Chapter 7 : Ashes of the Phoenix

There were times when some members of the crew found Harry's habit of wearing his suit everywhere to be a tad strange. Given the way most magicals dressed themselves, Harry himself didn't see anything weird with it. It was definitely better than his own clothes, which wasn't very hard since most of them were Dudley's castoffs. And it's not like he didn't wear anything on top of it.

Harry had never been one to pay attention to fashion, though, and the practical side of the suit combined with the fact that he didn't have to put it on and off twice a day easily won the debate. And most importantly at this moment, it kept him warm .

He raised his hand to shield himself from the latest gust of wind that tried to throw another fistfull of snow onto his face as he continued to walk up the stairs. The steps were dry, fortunately, as he didn't fancy a fall in the lake from the highest tower in the castle because he slipped on black ice.

"Meet me upstairs" had said the note he found in Dumbledore's office. Was it too much to ask to warn him that said stairs went outside the tower and would leave him at the mercy of the late December Scottish weather? Knowing his luck, he would definitely catch a cold that would force him to bed rest for a week since this was the night before the holidays.

Despite his internal complaining, the climb soon came to an end as he stepped on a wide sheltered balcony. One moment he had been battling the wind and the snow, and the next warm air and a soft breeze hit him in the face like a bludger. It was as if he had walked in on a pleasant summer day, exclusively localised in the balcony.

"Hello Harry."

Dumbledore sat comfortably on a swivel chair with a stocking cap on his head, happily knitting with his good hand while the second needle worked by itself. His other hand was hidden under a plaid blanket on which rested the multicoloured scarf born of his handicraft. While the garment was uneven and some knots were clearly far too loose, Dumbledore's enthusiasm remained intact as he hummed to himself while continuing his work.

"You wanted to see me professor?"

"Why yes. Take a seat, please, and don't hesitate to try the scones."

Harry turned his head to see a second swirling chair and a low table on which had not been there a moment ago. A steaming teapot with two full cups and an assortment of freshly baked goods had been placed on the table. As he sat down and picked up a cup,

Harry took a moment to bask in the balmy atmosphere. He began to drink as he watched the falling snow try to enter the balcony, only to be turned away by an invisible force.

The view beyond was simply breathtaking, even for one who had gotten used to the sight of whole planets outside his room's porthole. The lake and highlands below, covered as they were by a dense blanket of snow, seemed to shimmer under the moonlight as they went on to the horizon. Even the never wilting trees of the forbidden forest seemed peaceful and not so menacing when the treetops were painted white.

"Fascinating thing, knitting, though I'm afraid that even when I had two good hands, I never quite managed to get the hang of it."

"I-err-I wouldn't know sir."

"Do you want to give it a try?" Dubledore raised an amused eyebrow.

Whatever Harry had expected when he had been summoned to the headmaster's office, this wasn't it.

"It's... It's not exactly the kind of thing I like to do in my free time."

"A pity. I do hope you have a hobby or two to occupy your many class-free days, however. I would hate to think you spurned your education in order to be bored all day."

Ok, unsubtle jab and inquiry at his lack of class put aside, this was starting to get weird. He could hardly remember the last time Dumbledore had wanted to talk to him about something else than Voldemort.

"I've started learning how to bake, actually."

"Did you? You will have to let me try some of your creations then." Dumbledore smiled contentedly as he continued to work on his awfully long scarf.

"It's not really much at the moment, but... Excuse me, sir, but did you really call me up here to talk about my hobbies?"

"Among other things. It occurred to me that we had spent far too much of our time together talking about unpleasant matters and not nearly enough just appreciating each other's company. I had hoped you would agree to satisfy the curiosity of a meddling old man while we talk about ourselves."

That was new. Not entirely unwelcome, though.

He'd spent so much time lately brooding about Voldemort, the war, the D.S.F... More often than not, he even had to cancel his weekly baking session, one of the few times he allowed himself to relax. There was always some urgent report or other development on the ship that needed his attention.

And, let's be honest, this was a far better way to spend an evening than to watch more of Riddle's old memories.

With his doubts and reservations gone, Harry gladly took a scone spread with what he guessed to be raspberry jam.

"Sure we can. So, I've been trying some things with Yorkshire puddings..."

And just like that, they began to talk about everything and nothing, exchanging anecdotes both recent and ancient of their time at school. Dumbledore eventually judged his creation to be of a sufficient length and draped himself in it several times over while they watched the last lights of day hide behind the horizon. Despite their valiant efforts, they seemed unable to empty the teapot or finish the various food and sweets that kept appearing on the table.

Dumbledore was in the middle of retelling the absurd story of an encounter between a muggle biplane and an erumpent that supposedly happened in Nepal at the start of the century when they finally noticed the bright stars dotting the sky.

"Oh my, so late already? This has been a delightful evening, but I think you should get back to your dorm now, lest you miss your train." The look he gave him almost made him regret telling him about the start of his second year. Almost. "I wish you an excellent Christmas, Harry."

"Won't you be coming to headquarters?"

"I will not, unfortunately, be able to join you there. Pardon an old man for rambling if you heard this too many times already, but in these troubled times, we should still take what opportunities we have to see our loved ones and enjoy their company."

He thought of Sirius and Hedwige, waiting for him at Grimmauld place. Of Ron and Hermione, probably bickering about what to bring for the holidays. Of Dobby and Hagrid, who stayed at the castle to care for the students who did the same.

"And you sir? Don't you have anyone you want to see?"

"Oh, but I'm seeing them right now Harry." His brilliant eyes full of mirth turned in his direction as he smiled. "One of them at least. Other businesses require my attention during the holidays, though I will still go out and drop a gift down my brother's chimney after you leave. I do have to fulfil my filial duties after all, even if he doesn't wish to see me anymore."

Despite Dumbledore's words of caution at the last feat of the term, most of the crew had elected to leave the castle and spend Christmas with their families. Some, more concerned than others, forwent the train altogether, preferring the more discrete route of the vanishing cabinet.

Those few that stayed in the castle, either by choice, or because they had nowhere left to go, had taken to decorating parts of the station in an effort to bring some holiday cheer to the austere metal halls. They had even set up an enormous tree in the main observation deck and hung many magical bits and bobs on its branches. Someone had even managed to make small replicas of the Requirement, enchanting them to fly around the room in some sort of aerial ballet.

For his part, Harry and the Weasleys had gone back to Grimmauld place, expecting a sombre Christmas in the disrepaired house, only to find it full of colours and life. While Ms. Weasley ran a tight ship in the kitchen and forcefully recruited her eldest sons to help her, Sirius was neck deep in a competition with Kreacher to redecorate the place.

Literally.

When they arrived, the man had been bound from neck to toe with purple and green wrapping paper. A big black bow completed the ensemble and had the added benefit of tapping his mouth shut, keeping the foulest swears he knew out of impressionable ears.

Once freed, he led Harry, Ron and Ginny in a hunt through the house, trying to catch the half-mad house elf. They chased him as he peeled the fresh paint and christmas lights from the walls, revealing the faded wallpaper and put back the portraits of Black ancestors and tortured muggles to their "proper" place.

After nearly a day of running around, avoiding flying furniture and a bad encounter with a cursed wardrobe, they managed to stop his rampage. In order to keep him out of his hair for the rest of the holiday, Sirius sent him away to sort through the attic's century old collections.

Harry couldn't bring himself to blame Kreacher, however. The elf was never really all quiet there, and he seemed to have gone off the deep end since his tantrum a year ago, barely listening to Sirius's order anymore. At least he seemed more happy at his punishment than anything else.

Once it was properly lighted and the mounted house-elf heads had been taken down, the place looked down right livable. The holidays were also brightened up by the presence of most of the order, bringing warmth and life into the old home. Tonks and the twins even disappeared at one point, reappearing half a day later with their arms full of party goods.

Then began the Great Hat War of 96, where they all tried to find the silliest hat they could in wizard crackers. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it quickly devolved into a mad quest to steal and keep hold of the bright pink jester hat Remus had found. Harry felt pretty good about managing to keep it for almost two whole days, until Padfoot fell down on him from the bathroom's ceiling and snatched it.

While there were still some tensions, what with Mr Weasley and Percy's absence, Ms Weasley fusing about Bill and Fleur's wedding preparations and the ever-present thoughts of the war, it remained one of the best Christmas Harry ever had.

Ron had been the first to notice it.

Intent on beating Remus at chess before they went back to school, he had stayed up to study the book on unusual tactics that Hermione had sent him. The rest of them were quite content to simply fall into the warm embrace of their beds after such a long day. At first, he thought he was hallucinating, or that Kreacher was taking advantage of the night to rekindle his crusade. When he heard the muffled cries of pain however, he knew something was terribly wrong.

He shook Harry awake, whispering him to get up quickly before making his way out of the room, wand in hand. After making sure he wasn't dreaming, Harry hastened himself to follow him, only to find Ginny and the twins coming out of their own rooms. With a silent nod, they started their descent toward the kitchen door, behind which the muffled voices were becoming more urgent.

As one, they opened it with their wands raised, and Harry became sure that he hadn't pinched himself hard enough, for the scene in front of them was nothing short of a nightmare.

Tonks laid unconscious on one end of the table, her left arm nowhere to be seen and her leg was a mangled mess of flesh, jeans and blood. Remus stood over her, tending to her wounds as quickly as his own allowed him.

The blood covered form of Kingsley sat across the table, his head hanging limply revealed large cuts marred his face from the remains of what used to be his right ear to the left side of his jaw, barely missing his eye. An haggard looking Sirius shouted for Ms. Weasley as he applied green mucus on the most grievous parts of the wound.

Bill and Fleur were tending to each other's wounds near the sink, and Harry's eyes quickly passed on the black mass slumped against the wall before he recognized an unbreathing Mundungus Fletcher.

Agast and speechless, Harry and his friends let their wand arms falter, petrified on the doorstep by the sight in front of them.

"W-what happened?" He asked.

The sound of his voice tore Sirius from his frantic ministrations as he finished wrapping bandages around Kingsley's wounds with swirls of his wand. His usually piercing grey eyes were bloodshot and stained with remains of tears. They jumped between them as he held his wand tightly, relaxing only once he saw Harry. He opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to find his words as his gaze refused to meet theirs. When he finally spoke, his broken voice carried his loss and disbelief.

"He... he's dead. They're all dead."

However, his voice was quickly drowned by Ms. Weasley's shrieks as she came out of the basement, arms full of jars of Dittany, potion vials and bandages. "What are you doing here? Out! You shouldn't see this."

Cries of protest and injustice rose from Harry and his friends, ready to ash out the all too familiar arguments of a now routine dispute. They were immediately cut short, however, as Sirius snapped out of his daze and raised a hand toward Ms. Weasley.

"Molly. This is not the time!" He growled before turning to them. "Grab bandages and start helping kids, this is going to be a long night."

His word ended up being quite the understatement, as they all spread out around the kitchen to help however they could. Hours later, as they finally managed to clean and bandage the worse of Tonk's injuries and were preparing to move her to a bed, the dying fireplace burst back to life. The injured that stepped out of the green flames were but the first of the dozen members the Order Harry had never even heard of that came to seek refuge at headquarters.

From what he managed to glean while tending to them, they were from semi-independent cells that occupied safe houses all around the country, which were now under attack by death eaters and hit wizards. Those that made it back here were but the lucky few who managed to escape the massacre. The fact that the ranks of the Order had greatly expanded during the last year was news to Harry, but learning of it by witnessing their decimation... He grit his teeth and put those thoughts aside as he focused back on infusing a bandage with Dittany.

The sun was already high and his rays peered through the windows of the drawing room when the teenagers, accompanied by Sirius and Remus, collapsed into its antique chairs and couches. While they rubbed their eyes and took care not to let the antique teapot bite them as it served them tea while floating about, Remus began to recount what he knew of that night's disaster.

"Nymphadora was on a mission for the order, researching a place we suspected to be a Death Eater hideout. We don't know what happened there, but when she called for help, everyone who could hurried to her... right into a trap." His voice was barely more than a whisper and his gaze was lost in the burning fireplace. "They were everywhere, hidden in the shadows, the houses... It all went by so fast... When the spells started to rain down on us, we ran for cover, but the next thing I knew, Lenard and Roost were dead. We managed to reach Nymphadora and we made a run for the fireplace while Moody covered us, but..."

Like the light in his eyes, his voice died as he let his head rest into his hands while Sirius took over.

"They blew him up. I'd bet my wand arm that it was the same damned curse Wormtail used when he framed me. Kingsley, Duncan and Adams were hit too, and I went back with Mundungus to drag them out. I managed to drag Kingsley through the floo, but the others... didn't make it."

The others...

One person had been conspicuously missing that night while the entire order was being decimated. Harry's voice stuck in his throat as the implications dawned to him. Of the many order members they had seen that night, none displayed a long silver beard. Hermione was finally the one that dared to ask the question they all thought about.

"Was... was professor Dumbledore among them?"

He could feel relief course through his body like a cold balm when Remus shook his head as Sirius frowned in contempt.

"He wasn't there. We tried to contact him but-"

"Sirius."

"No. You don't get to defend him. Not for this." Sirius rose in anger, raising his hand as if to strike him "He left us to die, Remus. We needed him and he wasn't there and now... now..."

His voice died as his arms fell back to his sides. With gritted teeth and a quick stride, Sirius left the room. In the distance, they could hear a door being slammed and the portrait of Wrabulga Black beginning to shriek obscenities before being promptly silenced.

When the silence of the grave took back its place in the halls of the house, Remus excused himself and left them to their thoughts. Some drifted back to sleep, huddled together under a blanket, while others whispered about the implications and began to plan for the ever-more uncertain future. Harry, for the most part, just sat there, ruminating on the events of the night as he watched the sun rise through the windows.

On the merriest night of the year, like a twisted gift from Voldemort, the Order of the Phoenix was consumed just as it began to rise for the sun. And after seeing the wounded and terrified few that remained, Harry doubted that it would truly ever come back from its ashes.

In his tired state, he was only distantly aware of the eerily familiar laughter that echoed deep in his mind and soul, behind a door not quite yet closed...

None of them was surprised when the Daily Prophet failed to report the events of that night. The precious space on the first ten pages wall was filled with far more important and joyous topics. The most prominent was by far the new "Muggle-born Registration Commision", on which congratulations and new expert opinions were printed daily.

It had been announced by Lucius Malfoy during the Ministry's Christmas reception and had been judged to be a necessary and important step in the betterment of the country's future. Of course, the fate of those judged unworthy of Britain's tightening standards was a detail that very few publications dared to even mention.

Try as they might, time did not stop its course to let them mourn the loss and the holidays soon came to an end. When the time came and students from the whole country made their way back to the castle, the tables at the first feast of the term seemed emptier than they had been before. The only consolation to be found was that Harry knew some of those missing seats belonged to those they had finally convinced to go into hiding.

One of these seats, however, was more worrying, as the high-chair at the faculty table remained empty the whole evening. Not in the mood to await another cryptic summon for weeks, Harry let the others go back to the ship after dinner and made his way to the Headmaster's office, determined to get some answers. His first guess for the password died in his throat when the gargoyle stepped aside as soon as he approached it. He climbed the stairs and passed the ornate door with a swift stride to find Dumbledore sitting at his desk, looking like he hadn't slept in days.

"Good evening, Harry. I thought you would want to rest after your trip, but I find myself once again surprised by the vigour of youth."

His skin was almost as white as his unkempt hair and beard, clashing against the dark circles under his eyes, and looked as dry as parchment. And speaking of parchment, the desk itself was crumbling under the weight of open tomes and scrolls that overflowed down to the ground. The fact that some of the books were muzzled, wrapped up in chains or that one seemed to be bound in human skin was not a good sign, to say the least.

As he approached slowly, he could see the scribbles on the parchments move and twist in unreadable patterns. And although he had never taken the class and would be hard pressed to decipher them, he had seen Hermione do her homework enough time to recognize more than a few arithmantic symbols.

"Are you... Are you alright sir?"

With a weak smile, Dumbledore began to answer, only to hesitate for an instant as his eyes fell on his blackened hand. With a sigh, he closed the book in front of him and cleared his desk with a swish of his wand. The scrolls rolled themselves up and flew up to the bookcases with the tomes, leaving the desk between them bare of any obstruction.

"Of all people, you do not deserve to hear false reassurances. I am old, Harry. Too old to once more wage a war and see dear friends go well before their times because of the greed and madness of the few, most of all mine."

"None of what happened was your fault." Harry shook his head vehemently.

"While I like to believe that I am only partly responsible for the path Tom chose and the birth of Voldemort, I am most certainly responsible for the demise of our friends. That night, I sent Nymphadora to look into one of my leads for the location of a Horcrux. I knew the risks and I trusted in her capability, but I should have been on the lookout for her call..."

There were many things Harry wished he could say. Words of reassurance and compassion. Of resentment and accusations. He was their leader, and he had sent them in harm's way without being here to help them. The fact that none of the members of the Order knew what they were after, what they were dying for, only made this worse.

A part of him wanted to scream, to tell him that he was right, that he should have been there and fought with them. The other part though... He could see the regrets etched in every line of his face, as if each one was a wound caused by the loss of an old friend. He could not bring himself to condemn the man when he was already down.

Trying to put aside the chaos of his thoughts, Harry held on to the question that had burned in his mind since that night, hoping to centre himself around it.

"Where were you then? What was so important that you couldn't be there for them?"

In silence, Dumbledore opened a drawer and, with great care, brought out a small vial containing a glimmering silver substance. Harry's suspicions became a certitude when the pensive gently floated up to the desk and he could feel his anger begin to boil anew.

"You let all of that happen just to get another memory of Voldemort?"

"Unknowingly, yes. Though this one has proven to be the single most important I have obtained until now. It took a great deal of persuasion and, unfortunately, some threats and a memory charm to acquire."

Opening the vial, Dumbledore emptied it into the pensive and began to swirl it around with his wand.

"Shall we?"

With a dubious glance at Dumbledore and still unsure on how he should feel about all of this, Harry followed his lead and plunged his head into the stone bowl.

In the puzzling, but nonetheless illuminating, exchange between Tom Riddle and Slughorn that they witnessed, they found the last piece of Voldemort's mad puzzle.

Seven.

The mad man had torn his soul seven times. How could anyone willingly mutilate themselves to that extent? And not just once, but seven times? Or six, if Dumbledore's theory that he died as he tried to make the last one was right.

The revelation was enough to drag Harry out of his hesitation and they soon began to talk about the possible nature and hiding places for the remaining two items. While one still eluded them, a great many clues Dumbledore had gathered soon gave them some certitude as to the last one.

Nagini, the snake. The one that never left Voldemort's side.

Why couldn't they have all been easy?

As the new term began and the crew settled back into its now familiar routine, the much awaited Apparition lessons were announced for those nearing the required age. Every crew member that was sixteen years old and above threw themselves at the practice with a determination rarely seen by the examiners. Angelina and Cho even organised additional lessons on the station for those who felt they needed the extra practice.

While they had little regard for the Ministry's approval and the obtention of a licence, Apparition was one of the most useful magic a wizard or a witch could master. Doubly so when you were out in space. Their disregard for the legal formalities was quickly vindicated when they met the instructor sent by the Ministry.

The man was far from inclined to allow unimportant concepts like professionalism or impartiality to get in the way of his job, and was all in all just a sycophant. While Malfoy and his ilk received special attention and even dispensations to take the exam before they turned seventeen, every single muggle-born and known sympathisers failed their final examination.

That is not to say all his decisions were politically motivated, however, as some were rightfully rejected. Dean, for example, came out of the great hall with a missing fingernail. The examiner seemed to find something wrong with almost every one of them, however, going as far as inventing missing body parts on them. Hermione had been incensed after he failed her for "missing some hair in that nest of hers", only to give Goyle a passing grade when he reappeared without all his toes.

Ignoring the screwed official judgement, a bit over half of them had reached a point when they could apparate without splinching by the end of the lessons. They didn't let that stop them, however, and still held their own lessons for those who needed more time to master it. Just in case, though, Harry sent Clarissa and Pryden to purchase as many healing potions they could from an apothecary in Bristol, since the one on Diagon Alley wasn't an option anymore.

With the enthusiasm of first years who discovered the tickling jinx, most of them began apparating everywhere aboard the ship and station. It came to a point where Harry had to step in and ban them from doing it anywhere near the laboratories and sensible areas after one too many nearly-avoided accidents. Apparating was free-game out in space, however, and it made moving around in the absence of gravity much easier.

Not a week after he was deemed adept at it, Seamus had the bad idea to try and reach Mars by apparating. The far greater distances and the lack of landmarks, or anything really, to properly visualise their target location made the endeavour hazardous at best, and down right deadly at worst.

He had been incredibly lucky that they managed to pick up his suit on the ship's sensor to rescue him after he fainted from exhaustion after having travelled a hundredth of the distance. Even more fortunate was the fact that, despite the hazardous limitations to determine the three Ds in space, he had managed not to splinch and tear a hole in his suit. Though of course Seamus had claimed that just served to show how good he had become at apparating.

All his boasts did not help him when Harry came looking for him after that, however, and he tried to put as much distance between them as his new "mastery" allowed.

He did not make it far enough.

On the plus side, the frontal hull of the Requirement had not been this clean in millennia.

Still, going outside the ship to practise moving in low gravity with new found ability was as good an excuse as any to leave their worries behind for a few hours and just have some fun. They decided on a late afternoon lunar outing and parked the ship behind the moon to make sure no one from earth could see it. It wouldn't do to come back to Hogwarts to discover that they had been spotted during that day's astronomy class.

After a short practice session, the crew was given free quarters and they began to jump around gleefully. They tried out all sorts of stunts and found increasingly outlandish ways to send each other flying. After a while, all but the most turbulent of them began to calm down. Some made a trip back to the ship to bring back their quidditch equipment and a pickup game without brooms or overboards started in a small crater. Others were content to sit and chat under the breathtaking view of the Earth being slowly bathed in the light of the rising sun.

In one such group, some began to wonder about their place and that of others in the galaxy.

"I mean, It's one thing to think of Centaurs or Goblins, but real aliens? From across the universe?"

"I doubt they come from that far. They're most likely from another part of the galaxy, one we haven't charted yet or astronomers would have seen them."

"Yeah, that's a thing too. We're the first people on Earth to have actual proof that they exist."

"Oh no, we're not the first. Muggles know all about them."

"Wait, really?"

"I don't think-"

"Well, their ministries do, at least. My father wrote about it years ago. Muggles have been conquered by aliens years ago, you see. Now, they try to prepare the masses with stories and movies before revealing the truth and serving their unsuspecting populations to their alien overlords."

"Then why haven't we heard about them before?"

"Because the Nigerian and Swedish ministry are already in their hands and covering up the truth, of course. I'm quite surprised that they haven't found us out yet, actually. They would have sent their agents to silence us."

Not far from there, Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves apart from the rest of the crew, laid out on a crater slope. After the sombre mood of the holidays, just sitting here with the two of them as they talked and laughed was a true breath of fresh air. He wanted to enjoy it for as long as he could.

So what if the low gravity was beginning to make him feel sick? He was exactly where he wanted to be, laughing at a joke Ron had just butchered and he would stay as long as he could. They were content to watch the Earth above them as it turned among the stars.

"I know we're not supposed to leave too many traces of our passage, but I wonder if we could find the moon landing site. We would have to be careful not to touch anything, though." Hermione thought aloud.

"Forget that, if we go looking around the moon, I want to find Merlin's cauldron."

"Merlin's what?"

Hermione's question mirrored Harry's raised eyebrow. While he had picked up a lot of things about Merlin since he came to Hogwarts, this was the first he had heard about a cauldron. Granted, "Merlin's saggy bollocks" didn't have much to teach in the sense of historical value, but still.

"His cauldron? The one he used to brew Arthur's antidote?"

"I've never heard anything about that anywhere." Hermione scowled. "It's not even mentioned in his biography."

"With Binns teaching History? Not surprising." Ron said with a large grin on his face. It was not every day that he managed to teach Hermione something, and he relished every one of these occasions. "When Morganna cursed King Arthur to wither in eternal sleep, Merlin came up here. He'd gathered some rare ingredients and a special cauldron to extract the full power of the lunar cycle to make an antidote that cured Arthur from the curse."

"That sound... Improbable, but it's true magic can sometimes be like that."

"Well it's true. Thing is though, after he gave it to Arthur and it got rid of the curse, they found out that it kept healing him of every wound, disease and even death. Merlin judged it to be too powerful for anyone to have, so he took back the antidote from Arthur and hid the cauldron so no one could make it again."

"Sounds like the Philosopher's Stone. We sure could use something like that these days..."

The silence that fell on them this time was not a merry one. Ron's posture slumped as Hermione came to rest a hand on his shoulder. Their opaque helmets made it impossible to see his expression, but they didn't need to. Harry felt his own guts churn at the thought of mister Weasley, still trapped in stasis at St Mungos with no hope of ever being cured.

"Ron. I-"

"Captain? I think we have a situation." Susan's voice interrupted him as it came to life in his helmet.

Of all the damned times...