A cold, damp wind snaked its way through the cracks in the castle's stone walls. Spring was often late in coming to Hogwarts, but this May was an uncommonly cold one; the lapping waters of the Black Lake were still frozen in crackling ice, and the grounds, as far as Hogsmeade and beyond, were covered in a light dusting of snow.

The Hogwarts House-Elves had kindly lit a fire in Minerva McGonagall's office before she returned from dinner, but already its warmth was waning. With a tired sigh, she Summoned some more firewood, letting the logs drop into the flames, and pulled her tartan shawl more snugly around her shoulders.

The lingering unseasonable chill was due, in part, to the growing Dementor population, now flourishing all over wizarding Britain. No longer confined to Azkaban, the miserable creatures had taken up residence in the lower levels of the Ministry of Magic, along Diagon and Knockurn Alley, even in Godric's Hollow. Minerva peered out her window, and saw dozens of them hovering around the Quidditch pitch. That was only a small fraction of the hundreds she knew were patrolling the perimeter of the Hogwarts grounds. As yet, Headmaster Snape had not seen fit to allow them into the school itself.

Minerva shivered, and cast her Patronus, a glowing silver cat springing from her wand. It paced back and forth on her desk before finally curling up in a ball beside her wireless.

Her mind clearer now, Minerva picked up a quill and turned her attention back to the stack of essays before her. In no time at all, she was pursing her lips. What I wouldn't give to have Hermione Granger back in my classroom, she thought wistfully. Or, Merlin help me, that mad Lovegood girl. Any student who would have learned even one thing I taught them this year.

Minerva sighed again; it wasn't the students' fault. Hogwarts had changed so much in the last year, and not for the better. Students now marched wherever they went with silent, military precision, fearful of being cornered alone. The corridors echoed, no longer with laughter and gossip, but with tortured screams. Those few courageous acts of rebellion, which had filled her with equal parts pride and dread, even these had been firmly and determinedly quashed. And, day by day, students continued to disappear. With so much terror running rampant through the school, it was a wonder the students had retained their sanity, never mind the finer points of their lessons.

"Nothing is the same without you, my friend," she murmured, gazing at the photograph on her desk.

An auburn-haired Albus Dumbledore, beaming with pride, smiled back at her out of the golden frame. A much younger Minerva was standing at his side, his arm about her waist. She had worn her coal-black hair down in those days, and it tumbled over her shoulders in thick waves as she leaned heavily against him. She was flushed and exhausted, but deliriously happy.

Minerva remembered that day as though it were yesterday. After months of study under her mentor's patient and watchful eye, Minerva had finally completed her Animagus transformation for the first time. Albus had cautioned her not to remain in her new form for too long at first, and after using what little strength she had remaining to transform back, Minerva would have liked nothing better than to crawl into her bed and sleep for a month. As usual, however, Albus had had other ideas. He had insisted on preserving the moment for posterity, enlisting one of his colleagues to take the photograph.

Recently, Minerva had been reflecting more and more frequently on her time as Dumbledore's apprentice. Studying at Dumbledore's side, it had been among the happiest periods in her life, but it was also tinged with darkness. She had watched helplessly as Gellert Grindelwald's steady rise to power took its toll on Albus. On a cold night, just like this, things had finally come to a head.

"Is it truly as bad on the Continent as they say?" Minerva asked. She curled her legs up beneath her on the sofa, and took a long sip of steaming Butterbeer as she watched her mentor gaze somberly into the fire.

"I'm afraid it is, Minerva," he replied. He sounded, for the first time, like a very, very old man.

"So when are you leaving?" she asked quietly.

Dumbledore gave a small chuckle, finally dragging his eyes away from the hearth. "You know me far too well, my dear," he said. He managed a smile, but his eyes were without their customary twinkle.

"I don't pretend to know exactly what you're planning," Minerva said, "but it's been obvious for weeks that you've not been yourself."

He gazed back at the fire for some time before replying. "The last day of term is the day after next. I intend to leave that evening."

"So soon?"

"I fear it can be delayed no longer."

"Then let me come with you."

"I cannot."

"But, Albus—"

"I said no, Minerva." This in that hard tone of his that he used so rarely, but which brooked absolutely no argument. His voice softened, but the firmness remained. "I know you mean well, but this is something I must do on my own."

"But what if something happens to you?" she ventured. She would deny until her dying day that her voice had trembled in that moment.

"That is a risk that I must take," he replied quietly. "I know it is difficult to understand now, but I must be the one to stop him. Perhaps I can explain it to you one day, but I will not have you getting mixed up in this, Minerva. This is not your war."

The discussion had ended there, though Minerva was far from satisfied. Dumbledore would go on to defeat Grindelwald in combat, and returned to the school in time for the new term as if nothing had happened. Not once, throughout the rest of her apprenticeship, or in all her time as a Hogwarts teacher, would Dumbledore speak to her of Grindelwald again.

Well, it is my war this time, Albus, she thought wistfully. And you're not here to protect us from what's coming.

Minerva's reverie was broken by a sudden crackling sound. It was a moment before she realized that it was static from the wireless, which had lain discouragingly silent for weeks. Fingers trembling, Minerva reached for the dial, turning it so the quiet room was suddenly filled with sound.

"…do you read, we have a new weather report. Lightning has struck. I repeat, lightning has struck."

Minerva sank back into her seat, her heart pounding fast.

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! I'm always happy to receive comments and constructive criticism.