Dumbledore removed his half-moon glasses and sighed, rubbing his tired his. Every year without fail, the professors appointed to the position of Defence Master would be gone within the year. Some had been accidents, of course - falling down the Grand Staircase and breaking their neck. Getting whomped if they strayed too close to the Whomping Willow. There were, of course, the strange occurrences that were less easy to explain - one Professor had been absorbed by a malignant painting and had been trapped as one of the many school portraits ever since. Another had even been dragged into the Black Lake and drowned by the Giant Squid. But never in his many years as either Headmaster or a teacher at Hogwarts had a teacher been sucked through a fiery portal into Hell.

He slipped his glasses back on and looked at Minerva who sat across from his desk, tears still streaming down her cheeks. She clenched John's trench coat tightly in her lap, refusing to relinquish the item to anyone. It was all that was left of the boy she had chastised and admired and grown to care for as both a colleague and a friend.

"I've just been contacted by the Head Healer at St. Mungo's," said Dumbledore. "She tells me that while Astra is now awake. While she is physically weak, she is responding well to treatment and she will make a full recovery. The psychological trauma won't be evident until she is properly evaluated."

Minerva sniffed loudly and brushed away her fresh tears with the sleeve of her robe, "She's been in Hell for two years, Albus. Nobody could come out of that place undamaged."

"She will have scars, but her soul is intact," he replied firmly. "She can now begin the healing process, but she will need the support of loved ones to help her along the way."

"She doesn't have anyone," said Minerva bitterly. "Her family is dead - good riddance to them for what they did to that poor girl. But she is alone. What will happen to her? She can't just stay in hospital for the rest of her life."

"I will see that she gets the proper care that she needs," he assured her. "She will have a proper Guardian or family is appointed to care for her."

Minerva nodded mutely. Dumbledore was a man of his word, she trusted what he said wasn't empty promises. She cleared her throat and asked, "Did she say anything when she woke up?"

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "She asked for John."

Even hearing John's name felt like a physical blow and a fresh wave of grief and shame crashing over her. She stared at the worn brown trench coat, lamenting everything that she could have done everything to prevent this situation, but drawing a blank.

"He was the only one who ever cared for her," she choked. "Now he's gone, too. Part of that is my doing for agreeing to go along with his follied plan."

"The cost was high - perhaps too high - but that was ultimately John's choice to make," said Dumbledore gravely. "From what you have told me, he seemed intent on following through with his plan regardless. I do not think there was anything you could have said or done to convince him to take another path. John was stubborn to a fault, not unlike some professors he was so fond of."

Minerva gave a weak laugh and subtly wiped away her tears again, "I know you're right, Albus. But it doesn't make me feel any less guilty."

"I know," he sighed miserably. "Guilt is something I am intimately familiar with, Minerva. It is something that you must learn to carry with you, and learn from it as best you can, to not repeat the mistakes of the past."

Minerva said nothing. His words weren't comforting but at least they were honest.

"I think it is worth noting that John was not the only one to care for the child's well being," Dumbledore added. "Have you not you just spent the be the better part of a year searching the library for ways of rescuing Astra?"

"Well, that was to help John," she shrugged. "And to help her too, of course. She's just a child, after all, she needed my help."

"Then perhaps Astra isn't so alone after all," he said thoughtfully. "Would you like me to arrange for you to see her in the hospital?"

Minerva only had to consider it a moment before she made up her mind, "Yes, I'd really appreciate that. Thank you, Albus." Minerva began to rise from her seat, but Albus held out a hand to stop her.

"Before you go, I have something for you," he said. He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a roll of parchment and a small wooden box. Minerva took the proffered items and turned the box over in her hand, inspecting it closely. It was old and worn with dirt ingrained in the wood. It looked as though someone had recently unearthed it. She looked up curiously at Dumbledore, "What is this?"

"John came to me a couple nights ago and gave these items to me," he explained. "He refused to tell me what his plans were, but he made me promise that if anything went wrong, I was to pass these items on to you.

"Oh," she replied weakly, glancing down at the box again. Dumbledore rose to his feet.

"I will give you some privacy to read the letter. Please, take your time," he said gently. As he passed her he gently rested his hand on her shoulder, "I am sorry about John. He was a fine man."

Minerva nodded vigorously, too choked up to reply. She waited until Dumbledore had left the office before she sat the box down on the desk and picked up the scroll. Breaking the wax seal on the parchment, she unfurled it to read the message within:

Dearest Minnie,

If you are reading this, then I must be in deep shit.

Minerva couldn't help but roll her eyes at the vulgarity. It was strangely comforting to her that he wrote as he spoke...

If I'm guessing correctly, I'm in Hell at the moment. If that's the case, DO NOT TRY AND GET ME OUT. I'll be fine. Believe me, I've been in stickier situations than this one before. Besides, it's not worth putting your life on the line for mine.

I only hope that we succeeded in our mission. If not, smash that box that Dumbledore handed to you immediately, because it doesn't deserve to be intact otherwise. If Astra is safe with you, could you tell her that I'm sorry for everything? I don't expect her to forgive me, I'd never ask it of her. But please let her know how hard I tried to bring her back.

I also owe you an apology. I'm sorry for dragging you into this mess. I've always been really fond of you, even during my school days when you would burst my bollocks about smoking and dogging class, you were always fair and told me how much potential I had (even if I did squander most of it). When I came back to school to teach, you were a constant source of help and reassurance. Thank you for your friendship, it will always mean the world to me.

Unfortunately, I seem to be doomed to hurt those I care for the most. I don't expect you to forgive me, either. I caused you a lot of trouble this year, and you lost the death pool because of me into the bargain. I jest! I know you didn't really place a bet, you're too damn classy to partake in something so macabre.

As a small token of our friendship, I gift you something I have never entrusted with anyone before. You remember when I told you as a child I hid my childhood innocence in a wooden box? Well, here it is. I went back to Liverpool over the Christmas break to search for the damn thing. It took me a couple of days to find it, but it's remained in one piece even after all of these years.

I want you to have it, Minnie. The last good part of me. I may be in Hell, and the bastards may have my soul, but there is at least one part of me that they'll never have.

Take care of Astra for me. And take care of yourself.

All my love,

John

Minerva felt numb. The letter slipped from her fingers onto the floor and she carefully picked up the small wooden box from the desk, staring at it with a mixture of relief and sadness. It was a comfort of sorts that something of John - the best part of him - lived on. It was a beautiful, tragic gift. She hugged it close to her heart and let the tears flow freely again. The wood felt warm in her hand, and she sure that she could feel the best of John radiating out from it.