Hogwarts shuddered.

  The ancient stone beneath Albus Dumbledore's feet trembled with the force of spells striking against the castle’s wards. High overhead, flashes of green and violet light painted the night sky, bleeding through the charmed ceiling of his study like distant thunder.

  The old headmaster moved swiftly for his age, robes trailing behind him as he crossed to the great, intricately carved desk that had been his workspace for so many years. Papers and quills lay scattered—plans of battle, letters of encouragement, and final instructions he had hastily composed for Minerva and the others.

  He spared a glance toward the window. Beyond the stained glass, the Forbidden Forest burned, flames silhouetting the ancient trees in stark relief. Hogwarts was falling, layer by magical layer, but it would not fall easily.

  "Fawkes," he murmured gently.

  The phoenix perched beside him sang softly, a note of mournful encouragement. Dumbledore’s heart ached. The castle had always felt alive, breathing and speaking through its walls, halls, and portraits. Now its pulse faltered, desperate and fading.

  "It is time," he whispered, brushing his fingers along Fawkes's crimson feathers. "They will need you."

  Fawkes tilted his head, intelligent eyes locking with Dumbledore’s, understanding passing silently between them. With a final, haunting note, the phoenix disappeared in a burst of flame, leaving behind only the brief warmth of his presence.

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  Alone now, Dumbledore approached a towering bookshelf hidden behind a tapestry embroidered with Hogwarts' four houses. He traced runes carved into the ancient wood, speaking softly in the old tongue. With a shudder, the shelf slid aside, revealing a hidden compartment glowing softly with golden wards.

  Within lay rolls of parchment—maps carefully inscribed, detailing locations of powerful relics and artifacts he had spent decades quietly locating and protecting. His life's clandestine labor now threatened ruin if these secrets fell into Voldemort’s hands.

  Carefully, he withdrew one parchment after another, igniting them gently with a whispered incantation, flames consuming the knowledge quickly. He paused only when he reached the final scroll, hands trembling slightly as he unrolled it enough to glimpse the meticulous sketch. A stone obelisk surrounded by runes lay marked clearly, encircled with ancient lines of text.

  His eyes lingered on it, heart heavy with the weight of its significance. This device was dangerous, too powerful to risk discovery, yet he hesitated, sensing something deeper—something prophetic.

  "Not yet," he murmured quietly, rolling the scroll carefully and tucking it into his robes.

  From the corridor, a distant crash echoed as another ward collapsed, sending tremors through the floor.

  Quickly, he sealed the empty compartment. Anyone discovering the alcove after tonight would find only dust and echoes.

  The final blast rocked the castle violently, cracking stone and sending dust cascading from the ceiling. Dumbledore gripped his wand tighter, feeling every one of his many years. He straightened his back, eyes glinting with grim determination.

  "One last task then," he whispered, patting the scroll hidden safely against his chest. "To ensure this reaches the one it’s meant for."

  Turning away from the hidden vault, Albus Dumbledore stepped out into the corridor, determined to fulfill this final purpose before he faced the storm that awaited him.