Chapter Twenty-Two: An Order to Wait
The gargoyle was standing as ugly as ever when he emerged from the wall. Its angry stone eyes followed James as he moved closer and closer until he was planted right in front of it. Then he remembered that he did not know the password.
"Lifesaver," muttered James.
The gargoyle did not move. It remained firmly in place as he thought of other sweets – what did Dumbledore like to eat?
"Choco Balls?" he tried again.
The gargoyle appeared to be restraining itself from rolling its eyes. James clenched his hand into a fist.
"Pearl Ring. Fizzing Whizbee. Er – Chocolate Frog… dammit, can't you just open?" said James angrily. "Licorice Wand. Sherbet Lemon. Blood Pop."
The gargoyle sprang to life and jumped aside. James blinked.
"Blood Pop… what is he, a vampire?" he murmured. "All right, then…"
He climbed the spiral steps and found himself face-to-face with a brass door knocker attached to a polished oak door.
He could hear voices coming from inside the room. James hesitated, his hand halfway up in the air from grabbing the brass knocker, and listened.
"It's not a matter of whether or not I should join, Albus, but of the fact that I do not want to! I have been useful as a spy, have I not?"
Professor McGonagall's voice sounded agitated, angry. James imagined her mouth thinning as she argued with Dumbledore, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she spoke.
"I urge you to reconsider, Minerva," came Dumbledore's calm voice. "The Ministry would have been slaughtered if the Order hadn't come, and the Death Eaters – you would not believe the numbers, the sheer numbers that were present in the attack –"
"I would believe, as I was the one to tell you," said McGonagall coldly.
There was a pause. James pressed his ear to the door.
"The Ministry may as well be hiding behind a crumbling wall now," said Dumbledore, still in that calm voice. "With Dover gone, it is only a matter of time before the Ministry follows. The Order is in disarray, morale is low among them, and the Death Eaters grow stronger and stronger with each passing day –"
"And you can count on me to help, Albus, but not as part of the Order!"
Footsteps came closer and closer, and James's mind went into overdrive. He hastily pulled his ear away from the door, but that was no good, if he was found skulking around it would be obvious that he had been listening. Right as the knob turned, James grabbed the brass knocker and hit it against the door.
"Come in," said Dumbledore's voice.
The door pulled back, and McGonagall's scowling face was the first thing he saw. He tried to keep his face free from expression, but he felt it un morphing, he felt it shrink as McGonagall widened her eyes, surprised.
"What are you doing here, Potter?" she demanded.
"Er…"
He suddenly realised how reckless of an idea it had been to come to Dumbledore's office. He tried to make up an excuse – that he had wanted to deliver a detention slip, yes, that sounded plausible, but before he could say anything Dumbledore spoke again.
"Were you listening, James?"
There was a slight, amused twinkle in Dumbledore's piercing eyes that told him it would be no good to lie.
"Er – yeah, I was," said James.
"You what?" barked Professor McGonagall, appearing livid as a ghoul as she glared at James. "And it is a coincidence, is it not, that you happened to be here while we were in the middle of… well…"
James didn't know what to say. Dumbledore sighed.
"Very well, very well… I suppose we can –"
"The Order of the Phoenix," blurted James suddenly.
Dumbledore kept his mouth open for a moment before closing it, frowning. McGonagall had gone very white and was now staring at James with an odd, fixated gaze.
"How do you know that name, Potter?" she asked quietly. "I was not aware that we had mentioned it at all."
James's hand was already halfway up towards his hair, but he forced it down and tried to stand still. The recklessness that had possessed him mere moments ago had vanished, leaving behind a cold, empty sense of regret and embarrassment.
"I – I saw your file," said James slowly. "The Ministry file," he added, for good measure.
"In my office?" said Professor McGonagall in that same, wondering voice, as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Forgive me, Potter, but it sounds to me as though you went through my personal stuff."
"It wasn't intentional!" protested James, trying to clear his mind of any thought as he sputtered the lie. "I thought… maybe you left something, a – a note, or a new schedule –"
"You looked very carefully for something as simple as a note," said Professor McGonagall coldly.
James hadn't noticed before, but she was clutching a handful of black files – similar to the one he had seen in her office. He wondered what was inside them. They shook along with Professor McGonagall's hands as barely-suppressed rage emanated from her. He suddenly didn't feel like telling her that the drawer had been out in the open where anyone could have seen it.
Very slowly and very carefully, Dumbledore placed his wand on top of his marble table, watching them. Fawkes gave a low, musical hum, and, for a moment, James was filled with a fleeting sense of reassurance.
"Professor," began James in a hurried voice; he knew what Dumbledore was thinking, knew that he would be forced to secrecy or have his memory modified. "Just – just this once, I want answers. I want to know what this Order is, and what you've been doing."
"What are you talking about?" demanded Professor McGonagall. "You will know no such thing! It is bad enough for you to come here, on the time of our appointment –"
"Is it, though?" asked Dumbledore, leaning back in his throne-like chair. "I, for one, am rather pleased that we get the chance to talk. And please come inside, James. From what I can tell, you have your career meeting with Professor McGonagall, right at this very moment…? How convenient. I heard you have had trouble coming to a decision. Perhaps, with me here, we can discuss things a little more… openly."
"What?" said Professor McGonagall again. "You want to tell him about – everything?"
"Not everything, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore quietly. "Only what James deserves to know. His decision will be based on what I say –"
"His decision?" said Professor McGonagall angrily, casting Dumbledore a look full of disdain. "This is ridiculous! Professor Dumbledore, to disclose such information with a teenager is downright foolish, not to mention irresponsible –"
"I am well aware of my responsibilities, Professor McGonagall, and right now, it is to do all there is to do to ensure our victory against the Death Eaters," said Dumbledore wearily. "I believe that anyone has the right to ask, and to seek knowledge, if they have earned it. Come inside, James. I wish to discuss things with you. Unless you don't want to…?"
"I do," said James quickly.
Dumbledore shot a sharp glance towards Professor McGonagall, who flared her nostrils.
"Very well," she snapped, slamming the door as James stumbled in.
James manoeuvred through the maze of silver instruments under the glaring eye of Professor McGonagall, who looked angrier than James had ever seen her. He was reminded, rather unpleasantly, of her face in a time not too long ago, when the grounds outside were snowy, and Dumbledore's old stone walls were replaced by the splintering wood of the Shrieking Shack…
He stood before Dumbledore's large marble desk, feeling quite awkward and foolish. He wasn't sure if coming here had been the right thing – no, he was positive that coming here had been a bad idea. Dumbledore's calm demeanour, how his hand played idly with his long, wooden wand, how he seemed as though he was still deciding if James ought to be here or not… it all felt tense, alarming.
"What do you know about the Order of the Phoenix, James?" asked Dumbledore coolly.
It took a moment for James to form thoughts into words.
"Er… before I came here, only what everyone else does. Just that you were there when the Death Eaters attacked Dover, how the Ministry would've been dead if your people hadn't come."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Perfectly true. Is that all?"
James tried not to look away from Dumbledore's blue eyes, staring at him searchingly from behind those half-moon spectacles. He had the distinct impression that Dumbledore could see every thought going through his mind, every possibility being played out as he debated whether or not to lie.
"Er… no," said James after a short pause, glancing quickly at Professor McGonagall, who glowered right back at him. "I also gathered… that Professor McGonagall isn't part of the – the Order."
Professor McGonagall's face was white-hot as Dumbledore opened his mouth to answer. "Ah, yes. The topic of our argument."
"Yes, our argument," agreed Professor McGonagall scathingly. "Potter, remind me to give you detention until NEWTs."
"But – what?" said James, suddenly stung. "For asking for information?"
Professor McGonagall didn't answer him. Dumbledore watched them curiously, as though he were at a play. Then he smiled.
"Information is a dangerous thing, James," said Dumbledore. "You heard yourself what I was able to do – or rather, what I wasn't able to do – with the information given to me by Professor McGonagall. Many at Dover would have died, but then again, there were some that I could not save."
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.
"If you are going to let him stay, Professor, it would at least do you well to discuss actual, useful matters," she said. "Namely, what I had originally planned with Potter."
"And so we shall," said Dumbledore, smiling. He placed his fingers together. "I remember, quite clearly, that you wanted to be a Quidditch player, James. Which is, of course, understandable: you are talented and full of potential, but above all, you are passionate. One of the reasons I chose you as Head Boy was your ability to be passionate, whether it be about Quidditch or – forgive me – the suppression of the Dark Arts."
These were very odd words, thought James. Professor McGonagall apparently thought so too, for her eyes narrowed into a scowl and her lips thinned even more so.
"We are to discuss careers, Professor Dumbledore, not to inflate egos or foster false admiration."
"I am aware of that," said Dumbledore mildly. "I was merely expressing the notion that James here would be an excellent Quidditch player."
"But I don't want to be a Quidditch player," said James hurriedly, glancing once more at Professor McGonagall. "That was – that was two years ago, and I've given it a lot of thought –"
"Indeed," said Dumbledore, frowning. "Perhaps you would like to join the Order?"
"I – what?"
James recoiled slightly from Dumbledore, stunned. He had not expected the offer to be made, and especially not from Dumbledore.
He looked at Professor McGonagall, who appeared thunderstruck. She opened her mouth once, then closed it again as Dumbledore held up a hand.
"Is that not why you came here?" asked Dumbledore to James. "To ask to join the Order of the Phoenix?"
"Professor Dumbledore," said Professor McGonagall irately. "It is one thing to inform someone of the war you're fighting, and another to ask one to contribute to that very war! Mister Potter is in my House – choose your words carefully."
"My dear Professor McGonagall, my words have been chosen carefully," said Dumbledore, inclining his head. "I know very well that it is foolish of me to ask someone – even someone like you, James – to join the Order of the Phoenix, especially at an age so young. But you cannot, however, deny that we are losing this war, Professor McGonagall. Sooner or later, the Death Eaters will strike again, and Lord Voldemort shall rise victorious amidst our pile of corpses – if we don't fight back. The Order needs soldiers, fighters to operate –"
"Potter is not a soldier!" snapped Professor McGonagall, so harshly that James stepped back in shock. "He is not someone you can use and toil, someone you can send to die! He's still in school, for Heaven's sake, and has a life yet to live! It isn't his war to fight, Dumbledore!"
There was a brief but tense silence after that. James's mind was quite blank, still surprised that he was allowed to take part in a conversation between two people – one a spy, the other a leader. His gaze set itself upon Dumbledore, who was frowning at him through his spectacles.
"What do you say, James?" said Dumbledore quietly.
"I…"
James had never felt so uncomfortable in his life. What did it mean, that it wasn't his war to fight?
He felt his chest close up, as though a hard rock was pressing against it. He suddenly remembered his fight with Avery, how a single word had caused him to lash out. He recalled how just a few months ago, he and his friends had been victim to a Death Eater assault on Hogsmeade. He thought about Sirius, how he and his family had ripped apart any bonds that held them, orchestrated by the ideas that fueled the war – the war that was supposedly not James's fight.
And finally, he thought about Lily, how she'd endured hate and prejudice from so many people, and still kept her head high in spite of it all. There was an odd, fiery strength to her, and James knew, if he were to ask her, that she would want him to do the right thing. This, he was sure, was the right thing.
"It is my war to fight," said James, looking directly at Professor McGonagall, praying that the look on his face was defiant and not angry. "And I want to fight with all I can."
Professor McGonagall scowled even more. Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, as though the matter had been resolved.
"Excellent," said Dumbledore, looking quite serene. "Professor McGonagall is right, however, in that you cannot join while you are still in school. If you still wish to join by the end of the school year, then you must come talk to me. I am trusting you to keep this to yourself. Or rather… away from unwelcome ears."
Dumbledore exchanged a significant look with Professor McGonagall. A silent conversation passed between them, but James couldn't tell what it was about.
"That is all, I believe," said Dumbledore curtly. "I have quite a lot of work to do – letters, both from the Ministry and from the people. It is rather tiring, I fear…"
Professor McGonagall grabbed James by the shoulder and dragged him with her out the door. James caught one last glance of Dumbledore watching them go, his mouth set in a slight smile and his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses.
Once they were at the gargoyle Professor McGonagall released him, still scowling. James paused for a moment, expecting her to shout at him, but when he looked up he saw that her face was set in fear and alarm.
"Professor –" James started, but Professor McGonagall held up a finger.
"Not here," she hissed, glancing around. "How about a walk around the grounds? I am in rather need of fresh air."
"But I have class."
The childish words fell from his lips before he could think.
"You are excused," said Professor McGonagall coolly. "Walk with me. Come."
No words were exchanged as they set off for the front doors. Students glanced at them curiously, perhaps thinking what that idiot James Potter had gotten himself into now. James, however, could hardly care less for what the others thought about him. He walked with a slight spring in his step – he had never before appreciated the beauty of Hogwarts's many alcoves and bricks.
The grounds were quite deserted, as was usual at the hour. James remembered spending afternoons with Lily and the rest of his friends huddled around a tree, studying or joking around, but he doubted he would get to do any of that with Professor McGonagall. She walked to his right, her face tight and stern as always, but he noticed there was a slight hunch to her posture. If he looked closely, he could see that she looked resigned – defeated.
The sun stung his skin from behind its curtain of clouds; the warm spring wind rustled against his robes, causing them to flap; the thought of how strange it was to be taking a stroll so near noon came across his mind various times, and yet he could not bring himself to initiate the conversation. Professor McGonagall still marched, stoic and silent, and she did not acknowledge him until they had reached the beech tree. They stopped and stood under its shade.
"You are a fool."
Bitterness. James glanced at her. "What do you mean, Professor?"
Professor McGonagall set her hard gaze on the lake, making it seem as though she was addressing it instead of James. "You have no idea what you signed up for, Potter. It is not something you can take lightly. Not war."
"Blimey, and here I was thinking I'd signed up for the junior Quidditch club," said James sarcastically. "I know what war is, Professor. I know what it means."
"Then you shouldn't." Professor McGonagall curled her bottom lip. "For the second time this century, I am beginning to hear empty words and promises out of incompetent mouths. First it was with that monster, Grindelwald, and all that supported him, and now it is with the Dark Lord and his followers."
She at last looked at him, not as she usually did, as a teacher, but as something closer. As though they were friends.
"You've no idea how many men and women I've watched die," said Professor McGonagall bluntly. "I had hoped that at least one of my students would outlive me."
James didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth, then closed it as Professor McGonagall turned away again.
"The Order of the Phoenix," spat Professor McGonagall, with such vindictiveness that it surprised James. "A death sentence."
"I'm not in a hurry to die, Professor," said James.
Professor McGonagall snorted. "And yet you accepted Dumbledore's offer without so much as a second thought. There's a fine line between nobleness and stupidity, James, and to be able to do both is a very Gryffindor trait."
She straightened and smoothed her robes. "Let us continue."
This time they walked the path towards Hagrid's Hut. James could hear him banging around inside, whistling a cheerful tune as Fang barked along. They went around and found themselves nearing a vast stretch of grey, miserable trees.
The grass turned darker and the sun was but a blur in the sky overhead. Dead twigs and leaves crunched under their feet, for the Forbidden Forest stood in the way. They did not go inside, as James had half-hoped, but instead walked along the outskirts, listening to the odd sounds coming from inside the forest.
"You don't have to join, James," said Professor McGonagall suddenly, turning to him. "There are other ways to help win this war –"
"But I want to," said James, trying not to sound annoyed. "You told me once that you'd support my decision, whatever it would be. Why're you so against this?"
"Because I had not considered you joining the Order at your age," said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. "You're young and still in school. You've barely experienced life –"
"And you have?" said James, perhaps a little more harshly than he had wanted it to sound, but he didn't care. "You've lived through one war, and now as a spy you're right in the middle of another. I don't see how this is any different."
"There goes your infamous temper," said Professor McGonagall, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. "Hot-headed, impulsive, reckless – letting your emotions get to you –"
"That's beside the point," said James angrily, kicking a small pebble out of his way. It curved towards the forest.
"That's precisely my point," insisted Professor McGonagall. "You want to join the Order to fulfil your selfish desires for redemption, to stoke your delicate emotions –"
"Where in Merlin's soggy feet did you get that idea from?" asked James incredulously. "I want to join the Order because I want to stop Voldemort, nothing else! And if I do join, I reckon things'll start to –"
"Start to what?" seethed Professor McGonagall, stopping in her tracks. Her robes swirled as she turned to glower at him. "To get better? That He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself will appear to meet you on the battlefield? That somehow, suddenly, miraculously, the persecution of Muggles and Muggleborns will stop?"
It was a shouting match all over again. James grit his teeth from shouting.
"You heard what Dumbledore said," said James, emphasising the fact that he had not said Professor Dumbledore. "We're losing this war, and he needs more fighters. Things aren't going to get better if I sit around twiddling my thumbs, waiting for everything to die down… if I join, I –"
"For Heaven's sake, Potter, you're speaking as though you have the power to end the war by yourself!" said Professor McGonagall loudly. "Older, more powerful wizards and witches than both you and I have joined the Order, and yet we are in no better shape than we were a year ago, or two, or three! Do yourself a favour and live!"
The Forbidden Forest swallowed her words and made them meaningless.
Professor McGonagall took a deep breath and sighed, closing her eyes for a moment.
"I thought you would have asked by now," she said hesitantly. "Why I didn't join the Order, and why I've instead decided to become a spy on my own."
James looked at her. McGonagall looked tired and weary.
"Yeah," he mumbled.
"Albus is a great friend," said Professor McGonagall quietly. "I have known him long, and I have seen him at his best – and his worst. But even great friendships can be sacrificed to win a war, and Dumbledore, I'm afraid, is at the very forefront of this war. He is a powerful man, fighting another powerful man… and sometimes it is more dangerous to be close to one than to be fighting the other. I admit… that I rather hoped… I would not be one of his sacrifices."
James didn't want to hear any more. He knew that Dumbledore had every right to make sacrifices – they were at war, for Merlin's sake – but he did not want to think about how, soon, if things had to happen that way, he could also be a candidate.
He at least hoped that Dumbledore would have the decency to not pick him first, as he was rather new to this.
"We shouldn't even be talking about this," muttered James, sweeping his gaze towards the grey trees. "I've made up my mind. I thought you'd be proud of me."
When he looked at Professor McGonagall again, he saw that she looked deeply hurt and sorrowful. But as she held his stare, and wrinkled her nose, he began to realise that beneath all the reproachfulness, the exasperation, there was a strange twinkle in her eyes that told him: I am.
He felt a sudden rush of affection towards Professor McGonagall. It was her opinion, above anyone else's, above even Lily's, he conceded right then, that he valued the most. He realised that this was her own way of saying that she didn't agree with him, but was proud nonetheless.
And by Gryffindor, James swore, he would take her pride and pin it to his chest like a badge, and he would fight for it like a lion.
Writing's taken a backseat for me, at least for now, while I focus on school a bit more. And if I am writing, it's usually something that already has a prompt (r/writingprompts on Reddit) because it's easier and also allows you to practice. This was originally intended to be longer, with the usual 6000-7000 words, but I felt that would have dragged on this bit of the story. I'm probably going to be updating much less frequently from now on, because of some personal reasons, but they're not so bad as to make me want to quit this story altogether. Rest assured this will be finished by the end of this year.