The strange man coughed as he stepped out of the fireplace into the living room. Average height, average weight, average curly brown hair and hazel eyes--yes, he looked the part of Mr. Joe Average. Ironically, this was ideal for his job: Agent Matthew McIntosh, undercover agent for the newly founded Order of the Pheonix.

As any good agent would do, he surveyed the room (even if it was headquarters). Harry Potter. Figured. Ron Weasly and sister Ginny, children of Arthur Weasly, siblings to Percival Weasly. Hermione Granger, the most brilliant witch of the time. Neville Longbottom--everyone knew (and feared) his grandmother. Luna Lovegood; somewhat crazy but had been part of the group too long to be left out. And who was this wide-eyed stranger off by herself?

"Hey, Matt," greeted Neville, smiling and stepping forward. McIntosh dusted himself off. He didn't like being called Matt. Sounded pretty informal to him, and formal was his middle name--which he never revealed to anyone, of course. Names could be valuable information to the enemy.

"Neville," McIntosh acknowledged. "Luna, Hermione, Harry, Ginevra, Ronald," he added, nodding with each name. "And who might this stranger be?"

Leonora turned her head briefly. She was still too tired to take in all the new people and new ideas.

"Leonora," Neville said proudly. "My sister."

"Hello, Ms. Longbottom," McIntosh said. "Pleased to meet you."

Leonora smiled a smile that flashed across her face faster this stranger could make the tension in the room dissolve--which was, incidentally, quite fast. "Hello," she said softly. Goodness, was he ever handsome. She couldn't help it. She was a girl, and thanks to pre-menstrual syndrome, she was hormonal as a baboon flashing her big red bottom. Another smile creeped across her face, goofy but well-meaning. It stayed there.

McIntosh smiled back, a bit unsure. This girl seemed mentally unstable. Although, he had to say, she was rather pretty, in a way. He always liked girls with curly hair. What was he thinking? He never liked girls! Well, okay, he liked them. But he never acted on his feelings. Inter-personal relationships got messy when one was constantly undercover. He didn't have time for the female sex, family, or recreation. His life was strictly work.

"Anyway," Neville continued, blissfully unaware of his sister's thoughts (and McIntosh's, for that matter), "Matt, I asked you to come today so you could help introduce my sister to a few things. She's... well, let's say she's an honorary member, but she's pretty clueless."

"Clueless?" McIntosh asked, a bit curious.

"She's a squib," Neville admitted.

"Oh." McIntosh's mind was suddenly racing. This wasn't right! She shouldn't be involved! However much he was opposed, this opposition to her involvement didn't show on his face. He had worked very hard on an adequate poker face for his missions, and it showed (the hard work, not his feelings).

"Anyway. We need you to show her a few things. After all, you can explain it better. We've got a bit of work to do..."

McIntosh knew that complaining to his boss was not a good idea. He was supposed to just do what he was told. Neville wanted him to jump? How high? It was that sort of attitude that made a good secret agent. But he so wanted to argue. She was not even magical, for crying out loud!

Still, he restrained himself. "Come on, Leonora," he said a bit too gruffly, motioning for her to follow him upstairs.

Leonora was giddy. He had a really nice arse, tight as he led her up the stairs with a business-like manner.

"So," she said, "are you in the... erm... Order?" Was that what it was called? The Order?

He appeared to dismiss this attempt at polite conversation. "Ms. Longbottom, we have work to get to. Please don't waste time with trivial matters."

Leonora didn't see how his involvement in the Order was trivial. After all, he seemed to take it pretty seriously himself.

"The Order of the Pheonix," he began, opening a door for her, motioning for her to step inside, and following, closing the door behind him, "was started a long time ago, before we were even born. Our Parents and Grandparents, even Great-Grandparents, were in it, and it was strong."

Leonora so wanted to ask a question but knew she'd get scolded again. She kept quiet, still staring at that wonderful body (specifically his arse) as he paced in front of the window. His sillhouette was very defined, that was for sure.

"Have a seat," he said, pointing to a small stool next to a desk. She sat obediently, taking it more as a command than a polite suggestion.

"They started it because there was a man named Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was convinced he was different than all the other half-bloods, and wanted to make the world simple: pure-bloods only, and all under his rule.

"He killed mercilessly, split his soul, until he came upon a prophecy. The prophecy said that a baby born in July would defeat him. He didn't like that one bit.

"So this man, who called himself Voldemort, came after Harry. There were two babies the prophecy could have referred to, and the other was Neville. But Voldemort saw Harry as more of a threat. So he came to get him.

"Harry's parents were both killed trying to save their baby. He was barely a year old.

"But the curse on Harry rebounded. Instead of dying, Harry was left with no more physical trauma than a lightning-bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. The curse hit Voldemort full-force, and everyone assumed he was dead, gone for good. Harry was the only one to ever survive that killing curse, and he was hardly old enough to sit up on his own.

"But Voldemort wasn't entirely dead. Because bits of his soul rested in other objects, he kept reincarnating himself, over and over. Meanwhile, Harry attended wizarding school, where he was often attacked by Voldemort or his underlings, the Death Eaters.

"Dumbledore, the headmaster of the school, was hell-bent on destroying every object that contained that soul. And eventually, he died trying.

"Harry continued what Dumbledore had started. He found all the bits and destroyed them, one-by-one. And eventually, there was only two left. The one in Voldemort's body... and one that was inside Harry.

"He had to kill himself."

Leonora didn't see where this was going. If Harry killed himself, how was he alive?

"So he let Voldemort kill him... but because of a love inside him and his parent's love, and lots of gooey love, he managed to come back to life, free of Voldemort's soul. There was only one peice of soul left, and it was in Voldemort himself.

"There was a big fight... and Harry won, blowing Voldemort into bits. Lots of people died, Leonora. It was a day to remember. But finally we were free of a long-standing paranoia, afraid to trust anyone, and we could trust people and live our lives."

Leonora liked that bit.

"That's what we thought, anyway. Fast forward a few years... and the Death Eaters are back and on a killing spree... and that's why we re-founded the Order. "

Leonora just had to talk now. "So this crazy guy, put his soul in other things, and then they were destroyed, and Harry killed himself, but then he came back to life, and killed Voldemort, and now his servants are back?"

McIntosh glared at her. "You make it sound petty. It's not. Millions have died and hundreds more are dying."

"I do NOT think it's petty!" exclaimed Leonora. Seemed that everyone around here thought that because she was a squib, she was incompetent. "It sounds very important and I can help just as much as anyone else."

McIntosh looked stunned.

"And I don't know WHO you think you are," continued Leonora angrily, "but I'm not gonna let some work-obsessed spy with an overinflated ego and a great arse tell ME what I'M thinking!"

Oh, no, she thought. Did I just say that out loud?

McIntosh's eyes were wide. He walked to the door, opened it, stepped out, closed it behind him. Suddenly there were a few stomps, a loud swear word, and he came back in.

"Ms. Longbottom," he said, no emotion in his voice. "If I may ask... what did you just say?"