Disclaimer: The ownership for this fic is split four ways. Anything you immediately recognise from canon is J.K. Rowling's. For those of you whose memories stretch that far, there are still some tidbits that belong to Egyptian Flame. A bigger percentage belongs to Master Slytherin, and anything you don't recognise at all belongs to me.
Chapter II: The Forming of the Order
The blue flame died down, revealing a small shop on a cobbled street Harry recognised as Diagon Alley. He squinted up at a worn sign that read 'Florean Fortescue's'. Surely not, Harry thought. He remembered the shop as a luscious, inviting emporium, not the impoverished shack that lay before him.
"What time period are we in, Flame?" Harry mumbled, fearing the worst. He glanced over his shoulder and stifled a gasp; Flame had gone, and she had taken Hedgwig and his trunk with her.
I suppose I can trust her, thought Harry. Rather than walk the length of Diagon Alley, gaping like a Muggleborn first year, thereby attracting attention towards himself, he decided to enter Florean's and work out when he was from the clientele.
As Harry stepped inside, he was surprised to find the parlour buzzing with conversation. Almost every grubby table was taken by witches and wizards from all walks of life.
"...and Dumbledore's on the prowl for another Defence professor," he heard a stately-looking witch proclaim.
"He better not appoint another Mudblood," sneered her companion, "I can scarcely believe the amount of riff-raff that worms its way into that school. I sent my own son to Durmstrang..."
So that narrows it down to the past fifty years, thought Harry, moving on before the witches caught his glare.
"I am Florean, young sir, how may I help you?"
It was all Harry could do to stop himself jumping out of his skin. Standing before him was a younger, blonder Florean Fortescue. Without wrinkles lining his face, he appeared strangely juvenile, though it was possibly his boyish grin that gave Harry that impression.
"Are you alright, sir?" asked Florean, the slightest trace of suspicion worming its way into his expression.
"Erm, yeah," said Harry quickly, chastising himself for not being careful enough, "can I have..."
"You mean 'may I have', sir."
"Sorry?"
"'May I have', not 'can I have'. It is nothing, sir, merely a grammatical correction. I should not have overstepped my boundaries. Would you like anything to order? I highly recommend the Screaming Sundae."
"May I have...three scoops of regular vanilla ice cream, and a copy of today's Prophet, please?" said Harry, hoping his face had not betrayed his embarrassment.
"You mean yesterday's Prophet?" said Florean, whose suspicion was now plain as his bright yellow robes.
"Sorry?"
"It's Sunday today, sir, and those lucky bastards get a day off. You're not from round here are you, Mr..."
"Po- Parker," gushed Harry, "Harry Parker. And no, I only very recently moved to the area. I'm very disorientated from the journey and would really appreciate an ice cream and yesterday's Prophet."
"Then don't let me stand in your way, Mr. Parker. Take a seat over here–" He pointed at a table made for four people near the entrance of the parlour "–and I'll send your orders over in a second. Pleased to meet you, and have a nice day!"
Harry mumbled his thanks and took the proffered seat. Not three minutes later, a copy of the Daily Prophet and his ice cream appeared at his table with a 'pop'. Harry's eyes bulged at the date at the top of the Prophet, almost spitting out the spoon of ice cream he had just consumed. It read: "Saturday 15th August 1976".
Harry stared blankly at the date for a few seconds before the full ramifications began to sink in. 1976. His parents were alive, probably at Hogwarts. So was Sirius. So was everyone in the Order. Had the Order even been formed? Voldemort was on his climb to power, or perhaps he had already reached the height of his powers. Judging by the state of Fortescue's shop and the xenophobic old ladies, it was a distinct possibility.
Harry did not know how to feel. On one hand, there would be people he knew around him, he might be able to save people like the Prewett brothers and there was no way Voldemort was as powerful as he had been when he killed Dumbledore. On the other, he would be rushed for time, Dumbledore may suspect him and he absolutely could not grow attached to his parents, or Sirius, or Remus, or anyone. Very soon he would be a target for Voldemort, and he refused to be the one to drag them into the war. Plus, thought Harry, they aren't even my parents yet, and Sirius isn't my Godfather.
Harry's eyes roamed down to the headline. The majority of the paper was taken up by a suburban, detached home far grander than the Dursley's house at Privet Drive. There were a handful of wizards dressed in identical red robes, talking amongst themselves, occasionally gazing up at the Dark Mark that was looming in the night sky. Harry's heart sunk. So it had begun.
Mysterious Murder Number Three
The Ministry was in disarray last night as the third high-profile murder was reported earlier in the evening. Marlon Starbuck, 46, was found dead in his Berkshire retreat; early reports suggest that multiple Cruciatus Curses were applied before a final Killing Curse.
Marlon Starbuck, a member of the Wizengamot, had recently published an influential paper outlining the benefit of Muggleborns to the wizarding economy. A kind, popular man, his death has caused outrage among all sections of the community.
Eleanor Fielding, 21, said: "he taught me Defence at Hogwarts, he was ever so nice, always there for his students. He'll be sorely missed."
Aurors believe that the murders are linked, but are still unable to find any evidence of magical signature. The strange, unidentified mark that also hung over the houses of Lobatius Bogart and Ronald McCutchin has added a sick twist to the murders, one that remains unsolved by top experts worldwide.
"I must ask for calm at this time," said Minister for Magic, Millicent Bagnold. "The Ministry is using all its resources to track down this murderer and bring him to justice. In the meantime, I advise extra security and vigilance." The Minister failed to rule out a possible Dark Lord rise, with many experts pointing to unusual giant activity.
The investigation continues.
For possible suspects, turn to page 5...
"Can I sit here?" said a small, timid voice. Without looking up, Harry grunted affirmatively and turned to page five.
Murderer or Mass Murderer?
The Prophet has gathered evidence from a variety of sources, some of which at the heart of the investigation, and has compiled a list of suspects.
Harry skimmed past most of them, but the final two caught his attention.
Edward Rosier – a man who has already served an Azkaban sentence for assault, Rosier is no stranger to breaking the law. He has a history saturated with the Dark Arts, and has reported to have become fanatical during his stay at Azkaban.
Voldemort – the true name of this wizard is unknown (our sources refused to speak his name aloud, referring to him only as 'He Who Must Not Be Named). He is said to have travelled the world, plundering cities of knowledge of the most dangerous Dark Magic known to man. Hooded and cloaked, we are told he is not fully human and is potentially the most dangerous man alive today. Unfortunately, there is no way to confirm this without "looking for death itself"
"I think it might be Rosier." Harry ripped his eyes from the page and concentrated on the person sitting opposite him. He was around Harry's age, quite short, with the air of a boy who had not outgrown his childhood puppy fat. His yellowing front teeth peeked out of his slightly parted mouth. His sandy hair was limp and unloved, his blue eyes watery and nervous.
Calm down, thought Harry, just calm down. He's still a child, he hasn't betrayed anyone yet. It took all Harry's might not to whip out his wand and cast the most painful curses he knew, for the boy in front of him was Peter Pettigrew.
"Are you alright?" said Wo- Pettigrew.
"Yeah, just remembered something. What were you saying?"
"It must be Rosier," said Pettigrew awkwardly, "he hasn't been seen for ages. And James says he's evil to the core."
Harry's eyes darted around the emporium, and he desperately tried to think of an excuse to leave without the reason being made obvious. For that to happen, he had to engage in conversation with Pettigrew for at least another couple of minutes. "But is he powerful enough to pull something like this off?"
"Oh...I dunno." Harry forced himself to look at Pettigrew again. There was an air of such discomfited apprehension around the boy that Harry was almost suspicious that Pettigrew knew about Harry being the Boy-Who-Lived. It was then that Harry spotted a tall, thin-lipped man with sandy hair sitting a few tables away, staring straight at them. Superficially, he bore some resemblance to Pettigrew, but he held himself with such confidence and presence that Harry was sure he was a powerful Pureblood.
"That's my, err, d-dad." Harry glanced back at Pettigrew. He was smiling timidly, but there was something behind his smile, something Harry could not quite work out.
"He told you to come and talk to me, didn't he?"
"Ye- I mean, no! I sat here because I wanted to. He was, err, annoying me – you know what dads are like..." Pettigrew gave Harry a watery smile.
"Actually, I don't," said Harry, glancing over at Pettigrew's father.
"Did your dad run away, too?"
"What?"
Pettigrew's eyes widened and he began to ring his hands together nervously. "Err, i-it's just that m-my friend's dad, err, left h-his family. You know...he's alright...used to it, you know..."
"Is that not your dad?" asked Harry, as the man approached, his cleft chin jutting out.
"Is anything wrong?" he said, taking the chair next to Pettigrew.
Harry glanced from Pettigrew, who was now little more than a shaking wreck, to his supposed father, who shot him a look Harry knew well – it was the look Lucius Malfoy usually reserved for him. That look alone told Harry all he needed to know – this man was not Pettigrew's father.
"No, nothing's wrong. Me and Wo- Peter were just talking." Pettigrew's eyes were flicking from Harry to his relative with such frequency that Harry was sure the pupils would disappear altogether.
"Oh, please don't stop on my account. I am Julius Pettiggrew, in case you were wondering, Peter's father." Harry shook the proffered hand quickly as he could.
"Harry Parker. I was just telling Peter that I need to go to Gringott's. There's something urgent I need to deal with."
Harry rummaged around his pockets, hoping he had some spare Knuts to pay for the ice cream. Quick as a flash, Julius Pettigrew had placed a Sickle on the table. "Please, Mr. Parker, let me take care of it."
"I really don't..."
"I do insist. It's only a Sickle after all." He laughed gruffly.
Harry realised he would not win, and thanked the man. He stood up, looking forward to ridding himself of both Pettigrews. His heart sunk as Mr. Pettigrew stood simultaneously.
"Would it trouble you if Peter kept you company? I have some important business to attend to and his mother-" Pettigrew jumped "-would have my ear off if she knew he was wondering around alone."
Harry, not knowing how else to escape Pettigrew's company, grunted affirmatively, to which Mr. Pettigrew smiled, the warmth never reaching his cold, dark eyes. "You are too kind, Mr. Parker, and it was a pleasure to meet you."
Harry nodded and swept from the shop, Pettigrew following in his wake.
Harry.
"Yes?" said Harry, before realising the ethereal voice belonged to Flame.
"I didn't say anything," said Pettigrew.
"Don't worry; I thought I heard someone saying my name."
I apologise for startling you. I advise you do not reply to me in the conventional fashion.
Harry looked around, hoping to catch sight of his familiar, but there was no sign of her.
You will not see me if I do not want to be seen. I assumed you did not wish to attract unnecessary attention towards yourself. Now, while you were orientating yourself, I have been dealing with some of your more pressing matters...
"You didn't have to," said Harry, before realising his mistake. A passing couple shot him an odd look, and Pettigrew was now more than a little discomfited.
"Are you alright, Harry?"
"Yeah, fine."
I did warn you. Now, I have dealt with your financial situation for you. Your money has been transferred to a Parker account at Gringotts They will have no recollection of a time where the Parker vault did not exist. I have deposited your key and money pouch into your trunk.
What's a money pouch?
It's container of money charmed to link directly to your account. Any small purchases can be made via your money pouch. All you have to do is hold a hand over it and say clearly how much money you need. It will not dispense more than five Galleons, however. Now, if you check your pocket, you will find enough money to last you the rest of the day. I will be following you all day.
Thank you so much, Flame, you're brilliant.
There is no need for thanks. You would be well advised to start talking to your...friend – he's beginning to grow agitated.
"So, Peter," said Harry, startling Pettigrew, who had been staring at the shop windows they were passing, "why does your Uncle pretend to be your dad?"
Peter jumped, his mouth open. "He-he's..."
"I was raised by my Uncle and even I can tell you for a fact that he isn't your dad."
"You were raised by your Uncle?"
"Yes, and my Aunt. My parents died when I was a baby. What about you?"
Pettigrew glanced over his shoulder anxiously. "My dad...he walked out on us when I was born. My mum..she's...she's not with us either."
"Oh," said Harry, "I'm sorry."
Silence fell between them, and Harry felt something he never thought he would towards his parent's would-be betrayer: sympathy.
The shopping trip passed without event. Pettigrew slowly opened up and chatted enthusiastically to Harry, who listened with interest – trying to find out as much as he could about the time. Apparently, Pettigrew worshipped both James and Sirius – their names cropped up every few minutes. He pointed out some of the 'evil Slytherins' as he put them, and regaled Harry with tales of Marauder triumphs over Snape and his band of friends. Harry himself contributed very little, which did not faze his counterpart; indeed, Pettigrew seemed to revel in the attention.
Harry bought some new robes, a selection of books and owl treats for Hedwig amongst other things. Morning turned to afternoon as Harry and Pettigrew left Flourish and Blotts.
"...and then Snivellus actually thought James had cut all his hair off!" cried Pettigrew, almost in tears of laughter. Harry smiled weakly – his mother was right; his father was a bully.
"What's your home life like?" said Harry, steering the subject away from either Sirius or James. Peter's laughed died, and was almost instantly replaced by a scowl.
"My Uncle...well, he knows what he wants, and knows how to get it."
"Sounds like my Uncle..."
There is something urgent for you to consider, Harry. You must say goodbye to Peter now.
"Listen, Peter, it was nice to meet you. It seems like I missed out on Hogwarts."
Harry shook Pettigrew's hand, who seemed genuinely upset at having to part ways. "Is it true you're powerful?" the boy blurted out. Harry blinked, and Pettigrew put a hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry, s-so sorry, d-didn't mean-"
"Who told you I'm powerful?"
"N-nobody...it's nothing-"
"Peter, who told you I was powerful?"
Pettigrew stared at the floor, and mumbled something that sounded like 'uncle'.
"Maybe your Uncle should get you to talk to who you want to talk to, rather than who he thinks can protect you. Take care, Peter."
Harry strode quickly from a gaping Pettigrew and turned left into an empty side-alley. He did not know how he felt about the boy. In many ways, he was very much like Neville – easily lead, highly unremarkable, with difficult family history. Harry could see exactly why Sirius and James put up with him. He could also understand why Sirius had suggested him as a secret keeper; had he not known what was to come, Harry would have also suggested Peter.
But it may not come.
Harry looked up at Flame, who was perched on an empty barrel. "What do you mean?"
Forces have been set in motion, things have already changed. Perhaps there will be no betrayal.
"But it was only an afternoon, what could possibly have changed?"
Peter was not meant to speak to you. He was meant to spend the afternoon being told why he would amount to nothing by his Uncle. Instead, he met you and you instilled in him some confidence. You saw today part of the reason why Peter Pettigrew became a Death Eater.
"How do you know so much about him?"
His eyes told me. Now, I have been instructed by Fawkes to take you somewhere special, and for that to happen, you must wear your special cloak.
Harry spotted his beloved Invisibility Cloak beside the barrel Flame had made a temporary home. As he wrapped it around himself, he wondered where he was being taken.
Dumbledore left to you the Order of the Phoenix, Harry. It follows that you should be present at its inception.
Harry's cry of surprise turned into that of discomfort as he was enveloped in blue flame, and the familiar, uncomfortable feeling of phoenix travel, or flaming as he began calling it, engulfed him.
The flames died away, revealing almost complete darkness. The light came from a thin, rectangular slither that could only be a door.
Do not enter. Your cloak will not save you from detection in there.
Harry moved closer to the door, trying to make as little noise as possible. The murmuring became clearer as he moved towards it, until he could hear exactly what was being said.
"...and this may seem like a peculiar collection of people," said a voice Harry instantly recognised as Dumbledore's, "but the thread that runs through it is that I trust everybody in this room. The reason why I have called you all to my home is that I have finally solved a riddle, if you can excuse an old man of his puns.
"For many weeks now, I have put a great deal of effort in helping the Ministry ascertain the man behind the murders. It is with regret that I must inform you all that it is as first feared; Tom Riddle, or Lord Voldemort as he is currently known, is the perpetrator."
"But how can you be sure?" Harry was left with little doubt that this was Professor McGonagall.
"For all his guile, he made a grave error. Tom Riddle visited me a few hours previous, asking for the job of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor..."
"He wanted to teach?"McGonagall, again. "At Hogwarts? Is he utterly mad?"
"Riddle has always called Hogwarts his home, and what little love he has is attached to the castle. I have no doubt that he wished to harm future generations, and swing them towards his beliefs and I therefore rejected his offer. While he was with me, I examined him and found his magical signature to match those found at the crime scenes."
"Who is this Tom Riddle character?" Harry did not recognise the speaker.
"Tom Riddle was Head Boy at Hogwarts many years ago. He was a gifted student, one who became disillusioned by his immense talent and heritage. Shortly following his graduation, he seemingly disappeared, and it seems he has now revealed himself."
"Why don't you get us on him, then, Albus?"
"Unfortunately, Alastor, the Ministry do not believe in apprehending a former Head Boy without concrete evidence. If they were found to be mistaken, the public would be sure to show their displeasure. It is for this reason that I have called this meeting."
"So you want us to take him out?"
"Not quite, Dorcas, my dear. I feel that there may be hope for Tom, yet. He may, over time, grow stronger emotionally and realise his wrongs. At this present time, he is quite dangerous. I have gathered information that has led me to believe he is forming a terrorist organisation intent on destroying the very society in which we live. We must stop Tom from destroying the wizarding and Muggle worlds in his anger. We must take the necessary action for ourselves to do what the Ministry cannot." There was a mixed response to Dumbledore's speech, some roared in agreement, while other murmured angrily.
"We are doing as much as we can! We're Aurors, not superhumans!"
"I understand this, Henry, but you must admit that the Ministry itself, not the Aurors, are not failing in their responsibility to the wizarding world. I have warned them of Tom, and of what he can achieve, but they are blind to all they cannot see."
"I, for one, do not think that the Aurors are doing as much as they can, Potter included."
Harry jumped, before realising that they weren't talking about him. Clearly, there was another Potter – perhaps his grandfather? He did not remember seeing him in the photograph, though. The man Dumbledore called Henry interrupted Harry's thoughts.
"I didn't recall anyone asking for your opinion, Prewett. Just because you got kicked out of Auror academy, doesn't mean we all share your clouded resentment of the authority."
"Calm down now, Henry, Gideon," said Dumbledore firmly. "We must work together. Now is not the time for past resentment to overcome our will to find Tom and bring him to justice."
"What should we do, then?"
"All in good time, my dear Marlene, all in good time. Now, we need to come up with a name for this motley band of fellows. I envisage that we will be working together very closely in the coming weeks, and it would not do to refer to each other by name in great institutes such as the Ministry, now would it? Are there any suggestions?"
"Anti-Riddle Committee," piped up a high voice. This caused a few laughs, and Harry heard Dumbledore himself chuckling appreciatively.
"Admirable though the name is, I was hoping for one which did not divulge our aim, Dorcas."
"What about something to do with that Phoenix of yours, Albus," said Alastor.
"Phoenix Warriors," suggested Henry. Dumbledore was silent for a moment before disagreeing.
"Hmm, fine as it is, it still hints at our goals."
"How about the Order of the Phoenix?"
"That's pretty good, Edgar," said Henry, "I vote the Order of the Phoenix." There was a general murmur of assent.
"Yes, it's certainly practical; we can refer to each other as the Order and nobody will know what we're talking about."
"Quite right, Arabella. Rebecca, you have yet to speak. Would you care to share your thoughts?" A woman Harry presumed was Rebecca chuckled dryly.
"What difference will it make; we'll become the Order of the Phoenix anyway." It was now Dumbledore's turn to chuckle.
"Oh, what's wrong now, Becky?" asked Henry, a strain of exasperation in his voice.
"Albus, some of us have children, and though James may be infatuated with his own talent, in reality, he is a helpless child. Don't fidget, Henry, darling, you know it's true. But what if one of us is Riddle's next victim? What if James gets killed because we're in this Order? I refuse to risk the life of my son. If that weren't enough, we also have responsibility of Sirius most holidays, and though he's a dear, he's very reckless. What if they jump into a fight with one of these terrorists and get themselves killed?"
Harry's heart raced. Unless he was very much mistaken, this Rebecca was his grandmother, and Henry was, by association, his grandfather. Being this close to them was exilherating; it was all Harry could do to stop himself bursting himself. He desperately wanted to see what they looked like.
You will have time for that later, Harry, focus now.
"I promise," said Dumbledore, "that I will not send you both into the same battle, and that goes for yourself and Sarah too, Edgar, and any other married couple that joins the Order. Let me assure all of you that you will not all be involved in altercation with Riddle and his followers. There are some more delicate and dangerous matters which will require specialist skill. Some of you will give us inside information on possible Riddle sympathisers. Some will be examining the sources of his funding. Some will be giving us inside information on the Ministry. Some will be recruiting people who they think are worthy.
"Alastor, Henry; you will be in charge of recruitment from the Ministry. Gideon, Fabian, you will be in charge of recruiting from outside of the Ministry. Edgar, we need the same information the Unspeakables have been given…"
"Dumbledore, I've been sworn to secrecy! They will discover my betrayal with absurd ease and my punishment may involve Azkaban."
"My dear Edgar, I know just the spell. Dorcas, you will train new recruits on fighting technique, Henry, your spell knowledge will come in use here, too. Hagrid, I think you know what you need to do."
"Aye, I'll get righ' on it, Professor Dumbledore, sir."
"Rebecca, you need to provide us information on what the Minister herself is up to, and I believe that your excellent Occlumency and Legilimency prowess will come in very handy for training possible spies – we cannot underestimate Tom, after all. Does anyone else have any other issues they wish to raise? Yes, Dorcas?"
"How will we communicate over such long distances? You're always at Hogwarts, Albus, and we can't Apparate or anything."
"I am glad you asked," said Dumbledore. "I have devised an excellent strategy, with great help from Minerva. Here we have chocolate frog cards. Please, take one each."
There was a small pause and a rustle which told Harry Dumbledore was handing out the cards.
"You're absolutely barking," sighed Rebecca.
"I daresay I am," said Dumbledore. "These cards do not contain a famous witch or wizard inside, but a blank canvass. If you wish to communicate, then you say the name of the person involved and, if they wish to speak with you, their face will appear, allowing the briefest of conversations."
"Ingenious," said Edgar.
"Use them well, preferably only in emergencies. They will grow hot, so carry them around at all times. If that is all, then I will meet you all at the same time next week, unless there any emergencies arise."
Where to, Harry?
Take me to the second floor bathroom at Hogwarts, thought Harry.
If you are sure...
The last Harry saw of Dumbledore's house was the slither of light growing before he disappeared in a flash of blue flames.
AN: I think I'm going to die from exhaustion. So many changes, and now they're done, I wish I didn't bother consulting the original chapter as frequently as I did – there is barely any resemblance ('cept the last bit of course). Yeah...Pettigrew...I kind of wanted to explore why he became the traitor without plundering the character too much; it always annoys me when authors completely ignore him.
Hey you! Yeah, you! I can see you trying to close this window! You may as well review. After all, it only takes a few seconds :) Go on, you know you want to...