop them. The other students scattered along the wall, lighting it as Dumbledore had done, while the adults Apparated to various points within the building to ensure that the fire took hold and spread quickly throughout the structure. Hagrid, sobbing openly, was lighting crossbow bolts and taking aim at every window within his range, firing with astonishing speed and accuracy.

Speed, yes, speed was of the essence. A spell of the magnitude which had just been cast here could not be hidden from those with the sensitivity to detect such things. If the enemy were to tip to what was happening and attack in force while everyone was scattered, and the building already ablaze, a massacre could ensue.

Dumbledore himself lit a fair stretch of wall and then dropped his torch at its base, allowing the fire to grow as it would and keeping a watchful eye on those within his field of vision (and other senses.) All was proceeding according to plan. A few more moments and the inferno would be beyond even his ability to stop. Already students on broomsticks were reappearing, teachers Apparating back to the rendezvous point...

"It's done, Albus," McGonagall coughed slightly as she came up to him, slightly sooty-faced. "It's spreading faster than I'd thought possible."

"Excellent. You have your Portkey? Very well, begin evacuating your Gryffindors at once, as they return." He turned and signaled to Myrtle's carriage to depart, and off it went, Peeves shouting colourful obscenities back at them until the poltergeist's voice faded in the distance.

"Quite creative, even for Peeves," McGonagall noted without humour, beckoning to the nearest fifth-year Gryffindor. She looked around, suddenly concerned. "Hasn't Severus made it back yet?"

Dumbledore's reply was momentarily pre-empted by a series of very loud BOOMS! and the commencement of a spectacular fireworks display overhead. In the low light of morning the words "FAREWELL HOGWARTS" could be seen, spelled out in brilliant red, green, blue and yellow letters hundreds of feet high (as well as several smaller, rather rude phrases directed at Voldemort and his forces.) The Weasley twins had outdone themselves.

"He will delay setting off his charges until the last possible moment," the Headmaster then reminded her, "to ensure that everyone has sufficient time to get clear."

"Most of them are back already. He had better hurry. I will be very cross with him if he doesn't make it out." Moving several Gryffindors through the Portkey in rapid succession, and gesturing to a couple of returning Slytherins to come to her as well, McGonagall said to them tersely, "Don't argue with me, now, Professor Snape will be along directly." She spoke with a stout assurance which Dumbledore was fairly certain she did not feel, as the Slytherin youths made their reluctant exit.

Hagrid came striding up, out of bolts. "Reckon tha's all I'm good for 'ere, Professors...Harry made it back yet?" He looked around with some concern.

McGonagall shook her head, noting with growing apprehension that neither Potter nor his arch-nemesis Malfoy had reappeared. "Don't worry yourself about it, Hagrid, go on through with the others."

"But--"

Dumbledore smiled up at the gamemaster. "Rest assured, Hagrid, Harry Potter will not be left behind. Nor anyone else. Off you go, now, off you go..."

Reluctantly, Hagrid picked up Fang, tucked the dog under his arm, took hold of the Portkey, and vanished. Meanwhile, the Headless Hunt and the other school ghosts wished their human friends luck, then faded out, sank into the ground or took to the air, each according to his particular fashion, and were soon gone.

"Where the devil is Severus--" Minerva fretted, but scarcely had the words passed her lips than the Potions Master Apparated almost directly before her, his face nearly as black as his hair with soot, coughing violently. He dropped to one knee, seemingly unable to catch his breath. At the same time, Moody and Lupin came up from different directions, their own missions completed. Most of the Gryffindor students had passed through by now, and Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were departing rapidly to safety on either side.

McGonagall shouted for Madame Pomfrey, who appeared promptly with a Scrublung mask, which she compelled Snape to wear over his nose and mouth until it had drawn the worst of the smoke from his airways. "Bloody things didn't want to catch," he choked out after a few moments, thrusting the mask back at the Healer with some disdain. "I sincerely hope--" he coughed, "--that everyone is now clear, because it's going to blow any--"

He was cut off by a massive explosion from deep within the bowels of the school. The Slytherin dungeons had just erupted, sending fiery debris high into the air, to come pelting down upon the remaining arsonists. Snape looked away, closing his eyes and looking for a moment as stricken as Dumbledore had ever seen him...excepting one other occasion.

"Time to go," Moody said firmly. Without further ado, he and Lupin caught hold of Snape by either arm, ignoring his wheezing protests, and vanished through the Portkey. Madame Pomfrey was rounding up her assistants and the few other injured persons, preparing to transport them all as well. Professors Sprout and Flitwick gave the all-clear for their respective Houses and departed, taking the remaining Slytherins with them. Ominous rumblings came from within the disintegrating walls as large parts of the castle collapsed inward, deprived of their underpinnings.

Only two students remained unaccounted for. "Potter and Malfoy..." Minerva said, scanning the now very smoky surroundings. "Reducto!" she blew aside a medium-sized chunk of granite that came flying at her head; then "Contectum Ruina!" she threw up a protective shield. She and Dumbledore were nearly the only people left in sight. "Albus, you don't think they could have been foolish enough to get into a fight at a time like this?"

"I very much doubt it, they're intelligent boys," Dumbledore replied. He was about to tell McGonagall to go on ahead, that he would find the two mislaid students and catch up with her shortly; but just then she gave a cry and went running into the smoke, shouting Potter's name. He hastened to follow, amazed as always by Harry's propensity for getting into--and, at least to date, out of--trouble.

He was staggering through the burning rubble toward them, dangerously near the fire, burdened not only by a badly scorched and reeling Draco Malfoy but also by both their broomsticks, which he had somehow managed to haul along.

"Merlin's ghost, Potter! What on earth happened!" McGonagall gasped, looping Malfoy's free arm around her neck and almost dragging them both hastily out of the most immediate peril. "Oh, never mind, later...let's just be away from here..."

Dumbledore stiffened, sensing something behind him, and said softly, "Yes, Minerva, away with you all at once. I will join you momentarily."

McGonagall looked toward him, then froze as she spotted something some distance beyond. "Albus..." Harry, following her gaze, also opened his mouth to object.

"I know. Go, at once," he said firmly.

With two students to look after, McGonagall had no choice but to obey. She activated the Portkey, and the three of them vanished.

Albus Dumbledore turned almost casually, and smiled calmly at the group of approaching Death Eaters, offhandedly conjuring his own shield to protect him from stray debris. "Good morning, gentlemen. Welcome to Hogwarts. How may I assist you?"

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