The Order of the Black Cat

by xWolfx93

During their first year at Hogwarts, Harry befriends Daphne Greengrass and encounters Jingles, a magical cat. Their revelations help Harry see the world isn't just black and white and give him what he always wanted: a family. Together, they form a secret society to better the wizarding world. The OC will be a brotherly figure to Harry. No SI. This is a longfic.

51. A new pawn

Chapter 51 – A new pawn

In the early hours of the morning, the soft, golden rays of the sun began to filter through the window of the shared hospital room at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, illuminating the faces of its occupants with a gentle warmth. Harry, having spent just a single night under the meticulous care of the hospital's magical healers, felt an unprecedented surge of vitality coursing through his veins. It was a sensation of power, of liberation, that he had never before experienced. As he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the small mirror perched on the bedside table, he noticed something that made his heart leap—a visible fading of the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. The horcrux, the last remnant of Voldemort's curse, was truly gone.

In the bed next to him, Daphne remained a constant presence by Rigel's side, her hand clasped tightly around his. The room was filled with the low hum of magical equipment, monitoring Rigel's condition as he lay unconscious. The healers had been working tirelessly to repair the extensive damage inflicted upon him, regrowing the flesh and organs that had been ravaged in their final confrontation with Voldemort. Their reassurances had been a balm to Daphne's worried heart, each affirmation that Rigel was "hanging in there" a lifeline to cling to in the storm of her anxiety.

Yet, amidst this atmosphere of healing and hope, Harry was ensnared in a web of guilt. He couldn't help but feel responsible for Rigel's current state. If only he had been stronger, more resistant to Voldemort's insidious influence, perhaps Rigel wouldn't be fighting for his life. These thoughts haunted him, a relentless whisper that he struggled to silence.

Sensing the turmoil within Harry, Daphne turned her attention towards him, her gaze filled with a mixture of concern and resolve. She released Rigel's hand momentarily to reach out to Harry, her touch conveying a silent message of support. "Harry, this isn't your burden to bear alone," she said, her voice a gentle yet firm rebuke to his self-flagellation. "Facing Voldemort, with all his power and malice, was a feat few could have managed. And you, carrying a piece of him within, fought with everything you had. It's a miracle you were able to drive him out."

Harry's eyes, filled with unshed tears, met Daphne's. The depth of understanding and forgiveness in her words slowly began to erode the walls of blame he had constructed around himself. Daphne continued, "Rigel, if he could speak now, would never blame you. We've all fought battles, made sacrifices. What matters is that we faced them together. And we will continue to do so."

In the quiet of the hospital room, with the morning light painting everything in hues of hope and renewal, Harry felt a gradual shift within himself. The guilt that had been threatening to engulf him was being replaced by a newfound determination, a resolve to face the future, whatever it may bring, with his friends by his side. The journey ahead would undoubtedly be fraught with challenges, but in that moment, surrounded by the tangible symbols of their struggles and triumphs, Harry, Daphne, and the silently present Rigel were reminded of the strength of their bond, forged in adversity, unbreakable in unity.

Daphne turned to Harry, a flicker of curiosity lighting her eyes amidst the concern. "How are you feeling, Harry? Besides guilty about Rigel?" she inquired, her tone soft but laden with genuine interest.

Harry's response was almost immediate, a smile breaking across his face. "Incredible," he admitted, the word hardly capturing the entirety of his transformation. "It's like a weight's been lifted off me." Eagerly, he tilted his head to show Daphne his forehead, where the once-prominent scar had begun its retreat into oblivion. "Look, it's healing."

Daphne's surprise was evident, her eyes widening momentarily before settling into an expression of happiness for his newfound relief. Yet, her mind, ever strategic, quickly veered towards the implications of Harry's liberation from the horcrux. With cautious optimism, she broached a sensitive topic. "Do you remember anything from Voldemort's thoughts? Locations of the other horcruxes, or even just how many are left?"

Harry's expression sobered at the question. He shook his head, a slight furrow creasing his brow. "I only felt the horcruxes when they were near, and only caught snippets of Voldemort's thoughts." His voice took on a pensive note as he continued, "I do remember everything he did while he controlled my body, though. The techniques he used, the duelling stances, the strategies to defeat you..."

Daphne listened intently, her face a mask of contemplation. After a moment, she nodded, her voice carrying a trace of relief. "Perhaps it's for the best," she conceded. "While such information might have given us an edge, it's better that your mind remains clear of Voldemort's dark and twisted thoughts and memories."

Their conversation was abruptly halted as a doctor entered the room, his presence a silent reminder of their current reality within the walls of St. Mungo's. After a brief examination and a series of questions directed at Harry, the doctor moved on to Rigel, his expert hands and wand moving deftly over the unconscious young man.

Once the doctor had concluded his checks and made some notes on his clipboard, Daphne seized the opportunity to voice the question that had been gnawing at her. "How much longer will Rigel need to heal?" she asked, her voice a blend of hope and anxiety.

The doctor offered her a reassuring smile, the confidence in his eyes belying the gravity of Rigel's injuries. "If everything continues to go as well as it has, he should wake up tomorrow," he informed them. "And if there are no complications, he'll be out of here the day after."

Daphne exhaled a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, the news igniting a spark of hope in her heart. The room seemed a little brighter, the future a tad more promising, as she and Harry shared a look of mutual relief and anticipation for Rigel's recovery.

The following day unfolded just as the doctor had predicted, with Rigel waking up groggily to the soft, ambient light of the morning filtering through the curtains of their hospital room. His blue eyes, a bit clouded from the remnants of sleep and healing potions, scanned the room, settling on the familiar faces of Harry and Daphne.

Harry, overwhelmed with a mix of relief and residual guilt, immediately began to apologise to Rigel for the events that led to his injuries. "Rigel, I'm so sorry, I should have—"

But Rigel, ever the resilient spirit, interrupted him with a weak yet firm tone. "Stop, Harry. Relax," he insisted, a faint smile playing on his lips despite the obvious fatigue shadowing his features. "You should be proud of yourself. It's going to take a lot more than that to take me out."

Harry's eyes brightened at Rigel's words, the burden of guilt lifting slightly at his brother's reassurance. Meanwhile, Daphne, who had been silently holding Rigel's hand, allowed herself a small smile, her heart swelling with gratitude at the sight of him awake and speaking.

Later that day, Rigel, driven by a stubborn determination characteristic of the Black family, decided to defy the doctor's advice. With the wound on his stomach healed and no longer visible, he carefully swung his legs out of the bed, intent on proving his strength. Daphne, though wary, stayed by his side, ready to support him or send him back to bed at the slightest sign of weakness.

Their quiet moment of recovery was abruptly interrupted when the door to their room swung open, revealing Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and, to their slight dismay, Albus Dumbledore. The atmosphere in the room shifted, a mix of tension and curiosity filling the air as the newcomers stepped inside.

Sirius, with a look of concern etched on his face, was the first to break the silence. "How are you all?" he asked, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken worries and relief at seeing them awake and together.

When they assured him that they were doing well, Sirius nodded, then turned slightly to indicate Dumbledore, who had remained respectfully at the door. "Professor Dumbledore is here to see you," Sirius explained, his tone implying the seriousness of the visit. "He has a few questions."

Albus Dumbledore stepped forward, his presence commanding attention yet exuding a serene calm that seemed to fill the hospital room. He began with words of commendation, his voice imbued with both respect and a touch of amazement. "I must say, I am thoroughly impressed by how you all handled yourselves at the Ministry. It is no small feat for students to confront Death Eaters and emerge victorious, particularly with only minor injuries to show for it. And you three," he paused, his gaze lingering on each of them in turn, "who stood against Voldemort himself and lived to recount the tale, should be exceedingly proud."

Harry felt a flicker of warmth at Dumbledore's words, a temporary balm to the tumultuous emotions he had been wrestling with. However, a glance towards Daphne and Rigel quickly reminded him of the complex layers of trust and mistrust that had woven between them and the headmaster. Their expressions were reserved, cold even, a clear reflection of the scepticism they harboured towards Dumbledore, who hadn't always proved himself trustworthy in their eyes.

Unperturbed, or perhaps simply choosing to ignore their scepticism, Dumbledore pressed on, his next question tinged with genuine curiosity. "However, what I find myself pondering is why you were there in the first place."

Rigel, having regained a semblance of his usual sharpness despite his recent awakening, responded without missing a beat. "As the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, you're surely aware of the hearing concerning the Greengrass family's finances and taxes. It was this summons that led us to the Ministry."

Dumbledore nodded, an acknowledgment that seemed to carry a weight of unspoken thoughts. "Yes, I was aware of the hearing, though a date had yet to be set. It seems then, that your summons was part of a more sinister plot by the Death Eaters." He sighed, a rare glimpse of weariness flashing across his features. "One tragedy after another it seems. First, the horrifying loss of Daphne's parents, and then this ambush at the Ministry as a result."

Rigel's tone took on a sombre note, "Indeed, it appears the Death Eaters had been orchestrating this for some time, given they are responsible for the murder of Daphne's parents."

Dumbledore's expression flickered, a hint of an intention to challenge Rigel's statement, suggesting he might know or suspect more. However, he swiftly redirected the conversation towards Harry, his inquiry now pointedly focused. "And Harry, what brought you and your friends to the Ministry that day?"

Harry, with a steadiness in his voice that belied the intensity of the moment, addressed Dumbledore directly. "You're well aware of the connection between Voldemort and me, as well as the existence of the prophecy. That was what the Order was guarding when Mr. Weasley was attacked," he stated, his gaze unwavering.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance, a silent communication passing between them, but Dumbledore remained unmoved by Harry's acknowledgment of the prophecy. With a simple gesture, he prompted Harry to continue, his expression impassive.

Gathering his thoughts, Harry delved into the specifics of that fateful day. "During my History of Magic OWL, I had a vision. It showed Daphne and Rigel in grave danger, suggesting that Voldemort was planning to use Rigel to access the prophecy."

Dumbledore interjected calmly, "But Rigel could not have retrieved the prophecy."

The retort came sharply from Harry, a flash of frustration breaking through his composed demeanour. "I know that now, but at the time, I wasn't aware that prophecies could only be taken by those they concern." His voice carried a mix of anger and regret. "The vision was a fake, a ruse. Daphne and Rigel weren't in as much danger as it led me to believe, but it accomplished its purpose. It lured us there."

Dumbledore's reaction to Harry's explanation was a mix of disappointment and resignation. He let out a sigh, the weight of his years and the burdens of his responsibilities momentarily evident in his demeanour. "Why didn't you seek help, Harry?" he asked, the question tinged with a genuine curiosity mixed with a hint of regret.

Harry's response was immediate and pointed. "We tried, but Sirius and Remus were out that day. And as for you," he paused, his gaze steady on Dumbledore, "you've eroded any semblance of trust that might have compelled us to turn to you."

The question of seeking assistance from within Hogwarts itself was raised by Dumbledore, who inquired, "And Professor McGonagall? Why not inform her of your vision?"

Harry's answer reflected his deep respect for the Deputy Headmistress but also highlighted the complexity of their situation. "I trust her, yes, but what would she have done? She would've come straight to you," he said, underscoring the dilemma of their eroded trust in Dumbledore.

Dumbledore, sensing the futility of dwelling on what could have been, shifted the focus of their conversation. "I was surprised to see the number of students who followed you into such danger. Why did you choose them?"

Harry, cautious not to reveal too much about the Order of the Black Cat, kept his response general yet sincere. "They're my closest friends," he explained, a hint of pride in his voice for the loyalty and bravery they had shown. "I knew I would need help, and they offered it willingly."

Dumbledore nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as if to emphasise his next words. "Friends are indeed important, Harry. They are treasures to be kept close to the heart." His tone held a warmth that momentarily softened the tension in the room.

But then, the conversation took a turn, as Dumbledore's curiosity shifted towards a more pressing and personal matter. "What has transpired between you and Voldemort, especially considering your scar appears to be healing?" he inquired, his gaze fixed intently on Harry.

At Dumbledore's observation, Sirius and Remus turned their attention to Harry's forehead, their expressions a mix of surprise and concern.

Realisation dawned on Harry in a rush of anger and clarity. Dumbledore knew. He had always known about the horcrux that resided within Harry's scar, and now, he was probing for information on how it had been eradicated. The notion that Dumbledore had been meddling in his life yet again without full disclosure sparked a fierce response. "Did you know about my scar being a horcrux?" Harry asked, his voice laden with accusation and barely contained fury.

Sirius, caught off guard by the revelation, asked with a mixture of worry and shock, "What do you mean, Harry? Are you sure?"

Dumbledore remained calm amidst the rising storm of emotions, his demeanour unflappable as he responded to Harry's accusation. "I wasn't completely certain," he admitted, "but I had my suspicions." There was a lightness, almost joviality, in his tone as he continued, "It seems you have indeed rid yourself of the horcrux, Harry. I would be very interested to hear how you achieved such a feat."

Harry hesitated, torn between his reluctance to share more with Dumbledore and the knowledge that Sirius and Remus, whose loyalty to Dumbledore seemed unwavering, would eventually be told the story. It was a realisation that left him with little choice but to divulge the details.

With a heavy sigh, Harry recounted the harrowing experience. "Voldemort tried to use my body as a vessel," he began, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "In doing so, his soul ended up fusing with the piece inside me. When I finally managed to push him out, it took the horcrux with him, since they had become intertwined."

Dumbledore's response to Harry's revelation was measured, reflecting the complexity of the situation. "This is both good and bad news," he began, his voice carrying a gravity that drew everyone's attention. "The good news, of course, is that you are freed from that terrible burden, Harry, and I imagine you're feeling much better as a result. The bad news, however, is that Voldemort has now become considerably stronger."

The room's atmosphere grew tenser at the implication of Voldemort's increased power. Dumbledore, however, was keen to understand more about the mechanism of Harry's liberation. "How did you manage to push Voldemort out?" he inquired, genuinely interested in the method Harry had employed.

Harry took a moment before answering, choosing his words with care. "I realised what the prophecy was truly about—the 'power he knows not.' It's love," he said, his voice steady and sure. "I drew on all the love from my friends and family and confronted Voldemort with it in my mind."

Dumbledore nodded, a look of admiration briefly crossing his features. "That is indeed a remarkable feat," he acknowledged, then turned his attention to Daphne and Rigel, whose expressions remained guarded. "And you two," he continued, "have you heard anything about the incident at the Warehouse?"

Daphne was the first to respond, her tone neutral. "We only know what the Daily Prophet reported about it—some group of people fighting against Death Eaters."

"Indeed, 'some group,'" Dumbledore echoed, the words hanging in the air as he probed further. "And you wouldn't happen to know which group was involved?"

Rigel's response came with a smirk, a flicker of defiance in his demeanour. "If we knew who these vigilantes were, we would, of course, report them to the Aurors," he stated, his tone dripping with an irony that did not go unnoticed.

Dumbledore studied them for a moment, his gaze penetrating yet resigned to the fact that pushing for more information would be futile. "That would indeed be the best course of action," he conceded, standing up from his chair. "If you ever need help, or if you recall some information you'd like to share, my door is always open to you."

With those final words, Dumbledore offered a nod of farewell to each of them and quietly exited the room, leaving behind a mix of relief and contemplation among Harry, Daphne, and Rigel.

After Dumbledore's departure, the tension in the room gradually eased, replaced by a more familiar camaraderie among the group. Sirius, seizing the moment to lighten the mood further, turned to Rigel with a curious glance. "So, what do you actually know about this group, Rigel?"

Rigel couldn't help but chuckle at the question, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I know absolutely nothing," he confessed, "but the chance to have Dumbledore think we might know something was too good to pass up."

Sirius let out a sigh, though a smile played at the edges of his lips. "Shouldn't be too surprised, I suppose. Mischief seems to run in the family."

Rigel's smile broadened, a glint of familial pride in his eyes. "Mom would probably have something to say about that," he retorted, imagining Marlene's reaction to such a claim.

Remus, unable to contain himself, joined in with a chuckle. "She definitely would disagree with you, Sirius, given the chance," he added, his laughter mingling with that of the others.

The room was filled with their shared amusement, a momentary respite from the weight of their circumstances. As their laughter subsided, Remus, ever the voice of reason, broached a more serious topic. "Perhaps we should reconsider our stance toward Dumbledore. We cannot hope to win this war alone," he suggested, his tone gentle yet firm.

Sirius nodded, acknowledging the validity of Remus's point. "We'll leave you to your thoughts," he said, standing up along with Remus. "Rest and recover. You've all been through a lot."

With those parting words, Sirius and Remus exited the hospital room, leaving Harry, Daphne, and Rigel to reflect on the events that had transpired and the path that lay ahead. The suggestion to reconsider their relationship with Dumbledore lingered in the air, a reminder of the complex alliances and decisions that would shape their fight against the darkness that threatened their world.

~~~o~~~

A few days after their discharge from St. Mungo's, the trio, along with their close circle, found themselves back at the imposing yet comforting walls of Black Castle. This summer marked a new beginning in many ways, not least of which was Astoria Greengrass's first summer living with them. The young Slytherin's excitement was palpable, her eyes wide with wonder and delight as she explored the vast corridors and hidden corners of her new home. Daphne, ever the protective older sister, had taken great care to ensure that Astoria's room was close to hers and Rigel's, keeping the family tightly knit.

One serene evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the castle grounds, Rigel made his way to their shared room. What greeted him was a scene of quiet concentration: Daphne was ensconced at her desk, surrounded by a sea of papers strewn about, each one bearing the mark of her meticulous research.

Curiosity piqued, Rigel approached her, peering over her shoulder at the various formulae that danced across the pages. "What are you working on?" he inquired, his interest evident in his voice.

Daphne, without looking up from her calculations, replied, "I might not have a special power like you or Harry, but I can still contribute. I've been thinking about creating spells. Especially for you, Rigel. Your illusion magic has incredible potential, but Voldemort knows about it now. It's lost its surprise factor. I want to create new spells, based on your illusion magic, to give us an edge."

Rigel was moved by her dedication and ingenuity. Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss atop her head, murmuring, "That's a brilliant idea." Pulling up a chair beside her, he settled in, a determined glint in his eyes. "I want to help. Let's work on this together."

And so, they huddled together, lost in a world of magical theory and potential spells. They discussed and debated, their ideas flowing freely as they delved into ancient texts and experimental magic.

As they delved deeper into their brainstorming session, Daphne's sharp intellect quickly generated multiple innovative ideas to enhance Rigel's illusion magic for combat. Her suggestions were not only creative but also practical, reflecting her deep understanding of magical theory and its applications in real-world scenarios.

Rigel, impressed by her quick thinking, nodded in agreement. "These are excellent suggestions, Daphne. We should definitely pursue them," he said, his tone conveying genuine appreciation. However, he then shifted the conversation towards a more immediate concern. "But right now, I have a plan that requires some specialised illusions."

Intrigued, Daphne leaned in, her curiosity piqued. "What are you planning?" she asked, ready to support him in whatever endeavour he had in mind.

"It's time to use Umbridge's leverage, as Fudge is on his way out thanks to the Voldemort scandal," Rigel revealed, his voice laced with determination. "I want to turn Fudge into our puppet and use him to transfer the position of minister to someone we can at least influence."

Daphne nodded, immediately understanding the strategic value of such a manoeuvre. "That's a good idea," she acknowledged, then quickly moved on to the practicalities. "What specialised illusions would you need for it?"

Rigel outlined his requirements: "I'll need short-range, direct-controlled illusions to set up a meeting with Fudge, preferably while we're at the Ministry to take our OWLs/NEWTs. And I'll also need long-range illusions to give Fudge orders without actually going to the Ministry."

As Daphne jotted down notes, she summarised their strategy. "So, you want to make Fudge a pawn of the Order, hide your true identity."

Rigel confirmed with a simple, "Exactly."

Pondering the technical challenges, Daphne grabbed a book off the shelf, flipping through its pages until she found a relevant formula. "It shouldn't be too hard, but I'll need your help since I can't use illusion magic," she concluded.

Rigel responded with a soft kiss on her cheek, his gesture full of affection and gratitude. "Of course, I'll help," he assured her.

Together, they pored over books, scribbled notes, and discussed potential spells well into the night. Their shared commitment to their cause, coupled with their deep trust in each other's abilities, made the daunting task ahead seem not only possible but promising. In the quiet of their room, surrounded by the tangible evidence of their planning and creativity, Rigel and Daphne worked tirelessly, their bond strengthening with each spell they crafted and each strategy they devised.

~~~o~~~

Harry slowly came to consciousness in the comfort of his bed at Black Castle, the morning sun filtering through the curtains to bathe the room in a soft, golden light. For years, a restful night had been a rare luxury, his sleep often disturbed by nightmares and the restless presence of the Horcrux within him. But now, things were different. Ever since the showdown at the Department of Mysteries, where he had faced Voldemort and rid himself of the Horcrux, his nights had been filled with a peace he had never known. The difference was profound, and Harry attributed this newfound tranquillity to the absence of the dark burden he had carried for so long.

It had been just a few days since the start of summer, not even a week since the incident that had changed everything, yet Harry felt an exhilarating sense of liberation. It was as if an immense weight had been lifted from his shoulders, leaving him feeling lighter and more vibrant than ever before.

Lying in bed, his thoughts drifted to Tracey, his girlfriend, who was currently out of the country on holiday with her parents. The news of Voldemort's return had shocked her family, validating Dumbledore's long-dismissed warnings. Tracey had written to him, urging him not to worry about her safety despite the danger that came with being associated with Harry. Though reassured by her words, Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern.

His mind then wandered to another matter that had been occupying his thoughts of late—his parents. The vision of them in his mind, just before his confrontation with Voldemort, had ignited a longing within him. Despite being nearly sixteen, Harry realised he had never visited their graves, nor did he even know where they were buried. This realisation brought a sense of urgency, a need to connect with his past and pay tribute to his parents.

With a deep breath, Harry rose from his bed and began his morning routine, his mind made up. He would seek out Rigel later and ask for his help. Although Rigel might not know the location of his parents' graves, Harry was confident in his brother's ability to devise a plan. Asking Sirius was not an option; he had already given them a stern warning about the dangers of venturing outside the castle this summer. Harry found Sirius's caution to be overly protective, feeling confident in his ability to handle any Death Eater lackeys, provided Voldemort himself did not make an appearance.

Just before the castle's usual breakfast time, Harry made his way to Daphne and Rigel's room, a sense of determination guiding his steps. He knocked lightly on the door, and Daphne's voice, clear and welcoming, called out, "Enter."

Stepping inside, Harry greeted them with a bright, genuine smile, a reflection of the inner peace he'd been feeling. Rigel, quick to notice the change in his friend, remarked, "You've been radiating lately, Harry—both emotionally and magically."

Harry's smile widened at the observation. "Ever since the Horcrux is gone, I've been feeling really good," he shared, his voice carrying a lightness that had been absent for far too long. "I can finally sleep well, feel more powerful than ever—just, everything's great."

Daphne offered a warm smile in return. "We're happy for you, Harry," she said, speaking for both herself and Rigel, her eyes reflecting genuine joy at his well-being.

"Thanks," Harry replied, his gratitude evident. However, his expression shifted as he broached the topic that had been weighing on his mind. "I really want to visit my parents' grave," he admitted, the words tinged with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

Rigel nodded, understanding the significance of the request. "I can understand that. I could side-along apparate you, if you wanted to," he offered, ready to support Harry in his quest.

Harry appreciated the offer, but there was a hitch. "I'd appreciate that, but actually, I don't know where they are buried," he confessed, his frustration at the situation evident.

Daphne then interjected, providing some much-needed insight. "Usually, members of important families, like the Potters, would be buried in their respective family tombs—like the Blacks have a tomb here on the castle grounds."

Harry, his interest piqued by Daphne's explanation, leaned forward slightly. The notion that his parents might be resting in a family tomb, akin to the traditions of ancient wizarding families, sparked a new curiosity within him. "Where would those tombs be for my family?" he asked, his voice carrying a mix of hope and a desire for connection. "I mean, if the Potters have something like that, I'd really want to know about it."

Daphne speculated, "Probably close to Potter Manor, but you would have to ask your account manager at Gringotts. He would know." After a brief pause, she added, "However, I don't think they are buried there."

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why not?" he inquired, seeking to understand the reasoning behind her doubt.

Daphne explained, "Usually, the head of house takes care of such burials—you know, arranging the funeral, covering costs, and such. Well, Lord Potter was one year old at the time Lily and James died, so it's unlikely that he took care of anything like that. Given that it was war time, it's much more likely that the Ministry took care of it."

Harry nodded, absorbing the information. "That logic makes sense. And where would the Ministry have buried them?"

Daphne's reply was thoughtful, yet confident. "The next available place, Godric's Hollow—literally where they died. At least, that's where I would think they are."

Harry took a moment to process the conversation, the possibility of finally visiting his parents' graves becoming more real. "I'd like to check it out," he said, the determination in his voice matched by the support reflected in the eyes of his friends.

Rigel, considering the logistics of their planned visit to Godric's Hollow, brought up an important point. "If we're going to such a public place, it might be best if I taught you both how to apparate," he suggested. "You're going to learn it this year anyway. Just in case we're forced to flee, it's better if you can disapparate individually. It lessens the risk of splinching and eliminates the need to gather in a tough situation."

Daphne and Harry both nodded in agreement, understanding the practicality and necessity of Rigel's proposal. Harry, eager to learn, asked, "How long do you think we'll need to learn?"

Rigel, confident in their abilities, reassured them. "Both of you are bright enough to learn it within a day. It really isn't that difficult."

Daphne, always thinking one step ahead, added, "Then we should begin after breakfast. We should probably extend the lessons to Astoria as well. Actually, all of the Order should know how to apparate—an essential skill that could save their lives."

Rigel nodded, fully in agreement with the plan, when suddenly his stomach let out an audible grumble. With a chuckle, he admitted, "Definitely time for breakfast now."

Harry and Daphne shared a light laugh at Rigel's expense, the mood in the room lifting with the camaraderie and the anticipation of the tasks ahead. Together, the three of them made their way to the dining room, ready to fuel up for the day's apparition lessons and the challenges that lay ahead.

As they gathered for breakfast in the grand dining room of Black Castle, the absence of Astoria was noticeable. Daphne, ever the understanding sister, offered a simple explanation, "Astoria probably just needs to get used to a fixed breakfast timing. Back at Greengrass Manor, Flixie would prepare breakfast individually, rather than as a group activity."

Sirius, seizing the opportunity for a bit of levity, quipped, "Girls needing their beauty sleep anyway." His comment elicited a mixture of chuckles and eye rolls from around the table, a brief moment of lightness in the otherwise serious atmosphere of the castle.

The conversation took a more sombre turn as Walburga, with the authoritative tone she was known for, steered the discussion towards the challenges they faced. "You need to be prepared for the political moves that will be made soon, now that Voldemort's return has been revealed and confirmed to the public. Many will push for new laws to fight this threat, or to help Voldemort—and you will need to discern which is which, and support the right causes."

Rigel, appreciative of the insight, nodded. "Thank you, Grandmother. Should we encounter any trouble, we know we can always rely on you for guidance."

Walburga, a rare smile gracing her features, responded, "I will always offer guidance if you are in need of it." Her assurance provided a sense of security, but Harry, Rigel and Daphne knew that Walburga was also playing her own game – and neither was willing to be a pawn in it.

With that, the group returned to lighter topics, finishing their breakfast amidst small talk that ranged from plans for the day to anecdotes from the past.

~~~o~~~

Later that day, the gardens of Black Castle became the backdrop for an important lesson. The air was filled with the scent of blossoming flowers, their vibrant colours stretching as far as the eye could see, creating a serene and beautiful setting for what was to be a day of learning and concentration.

As Harry, Rigel, and Daphne gathered, preparing themselves for the day's lesson on Apparition, Astoria joined them. However, her usually bright demeanour was clouded by a noticeable gloom. Concerned, Daphne gently probed her sister, trying to unearth the cause of her distress. Astoria, however, was dismissive and evasive, attributing her mood to a poor night's sleep. Daphne, not entirely convinced, made a mental note to approach the subject again later, in a more private setting, where Astoria might feel more comfortable opening up.

Rigel, assuming the role of instructor, began the lesson by outlining the three D's of Apparition: Destination, Determination, and Deliberation. After a brief foray into the theoretical aspects and a demonstration of how to apparate, it was time for practical application.

He had marked a spot within the gardens for Harry, Daphne, and Astoria to aim for, a mere few feet away from their starting position. The task was simple in theory but challenging in practice, requiring a fine balance of focus and magical control.

Harry and Daphne, after a handful of attempts, showed remarkable progress. Their initial tries saw them missing the mark by a considerable distance, but with each subsequent Apparition, they honed their skills, gradually reducing the gap until they were nearly spot-on.

Astoria, on the other hand, struggled significantly. Despite her best efforts and Rigel's focused guidance, she found herself unable to apparate. Each attempt ended in frustration, her determination evident but her execution lacking the necessary finesse.

Rigel devoted extra attention to helping Astoria, demonstrating patience and encouragement as he worked with her to overcome the challenges she faced.

As Harry and Daphne continued to make strides in their Apparition practice, Astoria's progress remained stagnant. She seemed distracted, her gaze often drifting away, lost in thought rather than focused on the task at hand.

Sensing her sister's unusual demeanour, Rigel quietly communicated with Daphne through their bond, inquiring, "Do you know what's up with Astoria?"

Daphne, without breaking her concentration on her next Apparition attempt, responded, "I've noticed it too. Something's off, but she hasn't opened up about it. I'll talk to her later, see if she'll share what's on her mind."

After another hour of practice, it was clear that Harry and Daphne had mastered the basics of Apparition, their efforts yielding successful, precise jumps. Astoria, however, hadn't managed a single Apparition, her attempts half-hearted at best, her mind evidently elsewhere.

Seizing the moment of accomplishment as an opportunity, Rigel suggested, "We could go to Godric's Hollow now, to look for the graves of Harry's parents. It's best if we break the journey into three Apparitions; long-distance jumps can be tricky."

Turning to Astoria, he offered to take her along via side-along Apparition, but she declined. "I'd rather stay here... at home," she said, her voice tinged with hesitation.

Daphne quickly reassured her, "That's alright, and completely normal. You need to get used to all this first." She then gently reminded her sister, "Just, please, don't mention to anyone that we've gone. Sirius wouldn't be thrilled to know we've left the castle."

Astoria nodded, a quiet acceptance in her gesture. "I'll probably be in my room when you get back," she said, before turning to leave, her figure a lonely silhouette against the backdrop of the vibrant garden.

Harry, watching her departure, commented, "She seems down."

Daphne, her expression a mix of concern and determination, replied, "I'll talk to her later, sister to sister. She'll open up in her own time."

Rigel, with the ease of experience, quickly outlined the two points they would use as stepping stones on their journey to Godric's Hollow. After ensuring Harry and Daphne were clear on the plan, he flashed a confident smirk. "I'll see you at the first point," he said before disappearing with a soft pop.

Daphne, following Rigel's lead, vanished next, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts for a brief moment. The realisation dawned on him then—Rigel was right; Apparition wasn't as daunting as it had seemed. With a deep breath, Harry focused on the destination, determined to make his first solo apparition. The sensation was familiar, yet distinctly different from the side-along apparitions he had experienced. It was similar, yet inexplicably unique, a feeling Harry found difficult to articulate.

Arriving successfully at the first point, Harry was greeted by Rigel and Daphne's waiting figures. Rigel's smirk broadened. "Happy to see you both made it," he said, before quickly adding, "Let's not linger outside the castle more than necessary." With that, he disapparated again, leading the way to their next stop.

Two apparitions later, Harry found himself standing in Godric's Hollow, a place heavy with personal history and significance. A complex mix of emotions washed over him as he took in his surroundings, the village where his life had been irrevocably altered nearly fifteen years ago.

Rigel and Daphne approached him with concern. "Are you feeling alright?" Rigel asked, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and curiosity about Harry's experience with apparition.

"Yeah, I'm alright," Harry assured, trying to reconcile the physical sensation of Apparition with the emotional weight of arriving in Godric's Hollow. "Apparating is weird, but I'm getting the hang of it."

Daphne, ever empathetic, delved deeper. "And how about emotionally? Are you okay?"

Harry paused, considering his feelings. "I'm fine. For now," he responded, his voice carrying a note of resilience.

Rigel, understanding the importance of the moment, then suggested, "Do you want to go see the ruins of Potter Cottage first? If I remember the map correctly, it should be on the way to the cemetery."

After a moment of contemplation, Harry nodded. "Yeah, it would be best to see the place at least once," he agreed, a sense of resolve in his voice.

Together, the trio made their way toward Potter Cottage, the ruins a tangible connection to Harry's past. Despite the complexity of his emotions, Harry found comfort in the support of Rigel and Daphne, their presence a reassuring reminder that he was not alone on this journey of discovery and healing.

After a short walk through the quiet streets of Godric's Hollow, the trio reached the ruins of Potter Cottage. The structure stood desolate, a testament to the passage of time and the tragedy that had unfolded there years ago. Harry, taken aback by the state of his childhood home, asked, "Why has it been left like this?"

Rigel offered a sombre explanation. "It's your property, Harry. After Voldemort's attack, there was no one left to take care of it." The words hung heavily in the air, a stark reminder of the loss Harry had endured.

A moment of silence followed, heavy with unspoken grief. Daphne, sensing Harry's discomfort, gently placed her hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps we should move on," she suggested softly. "Best not to dwell on this."

Harry, his voice barely above a whisper, acknowledged the wisdom in her words. "I'll need to figure out what to do with this," he mumbled as they began their walk toward the cemetery, each step a poignant reminder of the past.

Upon reaching the cemetery, they methodically inspected the graves, row by row, in search of Lily and James Potter's final resting place. The solemn task was punctuated by silence, a shared respect for the gravity of their search.

Finally, they found it—the grave of Lily and James Potter. The moment they laid eyes on it, a collective hush fell over them, a silent tribute to the lives so cruelly taken.

Daphne, moved by the scene, knelt down and with a gentle flick of her wand, conjured a bouquet of flowers, laying them beside the grave. Turning to Harry, she offered a quiet assurance. "We'll wait for you at the entrance of the graveyard. Take all the time you need."

Rigel, echoing Daphne's sentiment, clapped Harry on the shoulder—a gesture of support and solidarity—before departing with Daphne, leaving Harry to commune with his parents in solitude.

Standing alone before the grave, Harry felt a tumult of emotions welling within him. The silence of the cemetery enveloped him, offering a solemn space for reflection, grief, and perhaps, a sense of closure. In that moment, amidst the tranquillity of his surroundings, Harry found himself connecting with his past, confronting the loss, and acknowledging the strength it had bestowed upon him.

Standing solemnly before the grave of his parents, Harry began to speak, his voice a soft murmur against the silence of the graveyard. "I'm not even fully convinced that you can hear me," he admitted, "but I want to thank you for everything. I hope you're happy with how my life is going."

He paused, his gaze lingering on the names etched into the stone. "I'm actually happy, you know? Rigel might not be my brother by blood, but I can't think of him as anything else. I just... sometimes wish you were here to see us. Would you be proud of me?" The question hung in the air, laden with the weight of unspoken dreams and what-ifs.

Harry then spoke of his friends, the people who had become his chosen family, and Tracey, his girlfriend, sharing snippets of his life as if weaving a tapestry of moments for his parents to see. But suddenly, he stopped, overcome by a rush of uncertainty. "I don't really know why I'm doing this, but I promise I'll try not to let you down," he said, his voice tinged with a resolve born of love and loss.

After saying his goodbyes, Harry took a slow, reflective walk to the entrance of the graveyard. The sadness within him was palpable, yet there was also a sense of peace, a comforting warmth that came from sharing his life with his parents, even if only in spirit. The act of speaking to them, of connecting across the divide of life and death, left him with a bittersweet sense of closure.

As he approached Daphne and Rigel, waiting for him at the entrance, Rigel's voice broke through his reverie. "Are you done?" he asked, his tone gentle, mindful of the moment's significance.

Harry nodded, gathering his thoughts after the emotional visit. Rigel, observing his quiet contemplation, gently broke the silence with a question, "You ready to Apparate back on your own?" His tone was caring, laced with an understanding of the moment's weight.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry," Harry responded with a quiet confidence.

With that affirmation, the three of them focused on their destination, the familiar grounds of Black Castle. In moments, they Apparated away, leaving the quietude of Godric's Hollow behind, carrying with them the memories of the day and the silent conversations that bridged worlds.

~~~o~~~

Upon their return to Black Castle, Harry, Daphne, and Rigel each slipped back into their usual routines, striving to act as though the day's emotional journey to Godric's Hollow had been just another outing. They dispersed, carrying with them the weight of the experience, yet outwardly attempting to maintain a semblance of normalcy.

Daphne sought out Astoria, hoping to breach the walls her sister had erected around whatever was troubling her. Despite her efforts and the privacy afforded by retreating to Astoria's room, she remained closed off, not ready to share her burdens even with Daphne.

Meanwhile, Harry retreated to his room, feeling a compelling need to share the day's events with Tracey. He penned a detailed letter, recounting their visit to Godric's Hollow and his parents' grave, interspersed with inquiries about her holiday and how she was finding the time with her family.

Daphne and Rigel returned to their shared space, refocusing their attention on the task of creating new spells essential for their upcoming appointment at the Ministry. The task demanded creativity and precision, a welcome distraction from the day's earlier solemnity.

During a brief respite from their intense focus on spell creation, Daphne broached a subject that had been lingering in the back of her mind. "Rigel, what are we going to do about our wedding?" she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

Rigel, momentarily taken aback, prompted her to elaborate, uncertain of the specifics she was referencing. "What do you mean?" he asked, seeking clarity.

Daphne explained, "The contract requires us to be married by the time the younger party reaches seventeen. That leaves us this summer and next, at most. Winter break could be an option, but honestly, I'd prefer a warm wedding to a cold one."

Rigel, realising the oversight, conceded, "I kind of forgot about that. Planning for this summer might be a bit rushed now, so maybe we should aim for next summer? We can work on the details throughout the year."

"That sounds like the best idea," Daphne agreed, though she couldn't help but express her concerns about the future. "It might be hard to have a wedding next year, considering everything with Voldemort and the Death Eaters could escalate."

Rigel acknowledged her concerns with a nod, his optimism undimmed. "We'll manage," he assured her, sealing his promise with a gentle kiss on her cheek.

With their brief detour into personal matters concluded, they redirected their focus to the spells they were crafting. Their Ministry appointment to take their OWLs and NEWTs loomed just a few days away.

~~~o~~~

A few days had passed since their spell-crafting session, and the day had finally arrived for Daphne and Rigel to go to the Ministry for their exams. Upon arrival, they were given the option to decide who would take their exams first: Daphne for her OWLs or Rigel for his NEWTs.

With a courteous nod, Rigel deferred to Daphne. "Ladies first," he said, a gentle smile on his face. Daphne returned the smile appreciatively before stepping into the examination room, leaving Rigel in the waiting area.

This was exactly what Rigel had planned. Sitting on one of the benches, he found himself with the perfect alibi to be at the Ministry. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing deeply, then conjured an illusion of himself dressed in his Order robes and mask. The spell, a product of his and Daphne's collaboration, functioned flawlessly, allowing Rigel to see and hear through the illusion as if he were physically present.

The illusion, under Rigel's control, made its way to the Minister's office. Upon entering, it was met with Fudge's startled and fearful gaze. The sight of a masked visitor was clearly the last thing he expected.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" Fudge stammered, his voice tinged with terror.

Rigel, speaking through the illusion, maintained a calm and assertive tone. "I'm here to make a deal," he stated plainly.

Fudge, clearly confused and apprehensive, replied, "I don't follow."

Rigel didn't hesitate. "Due to recent controversies, it's clear you won't be Minister much longer. And you're aware of this. I'm here to offer you a way out—a deal. You'll help me transfer the office of the minister to someone specific."

"And why would I help you?" Fudge asked, scepticism and fear mingling in his voice.

In response, Rigel's illusion tossed a folder onto Fudge's desk. The Minister hesitantly began to read through the files, his complexion growing increasingly pale with each page turned. Looking up from the damning evidence, he asked, "How did you get this information?"

"The 'how' is irrelevant," Rigel retorted, his voice emanating from the illusion with unwavering confidence. "You now have a choice. Support my cause, and you can spend your last few weeks as Minister in peace, retire with a generous pension from the Ministry, and live out your days unbothered. Or, you can choose the alternative: being escorted from your office by Aurors and taken straight to Azkaban."

Fudge's eyes darted between the files on his desk and the imposing figure of the illusion. The gravity of the choice before him was clear, and the room was thick with tension as he considered his next move.

Confronted with the threat of public disgrace and imprisonment, Fudge's resistance crumbled. "I'll help however I can," he capitulated, his voice betraying his desperation. "Just please, don't let those files become public."

In response, Rigel snapped his fingers, and the files on Fudge's desk burst into flames, quickly reducing to ashes. It was a dramatic demonstration of the power he wielded and a clear message to Fudge about the seriousness of their agreement.

Then, as if on cue, a black cat appeared at Rigel's feet, an illusion of his animagus form crafted to perfection. "My accomplice," Rigel gestured towards the cat, "will be in touch with you, delivering orders. Simply follow them, and all will be well."

Fudge, grasping at straws, asked, "Who have you planned to replace me as Minister?"

Rigel replied, his tone definitive, "That is not your concern."

The question of allegiance seemed to hang heavily in the air as Fudge ventured, "Are you a Death Eater?"

Rigel countered rhetorically, a smirk in his voice, "Do I look like one?"

Fudge stuttered a hesitant "No, but..." before Rigel cut him off. "You're asking too many questions," he stated firmly. "Remember our agreement and do not mess this up."

Visibly shaken, Fudge nodded, assuring his compliance. "I won't. I promise."

With a final statement of "I'll be in touch," Rigel's illusion, along with the black cat at his feet, exited Fudge's office. As soon as the door closed behind them, both illusions vanished into thin air.

Back in the waiting area of the Ministry, Rigel rose from the bench, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Everything had gone according to plan. Fudge had been successfully manipulated into a pawn for their cause, marking a significant victory in their strategic game. Now, the challenge lay in finding a suitable replacement for Fudge—a Minister who would be supportive of their cause or, at the very least, susceptible to their influence. This was a critical next step, but for now, Rigel allowed himself a moment of triumph, the weight of their success lending a buoyant feeling to his steps as he mentally prepared himself for his NEWTs.

Moments after Rigel's triumphant contemplation, Daphne emerged from the examination room, her demeanour one of quiet confidence. Without hesitation, they moved towards each other, sharing a warm hug and a quick kiss, the stress of exams momentarily forgotten in the comfort of their embrace.

Leaning in, Rigel whispered into Daphne's ear, "Everything went well with Fudge." The significance of his words was not lost on her, and she nodded subtly in understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the progress they'd made.

Pulling back slightly, Rigel shifted to a more casual tone, his curiosity genuine. "How did your OWLs go?"

Daphne couldn't help but smile at the question. "They were easy," she admitted, a hint of amusement in her voice. "I think I prepared way too much for them."

Rigel laughed softly, hoping for a similar experience. "I hope it will be the same for my NEWTs."

As they broke their hug, Rigel's mind turned back to the task at hand. "I'll try to be quick," he assured her, not wanting to keep her waiting unnecessarily.

Daphne's smile widened, her eyes conveying a mix of pride and affection. "I'll be fine," she said, her confidence in him clear.

With a final nod, Rigel turned and disappeared into the examination room, leaving Daphne alone with her thoughts. As she waited, her mind drifted to her sister, and once more Daphne tried to figure out what could be bothering her. In the end, Daphne had to accept that she would have to wait until Astoria was ready to share whatever was bothering her. Probing her sister too much would just annoy her.

~~~o~~~

Alone in his room at Black Castle, Harry found himself wrestling with a newfound restlessness. The removal of the Horcrux had granted him a surge of energy and he also had learned the liberating ability to apparate. The thought of using this newfound freedom to visit Tracey, currently on a family vacation, flickered through his mind. However, the realisation of how awkward such an interruption might be, coupled with the certainty that Sirius would discover his escapade, quickly quashed the idea. The last thing Harry wanted was to incite an argument with Sirius.

With a heavy sigh, Harry decided a different outlet was needed to channel his pent-up energy. He made his way to the training room, a space within the castle where he could lose himself in the physical exertion of spellwork and combat practice.

Once there, Harry unleashed a barrage of spells on the training dummies. His power, significantly enhanced since the ordeal at the Department of Mysteries, tore through even the dummies protected by enchantments with startling ease. The realisation of his increased strength led his thoughts to Rigel. Harry wondered, perhaps for the first time with genuine curiosity, whether he could now surpass his older brother in a duel. The prospect of a brotherly contest over the summer became an enticing possibility, especially now that the intrusive voice of Voldemort was silenced for good. It would be a true measure of his abilities, unmarred by external influences.

A smile tugged at Harry's lips as he considered the future duel. Energised by the thought, he launched another series of spells at the dummies, his confidence swelling with each successful hit. For the first time in a long while, Harry felt completely in control—utterly himself.

After about an hour of intense training, Harry's thoughts turned towards relaxation. Knowing that Daphne and Rigel wouldn't be back until later that evening from their Ministry exams, he recognised that any potential duel would have to wait. The excitement of the challenge simmered within him, but for now, a bath seemed the perfect way to unwind.

As he soaked in the warm water, Harry's mind drifted back to their recent visit to Godric's Hollow. A resolve formed within him—to restore Potter Cottage to its former glory and move his parents' graves to the Potter family tomb, once he discovered its location. The sentimentality of the place was profound, but Harry acknowledged that Godric's Hollow did not offer the safety and privacy he desired for such visits.

The bath brought another fond memory to the forefront of his mind—Tracey. Their relationship had started with a bath potion, a detail that now brought a chuckle of amusement and warmth. The remainder of his time in the bath was spent reminiscing about the past, the warmth of the water enveloping him in a cocoon of contentment.

Despite the dangers posed by Voldemort's return, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that life was, indeed, good. For the first time in a long time, he truly believed it, basking in the genuine sense of well-being that had seemed so elusive before.

---

AN: The 1 year anniversary of this story is coming up! I'm still happy to write this story, so thank you to everyone who is reading this :)

AN2: I forgot to adress the guest review on Chapter 50! As this last part eludes to - yes. Harry is getting a power boost.