Come out of the dark and staggering to the side Morgan swore violently in Ancient Greek as she nearly fell to her knees. The shadowy energy that rested in her gut writhing as she clamped down on her power not allowing it to take form.
The last thing she needed was to have to explain why she had unintentionally summoned dead skeleton warriors from the underworld. "Language Morgan," Grace snapped even as she shakily rose to her feet with her hand braced against the nearby fence her other clasping her stomach. "Where in Tartarus even are, we right now?"
Looking around she didn't even recognize the street they were on, a gloomy road with matching houses. The sign at the beginning of the street was unfortunately but not surprisingly, not written in Ancient Greek but she managed to decipher the words Grimmauld Place.
A now familiar yet still ear-splitting CRACK rang in her ears as a very scarred and very lean man appeared on the sidewalk. "Remus," McGonagall greeted the man tersely, even though Morgan saw the kindness the witch failed to hide in her eyes.
"These must be," he turned to face her and Grace his eyes doing the familiar once over she'd come to expect when she didn't wear long sleeves. Clothes that hid the many scars that littered her hands and arms, and the scars that spotted the rest of her skin. "Morgan and Grace correct," glancing at the scars on the man's face she drawled confidently.
"Yep," popping the p at the end of the word she extended a hand finishing with, "I would be the former." Her near to signature smirk stretching across her face as easily as a hot knife sliced through butter.
But that sure as Hades didn't mean she trusted him, and she definitely didn't. Even if he seemed to be kind, she remembered more than one occasion where someone kind had turned into the craziest monsters, hello Dylan. She could test how trustworthy he was, and she returned her attention to the man in front of her.
Remus took her hand and she sent a flicker of power into him, to her relief she briefly saw a white flame flicker where his heart rested and she shook his hand before stepping back. "I'm Grace," her friend shook the man's hand as well before asking, "so where are we?"
"The headquarters of course here, oh and call me Lupin nearly everyone does." Handing over a slip of parchment with a single sentence written on it in thin slanted handwriting. The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at number twelve Grimmauld Place.
Morgan looked up about to ask, "well thanks for the information but the isn't a number twelve so what kinda joke is this?" But before her eyes, a new building appeared with a bronze number twelve hanging on the doorway. "Welcome to headquarters."
Morgan strode alongside her friend as the pair entered number twelve Grimmauld Place. When the door opened the first thing, they saw was a kind-faced ginger-haired woman who greeted them warmly. "Hello there I am Mrs. Weasley," when she stood there slightly skeptical the woman stepped to the side and waved them inside saying over their heads. "Everyone is gathered in the kitchen, so we'll meet there first."
The hallway she stood in was musty and dimly lit, many not so inviting decorations hanging from the walls. Stuffed heads she did not recognize hung from one wall and a converted portrait on the other. A loud clunk sounded from behind the door at the end of the hall, then cursing rang out from the same room. "Now you've done it, Tonks," suddenly the curtains covering the portrait flew apart a blood-curdling shout seared into her ears. "Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my forefathers..."
"SHUT UP!" The words rang through the air, the voice much deeper than the portraits as a man raced out of the door at the end of the hall directing his wand at the painting. BANG! And everything fell silent, turning to face her the man winced saying, "hello there I see you've met my charming mother. So, let me introduce myself I am…
"You're Sirius Black." She recognized the man from the mugshot she'd seen on newspapers in Diagon Alley, but he didn't look like a murderer of thirteen people. Frankly, he looked normal, besides after spending over three months in the underworld and having been to the fields of punishment this man was definitely wasn't a killer.
If she had to bet the prick who would take the blame for those crimes in the afterlife framed him, "well you're about the first person who didn't…"
Chuckling dryly, she looked at Grace saying, "call you a murderer? Then you must spend a lot of time with very stupid people. Besides," focusing on the man in front of her she flicked her wrist seeing another white flame. Letting the Mist make it visible to everyone for a moment, "your soul burns white, murderers and criminals burn black.
Heading down the hall she introduced herself, "Morgan Sabers by the way," walking into the kitchen.