A/N: Kind of slow. Apologies. R/R
THE PROPHECY
Harry felt like his stomach was tugged through his throat before being slammed painfully back in. He was barely aware that his feet were now touching ground – his body was still lost in the corridor between Privet Drive and the beach he was now standing upon. Having been the first time Harry Apparated, he wasn't aware of the way gravity disappeared and reappeared in seconds. And nor, did Harry hope, that he would have to be in the near future.
"You'll become used to it in time," Dumbledore said, nodding to himself in agreement. "You'll be learning to Apparate on your lonesome this year at the expense of a few lost eyebrows and a tuft of underarm hair. Reminds me of some unfortunate moments of my youth - however, we've no time for that today Harry."
The younger wizard was too busy clutching at his stomach and attempting not to retch, knees dug into the sand, to actually hear what Dumbledore said. The older wizard pretended not to notice, happily humming to himself and rocking back and forth on his heels, tossing his wand to make emerald sparks like he did at the Dursleys.
"Sorry, professor," Harry finally croaked, pulling himself out of the sand. He swayed a bit, but was immediately comforted by the fact he was grounded.
"Ah, it is my fault, Harry," Dumbledore said pleasantly. He picked up a rock from the sand, transforming it into a chalice with a simplistic wave of his wand. "Aguamenti." A cool jet of water poured into the cup. Dumbledore handed it to Harry with a smile. "You may want to wash out your mouth. I'm sure the taste of vomit is quite disgusting. I've quite an experience with the taste - I do recall explaining my terrible history with Bertie Bott's to you."
Harry nodded darkly, swishing the water around in his mouth before spitting into the sand. "Thank you, sir."
"You're welcomed, of course." Dumbledore glanced at Harry from over his crescent-moon eyeglasses. He gestured with a wide-armed swoop to the beach extending before the two wizards. "For your protection, I will not tell you exactly where we are, but it is the new headquarters of the Order."
"New?" Harry croaked softly. "What happened to Grimmauld Place?"
Dumbledore's face seemed impassive. "With Sirius passing, the house is now given to the one named in his will. We've procured that document, however, there are charms on Grimmauld that halt you from becoming the beneficiary; the house only accepts one with pure blood ancestry." His lips frowned slightly at that. "The only other of the Blacks in existence are Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix LeStrange. Getting their hands on Kreacher… that would be quite unfortunate."
Harry frowned, trying to keep pace with Dumbledore down the side of the beach. He gazed out at the dark azure sea, which matched the twilight sky, trying to keep the musing smile from turning into a grimace. Sirius had barely known his godson, yet loved and trusted him enough to give Harry all that he owned. Harry could never equate that for the time never spent, and wondered if that was what Sirius hoped for.
"Thus, a small gathering are trying to see if Sirius had overridden some of the charms. We haven't been able to weave through the protection…," Dumbledore weaved his fingers together, as if to demonstrate the interlocking charms. "I was hoping you'd be able to assist us on that matter sometime, but not now; for the moment, we're to complete a more important task."
"What is that, professor?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore did not answer, merely continued to stride down the beach to a looming, white house on the dark horizon.
The modest Victorian home seemed quite normal. It had a doormat that spelled Welcome! and flowery window-shades. A swing was attached on the front-porch, which swayed slightly in the wind. Little pots of flowers were placed on the staircase, while ivy curled around the top of the porch and along the left side of the house. It looked like a quaint suburban home if one overlooked the fact that the foundation sat upon the sand, and sloped at an awkward angle.
Dumbledore hastened up the steps, unconcerned that the house looked like it would roll into the sea. He rapped quietly on the door, beckoning Harry towards him. The boy followed obediently, albeit a bit fearfully.
"Password?" a familiar voice groaned tiredly from the opposite side of the door.
"Lick'O'Rish Spiders," Dumbledore said. Harry didn't bat an eyelash at the odd password – Dumbledore was known to use candy names for the entrance to his office, so it wasn't surprising he used the same tactic for the Order. Whether or not the older wizard considered it as a liability is unknown.
The door swung open with a jerk, revealing the inside of a comfortable home that just so happened to have an abundance of Dark Detectors hung on the walls.
"In, in," Remus Lupin sighed, closing the door behind him. The room was encased in darkness before Lupin casually flicked his wand and several candles spontaneously lit. "Harry," he finally said, giving the boy a weak, yet long hug. The ex-Dark Arts professor looked shabbier than ever; there were patches in his clothing, and a severe peppering of gray in his dark, wild hair. His cheeks were slightly unshaven and hollowing. All-in-all, Harry couldn't remember the last time Lupin looked this disheveled and sickly, except for those short times when a full moon was near.
"REMUS," a voice growled. "YOU'RE SHIRKING YOUR DUTIES! GRAB THAT PROBITY PROBE!"
Lupin groaned. "Must I, Moody? I think it's quite obvious who they-"
"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Moody retorted, hobbling into the hallway, a gold Probity Probe in his hand. He thrust it at Lupin, his magic eye raking over Dumbledore and Harry suspiciously.
"Sorry Harry, but…," Lupin apologized, before waving the Probity Probe all along Harry's frame. The Probe snarled quietly as it was waved, nearly howling when it was dragged over Harry's back-pocket, where he placed his wand.
"I'm sure it's Potter now!" Moody said, unblinking eye focusing on Harry. "What did I say about holding your wand in your back-pocket? Obviously, you are unattached with your buttocks and wouldn't mind it blown into oblivion!"
Dumbledore's lips quirked. "Now, now, Alastor. Although I agree with you, but this is not the time for such…trivialities." Dumbledore looked at Harry apologetically, his smile never slipping. "Not to say Harry's wholeness is important, however I ask of you both to gather the Order and to meet me in my office. I've come across some information of great consequence, which may or may not change the future of the war."
Moody scowled darkly, hobbling to the next room, his magical eye still whizzing. Lupin hesitated, however, his dark eyes assessing.
"Should Harry be included in this?"
Dumbledore frowned. "I believe it is the right thing to do, Remus. It is Harry's life that is endangered, so he must know all of it. I spent too many years withholding such."
"I understand," Lupin said, still wary. He loped away gracefully into what appeared to be the kitchen entrance, glancing once hesitantly over his shoulder. Dumbledore only frowned, his entire face disapproving, but then brightened as he turned to Harry.
"Shall we continue to my new office?"
Harry merely shrugged; he learned a long time ago not to question Dumbledore.
He followed the older wizard up the steps into a seemingly winding corridor that looked as if it went on forever. Harry's mind quickly recounted the tent he slept in when he and the Weasleys went to see the Quidditch World Cup. It was charmed to contain more rooms on the inside, rather than the outside – the hallway seemed the same.
Dumbledore stopped at the very end of the corridor where a large stained glass window was placed, overlooking the sea. A blazing phoenix had its wings spread, as if it were going to fly off the island. It shifted every few seconds, opening its beak to utter a wordless song.
Harry only raised his eyebrow at Dumbledore, who was smiling tranquilly.
"Gives me hope – a home away from home," he said in that forever impassive, quiet tone. "This house belonged to an old friend of mine who lost his life for the Order. We decided to use it as our quarters so we can always remember his sacrifice…." Dumbledore wordlessly turned towards a dark, mahogany door. He rapped twice, forcing an apparition to appear.
"Hello there, visitor," the silver figure said cheerily. It slowly pixilated until it seemed almost tangible, like a whisping patronus. Harry gazed at the ghostly Dumbledore in awe at the superior magic. "Please state your name, a rare, personal fact, and your secret password [at this the ghost winked]. Otherwise, I will not be able to permit entrance and you will be transported to Albania."
The real Dumbledore responded in the same cheery tone. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I have a scar above my knee in a map of the London Underground. And finally, Ariana."
"Correct, my friend!" ghost Dumbledore said, and the door swung open. "In, in, and don't forget to close the door behind you!" The apparition disappeared the moment Harry and Dumbledore walked across the threshold of the office. Dumbledore closed the door tightly behind then, flicking his wand lazily to brighten the room. Dozens of candles were inflamed, emphasizing the sparkle of the wizard's robes.
"I apologize for the suspense," Dumbledore said suddenly, as he spelled his pensieve to float onto the large desk. "I would just prefer not to speak this story several times, when I can do it once."
"I understand," Harry said, glancing around the office. It seemed neater, and yet messier compared to Hogwarts. It didn't have the same mystical, refined air as his office at Hogwarts. The walls were covered with news articles and photos, almost obsessively. The desk, besides the pensieve, was completely empty, making the room seem cold and barren.
"Take a seat, Harry, please," Dumbledore offered, collapsing elegantly into a chair himself. He placed his wand on the desk, as if to stop himself from the habit of tossing it back and forth.
"Harry!" an eerily familiar voice said. Harry turned and came face to face with a very pretty young woman, despite the melancholy in her expression. She was smiling weakly, her pale face bleached paler by her tendrils of black hair. There were circles under her eyes aging her several years.
"T-Tonks?" Harry asked hesitantly. She seemed so dark, so unhappy it seemed as if she was a completely different person. Harry briefly remembered her bubble-gum pink hair.
She smiled grimly, giving him a hug as gentle as her weak voice. As weak as Remus'. She was spared an explanation of her wretched dark hair as Remus and Kingsley Shaklebolt came through the door, hastily closing it behind them. Tonks turned towards Remus as if pulled by gravity, her eyes shiny. He ignored her.
"Hanging in there, Harry?" Shaklebolt asked, fiddling with his hat. He was dressed handsomely in a pinstripe suit, a black Fudge-like bowler on his head.
"I suppose," Harry said with a shrug. "I'm sure I was better off on Privet Drive than you've been, doing Order stuff. I wouldn't know. The Prophet's kept all movements against Voldemort hushed up, spewing out pamphlets."
Shaklebolt frowned, but nodded gravely. "Of course. Scrimgeour doesn't want to incite panic, but keeping everything away from the public is giving them a panicked fear of what they can't see. Diagon Alley…," Shaklebolt quieted, shaking his head hopelessly.
"What about it?" Harry prompted.
"Sorry, Harry," Tonks said with a glower directed at Shaklebolt. "Sometimes we forget you were holed up completely with those Muggles with no other news to rely upon but the Prophet."
"Diagon has been completely cleared for the most part," Lupin said spoke over her. "Ollivander, the wand-maker – you must remember him – has been captured. Many other shops were so intimidated that they closed up. Many, but not all. You can guess which part of the Alley is thriving," he added scowling.
"People don't normally venture out either," Shaklebolt added. "And if they do, it's in very quiet bunches that look fearfully over their shoulders. One stray noise and they disperse like rabbits."
"Right they should!" Mad-Eye hissed approvingly. He hobbled into the room followed by the looming figure of Severus Snape.
The oily figure of the potion's professor immediately turned towards Harry, his black eyes incredulous, but wary. Anger rounded into the creases of his lips, and his hand edged towards the inner of his robes. Harry's eyes widened – Snape's hatred was strong for Harry, but he wouldn't dare in the headquarters of the Order, surrounded by the leading members and Dumbledore himself, would he? Harry's eyes widened, his own hand inching towards the pocket to where he had his wand against Mad-Eye's orders.
Suddenly Snape pulled his hand away and clasped them affront of him. Harry felt as if he pulled rapidly from a tunnel as he glanced at each of the member's faces; they were talking amongst each other, not noticing Harry's stillness. He turned towards Dumbledore and was relieved; the wizard was staring at Snape, eyebrow raised in mere curiosity.
"I suppose we should begin," Dumbledore said, his eyes inching from Snape's. "The other day, as I was speaking to Sibyll Trelawney about the staffing this year at Hogwarts, she was overcome with a prophecy."
"That old quack," Mad-Eye grumbled.
"She got one prophecy right," Harry interjected under his breath. He was, of course, living proof. The room quieted with the intensity of Harry's comment before Dumbledore broke the silence.
"And so, I leave you with her prophecy." He waved his hand over the pensieve, and immediately a spinning figure of Professor Trelawney appeared. Her voice was deep, possessed, like it was so many years ago when she prophesied affront of Harry about Wormtail returning to Voldemort.
"One Dark and One Light…two choices they will make. Chained together by a powerful magic unknown they will unite wholly and spiritually…. Light will bring about power… Dark will bring about justice… Together, they will make fate."
Trelawney's voice died away and she coughed, picking up her mug of tea with a certain redness in her cheeks. "I apologize, but did you say something, Professor?" Dumbledore smiled endearingly at Trelawney, waving his wand across the surface of the pensieve. She swirled into the pale waters until the rippling cleared.
"Well… I guess that means I've at least a choice," Harry said with a cracked smile. The Order was trying desperately not to keep their eyes focused on Harry by looking in other directions, however, Snape didn't. He only stared at Harry, his dark eyes fathomless.
"Assuming that Harry is light and Voldemort is dark, is it not unsettling that Sibyll spoke about dark bringing about justice?" Shaklebolt mused.
"Exactly what I thought, Kingsley," Dumbledore hummed.
"Didn't exactly say what brand of justice though," Lupin said.
Tonks shifted from foot to foot, staring down at the ground. "Perhaps it's referencing neither Voldemort nor Harry."
"Who else would they simply call Dark?" Mad-Eye demanded.
"Voldemort is clearly dark. If he got any darker, he'd be a nonentity," Lupin said with a twitch of his lips. The joke fell flat.
"I'm sure there are other things that are dark. Someone with dark skin. Someone with dark hair, or eyes. Someone who calls themselves dark. Some names even translate into the word," Tonks responded patronizingly. Lupin glanced at her, and Harry watched her cheeks burn ever-gently and her chin jut out obstinately as well. "It doesn't necessarily need to be so figurative."
Harry turned to Dumbledore, waiting for the answer.
"Time will show," Dumbledore said with an air of finality. "I don't think, however, that we should fear these two characters, but instead encourage them. It seems to be, in words less eloquent than should be used, that they are on our side."
Shaklebolt chuckled humorously. He spun is bowler in his hands, so reminiscent of Fudge that Harry had to look away. "Godric knows we could use it."