Pleased hum. "We are."

Tighter hug. "Come on. Let's get you to bed."

"All right." Off.

She sees Ellie to bed, then falls back into the surreal routine of this war, of teaching... No other major leads on horcruxes pop up over the next few months, even as Death Eater attacks escalate, Voldemort moving more and more boldly - Dumbledore is talking to the school board about keeping Hogwarts open year round -

The war, at least, provides some chances - and Voldemort's Diadem-possessed body begins making appearances. Just enough that someone with a clever mind and a habit of war can track them, can begin to predict them...

She and Dumbledore go out together, alone, to try to corner the Diadem.

Their guess is right. The Diadem... Does not go down very easily, but they've wounded the body, and Fay's most importantly gotten a solid enough look she might be able to track it. She's gotten a good feel for its fighting style, too.

Dumbledore's wounded, but - nothing unrecoverable. She gets him away from the fight, gets him leaning against a tree, begins stripping his robes from the wound...

And his hand on her arm stops her.

"Albus?" she asks, voice soft.

"I'm not sure it's of any use, Fay," he says. There's something odd in his eyes. "The wound's deeper than it looks. And - I've been dying for some time." A wry smile. "I'm weaker than I look."

She lowers her hand, regarding him seriously. "What do you mean, dying?"

He sighs - and undoes the brace on his right arm, revealing a black, crackled mess. Fay examines it, expression more calm than she feels.

"I was a fool," he says. "And I paid for it. Gryffindor's Sword had far more protections initially than I let on - and no medicine nor curse-breaking has been able to halt this."

"Ah," Fay murmurs. "Still, we can keep you alive a bit longer - I know this sounds mercenary, but even dying, you're useful to the war effort."

He hums, slumping a bit. "If you must... But these two curses together - I'm afraid of how they'll interact, and - there's a lot I haven't passed on."

She nods, seeing where he's going. "You want to update me," she says, voice frank. "In case you do die now."

A wan smile, and - "Yes," he says. "And if I don't, I can hand off to you more thoroughly later."

She begins work on at least stabilizing him, but does listen intently, nodding to indicate she's ready.

And he meets her gaze and within the privacy of their minds begins to explain - all the Order's assets, the cells she isn't aware of, the spies she doesn't know, identification codes - stashes - bank accounts, she's the heir to many of them but some require passwords - contingencies he's woven into Hogwarts - contacts, allies, people who aren't quite on their side but can be swayed to lend this or that small aid - more informal networks, especially of information, his brother's inn and more besides - a prophecy -

All his miscellaneous leads on the other horcruxes. He agrees with her that Voldemort most likely set out to make six. He suspects the last intentionally made one might be Voldemort's serpent familiar, Nagini, who never seems to leave Voldemort's side...

(His mind is growing weak. Tired.)

He thinks Voldemort intentionally made six horcruxes. He thinks there's one more - is sure there's one more - made accidentally, the night Voldemort tried to kill little baby Ellie Potter - all the research he's done on removing a horcrux from a living host without killing that host, everything that's lead him to fear it's impossible -

(It's not, precisely, that he's planning to kill Ellie.)

(Just that he thinks it might be necessary for her to die, really.)

Fay's hands stop working on Dumbledore's wounds. Her mind goes blank. Sure.

And a moment later -

Fay looks down at Dumbledore's cooling body, standing when she had been kneeling. Looks at her own raised wand and then at the pale wand lying menacingly by Dumbledore's limp hand. He didn't draw it. She's pretty sure of that. It's just... Ready to be used anyways.

Numbly, she picks it up, and it hums happily in her hand, to the great annoyance of her usual wand.

Then, softly and with feeling:

"Fuck."