Chapter 42 – Shadows of the future
In the cosy confines of Harry's room at Black Castle, a studious atmosphere had settled among the group. Daphne, with her characteristic blend of efficiency and elegance, distributed several thick tomes she had gathered on Occlumency and Legilimency. Handing a particularly worn volume to Harry, she said, "This one focuses on Occlumency. If you have any questions, or need further instructions, just ask. I've been practising since I was little."
Harry nodded, his green eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and determination behind his glasses. Meanwhile, Rigel was already skimming through a book on Legilimency, his interest clearly piqued, with Daphne joining him soon after. It was a shared curiosity, one that bound them even closer together.
In another corner of the room, Tracey was intently focusing on her Animagus transformation. Under Harry's watchful eye, she managed to transform parts of her limbs into those of an otter, her animagus form. Every successful attempt was celebrated with an excited giggle and a quick, affectionate kiss, leaving Harry with a slightly flushed, but happy expression.
Astoria, ever composed, was practising the Patronus Charm, her brow furrowing in concentration. Harry occasionally drifted over to offer guidance, his own Patronus, a stag, shimmering into existence as an example.
After a period of intense reading, Harry looked up, a crease of confusion etched on his forehead. "How do I actually go about practising Occlumency? The book covers the basics, but how do I 'clear my mind'?"
Daphne, leaning back in her chair, looked thoughtful for a moment before responding. "Astoria and I learned it through meditation initially. It's a crucial first step to gain full control over one's own mind. Once you have that, you can start organising your thoughts and memories, learn to control your emotions, and build barriers to keep others out."
She paused, a playful glint in her eyes. "I wonder if you can learn Occlumency faster than Rigel and I can master Legilimency. If we win, we get to learn all your juicy secrets," she chuckled, the sound light and teasing.
Harry just smiled back at her, a spark of challenge lighting up his eyes. The room, filled with the quiet rustle of pages and the occasional murmurs of concentration, felt like a sanctuary – a place where they could grow stronger, together.
Over the ensuing weeks, the room transformed into a bastion of relentless determination and burgeoning skills.
Tracey, with Harry's patient guidance, had advanced to the point where she could fully transfigure her body into an otter. However, like the others before her, she struggled to keep her clothes on during the transformation. Despite the occasional frustration, her progress was undeniable, and with Harry's continued help, she was close to mastering it.
Harry, on his part, had achieved a significant milestone. He learned to clear his mind on command using meditation. The book, along with Daphne's occasional pointers, helped him to begin mastering the control of his emotions, a skill he knew would be vital both on the battlefield and in daily life.
Astoria, with unwavering focus, had conjured the patronus wisp shield multiple times. Each successful attempt bolstered her confidence in the spell, bringing a rare smile of satisfaction to her otherwise reserved demeanour.
Rigel and Daphne, meanwhile, remained somewhat secretive about their progress in Legilimency, sharing only that they were advancing well. Their shared glances and quiet discussions hinted at a deeper understanding being forged between them.
Amidst their diligent training, an unexpected interruption came in the form of a letter addressed to Harry. It was from Dumbledore, requesting Harry to publicly corroborate the claim that Voldemort had indeed returned. The letter stressed the urgency of acting quickly, before Voldemort could gather more strength and followers.
Harry shared the contents of the letter with the others, his expression betraying a sense of duty. "I believe this could truly help," he stated, his voice firm with resolve.
However, Daphne was quick to counter. "All this will do is tarnish your reputation, Harry," she said firmly. "Look at how the press is maligning Dumbledore – calling him mad and senile. Your word, as a soon-to-be fifteen-year-old boy, even as 'The Boy Who Lived,' will be disregarded just as easily."
She continued, her tone laced with a hint of bitterness. "Besides, has Dumbledore done anything for us so far? Quite the opposite, in fact. It's very likely he knew about Rigel being stuck in Jingles' body but chose to do nothing. Think about that. If Dumbledore had acted, perhaps helped Rigel, everything could have been different. You might not have ended up with the Dursleys."
Harry, absorbing her words, couldn't deny the logic in them. Assisting Dumbledore now seemed a misguided notion. "How should I respond, then?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
"Diplomatically decline," Daphne advised. "Dumbledore is still powerful. There's nothing to be gained by making him an enemy, just as there's nothing to be gained by currying his favour."
Harry nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "I'll write a response after today's training." The resolve in his voice was clear, tempered with the wisdom of his friends' counsel. The room, once again, settled into a quiet hum of focused activity, each member absorbed in their own path of growth and learning.
~~~o~~~
A few days later, the grandeur and anticipation surrounding the Longbottom Ball had permeated Black Castle. It was Neville's birthday, an event typically marked by the warmth and chaos of teenage celebration, yet this year it was to be commemorated with the pomp and circumstance of a political ball.
Harry found himself in two minds about the event. The prospect of a political gathering filled him with a sense of ennui, yet the idea of dancing with Tracey, something he had unexpectedly grown to enjoy, offered a spark of excitement. More importantly, he looked forward to seeing Neville, whom he hadn't seen since the ominous third task. Harry was acutely aware that he and the others would likely be the only respite Neville would have from the stifling formality of the event.
Tracey, ever the ray of light in Harry's life, had approached the matter of attire with a refreshing perspective. Unlike Daphne, who took the lead in coordinating her and Rigel's outfits, Tracey encouraged Harry to choose whatever he felt comfortable in, promising to match her outfit to his. This autonomy, a stark contrast from the years of wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs, was a small but significant liberty that Harry cherished.
Once ready, Harry joined Tracey, Daphne, Rigel, and Astoria in the sitting room. The air was tinged with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Astoria, usually the embodiment of cool composure, seemed slightly uneasy.
"I'm not sure if I should be going," Astoria confessed, her voice lower than usual. "My parents might not take kindly to me attending a ball with the light side elite."
Rigel turned to her, his expression understanding yet firm. "Astoria, you're not the Greengrass heiress; Daphne is. And since she's attending, it's perfectly fine for you to tag along. Don't think of this as a political evening. It's just a ball, a chance to have some fun." He smiled reassuringly before adding, "If your parents have any issues with it, refer them to me. I'll handle it."
Astoria considered his words, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. She gave a small nod, her usual poise returning as she accepted Rigel's assurance.
Walburga had chosen to remain at the castle, her disdain for the political elite of the light side outweighing any social obligation. Sirius and Remus were also absent, their commitments to the Order taking precedence. The reminder of the upcoming Order meeting lingered in Harry's mind, sparking curiosity about the discussions and decisions that lay ahead.
Just as they were about to step into the green flames of the Floo, Daphne pulled Harry aside. "Remember, Harry, many will seek your favour tonight," she said, her voice low and earnest. "Be wary of whom you lend your support to. If you're unsure, defer to Sirius. He's your regent for a reason."
Harry nodded, grateful for the advice. The politics of the wizarding world were a treacherous dance he was still learning the steps to, and having Sirius to rely on was a reassurance. With a final glance at his friends Harry stepped into the Floo, the emerald flames whisking them away to the Longbottom Ball and the myriad of possibilities it held.
With a soft whoosh, the group materialised at Longbottom Manor, the stately home that had been in Neville's family for generations. As they gathered their bearings, a small house-elf dressed in a tea towel toga hurried over. Its large, bat-like ears flapped as it bowed so low its nose nearly brushed the floor.
"Welcome to Longbottom Manor, sirs and misses," the elf squeaked, its voice trembling with a mix of excitement and nerves. "I is Tippy, the Longbottom house-elf. Please, follow Tippy to the ballroom."
The group followed Tippy, who led them through ornate corridors illuminated by floating candles. They entered the ballroom, a vast space where crystal chandeliers cast a warm, inviting glow over the guests. Elegantly dressed witches and wizards mingled, their laughter and conversation creating a lively hum.
Harry and his friends weaved through the crowd, searching for Neville. Spotting him across the room, they made their way over. Neville's smile, broad but tinged with strain, brightened considerably upon seeing them.
"Happy Birthday, Neville!" Harry greeted, clapping him on the shoulder, as the others echoed his birthday wishes.
"Thanks. It's great to see you all," Neville replied, his eyes lighting up with genuine happiness.
As they shared stories of their summer, Neville's frustration with the ball's political nature began to surface. "I just wanted a simple birthday with my friends, not all this," he sighed, gesturing to the surrounding opulence.
Before he could say more, a commanding voice cut through their conversation. "Neville, my boy, and friends," Augusta Longbottom announced as she approached. Her sharp gaze assessed each of them, lingering on Harry and Rigel.
"Madam Longbottom," Harry greeted respectfully, while Rigel gave a polite nod.
"Madam Longbottom, it's an honour," Rigel added smoothly.
Augusta's eyes narrowed slightly, a calculating look crossing her features. "I trust you understand the importance of the times we are in," she began, her voice firm. "I hope you'll consider lending your support to our cause."
Rigel, ever the diplomat, responded with a carefully measured tone. "We understand the gravity of the situation, Madam Longbottom. Rest assured, we are committed to fighting the dark forces threatening our world. However, we believe in maintaining a stance of careful neutrality until the right path is clear."
Harry nodded in agreement, appreciating Rigel's ability to navigate the conversation with such finesse.
Augusta studied them for a moment longer before nodding curtly. "Very well. I trust you'll make the right decisions in due time." With that, she turned and rejoined the other guests, leaving them to ponder the weight of her words and the intricate dance of alliances and loyalties that lay ahead.
As the evening progressed at the Longbottom Ball, Harry, Tracey, Daphne, and Rigel found themselves navigating a complex web of social interactions, much as Daphne had predicted. Many of the families approached Harry, their intentions clear. They were seeking alliances and favours, looking to align themselves with the Boy Who Lived. Harry, though polite, could sense the underlying motives of these conversations. The offers and flattery felt like a delicate dance of diplomacy and desire.
Rigel, on the other hand, was approached far less frequently. It made sense, considering the Black family's dark reputation. Despite Rigel's efforts to distance themselves from that legacy, many at the ball still held reservations, their trust not entirely given. The Black name carried a weight, a shadow of the past that wasn't easily dispelled in the minds of the wizarding elite.
The most uncomfortable moment of the evening for Harry arrived when Madam Bones approached him, Susan at her side. The air between them was charged with unspoken words and lingering feelings. Susan's hurt and anger were evident, her gaze avoiding Harry's. Tracey, ever attuned to Harry's feelings, gently squeezed his hand, offering silent comfort and solidarity.
Madam Bones, with a practised grace that spoke of her experience in navigating the delicate waters of wizarding politics, addressed Harry in a tone that was both respectful and forthright. "Mr. Potter, I'm aware this may not be the most comfortable of conversations, especially given the... personal history present," she began, casting a brief, sympathetic glance towards Susan.
She took a deep breath before continuing. "I find myself at a crossroads, much like you, I believe. My faith in Dumbledore's leadership has been... shaken, and I seek to maintain my position on the light side while distancing myself from him. I believe an alliance with you, who seems to be carving a similar path, could be mutually beneficial."
Harry, taken aback by her candidness, took a moment to respond. "Madam Bones, I appreciate your honesty and your consideration in this matter," he said carefully. "The idea isn't too bad. However, any decision of this nature, I'd need to discuss with my Regent, Sirius Black, first."
He paused, assessing her reaction before continuing. "Also, I suggest you speak with Rigel. The Black family's reputation is changing under his guidance. We share similar goals, and an alliance might indeed be beneficial for both parties."
Madam Bones nodded, the corners of her eyes crinkling in what might have been appreciation or relief, or perhaps a mixture of both. "Thank you, Mr. Potter. I will take your advice to heart and seek out a conversation with Rigel Black. Your prudence in these matters is commendable."
She then offered a slight, respectful nod and excused herself, her presence receding as gracefully as it had arrived. Harry watched her go, the weight of her words settling over him. The evening continued around him, a whirl of conversations and music, but his mind was elsewhere, contemplating the chessboard of alliances and power that they were all part of. It was a game that demanded careful thought and even more careful moves.
To provide a respite from the relentless political discussions, Tracey frequently whisked Harry away to the dance floor. The rhythm of the music and the movement helped clear his mind, a brief escape from the weight of expectations and past regrets.
As they danced, Harry's gaze occasionally drifted across the room. He noticed Rigel and Daphne, their movements in sync, a silent conversation flowing between them. Surprisingly, Neville and Astoria were also dancing, an unexpected pair finding solace in each other's company amidst the political tumult. It struck Harry that Neville, much like himself, sought an escape from the pressures of the evening, and in Astoria, he had found a willing partner.
As the night wore on and the first clusters of guests began to make their farewells, the air in the ballroom shifted subtly from celebratory to subdued. The group, feeling the weight of the evening's politics and the late hour, decided it was time to take their leave as well. They navigated through the thinning crowd towards Neville, who was momentarily alone, looking relieved at the prospect of the night winding down.
"Tomorrow's my birthday, Neville," Harry began, a small smile playing on his lips despite the political undertones of the evening. "We're planning just a small get-together at Black Castle, nothing like this... no political nonsense, just friends. You should come; it'd be a great way to unwind after all this."
Neville's smile brightened momentarily at the invitation. "That sounds brilliant, Harry. But..." His smile waned into a resigned grimace. "My grandmother's been particularly strict this summer. She's forbidden me from leaving the manor at all. I'm really sorry, I'd love to join. But I'll try to soften her up for next summer. Thanks, though. With you lot here, my birthday's been at least a bit fun."
Harry, undeterred, assured him, "If she's unwilling to let you out next summer, we'll just have to find a way around it, won't we?"
Their conversation was abruptly cut short as Augusta Longbottom approached. The matriarch of the Longbottom family held herself with an air of unyielding authority, yet her voice carried an unmistakable note of disappointment as she addressed them.
"Leaving so soon, are we?" Augusta's tone was tinged with a gentle chiding, her eyes lingering on each of them, especially Harry and Rigel.
"Yes, Madam Longbottom," Harry replied, his respect for Neville's grandmother evident in his voice. "It's been a long evening."
"I understand," she said, though her eyes suggested she wished they'd stay longer. "But before you go, I must stress the importance of the times we are in. You are all young, but your words carry weight, especially yours, Harry, and yours, Lord Black," she nodded toward Rigel. "The return of You-Know-Who is not a matter to be taken lightly. Your testimonies could sway many to our cause, to see the truth before it's too late."
Harry shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her gaze and the gravity of her words pressing upon him. He opened his mouth to respond, but it was Rigel who spoke up.
"Madam Longbottom, we understand the severity of the situation," Rigel began, his voice calm and collected. "And we assure you, we do not take it lightly. But this is a complex matter, one that requires careful thought and consideration. We will give it the attention it deserves and think about it thoroughly."
Augusta studied Rigel for a moment, then nodded, seemingly unsatisfied with his diplomatic answer. "Very well, Lord Black. I only hope you understand the urgency and act before it is too late."
With a round of farewells that were polite if somewhat strained, the group made their way to the Floo. One by one, they stepped into the green flames and whisked away back to the sanctuary of Black Castle.
~~~o~~~
As soon as they emerged from the swirling green flames of the Floo at Black Castle, the formidable presence of Walburga was upon them. Her piercing gaze swept over the group as she barraged them with questions about the ball and their handling of the various political entanglements.
Rigel and Daphne took the lead in recounting the evening's events, much to Harry's relief. He found himself uncertain about what details were significant or worth mentioning to Walburga, whose political acumen was as sharp as her scrutiny.
As they spoke, Walburga's stern features softened slightly, a sign of her approval. "You navigated the situation with grace," she commended, her voice carrying a note of genuine pride. "I feared those light side fanatics might sway you, but it's reassuring to hear you remained neutral. It's crucial to keep future relationships open without committing to anything prematurely."
Her bias was unmistakable, and Harry couldn't help but wonder about her true motivations. Was her advice genuinely for their benefit, or did it serve her own ends? Regardless, he felt content with the choices they'd made that night, steering clear of hasty alliances.
Noting the late hour, Walburga suggested, "It's best you all retire for the night. Tomorrow is a special day, after all, and you'll want to be well-rested for Harry's birthday."
With nods of agreement, the group dispersed, each heading to their respective rooms, the day's fatigue beginning to settle in.
It wasn't long before midnight when Harry and Tracey climbed into bed together. Tracey, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, insisted that Harry stay awake a little longer. As the minutes ticked closer to midnight, her anticipation grew palpable.
Finally, as the clock chimed the arrival of a new day, Tracey pulled Harry into a deep, loving kiss, whispering a heartfelt "Happy birthday" against his lips. Her hands were already deftly working to undress them both, her actions speaking louder than words as she promised him a very special birthday present.
The passion they shared that night was a profound expression of their affection and desire, a perfect prelude to Harry's birthday. As they eventually drifted off to sleep, entwined in each other's arms, Harry's last coherent thought was a reflection of pure contentment and love. What a way to start his birthday.
~~~o~~~
As the morning sun cast a golden glow over Black Castle, Harry descended to the breakfast table where a cheerful chorus of "Happy Birthday" greeted him from his friends and family. The table was a vibrant tableau of smiling faces and warm wishes, creating an atmosphere of genuine joy and celebration.
Among the pile of post, a letter with familiar handwriting caught Harry's eye. It was from Hermione, her neat script dancing across the page. She extended heartfelt birthday wishes and shared her eagerness to rejoin them soon, just in time for Daphne's birthday. Harry's heart lifted at the thought of Hermione's return, though he knew their group wouldn't truly be complete without Neville.
The breakfast was lively, filled with laughter and conversation. Afterward, Harry received thoughtful gifts, his eyes lighting up particularly at the new Quidditch gear. Its promise of exhilarating matches to come excited him more than anything. The clothes were a welcome change from his usual hand-me-downs, and among the gifts was a quill with a deep, iridescent blue feather, elegant and finely crafted. "Thanks, this is really nice," Harry said, appreciating the gesture but his heart clearly set on the Quidditch gear and the thought of future games with his friends. It was these moments of shared joy and anticipation, Harry realised, that made his birthday truly special.
The day unfolded into a tapestry of joyful activities. They enjoyed a refreshing swim in the lake, its cool waters offering a delightful contrast to the warm summer air. Laughter echoed across the water, each splash a testament to their carefree moments.
The highlight of the day was the spirited Quidditch match. With a mischievous grin, Harry assigned Daphne and Rigel to opposite teams, keen to level the playing field. He watched as they mounted their brooms, the competitive spark in their eyes igniting the game's excitement. The match was a whirlwind of skill and strategy, with each player demonstrating their prowess. Rigel, surprisingly adept as a Seeker, darted through the air with impressive agility. But Harry, with his innate talent honed through years of practice, danced across the sky. His movements were a blur of precision and grace, a Seeker in his element. The game reached its climax as Harry, spotting the glint of gold, executed a daring dive. With a swift, fluid motion, he caught the Snitch, ending the game amidst cheers and good-natured groans from the opposing team.
As they gathered for dinner, the warmth of the day's fun still lingering, Harry's thoughts momentarily veered towards the darker aspects of their reality. Outside the castle's protective walls, Voldemort was strengthening his forces, plotting in the shadows. The contrast between the day's joyous simplicity and the impending threat was stark. A sense of resolve settled over Harry. They would need to act, but for now, the forthcoming Order meeting promised insights and potential strategies. It was a delicate balance of enjoying the present while being acutely aware of the future's uncertainties.
A few days later, the air in Black Castle was thick with anticipation. The long-awaited Order meeting was finally upon them. Harry, Tracey, Daphne, and Rigel gathered in the sitting room, a space that had become a familiar setting for their discussions and plans. Astoria, however, had decided to stay behind. Her decision was rooted in caution; the fear that her parents might learn of her involvement was too great a risk, potentially leading to dire consequences.
Sirius and Remus were already there, their expressions serious, underlining the gravity of the meeting ahead. Sirius held a piece of paper in his hand, which he passed to the group with a solemn nod. "Read this and then pass it along," he instructed.
When the paper reached Harry, he noticed the words "The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at Number 12 Grimmauld Place." As he read, a subtle sensation of magic washed over him, a gentle tug at the edges of his awareness. He looked up, curiosity etched on his face. "I felt something when I read this. What was it?" he asked Sirius.
"That, Harry, is the Fidelius Charm in action," Sirius explained. "Now that you know the secret, you're able to find the headquarters. It's a powerful spell that conceals the location from those not in the know. Only those who have been told the secret can find it."
As each member read the note, the paper made its way back to Sirius, who promptly set it ablaze. The small fire consumed the secret, ensuring its safety. "Time to go," Sirius announced, his tone shifting to one of determination.
One by one, they approached the fireplace. They each took a handful of Floo powder, threw it into the flames, and clearly stated, "Number 12 Grimmauld Place." With a swirl of green flames, they were whisked away to the heart of the Order's operations, ready to face whatever the meeting had in store.
As they stepped out of the fireplace into the dimly lit hallway of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry and the group were greeted by the familiar faces of Fred and George Weasley. Harry, surprised to see them there, couldn't help but ask, "What are you doing here?"
The twins exchanged a look, their trademark grins spreading across their faces. "Well, Harry, Mum and Dad are in the Order, aren't they?" Fred began.
"And they've roped us and Ginny into helping clean up this old place," George finished. Their expressions turned slightly more serious as they added, "We've been wanting to join the Order too, now that we're of age. Fight the good fight and all that. But Mum's having none of it."
Curiosity piqued, they looked at the group. "So, what brings you lot here?"
Sirius, stepping forward, answered, "Dumbledore invited them to the Order meeting. That's why we're here."
The twins nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Right, everyone's waiting in the dining room," they said, gesturing down the corridor.
Sirius led the group towards the dining room, the air heavy with anticipation. As they entered, Harry's eyes swept across the room, taking in the assembly of Order members. Moody was there, his magical eye swivelling independently of his normal one, and Tonks, her hair a vibrant shade of pink today, was chatting animatedly with a few members. Harry spotted Mr. Weasley engaged in conversation with a red-headed woman who, he deduced, was Mrs. Weasley. There were several faces Harry didn't recognise, but the most surprising presence was that of Snape.
The potions master caught Harry's eye and nodded, a gesture that was almost...approving. Harry was taken aback by this acknowledgment. The animosity that had once defined their interactions seemed to have diminished. Harry attributed this change to the revelations from Rigel's memories of Halloween 1981. He made a mental note to discuss this intriguing development with Daphne and Rigel later.
Sirius motioned for them to take a seat at the table before he moved over to converse with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. The room buzzed with low, serious conversations as they settled in, each member acutely aware of the importance of the meeting about to take place.
As the group settled into their seats, Tonks got up from her seat and began approaching them.
"Hello, everyone!" Tonks exclaimed, her voice a cheerful melody. She flashed a particularly bright smile at Rigel. "Hey, Rigel! How's my favourite cousin?"
Rigel returned her smile, a touch of amusement in his response. "I'm doing well, Tonks. Always a pleasure to see you brightening up the place."
Tonks then turned her attention to Remus, her grin morphing into something more playful and flirtatious. "And how are you, Remus?" she asked, her tone teasing.
Remus, usually the epitome of composure, found himself slightly flustered under her attention. His cheeks tinged with a hint of pink as he let out an awkward chuckle. "I'm, ah, well, thank you, Tonks," he managed, his voice betraying a mix of embarrassment and fondness.
However, the light-hearted interlude was abruptly cut short by a rising voice. Mrs. Weasley, her face flushed with emotion, was in the midst of a heated debate with Sirius. "This is no place for children, Sirius!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing off the walls. "Invited or not, you should have known better than to bring them here!"
Sirius, his expression hardened, retorted with equal fervour. "I'm Harry's godfather and Rigel's father, Molly. I decide what's best for them, and I don't need parenting lessons from you."
The room tensed, the brewing argument threatening to escalate further when suddenly, a calm, authoritative voice filled the space. Dumbledore had arrived, standing in the doorway with an air of serene command. "Please, let's all calm down," he urged, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "I invited them here today because there's an important matter I'd like to discuss with everyone, including them."
His words seemed to diffuse the situation as Sirius and Mrs. Weasley reluctantly ceased their quarrel. The members of the Order took their seats, all eyes turning to Dumbledore as he made his way to the head of the table. The sense of anticipation was palpable, each person bracing for the discussion that lay ahead.
Dumbledore settled into his chair at the head of the table, his blue eyes sweeping over the gathered members of the Order with a grave yet gentle gaze. "Today, we have much to discuss, but first, I'd like to address the reason I've asked Harry and his friends to join us." He paused, ensuring he had everyone's attention. "We're all painfully aware that Voldemort has a personal vendetta against Harry, which places him in constant danger."
Sirius, ever protective, cut in before Dumbledore could continue. "Black Castle is perfectly safe," he asserted firmly. "Harry knows better than to venture into public places without adult supervision."
Dumbledore raised a hand, signalling for calm. "I'm not questioning the safety measures in place, Sirius. I mean to say that having Voldemort as an enemy is a pervasive danger. But I trust that Harry is in safe hands for now." He leaned forward, his expression serious. "I didn't call them here to discuss Harry's safety. Quite the opposite, in fact. I want to offer Harry and his friends the opportunity to join the Order. The fight against Voldemort will be theirs, regardless."
Molly Weasley sprang up, her face flushed with a mix of fear and indignation. "Absolutely not! They're children. If they join, then the twins and possibly Ginny will want to join too. They're too young, too inexperienced."
Sirius's anger was palpable as he retorted, "It's their decision to make, Molly! They don't have the luxury of avoiding Voldemort. I'm all for them joining if they choose to."
Molly pressed on, her voice trembling. "You might have some say over Harry and Rigel, but what about the girls? Their parents would never agree!"
Before the argument could escalate further, Dumbledore's voice filled the room, commanding and calm. "This is their decision to make, not that of guardians or parents."
A hush fell over the room as Rigel spoke up, his voice steady but respectful. "We're humbled by the offer, but we must decline. As Mrs. Weasley rightly pointed out, we're children, inexperienced in battle. We'd only be in the way."
Dumbledore sighed, a look of understanding in his eyes. "Does this decision speak for all of you?" he asked gently.
Harry, Daphne, and Tracey nodded, their expressions firm. Sirius, though visibly disappointed, remained silent.
"Very well," Dumbledore conceded. "The offer remains open should you ever change your minds. And should you decide to join, training will be an integral part of your involvement."
Rigel gave a small nod of appreciation. "Thank you, Professor. We might reconsider in the future, but for now, we won't be joining." His words were echoed by the silent agreement of his friends, each aware of the magnitude of the decision they had made.
Dumbledore, undeterred by the group's decision, smoothly transitioned to the next pressing matter. "Harry, I must ask if you would reconsider making a public statement about Voldemort's return. Your voice could sway many to our cause, bolstering our strength."
Rigel, with a knowing chuckle, interjected before Harry could respond. "I knew you were going to bring that up. But let's be clear, none of us are going to tarnish our reputations as you have, Professor."
The room tensed at Rigel's blunt words, but Dumbledore remained composed. "Rigel, I respect your stance, but I addressed Harry, not you. I understand your perspective is set, but I hold hope that your Godbrother might see things differently."
Harry felt a twinge of annoyance at the distinction made between him and Rigel, the emphasis on 'Godbrother' rather than simply 'brother.' He took a moment, drawing upon his nascent Occlumency skills to steady himself before replying. "Professor, like my brother said, I'm not going to risk my reputation on a gamble to sway public opinion. Maintaining it might allow me to do more good in the future."
Dumbledore sighed, the disappointment clear in his expression. "Why are you so unwilling to help the cause, Harry?"
Harry's response was measured but carried an undercurrent of bitterness. "I want to do what's best for the cause, but I'm not convinced that your way is the right way. You've proven to be untrustworthy."
Murmurs of shock rippled through the room at Harry's bold accusation. Dumbledore, however, remained calm. "Please, Harry, elaborate on how I have lost your trust."
Harry's words were laced with anger as he recounted the grievances. "There have been several instances, Professor. You used Legilimency on Daphne when she was vulnerable after the Troll incident in first year. You placed me with the Dursleys, despite knowing how much my aunt hated my mother. But most damningly, you knew about Rigel's true situation and chose to do nothing." The last accusation was spat out with palpable fury, the culmination of years of perceived betrayal hanging heavy in the air.
The room was abuzz with murmurs and shifting glances after Harry's pointed accusations. Sirius, unable to contain his concern, shot up from his seat, his voice a mix of shock and anger. "Is this true, Dumbledore? Did you really—?"
Dumbledore raised a hand, signalling for peace. "Please, everyone, calm down." His voice, though soft, carried an authoritative weight. "I admit I was wrong in placing Harry with the Dursleys, and I sincerely apologise for using Legilimency on Daphne. I believed the safety of the students was at risk. As for Rigel," he paused, a furrow forming on his brow, "I'm not certain what Harry refers to, but I am willing to listen and rectify my mistakes."
He then turned to the group. "It seems your opinion of me is firm. Should you ever reconsider, the Order will welcome you with open arms." His gaze lingered on each of them for a moment before he continued. "But now, we must proceed with Order business. As you've chosen not to join, I must ask you to leave the dining room."
As they rose from their seats, Daphne, her voice cool yet not unkind, added, "Perhaps sharing information with us despite our non-membership could have been a persuasive argument. Nonetheless, we wish you the best in your endeavours." The others nodded their agreement as they exited the room.
Once back in the hallway, Rigel turned to Harry, a hint of admiration in his voice. "That was well handled, Harry. I'm proud of you."
Harry offered a small, tired smile, a hint of concern shadowing his features. "I just spoke the truth, how I really felt," he admitted. Then, with a slight hesitance, he added, "In the heat of the moment, I kind of let slip part of your secret, Rigel. About being stuck in a cat's body instead of being hidden away in Germany."
Rigel's expression softened, understanding the weight of what Harry had inadvertently revealed. He placed a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Harry. Even if some of them figure it out, what are they going to do with that information? Besides," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye, "seeing Dumbledore's reaction was totally worth that."
Harry's smile grew a little at Rigel's words, the burden of his worry lightening slightly. "You're right. I guess it was worth seeing his face," he conceded with a chuckle.
With the tension defused, Harry's gaze shifted down the corridor, his mind turning to lighter matters. "Let's find the twins and Ginny, tell them what happened." The group nodded in agreement, their spirits lifted by the camaraderie and the shared sense of moving forward together.
They began their search through the old house, their footsteps echoing slightly in the silence. The sound was a comforting reminder of their unity as they went to find the Weasley children and share the events of the tumultuous meeting.
After wandering through the dimly lit corridors of Grimmauld Place, the group finally stumbled upon Ginny and the twins, who were elbow-deep in the arduous task of cleaning one of the many neglected bedrooms. The room was a testament to the house's overall state of disrepair, with dust motes dancing in the shafts of light piercing through the grimy windows.
"Hey, you lot," Harry greeted, causing the Weasleys to look up from their work.
Fred and George, wands in hand, were using magic to clean the room, their spells whisking away dust and grime with a flourish. In contrast, Ginny was scrubbing away manually, her sleeves rolled up and a determined look on her face.
Rigel, observing the scene, commented, "This is a magical home, Ginny. You could use magic too if you wanted."
Ginny paused her scrubbing, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. "I know," she replied, "but Mum won't let us use magic outside of school until we're of age."
Fred and George shared a look, their expressions a mix of mischief and sympathy. "Mum's rules," they said in unison, shrugging.
Fred, always quick with a quip, eyed Rigel and asked with a teasing undertone, "So, Rigel, are all Black properties in such a dismal state as this one?"
Rigel, taking the joke in stride, replied, "Actually, I wouldn't know. I've only ever been to Black Castle, and Kreacher is our only house-elf. I'm quite sure he only looks after the castle. Perhaps it's time to inspect the other properties."
Before the conversation could delve further into the state of Black properties, Tracey, ever the one to steer towards more exciting topics, chimed in. "All this property talk is rather dull. Let's discuss the juicy details of that Order meeting instead."
A quick retelling of the events had the twins and Ginny looking impressed and slightly envious. Standing up to Dumbledore was no small feat, and their disappointment was palpable, especially considering their mother's staunch opposition to their joining the Order.
"So, what's your plan now?" Ginny asked, her eyes serious. "You're going to fight Voldemort in some way, right?"
"Of course," Harry affirmed. "We have to fight him. There'll never be peace while he's alive."
"But not with the Order?" Ginny pressed.
Rigel nodded. "We share the same main goal, so the Order won't be our enemies. But under Dumbledore's leadership? That's not something we can accept."
George, ever the joker, lightened the mood with a laugh. "Maybe you should start your own order, then!"
Laughter filled the room, but Harry's chuckle was more subdued. The idea, presented as a joke, struck a chord within him. If they couldn't join Dumbledore's Order, then why not create their own? A group aligned with their values and strategies, free from the shadows of past mistrust. The thought lingered in his mind, a seed of possibility that began to take root.
The atmosphere in the dusty bedroom lightened considerably as the group and the Weasleys engaged in an hour of lively small talk. Conversations ebbed and flowed, ranging from the humorous to the serious, including belated birthday wishes to Harry, which he received with a genuine smile and gratitude. Daphne, in turn, extended an invitation for her upcoming birthday.
As they were immersed in their chatter, the sound of footsteps approached, and Sirius appeared at the doorway. "The meeting's over, everyone. It's time to head back home," he announced, his tone signalling an end to their visit.
Reluctantly, the group and the Weasleys began to wrap up their conversations, exchanging final words and goodbyes. Promises to meet again soon filled the air as they prepared to depart.
One by one, they stepped into the fireplace at Grimmauld Place, each taking a pinch of Floo powder. Green flames roared to life as they called out "Black Castle," disappearing in a whirl of light and smoke.
In moments, they arrived back at the familiar surroundings of Black Castle, the warmth of the place a stark contrast to the old and sombre Grimmauld Place. As they dusted themselves off, the group shared a collective sense of relief and contemplation, the day's events giving much to ponder about their future path and the choices that lay ahead.
~~~o~~~
A few days later, the warm morning light streamed into the dining hall of Black Castle, illuminating the faces of those gathered for a special occasion: Daphne's birthday. The air was filled with excitement and the scent of a delicious breakfast when Hermione made her entrance. She looked sun-kissed and rejuvenated from her vacation in France, her relaxed demeanour a stark contrast to her usual studious self. With a wide smile, she announced she'd be spending the rest of the summer with them, much to everyone's delight.
Breakfast was a cheerful affair, with laughter and conversation flowing freely. As the meal concluded, Daphne began to sort through the pile of letters she'd received. Her parents' letter lay unopened, a subtle shadow crossing her face at the sight of it. However, her interest piqued at another envelope, one with neat cursive handwriting none of the others recognised.
Curiosity filled the air as Daphne explained, "This is from Layla, the Danish chaser from Durmstrang. We've become pen pals." She smiled softly as she read the birthday wishes, a hint of warmth in her eyes.
Harry, listening, vaguely remembered Layla from the Triwizard Tournament. Her fiery red hair and equally fiery spirit had left an impression. He thought to himself that making international friends was one of the tournament's underlying goals, and he was glad Daphne had found a connection.
As lunchtime approached, the Weasleys arrived, their presence adding to the festive atmosphere. The group, now larger and even more lively, decided to spend the afternoon swimming in the lake. Daphne had expressed her desire for a relaxed and chill birthday, and what could be better than enjoying the cool waters and the company of close friends on a warm summer day?
Together, they made their way to the lake, the sound of their laughter echoing through the castle grounds. Daphne's birthday was shaping up to be exactly as she wished: a day of relaxation, fun, and the warmth of friendship enveloping her like the summer sun.
Daphne's birthday unfolded with a serene tranquillity, a stark contrast to the typical exuberance of teenage celebrations. The group spent the majority of the day lounging by the lake, basking in the sun and enjoying each other's company. As the afternoon waned into early evening, the Weasleys prepared to depart. Mrs. Weasley had insisted they return home by dinner, declining the offer for them to stay longer at Black Castle. Ginny quietly mentioned to Harry and Tracey how her mother was still upset about the broom Harry had gifted her, highlighting Mrs. Weasley's reluctance to accept generosity from others.
After a delightful dinner, Daphne and Rigel excused themselves, declaring an early end to the night. They retreated to their room, leaving Harry and Tracey to their own devices.
In the privacy of their room, Rigel turned to Daphne with a soft smile. "How would you like to spend the evening?" he asked, his voice gentle.
Without a word, Daphne transformed into her animagus form, a sleek and elegant cat. Rigel, following her lead, shifted into his feline form as well. They curled up together on the bed, purring in unison. Rigel began grooming Daphne, his affectionate licks gentle and caring.
Through their bond, Daphne's thoughts reached Rigel. "I can't believe you had to live like this for so long," she mused. "It's pleasant enough for a short while, but the idea of being stuck in this form... Cleaning oneself with a tongue is quite odd."
Rigel paused in his grooming, his feline eyes meeting hers. "You do get used to it," he replied through the bond, his tone reflective. "There wasn't much choice in the matter for me. But let's not dwell on that tonight. Just relax, Daphne. Let me take care of you."
With that, he resumed his tender grooming, eliciting a contented purr from Daphne. In their feline forms, they found comfort in each other's presence, the day winding down in a peaceful, intimate moment shared between soulmates.
The next day, as the morning light filtered through the windows of Black Castle, casting a soft glow on the gathered friends, Harry, Tracey, Daphne, and Rigel took the time to bring Hermione up to speed with all that had transpired in her absence. They recounted the tales of the Malfoy and Longbottom balls with vivid detail and shared the tense moments of the Order meeting, leaving nothing out.
Hermione listened intently, her eyes occasionally widening in surprise or narrowing in contemplation. When they finished, she offered her perspective, commending them on how well they handled the various situations. However, she gently suggested that perhaps Harry had been a bit too harsh toward Dumbledore.
Harry shook his head, his expression resolute. "Dumbledore needed to hear it. He has to realise that he isn't always right," he asserted, his voice firm with conviction.
With the past discussed and lessons learned, they shifted their focus back to training. Hermione's eyes lit up with enthusiasm when she learned about their foray into the mind arts. Eager to join in, she began learning Occlumency alongside Harry, with Daphne and Astoria offering their guidance.
~~~o~~~
Dumbledore's PoV
Albus Dumbledore paced the length of his spacious office, the soft swish of his robes accompanying each step. The room was filled with the usual assortment of magical artefacts and books, each holding its own story and secrets. The late afternoon sun filtered through the stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colours across the room. Today, however, Dumbledore's mind was preoccupied with a more mundane yet significant matter: the selection of this year's Head Boy, Head Girl, and prefects.
He sighed heavily, a rare display of weariness. The heads of houses would soon join him for their yearly discussion, and he already anticipated their proposal for Head Boy: Rigel Black. Dumbledore could, in theory, veto their choice, but he lacked a solid justification beyond his personal reservations. The truth was, he didn't like the boy. Rigel's influence over Harry Potter was too strong, and his opposition to Dumbledore's methods and decisions was clear and troubling.
Turning to Fawkes, who perched quietly on his stand, Dumbledore spoke softly, "Perhaps I should have intervened when the boy was trapped in the body of the Potter family cat. Maybe then he would have developed a loyalty to me." He paused, his gaze distant. "But alas, we cannot change the past."
His introspection was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Enter," he called out, his voice steady and composed.
The heads of houses filed in, each taking a seat around the small circular table at the centre of the room. Dumbledore greeted them with a nod as they began their meeting, the air filling with the aroma of freshly brewed tea.
The discussions were lengthy and detailed, covering various candidates and their merits. Dumbledore listened attentively, occasionally offering insights or guidance. However, his mind was preoccupied with the impending decision regarding the Head Boy.
Finally, the topic arose. Dumbledore braced himself, expecting Severus Snape to champion Rigel due to his Slytherin favouritism and Minerva McGonagall to support him, albeit reluctantly, due to the lack of suitable candidates from Gryffindor and the impression Rigel had made on her.
What truly took Dumbledore by surprise, however, was the unanimous support from Pomona Sprout and Filius Flitwick. Both expressed their belief that Rigel was the most suitable candidate, praising his leadership skills and academic excellence.
The weight of their unanimous recommendation settled heavily upon Dumbledore. Despite his personal misgivings and the complex web of feelings he harboured towards the boy, he knew he had no substantial grounds to oppose their choice. With a resigned nod, Dumbledore acknowledged their decision. "Very well," he conceded, his voice carrying a mix of acceptance and concealed disappointment. "This year's Head Boy will be Rigel Black."
As the meeting continued with other matters, Dumbledore's thoughts lingered on Rigel Black and the coming year. What would this mean for Hogwarts, for Harry, and for the larger fight that loomed on the horizon? Only time would reveal the consequences of this decision, and Dumbledore could only hope that, in the end, it would serve the greater good.
~~~o~~~
Over the next few weeks, the group made significant strides in their respective areas. Hermione's dedication saw her nearly catching up to Harry in Occlumency, while Harry himself gained full control over his emotions through the practice. Tracey finally perfected keeping her clothes on during her Animagus transformations, and Astoria, though not yet able to conjure a corporeal Patronus, mastered the basic Patronus shield.
In the midst of their training and progress, several letters from Hogwarts arrived one day, each sealed with the school's crest. The group gathered around as they opened the envelopes, revealing not only the usual start-of-term notices but also special announcements and badges. Rigel was named Head Boy, his badge a sign of leadership and recognition from the school. Harry and Hermione were both appointed as Gryffindor prefects, their badges shining with responsibility and honour. Daphne, too, received the honour of becoming a Slytherin prefect, her badge a symbol of her intellect and integrity.
Sirius, Remus, and Walburga shared in the celebration, their faces alight with joy and pride. "Reaching these positions means you're doing well at Hogwarts," Sirius said, his voice filled with pride. "It's not just about academic success; it's about leadership and responsibility."
Remus nodded in agreement, his eyes reflecting a gentle pride. "You've all really come into your own. These positions are a real nod to the people you've become and the difference you're making at the school."
Even Walburga, who often reserved her praise, showed a flicker of satisfaction. "To see the Black family name held in such high regard once again is a true honour. Rigel, you've done exceptionally well," she conceded.
With their new roles acknowledged and the excitement of their upcoming responsibilities, the group felt a renewed sense of purpose. These recognitions from Hogwarts were not just honours; they were a call to leadership and an indication of the trust placed in them.
As summer began to wane, the realisation that their return to Hogwarts was imminent settled over them. The next day would mark the end of their time at Black Castle and the beginning of another term at the school of witchcraft and wizardry. The anticipation for their return was now tinged with excitement for the new roles they would undertake, shaping not just their own futures but also the future of the school they had grown to love.
That evening, as Harry and Tracey were packing their belongings for the journey back, Tracey suddenly pulled Harry towards the bed, her intentions clear. She began to undress him with an urgency, her voice low and seductive. "This is our last night to easily do this. It'll be much harder at Hogwarts. Let's make the most of it."
Harry's response was immediate and passionate. He captured her lips in a lustful kiss, his hands exploring her body with fervent desire. That night, sleep was an elusive afterthought. They gave in to their urges, making the most of their final night of privacy before the constraints of Hogwarts. As the night deepened, their whispers and sighs were the only sounds filling the room, a testament to their youthful passion and the bittersweet farewell to their summer freedom.
The next morning, Harry and Tracey stumbled into the dining room at Black Castle looking less like the vibrant young wizard and witch they were and more like sleep-deprived zombies. Their eyes were heavy with fatigue, movements sluggish, a clear testament to the near sleepless night they had indulged in. Sirius couldn't help but comment on their state. "You know, the bed is generally used for sleeping," he quipped with a cheeky grin, causing a few embarrassed but amused smiles around the table.
After a breakfast filled with light-hearted teasing and last-minute reminders, the group prepared to depart for Platform 9 ¾. They each grabbed a handful of Floo powder, the familiar sensation of nervous excitement bubbling up as they anticipated the start of another year at Hogwarts.
Upon arriving at the bustling platform, they said their goodbyes to Sirius, promising to use the two-way mirror more frequently to keep him updated and a little less lonely. His response was a wide grin and a playful admonition, "You better!"
The Hogwarts Express, with its gleaming scarlet engine and the lively chatter of students returning for another year, welcomed the group as they boarded. They navigated through the narrow corridor, the hum of excitement in the air mingling with the nostalgic scent of the train. Finding an empty compartment, they quickly claimed it, stashing their luggage above the seats.
As they settled in, Astoria, her demeanour usually composed and distant, suddenly stepped forward. She wrapped Daphne in a tight embrace, a rare display of affection. "I'll miss having you right by my side," she murmured, her voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of strength.
Daphne returned the hug just as fiercely. "You'll do brilliantly, Tori. And we're not that far away, after all."
Pulling back, Astoria offered a small, genuine smile to the rest of the group. "I'm going to look for Ginny and Luna now," she announced. "Make sure you all don't cause too much trouble without me. I'll see you at Hogwarts."
With a final nod and a wave, she turned and slipped out of the compartment, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft thud. The group watched her leave, a momentary silence falling over them, a silent acknowledgment of the shifting dynamics as they headed back to Hogwarts.
Not long after Astoria's departure, the compartment door slid open again to reveal Neville. His friendly greeting was quickly followed by a raised eyebrow and a sly remark as he took in Harry and Tracey's exhausted appearances. "Blimey, you two look like you've been wrestling a troll all night," he joked, causing a round of laughter and a few sheepish grins from the tired couple.
The train began its journey, the landscape outside the window blurring into a cascade of greens and browns as they settled into comfortable conversations and laughter, their spirits lifted by the camaraderie and the anticipation of the year ahead.
As the Hogwarts Express chugged through the countryside, Hermione began peppering Rigel with questions about their upcoming O.W.L.s. At first, Rigel patiently answered her inquiries, but as her questions grew more frantic, he gently tried to assuage her concerns. "Hermione, your O.W.L.s are a whole school year away. Most students start fretting about them maybe a month before, not a whole year," he said, trying to inject a bit of humour into the situation.
Eventually, Hermione's worry subsided, and Rigel's expression shifted from one of reassurance to seriousness. "I received a floo call from Tonks last evening," he said, his tone capturing everyone's attention.
Neville, puzzled, asked, "What's so serious about a call from your cousin?"
Rigel sighed, leaning back against the seat. "Tonks is more than just my cousin. She's also my spy in the Order of the Phoenix. She told me what they discussed after we were asked to leave the meeting."
The compartment fell deadly silent, every pair of ears tuned to Rigel's every word.
"They were going over guard duty schedules," he continued, his brow furrowing slightly.
"That sounds dreadfully boring," Tracey remarked, trying to lighten the mood.
Rigel nodded. "That part is, indeed, quite dull. But what they're guarding is anything but: a prophecy. About Harry and Voldemort."
Harry's voice was almost a whisper as he echoed, "A prophecy?"
Rigel nodded solemnly. "Prophecies are given by seers and predict the future, some more accurately than others. Tonks doesn't know the exact contents—apparently, no one does besides Dumbledore. And Voldemort wants to get his hands on it, hence the guard duty."
Daphne, her mind always working, interjected thoughtfully, "We need to find out more about this prophecy. If possible, its contents, or at least whether it's credible. It might hold the key to defeating Voldemort."
The group began to discuss the matter fervently, exchanging theories and potential strategies. However, Harry remained mostly silent, his mind racing. A prophecy concerning him and Voldemort? The weight of such a thing pressed heavily upon him, a mix of fear, curiosity, and a deep-seated resolve beginning to form. He knew that understanding this prophecy might be crucial, but the idea of his fate being so intertwined with Voldemort's was unsettling, to say the least.
AN: We should be back to weekly updates from now on! Sorry again for missing last weeks update.
