Disclaimer: Harry Potter remains the property of J.K. Rowling and any other publishers or organisations which I don't know, but don't want to anger. The concept of the Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write purely for the sake of my own and others enjoyment.
A/N: IMPORTANT! I made a mistake in the last chapter. The fish portkey Dumbledore gives Harry and Elizabeth was not meant to trigger at 11 am, but rather 5 am in the early morning. That means that they will arrive at around seven pm the previous day at Grimmauld Place. Around the same time as the book, I think.
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Chapter Eight: Revealed.
The usual inhabitants of Grimmauld Place, which included Sirius, Remus, Tonks, the Weasley's, and Hermione, could be found eating breakfast (kippers, toast, and an assortment of jam scones) on the day Harry Potter was due to arrive. Not much was conferred between the younger members of the table, among the usual Ministry incompetence that seemed to crop up in nearly every conversation. Not much was discussed among the adults, either, because the children's presence prevented any deliberating that they wished to pursue, so they resigned themselves to wait until the next Order meeting, which happened to be just that night, so they didn't have to wait long, thankfully.
With no talk conspiring around the table, the occupants were left to laugh at the antics of the Weasley Twins, who were treating them with a small demonstration from a stock of their newest inventions; a mixture of sweets that caused the eater to develop some rather nasty sicknesses. Unfortunately, the sweets still needed a lot of tweaking, as everyone found out a minute later when Fred sprouted antlers out of his head, and George grew a buxom bosom. Fortunately, George produced the antidote from out of his left pocket and they were back to normal in no time.
This then gave them the opportunity to test out their other sweets. This testing continued for a good five minutes until Molly Weasley walked into the room, having just come from cleaning the kitchen, and confiscated them. Needless to say this didn't please the twins, (who were now sporting lovely green noses) but, they weren't overly bothered. A few seconds later Ron discovered why when George bent to his ear and whispered they had a whole pile hidden in his boxer shorts, which was hidden in Fred's pillow-case, which they'd stuffed in a corner under Ron's bed.
Since the Twins were now sweet-less (apparently) it was left up to Tonks to amuse the rest of the company. She had only just changed her nose to resemble that of a small elephant trunk, when a handsome Hogwarts owl came soaring through the open doorway of the basement – having just entered an upstairs window – to land on the table next to Sirius.
Sirius, being of calculating mind (a trait passed on by his Slytherin ancestors no doubt) realised straight away that the bird had to have come from Dumbledore, since he, as a convicted murderer, had been having no other correspondence lately. This last thought produced a black frown and an almost indistinguishable pout (for those not looking closely) from said recipient.
Sirius untied the letter from the tawny owl's foot and watched as it ruffled its feathers a little pompously, before flying back the way it came. Sirius, assuming the headmaster didn't want a reply, settled on opening the letter and reading it. A few minutes of silence passed as the breakfasters watched Sirius peruse the letter.
They were each wondering why it took him so long to read it, but they didn't realise that Sirius had read the letter over and over again about ten times, just to make sure he didn't need glasses. Remus, tired of the long silence, and much more intuitive to anything Sirius related than the other members of the breakfast table, (which meant he knew Sirius had read the letter more than once) broke the silence. "What does it say?"
The animagus cleared his throat, stroked his chin, and cleared his throat again before answering. "Dumbledore says Harry's going to be bringing a guest to stay with him." Sirius sounded bewildered. "He says not to hex the guest."
This produced some surprised murmuring and a couple of raised eyebrows from the current occupants of Number twelve. Who, after all, could Dumbledore trust so much with Harry Potter, (the saviour of the Wizarding World and current target of the most feared Dark Lord ever to reign), that wasn't a member of the Order; as far as they knew anyway?
Ron finally voiced aloud his opinion; an opinion that was both too horrible and too dastardly to think about, which was why nobody had thought about it, bar Ron, who had – according to Hermione – a revolting mind to begin with. "You don't think it's Harry's cousin, do you?" he said, as Fred and George sat up in their seats. "Otherwise, why else would Dumbledore say not to hex him?"
"I suppose it is logical," said Hermione, biting her lip thoughtfully. "He did get attacked by the Dementors, after all. Maybe Professor Dumbledore wants to keep him safe?"
Those who had actually met Dudley Dursley sat in silent horror at the end of Hermione's sentence, while those who had heard all the stories from the one's who'd met Dudley Dursely sat contemplating; one word running through their minds: why?
"Though," Hermione now said, ignoring Ron's sharp gaze, "how on earth Professor Dumbledore managed to convince Harry's uncle to let Dudley stay here –"
"Hey, I know," Ron interrupted, forgetting his previous upset at the thought of Dudley coming to stay, and landing a much more agreeable idea. "Maybe Dumbledore's hexed them!"
Hermione scoffed. "He wouldn't do that!" She looked to the surrounding adults. They, however, offered nothing in the way of support and Hermione deflated a bit, forcing to admit that, no, she didn't really know Dumbledore or what he was capable of. Maybe he had hexed Harry's relatives in order to get them to be more amenable?
"Well if it is Dudley Dursley," said Arthur Weasley, sparing a reproachful glance at Ron, then settling the full weight of his gaze on Fred and George, "you will not hex him, will you boys? Or offer him sweets again?"
With Molly Weasely looking sharply over her husband's shoulder, the twins didn't dare argue.
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It was a perfectly ordinary night for Elizabeth Potter. Well, ordinary for a Slayer anyway. With Harry safely tucked away back at the house, sleeping like a well-guarded baby (he'd have to be, if the numerous wards she'd put up had anything to prove) Elizabeth could now be found, if one was to look closely, squatting in a high pine tree on one of the top most branches, her supernatural eyes scouring the ground for any dark art activities that might need a Slayer's expertise.
She had already fought off a group of vampires earlier that night; the same group that had harassed her and Harry about a week ago, as a matter of fact. Elizabeth wasn't exactly surprised. The vampires had easily found a dark arts wizard buff, who had been all too willing and able to take down the enchantment she'd placed around them. So she had been once again forced to curse them, this time adding a solidifying spell of her own creation, so it would be much harder for a wizard to break.
In truth, Elizabeth was a little worried about all this. Vampires, as she had explained to Harry, were solitary creatures, mostly because they couldn't bear to take orders from one of their own kind due to having supreme arrogance in their own vampiric powers, and partly because they couldn't organise themselves out of a shoebox. Their arrogance, although frightening to most people, was really what weakened them in the end.
But that was why Elizabeth was so worried. Why, if they were solitary and, for lack of a better word, dumb, would they risk exposure and possible annihilation by banding together, especially when they now knew there were not one, but two slayers residing in Australia? Well, there wouldn't be by tomorrow but that wasn't the point.
Had Voldemort's influence already stretched this far?
Elizabeth bit her lip slightly. No, that couldn't be it. Voldemort wasn't a problem to the wizarding population of Australia yet.
But vampires aren't part of the wizarding population of Australia, said a little voice that swam in the back of her mind, and Elizabeth sat up suddenly, almost unbalancing off the thin branch. She hastily threw an arm around the trunk of the tree to steady herself. Not that she would hurt herself if she fell from the high drop, but that would mean she would have to jump back up again, and she was feeling slightly lazy this night.
On the branch next door, Emma clicked her pincers worriedly at the slayer's almost stumble. Elizabeth absently patted her head as she continued to think. That was true, wasn't it? A dark creature was a dark creature, no matter what country they resided in. If they wanted in on the action, nothing was going to stop them. Besides, she had a feeling that these vampires were immigrants. The 'leader' had sounded slightly Romanesque, after all. They would probably like to go back to Europe.
Quite unexpectedly – because Elizabeth had not been anticipating another dark creature event this night – Emma's antennae began revolving in small fast circles finally come to join in a mixture of complicated loops on the middle of her head. Elizabeth knew what this meant. The blearglob had just received a message from Sigmund. The Slayer extended a hand, wove her fingers into the intricate loops, and closed her eyes, seeing and experiencing exactly what Emma was.
The first thing she tasted was saltwater, which meant Sigmund was in the sea. The second thing she experienced was the feeling of being thrashed violently about in the water. She concentrated harder and saw, through Sigmund's eyes, the back of a huge sandy-coloured wyrm. It appeared to be stuck half in and half out of the tunnel below Wrigadoogong. Its fat body wriggling injuriously from side to side caused large waves to form, crashing thunderously against the cliff face. A few mer-persons were popping out of the water behind the wyrm to exclaim in shock, pointing excitedly at it. A couple of lights were turning on in the residential tunnels of the cliff.
Elizabeth sighed exasperatedly. Just what she needed. An audience. It was much harder to do her duty with curious onlookers about, but she'd manage, just like she always did.
Elizabeth knew this particular wyrm from the spotty brown markings on its slippery back. She'd affectionately named him Sandy. In fact, she knew the whole colony of these wyrms. Sandy was the baby, if one counted being four hundred years old as infantile. The wyrms had taken to living on the bottom of the sea floor some five miles away and creating their tunnels there after wizards had overtaken the cliff face about three hundred years ago. Yes, Wrigadoogong had once belonged to the Giant Wyrms. The tunnels of the cliff face had taken centuries of muscly, undulating bodies to form into what they were now.
Unfortunately, some of the wyrms (meaning Sandy) get it in their heads that they still belonged there, (childhood repression, and all that) and every once in a while Elizabeth would have to go stop them. Like now.
She plucked Emma from her spot on the branch and gently put her in the knapsack on her back before jumping off the tree, landing perfectly some fifty meters below. Then she ran.
She hadn't been in a suburban area. She had been in a cemetery. But if anyone was out and about now, especially in a car, like the one up ahead, they would soon find themselves overpassed by a blur. Not that they would see anything as Elizabeth always wore black at night, and always made sure to travel passed cars that were going slower than eighty kilometres per hour. That was her limit.
As she ran closer, finally coming to the main road and launching over a stationary Ute, she realised the usual tingle that travelled down her spine at the first sign of danger wasn't there. She chalked this up to it only being Sandy. Wyrms weren't dangerous, after all, unless they sat on you. They didn't eat humans. They feared them. But for some reason Sandy didn't, and Elizabeth had always thought it was because of his youthful years.
A clicking noise from her knapsack alerted Elizabeth that Emma was tunning in to Sigmund once more, so she stopped, sat on the side of the road, plucked Emma from her knapsack, and wove her fingers into the loops.
Immediately she could see that the scene had changed. The wyrm was still stuck, the merpeople were still popping out of the water every now and then, but this time the entirety of Wrigadoogong seemed to have woken, and the bluish lights cast an eerie glow on the still struggling wyrm and the sea-inhabitants. Except now a flock of wizards had come, hovering on their brooms above the commotion, their wands out, and their faces a mixture of determination and exasperation. Elizabeth continued watching as the wizards, in unison, cast a shrinking charm on the wyrm, so that it was now no bigger than a carpet snake, before one of them flew down and picked it up. The vision ended.
Elizabeth sat with head bowed, staring at her black runners. There was no need to go to Wrigadoogong now. The wizards had handled it. They would take Sandy out to sea, drop him in the water and enlarge him again, then come back and go to sleep. If she had anything to say about Australian wizards, she would say they were very impartial.
Elizabeth was not stupid. She knew that the British Ministry was corrupted from the inside, due to all the Voldermort supporters. She knew that they were very big on pure blood, and very disliking of half breeds or what they termed "dangerous beasts;" that went for all European Ministries. Wizarding communities from countries like Australia, New Zealand, the majority of South America, and most parts of the States, (besides Salem), and many other countries, weren't that big on prejudices, because, well, they'd never had a Dark Lord to start any.
Of course prejudices still existed, (especially in Salem where muggles had wanted to burn and hang so many witches, but never got a chance to catch any real ones) but they weren't as influenced as communities in Europe, Africa, and some parts of Asia.
So if a wyrm had been attempting to travel down Diagon Alley, Elizabeth knew it would have been dead before it got passed the first lot of shops. Incidentally, Elizabeth wondered if this incident would show up in The Morning Omen.
Sighing, she stood up, stretched, and glanced at the watch on her wrist. Four am. That meant they had another hour to go until the – shudder – fish portkey activated. She broke into a sprint, faster than the human eye could follow, and fifteen minutes later after cutting across a shopping centre car park, and the cemetery she'd left earlier that evening, she arrived home.
She stepped into the house, leaning back against the door once it had closed behind her. Harry had never known that three nights out of the past week she hadn't even been in the house, but rather scouting the surrounding suburbs. She'd gotten feel of a couple of grey, not dark, creatures that needed subduing and knew that if she left them without discipline they would eventually seek her out and come into the house. She couldn't risk that with Harry here, no matter how 'grey' they were.
Elizabeth tiptoed up the stairs and slowly opened Harry's bedroom door. She smirked when she saw Muck lying on her back at his side, hands and feet lifted straight into the air as though she was dead. Her tiny snout emitted a soft snore every couple of seconds. Hedwig, Elizabeth saw, had opened her eyes the moment she had stepped into the room. That intense yellow gaze now followed her curiously, stopping when she reached the bed.
Elizabeth cocked her head to the side, staring interestedly at the owl. The owl did the same. Elizabeth and Harry had been very surprised when Hedwig had seemed to show fondness toward the Bunyip. Elizabeth thought they made an extremely intelligent pair of familiars. That was good. That was what Harry needed.
She looked at him now; looked at his facial features. She rarely ever got a chance to just stare at him like this because when she started Harry would usually get very embarrassed. It was true he had some feminine features. Like the slight tilt in the corner of his eyes, the red lips, and the creamy complexion that most girls would be jealous of. Though, that creamy complexion was moderately golden now, but that suited him, and despite the colour of his lips they were still masculine. Not to mention the colour of his eyes . . .
The changes from boy to man were already beginning and in a couple more years the girls will start to pay a lot of attention to him. This thought made her sad, as she had already missed most of his boyhood. She had wanted to always take care of him, but he would grow up soon and start a family of his own, just like she would most likely. It just wasn't fair.
She brushed aside a tear and shook his shoulder, making sure to use extreme gentleness. She had always been careful around ordinary humans, especially Harry. She would never forgive herself if she accidentally snapped his arm.
Harry mumbled something like "Groowoo," before falling asleep again.
A twitch appeared in the corner of her lip before she touched his hand, this time saying his name.
Harry jerked awake, breathing "Mwhat?" and looking around cluelessly. Elizabeth had a powerful urge to hug him then, but restrained herself.
"It's time to get ready," she said, watching him stretch over to the nightstand to put on his glasses.
"Oh . . . right." He yawned, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. Elizabeth did hug then. He was just so adorable.
"What is it?" he asked, sounding amused. But Elizabeth couldn't help but noticed the extra squeeze he gave her. The kid had been deprived of affection, and it gave her no small amount of pride that he'd opened up to her, a virtual stranger.
"Nothing," she mumbled against his shirt, "just wanted to hug you."
She felt, more than heard him chuckle before he released her. "Well, you can't hug me now, I have to get ready." Then he chucked a pillow at her. "Out!"
"Alright, alright. No need to get violent." But she threw the pillow back in his face before closing the door.
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A half hour later found Harry and Elizabeth with their trunks scattered by their feet, and the animals in their proper containers; meaning Hedwig and Rufus in their cages, Emma and Sigmund in Elizabeth's knapsack, and Muck down Harry's shirt. They had both changed into their leather jackets, as, Harry had described, it was a mite colder in England, no matter that it was summer. Despite this though, Elizabeth opted to wear her black knee-length skirt, black heeled boots, and black blouse under her jacket. She felt it was more conservative this way, and that it would make a good impression. Harry, on the other hand, had chosen to wear, as Elizabeth dubbed, smart casual clothes: a green long-sleeved shirt, a pair of dark blue jeans, and black docs.
They were waiting in the kitchen, because, despite Dumbledore's assurances that the portkey would not stink up, Elizabeth had still put it in the freezer and would not take it out until the precise remaining minute, which happened to be now.
After shrinking both hers and Harry's trunks and pocketing them, Elizabeth took the fish out of the freezer and offered the other end for Harry to hold.
He threw her a nasty look.
"I don't want the head," she told him bluntly. "The eyes are all," shudder "squishy."
"Right," was all Harry said, thinking that the dead googly globes highly resembled those of Gregory Goyle's. Big and scary they might be, but there was hardly anything remotely intelligent looking out.
"Listen, Harry," said Elizabeth, sounding quite serious for the moment. Harry, observing her imploring eyes and the fact that she'd called him by his given name, gave her his undivided attention. "I don't want the Order to know what I am just yet."
Harry opened his mouth, about to agree, but changed his mind in the last second, curiosity filling his brain. "Why?" he asked.
Elizabeth looked quite uncomfortable, if her frown was anything to go by. "The secret of the Slayer has been kept in our family for thousands of years, passed down from generation to generation." She told him in a lecturing mode, drawing a deep breath. "If I'm to reveal what I am to the Order I would have to also expose my fellow Slayers – not their actual identities, but the fact that they exist – and that will make them vulnerable, susceptible to anyone wishing to discover their secrets."
She stopped for a moment to run her fingers through her hair, then continued, Harry listening even more diligently than before. "There could be a leak in the Order, someone could reveal something while in a drunken interlude, and I can't take that chance. I can't tell the Order about me without the other Slayers' consent. No one, bar Dumbledore, has ever been inclined to the secret of the Slayer, and we like it that way. But, we also understand that there can be dark times, and that sometimes it is important to reveal secrets in order to give aide.
"Understand Harry that we do not agree to this method, we do not like exposure, we do not like vulnerability, especially when it threatens ourselves. So, to be allowed to tell the Order about myself will take some serious convincing on my part." She looked thoughtful for a moment, and seemed to be staring at nothing. Her eyes had glazed over and her mouth was slightly opened. Then she shook her head a little, and the dreamy effect passed. "Of course, they already have some inkling as to what I want to do, most likely. But I still have to formerly request their acceptance."
Harry had rarely ever heard her so serious, or seen her look so flustered. It seemed to him a bit strange, also, that she was talking about herself as if she was only a small part of a whole person, as though the other Slayers and she were only different parts of the same entity that would join up one day to form a complete whole. It was slightly creepy, and not a little disconcerting.
For the first time – even though he'd seen her fight the vampires – Harry felt like he finally understood, no, finally grasped, that his sister was not just a witch, but also a compelling magical creature with strange mystical powers that were way beyond his comprehensive ability. The thought made him shudder slightly, and he hoped Elizabeth hadn't noticed.
"W-what," Harry began. He cleared his throat quickly to mask the nervous shudder in his voice. "What about your relationship to me? Can we reveal that?" He had been itching to tell Ron and Hermione all about her and his experience in Australia, and was now disappointed at the thought that he might not be permitted to.
Elizabeth smiled, though her eyes held a scrutinising glimmer that Harry felt could see into his very soul. He forced himself not to look away. What was wrong with him? It was only Elizabeth.
"I think," said Elizabeth, still staring at him, "we can tell them I'm your sister." Harry let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "It won't do as much harm as admitting I'm a Slayer, anyway." Elizabeth seemed to want to say something more, but appeared as if she changed her mind in the last second. With a slight shake of her head, she asked, "ready?"
Harry didn't have time to answer as he felt a twisting jerk behind his navel, and was soon whirling away in utter darkness.
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They landed on a slightly potholed street with a small thump. Harry lost his balance and fell over; quickly turning around to land on his back so Muck didn't get squished. She didn't get squished either way, and he didn't have to damage his back, because Elizabeth caught him before he hit the ground.
"Thanks," he said.
Elizabeth shrugged in that way that meant "no biggie," and peered straight ahead of her. Harry squinted at the preceding shadows, trying to see anything interesting, as it was obvious Elizabeth had spotted something, but he couldn't make anything out. All he could see was a bunch of grimy looking houses – made even spookier because of the night gloom – paint was peeling from many of the doors, and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps. He could hear a dosage of heavy metal music emanating from the house to his right; otherwise breaking up the silence of the street.
He started when Elizabeth said loudly, "You can come out now! I know you're watching us."
He started once more when he spotted two disjointed shapes limp out of the shadows. He quickly drew his wand, but held it loosely in his hand after noticing Elizabeth hadn't drawn hers.
"You've a good eye," said a growling voice, the owner of which was revealed a second later when he stepped into the dull light of a grotty street lamp.
"Professor Moody?" said Harry uncertainly.
"I don't know so much about 'Professor,' never got around to much teaching did I?"
Harry could only nod stupidly.
Just then the second person stepped into the light, and Harry was now looking at a young woman with short, spiky violet hair. She waved.
"Wotcher Harry! The names' –"
"Shut up!" growled Moody. "You don't give away you're name to just anybody. We don't even know if it's the real Potter! And what about her?" he continued, turning to stare suspiciously at Elizabeth. "How do we really know she's been sent by Dumbledore?"
"Oh alright then Moody," grumbled the pink-haired woman, then she looked Elizabeth in the eye. "What's Dumbledore's favourite sweet?"
"Sherbet Lemons," said she and Harry together.
"It's them," said the woman, looking smugly back at Moody.
"Humph," was what Moody said. "In that case, I'm Alastor Moody, and she's" he pointed a thumb at the pink woman "Nymphadora Tonks."
"And if you call me that I'll be forced to kill you," said Nymphadora Tonks quite happily. "Just Tonks will do."
"I'm Elizabeth," said Elizabeth, extending an arm, which was shaken by both Tonks and Moody. Moody stared at her with narrowed eyes.
"Elizabeth, did you say?" His fake eye swivelled in its socket. "Interesting name." Harry wasn't sure, but he thought it might have swirled in his direction for a moment.
Elizabeth raised her brow. "No less interesting than Alastor I'm sure."
"Ha! You've got nerves, girl," said Moody, his face completely warped into a mangle of flesh by his grin. "I like you."
Elizabeth grinned back.
Moody reached into his robe pocket and pulled out what looked like a sliver cigarette lighter. He raised it into the air and started clicking it. The nearest lamp went out with a pop. Then the next one went out; he kept clicking until all the street lamps extinguished and all the light that remained came from curtained windows and the sickle moon overhead.
"Borrowed it from Dumbledore," growled Moody, stashing away the Put-Outer. "That'll take care of any Muggles looking out of the windows, see. What are doing!" he spat, glaring at Harry.
Harry had been in the process of pocketing his wand. "Er?" he said uncertainly.
"You don't ever put your wand in your back pocket, boy! I've known better wizards who'd lost buttocks that way."
"Who do you know who's lost a buttock Moody?" asked Tonks interestedly.
"Never you mind," grunted Moody. "We should have been in the house long ago." He rummaged through his robes and pulled out a scrap of paper. He hadn't it to Harry. "Both of you read quickly and memorise."
Harry looked down at the piece of paper, vaguely conscious of Elizabeth leaning over his shoulder. The narrow-handed writing seemed familiar. It said:
The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.
So it was called the Order of the Phoenix, thought Harry. He supposed that was logical, considering that Fawkes was a creature of light and Dumbledore's pet.
Moody snatched the paper out of Harry's surprised grasp and set fire to it with the tip of his wand. Harry took the time to scan the surrounding houses. He found number eleven and number thirteen, but there was no number twelve in the middle.
"Where's –?" he began.
"Just think about what you've memorised Babe," said Elizabeth, staring onwards interestedly.
Harry did so. Immediately a ratty door appeared in the gap between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed by grimy walls and dirty windows. It was as though an extra house had squeezed itself into the gap. Harry stared at it; the music from number eleven thudded on, and the Muggles appeared not to have noticed anything.
"Inside, quickly!" said Moody, ushering them forward and glaring around.
Harry picked up Hedwig's cage and walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the newly materialised door. Its black paint was scratched and worn; there was sliver doorknocker in the shape of a serpent. Moody shuffled forward and tapped once on the door. Harry heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the rattle of a chain. The door creaked open.
"Go in but don't touch anything!" whispered Moody furiously. "And stay by the door."
Harry looked at Elizabeth. She raised her brows at him. They went in.
The house had the feel of a dying person. It was completely dark in the entrance hall, and there was a sweet, rotting smell lingering in the air, of festered buildings and leeched marshes. It was as though nobody had cleaned it for a long while and the damp smell was left to ooze from the walls.
"Hold on while I give us a bit of light," whispered Moody.
Harry felt a foreboding intrude as Moody did something with his wand and the old-fashioned gas lamp above revealed what was previously darkness. Peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpets in a long, gloomy hallway was the result. Cobwebs blanketed most of the ceiling and old, crooked portraits lined the hallway walls. A chandelier and candelabra on a rickety table nearby were both in the shape of serpents. There was even an ominous hissing sounding from the gas lamp.
There were hurried footsteps and Ron's mother, Mrs Weasley, emerged from the door at the far end of the hall. She was beaming in welcome as she hurried towards them, though Harry noticed, that she was rather thinner and paler than the last time he'd seen her.
"Oh, Harry, it's lovely to see you!" she whispered, pulling him into a rib-cracking hug before holding him at arm's length. Muck had hastily scrambled to the back of his shirt in order not to get squashed. "You're looking peaky: you need feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid."
Harry saw that Elizabeth had her arms crossed and was frowning lightly at Mrs Weasley.
Mrs Weasley turned to Moody and Tonks beside him and whispered urgently. "He's just arrived, the meeting's started. He says to let the young lady come as well." Mrs Weasley looked disproving as she said that, before turning to Elizabeth.
"And you must be her, the escort Dumbledore wrote us about. I'm Molly Weasley, dear," she said offering a hand to Elizabeth. Elizabeth, looking considerably happier, took it. "You don't know how relieved everyone will be when they discover you're not the Dursley boy," she added.
Harry and Elizabeth both said, "What?" in confused tones, but Mrs Weasley shushed them.
"You might want to put your things upstairs, dears," she said. "Follow me."
Harry and Elizabeth exchanged looks before trailing Mrs Weasley down the hall. They followed Mrs Weasley's lead, tiptoeing passed a pair of moth-eaten curtains and an umbrella stand that appeared to be made from several trolls legs. Tonks and Moody veered off through a door to the left when they reached the end of the hall, while the siblings continued to follow Mrs Weasley up a dark staircase, skirting several elf-heads attached to the wall, all of which had the same snout-like nose.
Harry's bewilderment increased with every step that he took. What on earth were they doing in a house that looked as though it belonged to the Darkest of wizards?
"Mrs Weasley, why –?"
"Ron and Hermione will explain everything, dear, we've really got to dash," Mrs Weasley whispered distractedly. "There –" they had reached the second landing "– Harry, you have the door on your right. And . . . oh dear, I don't know your name?"
"Elizabeth."
"Elizabeth, you'll be bunking with Ginny and Hermione, my daughter and another of Harry's friends." She pointed down the end of the hall. "But it's probably best if you give your, uh, cockatoo for Harry to hold. And any trunks you might want to pack away." Mrs Weasley kept glancing down the stairs and appeared to be very rushed.
Elizabeth handed Rufus and her knapsack to Harry before taking the various trunks out of her pocket and unshrinking them.
"Mrs Weasley," Harry began, "where are you –?"
"I'm afraid you can't come with us, Harry dear," Mrs Weasley said, wringing her hands together before taking Elizabeth's arm. "Order members only." Then she ushered Elizabeth down the stairs extremely quickly. Elizabeth glanced behind her apologetically before she and Mrs Weasley disappeared around the corner. Harry was left standing with a bunch of suitcases, an owl, a cockatoo, a Bunyip, and two blearglobs, yet he had never felt quite so alone, quite so confused, or quite so jilted.
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Elizabeth followed the Weasley woman down the elf-head framed stairs. For the defenders of light, they had really picked quite a perfect place to hold Headquarters. It was ideal and very unsuspecting to any Dark wizards. After all, who'd believe that Dumbledore would choose this place with its clearly Dark Art lineage, as the Order Headquarters? Elizabeth certainly wouldn't have suspected, if it weren't for her being inducted by the headmaster. It was also clear that the place was under a heavy Fidelius charm, and that Dumbledore was the Secret Keeper – or so Elizabeth supposed after reading the scrap of informative paper Moody had given Harry, and recognising the writing.
"Now dear, don't be nervous," said Molly Weasley, stopping before the door that Tonks and Moody had gone through earlier. "You'll find that some of them can be a little intimidating at first, but, well, they're alright really. Although, now that I think . . . don't listen to anything Mundungus Fletcher has to say, unless it's been approved by Dumbledore."
Elizabeth raised a brow at the frowning woman.
Molly, seeing her expression, flushed. "It's just that, he's a common criminal, and I don't know why Dumbledore approved him for the Order . . . well, I'll leave you to judge for yourself." She swung open the door.
They stepped in to face the turning of a dozen or so heads, all of which peered curiously at them, or more specifically, at Elizabeth. Some people at the back were even stretching their necks in order to see over the heads in front. Elizabeth supposed she had to get used to all the observing, she was in British wizard culture now, and this lot were prone to speculative observations; even calculating ones. Elizabeth was now on the receiving end of three of these last gazes, two of which had faces framed by long black hair, the other brown, streaked with grey. Molly strode to a seat next to a red-haired man Elizabeth assumed was Mr Weasley, and plopped herself down on it.
Dumbledore sat at the head of this all.
He stood up now from his seat at the end of the table. "Welcome my dear, welcome. I trust you had no problems on your trip."
"Considering the trip took less than a second . . ." Elizabeth drawled.
Several of the Order started sniggering, and one of the black-haired men, the one with greasy hair, even smirked.
"Ahem, very good my dear," said Dumbledore a little reprovingly – though his eyes were crinkling – and gestured at the seat between the other black-haired man, and the brown-haired one. Elizabeth sat on it, glaring at the headmaster. He was looking entirely too smug, so she assumed straight away that the seating positions had been deliberate.
She discretely glanced at the men beside her, only to find they weren't extending her the same courtesy. The brown-haired one seemed to be trying not to stare, making himself more conspicuous in the process, while the black-haired man was full out glaring at her.
"Do you have a problem?" she asked, unabashedly meeting his gaze.
His eyes grew hard. "No," he rasped through gritted teeth, his voice stiff, "no problem at all."
"Ah, my dear," said Dumbledore, lips twitching. "I see you've met Sirius."
Her entire body tensed. A couple of trapeze artists seemed to be performing flips in her stomach. She was sure one even bounced up her windpipe.
"Sirius?" she queried, staring straight at the man in question. "Sirius Black?"
"Do you have a problem?" he sneered, throwing back her own words.
"No," she squeaked, eyes misting a little. Her Godfather!
Sirius smirked seeing her reaction, no doubt thinking he'd intimidated her.
She cleared her throat delicately. She was about to shock the heck out of him, and everyone else. "So if you're Sirius Black, then you –" she turned to the brown-haired man "– must be Remus Lupin."
Remus couldn't have looked more shocked if she'd sat in his lap.
Sirius harshly barked, "What makes you think so?" before Remus could reply.
Dumbledore hemmed loudly, breaking up the tension and placing everyone's notice back on him. "I think introductions are in order," he threw a glance at Elizabeth that held the twinkle of all the stars before beginning. "On your right is, as you've guessed, Sirius Black. On your left is, as you've also guessed, Remus Lupin. Then we have Alastor Moody,
Nymphadora Tonks, Molly, Arthur, Charlie and Bill Weasley." Elizabeth couldn't help but notice that Bill Weasley was very good looking, and his brother came close. She had always been partial to redheads.
Dumbledore continued. "Next in the circle we have Emmaline Vance, Mundungus Fletcher –" Mundungus Fletcher revealed a yellowish grin "– Professors Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape –" they both inclined their heads "– Kinglsey Shacklebot, Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle –" the little wizard bowed "– Sturgis Podmore, and Hestia Jones." Dumbledore drew a deep breath before continuing. "And, everyone, I would like to introduce our newest member, Eliza –"
"AHHHHHHHHHH! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT THING?" a boy's voice bellowed before Dumbledore could finish.
Nearly everyone jumped at the ear-splitting statement, before turning their attention to the ceiling. An extremely muffled voice that sounded a lot like Harry could now be heard coming through the floorboards. A second later a girl's voice joined his.
"OUCH! IT BIT ME!" The first voice thundered down again, sounding surprised. "IF YOU DON'T LEARN TO CONTROL YOUR PETS HARRY . . .!"
Harry said something to that, but it was nearly impossibly to hear since he hadn't been shouting.
"I DON'T CARE IF IT'S A BLOODY FRUITLOOP, KEEP IT AWAY FROM ME!"
"HONESTLY RON!" shrilled the girl's voice. "SHE'S COMPLETELY HARMLESS! YOU'VE JUST SCARED HER WITH YOUR SCREECHING! NO WONDER SHE BIT YOU!"
"BUT IT WAS DOWN HIS FRONT!" yelled Ron in his defence. "STARTLED ME, IS ALL! I CAN'T EVEN GIVE MY BEST MATE A PROPER GREETING WITHOUT STRANGE CREATURES POPPING OUT OF HIS SHIRT!"
"IT'S A BUNYIP!" Harry finally barked, sounding extremely put out. "AND. HER. NAME. IS. MUCK!"
A few muffled grumblings followed that rackety bellow, before becoming quite.
"Ahem," said Dumbledore, breaking up the sniggering around the table. Elizabeth noticed Molly Weasley was looking very pink in the face. Poor woman had to be extremely embarrassed.
"Leave it alone, Molly," said Dumbledore quietly, as the woman stood up out of her chair.
Make that extremely angry, Elizabeth amended, as Molly Weasley grudgingly sat back down.
"Now then," The headmaster took another deep breath. "I believe I was just about to introduce our newest member. Everyone, we are delighted to welcome Eliza –"
"SHE'S YOUR WHAT?" yelled the girl from before.
"MY SIS –!"
Dumbledore cast an impatient look up at the ceiling and flicked his wand, ending Harry's sentence before it had a chance to reveal any potentially disastrous conclusions; the headmaster needed to properly introduce her and explain, after all. Nevertheless, despite it being completely silent now because of Dumbledore's spell, Elizabeth still cracked up laughing. It was as humiliating as all hell – because no one else was doing it. Indeed, some were even staring strangely – but she couldn't seem to help herself.
"Are you quite done?"
It took a second for Elizabeth to realise the question had been addressed at her. She stopped laughing, and nodded in that innocent little girl way. "Sure," she said, then ruined the effect by snorting.
Dumbledore stared at her over the tip of his glasses. She sighed heavily, rolled her eyes, and in a bored, seemingly innocent tone that belied her penchant to cause mischief (which Albus noticed straight away) drawled, "I'm done, Uncle."
Expectedly, surprised mutterings followed that statement. Most of them sounded along the lines of "Uncle?" and "Niece?" and "Another relative of Dumbledore's?" Glances were exchanged from her to Dumbledore and back again, as though the listeners weren't convinced by her say so, and had to have it confirmed by a possible resemblance, no matter how obscure.
Dumbledore, either unaware or not caring of the inquisitive stares being sent his way, was shaking his head and glaring wearily at her. She knew she had just made it all the more difficult for him to introduce her as Harry's sister, because people would wonder why she'd insisted on calling Albus Dumbledore "Uncle." It implied she knew him intimately and familiarly, which would cause all sorts of problems of the Sirius Black variety; and possibly of the Remus Lupin one as well. They would be hard-pressed not to strangle the old wizard when they learned he had known she was alive this whole time, and was apparently on very friendly terms with her.
Well, if that happened, she'd interfere. She was very fond of the headmaster, and would not tolerate any harm to his person, physical or otherwise. Besides, she was the one who'd started the trouble.
"Elizabeth is my Niece," Dumbledore confirmed finally, after several imploring questions, "in heart if not in heritage," he added with a small sigh.
Elizabeth beamed at him, quite ignoring the bewildered stares that were directed at her.
"Also," Dumbledore continued, looking very old and put upon, "she is Harry Potter's sister."
There was a moment of puzzled silence, as if no one had quite comprehended Dumbledore's revelation. Before:
"She's . . . what!"
Sirius had shot up, unmindful of the heavy chair clattering to the floor behind him.
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A/N: Mwahahaahahaha! That's it for chapter eight. Unfortunately, from now on it will be a few long weeks before updates. What can I say? So many things, so little time.
What did you guys think of HBP? Personally, I loved it! If I introduce concepts or information from the sixth book in later chapters, I'll inform you beforehand.
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Note: I've no doubt there are other members of the Order that weren't there, like Hagrid and Aberforth, and probably a few others that we don't know of, but these are the ones I placed in this chapter. The missing members are all on missions and such.
Note: Cheeters can travel up to speeds of 80km/hr.
Note: A wyrm is a type of giant snake in ancient mythology. Think basilisk, but wormier and friendlier.
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Please review. It makes my day to see them.