A winter storm roared over the Scottish highlands, gripping with icy hands the towers of the Hogwarts school of Wizardry and Witchcraft, pushing against the ancient windows, letting them rattle and making the candles in the rooms behind flicker.
The tall, bony woman in front of the fireplace didn't like the storm. Although the room was almost too warm, with dozens of candles flickering in the air and the fire blazing heat, she seemed to shiver. Whenever one of the windows was struck by the wind, she wrapped her dark green robe closer against her frame and looked worriedly into the darkness behind the windows.
Her companion, a very old wizard with a white beard so long it reached to the belt of his gorgeous burgundy robe, tried to look relaxed with his long legs stretched to the fire. His head, with a long, silver mane, was slightly tilted to the side and rested against the high back of his chair. Yet his long, elegant fingers, bony from age, betrayed his pose. They couldn't stop playing with the hem of his sleeve. They almost seemed to have a life of their own, uncontrolled by the wizard, doing a gracious dance with the fabric.
Once again the wind raised its voice to a roar. The purple bird who had dozed on the mantelpiece raised his head, flustered, made a melodious sound and sank with one, gliding movement down to the wizard's shoulder. It nipped tenderly on the old man's ear. He stopped playing with his sleeve and gently stroked the bird's head. "Yes, Fawkes, I know," he said quietly. "You worry about the boy. So do I and so does Minerva even though she'd rather swallow her tongue than admit it in front of him."
"The boy," Minerva McGonagall, transfiguration teacher, master of the house of Gryffindor and deputy headmistress, said a bit stiffly, "is a grown man. He's old enough to look after himself."
"Yes, yes," the old wizard answered thoughtfully. "Only he's confronted with evil and tortured by it on a regular basis ..." His voice became almost a whisper as he spoke.
"You don't have to remind me, Albus." Minerva rose up and went to the window. With her back to Albus Dumbledore she said: "He's late ..."
"Hagrid is at the gates, waiting for him. If he comes back injured, Hagrid will help him ..."
For a few moments, both the wizard and witch were silent. Then she said, her voice soft and sad: "I'm afraid, Albus. One day he won't come back. One day this monster will kill him - slowly, painfully. We will lose him - his brilliant mind, his thirst for knowledge, his courage, his ..."
"One could think you will miss me," a deep voice broke in. "How Gryffindor of you, Minerva."
Minerva McGonagall turned around and looked to the dark shape, lingering tiredly against the open door frame. "You're back, Severus," she said.
"Stating the obvious, Minerva? Considering the amount of sugar Albus fed you tonight, your brain should actually be working on overdrive by now." Hogwarts Potions Master Severus Snape staggered in the room, throwing a black cloak and a silver mask in one of the unoccupied chairs and sinking on an old leather sofa.
Albus Dumbledore raised his head. "Are you hurt, child?" he asked.
Snape shook his head. "No, this time I'm not. So a bit of your old Ogden's will be enough to give me the strength to pass on the information you have been longing for all evening."
The headmaster lowered his head and sighed. Silently he looked to a small cupboard behind his paper-laden desk and raised his index finger. The cupboard opened, a bottle and a tumbler sailed through the room and landed with a soft "pop" on a little table next to the sofa. "Please serve yourself, Severus," Dumbledore invited the younger wizard.
