Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, which was cluttered with battle plans, teachers' reports, and the odd shiny gadget with no discernible purpose. Had any of the Hogwarts professors or the Order members seen him, they would have been quite surprised. He would write a few lines, stare off into space, smile, write a bit more, and retreat into his mind again, reminiscing. He had sat at his desk thinking for a good hour before he even started to write, and his rather meandering writing process meant that composing the letter took him yet another hour.

As he finished his letter, Moody knocked at his door. He folded the parchment, slid it into an envelope, wrote his protege's name on it, and placed the envelope, sealed, on his desk right in front of his chair. He then beckoned towards the door, knowing that Moody's magical eye would catch the gesture. Sure enough, the door opened, and he stood and conversed quietly with his oldest surviving friend. He sent Moody to prepare the rest of the Order for battle, and told the grizzled ex-auror that he'd be down shortly.

When sufficient time had passed that he was sure Moody was on his way to the Great Hall, Dumbledore sighed softly. He turned and sat back down in his chair, closing his eyes. After a minute or two had passed, he stood and walked to his door. His eyes passed over his office of so many years, and landed on Fawkes. He stroked the phoenix' head and murmured, "Take care of the boy, Fawkes. He will need you, and all of us need him." As he exited the room, Fawkes let out a single high, quavering note; the sorrow in his bittersweet song was almost tangible.

Some hours later, a young man with unruly hair and almost unearthly green eyes strode into his mentor's office. As soon as the door closed, though, his facade collapsed, as did the rest of him. He curled into a ball on the floor and sobbed. Fawkes flew from his perch to the heartbroken boy. He let out notes filled with comfort and love, and he wept over his new master. The green-eyed wizard gradually went from wracking, heaving sobs to quiet tears. When his grief was, for the moment, spent, he righted himself and stroked the phoenix on the head. "I'll take care of you now Fawkes. I need to take care of everyone now." Fawkes rubbed his head against his new wizard, trying to take care of his master in the same way that his master seemed determined to care for him and everyone else.

Harry had often come to his mentor's office for a brief moment of respite, when everything got to be too much. He had always sat on the visitor's side of the desk though. This time, he sat in Dumbledore's chair and picked the letter addressed to him. He slowly opened the envelope, finding himself strangely afraid of what the letter might say.

He unfolded the parchment, and he read.

"Harry -

If you are reading this, then I have at long last begun my next great adventure. I cannot say exactly what compels me to put quill to parchment and write this, other than a curious certainty that my time is close at hand. I know not how it is that I feel my death approaching, but it is one of the few things I do not doubt in these dark times.

You, dear boy, are another of those things I do not doubt. I suppose I should've written dear friend, rather than dear boy; you've not really been a child ever, and I am more to blame for that than I would like to admit. And yes, I do recall that you've forgiven me, but I feel I must apologize one more time. Even after my mistakes, you still came to count me among your circle of friends, and I cannot properly express my gratitude for that.

It amuses me that in my old age, my closest friend is seventeen. I realize this is only in body; your mind and heart and soul have aged from the things they carry and the hardships you've endured. Our friendship is unusual for many reasons, not the least of which is the age difference. The greatest of these curiosities, however, is that our friendship has been forged, at least in part, because of my mistakes, rather than in spite of them.

I find myself astonished at the not-so-occasional blindness of wizarding society. I fear that you and Tom are the only two wizards on the planet who believe me capable of mistakes. My infallibility has become a home truth in our society, and I did not discourage this as it developed, so I am partly to blame. Most follow the "Dumbledore is right" credo blindly, particularly after the First Battle of the Ministry at the end of your fifth year. There are those who really ought to know better, though, like Minerva and Severus. Nevertheless, they either can't or won't see the truth. Even my oldest friends are not immune; I am perhaps the only thing that Alastor does not see for exactly what it is. Friends have become followers, and the shine of kinship in their eyes has faded to a look of awe and perhaps just a touch of fear. I recognize that look in the eyes of the DA. I implore you not to let this happen with your closest friends. I may be Supreme Mugwump, etc., but I am also a very lonely old man. You have done greater things than you know in the time you've spent with me. You've brought an old man joy, laughter, and above all else, hope.

You've brought many people hope, and this is perhaps the greatest reason that Severus dislikes you. You've brought him hope. As nonsensical as it sounds, I ask you to bear with me. Since Tom's return, Severus has assumed that the war would inevitably take his life. While he isn't fond of this idea, at least there is certainty to it, and Severus likes certainty. About the time he realized that you were more than James' son, he also realized that because of you, he had some hope of surviving. Rather than being grateful, he is furious that you've shattered his concrete world. I ask you to look after him, as abhorrent as this task may be to you. I doubt he will ever permit himself to stop atoning for his sins, but I do hope he can one day find some measure of peace.

I would also ask you to look after a certain Miss Weasley. I know of your feelings for her, as do you, your friends, and most of the world's population. She has long sought your affection, and wondering if you might feel for her something of what she feels for you has caused her much grief. She now knows that you long for her every bit as much as she pines for you, but her pain has not abated. In fact, it has grown. Whereas uncertainty is hell for Severus, it was far easier for Miss Weasley than her current predicament. She owns your heart and knows it, but it is simultaneously the thing she desires most and the only thing she owns that she cannot touch. Perhaps consult Miss Granger about the myth of Tantalus. Do that, and dare to love your Ginny; it may spare you the loneliness that has long plagued me. She knows your pain better than any other could, and she and her brother and Miss Granger will all fight for you, whether you wish them to or not.

For that matter, all of the DA will fight for you. I'll let you in on a little secret – they are not the DA. Sometime in your sixth year, Severus called them (rather mockingly, I'm sorry to say) the HA. It quickly stuck, and he has since discovered the truth behind his remark. They are your army, Harry, as are we all at this point. You are the leader of the Light, and there is no doubt in my mind that you will see this thing through to victory.

Oh Harry, my dear friend, I wish I could protect you from this. Yet even as I write this, I know I could not dissuade you. You are proceeding with your eyes wide open, and we both know you're aware of the suffering you'll bear as a result of your choice. But you choose it anyway. My dear boy, never has anyone given so much and asked so little in return. I beg you, though I fear it is in vain, to take care of yourself as well as you do others.

Curiously (so much about you and me and us is curious), I am relieved that you know the sorrow and pain of the path you've chosen. Don't misunderstand me, for there is much joy too, but the sorrow surprised me. I was not always so wise as I am now (and I wonder whether you might be wiser still), and I enjoyed the immediate results of my defeat of Grindelwald. It was not until much later that I fully understood all the consequences of my actions, and the pedestal upon which I had allowed myself to be placed. I am grateful that at least you will not be likewise surprised; in these times, I must enjoy even the smallest blessing, for they may be the only ones we see.

Oh Harry, they are coming for me. Even now, Alastor is on his way to my office. I do not know where we are to go, but I do not expect to pass this way again, and I will tell you, and only you, what Nicolas told only to me: I am a bit afraid. Not terribly so, but there is a touch of fear.

I end this, my last words to you, with one of my most cherished memories. I still recall, like it was yesterday, the day that you forgave me. You said, "You did what you truly believed was best, and I can't ask for more. I forgive you, you old bastard" and you smiled. I don't think I'd laughed that hard in forty years or more – no one else in the world would dare to call me that. In all the worst moments we've shared over the past year, you've always cheered me up with that name, and that smile. And of all the myriad titles I seem to have accumulated over the years, that little term of endearment that marked me as your friend is by far the most precious to me. It has been a joy to know you, Harry. Take care, my boy; I hope not to see you soon.

With utmost love, admiration and respect,

The Old Bastard

Albus"

Harry replaced the letter in its envelope and dropped it onto the desk. He sat in silence, remembering the man who had meant so much to him. Then he shook his head, pulled out some parchment, and wrote a few notes summoning several Order members to Dumbledore's, no, HIS, office. He was now the undeniable leader of free wizarding Great Britain, and he had work to do.

Many thanks to all the members of ULWLHP (especially Bill Hagridsson, Cliodne, and Pixiellie) for the beta work!