Prologue

"I can't thank you enough, Albus," Olivia Frost said gratefully, her voice subdued with weariness. Her diction was flattened with a slight European accent, but other than that, she spoke with confidence and aplomb, betraying no other hint of her German background.

"Olivia, please, it's no bother at all," Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, dismissed her gratitude kindly. "You're doing us a favour by agreeing to teach here!"

In all frankness, Albus had been consumed with worry for months. Olivia was his oldest friend in the world, and he had heard through the grapevine that she was in some sort of inescapable situation involving the DRC, the Dark Resurrection Corps, some new and mysterious Voldemort revival cult. He had no idea about it further than that, which attested to the impenetrable nature of the thick shroud of secrecy that surrounded the group. However, Albus knew instinctively when Olivia's life was in danger, even though they'd been out of contact for decades, and instinct was all the motivation he needed to do something about it. And so… he offered her an opportunity to disappear for a while. Besides, it was good to see her again. Remarkably good.

"You look … well," he lied, smoothly changing the subject. In fact, she had never looked so worn out, and her once magnificent long auburn hair was now a colourless, pallid shade of white-blonde, and cut severely straight just past the shoulder. Her slender frame looked leaner than usual, and the drab black and grey she wore did nothing to disguise it, as well as accentuating the paleness of her skin. He knew that she couldn't physically age, but her forest green eyes had lost the sparkle of joy that the two used to share, once upon a time.

"There's no need to lie to me, Albus," she replied, smiling a sad half-smile that would dazzle when in full bloom. "We've known each other way too long for any of that. I look hunted, which is exactly what I am." She sighed. "I had to come by broom, and flying over the Channel must have made a mess of my hair," she continued, mock-seriously.

Albus smiled. She hadn't changed. "How is it with the… the cravings?" he asked delicately. He knew there was no danger, or he would not expose her to the students in that way, but with the stressful situation she had lived in for so long…

"They will pose no problems," she replied, sitting up slightly. "I find it is easier to control with age. Speaking of which, you're looking positively ancient!"

He laughed, stroking his beard. "I prefer dignified," he replied. "I haven't been blessed with your remarkable lineage…"

"Blessed!" she exclaimed, suddenly annoyed.

"Forgive me," he apologised quickly, mentally kicking himself in the shins for being so insensitive. "I forget how it must be… in my old age, as it were…"

"Well, the aged are more liable to making mistakes," she reproved softly, standing up. "It's very late, my dear old friend. I'm afraid I must be getting to bed before I collapse."

"Of course, of course," he answered. "We have a whole six weeks to insult each other," he smiled. They stood, almost awkwardly, unable to look at each other. "It certainly has been a long time," he said, his tone hushed. She looked so tired of it all… Albus couldn't help himself, and as he drew her into his arms, she began to sob quietly. He stroked her hair as she buried her face into his shoulder in shame.

"I'm sorry, Albus," she murmured, choked with emotion. "It's taking such a toll, sometimes I pray for death..."

"No, Olivia," he replied, drawing her closer to him, tears of his own welling up behind his glasses. "You still have a job to do, a destiny to fulfill. You must wait for death to come to you, you cannot go chasing after it…"

"I know, I know," she disengaged from the embrace, wiping her eyes and smiling sadly. "I…sometimes, I feel as lost and powerless as a child."

"Olivia, you are older than me!" he reminded her gently. "And infinitely more powerful, you know that."

"But I came running to you," she said ruefully, pinching the bridge of her nose in a characteristically Olivia-like gesture.

"No, I invited you, implored you to come," he replied. "This distinction must be made..." He put a brotherly arm around her slender shoulders and guided her to the fireplace. "But come, we can talk more anon. Both of us need our sleep, in our dotage, as it were." He considered a moment. "Although you seem to be wearing it a lot better than I," he added, considering the ninety-two year old woman who stood beside him, looking and sounding for all the world if she was no older than thirty.

"I never did like the idea of 'dignified'," she answered, with a smirk. They shared a quick smile, before she stepped into the fireplace, and then, with the proverbial puff of smoke, she disappeared.

Albus collapsed into an overstuffed armchair, removing his spectacles and passing a weary hand over his eyes. He wondered whether bringing her here was a sensible thing to do, considering their tumultuous past and… the other attributes of her personality, but immediately dismissed the thought from his mind. She was in a precarious position, and he would never forgive himself if something happened to her while he was more than able to give her aid. Anyway, he was getting very old, very quickly, and once this DRC threat was sorted out, he needed someone in line to take over his position as head of the school. She was more than qualified, limitlessly more capable and wiser even than himself… but would she be willing?

"We shall she what we shall see," he murmured aloud to himself, suddenly tired of all of the seriousness. "But right now, I'd be more than willing to see about a sherbet lemon or three… how about you, Fawkes?"