Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling and her assorted publishers, not to me; I'm not making money off this.

Spoilers: All five HP novels.

PRELUDE to WAR—MUSINGS (Part One)

I: Albus (Thursday evening, 4 July 1996)

The Order post-meeting dinner was a little gloomy that early July night. True, Voldemort hadn't been doing anything major or obvious; but neither had the Ministry been taking advantage to move forward in prosecuting the Death Eaters caught in June. It seemed (to some, at least) almost as if the Ministry was stalling for something...

Albus Dumbledore sat brooding at the head of the table, glancing around at the others seated there—his friends, his colleagues, some of them fellow survivors of the First Voldemort war. All of them were cherished in his heart; many of them he would gladly die for. But so few, he thought to himself. Too many of them don't trust each other now—how can we recruit new members that we can trust? One Wormtail was enough. If Tom decides to move in any major way soon, we may be in for desperate times.

He then thought of what was to come in just under two months, the Welcome Feast at Hogwarts, at which he would also be presiding—if he had not already died or been crippled himself. So many of our children, our future—all doomed if we cannot find a way to stop this war soon, before he has a chance to rebuild his forces. He will get his Inner Circle out of Azkaban—it is a matter of when, not if, now that the Dementors have left; we can't let him get stronger. His musings showed him a vision of a Hogwarts missing more students each month, until none were left—death, defections to Voldemort, or simply fear of returning. (He suppressed the more horrific vision of the Great Hall of Hogwarts full of the dead and wounded.) If this conflict drags on, Tom will win by attrition; our best and brightest will be dead or slaves, the Ministry will be a puppet, and all of us here in this room will be dead, imprisoned or in hiding. The average witch and wizard will live in fear, as they did in the First War, and no one will be safe any more. And it all hinges on one person to destroy him—and he isn't ready. I can't force him: Harry must choose to fight, to win or die, or all we have worked for will be lost. And now he's hurting, and I helped hurt him, even as I loved him too dearly...and I don't know how to regain his trust. He and all his friends have had to grow up too fast; I don't blame Molly for not wanting her children in the Order, never mind that even young Ginny would be a good member. They've all lost their childhood to Tom. I also don't know how we can help Harry win, when we haven't even figured out how to destroy Tom for good. We cannot afford to half-do the job again. We were lucky last time. The best I can think of is for us to be there to hold off the Death Eaters long enough for Harry to get a good shot at Tom—with what? Harry can defend his mind with love, but how can he use it to destroy what Tom's become, so that he never comes back?

His half-closed eyes passed over several people and lit briefly on one of the least-trusted Order members: their Death Eater spy, Severus Snape; to his recollection, this was the first time Snape had actually stayed for dinner. Not all the members had Albus' faith in the dark man not to change coats again and betray them. They don't know the choices he's had to make, or what he is willing to do to prevent Tom's victory, he mused. I need this man, especially at Hogwarts. But if something happens to me, I fear we will lose Severus to suspicion and fear from our own side. And one mistake in front of Tom, or another betrayer, and he will die horribly—and I can do so little to help him. He's so alone, and has to wear his mask so much...and I think he does not expect to survive to see victory. I must do better by him somehow: he deserves so much more.

A chill settled into the old man's heart. He had no particular gift for Divination, but a century and a half of life—some of it at war, and all of it dealing with people of all kinds—had honed his basic intuition. If we don't manage to pull off something soon—within this next year or so—this war will drag on for decades, and the children entering Hogwarts now will know nothing BUT war. We haven't the numbers for a decisive attack, even with all the Inner Circle members that Tom lost in the Ministry, and we can't count on the Ministry. Fudge doesn't want Tom to win, but he wants to be in a good place in either case. Between the people who fear Tom, the ones who will do anything just to be left alone, and the ones who will support anything for gold, Tom doesn't have to do anything much but sit back and watch us pick each other off, and feast on what's left—and I fear that there will be too little left. I'm also not fool enough to deny that there are forces that support neither side and are waiting to see who wins—and who are too blind to see the consequences. We'll be fortunate indeed if we don't end up fighting a two-front war!

He smiled very slightly to himself as he accepted what else his intuition told him. However it goes, this is my last war: Even if we win and I survive, I will not see the next one. The next generation will have to deal with the next tyrant; all I can do now is give everything I can to win this war, and if I must die in it, to sell my life dearly. I don't want to condemn this generation to nothing but conflict and pain, and I will gladly die under torture before I see Tom take Hogwarts. We cannot afford such a loss. I need a plan.

"Albus? Albus!" He was pulled from his glum musings by the voice of Molly Weasley, and her hand shaking his arm. "I have asked you three times if you want a second helping of dessert! Where is your mind, that you are ignoring your favorite course?"

He looked up, blinked, and smiled kindly at the good, honest woman who had taken up the job of feeding the Order members at dinner. "My mind? It seems to have wandered off for a while—have you seen it?"

She looked at him, and sadly shook her head while some of the others chuckled. "Albus, dear, I do hope you don't act like that at Hogwarts, or there will be more Prophet articles on how you're getting too dotty to keep your job. You looked as if you weren't even in this room!"

"No fear of that, Molly, not while I have my fellow Professors and all the students to keep me focused. And as for your original question, I will have a half-helping of seconds on the pudding." He dished up the portion, and continued. "As for my mind, I have found that it's sometimes useful just to let it wander—no telling what it may find inside my head. After all, I have a century and a half of memories and learning, so it's not surprising that I don't always remember everything." He gave her a smile, and she could see the twinkle was back in his eyes.

But the wise Witch also saw more lines in the old face and more shadows in his spirit. Poor Albus, she thought to herself. He has to bear the whole burden of running the war and running Hogwarts too, not to mention all that is expected of the greatest Wizard of our time, his duties to the Wizengamot and the International and all, and we aren't helping with all the bickering. How he must hurt with some of the things he must send people off to do. Every time one of us is hurt or lost, he takes it personally—he can't help it; that's the way he is. I know he's not over us losing Sirius. He even hurts for Severus, and Merlin knows that man isn't easy to care about! A man such as Albus is, with the loving and generous heart he's got, shouldn't have to run a war, especially at his age, no matter how great a Wizard he is. That's what the Ministry and Aurors are supposed to do—or would, if they weren't so corrupt...

Albus, for his part, spooned up the pudding, but his mind was retreating again in part. A glimmer of an idea was forming. It's a terrible risk—but we may have no choice. The only way we can win quickly—if at all—is to force Tom to do battle under OUR conditions, not his, and before he can truly build up his strength: and I may have to use my increasing "dottiness" to bait a trap. At the same time, I too must be prepared, and there are maybe half-a-dozen people I know and trust enough who are good enough to train with me. I am not too old or too proud to go back into training. If I am to provide what I think I will have to, I must be in the best condition I can be, both physically and magically...for in order for Tom to decisively win, he must kill both me and Harry, and I must make that as difficult as possible—especially if Harry has to face him too soon, before he is truly ready.