Minerva McGonagall's Office
She downed the firewhisky. Feeling the flame burn her throat, letting the alcohol fill the empty hole in her gut.
She'd been through a lot in her life, had Minerva McGonagall. She'd seen the war against Grindelwald, and the corresponding muggle world war. She was now seeing her second war against Voldemort. She'd held the only man she ever loved in her arms as he died of a disease that would only ever be identified days later. She'd never borne children of her womb, no. But she often thought that the love she felt for her students was no less than the love a mother felt for their own children.
She'd outlived her two brothers, as they died in one war or another. She'd seen friends die, seen students who she loved as her own die. Some at their own hands, some at the hands of others, some at the hands of drugs or diseases.
She'd seen students who she had loved pulled to the wrong path, seduced by vipers with human tongues.
And in all her years, in all the pains and troubles she'd experienced, she'd never felt as low as she did right then.
She'd had her favorites, as every teacher had. And for all his being, well, a prat, James Potter was one of her favorites. And Lily Evans was every teacher's favorite. Not a teacher's pet. Not a know-it-all. But a girl who had brightened up every class, just with her presence.
And she had felt upset, at first, that Harry hadn't been sorted into her house. She had gotten over that quickly enough when she got to see more of him. He was not a Gryffindor. She privately thought that he would have done better as a Ravenclaw than a Slytherin, but she was happy enough to see him making friends.
After a childhood like the one he had, like the one she had allowed, in her own way, him to have, he deserved nothing less.
His first year, she'd seen a boy who was lonely, who was sad and beaten down, and who had reason to feel that way. And she'd seen him slowly coming into himself, making friends, becoming more talkative, less afraid of physical contact.
His second year, she'd been too busy with her Gryffindors, too busy calming them over the attacks to pay too much attention. But she'd seen him drawing further and further within himself. She'd spoken to Severus, she'd spoken to Dumbledore. And she'd seen him improve. And then she saw him after Lockhart struck.
His third year, she'd watched as he grew angrier, more restless. It hadn't surprised her, what with Sirius Black having escaped and the Dementors around the school. And when Sirius had been declared innocent, when Sirius was given custody of Harry.
She'd sat in her office, much as she was doing now, drinking and crying. But that time, there had been tears of joy mingled with the pain.
His fourth year, she'd been busy again. Busy with the Triwizard Tournament, busy with the foreign students, busy with what she had thought, what she had hoped was just Albus' paranoia.
But she had seen the anger within him, then. She'd seen how he had acted toward one of her Gryffindors. She'd told herself it was nothing serious, it was a natural result of his unhappy past being splayed across the papers for all to see. She had hidden away her worries and been happy when she saw Harry and the Greengrass girl smiling and laughing together.
And this year. This year, she'd been worried. She'd been worried from the beginning, really. He was too angry. Far too angry. She had told herself it was nothing to worry about, it was just a result of You-Know-Who's return. But she had seen it, then.
And she had worried when he came back after the attack on Grimmauld Place, all laughter, and seriousness, jumbled together.
' Based on what Ginevra heard…'
She cut that thought off swiftly, not willing to dwell on it.
And then Neville had come to talk to her, and again, she'd brushed her fears off. Harry had been under Bellatrix Lestrange's wand, and that was enough to affect even the strongest of people, she'd told herself.
And then-
And Albus.
She'd known Albus for a long, long time. Since she came to Hogwarts, a homesick first-year. And she'd become closer to him than perhaps anyone else. With her studying below him, and later, working under him.
Even when she took a few years off, to go travel and see different magical cultures, to learn about how other witches and wizards used Transfiguration, she still had written to Albus weekly. She still had firecalled him when she was able to.
He had been her mentor. He had been her boss. He had been her leader.
And now he was dead, struck down by a child that she had loved from a distance.
She downed the next firewhisky, refilling the glass after.
And then there were all the other casualties.
Students had died in Hogwarts before. As terrible as it was, it was a fact of life. Accidents would happen. Myrtle had been murdered, all those years ago.
But never had so much blood been spilled in the castle before. Never before were students killed with such random brutality, murdered simply to leave a message. Simply because they were there.
And the war would come to Hogwarts. You-Know-Who would not simply let Hogwarts continue as normal, an island of peace in his ocean of war. He would want to take control, to wrest hold of the children's education.
And nobody would simply stand by and let that happen.
War would come to Hogwarts again, and she would have to see more people that she loved die.
She was not afraid of her own death. She would face it gladly if need be, and she would die like she lived, fighting for the children.
But she was terribly afraid of seeing more death.
And Gellert Grindelwald somehow walked her school's corridors, drawing the children to him like moths to a flame, teaching them ways to kill. Claiming that Dumbledore had left him in charge of the war.
She downed the firewhisky and refilled the glass.
She reached into one of her drawers and pulled out an old photograph. There weren't many copies of this photograph left. But she had kept it, over the long years.
The original members of the Order of the Phoenix smiled out at her, waving and laughing, oblivious to their coming fates.
Usually, looking at this photograph inspired her, gave her strength. Simply thinking about the noble sacrifices offered during the last war was usually enough to keep her going.
Now it just depressed her, as she ran her tired fingers over the faces.
Frank and Alice, a fate worse than death.
James and Lily, dead. But perhaps that was better. Perhaps from beyond the veil, they could not see what their son had become.
Sirius, dead at the wand of his own godson.
Peter, a traitor.
Dumbledore, dead at Harry's wand.
Remus, alone. He'd been totally inconsolable, since the battle. Since in one fell swoop, his leader, his lover, and the last tangible reminder of his friends were taken from him.
She hoped that Tonks was dead. It would be better than whatever evil Bellatrix had planned. But the not knowing. That was tearing Remus apart, worse even than Harry's betrayal.
She started crying furiously, the tears rushing down her old, weary face.
Never in her life had Minerva McGonagall felt so utterly hopeless, so utterly despondent, as she did right then.
A flash of golden fire and Fawkes appeared, hovering in mid-air in the center of her office.
The sight infuriated her. Never again would she hear Albus wax poetic about his Phoenix.
"What do you want?" She demanded, her emotions throwing her voice back into the cadences of its youth, her brogue coming out strongly. "You could have saved him! You were there, you could have transported him away!"
Fawkes cocked his head to one side, his eyes filling with tears. He opened his beak.
"No. You will not sing sweet lies to me. You will not steal my grief and rage. They are mine, and you will not steal them"
Fawkes blinked as if confused. Then he nodded, flames dancing in the air along his plumage.
He vanished.
And a letter fell from the air where he had been, floating to land on her desk.
Her eyes landed on the familiar scrawl.
And with trembling hands, she began to pick up the letter that Albus had sent her.
Gryffindor Common Room
Neville hugged Luna close to him on the couch, the tears running down her face. She'd barely spoken, since the Astronomy Tower. She'd told McGonagall and-and Grindelwald the story, but other than that, she'd barely spoken.
Grief took people differently, he mused. You could see it, all over Hogwarts. Dean had joined everyone in Grindelwald's lessons, throwing himself into it with a passion. Refusing to allow anyone to mention Seamus' name near him. His face would close off, and he would turn away when someone mentioned his dead best friend.
Padma had been pretty bad. Refusing to budge from Parvati's side, combing her sister's locks and singing a haunting lullaby into ears that would never hear again.
Alicia had screamed and shouted, raging as Katie's body was removed.
Anthony Goldstein's parents had been pretty bad too, when they came to collect his corpse, with their ripped clothes and their broken expressions.
And so many others. So very many others.
The stones of Hogwarts had been drenched in blood.
But Neville held Luna close to him and watched as Ginny raged.
"I told you all! I fucking told you! I told you not to trust him, that there was something-"
Ron stood up angrily, letting Hermione fall to the side.
"Don't you dare. Don't you blame any of us for this, Ginny. It's not like anyone thought he would fucking join V-V-Voldemort!"
Ginny burst into angry tears and flopped back onto her chair.
"How could he? V-Voldemort killed his parents, how could he just join him? How could he do all those things he did?"
"People will do anything to take away the pain" Luna said, taking her weight off of Neville as she sat up. "Anything. Some people-some people believe in things that they know aren't true. Because in a world of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, maybe mummy didn't die in such a meaningless way"
Her tears came faster, and her breath hitched, but she didn't stop talking.
"And some people. They-they want to make everyone else hurt as much as they do. Because if everyone's in pain, then their pain doesn't really exist. Not as anything special"
An uncomfortable silence fell on the group after that pronouncement. Ron settled back onto his couch.
But Hermione didn't move, a thoughtful expression still on her face.
"What do you all think," she said slowly as if turning the words over in her mouth, "about Shr-Grindelwald?"
"If he's fighting V-Voldemort, I'd side with anyone," Ron said immediately. Ginny nodded.
Luna had gone back to her tears, making his chest damp where her face pressed. She didn't respond. He thought for a moment, before answering. "I-I don't know. He's-I think he's strong enough to fight V-Voldemort. And the stuff he's teaching us, it's good. We need it. And Dumbledore trusted him. But Dumbledore trusted Snape, and-and-and Potter"
Hermione nodded.
"Still. I think he's our best bet. Rather him than V-Voldemort. Why?"
Hermione responded with a question.
"Do you think Dumbledore told him? Or do you think we need to?"
Neville thought it over for a little. "I-I think Dumbledore told him. But we probably should, just in case"
Hermione nodded. "Just in case"
There was a flash of golden fire, and Fawkes appeared.
Luna looked up immediately, seeming to sense its presence. And while Ginny looked furious at the Phoenix's presence, Luna smiled.
And Fawkes began to sing.
There were no words to the song. There didn't need to be. It was something greater than mere language, something that dove deep into the soul and brought warmth with it.
It brought back memories Neville didn't know he still had. Of him as a tiny baby, all wrapped up in blankets and held in warm, comforting hands. Of his parents, smiling and happy and sane.
And it went on, the music filling the room, filling their souls and hearts.
After a brief eternity, it faded.
Fawkes looked Neville in the eye and seemed to convey a nod without moving his head. He moved forward with a lazy wave of his wings.
And he vanished.
A letter floated down from where he had been hovering.
Addressed, in Dumbledore's handwriting, to Neville Longbottom.
With trembling fingers, he reached for the envelope.
Gellert Grindelwald's Office
He sat in his office, looking at lists of students, looking at maps and lists of allies and enemies.
He sat there, planning.
He hoped that the new Headmistress would not cause him issues. He'd come to like her, as Shriner. And Albus certainly liked her. He would hate to have to kill her. But if he needed to, he would.
Hogwarts would make a most excellent base of operations. And while Voldemort was certain to attack it at some point, that would be a battle of attrition. And a battle, if things went well, that he could win.
It would only be one battle, true. But at this point, Voldemort was winning everything. They needed a victory, to strengthen their fighters' resolve.
His wand sang in his hand, begging to be used, begging to be allowed to take the upstart's life.
He put down the map of cemeteries that he had been perusing and began to think of his fighters. The students had responded well to his training. And while they would not be equal to those Death Eaters that the upstart had been training for years, they would put up a grand fight.
And some of them had a true talent for the darker areas of magic.
He smiled, thinking of that. Voldemort and his Death Eaters did not appear to be well versed in Blood Magic.
And he, Gellert Grindelwald, had been an expert in it at sixteen. And his time in Nurmengard hadn't allowed him to practice it, true. But he felt certain that he had a greater grasp on the theory than anyone in history.
And he was training his fighters well. Identifying where their talents lay. Those Weasley twins, for example. They were extremely talented in enchanting objects. And they, like most of the students, were furious.
He cackled, the Elder Wand singing in his hand.
A flash of golden fire and Dumbledore's bird was in the room, staring at him unblinkingly.
"What do you want?" He growled.
The bird vanished, leaving behind an envelope with his name written on it in Dumbledore's hand.
Something round pressed its outline against the envelope.
His heart quickened, as his hand stretched toward it.
The study, Malfoy Manor
Severus and Rookwood sat with the Dark Lord, again going over exactly how Grindelwald had fought.
It was blatantly clear that this was no pretender. That Augustus Shriner had truly been Gellert Grindelwald, simply faking a persona.
Severus had fought against many people. But he had never seen anyone fight like Grindelwald had.
Except the Dark Lord himself, of course.
When they first returned back from Hogwarts, the Dark Lord had been overjoyed. His joy had changed to rage when he found out what his once idol had done. He had quickly regained his good humor though and wrote Grindelwald off as a mere setback. Dumbledore, the Dark Lord felt, was his most powerful enemy, and was now gone.
Severus disagreed, privately of course.
Dumbledore's death was a success, to be sure. But Dumbledore had seemed to know that it was coming, and had seemed prepared to accept it. That made Severus think that Dumbledore had planned for it.
And Severus had faced Grindelwald and had seen the man's furious power.
Severus reminded himself, that even with their losses, the mission had been a success. Everyone who made it out of Hogwarts had been healed of their injuries, and they would be celebrating the very next day, once Draco had been woken.
' It was a success' he told himself, glad that he had taken the potion, glad that he had once again fully committed himself to the Dark Lord's cause.
Glad that he felt no pain at having been a part of Dumbledore's murder.
There was a flash of golden fire, and Dumbledore's Phoenix appeared, interrupting the Dark Lord's question as it hovered in the center of the large table.
It squawked, as three wands were aimed at it. It disappeared in another flash, leaving a letter behind.
It had Severus' name on it, in Dumbledore's handwriting.
He stared at it.
"Well, Severus? What has the fool ordered sent to you?"
"I-I do not know, my lord. And if-if I may be frank-"
The Dark Lord nodded.
"I do not care to see what he has to say. If my lord wishes, he should read it, else I will simply burn it"
The Dark Lord smiled and opened the letter.
He read through it with a scowl, and with a laugh, burnt it.
"Recriminations, Severus. He informed the bird to deliver this missive if you were not the one to kill him. Nothing but recriminations and his guilt-inducing sadness"
Severus nodded, thankful that he hadn't read it. He wanted nothing in his mind that could cause him to question his loyalties. Not after everything he had done to ensure that there wouldn't be.
A small, forgotten part of him wept and wished that he had read it. Wished that he could remember his love for Lily, and his hatred for the monster sitting opposite him.
Draco's bedroom, Malfoy Manor.
Harry sat beside Draco's bed, watching his unconscious friend. Draco didn't move, of course. The bandage covering his empty eye-sockets stood out against the pale flesh.
When he had first seen Draco the previous night, after his own injuries had been seen to, he'd almost lost it. The healer had been there, then, and he'd almost killed the man.
Only Daphne's warning hand had held him back.
He'd spoken to Draco for almost an hour, telling him about the battle at Hogwarts. Telling him about how he had finally, happily killed Dumbledore. And how Grindelwald had revealed himself, and how they had just managed to escape.
It had been strange, at first. Talking to his unconscious friend. But after a little bit, he forgot that Draco wasn't answering. And he just carried on talking.
He'd told Draco about it all. About how Bellatrix had kidnapped Tonks and was planning on training her. How he had killed Ernie Macmillan. How Montague and Meredith had died. He'd told Draco everything.
And now he was back.
"They say they're gonna wake you up tomorrow. And they've got-they've got fake eyes for you. Like what Moody had. Maybe we'll start calling you Mad-Eye-Malfoy"
He giggled. Draco would hate that.
"And we're-we're getting Marked, tomorrow. He's gonna wait until you're more healed to do you, but the rest of us. It's gonna be tomorrow. And-and we're gonna celebrate. It's gonna be crazy. He-He says already today, a lot of people have been declaring their support for him. Not that they'll fight, but that they won't fight against us. We're-we're going to win. And you had better wake the fuck up, already, ok? Because we're going to win, and then we'll rule. Me and Daphne and you and Astoria. We'll fucking rule the world, under Him. So wake the fuck up!"
A flash of golden fire and Dumbledore's Phoenix appeared, hovering over Draco.
His wand was out before he knew it, pointing at the bird. But it didn't budge, just stared at him for a few moments with accusation somehow written across its face.
"I killed him," he said with a giggle. "And I'll kill you too. Avada-"
The bird vanished.
And a letter floated down from where it had been, coming to rest on Draco's chest.
He reached out for it with shaking fingers, noting the handwriting that his name was written in.
' No! I killed him! He's dead, and I killed him! Why won't he leave me alone! He's dead, he has to leave me alone!'
He read the letter, laughing and crying as he did so.
And throughout all of England, throughout all of Europe and the world, the newspapers screamed their tales. People whispered to one another, and fears grew as the word spread.
Albus Dumbledore had been murdered by the Boy-Who-Lived.