Disclaimer: don't own any of JK's characters. Just my originals.
At promptly 5 minutes after noon, two lovely young witches decended upon the office of Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in a flurry of swishing robes and cheerful giggles. The taller of the two women, a brown haired witch with a sweet, round face and an awkward looking pair of glasses, breezed through the aging wizard's cluttered office and planted a kiss firmly on his whiskered cheek. Her companion, who was just as much at home in the Headmaster's office, was content to help herself to a chair. She tucked an unruly strand of auburn hair behind her ear and settled her petite body deeper into the cushion.
"Lemon drop?" the old wizard offered, eyes twinkling behind crescent moon spectacles.
"Yes, thank you Uncle Albus," the brown haired witch replied, and her eyes twinkled back. She reached across the desk and from a glass bowl snatched two pieces of candy, one of which she tossed to her friend, . The subjects of an enchanted photograph waved at her from inside their frame. "Look, Fiona, it's us at graduation. He kept it!"
"But of course, my dears," Dumbledore observed. "It would hardly be right not to honor such an unusual class. Year of inter-house harmonies, I believe we called it. Produced twelve aurors, twenty-one healers, eight Ministry chairmen, two professional quidditch seekers, and a banker."
"Of course the fact that Myriad and I are in the picture holds no bearing on your keeping it here," Fiona laughed.
"You think I would indulge in favoritism with my only living relation?" he chuckled. "If I didn't know any better, I might think you were accusing the great Albus Dumbledore of an imperfection."
They fell into a sort of awkward silence for a moment or two, both women remembering the few times the headmaster's favoritism had ended up complicating things. When the headmaster looked up, his face had grown serious.
"Ah, the foolish things we try to outwit fate." For a moment, he looked his age. "I don't suppose you'd want to change your minds? No? Well, in that case, I must welcome you to the Order of the Phoenix. You are most welcome to attend this evening's meeting. Please keep in mind that this organization is, of yet, not supposed to be in operation. You are among my select confidents."
The two friends exchanged a grin that would have done Fred and George Weasley proud. Professor Dumbledore scowled. The girls were talented aurors. They had only been out of the University for 4 years, but they were already surpassing the other aurors by leaps and bounds. Even Alastor "Madeye" Moody had complimented their work, and Moody wasn't one to give compliments freely. Yet somehow when the two of them were sitting there looking so thrilled at the thought of giving up their youth to take on the most powerful dark wizard of the century, he couldn't help but worry. They looked exactly like the scheming partners in crime they had been at Hogwarts.
"Don't give us that face," Myriadria Dumbledore teased, "We know what we're getting into. It's just that…well, you've always protected and sheltered us so well. And now it's our turn to watch over a new generation. And it's exciting. It was what we started out to do."
Her granduncle busied himself cleaning the non-existent smudges from his spectacles. Fiona chuckled. "You're not the only who's been accused of reading minds, old man."
"Alright, you two, off with you. I've things to get ready. We'll be expecting you at the Burrow at seven thirty."
Outside in Hogsmead, the sun was beating down upon the ground with a vengeance. Myriadria and Fiona ducked into the Three Broomsticks to escape the sweltering heat, but even in the tavern it was hot and sticky. They found a corner table where it was a little cooler and ordered butterbeer.
"Well," Fiona propped her chin up with her arm and grinned at her friend. "Guess this is it."
"Guess it is." Myriadria looked thoughtful. "I wonder if Charlie Weasley will be there. Didn't you date him fifth year?"
"Oh shush, he was only a wee fourth year then. We both needed a date to the Yule ball. We linked arms and held each other's punch glasses, and that was that." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Hey! You were busy snogging in the bushes with Denzel Fury the Slytherine outcast that night, how would you know?"
"I was not snogging with him, I was converting him, thank you very much."
Fiona snorted. "D'you remember that time we transfigured Mrs. Norris into a hat with whiskers and it bit Filch?"
The groundskeeper had been none too pleased when his cat had turned up closely resembling a top hat and had hunkered down on his finger. It was possibly the worst transfiguration job they had ever performed.
"I think we've gotten a little better at that over time."
"I should certainly hope so," the redhead laughed. "I can think of quite a few little critters who might be in serious trouble if we hadn't."
Myriadria shook her head. "Remember when we met? On platform 9 and ¾? Uncle Albus had warned me that people would single me out if they knew I was his grandniece, so I showed up at the Hogwarts Express with star shaped specs. And you weren't familiar enough with the wizarding world yet to know any better. You probably would have thought I was an arrogant brat if you'd known the significance. Merlin knows the other Hufflepuffs all thought so at first."
"And the Gryffindors all thought I was too quiet, but they got used to me after quidditch tryouts. It was the Slytherins who really didn't know what to make of us. Half the time they loved us for being so mysterious; the other half they were hexing us between corridors for being suspicious. Although I don't think they ever quite forgave me for being muggle-born. The Ravenclaws were really the only ones splendid to us when we first arrived, and the sorting hat didn't even consider us for their house."
"Those Ravenclaws know a good thing when they see one. Unless it happens to be in Slytherin."
"Oh boy. Again with the Slytherin Liberation Corps. Do you have any idea how many times your Slytherin buddies got us in trouble?"
Myriad's eyes were twinkling with mischief when she answered. "Tricky little buggers, aren't they? But darling as lambs, all of them."
Fiona frowned. If there was one view she and her best friend clashed over, it was Myriad's Slytherin creed. Her friend's tendency to try to win the Slytherins over by letting them take advantage of her had always been a sore spot. The idea of sacrificing her dignity to gain the upper hand went against every Gryffindor bone in her body.
"You know how I feel about that. You know how Dumbledore feels about that. None of us like it. You put yourself at too much risk. Is it really worth it to sell yourself?"
"Would it be better to chuck all ambitious wizards, dark and light, in one big package and ship them off to Voldemort?"
"That is not what I meant, and you know it. Let someone with less of a conscience do it. Someone who will waste no tears over the loss of her integrity. We already have our role in this war. Leave the Death Eater foot kissing to people like Snape."
"Severus Snape is a good man." Myriadria said with conviction. "And who said this was part of my war effort? How do you know I'm not doing it for myself?"
"Oh Myr," Fiona breathed softly. "Please tell me you're not still beating yourself up over the Denzel thing. There was no way you could have known what his father would do when he rejected the Dark Mark."
"Oh, aye? Not even when he told me?"
Fiona shook her head slowly. Denzel Fury had been a good friend to the girls ever since their third year of Hogwarts, when Myriad had hexed a Gryffindor eight ways from Sunday for feeding his Charms papers to the Giant Squid. He had followed Myriad around like a stray puppy for the next four years. Then during their seventh year, just one month before graduation, his father had summoned him to a Death Eater initiation. Remaining true to a promise he had made to the Ravenclaw, he had rejected the mark. In a fit of rage, Denzel's father had murdered him.
"Pshht! Look at us! We came here to celebrate, and here we sit dredging up the miserable past." Myriadria's voice shattered the silence that was growing thick between them. "I'm sorry, Fiona. You're right, as usual. If I make it through this war with a soul left, I'll be lucky, but I'm good at what I do, and there's no one else trying out for the job."
Fiona shifted uncomfortably in her chair and took a sip of her butterbeer. Dumbledores and their dratted martyr syndrome, she thought to herself. Once in a while, can't you silly blokes turn off the save the world regime and relax a bit? Honestly, if we all took personal credit for every fallen leaf, the whole world would be an ocean of tears, you pompous gits.
"Just say it," Myriad mumbled over the rim of her mug.
"Stop trying to save the world, dear." Fiona said gently. Her friend blushed violently.
"It's alright." Fiona patted Myriad's hand. "But what do you say we leave this miserable excuse for a party and set out for The Burrow? Nothing like being early for a good first impression, right?"