*****Author's Note: Thanks again to all of you who have reviewed! I'm really enjoying working on this story. Apologies for the delay this week—I had internet issues.
Because this is a story you really have to read all of, I'll try to notify my reviewers of when the next chapter goes online. Expect chapter four in the next few days!*****
Chapter Three
The Unexpeted Housekeeper
That evening, just after dinner, Moody returned to the house. While Lupin, Harry and Ron cleared the dinner table, Moody slumped into a chair, and took a deep draught from his hip flask. Even through his scarred and deeply lined face, Harry could tell he was exhausted.
"Alastor, why don't you go straight up to bed?" Mrs. Weasley asked, sitting down next to her husband. "You didn't get any rest at all last night—"
"Thanks all the same, but there's work to be done," he said. Harry had a peculiar prickling sensation on the back of his neck, and he realized as he turned around that it was because Moody's magical eye was fixed intently on him, rather than making its customary rolls around the house. "Never a moment's rest for an auror while the Death Eaters are loose. Speaking of which—"
He kicked the chair next to him so that it spun to face his own. "Harry, sit down. We need to have a little talk."
"Not again," Harry whispered to himself. After the talk with Lupin, Harry felt edgy and tired.
"Ron, why don't you go upstairs with Ginny," said Mr. Weasley. It clearly wasn't a question, but an order.
"But Mum!" Ron protested, but once again Mrs. Weasley's glare forbade any argument. With a noisy sigh, Ron sat down the glass he'd been drying and walked toward the stairs as slowly as possible. Harry could hear him muttering, "He'll tell me whatever you say anyway," as he shuffled up the stairs.
Professor Lupin sat down the dishes he'd been charming to clean themselves, and sat at the opposite end of the table. Mrs. Weasley's face went pink.
"Remember, Alastor, there's no need to worry Harry with unnecessary—" she began to protest, but Harry interrupted her.
"It's my life, Mrs. Weasley. I'm not a little boy." His voice had an edge which surprised even himself.
"That's right, Molly. The boy has a right to know," Moody agreed. "I should think we'd all agree with that now."
Mrs. Weasley sank into a chair. "I only meant—" she protested. Harry could tell she was hurt by the way her cheeks had flushed.
"We all know you just want the best for Harry," Lupin said, patting her hand, "but he's proved he can handle it. He's as tough as they come." Harry felt a surge of gratitude and a little pride.
Moody took another swig from his flask, and his magical eye resumed spiraling in its socket. "We turned those Death Eaters over to the Ministry," he said. "The man was Rookwood, but the woman was a newcomer. A witch by the name of Ariadne Noctus."
"I remember Ariadne," Lupin said quietly. "She was called Ariadne Arthurs back then. In our year at school. A Slytherin. She and Sirius once got into a fight—she jinxed him so badly he spent three days in the hospital wing having a spare leg and a pair of horns removed. He got her back, though," he added. "I'm not surprised she went over to Voldemort."
"If Voldemort's already taking in new supporters, that's not a good sign," Moody went on. "Especially since their first move was to attack you."
"How did they get past the charm on my house?" Harry asked.
"We don't know," Moody said, leaning forward in his chair. "Truth is, Dumbledore didn't think it was possible. They shouldn't have been able to come anywhere near you on Privet Drive. Add to that the fact that there were three different wizards watching you, and none of them even saw the Death Eaters until too late—well, somehow, they've got hold of some pretty powerful magic."
"Wait—three wizards watching me?" Harry interrrupted. "Three?"
"We only had one on you last summer and that wasn't enough. Now we know that Voldemort will stop at nothing until you're dead, and that's not going to happen. There have been three wizards watching you at all times since you left Hogwarts last June," Moody growled. "And there will be three wizards watching you every time you step off protected ground until Voldemort is dead."
"Someone could've told me," Harry protested. He was sick of being left out, sick of having all his decisions made for him.
"I just did," Moody retorted.
Harry resisted an urge to roll his eyes like Hermione. "Fine. So what do I do now?"
"You're to stay in protected locations," Moody said. "You're not to leave this house until you go to Hogwarts in the fall—Dumbledore's orders."
Harry's jaw dropped. It was like being under arrest. He hadn't done anything wrong, and yet he was being confined to this house as punishment. He couldn't even play quidditch in here, and he was woefully out of practice after being banned last year. Why was Dumbledore—what right did he have to sentence Harry like this?"
"It's for your own safety," Lupin said, but he didn't really sound convinced.
"This is—this is—" Harry couldn't find the words to express the injustice of it all.
"That's exactly how Sirius reacted," Lupin said.
"Harry, be reasonable," Mr. Weasley said. "It's only until September."
"Which is nearly two months away! I can't go out of the house for two full months? What about when I'm at Hogwarts?"
"You'll be free to move about on Hogwarts grounds, but we're not sure how we'll handle Hogsmeade yet," Moody said. "Dumbledore is working on it. If we can figure out how they got past the spell in the first place, that'll be one thing. But there's no use tempting fate."
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the stern looks of the others forced him to close it again. It was clear that there would be no discussion. He fought through the sense of burning injustice to ask another question that was on his mind.
"What are they doing with the Death Eaters? They'll escape from Azkaban." Everyone knew that the Dementors had switched to Voldemort's side. Last spring ten convicted Death Eaters had escaped, including Rookwood and Bellatrix Lestrange. Without the Dementors, there was nothing to hold them.
Moody looked at Mr. Weasley. "Actually," Mr. Weasley said, "we've found somewhere else to keep them. But the location must be kept secret at all costs. Just rest assured it's the safest place they could possibly be."
Harry just looked at him. Despite everything he'd proven himself capable of, they were still treating him like a child. His stomach felt even more leaden than before.
"I don't even know where they are, Harry," Lupin added, "although I have my suspicions."
"That's all settled then," Moody said, stretching. He yawned hugely, and then smiled at the Weasleys. "How long are you lot staying? It's good to have someone here all the time like this to keep the place in order. What with Sirius gone--"
Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat noisily. "We'll certainly be staying just as long as Harry has to be here. I must say, though, I wish there were some other member of the Order who could be here with the children. I feel so useless, staying in the house all the time. There's so much to be done out there…"
"It's an essential job, Molly," Lupin said. His face was very pale, and Harry realized that the full moon was only a few nights away. No wonder he had returned to Grimmauld Place. "And anyway, I'm here for a while…"
"Of course, I know that. But it was so much easier before." She stood, yawning, and squinted at the mantel clock. "Oh, goodness, look how late it is. Shall we all be off to bed?"
"Sounds like—" Moody began. His voice was cut off by the sudden cacophony of the doorbell and the accompanying cries of the portraits.
"Oh bother," Mrs. Weasley said. "Harry, dear, would you get the portrait? I'll go get the door."
She was halfway up the stairs when Moody reached out and grabbed her arm. His eye appeared to be fixed on an upper point on the wall, but Harry guessed he was looking at whoever was outside the door.
"Get Harry upstairs. Now," he said, his voice cold and rough as gravel.
Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened. "What—"
"Now!"
Mrs. Weasley changed gears instantly. She grabbed hold of Harry's arm, her face white, and muttered a hurried, "come along." He was half-escorted, half-pulled up the stairs and into the bedroom he shared with Ron. Harry sputtered protests, but despite the fact that he was at least a head taller than Mrs. Weasley, he couldn't quite fight free of her grasp.
The bedroom door flew open, and Ron and Ginny looked up from their exploding snap cards with eyes like ping-pong balls.
"Mum—" Ginny said loudly, but Mrs. Weasley simply thrust Harry into the room.
"Stay up here. I'll collect you when it's safe," she said, slamming the door. There was the muffled sound of the locking spell as she sealed the door.
Ron and Ginny both looked at Harry. He frowned. "Don't look at me—I'm just a little boy who has to be protected." He slumped onto his bed.
"Harry this isn't a good time to wallow in self pity," Ginny said. "You must have heard or seen something!"
Harry scowled at Ginny, but he answered her question. "The doorbell rang, and Moody told your mum to get me upstairs. That's it."
Ron frowned. "Do you reckon—"
"Hush," Ginny interrupted. "I'm going to listen." She pulled one Fred and George's extendable ears out of her pocket and tried to push it under the door. It wouldn't move. "Blast, she must have made it impervious."
She lay down on her stomach and pressed her ear to the floor. Ron and Harry exchanged a look, and then mimicked her action.
There was mostly silence. Ron sighed in frustration. Harry strained his ears harder. "Listen!" Ginny hissed. Ron dropped to his belly again.
A series of muffled cracks, like the ones that had accompanied the arrival of the Order at Privet Drive, echoed downstairs. A few moments later a few more cracks went off, and then the door slammed open, setting off the shrieks of the portraits. It sounded like the entire Order had arrived.
"How do they get here so quickly?" Ron whispered, but Ginny and Harry both hushed him.
There was silence for a few minutes. Harry's legs felt like they were going to fall asleep, but he didn't want to quit listening. There was a muffled shout, followed by a woman's voice, yelling loudly. A series of crashes accompanied by shrieks vibrated the floor, followed by total silence. Harry must've imagined it, but he could have sworn he saw flashes of greenish light from under the doorway. Then, another muffled crack.
When nearly twenty minutes had gone by without another sound, Harry sat up. Ginny followed suit, but Ron stayed on his stomach.
"What do you suppose all that was about?" Harry asked Ginny. He twisted the ring on his finger. It felt smooth and pleasantly cool.
"It sounded vicious," she said, rubbing her ear. It was red after being pressed against the floor.
"D'you think a Death Eater showed up here too?" Ron said, finally sitting up.
"No way," Harry said. "The Fidelius Charm, remember? No one could possibly even find the front door without Dumbledore telling them where it is."
"But Harry—" protested Ginny, "they got past the charm protecting you."
The three of them exchanged a horrified glance. "We could've just listened to everyone… Mum and Dad and Bill and everyone…" Ron said, his voice suddenly hoarse.
Ginny shook her head, looking at the door. "There are too many people in the Order. No matter how many Death Eaters they sent, it wouldn't be enough. I mean, you heard them apparating!"
"But what if—" Ron began, but Harry shook his head. Ron couldn't see Ginny's face from where he was sitting, but Harry could. Her eyes were slowly filling with tears.
"It's quiet now," Harry said. "If there was a fight, we must've won, or else we'd be hearing them looking for us."
Ginny nodded, and leaned back against the bed. She watched the wall in silence, her eyes half closed as she thought.
"How about a game of chess while we wait?" Ron asked. He nudged Harry.
"Uh, yeah. That sounds good. Ginny, you want to play?"
"There's no need to try and distract me, I'm fine," Ginny said. "You two go ahead. I'll just wait."
Ron pulled out the board, and the pieces assembled themselves eagerly. They played a few moves, but neither of them could enjoy the game. Eventually, despite the sounds of the battle between Harry's knight and a particularly zealous pawn, Harry turned away from the board. There was a creaking sound in the hallway that could only be caused by footsteps on the stairs.
Ron stood up, and Ginny scrambled onto the bed. They could hear the muffled speech of someone in the hallway. The door swung open.
"Hello, Harry," George said.
"George!" Ginny shouted. Her voice was divided between relief and anger.
"Hello, Ginny, Ron," he grinned. He was dressed in a particularly ugly violet robe with elaborate dragon-hide trim on the seams and a flamboyant "W" on the chest.
"What's going on?" Ron shouted. "We were shoved up here, no explanations, left for hours—" His face had gone red.
"False alarm, little brother," George said. "Just an owl gone astray sort of thing."
"Since when are you in the Order?" Harry demanded.
"Since we escaped the drudgery of academic life. We're adults, making money, doing our bit to save the world from the evil of You-know-who," he said, his grin vanishing. "But don't ask me to tell you anything because they still treat us like… well, us."
"George, if you don't tell me what happened down there right now, I'll—" Ginny began, pulling her wand out of her robes.
"Now, now little sister. You're underage. You'd hate to be the first Weasley to get chucked out of Hogwarts," George smirked.
"I dunno," Harry said with a grin. "Even I got a warning first. I reckon she has one good spell before they expell her." Ginny brandished her wand.
"I quiver in fear. Just come downstairs," George said turning around.
Despite the flurry of activity they had heard from upstairs, the sitting room was practically empty now. Fred was sitting between Bill and Mrs. Weasley, wearing robes just as dreadful as his brother's but in electric blue. George joined them. Lupin was sitting against the wall, his head in his hands, hiding his face. He looked exhausted, and Harry remembered that the moon was well up by now. Moody was speaking in low tones with a witch in muggle clothes who Harry didn't recognize. All of them looked pale and worried.
"Mum, what happened?" Ginny demanded.
"What? Oh, nothing, Ginny dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "Just a mistake. Nothing to worry about—we're well protected here." Her voice was slightly higher pitched than normal.
"We were up there for hours!" Ron said.
"Yes, well, we had to make sure everything was okay, didn't we?" Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Not to worry. Just a miscommunication."
"What kind of miscommunication?" Ron asked.
"Nothing to worry about," Mrs. Weasley responded. "Just an owl gone astray. Nothing to worry about at all."
"But—" Ron insisted.
"Drop it, Ron," Bill said under his breath. "There's nothing to tell you anyway."
The witch who had been talking to Moody broke away from the conversation and headed toward Harry and Ron. "Hello Harry," the witch said. She had dark eyes and long black hair with electric blue streaks running through it, and she was wearing a black lace minidress. Harry recognized her voice.
"Hello Tonks," he replied. "Good to see you."
"Heard you faced down a couple of baddies," she said. "Good for you!"
"Yeah, thanks," Harry said.
"I'm off again," she said, tugging her dress down a bit. She looked like a waitress in some sort of gothic coffee bar. "But I expect I'll be seeing you again soon," she added with a wink.
"Sure, take care," Harry said.
Ron and Ginny were trying to get Fred and George to tell them what had happened, but everyone insisted that it was all a mistake. Mrs. Weasley repeated the words "Nothing to worry about" like a mantra, and Harry felt quite certain that there was something to worry about. He sat down in the chair next to Lupin, who seemed the least likely to talk, and listened to the others chat for what seemed like hours.
"With all that chaos, why didn't Dumbledore show up?" Ginny whispered as she dropped into the chair next to Harry. Harry didn't say anything.
"He did," Lupin whispered without removing his head from his hands. "In fact, he's still here. He's upstairs in a bedroom, seeing to our unexpected guest."
"Unexpected guest?" Harry and Ginny whispered together.
"Yes. They don't want you to know until they've decided what to do. A woman showed up here tonight. A woman no one knows," he said. His voice was very quiet.
"What? Why?" Harry whispered back.
"How?" Ginny hissed.
"We don't know."
"Remus!" Mrs. Weasley's voice cut across the murmuring of the room.
"What, Molly?" He still refused to look up.
Her eyes searched what little of his face was visible, but seemed to find nothing. "I thought I heard something," she finally said.
Harry sighed in disgust. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he fought, would he always be treated like a little boy? Harry pushed his chair back. "I'm going to bed," he muttered. Ginny and Lupin muttered a quiet "Goodnight," to his retreating back, but he just ignored them. He made his way upstairs, changed clothes, and slipped into bed. He stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, but he never heard Ron come in. Harry didn't know when he actually drifted off to sleep, but it felt like ages later.
The next morning he woke up before Ron, and slipped into his clothes as quietly as possible. Judging by the dim light, it was only an hour or two after dawn.
As he passed the sitting room, he heard Hedwig hoot loudly. He turned on his heel, and opened the door. "Back already Hedwig? Oh—Professor—" Harry sputtered.
Dumbledore was bent over the writing desk, a stack of rolled parchment scrolls at his side. He looked up, and then sat down his pen. "Good morning, Harry," he said.
"'Morning," Harry returned.
Dumbledore steepled his hands and smiled. "It's been a very eventful few days for you, hasn't it?"
"My whole life has been eventful," Harry said. "I'm used to it; I can handle it."
"Yes, I daresay you can. Harry, about the events of last night—I have no desire to keep anything from you."
Harry's experience had taught him to jump on the opportunity. "What happened?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in their familiar way, and his voice took on its gentle tone. "It was only a bit of bad luck. I had been approached by a young woman who wished to offer the Order her services, and I sent her here. Unfortunately, the owl that was to communicate this information went astray."
"Was it intercepted?" Harry asked, remembering Hedwig's attack last year.
"Possibly," Dumbledore nodded, "although the note was far too simple to have been of any value."
"But last night—while we were upstairs, it took such a long time," Harry protested.
"Yes. Everyone is a little… edgy… after your attack, Harry. I can't fault them for their enthusiasm, and indeed, I encourage their caution. It was only reasonable that we take every precaution to ensure the safety of everyone in this household. Of course, eventually, we were able to sort things out, and our newest member in the fight against Voldemort has taken her place."
"So, the woman—she's here now?" Harry asked.
"Yes. She's in the kitchen in fact. Cooking breakfast. I should go have some if I were you—she makes marvelous pancakes." He lifted his pen again and bent back over the parchment. It was clear that he considered the matter closed for now, and Harry turned toward the door. He wasn't entirely satisfied with Dumbledore's account of events. There was still something he was hiding.
Harry slipped down the steps to the kitchen as quietly as possible. The woman had her back to the door, and she was flipping pancakes with a spatula. A stack of them sat on a plate beside her already, and Harry could smell bacon sizzling as well. She was humming to herself.
She turned to put the plate on the table, and jumped at the sight of Harry.
"Oh!" she said, but recovered quickly. She smiled pleasantly, sat down the plate, and wiped her hands on her apron. "I didn't hear you coming."
"No, I imagine not. I was trying to be quiet, after all."
She grinned. "You're up early." She held out her hand. "I'm Mira McKinney. You'd be Harry Potter, yes?"
"Yes," said Harry, shaking her hand, but not smiling.
"It's good to meet you," Mira said, smiling. She was very tall, and not particularly thin. She had a pretty face, and her dark-blond hair fell in unruly curls to her shoulders. She looked to be around the same age as Bill, and something in her air reminded Harry of nothing so much as someone else's older sister. "I expect you were a bit shaken by my arrival last night. Everybody else was."
"It was rather unexpected," Harry said, looking her straight in the eyes.
"Yes, but they needn't have worried. There are spells protecting this place after all. I couldn't have turned up if I wasn't invited, could I? Would you like juice or tea? Or do you take coffee with your breakfast?"
"Er, juice," Harry said. "You're wearing muggle clothes." Besides the apron, she was wearing a green sundress.
"Yes," Mira said. "Grab that bottle of syrup, would you? I expect Mr. Weasley and Mr. Moody will be down in a moment—they're awfully busy at the ministry these days. I'm a squib. Oh, and there are extra forks in the drawer if you need one."
Harry had to replay that statement in his head to pull out the important bits. "Wait… you're a squib?"
"That's right. Bacon?" she said, shoveling a few slices onto his plate with her spatula.
"Then what are you doing here?"
"I wanted to do something," she said. "Even squibs aren't happy sitting about in our houses waiting for the entire world to blow up, you know. If there are any crunchy bits in the pancakes, don't eat them. I accidentally dropped my Walkman in there, but no worries—I have a spare upstairs. I happened to run into Dumbledore a while ago, and offered my services. He said I could fill in as a housekeeper for a while, if I like."
"But how did you even know about the Order?" Harry asked, after once again mentally dissecting the statement. Benign as she seemed, the story seemed full of holes to Harry, and he was sick of being left in the dark. He couldn't believe she had just volunteered. Even with the wizarding world aware of Voldemort's return, the Order was still spending half their time trying to find wizards to help in the fight against Voldemort. Most just wanted to hide.
"I didn't. I just offered to help and Dumbledore accepted. It was a lucky estimate on my part," she said, helping herself to a bit of bacon.
"Lucky what?" Harry said.
"Estimate? Surmise? Guess?"
"Er. Right," Harry said, and bit into his bacon. The whole thing still seemed a bit fishy to Harry. Mira returned to the stove and began pouring more pancakes. "Wait—how did you know Dumbledore?"
"Are you kidding? Everyone knows Dumbledore!" Mira said.
"Ah, good morning Harry. You're up early," Mr. Weasley said as he sat down at the table.
"Good morning Mr. Weasley," Mira said, smiling. "Would you care for some pancakes?"
"No, thank you, Mira," he replied. Harry thought his voice might have been a bit more curt than usual. Perhaps he wasn't the only one who thought her story seemed a bit off. "Just tea. Look at this, Harry. I've just gotten a new plug. What do you think of it?"
Harry and Mr. Weasley were engrossed in a conversation about such fascinating muggle inventions as flashlights and batteries that they didn't particularly acknowledge the kitchen slowly filling up with sleepy-faced people around them.
"I really must see these batteries sometime, Harry," Mr. Weasley said smiling. "And some of the machines to go with them. It really is amazing how muggles get along!"
"I have a cd player with my things upstairs," Mira said. "I'd be happy to show it to you if you like." She was busy pouring more batter into the skillet as people devoured the pancakes. Even Harry had to admit they were delicious.
Mr. Weasley's face fought a momentary war over expressions. Pleased surprise won. "Yes, thank you, Mira. I'd love to have a look at it later."
"These are delicious," Ron murmured, stuffing another entire pancake into his mouth.
"My own secret recipe," Mira grinned over her shoulder.
"We ought to go, Arthur," Moody said, standing up. Mr. Weasley followed. "There's too much to do and not enough time."
"Harry, Ron—take care of yourselves," Mr. Weasley said sternly. For a moment, his eyes flicked toward Mira.
Because this is a story you really have to read all of, I'll try to notify my reviewers of when the next chapter goes online. Expect chapter four in the next few days!*****
Chapter Three
The Unexpeted Housekeeper
That evening, just after dinner, Moody returned to the house. While Lupin, Harry and Ron cleared the dinner table, Moody slumped into a chair, and took a deep draught from his hip flask. Even through his scarred and deeply lined face, Harry could tell he was exhausted.
"Alastor, why don't you go straight up to bed?" Mrs. Weasley asked, sitting down next to her husband. "You didn't get any rest at all last night—"
"Thanks all the same, but there's work to be done," he said. Harry had a peculiar prickling sensation on the back of his neck, and he realized as he turned around that it was because Moody's magical eye was fixed intently on him, rather than making its customary rolls around the house. "Never a moment's rest for an auror while the Death Eaters are loose. Speaking of which—"
He kicked the chair next to him so that it spun to face his own. "Harry, sit down. We need to have a little talk."
"Not again," Harry whispered to himself. After the talk with Lupin, Harry felt edgy and tired.
"Ron, why don't you go upstairs with Ginny," said Mr. Weasley. It clearly wasn't a question, but an order.
"But Mum!" Ron protested, but once again Mrs. Weasley's glare forbade any argument. With a noisy sigh, Ron sat down the glass he'd been drying and walked toward the stairs as slowly as possible. Harry could hear him muttering, "He'll tell me whatever you say anyway," as he shuffled up the stairs.
Professor Lupin sat down the dishes he'd been charming to clean themselves, and sat at the opposite end of the table. Mrs. Weasley's face went pink.
"Remember, Alastor, there's no need to worry Harry with unnecessary—" she began to protest, but Harry interrupted her.
"It's my life, Mrs. Weasley. I'm not a little boy." His voice had an edge which surprised even himself.
"That's right, Molly. The boy has a right to know," Moody agreed. "I should think we'd all agree with that now."
Mrs. Weasley sank into a chair. "I only meant—" she protested. Harry could tell she was hurt by the way her cheeks had flushed.
"We all know you just want the best for Harry," Lupin said, patting her hand, "but he's proved he can handle it. He's as tough as they come." Harry felt a surge of gratitude and a little pride.
Moody took another swig from his flask, and his magical eye resumed spiraling in its socket. "We turned those Death Eaters over to the Ministry," he said. "The man was Rookwood, but the woman was a newcomer. A witch by the name of Ariadne Noctus."
"I remember Ariadne," Lupin said quietly. "She was called Ariadne Arthurs back then. In our year at school. A Slytherin. She and Sirius once got into a fight—she jinxed him so badly he spent three days in the hospital wing having a spare leg and a pair of horns removed. He got her back, though," he added. "I'm not surprised she went over to Voldemort."
"If Voldemort's already taking in new supporters, that's not a good sign," Moody went on. "Especially since their first move was to attack you."
"How did they get past the charm on my house?" Harry asked.
"We don't know," Moody said, leaning forward in his chair. "Truth is, Dumbledore didn't think it was possible. They shouldn't have been able to come anywhere near you on Privet Drive. Add to that the fact that there were three different wizards watching you, and none of them even saw the Death Eaters until too late—well, somehow, they've got hold of some pretty powerful magic."
"Wait—three wizards watching me?" Harry interrrupted. "Three?"
"We only had one on you last summer and that wasn't enough. Now we know that Voldemort will stop at nothing until you're dead, and that's not going to happen. There have been three wizards watching you at all times since you left Hogwarts last June," Moody growled. "And there will be three wizards watching you every time you step off protected ground until Voldemort is dead."
"Someone could've told me," Harry protested. He was sick of being left out, sick of having all his decisions made for him.
"I just did," Moody retorted.
Harry resisted an urge to roll his eyes like Hermione. "Fine. So what do I do now?"
"You're to stay in protected locations," Moody said. "You're not to leave this house until you go to Hogwarts in the fall—Dumbledore's orders."
Harry's jaw dropped. It was like being under arrest. He hadn't done anything wrong, and yet he was being confined to this house as punishment. He couldn't even play quidditch in here, and he was woefully out of practice after being banned last year. Why was Dumbledore—what right did he have to sentence Harry like this?"
"It's for your own safety," Lupin said, but he didn't really sound convinced.
"This is—this is—" Harry couldn't find the words to express the injustice of it all.
"That's exactly how Sirius reacted," Lupin said.
"Harry, be reasonable," Mr. Weasley said. "It's only until September."
"Which is nearly two months away! I can't go out of the house for two full months? What about when I'm at Hogwarts?"
"You'll be free to move about on Hogwarts grounds, but we're not sure how we'll handle Hogsmeade yet," Moody said. "Dumbledore is working on it. If we can figure out how they got past the spell in the first place, that'll be one thing. But there's no use tempting fate."
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the stern looks of the others forced him to close it again. It was clear that there would be no discussion. He fought through the sense of burning injustice to ask another question that was on his mind.
"What are they doing with the Death Eaters? They'll escape from Azkaban." Everyone knew that the Dementors had switched to Voldemort's side. Last spring ten convicted Death Eaters had escaped, including Rookwood and Bellatrix Lestrange. Without the Dementors, there was nothing to hold them.
Moody looked at Mr. Weasley. "Actually," Mr. Weasley said, "we've found somewhere else to keep them. But the location must be kept secret at all costs. Just rest assured it's the safest place they could possibly be."
Harry just looked at him. Despite everything he'd proven himself capable of, they were still treating him like a child. His stomach felt even more leaden than before.
"I don't even know where they are, Harry," Lupin added, "although I have my suspicions."
"That's all settled then," Moody said, stretching. He yawned hugely, and then smiled at the Weasleys. "How long are you lot staying? It's good to have someone here all the time like this to keep the place in order. What with Sirius gone--"
Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat noisily. "We'll certainly be staying just as long as Harry has to be here. I must say, though, I wish there were some other member of the Order who could be here with the children. I feel so useless, staying in the house all the time. There's so much to be done out there…"
"It's an essential job, Molly," Lupin said. His face was very pale, and Harry realized that the full moon was only a few nights away. No wonder he had returned to Grimmauld Place. "And anyway, I'm here for a while…"
"Of course, I know that. But it was so much easier before." She stood, yawning, and squinted at the mantel clock. "Oh, goodness, look how late it is. Shall we all be off to bed?"
"Sounds like—" Moody began. His voice was cut off by the sudden cacophony of the doorbell and the accompanying cries of the portraits.
"Oh bother," Mrs. Weasley said. "Harry, dear, would you get the portrait? I'll go get the door."
She was halfway up the stairs when Moody reached out and grabbed her arm. His eye appeared to be fixed on an upper point on the wall, but Harry guessed he was looking at whoever was outside the door.
"Get Harry upstairs. Now," he said, his voice cold and rough as gravel.
Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened. "What—"
"Now!"
Mrs. Weasley changed gears instantly. She grabbed hold of Harry's arm, her face white, and muttered a hurried, "come along." He was half-escorted, half-pulled up the stairs and into the bedroom he shared with Ron. Harry sputtered protests, but despite the fact that he was at least a head taller than Mrs. Weasley, he couldn't quite fight free of her grasp.
The bedroom door flew open, and Ron and Ginny looked up from their exploding snap cards with eyes like ping-pong balls.
"Mum—" Ginny said loudly, but Mrs. Weasley simply thrust Harry into the room.
"Stay up here. I'll collect you when it's safe," she said, slamming the door. There was the muffled sound of the locking spell as she sealed the door.
Ron and Ginny both looked at Harry. He frowned. "Don't look at me—I'm just a little boy who has to be protected." He slumped onto his bed.
"Harry this isn't a good time to wallow in self pity," Ginny said. "You must have heard or seen something!"
Harry scowled at Ginny, but he answered her question. "The doorbell rang, and Moody told your mum to get me upstairs. That's it."
Ron frowned. "Do you reckon—"
"Hush," Ginny interrupted. "I'm going to listen." She pulled one Fred and George's extendable ears out of her pocket and tried to push it under the door. It wouldn't move. "Blast, she must have made it impervious."
She lay down on her stomach and pressed her ear to the floor. Ron and Harry exchanged a look, and then mimicked her action.
There was mostly silence. Ron sighed in frustration. Harry strained his ears harder. "Listen!" Ginny hissed. Ron dropped to his belly again.
A series of muffled cracks, like the ones that had accompanied the arrival of the Order at Privet Drive, echoed downstairs. A few moments later a few more cracks went off, and then the door slammed open, setting off the shrieks of the portraits. It sounded like the entire Order had arrived.
"How do they get here so quickly?" Ron whispered, but Ginny and Harry both hushed him.
There was silence for a few minutes. Harry's legs felt like they were going to fall asleep, but he didn't want to quit listening. There was a muffled shout, followed by a woman's voice, yelling loudly. A series of crashes accompanied by shrieks vibrated the floor, followed by total silence. Harry must've imagined it, but he could have sworn he saw flashes of greenish light from under the doorway. Then, another muffled crack.
When nearly twenty minutes had gone by without another sound, Harry sat up. Ginny followed suit, but Ron stayed on his stomach.
"What do you suppose all that was about?" Harry asked Ginny. He twisted the ring on his finger. It felt smooth and pleasantly cool.
"It sounded vicious," she said, rubbing her ear. It was red after being pressed against the floor.
"D'you think a Death Eater showed up here too?" Ron said, finally sitting up.
"No way," Harry said. "The Fidelius Charm, remember? No one could possibly even find the front door without Dumbledore telling them where it is."
"But Harry—" protested Ginny, "they got past the charm protecting you."
The three of them exchanged a horrified glance. "We could've just listened to everyone… Mum and Dad and Bill and everyone…" Ron said, his voice suddenly hoarse.
Ginny shook her head, looking at the door. "There are too many people in the Order. No matter how many Death Eaters they sent, it wouldn't be enough. I mean, you heard them apparating!"
"But what if—" Ron began, but Harry shook his head. Ron couldn't see Ginny's face from where he was sitting, but Harry could. Her eyes were slowly filling with tears.
"It's quiet now," Harry said. "If there was a fight, we must've won, or else we'd be hearing them looking for us."
Ginny nodded, and leaned back against the bed. She watched the wall in silence, her eyes half closed as she thought.
"How about a game of chess while we wait?" Ron asked. He nudged Harry.
"Uh, yeah. That sounds good. Ginny, you want to play?"
"There's no need to try and distract me, I'm fine," Ginny said. "You two go ahead. I'll just wait."
Ron pulled out the board, and the pieces assembled themselves eagerly. They played a few moves, but neither of them could enjoy the game. Eventually, despite the sounds of the battle between Harry's knight and a particularly zealous pawn, Harry turned away from the board. There was a creaking sound in the hallway that could only be caused by footsteps on the stairs.
Ron stood up, and Ginny scrambled onto the bed. They could hear the muffled speech of someone in the hallway. The door swung open.
"Hello, Harry," George said.
"George!" Ginny shouted. Her voice was divided between relief and anger.
"Hello, Ginny, Ron," he grinned. He was dressed in a particularly ugly violet robe with elaborate dragon-hide trim on the seams and a flamboyant "W" on the chest.
"What's going on?" Ron shouted. "We were shoved up here, no explanations, left for hours—" His face had gone red.
"False alarm, little brother," George said. "Just an owl gone astray sort of thing."
"Since when are you in the Order?" Harry demanded.
"Since we escaped the drudgery of academic life. We're adults, making money, doing our bit to save the world from the evil of You-know-who," he said, his grin vanishing. "But don't ask me to tell you anything because they still treat us like… well, us."
"George, if you don't tell me what happened down there right now, I'll—" Ginny began, pulling her wand out of her robes.
"Now, now little sister. You're underage. You'd hate to be the first Weasley to get chucked out of Hogwarts," George smirked.
"I dunno," Harry said with a grin. "Even I got a warning first. I reckon she has one good spell before they expell her." Ginny brandished her wand.
"I quiver in fear. Just come downstairs," George said turning around.
Despite the flurry of activity they had heard from upstairs, the sitting room was practically empty now. Fred was sitting between Bill and Mrs. Weasley, wearing robes just as dreadful as his brother's but in electric blue. George joined them. Lupin was sitting against the wall, his head in his hands, hiding his face. He looked exhausted, and Harry remembered that the moon was well up by now. Moody was speaking in low tones with a witch in muggle clothes who Harry didn't recognize. All of them looked pale and worried.
"Mum, what happened?" Ginny demanded.
"What? Oh, nothing, Ginny dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "Just a mistake. Nothing to worry about—we're well protected here." Her voice was slightly higher pitched than normal.
"We were up there for hours!" Ron said.
"Yes, well, we had to make sure everything was okay, didn't we?" Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Not to worry. Just a miscommunication."
"What kind of miscommunication?" Ron asked.
"Nothing to worry about," Mrs. Weasley responded. "Just an owl gone astray. Nothing to worry about at all."
"But—" Ron insisted.
"Drop it, Ron," Bill said under his breath. "There's nothing to tell you anyway."
The witch who had been talking to Moody broke away from the conversation and headed toward Harry and Ron. "Hello Harry," the witch said. She had dark eyes and long black hair with electric blue streaks running through it, and she was wearing a black lace minidress. Harry recognized her voice.
"Hello Tonks," he replied. "Good to see you."
"Heard you faced down a couple of baddies," she said. "Good for you!"
"Yeah, thanks," Harry said.
"I'm off again," she said, tugging her dress down a bit. She looked like a waitress in some sort of gothic coffee bar. "But I expect I'll be seeing you again soon," she added with a wink.
"Sure, take care," Harry said.
Ron and Ginny were trying to get Fred and George to tell them what had happened, but everyone insisted that it was all a mistake. Mrs. Weasley repeated the words "Nothing to worry about" like a mantra, and Harry felt quite certain that there was something to worry about. He sat down in the chair next to Lupin, who seemed the least likely to talk, and listened to the others chat for what seemed like hours.
"With all that chaos, why didn't Dumbledore show up?" Ginny whispered as she dropped into the chair next to Harry. Harry didn't say anything.
"He did," Lupin whispered without removing his head from his hands. "In fact, he's still here. He's upstairs in a bedroom, seeing to our unexpected guest."
"Unexpected guest?" Harry and Ginny whispered together.
"Yes. They don't want you to know until they've decided what to do. A woman showed up here tonight. A woman no one knows," he said. His voice was very quiet.
"What? Why?" Harry whispered back.
"How?" Ginny hissed.
"We don't know."
"Remus!" Mrs. Weasley's voice cut across the murmuring of the room.
"What, Molly?" He still refused to look up.
Her eyes searched what little of his face was visible, but seemed to find nothing. "I thought I heard something," she finally said.
Harry sighed in disgust. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he fought, would he always be treated like a little boy? Harry pushed his chair back. "I'm going to bed," he muttered. Ginny and Lupin muttered a quiet "Goodnight," to his retreating back, but he just ignored them. He made his way upstairs, changed clothes, and slipped into bed. He stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, but he never heard Ron come in. Harry didn't know when he actually drifted off to sleep, but it felt like ages later.
The next morning he woke up before Ron, and slipped into his clothes as quietly as possible. Judging by the dim light, it was only an hour or two after dawn.
As he passed the sitting room, he heard Hedwig hoot loudly. He turned on his heel, and opened the door. "Back already Hedwig? Oh—Professor—" Harry sputtered.
Dumbledore was bent over the writing desk, a stack of rolled parchment scrolls at his side. He looked up, and then sat down his pen. "Good morning, Harry," he said.
"'Morning," Harry returned.
Dumbledore steepled his hands and smiled. "It's been a very eventful few days for you, hasn't it?"
"My whole life has been eventful," Harry said. "I'm used to it; I can handle it."
"Yes, I daresay you can. Harry, about the events of last night—I have no desire to keep anything from you."
Harry's experience had taught him to jump on the opportunity. "What happened?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in their familiar way, and his voice took on its gentle tone. "It was only a bit of bad luck. I had been approached by a young woman who wished to offer the Order her services, and I sent her here. Unfortunately, the owl that was to communicate this information went astray."
"Was it intercepted?" Harry asked, remembering Hedwig's attack last year.
"Possibly," Dumbledore nodded, "although the note was far too simple to have been of any value."
"But last night—while we were upstairs, it took such a long time," Harry protested.
"Yes. Everyone is a little… edgy… after your attack, Harry. I can't fault them for their enthusiasm, and indeed, I encourage their caution. It was only reasonable that we take every precaution to ensure the safety of everyone in this household. Of course, eventually, we were able to sort things out, and our newest member in the fight against Voldemort has taken her place."
"So, the woman—she's here now?" Harry asked.
"Yes. She's in the kitchen in fact. Cooking breakfast. I should go have some if I were you—she makes marvelous pancakes." He lifted his pen again and bent back over the parchment. It was clear that he considered the matter closed for now, and Harry turned toward the door. He wasn't entirely satisfied with Dumbledore's account of events. There was still something he was hiding.
Harry slipped down the steps to the kitchen as quietly as possible. The woman had her back to the door, and she was flipping pancakes with a spatula. A stack of them sat on a plate beside her already, and Harry could smell bacon sizzling as well. She was humming to herself.
She turned to put the plate on the table, and jumped at the sight of Harry.
"Oh!" she said, but recovered quickly. She smiled pleasantly, sat down the plate, and wiped her hands on her apron. "I didn't hear you coming."
"No, I imagine not. I was trying to be quiet, after all."
She grinned. "You're up early." She held out her hand. "I'm Mira McKinney. You'd be Harry Potter, yes?"
"Yes," said Harry, shaking her hand, but not smiling.
"It's good to meet you," Mira said, smiling. She was very tall, and not particularly thin. She had a pretty face, and her dark-blond hair fell in unruly curls to her shoulders. She looked to be around the same age as Bill, and something in her air reminded Harry of nothing so much as someone else's older sister. "I expect you were a bit shaken by my arrival last night. Everybody else was."
"It was rather unexpected," Harry said, looking her straight in the eyes.
"Yes, but they needn't have worried. There are spells protecting this place after all. I couldn't have turned up if I wasn't invited, could I? Would you like juice or tea? Or do you take coffee with your breakfast?"
"Er, juice," Harry said. "You're wearing muggle clothes." Besides the apron, she was wearing a green sundress.
"Yes," Mira said. "Grab that bottle of syrup, would you? I expect Mr. Weasley and Mr. Moody will be down in a moment—they're awfully busy at the ministry these days. I'm a squib. Oh, and there are extra forks in the drawer if you need one."
Harry had to replay that statement in his head to pull out the important bits. "Wait… you're a squib?"
"That's right. Bacon?" she said, shoveling a few slices onto his plate with her spatula.
"Then what are you doing here?"
"I wanted to do something," she said. "Even squibs aren't happy sitting about in our houses waiting for the entire world to blow up, you know. If there are any crunchy bits in the pancakes, don't eat them. I accidentally dropped my Walkman in there, but no worries—I have a spare upstairs. I happened to run into Dumbledore a while ago, and offered my services. He said I could fill in as a housekeeper for a while, if I like."
"But how did you even know about the Order?" Harry asked, after once again mentally dissecting the statement. Benign as she seemed, the story seemed full of holes to Harry, and he was sick of being left in the dark. He couldn't believe she had just volunteered. Even with the wizarding world aware of Voldemort's return, the Order was still spending half their time trying to find wizards to help in the fight against Voldemort. Most just wanted to hide.
"I didn't. I just offered to help and Dumbledore accepted. It was a lucky estimate on my part," she said, helping herself to a bit of bacon.
"Lucky what?" Harry said.
"Estimate? Surmise? Guess?"
"Er. Right," Harry said, and bit into his bacon. The whole thing still seemed a bit fishy to Harry. Mira returned to the stove and began pouring more pancakes. "Wait—how did you know Dumbledore?"
"Are you kidding? Everyone knows Dumbledore!" Mira said.
"Ah, good morning Harry. You're up early," Mr. Weasley said as he sat down at the table.
"Good morning Mr. Weasley," Mira said, smiling. "Would you care for some pancakes?"
"No, thank you, Mira," he replied. Harry thought his voice might have been a bit more curt than usual. Perhaps he wasn't the only one who thought her story seemed a bit off. "Just tea. Look at this, Harry. I've just gotten a new plug. What do you think of it?"
Harry and Mr. Weasley were engrossed in a conversation about such fascinating muggle inventions as flashlights and batteries that they didn't particularly acknowledge the kitchen slowly filling up with sleepy-faced people around them.
"I really must see these batteries sometime, Harry," Mr. Weasley said smiling. "And some of the machines to go with them. It really is amazing how muggles get along!"
"I have a cd player with my things upstairs," Mira said. "I'd be happy to show it to you if you like." She was busy pouring more batter into the skillet as people devoured the pancakes. Even Harry had to admit they were delicious.
Mr. Weasley's face fought a momentary war over expressions. Pleased surprise won. "Yes, thank you, Mira. I'd love to have a look at it later."
"These are delicious," Ron murmured, stuffing another entire pancake into his mouth.
"My own secret recipe," Mira grinned over her shoulder.
"We ought to go, Arthur," Moody said, standing up. Mr. Weasley followed. "There's too much to do and not enough time."
"Harry, Ron—take care of yourselves," Mr. Weasley said sternly. For a moment, his eyes flicked toward Mira.