Hullo lovelies!
It may be odd, but I have kind of been writing non-linearly for a bunch of chapters for the remainder of part I. Which is now approx 24 chapters. By that, I mean I wrote this chapter whilst also working on chapter 167. Dunno why I am mentioning this.
Regardless, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's the beginning of a new period in the Marauders lives, a darker period as the war wages on. I promise there will be happy things too! It won't be all miserable.
Please leave a review and let me know what you think :)
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the storyline and any OC's belong to me.
Hermione had not expected to return to Hogwarts so swiftly after their departure. A few days after their graduation, they were back, and being hosted by Minerva McGonagall in Dumbledore's office.
It hadn't changed a bit from the last time they'd been here. The open, circular layout of the rooms that interconnected. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that lined the walls. The odd objects littered around. The massive, open, stone tracery window on one wall that brought the moonlight directly into the vast room.
There were several other windows here and there, efficiently placed at intervals to collect the daylight and moonlight at different times of the day and throughout the year.
They were gathered in the main part, where the Headmaster's desk was, including the Portraits of all the former Headmasters; most of the frames were empty, and the couple that were occupied were slumbering peacefully.
A door on the West Wall led to Dumbledore's chambers. The web of Dumbledore's magical presence was everywhere she turned, it lingered in the fabric of the rooms.
"This is about The Order of the Phoenix," Hermione stated curtly, an uncomfortable tightening wrapped around her windpipe; insistent that she not divulge more than needed.
"So it existed in your time as well? Or you'd heard of it?"
"Yes. I was privy to quite a bit of Order business…even though I was never an official member." Hermione sighed, sitting cross-legged in the large, cozy armchair by one of the slender, long windows on the West side of the Headmaster's office.
Hermione was staring directly at Dumbledore's chambers door. Oak, finely made, steel bars and detailing holding together the boards. A brass handle that gleamed in the warm light of the torches that lined the office walls.
Draco remained silent, he was peering at the contents of Dumbledore's desk that had been left out. Nothing of interest was to be found, just scraps of parchment, a glass jar filled with lemon drops and a container that had too many quills of varying lengths jammed into it.
"Professor Dumbledore knows that due to your position and relationships, it will be a given that you shall be inducted…however, he requests that you only have minimal roles." Minerva spoke calmly, but her displeasure was evident from her tense stance, and unimpressed expression. She was opposite Draco, her hands clasped behind her back.
"Is that so?" Draco asked. Sleekly, he slid into Dumbledore's chair, elbows on his desk, fingers interlaced, his face partially obscured by his hands.
"He thought I would be a better messenger, as you were less likely to as he put it, 'set me on fire' or cause me harm. He said talks may turn volatile, especially since you voiced how you wish to see as little as possible of him for the foreseeable future."
"Is that what he said?" Hermione snorted.
The dark expressions on the Potters' faces would strike fear in many fearsome warriors, and Minerva swallowed thickly before she continued speaking. "If I had my way, none of you would have any part in this…yet, life is cruel and unfair."
Neither Potter reacted to her words, the darkness clinging to them didn't lift. Minerva kept going. "Although, my recollection of our meeting from years ago leads me to believe war is not uncharted waters for you two."
"No, it isn't." Hermione growled, the ends of her hair sparking; her words caused no unwanted side effects. Seemingly, the Vow did not find this part of the conversation a threat, despite them teetering on the edge of giving away vital information.
"What exactly does minimal mean?" Draco asked, eerily calm.
"Unless necessary, he wishes you to not partake in any official Order business," Minerva stated.
"So when everyone else is out there—"
"He wishes you to be members less in practicality, and more in title."
The audacity, Hermione grumbled mentally.
Albus Dumbledore was right about one thing: Hermione did not set McGonagall on fire, she rose from her seat, and lit the armchair she'd been in ablaze instead.
Time was cruel and meticulous in its cyclical nature of history and events repeating themselves. Once more they were child soldiers, and Draco was being sworn under the allegiance of another organisation; this time it was the Order of the Phoenix.
At least this one doesn't brand you, Draco thought dully, hanging towards the back of the pack. He was in the corner of the room, away from the others, smoking a fag. He unconsciously scratched at his left forearm.
Minerva shot him a disapproving stare, but did not scold him or make any commentary.
Smoking had successfully kept the rest of the room's occupants at bay. Something Draco was pleased about. He needed his space today. The gravity of what they were doing was oppressive.
Albus Dumbledore was at the front of the room, leading the proceedings. This meeting was just an introduction: all the members were inducted, some ground rules and goals were discussed, and they all swore formidable, damning oaths if they were broken.
The room was clean, rectangular—far longer than it was wide—which made it feel confining, stifling. Perhaps Draco's internal feelings were surfacing, exacerbating and amplifying his unease. He was starting to feel caged in. There were no windows, a single seven foot by two foot door was on the opposite side of the room. It was so far away.
Draco'd been so focused on putting as much space between him and Dumbledore that he'd backed himself into a corner; another factor adding to his discomfort.
The elaborate empire chandelier in the middle of the room hungly lowly from the absurdly high ceiling. It was the only light source, illuminating everything, casting dramatic shadows; the crystals glittered and vibrated with even the slightest force as the wix moved about the room. A sense of frailty to his surroundings pressed in on him.
There was some dust that lingered in his corner, it had caused his nose to itch since he'd sequestered himself here. It further proved that he'd made a poor decision settling here. He would suffer through it however, if it meant he was as far away from the Old Coot as possible.
Many familiar faces were milling about. Molly Weasley had brought a spread of snacks and they were being shared around. Hermione and Remus had engaged in light chatter with Arthur.
The Prewett brothers were lightheartedly teasing Marlene, a light blush tinged her cheeks whenever she met Fabian's eye. The elder Prewett tucked some hair behind her ear and his finger lightly brushed her cheek.
Is that how it is? Draco thought, amused by the idea.
Gideon seemed to come to a similar conclusion, and marched over to where Emmeline and Dorcas were standing. The girls greeted him warmly, and they reminisced on their days at Hogwarts.
Draco returned to casually observing his environs. More accurately observing those he'd only just met. Draco had been introduced to a litany of Order members when he arrived: Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher, Benjy Fenwick, Sturgis Podmore, Edgar Bones, Dedalus Diggle, Caradoc Dearborn, and Elphias Doge.
Draco meticulously burned their names and faces into his memory. They would fight—a great deal of them—to the death against the Dark Lord's regime.
And I can't do anything to stop it. The thought tasted of iron and acid as he swallowed it down, trying to banish it to somewhere far away. It persisted, tormenting him.
A deep, velvety voice brought him back from the brink. "You look glum and dour."
Draco peered to his left, only to be met with dark skin and a smile that glittered with starlight. The man was compelling, unfairly attractive, and he knew it. It irked Draco. Although, Draco couldn't find it in him to dislike him.
"Kings," Draco greeted evenly. A vision of the man dancing with his witch appeared.
Not his fault he doesn't know she's taken, Draco thought. Kingsley had stolen glances at Hermione many times since the meeting had commenced, and it brought Draco great displeasure. He tried not to let it show. The only thing he wanted to do when he saw Kingsley's longing gaze following her figure, was storm over to her, gather her in his arms, and stake his claim.
Hermione would call such thoughts absurdly territorial and smack him. Then, she would smile and kiss him.
Draco took a long pull from his fag, he tilted his head upwards and exhaled the light grey smoke in a slow stream. He stared as it dissipated. Draco's grip on his cigarette tightened as the distinct sound of wood hitting stone reached his ears. Not much remained of the cigarette, so he vanished it.
Draco lowered his gaze, his head partly following. Alastor Moody was making his way towards them. A severe expression fixed on his features. The man never seemed to smile.
Alastor's shoulder-length blond hair had been tied back into a short ponytail, and his large brown coat swept out behind him. The man had a menacing presence. His blue eyes were sharp, and darted around every now and then as he surmised his surroundings.
Still has both his legs it seems, Draco snorted. The sound had been from Moody's staff tapping against the floor as he moved. A bold announcement of his movements.
Moody's wand was holstered on his right thigh, and occasionally his hand would twitch and brush across it.
"You seem to understand the gravity of the situation," Moody said brusquely. "Are you one of the twerps meant to start Auror training with me next week?"
"No. That would be my brothers," Draco said lazily, no longer wishing to engage in this conversation. Moody apparently thought otherwise.
"Brothers? I thought there were only three of you Potter brats."
"Sirius Black is also my brother," Draco answered with a sigh, as if teaching the man basic Math he should already know.
"He's not blood—" Moody cut himself off, and barked out a laugh. "Forgive me. I forgot Dorea was a Black." Moody stroked the scruff on his chin, smiling mysteriously. "Although, she wasn't your birth Mother from what I've heard."
Moody stroked his chin thoughtfully, "Galieus Potter was your Father."
"Are you quite finished expositing my life story to me? Frankly, it's tiresome," Draco gazed at the man through hooded lids. He straightened out, hands falling to his sides as he made to push past Moody. With a fearsome grip, Moody grabbed hold of Draco's upper arm, and with his face uncomfortably close to Draco's said, "I won't pry further, but I know the details of you and your sister's origins are vague, fishy at best. I don't know what game Dumbledore is playing—"
Draco wretched himself from the man's hold. His arm sore, and possibly bruised. But, he didn't give Moody an inch. He maintained their distance, and he could taste the Firewhisky on Mad-eye's breath.
"If you don't mean to pry further, then our past shouldn't be any concern of yours." Draco glowered at the man—unbeknownst to Draco—a dark aura wafted off of him, stabbing into Moody.
"I suggest you don't make comments like that around anyone else. I'll also make one thing abundantly clear, I have nothing to do with that old codger's schemes, and he can go fuck himself." Draco spat with thick venom.
Moody smiled once more, serenely this time. "Fiesty aren't you? That's good, you have fight in you." Moody peered over Draco's shoulder at where Kingsley stood, and jerked his chin in the opposite direction. Kingsley quirked a brow, but followed the directive, heading over to the rest of the room's occupants. Moody threw up a Muffliato, and Draco's eyebrows rose as he stared into the man's unwavering gaze.
"Dumbledore is a great man. I will follow him because he has proven that to me time after time." Moody spoke in hushed tones, still smiling, but his eyes had a glassy, empty look to them. He cleared his throat. "My judgments pertaining to one's character are rarely wrong."
I've probably heard all the stories, the myths, the tales that had been told about Mad-Eye Moody…he has a keen nose for sniffing out Dark Wizards, and his mistrust of everyone is what kept him alive for as long as it did considering the danger of his work. Yet, he is willing to place almost blind trust in Dumbledore. Draco frowned deeply as he considered the enigma of a man before him.
Moody tapped his staff on the ground twice. "I will admit he often does strange, mysterious things that make no sense at the time," Alastor admitted, shrugging the statement off cavalierly. It was far removed and unrelated to their prior discussion. It only served to flummox Draco further.
Moody patted Draco on the back. "Don't worry, I have no grand plan to unearth whatever secrets you or your sister's past holds. I just have one question."
"What?" Draco asked, puzzled by the question that had intrigued Moody's curiosity, but also caused him to make sure that no one heard him ask it.
"Is your disdain of Dumbledore justified?"
Not what Draco had been expecting.
At Draco's baffled, rapid blinking, Moody scoffed. "Please. It is no secret amongst those gathered here that you and your sister hold the man in great contempt. All I want to know is…is it justified?"
"Yes," Draco replied, his tongue thick in his mouth as he stumbled over the word. This was not a conversation he could have anticipated.
"Okay. Glad we could have this chat," Moody breathed out deeply, and squared his shoulders. "Constant vigilance, kid," Moody said in farewell before he departed. Not another word passed between them, and the man acted as if they hadn't spoken at all. He didn't look back at Draco, not once.
Draco spent the rest of the meeting in his corner, lost in thought, a mere observer of the events unfolding. Kingsley wandered over to Hermione at some point, and with that dazzling smile of his and endless wit he drew more than a few laughs out of the witch. Draco smiled at that. He found he couldn't even be mad at Kingsley for attempting to charm his girlfriend.
The weight of the inexorable events that would soon unfold had taken its toil on Hermione and Draco. The rare occasions that they were alone these days were burdened by their knowledge, and their inability to do anything. So much so, that Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd made Hermione laugh like that.
I'll have to remember to make a greater effort in doing so, Draco promised himself. She was shouldering a planet of guilt, helplessness and inadequacy; she'd confessed as much a few days ago when they were in bed late at night, both of them unable to sleep. It pained him to see her so encumbered by such feelings.
(With Lily being a permanent addition, they'd had to be even more vigilant, and had relegated their alone time to late at night. Often one of them would sneak into the others room after everyone else had retired for the night.)
Shortly thereafter, the newly minted members of the Order of the Phoenix began to disperse. Not wanting to linger any longer than necessary, Draco headed in his pack's direction. He was intercepted by a soft, but commanding voice. Both his and Hermione's name were called. It was the man of the hour himself, Albus Dumbledore.
Hermione had joined Remus, James, Sirius, Peter and Lily. Draco focused wholly on hearing her words.
"We'll be along in a minute. You can head home before us." She paused, faced Peter, placed a hand on his shoulder, and her next statement solely addressed him. "Make sure to come and visit us more often, Pete. You're always welcome."
Besides Remus, the others didn't pick up on the sad notes in her voice. With a tiny frown, the werewolf dismissed it, looping his arm through Lily's and leading the way out of the room.
Three remained. Dumbledore waved his hand, and the door to the sole exit softly swung inwards, shutting with a click.
"I take it Minerva delivered my message?" Dumbledore asked. He was directly beneath the chandelier, the light glowing all around him. From the different angles as Draco moved, he either looked sinister or ethereal. It was disconcerting.
"She did," Draco said curtly. He'd reached Hermione (she was several feet away from their former Headmaster).
The war was bringing out the darker side of Dumbledore, it must be. Draco had thought the man unbearably righteous, cunning, powerful and despite everything he'd put them through, wise. Dumbledore was manipulative, kind, peculiar, and a myriad of things, but Draco had never felt any malicious intent from the wizard before.
An unsettling taste was thick in the air around them, and it burned Draco's lungs as he breathed; every one of Draco's senses were screaming for him to leave the room.
Yet, the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes was there as he peered at them over his half-moon spectacles. His hands were clasped behind his back. His attire consisted of: pale yellow robes, navy shoes that looked deceptively like thick socks, a silvery hat that drooped to the right side of Dumbledore's face with a tiny ball on the end that glinted as it caught the light.
Outwardly he was welcoming, and nothing more than an inviting, older individual that would shelter and protect the weak under his wing. But Draco sensed the underlying threat that awaited them if they displeased him.
"So I trust we shall not need to have any further conversations on the matter. I know this must all be terribly difficult, but even you must admit that this is for the best. The timeline must remain intact for the sake of us all." Dumbledore said in an uplifting tone, humming in between sentences.
"No. There will be no need for us to converse about this any longer." Draco glanced at his witch for the first time since he'd joined her. The steel in her stance, and fire in her eyes declared she was unperturbed by Dumbledore's warnings. A smile as sweet as fresh, sticky honey glazed her face. Draco was in awe of her.
Beautiful, he thought.
Whilst Dumbledore intended for this to envoke a truce, Hermione had gotten other inclinations from the interaction. It was a declaration of war.
Draco and Hermione Potter were not built to be benched on the sidelines as their loved ones risked their lives.
Draco and Hermione's eyes met and silently a world of words were spoken. They came to an agreement. Screw Dumbledore's wishes.
"Goodbye, Albus." Hermione bit out the man's name as if it tasted grotesque and bitter.
"Miss Granger."
It was a measured calculation using Hermione's birth name. Perhaps he was goading her, riling her up and trying to provoke an unfavourable reaction. For some mysterious reason.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "That was truly unnecessary, Dumbledore. Just because you know details of our past does not mean you know us. You think you understand what's going to happen, everything that will come to pass, but knowledge has a price, Albus." The witch snorted ungraciously.
Hermione grabbed Draco by the wrist, and forcefully tugged him behind her as she made to leave. Dumbledore uttered not a word more.
Just as they reached the door, Draco peered over his shoulder, catching a final look at the wizard. The menacing aura had vanished, and all that was left was a frail looking man whose shoulders had slumped and crumpled in on himself. A lone wolf under a harsh spotlight.
The mystery of Albus Dumbledore and what thoughts actually went through his mind would most likely never be solved.
Hermione threw open the door, and a realisation struck Draco. Despite being surrounded by people—perpetually—Albus Dumbledore was also painfully alone. That was the price of his power, the price of his knowledge.
Draco knew Dumbledore's estranged brother—Aberforth—eventually joined the Order. But he also knew that as the owner of the Hog's Head, no one had known the pair were even related. Another mystery.
Hermione had acknowledged Dumbledore's words, but she'd become quite the defiant witch; some rules were made to be bent, broken and shattered beyond recognition.
Which is why the first official mission Dumbledore sent James and Sirius on—an easy reconnaissance assignment—Hermione and Draco accompanied them; blatantly ignoring all of Dumbledore's aforementioned instructions.