38. The Great Escape.

Author's Note: The next few chapters will be slashy, for those of you who don't like it, though it may vary from passing reference to obvious.

Smoke billowed around the room, creeping its way into Scott's nostrils and obstinately obscuring his vision. The room was filled with the stench of burning wires – a fiery carcass of a ship. The craft that he had just finished fixing was now on its last legs, brought to its knees by the circular bringer of death before them. Never had he seen something so apparently innocent transform into something without mercy. The ship fitted its captain, he reflected as the ground shuddered beneath his feet once more.

Groans of both human and object swirled into Scott's ears, wrenching his heart with every sound. He could not believe that he had done this, that something so right and innocent all those years ago could come back and cause disaster in his own future. Take away the future of others.

And he was to blame for it all. There was no escaping that. He had left Tohn to fend for himself – he who had the most evidence to lead to a possible defence, not enough to rid his friend of charges, but enough to keep some semblance of a life. But instead he had turned his back on him, and sentenced him to a long life behind bars, his mind able to roam beyond, taunting the body with its knowledge of the outside world. His mind had driven itself into madness.

Scott did not even stop to consider that the madness had already been there. He could never do that to himself, because that would be admitting that he had missed the problem. But most of all, it would mean admitting to himself that he could have done something to help if only he'd seen it, if only he'd remembered which memories had been erased before now. But deep down, he knew that that would never have been possible.

So he sat and stewed in his own guilt as his ship effectively blew up around him, taking the people he loved with it.

The shields had been reduced to tatters, blown to pieces by the weapons of revenge. Hatred flowed into the ship from the space around it, carried by the sheer force of the attack. The hatred was almost palpable, and Scott couldn't bear it, not knowing that this was all the crew would know when they died.

Scott sat up straighter, mentally slapping himself. He couldn't give up. He might deserve this punishment, but his crew didn't. His crew deserved to be able to make the best of themselves, to live out their lives without Scott's mistakes weighing over them.

They deserved to be free of him.

"Report, Chekov," he ordered brusquely, keeping his facade of command firmly in place.

"Ve're dead, sair," Chekov muttered, resting his head on his broken console, seeming not to notice the sparks flying around his head.

Scott gritted his teeth. "Sit up, Mr Chekov," he said sharply, feeling satisfied when Chekov snapped to attention immediately.

The crew turned to stare at him, noticing this change in demeanour with slight shock. Until now, Scott had been dazed, lost in memories, giving orders on automatic and without his usual zeal when presented with a problem. Until now.

"Sir?" Sulu asked quietly, hope shining in his eyes.

"We're not goin' tae let her finish us," Scott said simply. "We're going to fight back."

"So what are we going to do?" Sulu questioned, a smile spreading across his face.

Scott felt an answering one grace his features. "We take it one step at a time, lad." He turned to the science station, and ignored the brief pang as he didn't see Spock, but instead a young Ensign by the name of Carter. "Position of the ship?"

"Circling us, sir."

The ship rocked slightly as another shot hit them, sending a few more sparks flying into the air. Scott felt the cold hand of rage gripping his stomach.

"Condition of the ship?"

"Better off than us, sir. As far as I can tell from this alien technology," he reported, voice not nearly as calm as Spock's would be in a crisis, "the shields are at 75 per cent and the engines are functioning normally. Their arms supply is also relatively undiminished..."

Scott grimaced. "Thank ye, Ensign."

There was another crash and one of the engineers went down, screaming as he clutched his head, fire showing through the gaps in his hands. His console had exploded in his face.

Scott punched a button in the chair. "Sick Bay to Bridge. We have a casualty." Without waiting for an answer, he ran over to the man, recognising him as Samuel Black, the one who had helped him with repairs before this entire mess started.

"Sam," he said gently, placing his hand on the man's shoulder and leading him to a corner to sit down, "the medics are coming."

He absently noticed that the fire seemed to have gone out.

As if to reinforce this statement, a medic came running onto the Bridge, saw Scott sitting with Black by the engineering station, and hurried over, expression simultaneously businesslike and worried.

"What have we got?" He asked, dropping down onto one knee in front of the injured man.

"The console exploded in his face," Scott supplied, his hand never leaving the man's shoulder.

The ship shook.

"I've got him from here, Captain," the medic said, and Scott felt the familiar jolt that accompanied the title which wasn't his.

"They're still circling!" Carter announced as Scott sat back in his seat.

"Right," Scott said, determination evident in those few syllables. "Aim for their engines."

Chekov grinned at him and turned back to his console, doing nothing to hide his relief. "Aye sair."

Fingers flying over his almost destroyed console, Chekov set about following the course of the attacking ship, noting that it never changed direction and instead persisted in circling the Enterprise, showing nothing other than confidence in this predictable strategy.

Chekov watched this on his screen for a moment before he pressed a button with a flourish, and something rocked the ship. Chekov whooped. "Get 'em sair!"

"One engine has been almost neutralised."

"Fire at will, Chekov."

"Aye, sair."

Chekov pressed the button multiple times, his face blank this time as he continued to barrage the enemy ship. Their own ship continued to shake, but not from injury.

"One engine has been blown away," Carter reported in excitement.

The attacking spherical ship came into view once more on the main screen, spinning madly from the sudden loss of velocity on one side.

"Aim for the bottom of the ship, Chekov," Scott ordered. "Keep firing while they're still disoriented."

"Vot about ze engine?"

"Getting that at the same time would be great," Scott said with a smirk, his eyes still glued to the screen.

He could see Chekov grin back at him out the corner of his eye. Red lasers launched themselves at the enemy ship, who fired back, but Sulu was ready.

The Enterprise lurched and managed to avoid the majority of the retaliation fire, though yet another shake rocked the ship as it skidded to a halt. Sulu quickly turned them around, and Chekov resumed firing, his body stiff with tension.

Something splintered away from the bottom of the ship, sending packages and boxes spiralling out into deep space, some of them opening to reveal extra tools.

"We hit their supplies!" Sulu exclaimed in surprise, turning to Scott.

Scott nodded. "Gaarans always keep supplies beneath the main complex."

As if enraged by the attack, there was another round of fire from the circular ship, and the lighting on the Enterprise went out suddenly, replaced quickly by emergency power.

"Lieutenant Uhura," Scott sighed, "I hate tae say this, but send a distress call to Star Fleet. We might need help."

"Yes sir." She turned back to her console, blocking out everything else around her.

"Chekov," Scott added, turning back to the young Russian, "aim at where the engine was."

"Sair?"

"They keep their weapons nearby," Scott said, trying to forget the quarters they would have to destroy to get there. "We need to get rid of them."

"Aye sair."

The com on the captain's chair beeped. "Scott."

"Sir!" A voice, breathless from the fight, assaulted his ear drums, shouting over an alarm in the background. "We've lost the prisoners!"

For a moment, all activity stopped and everyone who wasn't immediately doing something met eyes with Scott for an instant, before the spell was broken and they all resumed their work.

"What?"

"I don't know what happened sir!" The voice babbled, and he could practically imagine them staring at the empty cells even as they spoke. "I heard the alarm go off," the alarm wailed as if to confirm this, "and hurried to see for myself – they're not there, sir!"

"Carter!" Scott called, glancing at the science officer, "did you instruments read any energy fluctuations?"

Carter quickly checked his instruments, and turned back around, eyes wide. "Yes, sir. It was very slight – so slight I missed it. They transported the prisoners off the ship."

"How did they do it through our shields?" Sulu asked.

"Carter, what is our shield strength?"

"Forty per cent and rapidly getting worse, sir."

Scott grimaced. "That's how. They've obviously improved their technology..." He remembered the man on the other end of the com at the last moment. "Thank ye for the report, Scott out." He flicked the switch.

"Sir," Uhura said, "Star Fleet's come through, but there seems to be some interference."

"Try tae break through it."

"Aye sir."

"We need to get the prisoners back," Scott announced, "and we need to do it soon. There is nae knowing how this battle will end."

Everyone stared at him.

It was Sulu who spoke up. "What do you want to do, sir?"

Scott grinned. "Luckily, I know how their ships are laid out. All we need to do is this..."

oOo

"Do you think it worked?" McCoy asked quietly.

Spock blinked, clearing away the after affects of the meld. "I am not certain."

McCoy sighed and stood up, pacing the cell in frustration. "This has to work!"

"I'm sure it will, Bones."

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "Most people don't even remember their dreams, Jim. What if Harry doesn't remember this one?"

"Mr Potter is extremely aware of his unconscious mind."

"And with a mind like Voldemort's infiltrating his," McCoy snapped, "I'm not surprised, but this dream wasn't exactly memorable in comparison, was it? He might not remember it, and if he does, what if he can't do anything?"

"Bones, we've been through this. He'll go to Snape."

"No," McCoy corrected, "he might go to Snape, but there's a greater chance he might not."

"This evening Mr Potter is required to attend an Occlumency lesson," Spock said quietly. "If Mr Potter does not volunteer the information, it is possible that Professor Snape will be made aware of it nevertheless."

"How likely is that?" McCoy demanded.

"The odds are surprising," Spock said simply. "Mr Potter was hardly proficient at the technique."

"Wasn't he?" Kirk asked in surprise. "From what you told me after the first lesson, I thought he'd have picked it up by now. He hexed Professor Snape, didn't he?"

Spock nodded his head. "He did. However, he has made little progress. As a matter of fact," he added, "he has regressed."

"Well isn't that just wonderful," McCoy muttered.

"It is."

"Why are you agreeing with me?"

Spock looked slightly confused. "I concur with you because you are correct, Leonard. It is advantageous with regards to our situation."

Now it was McCoy's turn to look confused.

"Sarcasm obviously wasn't in the book," Kirk murmured with affection, smiling at them both.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Never mind," he told Spock.

"I believe you misunderstand. This is a beneficial development as it further increases the odds of Professor Snape discovering the information within the mind of Mr Potter."

"But the lesson's in the evening!"

"It is, Leonard."

McCoy sighed. "Then this is going to take a while."

"Bones," Kirk admonished, "we've been in this position several times before. We can wait a few more hours."

"Thanks for reminding me," McCoy groaned. "As if I'd want to remember all the times we've been locked up like animals."

Spock raised his eyebrows. "There is no cause for impatience."

"Not now, but there might be. He might never come, we might get attacked by Death Eaters...these idiots could interrogate us until we bore ourselves to death..."

Now it was Kirk's turn to roll his eyes. "You always make being locked up so much harder."

"Complaining is a form of coping," McCoy retorted.

"Or floundering."

"Shut up, Jim."

Silence settled in the room between each of them, making the atmosphere slightly tense. All they could do was watch each other as the hours ticked by, leaving little impression on them besides achy limbs and slight boredom from a lack of change of scene.

The door opened and a guard stepped in. "Lunch," he announced.

"Not much of a talker, are you?" McCoy quipped as he took his bowl of soup from the man.

The guard simply looked at him.

"You don't want a chat?" Kirk asked, much to Spock's confusion.

"Jim, Leonard-"

"You're not going to tell us what's happening outside?" Kirk continued, looking slightly forlorn.

The guard snorted. "It's no different than in here."

Kirk took his bowl of soup. "Are you sure? You haven't seen any interesting mice, giant bugs?"

"Stray unicorns?" McCoy added hopefully.

Spock and the guard both stared at them.

"Wow," the guard laughed, "it's happened early. Usually the prisoners don't crack up until they're actually in Azkaban."

"Azkaban," McCoy said with an exaggerated shiver.

"I think its name sounds romantic," Kirk said dreamily. "Azkaban," he pronounced, lifting his arm before him as though reaching out to something and staring into the distance.

The guard snorted and handed Spock his soup. "Good luck with these two clowns."

Spock nodded. "Although I do not believe in the concept of luck...it is always possible that I am mistaken," he said wryly. "If it exists, it shall be needed in abundance."

The guard chuckled and sauntered out the room, locking the door behind him. As soon as they were alone, Spock turned his stare on them. "Gentlemen?"

"Hey," McCoy replied, spreading his hands, "we have to amuse ourselves somehow..."

Kirk chuckled and sat back down on his bed, sipping his soup and foregoing the spoon completely. "I think we've been in too many of these situations."

"You can definitely say that again. I've lost count."

"I believe that, at the last incident, the figure was five," Spock replied seriously, "not including this one, of course."

Kirk grinned. "Of course."

McCoy dipped the spoon into the soup and grimaced as he sent a slightly shrivelled piece of vegetable spinning. "I'm not even sure what this is."

"Vegetable soup, unless I am very much mistaken."

"Yes, you are very much mistaken, Spock," McCoy replied with a sigh. "It is, in fact, fondu."

"Fondu?"

"Fondu," McCoy repeated, grinning.

"You possess an over-zealous imagination, Leonard."

"Anything is better than this," he emphasised, letting the soup run from his spoon and slosh back into the bowl.

"It's not that bad," Kirk admonished, finishing his tenth sip and starting another.

"Prison really has got to you, Jim."

"I actually think it's better than some of the food we get from the replicators on the Enterprise."

McCoy snorted. "What do you expect? That stuff's recycled."

"I was trying to forget that, Bones, funnily enough."

McCoy smirked. "Sorry."

"So," Kirk chirped after a few more moments of silence. "Is anyone up for a game of I spy to pass the time?"

McCoy snorted. "Using what? There's nothing here."

"We'll think of something," Kirk replied, and with that he launched into the game, stopping only to explain it to Spock.

Despite the fact that they hadn't played this since before the Academy, they found that it did help to pass the time, if anything. Though they quickly ran out of things to 'spy', Kirk was not fazed and introduced another rule – things seen in the past, which made it considerably more difficult.

Hours came and went almost unnoticed as they focused on their childhood activity, clinging to it in the hope that it would make them forget the possibilities for their futures. The possibility that they might never get out of Azkaban, might never get back to the ship, and might never see Hogwarts again. The game provided solace, relief, and they were not going to pass it up simply because it was outdated.

"Dragon?" McCoy repeated incredulously, staring at Spock. "You've seen a dragon?"

"It was probably in a nature textbook," Kirk replied.

"It was real."

"When," McCoy demanded, "did you ever see a dragon?"

"I was 7," Spock began.

"Not 7 and a ridiculous number of decimal points?" Kirk teased.

"Negative. I witnessed the dragon's flight at the exact moment I turned 7."

"Right," McCoy murmured, rolling his eyes, "but where?"

"I had been given the opportunity to accompany my father to a relatively little known planet, new to the Federation, named Ykotope."

Kirk blinked. "I don't think I'd ever be able to pronounce that."

"It is considerably difficult for the human tongue to master correctly."

"Yeekowtopee," McCoy attempted, to Kirk's amusement.

"That was not correct, Leonard."

"I know," McCoy snapped. "You don't need to rub it in."

Before Spock could argue, the door swung open to admit three Aurors, all of them sullen. "Come with us," one of them ordered.

"Where to?" Kirk asked simply, standing up without a second thought.

"Never mind that," one of the other Aurors snapped, glancing into the corridor. "Just come with us."

Exchanging confused glances, the three officers followed. The Aurors led them through the corridors and past silent cells, hands shoved into pockets and grasping wands tightly out of sight. Kirk raised his eyebrows at McCoy, who grimaced in reply.

"Stop here," the abrupt Auror ordered, putting his hand up to stop them.

"Isn't this the appar-"

"Stand still," the abrupt Auror interrupted, slightly louder than necessary. He reached out a hand and clamped it onto McCoy's shoulder, his eyes never leaving McCoy's face. A small sneer, somehow familiar, graced his lips. The surgeon took the hint and fell quiet.

Meanwhile, the other two Aurors had grabbed Kirk and Spock, holding them in place with no effort, before stepping forewords and disappearing with a muffled pop. McCoy closed his eyes and braced himself for the worst.

Several tortuous seconds of lung squeezing later, McCoy stood panting in what he recognised to be the Ministry of Magic – the same room they had originally been brought to before imprisonment, to be precise.

There was no one around, and he belatedly realised that it was almost the middle of the night.

"Well," McCoy said after several moments of silence, "that was easy."

"We aren't out yet," the abrupt Auror, who appeared to be the leader, replied. He moved forwards, taking everyone else with him.

"This was a brilliant idea," one of the other Aurors chuckled. "They'll never suspect their own people."

The lead Auror smirked. "I see you are finally beginning to understand subtle planning," he said sarcastically. "Perhaps now your future missions will not be such failures."

The smile fell off the Auror's face. "Hey," he said loudly, "the Dark Lord is happy with my results, Snape."

McCoy's eyes popped, the sneer from before suddenly joining a memory of the Potions Master.

Snape rounded on the man immediately. "Idiot!" he hissed. "Have you forgotten already that walls have ears? You have just-"

An alarm blared suddenly and defiantly.

The indiscreet Auror glanced around nervously. "What was that?"

Snape looked murderous. "Crabbe has set off the alarms," he replied quietly, "instead of deactivating them."

"How are we supposed to get them out the front door now?" The idiotic Auror asked nervously.

Snape glared at him. "Conspicuously," he snapped. "I had planned on secrecy, but it appears that you all had other plans."

The Auror who had not yet spoken pressed his lips into a thin line. "I warned you not to bring them, Snape."

"You know very well why I did," Snape snapped, the tone odd coming from another body. McCoy instantly realised that the Death Eaters had been using Polyjuice Potion. "Come on," he ordered, dragging them bodily towards the door.

A tall Auror burst through the previously closed door, tripping over his own feet, wand raised and panting. "They're coming!"

"That's because you activated the alarms, you idiot!" The quiet Auror snarled.

"I didn't mean to!" The man who must have been Crabbe replied immediately. "There were too many – and before I could get rid of them all, one I didn't recognise went off and-"

"Yes," Snape replied coldly, "we were present for that part of the tale, thank you."

Crabbe fell silent, a shamed expression on his face.

Before they had any time to do anything, the door crashed open again and a small squad of Aurors walked in, wands raised, only to eye them with confusion.

"What are you doing?" McCoy recognised the speaker as Shacklebolt, from Kirk's description of the day Dumbledore fled Hogwarts.

Snape regarded them coolly, but it was the quiet Auror who answered. "We're moving them to Azkaban," he said smoothly. "The order came through."

Shacklebolt wasn't convinced. "At midnight?"

"These things can't be delayed," the quiet Auror replied.

Crabbe shuffled nervously, and Shacklebolt seemed to hone in on this detail. "Have you got something to say?" He asked quietly.

Crabbed opened his mouth, closed it, and looked to Snape for help. That brief hesitation sealed their fate.

The Aurors immediately lunged at them, light streaming from their wands, and both Snape and the quiet Death Eater barely managed to dive to the side before the curses hit the area they had been standing in, taking the three officers with them.

"We trusted you," Kirk said immediately, glaring at Snape, who sneered from under the Polyjuice Potion.

"This is hardly the time or the place, Kirk," Snape replied tersely, flicking a curse back at the Aurors. One of them dropped to the ground, writhing.

"Brilliant plan, Snape, bringing those idiots along with us," the quiet Death Eater snarled, rolling out the way of a curse and bringing Spock with him, lifting him up to use as a human shield. "The Dark Lord would be so proud."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Avery," Snape snapped back, yanking McCoy and Kirk to their feet and dragging them behind a marble fountain. Avery and Spock followed, dodging curses as they went. "All I ask from you is that you don't get yourself caught."

"And the idiots?" Avery asked casually.

"They are expendable."

Avery smiled slightly. "And if they survive this, we'll punish them for their failure."

Snape nodded wordlessly, sending another hex in the direction of the crowd of Aurors, who had begun to break up and drift to other areas of cover.

There was a scream of despair and Avery glanced over the edge of the fountain. "Pettigrew is down."

McCoy risked a look, noticing that the aforementioned man was currently lying bound at the feet of Shacklebolt, who still had his wand raised from casting the spell.

"Crabbe has fled..." Kirk added.

Avery snarled at him. "Keep out of this, Squib."

Snape said interrupting the brewing argument, "we must create a wall."

Avery glanced at the fountain before him, and nodded. Together, the two Death Eaters made the water in the fountain swirl, lifting it into the air to form a liquid barrier between them and the Aurors, before freezing it and reinforcing it with Shield Charms.

"Get up," Snape ordered, pointing his wand at them.

They stood, Kirk and McCoy throwing Snape filthy looks for good measure. Avery seemed almost amused by this.

Keeping his wand trained on them, Snape turned to his companion. "I will be behind you."

Avery nodded and began walking forwards, never taking his eyes off either the Aurors hacking away at the ice or the captives walking behind him. Sidestepping debris and a bleeding Crabbe, who had been shot down as he fled, they reached a corridor just as the ice burst.

Shards of frozen water flew everywhere, announcing the breaking of the spell and an oncoming barrage of Aurors. Shacklebolt lifted his wand and flung a spell at Avery, leaving the others to deal with Snape.

Just as the spell was about to reach its mark, Avery pulled Kirk in front of him, allowing him to bear the brunt of the attack. Much to McCoy's alarm, Kirk collapsed into Avery's arms, the wizard staring at him in disgust but keeping hold of him, using him as a shield to block the remainder of stray curses.

"Don't move," Avery ordered when McCoy tried to go over to Kirk.

Snape was to one side, deflecting attacks almost expertly, pushing Spock down and out of the way. He turned and glared at Avery, the stare only lasting a few seconds before he was distracted by the enemy fire. "I told you not to harm them! They need to be alive for the spell to work."

"He's not dead yet," Avery spat back, swiftly making his way backwards down the corridor, Kirk still serving as a human barrier.

McCoy ducked and stayed down as a stray spell flew at his head.

Snape, keeping low, joined them, pulling Spock with him. "Get up, McCoy. You are no use to us there."

"What exactly do you want me to do?" McCoy spat, glaring. "Act as a human shield? You already have two of those."

Snape growled slightly and yanked him up by the scruff of his neck, throwing him further into the corridor. He flung himself back to the floor as a spell streaked over his head. "This body is hardly agile," he grumbled, scrambling back to his feet and turning around to face his attackers fully, keeping Spock at his side.

McCoy inched along the corridor, dodging curses and hexes, wondering if the Aurors were simply bad at aiming or actually trying to hit him.

Avery's hand reached out and grabbed him, jolting him out of his thoughts, and he found Kirk's unconscious body thrust into his hands. "Here," the Death Eater snapped, "make yourself useful and keep hold of him, if you know what's good for you."

McCoy scowled but obediently hitched Kirk into a more comfortable position. He glanced back at Spock and Snape, surprised that Spock was doing nothing to escape Snape's grasp. Snape was still inching his way back, dragging Spock with him and preventing the curses from getting too close to him.

Shacklebolt had almost reached the corridor now, the air around him shimmering slightly as the Shield was put into use. He raised his wand and, with a slight nod at Snape which Avery failed to notice, allowed a powerful jet of magic to hurtle towards Snape and Spock.

Snape pushed Spock to the side, causing the surprised Vulcan to stumble towards McCoy, and took the full blast.

Avery stared in shock.

Shacklebolt, having felled Snape for the time being, stepped over the unconscious body and pointed his wand at Avery.

Forgetting for a moment that his fellow Death Eater was lying on the floor, Avery smirked. "You wouldn't attack me," he spat, "not when I have three hostages."

"You're outnumbered," Shacklebolt replied simply, keeping calm despite the wand pointed at him. His Shield continued to shimmer around him.

The Death Eater opened his mouth to utter a spell, but was distracted by Snape staggering to his feet behind Shacklebolt, and that was all McCoy and Spock needed.

Keeping a tight hold on Kirk, they quietly walked to the side, leaving Avery with no human shields. In the split second it had taken them to do so, Avery's head whipped around to stare at them, hatred burning in the depths of his eyes, before he raised his free hand to touch a pendant draped around his neck, previously hidden by the folds of his robes.

Casting an apologetic look at Snape, Avery touched the Portkey and disappeared. Staggering from the effort, Snape cast a silent charm on Shacklebolt, who was just turning around from dealing with Avery. The Auror's form crumpled to the floor.

Polyjuice Potion beginning to wear off and affected by the force of the spell he had taken in Spock's place, Snape had trouble making his way to the apparition point, stumbling as he fended off the spells of the remaining Aurors.

"We have to get Jim to some Healers," McCoy yelled above the noise.

Playing along, Spock helped hoist Kirk into a more suitable position and moved forward. They began making their way back towards the Aurors, ducking spells and in the confusion obscuring their view of Snape.

"Get out the way!" The attacking Auror yelled as Snape began to turn on the spot, before disappearing with a pop. He rounded on the officers with a snarl. "You just stopped me from catching Snape!"

McCoy forced his eyes to widen. "What? He escaped?"

The Auror eyed them in disgust before rushing away to help take care of Crabbe, who was beginning to regain consciousness.

McCoy grinned. "That went well."

oOo

Spock glanced up as McCoy entered the room, noting the weary posture, the lines which seemed to have sprung from nowhere to settle around his face. He looked ten years older, mouth pulled into a thin line, none of the usual expressions present. He looked empty, defeated, and Spock found he did not like the sight at all.

"Leonard?"

McCoy sighed and sat down on a chair opposite Spock, running his hand across his tired eyes. "They're not sure he's going to make it, Spock. He was hit by so many curses, some of them at the same time..."

Spock forced himself to remain seated. Vulcans, he reminded himself, do not panic.

He panicked.

Suddenly unsure of what to do with himself, he stood up, but then was at a loss of where to go from there. He sat back down, melting into the slightly lumpy cushions that so characterised Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

As soon as the impromptu battle had been finished, an Auror who they had not recognised had roused Shacklebolt and, in the resulting confusion as the Aurors bustled the captured Death Eaters away and reinforced the spells around the building, the three officers had been taken to the apparition point, bringing them here.

Their safe place.

Except, Spock reflected, it was not actually that safe, not for the man currently lying in one of the house's spare bedrooms, locked in a coma from the effect of the attack. He had not awoken at all since he had been knocked unconscious – he had not even stirred, and a part of Spock was terrified.

A large, dominant part, he realised, but had trouble admitting to himself. He should feel emotionless, he knew. He should not feel the raging torment inside him every time he considered that his friend would not make it. He should not feel shame for feeling those emotions and then shame at feeling he should not feel them.

He was conflicted to say the least, and he had never been more so for as long as he could remember.

"Spock," McCoy said softly, "it's alright. You don't need to worry about the fact that you care for him."

Spock looked up, staring at the human that still continued to amaze him as much as the man lying dying on the bed. "Leonard?"

"Don't go thinking I can read your mind," McCoy continued ruefully, but his voice was without humour. "I've just become pretty damn good at reading your subtle expressions."

"I see."

"You really care for him, don't you?" McCoy asked abruptly, his blue eyes suddenly piercing Spock's very flesh. "You've come to love him."

Spock shook his head. "That particular emotion has always been present," he murmured, before he realised what he was doing and stop himself.

McCoy nodded. "I knew that after that incident in the Room of Requirement," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving Spock. "But I think that's the first time I've heard you admit it out loud."

Spock inclined his head reluctantly. "It is."

McCoy sighed and stood up, moving to sit next to him. "Spock, you have to tell him if-" he took a deep breath, cutting himself off, "when he wakes up."

"What is his condition?"

McCoy's weariness seemed to increase. "His nervous system is a mess, Spock. The Healers talked me through the effect of some of those spells and, though I hate myself for saying it, he outdid himself this time. Even if I had my equipment with me, I couldn't do a single thing to save him."

"The Healers?"

"They've done all they can."

"Leonard..." he hesitated briefly, instinctually unable to discuss something so secret, something that his planet had never revealed. "There may be a solution."

"What is it?"

"On Vulcan," Spock said quietly, knowing that such an introduction was necessary, "emotions were once valued to such an extent that they were fought over. There used to be a ritual for cases such as this. The patient would be offered the option of..."

"Of what?" McCoy prodded gently.

"The process," Spock continued, beginning the explanation anew, "required the viewing of strong emotional attachment, in order to, in essence, give the injured party something to live for. Essentially, a bond is formed between the two involved, the deep emotions serving to draw the patient from within their own mind and back to reality."

"You can use love to pull him out a coma?" McCoy asked, surprised despite himself.

Spock nodded. "It is an archaic tradition, and merely a rumour. I am not certain if it stems from fanciful legend or truth."

"You have to give it a try, Spock, before it's too late," McCoy said immediately.

Spock nodded. "I intend to, Leonard."

And just as they thought the situation could get any worse, Snape stumbled through the front door, having evidently just apparated there, and collapsed to the ground in a heap, the raging shouts of Mrs Black drowning out McCoy's instinctive medical orders as they carried him into the house, shutting the door behind them.