Chapter Eighteen

The European Order

The Order meeting was at five, and Harry was sat waiting at Grimmauld Place half an hour early in a chair facing the fireplace; gazing at the remnants of the photograph of Ginny he had discarded days ago. What remained was just a charcoal dust laying at the bottom of the hearth, occasionally scattering slightly as the wind blew down the chimney.

'Hello, Harry.' A soft voice behind him said.

'Hello, Iris.' He replied, not taking his eyes from the dust at the bottom of the fireplace. 'How are you?'

'Better than you are right now, staring at the dust of an old photograph of Ginny.'

He half turned to catch her violet gaze.

'How did you know that's what it was?' he asked.

'I see everything Harry, you know that.' She said, settling herself into a chair as Harry sat back further in his own.

'So, do you know how it all turns out?' he lent forwards, watching her intently over his clasped hands.

'Yes, and no.' she replied, somewhat dreamily. He felt a pang as the young Seer reminded him of Luna.

'What does that mean?' he asked frustrated.

'The future is never set. Every decision we make is due to several smaller ones leading up to that moment. I see every small decision made and what the consequences may be. Then I see the defining decision almost a second before that decision is made. So yes, I can see how a favourable outcome turns out, and also the unfavourable outcome.' She glanced at him, her violet eyes probing into his own, 'you want the favourable outcome. Trust me.'

'Can you not tell me how to achieve that future?'

She gazed steadily at him for a moment, weighing her answer.

'No,' she said finally.

'What is the point of seeing the future, if you can't achieve the future you want?'
Harry growled in frustration.

'Oh, I can achieve the future I want; I just can't tell you exactly how to do it.'

'What is that supposed to mean?' he demanded, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.

'It means that I can guide you to make the decisions to a favourable outcome. If you choose to take heed of my warnings and advice then we shall achieve that; if you do not, well I should move to America now.' She said all of this in a monotone, slightly dreamy voice playing with her hair in her right hand. Harry nodded slowly taking in her strange wisdom, it made sense really, sort of like a reverse butterfly effect.

'I should tell you,' Iris said distantly, her eyes going strangely blank, 'one day I will tell you the truth about someone; you will not take my warning and the Light will fall. You need to be ready for that day, and prepare yourself to have to bring your worst nightmare to light.'

Harry took in a deep breath as Iris's eyes darkened slightly as some of the blood vessels popped in her eyes, and the distant look was replaced by one of brief confusion.

'What did I tell you?' she asked sharply.

'You don't know?' Harry asked, raising his left eyebrow slightly.

Iris didn't reply she merely reciprocates his raised eyebrow with her own and waited. Harry felt the first chuckle emerge from his lips for what felt like months. It felt good. At the sound of it both of Iris's eyebrows shot up, well behind her fringe in surprise.

'You haven't laughed for a long time, not since-'

Abruptly the smile was wiped from Harry's face and he stood up quickly, almost knocking over his chair in the process.

'Would you like a drink? I'm going to have a drink.' He strode over the kitchen cabinets before she could even reply and pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey; pouring two glasses Harry felt his hand shake slightly.

Get a grip on yourself, Potter. He thought furiously.

'I'm sorry Harry,' Iris said sadly as she watched him, 'I didn't mean to, I mean, well I just-'

'Hey, it's fine.' He said as he slid back into his chair and passed the drink to her. 'You said nothing wrong.'

There was a moments silence as the two of them drank from their glasses and Harry surveyed Iris over the rim of his glass. She was so much like Luna that it almost hurt to look at her for too long. But unlike Luna, she only believed in the possible- and that was somehow reassuring right now.

'So when does the meeting start?' he asked to break the tension.

'Right now,' growled Made-Eye from the doorway.

Harry and Iris looked up to see old Mad-Eye stumping into the kitchen and glaring at the two of them.

'Hate to break up the party, but do you think we can get down to business?' he demanded as the rest of the Order strolled, stepped or in Tonks's case, stumbled into the room.

'Hello, Harry dear.' Mrs Weasley said, as she engulfed him in a mothering hug. 'Drinking again?' she asked, disapprovingly looking down at the glass in his hand.

'Just a social drink with a friend, Mrs Weasley.' He replied, nodding towards Iris who sat with her own glass touching her lips. 'Not drinking a bottle to myself.'

'I'm glad,' she said patting him on the shoulder. But as she drifted down the table to seat herself next to her husband she kept sharp eyes on him and his glass.

'All right mate?' Ron asked as he threw himself into the chair next to Harry.

'Not bad my friend, where's Hermione?' he sipped some of his glass as he looked round for her.

'She's making acquaintance with the French at the bottom of the table. She was nearly hyperventilating on her way down when Mad-Eye told us they had come from France.' Ro replied, taking the glass from Harry's hand and having a drink himself. Harry lent forward slightly to try and see the new recruits; he could barely make out any faces, just a lot of dark brunette hair with a splash of auburn in the centre.

'Have you met them yet?' Harry asked, still trying to glimpse their faces.

'Nah thought I would let Hermione soak up all the Frenchness first.'

'Alright Order. First order of business.' Mad-Eye declared speaking loudly over the din of reconciled Order members. 'We have today with us our French allies from Paris, Pierre and Fredric Dumas, and also Aimee Balestra from Calais. They have come bringing news from France. Monsieur's, Madam; please tell us what you know.'

The Dumas brothers rose to survey the Order. The taller of the two, Pierre, appeared to be nervous and uncomfortable with the amount of eyes upon him. Fredric however seemed to take it in his wake and stood proudly with his eyes sparkling.

'Bonjour. I am Fredric Dumas and this is my brother Pierre. We come bearing news from Paris which is incredibly grave. The Dark Lord has indeed been recruiting wizards and witches in the streets of Paris, and the numbers of how you say here… Muggles? Is becoming less and less as the days go on. Our own sister Claudia has fallen prey to the Dark Lord. We want our revenge. However we can help we shall. The catacombs have become the Dark Lords favourite place to keep prisoners for death, torture, rape. We believe there is some rehabilitation going on with the child prisoners. We believe they are being trained in the Dark Lords views. This needs to stop. ' Frederic ad Pierre sat back down in their seats with their heads slightly bowed. As the Dumas brothers resumed their seats, Aimee Balestra rose from her own; she was a small woman, not long in to her twenties with rich auburn hair that glowed in the candlelight.

'Bonjour.' She spoke softly yet her voice carried throughout the large room. 'My name is Aimee Balestra. Calais was the first place hit by the Dark Lord. The Dementors came first, sucking the souls from the Muggles and wizarding folk as they came through. Then the Inferia came next, picking up the last of what was left. Calais is the Dark Lords base in France now. After rehabilitation, the children are sent there to complete their training, we don't know what that is. Charlotte has a daughter that appears younger than she is, Celine. She has infiltrated the base and will be reporting all information back to us as soon as possible.'

Aimee let out a deep breath and then resumed her seat in a dark silence as the Order processed the horrors of what was occurring in France.

'What is the French Order doing about this?' Made-Eye asked hoarsely.

The three French wizards looked at one another before Pierre replied sadly, 'There aren't many of us left Alastor. Ten at the most. The Dark Lord was rather thorough on his first attacks.'

Silence.

'Is there no more recruits?' Tonks asked her pink hair had settled for a morbid black as she stared at their allies. Aimee spread her hands and bit her lip slightly.

'People are too afraid to step outside their front doors, never mind stand and fight. We need help, Charles is in Italy now recruiting as many as possible and Charlotte is in Germany. Both are a little afraid though to join the fight, no matter how much we tell them that the fight will be coming to them sooner or later.'

'Okay, here's what we are going to do. Charlie, your going to recruit from Romania; get as many as you can over here and bring some dragons with you, we need a new advantage. Bill, Egypt. Try and recruit as many curse breakers as possible and bring back some curses, booby traps, whatever you can. Arrel, you get out to the countryside's and see who you can pick up; try and get some more Dryads to join us.'

Arrel's green form nodded from the right hand side of the table, 'I will try my hardest Mad-Eye.'

'Good, good. Minerva, what's the situation at Hogwarts?' Moody swivelled his magical eye towards her.

'Hogwarts still maintains its esteemed reputation of being the most reputable wizarding school in the country. You Know Who has not yet struck the school, inside or out.' McGonnagal drew herself up slightly as her glasses flashed in the light, 'Hogwarts remains in our control and we have been monitoring all Slytherin students especially for any dark magic.'

'Good. Arthur how is the situation in the Ministry?'

Mr Weasley sighed and rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses.

'Falling more and more each day. I think that eighty percent of the Ministry is now under the Imperious curse or under You Know Who's thumb willingly. I don't know what else I can do. I am not being passed anymore information as I am too far in the Light circle and it has become common knowledge within the Ministry.'

'Right, I am pulling you from the Ministry; we still have Kingsly and Tonks in there and most of the major crimes go straight to them anyway. I want you to go to Italy and meet with Charles Rocque in Italy. Help him to convince the Italians for aid.'

Mr Weasley glanced at his wife before nodding slightly. As Moody's eyes swivelled over to Iris, Harry saw Mr Weasley put his arm around Mrs Weasley and pull her close. He barely heard Moody asking Iris if she had seen anymore of Voldemorts new decisions that might give them a lead on his next move. He missed being able to hold Ginny like that, comfort and love her when she needed him. He was so lost in his daydream that he almost didn't realise that the meeting had come to a close until Ron punched his shoulder.

'Come on mate. Time to meet the French.' He said rolling his eyes, 'The quicker we do it, the quicker we can go to bed before planning more tomorrow.'

Harry nodded and wearily rose to his feet. Together he and Ron made their way over to where Hermione was still sat with the French wizards conversing earnestly about the blueprints of the Parisian catacombs.

'Ron, Harry,' Moody's voice growled from behind them, the two of them span around to face the scarred old Auror with some trepidation. 'I want you two and Hermione to return with Aimee back to France. Work on recruiting, I am sure the Boy Who Lived and the Chosen One will be able to rile up some opposition against the Dark Lord's forces in France. Report back in a month. Whilst you're gone I and Tonks will be working on ways to infiltrate Edinburgh. We need to get those objects back don't we?' Moody gave them both a meaningful look and a small smile before turning and stumping his way back across the room to Arrel. Harry gazed after him, dumbstruck for a second. He was being sent to France. Away from Voldemort, away from memories of Ginny. Maybe I should just stay there, he thought ruefully.

'Come on; let's go meet our new travel buddies.' He said to Ron and they began to make their way over to the French wizards. Ron looked troubled for a moment until Harry asked him what was wrong.

'I don't like frog's legs or snails. Not looking forward to eating shit food that lives on the ground for a month; no matter how cultured it may be.' Ron replied pulling a face.

Harry tried to fight back a laugh that somehow slowly began to work past his air tight mouth until his laughter broke free. Trust Ron to be worried about the food he would be eating in a foreign country more than anything else… though he didn't particularly want to eat snails or frog legs either.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thanks for reading!

Please PLEASE review!

Much Love

x