A/N Thank you Maria for taking the time to beta this.

Warning: This work is entirely angst. Most of my other angst works temper the angst with a happy ending or a bit of comedy. This one is just straight angst.

"You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore?" called Voldemort. "Above such brutality, are you?"

"We both know that there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom." Dumbledore said calmly. "Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I admit-"

"There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!" snarled Voldemort.

"You are quite wrong," said Dumbledore.

Chapter 36, OOTP

Forsaken

Chapter One

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk staring at the photograph of the Order of the Phoenix that Alastor Moody had confiscated earlier in the week. Lily and James Potter were smiling and waving. Caradoc Dearborn and Dorcas Meadowes had their glasses raised in a toast. Frank Longbottom had his arm around his wife, Alice. Elphias Doge looked about to be swallowed by his hat. Aberforth was looking…well Aberforthy.

From the excited, frolicking atmosphere of the photograph, the casual observer would likely never guess that those assembled were a secret society formed to counter the rising threat of a dark power.

There was only one hint that something might be wrong. Benjy Fenwick was off to one side, standing apart from the rest, stealing glances at them. He looked incredibly awkward, as if he didn't know what to do with himself. His sad, dazed look seemed out of place given the atmosphere of the others in the picture.

Benjy had died last night. He had been murdered by supporters of Lord Voldemort.

Albus' gaze remained on the photograph, but he wasn't really looking at it anymore. He was looking at the people who were not in the picture.

Two weeks before the picture had been taken by Remus and Sirius and promptly confiscated by Moody as evidence of exactly how 'foolhardy, careless, and just plain daft' that those two could possibly be, Artorius Fellmore had been killed, along with his wife and children.

Albus had known Artorius for more years than he could remember. He had gone to school with him. He had been best man at his wedding and stood godfather to his eldest child. His youngest would have started at Hogwarts next September…such a loss. Such a completely and totally unnecessary loss. As were all the losses in this war against a madman.

But the loss that really got to him, the one he still mourned more than a year later…

Albus opened a drawer in his desk and removed another, much older framed photograph. It was, or at least it was supposed to be, a celebratory picture. It was taken in the staff room during a small gathering to congratulate the school's transfiguration professor on her appointment to the position of Deputy Headmistress. When the picture was originally taken, Minerva McGonagall had been in front, alternatively smiling and cringing as he regaled the crowd with a joke about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun going into a bar.

Summer before last, shortly after learning of her death in the attack outside St. Mungo's, he had taken out this same photo. Minerva had been sitting on one of the empty couches, her arms wrapped around herself and a shell shocked sort of look on her face. Occasionally she would turn to look at him with a heartrendingly imploring expression. Over time, she had begun to do that less and less.

It wasn't unusual for a portrait or a photograph to react that way. They were mere echoes, remnants of a person, but in some slight way they retained a connection to them. When that person died, that connection was severed. Given time, most portraits recovered well enough. No doubt in a few weeks Benjy would be back to his old self and in the mix of things in the Order photograph.

It weighed upon him that Minerva's picture had never regained that sense of self. Nowadays she remained in the background of the picture, gazing out the window. She no longer turned to look at his picture self, imploringly or otherwise.

Hearing the door adjoining his office and his private rooms open, Albus shifted some of the parchments on his desk, covering the picture.

"Albus, you can't keep working this late. You are going to make yourself ill. Come to bed."

One hand still resting on the pile, Albus tried to smile and sound convincing. "I will be joining you shortly."

Poppy gave a teasing frown. "You had better be. Unless you want the school nurse in here giving you a lecture on the importance of a full night's sleep."

His weak smile in place of a clever retort must have signaled to her something was not right.

There was no uncertainty in her question. "You're thinking of her again, aren't you?"

Poppy approached the desk. He didn't put up much resistance as she lifted the parchment away to reveal the photograph he had been trying to conceal. He tried to read her expression while looking at the photograph, but he couldn't. He reached for the picture, to put it away, but Poppy placed her hand over his. Their matching wedding bands made a slight clink as they touched.

Poppy spoke softly and with very little hesitation. "It's all right, Albus. She was your best friend; you miss her. It doesn't bother me. I miss her too."

Poppy stood the frame on his desk, next to some other photographs and trinkets. "Come to bed when you are ready."

She turned to head back to their private rooms. Standing, Albus took hold of her hand. "It's all right." He looked into her eyes before answering. "I am ready."