Chapter Four: Return of the Phoenix

7:33 p.m., June 8, 1997

Harry couldn't decide whether or not to be embarrassed. "We're here to do research," Harry said, burning inside to tell Ron and Hermione what he'd found.

"We, Potter?" McGonagall said sharply. "I did not give you permission to bring anyone else to Headquarters."

"It's my house," Harry said, using Hermione's line from before.

McGonagall pursed her lips, looking very displeased. "And what do you mean, research? Research for what?"

Harry wished he hadn't said anything. "Something Professor Dumbledore wanted me to do," he muttered, shoving his hands even further into the pockets of his pants. He thought vaguely that he'd best change into robes before the Order arrived as he strove not to meet Professor McGonagall's eyes.

Her eyes were flashing with annoyance as the Transfiguration teacher said acerbically, "Is this the 'something' you refuse to tell me but about which you have apparently informed all your friends?"

"Er, yes," Harry said awkwardly. "Professor Dumbledore said I might."

McGonagall stared at him balefully, but just at that moment, Alastor Moody stumped through the door.

"Area's secure outside, scared off some of those Muggle teenagers – Potter! Didn't expect to see you here so early." He frowned, adding further deep furrows to his heavily scarred face, his magical eye popping slightly in its socket.

"I had stuff to do around here," Harry said, shrugging.

"He brought Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley along with him," McGonagall said tartly, exchanging threatening glances with the ex-Auror.

"They've been here before," Harry said defensively. "They know all about the Order. And anyway, it's my house, and I invited them." Saying it baldly and emphatically like that made him feel queasy. Whatever the deeds might say, this house was Sirius's, and even more than that, it belonged to the now-extinct House of Black. It was a house for ghosts.

Moody studied Harry impassively for a moment. "You're growing up a bit, aren't you, laddie?" he said, musingly. "What've you been up to this past week?"

"I've been with my Aunt and Uncle, with my friends," Harry said nervously. "I assume you know about the protective magic Du- Professor Dumbledore put up?"

Moody nodded sagely. "Aye, he told me a little of it," he admitted.

"And me," McGonagall chimed in. "I was there, you know, when he left you, when Rubeus Hagrid brought you to that doorway. I never liked it, you know, not then and not now, but if it's kept you safe, well." And she shrugged.

"And now you're here with your friends," Moody summarized. "What are they doing here?"

"He won't say," McGonagall said, her voice tart again. "See if you can't persuade him, Alastor, or at least convince him to tell us all why he won't say anything about why Albus – what he was doing that night – well. It does have to do with that night, doesn't it, Potter?" she asked again, her eyes glittering.

"Yeah, all right?" Harry said, growing annoyed. "But he said I shouldn't tell anyone except Ron and Hermione, and that's because they've always done everything with me since our first year, and he knows – I mean, he knew," and Harry winced, "that I couldn't keep secrets from them. Professor Dumbledore set me a task," Harry continued, riding over what the Transfiguration Professor had been about to say, "and Ron and Hermione are going to help me finish it, and that's why we're here now, doing research."

"Albus Dumbledore did not mean to die," Minerva McGonagall said, trying another tack. "He would have told the Order, I'm sure, what all this was about had he known what was going to happen on the Tower." She closed her eyes, pained, as she said the last, but seemed no less resolute than before.

"He said no one," Harry repeated stubbornly. "And I think he'd still say the same."

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth again, still very angry, but Moody cut in first. "You said Dumbledore had set you a task, Potter," Moody began. "What do you mean by that?"

"There's something I've got to do," Harry replied. "Unfinished business from what we were doing the night that – he died." His jaw was set at a stubborn angle. "And I'm the only one who can do it – well, with Ron and Hermione, anyway – since we're the only people Dumbledore said could know."

"And how, pray, do three seventh-year students propose to finish work that the greatest wizard of the twentieth century could not do himself?" McGonagall asked, sarcasm back in full force. "Alone, without aid from those who would give it?"

"That's why we're doing research," Harry said, his temper – and his voice – rising slightly.

At that moment, Ron and Hermione appeared, coming down from the drawing room where they'd been studying. "We heard voices," Ron explained as they descended.

"We've heard," McGonagall replied, "that you two are planning to follow Potter about in some hare-brained attempt to complete the work of Albus Dumbledore."

Ron and Hermione exchanged nervous glances. "Er, that's true, Professor," Hermione said. "We were planning on helping Harry, because it's more than he can do alone, and he says he can't tell anyone else about it. So we've got to help him, there's nothing else we can do."

"Uh, I don't know if Harry's told you," Ron continued, looking petrified, "but we're – all of us – we're not coming back to Hogwarts next term, because this is going to take a bit longer than the, uh, summer. So."

"My three best Gryffindors are leaving school," McGonagall said disbelievingly. "My brightest student in forty years is going to throw away her entire life, all her chances at success –"

Hermione then did something very brave, Harry thought later. "Professor McGonagall," Hermione began, her jaw just as stubborn as Harry's, "This is more important than anything else. Whether we like it or not, this war hurts everybody. Ron and I, we're Harry's best friends, and Harry has to do things that nobody else can. Some friends we'd be, if we left him when he needed us. I'd rather – rather kiss the hem of Bellatrix Lestrange's robes than leave him, than pretend everything was back to normal and go back to school, while people were dying, when I could be doing something to stop that. That's – that's all I have to say."

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth again, though she did look flustered, but Moody spoke up again. "That's a fair enough choice, Minerva," he said gruffly. "An' they're right. These three have seen more action than half the hitwizards in the Ministry, and if they feel this is their war, well, they're probably right. I'll respect your decision, lassie," he said, nodding his head toward Hermione, "but see that you three take care of yourselves."

Hermione bit her lip, looking as if she was going to cry. Ron nodded, very seriously.

Professor McGonagall threw her hands up in the air despairingly. "Well," she said. "Since you've clearly made up your minds – and I know better, by now, than to stand in the way of you three when you're determined," she said with a little sniff, "But I do refuse to let you go haring off without any aid at all from the Order." Harry opened his mouth again to protest, but McGonagall held up a hand to shush him. "No, Potter, listen. I think it's time to bring you into the Order entirely. Heaven knows, you three have practically been members of the Order since it resumed – you've seen battle twice, heaven help me."

Moody looked doubtful. "Minerva, I think you're being hasty. After all, we don't know if –"

"Oh, of course it is, Alastor," McGonagall said with a wave of her hand. "We have to ask, of course, but do you really think they'll all say no? In any case, you three shall sit in on the meeting tonight. I'll need you, Potter, to tell us all everything you can of what happened that night, what you saw, since you were in the center of it all."

Harry looked and felt a little doubtful, but nodded. He was pleased that McGonagall was bringing them into the Order in full, or wanted to at any rate, but couldn't help but feel that it was about time, after all.

"Weasley, does your mother know about you leaving school?" Professor McGonagall said suddenly. "And you, Hermione?"

"Er," Ron said a little shiftily. Hermione just blushed.

"I see," Professor McGonagall replied, tight-lipped. "You'd best see to that tonight, then, Ronald. And you, Hermione. Write to your parents."

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said, though Harry thought he saw something odd in her eyes.

"I'm going to get things ready at any rate," Professor McGonagall said, shrugging off her tartan wrap, which she hadn't taken off since she'd arrived.

"I'll help," Hermione said.

"And me," Ron echoed.

"No, I'll see to it. You three go… research," McGonagall said with a wave of her hand.

Harry suddenly remembered what he'd found, and he jerked his head to signal that they should go upstairs. Looking a little surprised, Hermione and Ron followed after him as he dashed up to his room – Sirius's room.

Once they were all inside, and Harry had cast Muffliato so that he could be sure of no-one eavesdropping, he started to tell them. Phineas Nigellus, he noticed, was no longer in his portrait.

"I've found R.A.B.," he said excitedly. "I've found him!"

"But how can you have?" Hermione said, looking doubtful and a little put-out that Harry had beaten her to the punch. "I mean, you've just been sitting in here."

"Exactly," Harry said, still feeling terribly excited. "Look – Phineas Nigellus, the portrait of the old Headmaster, well, he's a Black, right? And he's got a portrait in here, too, not just in Dumbledore's office. And anyway, he was telling me, right, that this used to be Sirius's room? And he said that there's this spot in the room where Sirius, and all the other boys who used to have this room, carved their initials. So I was looking at it, right? And Sirius is there, and a bunch of other people off that family tree – and, get this, there's an R. A. Black. Regulus Black. Regulus Arcturus Black. Can you believe it?"

Hermione's eyes were wide, and Ron looked just as surprised, too. "But how can you know for sure?" Ron asked, though he sounded excited.

"No, but it's perfect, Ron," Hermione said. "Regulus was a Death Eater, wasn't he? Only didn't Sirius say that he was killed because he'd gotten in deeper than he'd wanted to, and couldn't do all the things that Voldemort told him? Well, maybe it had something to do with the horcruxes!"

"Only I don't think it can have," Harry said slowly, thinking it over. "Because if Lord Voldemort knew – I mean, if he'd known the horcruxes were being tampered with, he'd have found the false locket first, wouldn't he? So Regulus must have been killed for something else, don't know what. Maybe he really did get killed by somebody minor, for objecting to something else."

"Yeah, maybe," Ron said. "Harry – do you know what this means, mate?"

"What?"

"The horcrux – the locket – it's probably here. In Grimmauld Place."

"Yeah," Harry breathed. "Unless Regulus took it somewhere else. I mean, it could be anywhere."

"Where better than here, though?" Ron objected. "I mean, there's loads and loads of Dark Arts stuff here, they'd probably never notice another locket or whatever lying around."

Harry's face went pale. "But Sirius cleared everything out when the Order restarted," he said nervously. "We all helped him, remember? Cleaning everything out?"

"What did he do with it all?" Hermione asked nervously. "He can't have –just thrown it away, can he? That stuff is dangerous, you couldn't just put it in a trash bin where anyone could come along and take it."

"Or where Kreacher could get at it," Harry said darkly.

"We'll have to ask McGonagall where it all went," Hermione decided.

"Yeah, maybe, but not now," Harry decided. "She's busy at the moment."

They all decided to ask her later, maybe after the meeting, and then Hermione became very nervous, and glanced at Ron a little shyly, and said that she'd best change for the meeting if they were all to attend, and she glanced down at the pair of faded jeans she'd been wearing all day and then left the room quickly.

Ron and Harry changed, too, and then had a long chat about nothing in particular, which was surprisingly normal. Harry couldn't concentrate on anything, and spent the last half-hour before the meeting just pacing up and down nervously. It was all too much to bear.

At 9:24, Hermione popped her head into the door to say that she thought she could hear people arriving downstairs. Harry noticed with some surprise that she'd done her hair up into a knot at the back of her head, and that her robes seemed to be – different. Ron noticed, too, and looked at her with obviously pleased surprise, before taking her hand again.

Harry knew they'd been a little different since Dumbledore's funeral, and they'd snuck off for some time alone at Privet Drive, but just the way they took hands as if they'd been doing it for years surprised him every time he saw it.

And then they went downstairs.

People were arriving quickly, now, hanging their cloaks up in the hallway. Harry realized with a jolt that Mrs. Black no longer screamed invectives when people walked in the door. She seemed to spend a lot of her time facing the other way in the portrait, her back turned to the world. Harry felt a little sorry for her, and then wondered why he even bothered.

The meeting was down in the kitchen, and Harry followed Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt downstairs – they seemed to have come off-duty together – and were followed after by Dedalus Diggle and Elphias Doge, who seemed to be good old friends. McGonagall and Moody were already down there, as were Fred and George, Charlie Weasley – Harry hadn't seen him in years – and Hestia Jones.

In the next ten minutes, everyone seemed to arrive. Molly Weasley didn't bother to sit down when she came in with Arthur, instead heading straight to the stovetop, where she put on a kettle to boil for tea, saying more to herself than anyone else that people would want something hot to drink as the evening wore on.

And when everyone – even Aberforth Dumbledore – had arrived, Minerva McGonagall called the meeting to order.

"Good evening, all, and thank you for coming. Before I address the subject at hand, I should let you know that Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger are here at my invitation, though they are not at this time members of the Order." She paused, and surveyed the room.

"Now. As you all know by now, the Order of the Phoenix is in the gravest danger since its inception in 1969. We are faced with two very dire problems: our leader, Albus Dumbledore, is dead," and here she paused, her throat tightening audibly, tears pricking at her eyes, "and Severus Snape has proven himself a traitor, putting much of the Order into very grave danger - perhaps even down to our choice of location."

She paused to catch her breath, surveying the crowded room, looking to Alastor Moody as if for support, which he gave in the form of a small nod of approval. "So we have before us a terrible question: what is the future of the Order? With Albus Dumbledore - gone - shall we still exist as one band of brothers, so to speak, and if so, in what manner shall we organize? I leave this meeting open to discussion."

There was a very long pause. Then Tonks stood to address the room. She'd been sitting next to Remus Lupin, who looked very weary, but who followed Tonks with his eyes when she moved as if he couldn't help watching her.

"I don't think there's any question of it," Tonks said plainly. "The Order stays – stands – together. As for security and everything else, that can be addressed, but the Order of the Phoenix can't just dissolve now. The world needs us. Azkaban Prison fell on the first. We know the Death Eaters assembled on the fifth – we've been watching the Malfoy Manor, something was going on there – and that means danger. People have died and are dying, and if the Order can do anything to fight against that, we'll stand together. Because that's what we've all pledged ourselves to do. And that's all I have to say." She nodded fiercely, her purple hair catching the light, and then, looking nervous as if she hadn't realized anyone had been listening to her, sat down again.

"Well said," Elphias Doge remarked in his wheezy voice. "Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted us to stop. We all can recognize that."

Then Mrs. Weasley spoke, with her teapot in hand. "I – I don't know, with Dumbeldore gone everything seems so strange and wrong. I can hardly imagine the Order without him. But I don't suppose we can give up, can we? Not when there are people out there who need us to keep on going."

Everybody nodded or murmured assent to this, and Minerva McGonagall nodded sharply, before standing again to address the room.

"Well," Minerva said after a pause, "Since we all seem to be in agreement that the Order should not disband - I did not think that of any of you - we must decide what the Order will be, now." Her hands gripped the table tightly as she spoke, gazing around at the assembly. "Albus Dumbledore was our leader, our chief, our captain. It was to him that all of us turned in our times of confusion and need. No one can take his place, but someone or something must fill his role now. Proposals?"

There was a longer pause at this, and people seemed deep in thought. Remus Lupin's brow was furrowed in a worried frown, and Charlie Weasley looked a little lost. That wasn't surprising, Harry thought to himself, given how little he'd been in England, really.

"Well, Minerva," Arthur Weasley said after a pause, "In the best of worlds, I suppose that we wouldn't need leaders, and could work together by consuss, but – how often have we all met together like this? I suppose we do need someone to organize us all, someone to know everything and everyone in the Order. And right now, honestly, the closest person to that is you, or perhaps Alastor."

"I agree with Arthur," Remus Lupin said after a beat. "Minerva and Alastor were closest to Dumbledore, and they'd know best what he wants – wanted – for the Order."

"If it's a matter of someone being close to the Order," began the straw-haired Sturgis Podmore, "I think we're forgetting someone. Aberforth, I know you're here, and even if you've kept much to yourself, I know you knew your brother well, and some of his mind, as much as any of us. Would you consent, Aberforth, to take up his work? And you, Minerva? Alastor?"

They looked a little bit at a loss, and suddenly Hermione spoke up. "It makes sense," she began slowly, looking terrified at actually daring to speak in an Order meeting. "I mean – Professor McGonagall is going to be the Headmistress of Hogwarts now, and Professor – Mr. Moody, er, well I know everyone's always said you were great friends with Professor Dumbldedore, and everyone knows that you're the best there is in the Order for things like – like combat and tactics, and Mr. Dumbledore, well, he's Professor Dumbledore's brother."

She took a deep breath, and continued rather in a rush. "And, well, I know nobody can ever be as great a wizard as Professor Dumbledore was again. But maybe three people can be at least a little like him, and these three – Professor McGonagall, Mr. Moody, and Mr. Dumbledore, I mean – well, they make up parts of Professor Dumbledore. And that's all I have to say." She sat down very quickly, and Harry saw Ron take her hand and smile at her in reassurance. She smiled back.

"I'll say it again," said Sturgis Podmore. "Will you do it?"

"I hardly know what to say," began Professor McGonagall. "Well – well, yes, if you'll have me. I'll take this up, with Aberforth and Alastor. I'll try to shoulder the burden with them." She was glowing with pride and humble surprise all at once, and Harry thought with a little surprise that she must have been very beautiful in her youth.

"Aye, I'll do it," said Moody, gruffly. "And Minnie here, she's practically taken up leadership all by herself already."

All eyes turned to Aberforth. Harry noticed that he'd washed for the meeting. He still couldn't quite reconcile the grubby barkeeper as Albus Dumbledore's brother.

"I will try to help. It is the last duty I will carry out for my brother." His voice was deep and gravelly, and his blue eyes were very cold. He looked very dangerous, and Harry's respect for him rose slightly.

"If that's taken care of, then," Minerva McGonagall said, still flushed. "And I thank you all – I thank you very much for your trust in me, and in us. There are a few things we need to tackle, now that we've done the hardest, so I'll start with the easiest of what's left first." She looked straight at Harry as she said this, and Harry rather wished he could slide down under the table as all eyes followed hers.

"Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger have informed me that the three of them intend to leave Hogwarts forever, as they complete a task that Albus Dumbledore set them before he died. They also maintain that this task is so secret that they can repeat it to no one. While I disagree," and here she looked very sharply at Harry, "that something of this nature should be kept so secret, I urge the Order to stand behind these three young people, and indeed, to bring them into the fold. If we cannot aid them directly, we can at least support them with the full might of the Order."

Immediately, everyone began talking at once. Molly Weasley opened her mouth first in objection, and over the rumble of conversation taking place around the room, Harry could hear her shouting at Ron, "Ronald Bilius Weasley, you are in no way, shape, or form giving up your education like this! I forbid you to throw away everything! You can't put yourself in danger like this, you're too young!" And so on, and so on. Ron gritted his teeth and didn't look at his mother directly, his arms crossed.

When the volume of conversation in the room died down somewhat, Ron stood up. "Mum," he said, looking directly at his mother, "This is something I have to do. I'm of age now, like Fred and George, and I'm leaving school because this is more important. Maybe I can finish my education some day, I don't know, but for now this is what I have to do."

Hermione stood too, putting a hand on Ron's arm. "I say the same."

Finally, Harry stood. "I'm not of age yet," he admitted, "But we've got to do this. If you'll have us, I'll be grateful, but even if you won't help me we're going to do this. We're the only ones who can."

Molly Weasley protested again. "You're too young, all of you! This is something for adults. Wait just one more year, and then start, but for Merlin's sake let yourselves grow up for one more year!"

"I've been fighting in this war since I was one year old," Harry said stubbornly, not quite looking her in the eyes. "I met Voldemort for a second time," and he didn't pause at the winces, gasps, and groans about the table at the name, "when I was eleven, and I've faced him three other times. And you know what? I'm going to have to face him again and again until he's dead, because I'm the one who has to deal with him. And I can't just wait another year, because by then he could have killed more people, he could have killed all of you just like he's killed Amelia Bones and Emmeline Vance and like he had Dumbledore killed, and I've got to do this."

Remus Lupin stood to speak, and he looked tired, and pained. "Harry is right," he said to all around. "How old were many of us when we joined the Order. I was just eighteen. Sirius joined the summer after seventh year. Lily and James joined just after they became engaged, and their wedding date was Lily's nineteenth birthday. I know others here joined when they were little older than these three, because it was their war already. It is all of our war, and these young people have no less right to fight than any of us. Harry especially faced more than most grown wizards before he was thirteen. Hermione and Ron have been with him almost every step of the way. They deserve to fight as much as any of us, and more than some." He didn't look at anyone specifically when he said this last, but there were a few uncomfortable glances about the table, and Harry noticed Mundungus Fletcher and Hestia Jones looking particularly uncomfortable.

Molly was sobbing now. "Am I to send all of my family off to fight in this war?" she gasped. "I lost my brothers – they were just twenty-three! My husband and my oldest son have nearly died! My little girl, Ginny, was nearly murdered in her first year. How many times to I have to see my children – my babies –" And she began to cry too hard to speak.

Bill spoke, his voice thick and muffled, his face still heavily bandaged. "I still fight, because I have to, and because if I don't, we will all die. If we fight, we've still the chance to live. That goes for all of us. That goes for Ron, too, Mum, and for Harry. I don't like it, but I understand it."

Arthur spoke, finally. "I have never been able to keep my sons for standing up in what they believe in. It is a measure of their character, and though I fear for them, I know that it is their choice, and not mine, about what dangers they'll face."

Hestia Jones stood, looking nervous. "Well – I've not much to say, but it's just this. People say that Harry Potter is the Chosen One, and I believe them. I believe in him. And I think that it's wrong for us, for the Order, the people who have sworn to defeat you-know-who, not to give support to the only person with a real chance of defeating this evil, even if he cannot reveal everything to us at all times. He is the Chosen One. I stand behind him."

Harry felt himself flushing scarlet. It was all very well for her to support him, but to put it like that! He felt rather as if he could sink into the floor and never get up again, gladly.

The debate continued on, Molly Weasley voicing periodic objections based on their age, Kingsley and Remus debating whether or not Harry really was the Chosen One, and if so, did that make a difference, since he was underage; and so on.

Finally, McGonagall called for order. "We'll put it to the vote. In the old days, Albus would have had the final say, but he is not here and cannot tell us his mind."

They voted, simply raising their hands to be counted. Harry held his breath.

It was narrow, but the vote was in their favor; and when all hands had been tallied, McGonagall said, "We will induct them at the end of the meeting properly, but for now, we should deal with our other business." There was some further murmuring, and Molly Weasley glared daggers at Remus and Tonks, who had voted for Harry, Ron, and Hermione's inductions.

Moody stood up to speak. "Dumbledore is dead," he said frankly. "He was our Secret Keeper, and he did not end the Fidelius Charm before he died. That means that no one else will be able to be brought into the Order if we continue to use Grimmauld Place as Headquarters. It also means that Severus Snape can still gain entry at any time, and that he may in fact have been here since Albus's death. I think it's clear that we'll have to move."

There was an uproar. Sturgis Podmore was loudly proclaiming that the obvious solution was to relocate to Hogwarts, Minerva was refusing loudly on the grounds that it was nowhere near secure enough, Moody was shooting down every suggestion that Tonks and Kingsley made as too obvious a target for the Death Eaters, and on, and on.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged glances. Suddenly, Harry made up his mind. He stood to speak, and the room turned to look at him. It was weird, he thought, how people would silence themselves to hear what he, a sixteen-year-old boy, had to say. But then again, Harry thought bitterly, he was the Chosen One.

"If Snape were dead," Harry said flatly, not letting any emotion creep into his voice, "Would we still be able to use the Order as headquarters?"

It was Moody who answered first. "There'd still be the problem of bringing in new people, laddie. Not to mention that Snape is sure to have told all the Death Eaters where we're meeting, anyway."

"Kreacher probably has already," Harry said, his voice still flat. "And I don't think the Order should bring anyone new. Anyone who doesn't already know about the Order, I mean," Harry clarified. "Because the next person could be a Death Eater spy the way Snape was. It's not safe to have too many people know too much information."

There were some murmurs of assent, but most people still looked unconvinced. "There's still the problem of finding Snape, Harry," Remus said in his low, calm voice. "We know he's no longer in his home at Spinner's End, which means he's almost certainly at the Malfoy Manor with all the other fugitive Death Eaters. Which means, of course, that to get to Snape we'll have to get into the Malfoy Manor."

More murmuring, this time fearful. "We'd need to, anyway," Harry said, his arms crossed against his chest. "If we know where the Death Eaters are, that's where we have to attack them." And then he sat. He'd said everything he meant to say, and he didn't think there was anything else he could say to convince anyone.

Hermione looked petrified. "Harry, how are we going to kill Snape, even if we do find him? I mean, he killed Dumbledore! He's got to be fantastically powerful, if even V- Voldemort couldn't do that!"

"He's a coward," Harry growled. "And if Dumbledore hadn't been – if Dumbledore had been all right – Snape would never have been a match for him. The bastard killed a dying man. What does that prove?" But Hermione, Harry knew, was right. Snape always had the best of him, with his legilimency. Snape had dealt with him like a child, and had let him live so that the Dark Lord could kill him later at his pleasure.

This time the debate was fierce. Some were advocating a complete abandonment of Grimmauld Place, more were arguing that none of them alone were a match for Snape and the risk of going after him was too great, and others still were debating methods of capturing and killing the Death Eater.

And then, suddenly, there was a sound from above, as the doors – enchanted to ring whenever anyone entered – opened to let in someone else. There was only one person not at the long wooden table who could enter Grimmauld Place, Harry thought with a chill of horror.

He was not the only one to realize the identity of the intruder. He'd barely leapt up with his wand drawn before Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley were dashing up the stairs, Hestia Jones and Minerva McGonagall hot on their heels. Determined not to be left behind, Harry ran after them, and he heard Ron and Hermione follow.

It felt like ages, but in only a few seconds he, and half the Order, stood face to face with Severus Snape, silhouetted against the open door, his cloak down to reveal a rain-soaked face and the all-too-familiar malevolent black eyes.