Gathered in the confines of Dumbledore’s office, under the watchful eye and ash pile of a newly reborn phoenix, members of The Order stood waiting. The feather quill in his hand, courtesy of Fawkes, scratched incessantly at a lengthy piece of parchment. Pausing to brush his beard aside from one side of the page to the other, Dumbledore looked at the wanting faces of his peers. Returning his quill to its ink well, he slowly rose to his feet.