Chapter 3

I got a lot of really helpful comments last time, so thanks for that! It really helps, and I hope that all of you got your replies. If you didn't then make sure that you tell me, I could have accidentally missed someone out. Onwards.

Fleur's POV

"There's going to be another Order meeting in a few days," Bill yawned, carelessly tossing some nightclothes on before sitting down on the side of the double bed. "Are you going to come to this one?"

Putting my worn book to one side, carefully placing a red bookmark in between the two pages that I was reading, I looked up at my husband. Although I'd spent the last few nights in the spare room, we'd made an agreement to prevent any arguments that night, hence the fact that I was lying between the silk sheets of the master bed rather than the tatty rugs of the mattress in the smallest room in the house.

I sighed, "I suppoze zhat I should. Ozzerwise people could start to get a leetle suspeecious."

Noticeably, a relieved expression broke over his face; somehow, I doubted that he wanted to have to continue explaining that I was suffering from a variety of made up ailments, and convincing Hermione and Ron that I was ill was especially difficult. It was difficult to get anything past the young witch.

"Good." He smiled at me friendlily, sending a pang of regret surging through me like a shot of adrenaline. Bill was such a nice guy, cheerful and good company, and thanks to me being unable to control my damned allure, he was forced to live his life with a woman who he didn't love.

Sending a plastic smile back in his direction, I picked my book up again and continued to read. Birdsong really was a mesmerising book; I could find myself sympathising with a character called Isabelle in the story, who was also a quiet woman in an unhappy marriage. The difference was, however, that Bill didn't beat me as Isabelle's did. Every so often, I would find a word that I didn't quite understand and I'd underline it, neatly jotting down some notes on the page margins so that my English would improve; it really was beginning to feel less like a second language now, if only I could crack the accent.

On the other side of the room, Bill gently fingered the long, angry scars which ran down the side of his face whilst examining them clinically in the mirror. Another twinge of unhappiness shot through me as I saw the disgust in his eyes. Bill was self-conscious about his wounds, I knew that, but something that he hid more was that he seemed to almost hate himself for bearing them, as if they made him represent everything that he hated. He needed somebody who loved him to comfort him about them, to tell him that they didn't make any difference to his appearance or his personality. While I could give him some reassurance, although I always felt that it sounded empty when I offered it to him, the fact that it didn't come from somebody who loved him made all of the difference.

Turning around, he caught my eyes as I stared at him and immediately my eyes lowered awkwardly back to the words on the page of my book. This was one of the ways that I had discovered that I didn't love him, that it had just been my immaturity and inexperience that had lead me to believe that a childhood romance was something more: I should not have felt so awkward with somebody who really had a place in my heart.

He interrupted my thoughts, "Shall I turn the lights off?"

Shaking my head as I returned to my senses, I nodded my confirmation and put Birdsong down to wait until the next morning. My hands reached to the small pin which kept all of my hair into a curly, wavy and short style above my neck. Removing it, my silvery hair cascaded gracefully down my shoulders like water dropping from a fall. Bill stared at me, mesmerised, his eyes glazing over with an animalistic desire as he saw the simple, but obviously beautiful, action. This was why I had trouble controlling my allure – it seemed to spread through just the simplest of actions.

"Beel," I warned gently, reminded him of his promise to not let the lust take over. His desire had been what had caused me to run away to the small bedroom for the last few nights; I just couldn't engage in any kind of sexual activity with him when I knew that the only thing fuelling it was his attraction to my looks. Using my allure in such a way felt too much like taking advantage of him.

Suddenly, the tautened skin on his face loosened and his eyes cooled a bit, as if a bucket of cold water had been chucked over his head. Feeling fairly sure that he had fought off his lust, I curled up under the blankets, both of us facing in opposite directions, and tried to let the gentle warmth send me into a blissful sleep.

Harry's POV

Pain spiked like tiny little needles under my skin, shooting up and sparking at sporadic intervals as I lay in the aftermath of a particularly malicious cruciatus curse (or five). It was, I knew, a sign of how powerful the unforgivable curse was that even thirty minutes after being inflicted with it, you still felt in abnormal pain. That session had been more painful than most, Voldemort having been in an apparently worse mood than usual for whatever reason. Even that sparked some hope in my resilient core, anything that angered him could only be good for the cause which I'd tried to sacrifice myself for.

Sirius had stayed with me for the entire time, a reassuring presence by my side as he watched on. Of course, there was nothing that he could do to stop my pain, nothing he could do to stop Voldemort's anger, nothing he could do to affect the Dark Lord in anyway, but just his being there made me feel inexplicably one hundred times stronger. Unlike other nights when I'd eventually broken down and screamed in pain, that night I managed to sit and take it all without a single peep.

When Voldemort had finally decided that enough was enough, he'd left me to lie in my own blood but frankly, I didn't care. The pain, the torture, the life that I was forced to live was secondary to the fact that I now had my godfather to talk to. Maybe, one day my torturer would lose control and do the thing that I found myself wishing for most: send me up to my godfather, my parents, Remus, Tonks, Dumbledore, Fred.

"Merlin, Harry, are you okay? What can I d-" Sirius began to cry, the frustration of being helpless as he watched a loved one suffer clear in his voice.

I stopped him. "Please, Sirius. Let's talk about anything, anything other than what you have just witnessed."

With a stiff, reluctant nod, he began to tell me about what it had been like seeing James and Lily again, the emotion clear in his voice as he described my parents joyfully. Once, many years ago when he was still alive, he'd told me that not a day had gone by in the fourteen years since my father's death that he had not missed James. I was happy for him that at least he'd managed to get his wish.

However, as his story went on, an apologetic expression began to form on his face and I knew that he had decided that he couldn't stay any longer without pushing the boundaries of life and death. Soon, I would be alone again.

Hermione's POV

Breakfast, for once, was not the quiet affair that everyone had come to expect. There was an unfamiliar buzz of excitement at the prospect of progress, the possibility of actually doing something to bring down the despised Dark Lord who ruled the country with an iron fist. I for one was especially happy; sitting around and doing nothing seemed to shame Harry's sacrifice. He did what he did so that we would have the opportunity to have a pop at bringing down Voldemort, so that was exactly what we were going to do.

Before the next planned Order meeting in a couple of days, Kinglsey had told us that we had to bring together as many potential new members to form an attacking force strong enough to for us to even contemplate invading Voldemort's stronghold. Bill was going to talk with the goblins to see if he could get any support at all, Ron was going to track down a few former DA members and I was going to find any remaining ones.

"Are you feeling any better, Fleur?" Ron asked, presenting us all with the rather unwelcome image on the bizarre mixture of cereal and toast that he had in his mouth for breakfast.

I elbowed him embarrassedly as Fleur answered confusedly, her eyebrows lowered. "What do you mean?"

It was Ron's turn to look confused. "You were ill, with the flu, remember? That's why you couldn't come to the Order meeting."

"Oh... oui." Fleur remembered her lie, perhaps a little bit surprised that Ron had actually bought the story. "I am feeling a leetle better, zhank you."

Anyone else but Ron would have seen through the lie there and then after such a blunder, Merlin most people would have figured it out as soon as the lie was told considering how blatantly false it was, but yet again my boyfriend managed to amaze me with his failure to comprehend such things. He was, of course, the only one who believed the lie at the table.

"What are you going to try to do to help, Fleur?" Ron asked, hastily changing the subject. I watched angrily, perhaps even jealously, as he made the mistake of looking at her as he spoke, inevitably getting lost in her deep eyes.

The quarter-veela awkwardly avoided the younger Weasley's desire, once again confused at what he had said. "Uh, excuse me but help what? Was zhis somezhing zhat you talked about in zhe Order meeteeing?"

Ron looked at Bill, scandalous. "Have you not told her, Bill? This is only the biggest news of the last few months!"

"Oh yeah, forgot." Bill replied quietly. I, of course, knew that he hadn't forgotten. The real reason why he hadn't told her was that they barely talked, and when they did it wasn't about anything important.

He launched unenthusiastically into the telling her about the spy, the possible dangers to other countries, the fact that Voldemort's stronghold had been located, the potential invasion, and the recruiting of new Order members.

"You mean zhat France iz in danger from 'im?" Fleur asked worriedly once Bill had finished, her thoughts immediately straying to her family. "I will 'ave to tell zhem straight away!" Her tone got more excited at a realisation, "Maybe, I could get papa to persuade the French Ministry to 'elp the battle in zhis country. You said zhat you need more members for zhe fight!"

She was right, of course, in that the prospect of having the entire French auror department on our side was an exciting prospect. Suddenly, if what she said was even possible, this fight was starting to seem almost feasible.

Ron echoed my thoughts. "We could actually win this! We could kill Voldemort, now that he doesn't have any more hor-"

I urgently elbowed him in the side again, hissing at him as he nearly gave away the secret that we had kept for so long. Nobody knew that Voldemort had ever had horcruxes, and now that they were all destroyed, I didn't see any reason for them to need to find this out.

"Any more what?" Bill lowered his eyebrows, immediately spotting that his younger brother had spilled a painfully kept secret. Ron looked at me questioningly, as if asking me if it was okay to tell his brother; after all, with Nagini's death at the Battle of Hogwarts, they had all been destroyed and surely it would do no harm for them to know?

With the tiniest movement, I shook my head. In my opinion, the very fact that Voldemort had even had horcruxes was unsettling and certainly not something that should have been spread around.

Obviously seeing right through our deceit, Bill continued to try to read us whilst Fleur sat absent mindedly in her chair, her thoughts obviously totally elsewhere; I suspected, with her family.

"Well." I tried to get away from the table before Bill unsettled me further. "We'd better get going, a lot of people to visit."

Excusing ourselves awkwardly, Bill's gaze never leaving us, we made to go our separate ways. Although Ron had wanted us to visit everyone together, I had reasoned that in order for us to talk to everyone we would have to split up. A day free from his copious ministrations, concern that reminded me of his mother sometimes, would be nice anyway.

Ron's POV

Immediately, I noticed a number of new additions to the Lovegood household since our last visit, which hadn't exactly ended particularly calmly. It seemed that Luna and her father had been able to move back and rebuild their house without too much fuss from Voldemort's forces, despite the fact that Xenophilius had been on the run previously.

The first thing I noticed: even more dirigible plums. Remembering some of the recipes which I had been unfortunately acquainted with at Luna's assistance, I wretched; I could still feel the unbearably weird taste of the plums on my tongue.

Near the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, the Lovegood house had previously been coloured a matt black and shaped like an irregular rook in chess, or a toadstool without its head. All sorts of bizarrely coloured plants had jutted from the walls. It looked to me, however, like the Lovegoods had decided to spruce it up a little bit. Perhaps in a relatively unsuccessful attempt to make the residence colourful and attractive, the mark two of the house had been changed to a dark grey instead. Although it looked slightly different, it was still the solitary home of two of the strangest people I'd ever met and safe to say, I wasn't happy to be there at all.

With a deep breath, my feelings about Luna totally opposite to those about her father, I sharply rapped on the eagle door knocker. A long wait ensued, leaving me in the company of a growing, unfortunately, dirigible plum bush; there was nothing that I wanted more than to see those sickening orange, radish-like 'vegetables' wiped from the face of the planet, ever more of a priority than Voldemort's downfall. The irregular sound of thumping footsteps came from behind the thick, silver nailed door and immediately I recognised them as the thumps of Luna's skipping. My expression of distaste at the plums quickly turned into one of happiness, the prospect of seeing my brilliant, although slightly strange, friend again very exciting.

The black door, thick enough that it could have been for a prison, squeaked open and from behind it popped the ever-cheerful half-smile of Luna Lovegood. Her pale skin was splattered with little goblets of paints of all colours; I suspected that she neither knew nor cared about this slightly odd appearance. As usual, she bore an absent expression which implied that she was always in at least five places at once, her over active imagination strong enough that she was never really totally in reality. Tied back into a scraggly ponytail was her blonde hair, a comical contrast the the complex and carefully styled forms which Fleur used in her hair.

"Hello, Ronald! Come in." She said simply, seemingly totally unsurprised by the fact that a friend who she hadn't seen in months had randomly turned up on her doorsteps.

Skipping ahead of me, Luna lead me through her house. The front door lead rather oddly straight into the kitchen without any of that hallway nonsense, a perfectly circular room, with a stove, multiple sinks for some reason, and cupboards curved to fit the walls. All of these items had been painted in bright primary colours with flowers, insects, and birds. Judging by the paint that was splattered over my friend's body, I guessed that she had taken part in the decorating process. The colours were overwhelming in such a small space and totally contrasting to the grim darkness of the outer walls, a decoration choice that I wasn't totally sure worked a charm.

Singing quietly, Luna took me up the iron-wrought spiral staircase which, if I remembered correctly and the arrangement hadn't been changed, would take us up the living room. This room was smaller than the kitchen, though more cluttered, and entirely round, and it appeared to serve as both a living room and a workplace for her dotty father. It seemed somewhat labyrinthine with piles of books and papers covering every surface. The ceiling was dotted with small, delicately made bronze creatures that could flap their wings, or snap their jaws, perhaps also created by Luna. It struck me that she really did have some artistic talent, something that was never awarded or recognised in a school run purely to teach magic like Hogwarts. In the corner of the room was Xenophilius' printing press, a new one, which printed out more copies of his magazine than he likely needed considering the Quibbler's scarce readership. In another corner, a stone bust of Rowena Ravenclaw stood proudly on displayer, wearing a familiar headdress. The entire house had collapsed, I mused, and that bloody bizarre headdress had survived.

Our journey ended as Luna finally lead me into her own room, which she had rebuilt to be exactly how it had been as before the house had been destroyed. It had the same sea blue carpet that made you feel like you were walking on water, the one single window which could see all over the lonely surrounding hills, and of course the beautifully decorated walls. Ever since I'd first seen the paintings of me, Harry, Neville, Hermione and Ginny linked in golden chains made up of the word 'friends' as her decoration, I'd realised just how cherished we were to her, and how strange a situation for her it must have been to actually find friends. Her oddities and strange habits only made us love her more where the exact same things turned others away, and I was glad that we had met her those many years ago on the carriage going into Hogwarts.

She sat down on her bed, patting beside her for me to take a seat as well. Doing so, I noticed that the picture of her hugging her mother was no longer on the bedside table. A pang of guilt immediately spread through me; presuming that the photo had been lost when the house had fallen, it was our fault that she'd lost the cherished picture.

"What are you doing here, Ron?" She asked dreamily, her eyes piercing mine unabashedly.

With anyone else, I might have found this blunt manner rude. Not Luna, though. "Couple of reasons. Firstly, I wanted to see how you are."

"I doubt that that was the real reason why you came, but I am fine anyhow. The wrackspurts haven't bothered me as much as they have done in the past, and I think that Daddy and I are close to finding a crumple-horned snorsnack."

Recognising this as the start of one of Luna's infamous tangents, I swept in to cut across her as politely as possible. "Where is your dad, anyway?"

"Tending to the dirigible plums, I think." My perfectly insane friend replied.

Judging by the fact that I hadn't seen Xenophilius on my way in, I guessed that he must have been round the back, opening up the rather scary idea that there were more dirigible plums behind the house.

I continued, "Anyway. I came to talk to you to ask if you'd like to join a secret group to bring down You-Know-Who."

"Like the DA?" Luna's face lit up, and I was reminded that she had never really come to terms with the fact that Dumbledore's Army had stopped meeting up after the dreadful fifth year.

Seeing her delight, I pressed my advantage. "Exactly. We're called the Order of the Phoenix, and we meet up at least once a week."

Hesitation clouded over Luna's face. "Wait, I heard that the Order of the Phoenix were part of the Rotfang Conspiracy-"

"Luna." I said bluntly, not even bothering to enquire how she knew anything about the top secret organisation. "The Order is not part of any Ratfog Conspiracy, it is a group of brave aurors and fighters who want to restore justice to our world. You're in or you're out."

The dottiest girl in all of England smiled from ear to ear. "I'm in."

That's it for that chapter. I think most of it was good enough, and it had a good length considering that it only took a few days to complete. It was you reviewers, and you know who you are, who spurred me on and gave me the energy to release this chapter so soon, so give yourselves some hearty pats on the back.

I tried to do a few things with this chapter: I think that I kept paragraphs shorter because of a request for that to happen, I tried to continue exploring the characters, and I've kept things moving onwards so that everything doesn't just grind to a halt. Probably the chapter after the next we'll see the new Order meet, and from there on in we really get going because of the invasion that will have to occur.

I was really grateful for everyone who took the time to review, all I can do is thank you profusely and hope that you continue to do so for a hard working writer. Special thanks to Slytherin66, who sent me massive suggestions which must have taken a very long time and a great deal of effort to write.

See you next time!

Charlie.