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.

--- 6 Ron: As the World Falls Down

Thoroughly unnerved by the sight of his menacing Potions instructor crumpling like a bit of damp tissue, Ron had willingly allowed Hermione to shoo him off in search of the Healer.

The safe house to which the Hogwarts refugees had retreated was sizeable, much larger than the old Black home in which the Order of the Phoenix kept its headquarters; after leaving the ball room where most everyone had gathered, he spent some time searching the place, opening one door and then another.

There were students all over the place--some weeping in quiet corners, others talking anxiously in small groups, and one couple taking advantage of an otherwise empty room to spend some quality time together ("Sorry 'bout that!") but it was not until he approached the large kitchen near the back of the building that he caught the sounds of several familiar voices.

"...assure you, Minerva, I have survived far worse than this," Professor Dumbledore was saying as Ron edged the door open a bit and peered inside. "Walked away from Grindelwald in need of a new ear, as I recall..." The Headmaster was sitting at a large, scuffed and well-worn table, with Madame Pomfrey hovering over him, cleaning up a fairly vicious-looking gash along his left cheekbone.

Seated or standing around the room, crowded in rather closely, were the rest of the Hogwarts staff plus most of the Order of the Phoenix. All were marked with some evidence of the fire and explosions they had just set; the other Healers were tending to an assortment of minor injuries.

"You should never have stayed behind alone, Albus," Professor McGonagall said severely. "You may be the most powerful among us, but you're not invulnerable! I could have sent the boys ahead and stayed--"

Dumbledore shook his head, gently brushing off Madame Pomfrey's attentions. "I would not risk both of us, Minerva, and someone had to stay behind to ensure that the destruction was as complete as possible. Otherwise the entire venture would have been for nothing."

"Forgive me, Albus," said Molly Weasley, levitating a teapot around the gathering to refresh the cups several people were holding, "but I'm still not quite sure I understand what it was all about to start with."

Ron stayed very still, Snape's dilemma momentarily forgotten. He didn't understand, himself, why Dumbledore had ordered the school burned; neither did most of the other students. Some had refused to participate at all, and others had done so only because of their profound faith in Professor Dumbledore.

Dumbledore sighed quietly. "I know it is very difficult to accept, my dear...I hope you trust--all of you--that I did not come to such a decision lightly. But I am sorry to say that I have seen this day, or the possibility of it, coming for a long while--since the first signs began to appear that Lord Voldemort's power was returning, more than six years ago."

The year we first came to school, Ron thought, sharing in the reflexive shiver than ran through the crowd at the mention of Voldemort's name. The year Harry had arrived.

"Beginning that year, and each year since, the danger has grown," Dumbledore went on. "Each time the threat has been pushed back, but at a greater and greater cost. These past three years, the price has been most terrible."

He didn't need to elaborate; the losses of Cedric Diggory, of Sirius Black (despite his later recovery), and of a half-dozen young Gryffindor students during a Death Eater raid in Hogsmeade the year before were all too fresh in the minds of everyone present.

Finally, not more than a month ago had come the declaration of open war, heralded by the disappearance of Sturgis Podmore and Hestia Jones. Professor Snape had met with his Death Eater contacts that same night, and had learned that the two had been identified as members of the Order of the Phoenix and captured.

He'd also been ambushed, and barely escaped with his life. The next morning, the desecrated bodies of Podmore and Jones had been found laid out on the High Table in the Great Hall, along with a list of names that included the entire membership of the Order. No one could explain how they had got there.

It was generally agreed that the intrusion had been meant as both a demonstration and a test of the castle's security. If they could penetrate so far inside the school undetected, the Death Eaters would very soon find their way into truly sensitive sections--offices, storage areas, kitchens, instructors' private residences, or worst of all, the dormitories. That was when Remus Lupin and Mad-Eye Moody had moved into the school, and Dumbledore had started the preparations that led to...today.

"I put off the decision as long as I dared, but I am no longer willing to take such risks with the lives of our students and allies. It was time to act, and past," Dumbledore concluded.

"Yes yes, I think we can all understand your reasoning there, Albus," Arthur Weasley broke in, quite agitated. "And I for one fully agree, the school was no longer secure. It should most likely have been shut down before now, all our wishful thinking to the contrary."

Ron's father rubbed uncomfortably at the back of his neck. Several arrests, resignations, and disappearances within the Ministry over the past year, along with the growing evidence of Cornelius Fudge's gross incompetence, had catapulted him to a much more influential position; Ron knew that his father was largely responsible for the school staying open as long as it had. "But really, to burn it to the ground! I cannot imagine--"

Rapid footsteps came up behind Ron, and he turned to see Harry hurrying toward him. "Blimey!" he said, aghast as he remembered why he'd come, and at just that same moment Professor Dumbledore called out calmly, "Mister Weasley, Mister Potter...do come inside. Is there something amiss?"

Harry pushed the door open and stepped inside. Catching sight of Dumbledore, he seemed relieved, but came straight to the point: "Professor Snape has collapsed. He can't breathe. Hermione is with him, but--"

"What?" nearly the entire group chorused. Harry and Ron were forced to retreat hastily from the doorway as Madame Pomfrey, one of her assistants, and Professor McGonagall all snatched up various items and rushed to exit the room.

McGonagall caught hold of Harry and Ron as she passed and propelled them along with her. "What in heaven's name happened? He seemed to be doing fine when we left. A little wilted perhaps, and no wonder, but well enough..."

"Yes, he did," Madame Pomfrey called crossly over her shoulder. "But you know Severus, Minerva. He detests any sort of medical intervention, and he's got access to every sort of potion known to wizardkind. He may have taken something to mask his symptoms beforehand. I've caught him at it before, the great idiot...I ought to have realised, when he didn't turn up in back the moment Albus arrived..."

Ron traded glances with Harry, who was obviously just as unsure what to make of this development as himself. Snape was by far and away their least favourite instructor, and both young men had clashed with him too many times to count, wishing him every conceivable mishap (and some truly original ones) over their six years at Hogwarts.

But that was all just talk; we never really wanted to see something horrible happen to him, Ron thought, feeling a bit queasy. Well...not horrible like this, any road. Not something so bad he might actually die of it.

Death had become all too vivid a reality over the past few years, and had come terrifyingly close to claiming his own father two years before. He couldn't treat it lightly anymore; as much as he had always told himself he hated Snape, Ron found himself fervently hoping that the old boy would pull through.

That worthy thought lasted until the precise moment that the little group walked into the ball room, and he caught sight of Hermione. She was leaning over the stricken Potions Master, holding the man's hand, speaking to him softly. The expression on her face was soft and compassionate, almost...tender.

The sight struck Ron like a physical blow to the chest, and he stopped dead in his tracks, all good sense and moral fiber obliterated in a surge of murderous jealousy.

"I'll bloody kill him..."

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