Bring Him Home

Albus Dumbledore looked up as Fawkes came in, carrying a small piece of parchment. He brought it to the Headmaster, who read it and promptly dropped it in the fire so no one else would have the ability to read it.

"So it has begun." he said to Fawkes, sitting heavily in his desk chair, hands clasped together with elbows resting firmly on his desk, the ever-present twinkle in his eye gone. He'd known that this day would come, though he never knew when exactly to expect it.

God on high
Hear my prayer
In my need
You have always been there

Albus Dumbledore had never been an overly religiously man. Being a wizard brought up in the early part of the 20th century, he never was brought up with those values, and had found it curious when he saw those who were. He'd been comfortable in having the Christmas and Easter celebrations at Hogwarts as a good time for a break, as well as allowing the Muggleborn students to go back to their families for their celebrations. He himself had never actually celebrated the religious aspects of it, just reveling in the more secular traditions, his personal favorite being those of the crackers on the table at the Christmas feast.

As he grew older, however, he could understand the comfort taken by those believing in a higher power, and had himself reached out to that higher power. He would call it Merlin, God, Goddess, whatever moved him at that time. There were even times, after the death of Nicholas Flamel, that he would find himself calling upon the memory of a man who deeply deserved his respect and reverence. The important thing was that he had something bigger than himself to put his faith into, and it was particularly important when he was worried about the safety of someone other than himself. Someone he knew would never think or want to reach out to this higher power.

He is young
He's afraid
Let him rest
Heaven blessed.
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home

He asked that the young man that had been moved to leave the safety of this castle be brought back to him, as unharmed as possible. He knew that what he wanted to see more than anything was that battered man, for he was no longer a boy, return, alive and safe. {He was too proud to admit that he was afraid, but I do know better.} Albus thought to himself. {This must terrify him, but he will go through it with his usual attitude, and I pray it will be enough to save him.}

Albus cared about him more than he probably should have, considering he was the Headmaster of the school, and should be watching for the safeguard of all under his care. It was unfair of him to pick his favorites, but every professor at the school did it, and had done since the inception. The Sorting Hat was a prime example of the choosing of favorites among the students. He had seen it many times, particularly with those best loved and most admired by the faculty, and he had done it himself. He continued to do it to this day.

He's like the son I might have known
If God had granted me a son.
The summers die
One by one
How soon they fly
On and on
And I am old
And will be gone.

With this war, Albus knew that there would be loss. There was always loss when a principle was to be defended. In order for good to be done, there had to be a sacrifice. He prayed, to whoever might be listening, that this man could be spared anything, anything at all. Albus loved him as a father would, even if he rarely recognized Albus's devotion to him.

He had changed in the relatively short time Albus had known him. He was often more withdrawn, though he had never been the most boisterous young boy. Albus knew this was to protect himself, and others by extension. He had had to grow up too fast, and had always hoped that there would be a time when he could be young again, but that time was all too far gone, and Albus might never be able to impress upon him the importance of a life outside of this war.

Bring him peace
Bring him joy
He is young
He is only a boy

Albus had seen a lot in his more than 100 years of existence. He knew things that would scare most others, and terrify some. After Grindewald, he knew more than ever how much Hogwarts was his home. Above all else, though, he understood the value of having a safe place to return to, when it all became too much. For him, it had always been this school, and always would be. He only hoped that this young man, when his part of the war had been completed, would also be able to find that same sort of peace. Not specifically within the walls of this ancient castle, but wherever life would take him.

You can take
You can give
Let him be
Let him live

Albus knew it was impossible, but at that moment, he wished he could take his place with all his heart and soul. He closed his eyes and prayed as he had never done before. {Please, let my boy come home to us. He is needed more than he understands, for more than the simple act he had been taking part in.} In his heart of hearts, he knew that what would come would come, and that his hand wasn't as strong as those of others. The simple fact that Tom had found a way to resurrect himself was proof enough that there could only be one way of winning this war, and he knew that he would have a hand in it, but would not be the one to win it in the end. Others would have to take Tom's life, and Albus only prayed that he would be strong enough to do it.

If I die, let me die
Let him live
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home.

He opened his eyes and brought the quill and parchment on his desk in front of him, writing a short letter to Minerva, in order to let her know what has happened. He had done what he could, though it was very little. It gave his heart respite to know that he had tried to bring him home safe and alive, though the evidence of there being a higher power was few and far between.

Albus sealed the letter, and gave it Fawkes. "Minerva had wanted to know when it was happening." He said, and sent the phoenix off to deliver the message.

* * * * *

Minerva McGonagall opened the letter Fawkes had brought her, afraid of what it would say, knowing, as had been tradition with the last few letters the phoenix had brought her, that nothing good would come in the dead of the night from Albus's personal familiar and friend.

Minerva,

This evening, Severus was requested to meet with Voldemort, with no warning for him to be able to make his excuses to myself, or any others he may have needed to cover for him. As you know, this is highly suspect, and I fear the worst for him. I pray that he will not meet his end, but it is difficult to know what will happen.

Albus

Minerva dropped the letter in shock. "What have you done, Severus?" she whispered, tears streaming down her face. She and Severus had never been the closest of friends, but she trusted him to be there, an institution that had been at Hogwarts for almost twenty years now. He was predictable, his presence bringing scores of Griffindors that felt his treatment of them as unfair. All through their diatribes she knew that despite their complaints, he was the best Master in the country, and his students, even those who did horribly on their exams, knew more about potions than many other students coming out of secondary school.

She knew that life would go on without him, it always did in times like these, but they would never be able to replace him, neither in the classroom, nor in the field, nor in the place he had unwittingly found in her heart. His peculiar friendship with her had been a source of mirth, watching his reactions to things with a scowl that, had the tables been turned, she would react the same way, and it brought a sense of camaraderie she scarcely felt with many of the other professors.

She sat at her desk for a long time, not wanting the contents of the letter to be true, but knowing it was all the same.