Harry woke up in a room bathed in morning sunlight, shining through curtains that were far too thin. He blinked, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings.
It took him a moment to remember that this was now to be his new home, for however long Dumbledore deemed it to be so. Sitting up in bed, he took in the room… his new room. The antique furniture, the old unfamiliar photographs on the walls, and the distinct smell of books.
As he got out of bed and wandered through the house, he couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation. It was a whole new environment for him, likely filled with secrets and history.
Eventually he found his way into the living room, where he found Dumbledore seated by the fireplace, quietly reading a large tome. The fireplace crackled with warmth, casting dancing shadows on the worn rugs, reflected pleasantly upon Fawkes' empty perch.
"Ah, good morning, Harry," Dumbledore greeted him, setting aside his book and offering a warm smile. "I hope you slept well."
Harry nodded, feeling a little shy. "Yes, thank you, Professor. It's just... everything is so different here."
Dumbledore nodded understandingly. "Indeed, it can be quite an adjustment. But I want you to feel at home, Harry. This cottage is your sanctuary. You have the freedom to explore and make yourself comfortable. No room is off limits to you.
"But, I do also want to emphasise the importance of privacy. Just as I will respect your personal space, I ask that you do the same for mine. As I will do for you, I ask that if you ever find the door to my bedroom shut, please knock and wait for my permission before entering. I feel such will help ensure that we both have our own sanctuaries within these walls."
"Of course, professor. That's the least I could do." Harry quickly agreed. He'd suddenly been struck with the image of walking in on Dumbledore while the elderly professor was changing, and vehemently did not wish to suffer such a sight.
"Equally, I ask you to express any discontent or discomfort you may feel. I want you to feel safe here, both from any threat outside these walls, but also from any concerns you might have within."
Harry, still caught in the dream, found himself nodding earnestly. The conversation with Dumbledore felt familiar, the advice echoing in his mind like words he had heard before. But as their conversation wore on, his mind blurred the words together, leaving only a comforting reminder of a time when his concerns were simpler, and his world less burdened.
As the memory unfolded, Harry remembered his urge to explore the cottage more thoroughly. The old photographs on the walls seemed to tell stories of a bygone era, many featuring what could only be a younger Dumbledore. Moving through the cottage, he discovered hidden nooks and crannies that his present mind knew well, like cherished secrets.
Through the living room he found the kitchen, where enchanted pots and pans seemed to stir themselves in preparation for the day, all under the aroma of Dumbledore's freshly brewed tea filled the air.
Venturing upstairs, he discovered the bedrooms, keenly remembering his surprise at how he'd been given the largest in the house. Having taken a peek into Dumbledore's bedroom, he'd been unsurprised with ancient books neatly arranged on shelves, and a portrait of a serene landscape with Hogwarts in the distance adorning the wall.
Finally he wandered through to the garden, where vibrant flowers swayed in a gentle breeze. Where his shed would eventually be, lay yet another flower bed, this one overgrown with weeds. The tranquillity of the dream world wrapped around him like a protective cloak, and for a moment, the weight upon his mind lifted.
And then he blinked, and found himself in a far grimmer bedroom, with his injured ankle screaming in pain. The warmth and peace of the dream world instantly evaporated, replaced by the cold reality of Grimmauld Place. Between the walls adorned with faded paintings, and the dust-covered furniture, it stood as a far less welcome than Dumbledore's home had been.
The transition from the dreamlike memory to the reality of Grimmauld Place left him with a painful sense of disorientation, as his mind fought to maintain the comfort of a happier time, only to be forced back into the confines of his current life.
Pulling a fresh pair of clothes from his school trunk, Harry hurriedly dressed, wincing as he pulled his throbbing ankle through his jeans. Now that he'd left the safety of his bed, he pulled on his thick trench coat as soon as possible, which his used clothes and trunk soon found themselves within.
Armoured and safe again within his dragonhide trench coat, and with the room illuminated by the harsh light of day, Harry finally felt safe enough to explore the room. Doing his best to ignore his pained body, he carefully removed the dusty covers from the nearby furniture, finding himself unimpressed with Bellatrix's décor.
But then he uncovered an old, dusty mirror tucked away in a corner and felt a shiver run down his spine. Its reflective surface was marred by cracks and speckled with grime, but he could still feel the echo of a spell that had shattered the glass.
For a moment, he hesitated, his own reflection staring back at him with an intensity that seemed to echo the haunted depths of his eyes. Around the cracks, he almost couldn't recognise his wild appearance.
Turning away from the mirror, Harry continued his exploration. When his next step gained a dangerous creaking from the floorboards beneath his foot, he quickly summoned his boots, trusting the layer of hardened air beneath them to lessen the danger.
Finally, he uncovered an old vanity, filled with forgotten items of Bellatrix's past. He was surprised at how normal everything seemed, having expected more from the psychopath she'd become. Among the relics, a faded photograph caught his eye, which he pulled free from behind a dusty bottle. It depicted a group of wizards and witches, almost unmoving despite the magic giving them life.
The familiarity of one face stood out – Sirius Black, young and grumpy, surrounded by his family. Around his young godfather, more of the Black family were present, with an elderly man looming behind and above them all, his eyes cold and calculating.
Harry recognised him, having seen him within Dumbledore's memories of past court proceedings. The head of the Black family, Sirius' grandfather, Lord Arcturus Black.
Next to him was clearly his younger brother, their expressions unified in their displeasure. The brother's standing before their parents, their mother easily recognisable from her older portrait downstairs.
To their side, three girls stood in stoic poses, each reminding him strongly of Daphne's bearing, the unmistakable air of a self styled pure-blood lineage. Harry guessed Sirius' aunt and uncle completed the family tableau, their features etched with stern pride.
With a heavy sigh, he gently returned the photograph to its place. The distant sound of creaking stairs reached Harry's ears, reminding him that Grimmauld Place was not empty.
Before he left the room, he brought his mithril arm to his lips, before opening a crack in the Gauntlet. Ever since Nicholas had taught him how to brew the Elixir of Life, he'd hollowed out a part of his hand, so he could store his blood and maintain its connection to the underside of the Philosopher's Stone held within the mithril.
Tipping his hand back as he'd do with any other drink, Harry kept going until the final drop of the elixir fell, eyes shut in pleasure as he felt the healing properties chase away his pains.
Finally, his foot grew pleasantly warm, enough he no longer felt the need to distract himself from the pain. Despite how much the experience made him feel like a vampire, he wouldn't risk any other method of exposing a sufficient amount of his blood to the Philosopher's Stone.
He certainly wouldn't detach it from his Gauntlet, when he might need it at any moment. With a final deep breath, he gathered himself and left the room, making his way down into Grimmauld Place's kitchen, where the aroma of breakfast greeted him. Mrs. Weasley looked up from her cooking, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Oh, good morning Harry, I didn't expect to see you awake so early."
"Morning, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied, a slight nod of gratitude.
The men at the table paused in their conversation, turning their attention to the unexpected visitor.
"Morning, Harry. I don't believe you've met Kingsley yet, have you?" Lupin gestured towards a distinguished figure at the table.
Harry's gaze shifted to Kingsley Shacklebolt, a tall black wizard with broad shoulders, bald head, and a single gold hoop earring. "Kingsley, this is of course Harry Potter."
"Harry, a pleasure to meet you." Kingsley's deep voice held a comfortable warmth, extending a hand in a firm handshake.
"You work with Tonks, right?" Harry asked, vaguely recognising the name.
"On occasion. I work with her more now as part of the Order, but I was familiar enough with her through our Auror work."
"So what is it you do for the Order?"
"Currently, my role involves monitoring the Minister's movements and gauging his current opinions. Additionally, I serve as his bodyguard, aiming to minimise his exposure to Death Eaters. I am also in charge of the hunt for Sirius within the Ministry, who I currently suspect to be in Tibet." Kingsley finished, winking conspiratorially.
"I should visit Tibet at some point." Sirius yawned, stumbling into the kitchen, trailing water behind him.
"I'm surprised you are up so early, given how many bottles you went through the night before." Lupin commented wryly.
"Yeah well, so did I, but that bloody elf dropped a bucket of water on me. One of those big metal ones." Sirius grumbled, flicking his wand to dry himself.
Kingsley raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Tibet might be a bit too quiet for your taste, Sirius. Though, I hear the mountains have a certain allure."
Sirius shot a mischievous grin at Kingsley. "You know me, always up for a bit of adventure. Tibet or not, at least it's far away from the prying eyes of the Ministry."
"Quiet, other than all the Ministry's focus on that exact region." Mr. Weasley pointed out, putting aside his newspaper. "They've even started offering paid holiday to us office drones to comb over the mountains, so long as you don't mind hunting a mass murderer."
Sirius raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "A paid holiday, you say? Maybe I should turn myself in just for the perks."
"I hardly think that's something worth joking about." Mrs. Weasley huffed.
"As you say, Molly." Kingsley accepted, his tone neutral, but a glint of amusement flickered in his eyes.
The kitchen fell into a momentary silence, tension lingering in the air, before Lupin spoke up again.
"So, Rubeus was able to get a message here late last night. He and Madame Maxime think they've narrowed down the giant's colony to somewhere in the Carpathian mountains. With luck, they'll be able to reach the mountains within the week."
"Dumbledore hasn't sent Hagrid to the giants just to try and talk them into being good either, has he?" Harry asked in concern, getting a deep chuckle from Kingsley.
"No, even Dumbledore isn't that out of touch. Giants aren't exactly philosophers, they don't have notions of good or bad swirling around in their heads. Hagrid's got a bag of presents for the giants—Gubraithian Fire, a goblin-made battle helmet, and such." Kingsley explained.
Seeing Kingsley wasn't going to elaborate, Lupin continued the explanation. "You see, giants have a soft spot for magic, just as long as it's not pointed their way. Dumbledore hopes to spoil them with gifts, so Voldemort won't have anything to tempt them with."
"And of course Dumbledore won't mind getting a goblin-made giant helmet, but won't cash out to pay off a small debt." Harry grumbled, "What does the helmet do anyway?"
"Well you see, if something were to hit the wearer's head, they'd be protected." Sirius explained slowly, grinning madly. "Try to stop them losing too many brain cells after being struck."
"Har har. Yes I know what a helmet does. But if the giants like magic, what does the helmet do, magically. Because a plain old helmet doesn't feel all that impressive, unless you're about to say giants secretly have a great passion for medieval armour."
Lupin exchanged a glance with Sirius, and Mrs. Weasley's expression hinted at uncertainty. Sirius cleared his throat, attempting to maintain the façade. "Well, you see, Harry, goblin enchantments can be a bit subtle. It's not always about flashy spells. The helmet was made to withstand quite a lot, magically speaking. It would take a lot to break it, even for a giant."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "But it doesn't look magical to the wearer, which according to you is all the giant's care about?"
Sirius hesitated for a moment, before glancing around the table. "You know what, Harry? You might just be onto something there. We might have overestimated the giants' appreciation for magical craftsmanship. But I'm sure the other gifts will make up for it."
"You said another gift was Gubraithian Fire, that's everlasting fire, isn't it?" Harry checked with Kinglsey, "I suppose that might be more magical looking… But I wouldn't have thought giants would have much need for the fire itself."
Kingsley nodded, acknowledging Harry's point. "Yes, Gubraithian Fire is everlasting and quite impressive magically. But you're right; giants might not find it as appealing as we might, unless they have a particular use for it. They usually eat their meat raw, and see well enough in the dark."
"Maybe we need to reconsider our approach." Sirius chimed in, "I did say we should've just loaded Hagrid with a bunch of zonkos' best pranks, but I definitely remember being told that was dumb. And yet here we are."
Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat, looking at Sirius with a disapproving expression. "We will not be sending a bunch of pranks to the giants, we are not children. We need gifts that demonstrate respect and understanding, not something that could be seen as a joke. Certainly not something you or the twins would volunteer."
"And instead, you've sent them something that they have no real use for, and no enthusiasm about." Harry pointed out.
"Well what would you have sent, instead?" Lupin countered calmly.
"For starters, I'd make the helmet do something. Make sparks when hit, or glow, or even invisibility. Something a giant could look at and go 'Oh that looks nice.'"
"And where exactly are you expecting to find such a helmet, especially one large enough to fit a giant?" Arthur Weasley asked.
While his mind immediately flashed to his own mithril, Harry held his tongue, instead going a more explainable route. "Dumbledore can always transfigure something. It's not like it would need to last too long, a year maybe. And I'm sure at least one of you, like Bill, could enchant it. Make it last a few months, and when it runs out, offer a new helmet with the same conditions."
Arthur Weasley raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical of Harry's proposal. "And what if the transfiguration goes wrong? I work with enough poorly made enchantments to know how badly it can go wrong.
"We might end up with a helmet that may impress them, but also poses a danger to the giants. We need a reliable solution, not one that relies on the uncertainties of transfiguration."
"And how uncertain would you consider Dumbledore's work? Like, this is gearing up for a war, right? A war you presumably don't want the giants joining. Because from where I'm standing, it really feels like you've just sent whatever was easiest to get ahold of, and hoped the giants would be impressed regardless."
"I know I'd be impressed if I were a giant." Fred Weasley mentioned, breezing into the tense kitchen, without a care for the tense atmosphere.
"Although I think we'd just prefer a box of pranks. We heard our names mentioned." George finished, strolling in behind his twin.
"Of course you did." Their mother muttered under her breath, as she got the stove lit.
"Right, I thought we'd try and tackle that drawing room again. Now that Harry's with us, we should really be able to bunker down and get it clean," Mrs. Weasley announced, attempting to shift the focus to a more mundane task.
"Cleaning?" Harry asked, not liking the sudden shift in conversation.
"Yes, dear. In an attempt to make this place liveable, we've all been doing our part to restore some order," Mrs. Weasley explained with a warm smile, "Get this old house in some liveable condition."
"I'm fairly sure that's what Kreacher is for, no? And I wouldn't have thought the mess of this place would be too resistant to magic, certainly not enough to have it still be like this?" Harry questioned, his scepticism evident.
Mrs. Weasley bristled slightly at the implied criticism. "Kreacher has his own responsibilities, and there are certain charms in the house that make simple cleaning spells less effective. Besides, we don't want to rely on magic for everything. It's about putting in the effort ourselves."
Harry raised an eyebrow, challenging the notion. "But we have magic at our disposal. Wouldn't it be more practical to use it, especially considering everything else we're dealing with?"
Mrs. Weasley sighed, a hint of frustration in her voice. "Harry, you know as well as anyone that underage magic is heavily monitored. I can't have my children breaking the law just to clean a house, no matter how much it needs it."
Very deliberately pointing his hand at the counter behind him, Harry very clearly intoned; "Scourgify."
Immediately, his magic ran over the counter, transforming the hideously dirty surface before their eyes, the grime and stains being simply erased. The once-dull counter began to gleam with a pristine cleanliness, as if it hadn't just sat under the years of neglect that had marred it.
Mrs. Weasley, despite her frustration, couldn't help but be momentarily impressed by the transformative effect, appreciating a good cleaning charm when she saw one.
"That is illegal, you know." Kingsley pointed out gravely, even as he made no effort to stop the supposed crime.
"Actually, it isn't. We are in a pureblood home that's been in the family for more than a century, as such the rules for underage sorcery don't apply here." Harry pointed out, "Dumbledore made sure he understood that law when I first moved in with him, so I could practise magic while at home."
"Is this true?" Mr. Weasley asked Kingsley in surprise.
"It could be," The man mused, "It's not really my department, I'm more involved with high profile protection duties. But I know there is an exclusion for Pureblood children somewhere in the law, and it wouldn't surprise me if that was the loophole they'd chosen.
"And the Ministry couldn't track underage sorcery to this location anyway, the unplottable charms would ensure that, let alone the Fidelius. Of course, there's the spirit of the law to consider, but as long as none of us here are Muggles, Potter here's in the right."
Mrs. Weasley, her face reddening, crossed her arms and huffed, "Well, legality aside, the point is not about whether you can use magic here. It's about manual labour. You youngsters need to understand the value of hard work. Cleaning this place by hand builds character."
With a stern look at Harry and the others, she continued, "Magic can't fix everything, and sometimes you need to get your hands dirty. It's a good lesson for all of you. So, no more of these shortcuts. We'll restore this house the proper way, with good old-fashioned elbow grease."
"Right, and in the meantime it's just going to take forever? Look, if you want your children to do it that way, fine. But I do not have the luxury of sitting around and putting my back into doing something I can do with a single thought." Harry argued, trying to keep his irritation out of his voice.
"Come now Harry, a bit of cleaning won't kill you. And you won't find much else to do around here, especially when everyone else will be busy cleaning too." Lupin interjected, his tone gently chiding.
"I have plenty more I could be doing. To start with, I'll need to prepare for this Ministry hearing, assuming Tonks wasn't able to talk them out of it. Secondly, I still need to visit the Goblins at some point, which cannot wait until this house is spotless. Finally, I need to work on my magic."
Mrs. Weasley's expression hardened at Harry's continued resistance, before planting a hand on her waist before waving a wooden spoon at him.
"Harry, we appreciate your concerns, and we can discuss a schedule to accommodate your activities without neglecting the duties we have here. I'm quite sure you'll have time to prepare for your hearing after we finish each day. You still have a week left after all." Mrs. Weasley replied, her voice now carrying a determined edge, as she waved away Harry's words.
Now firmly annoyed, Harry slammed his mithril hand upon the table, accidentally releasing a burst of magic through the Gauntlet as he did so. A rush of cold air from the Soul Gem extinguished the stove top, while the Philosopher's Stone imposed a pressing silence upon the room.
"Right, listen to me, all of you. Lord Voldemort, a man most of you are too cowardly to even name, has a vested interest in trying to kill me. All that stands between me and that death is my own skill, which is woefully lacking against a man many decades my senior. You lot may have the wonderful luxury of lazing around here cleaning, but I won't just sit around, when I can be getting stronger," Harry seethed.
Seeing Mrs. Weasley failing to remove the silencing spell, he turned to fix her with his stare, freezing her in the act.
"There will be no schedule, because I am more than capable of planning my own time. If any of you want to help me get stronger, then I will gladly accept your help. Otherwise, there is nothing to discuss. If Dumbledore's house hadn't been attacked, I'd probably still be there, and I certainly wouldn't have such problems there."
Sitting back and crossing his arms, he left everyone under his magic for just a moment longer, before releasing his magic. Immediately the stove whooshed back to life, the room's sound restored.
Despite their restored speech, the adults took some more time to exchange glances, before Kingsley spoke up. "Personally, I can help teach you some duelling techniques. From what I've heard, you've got the power, but need to improve your finesse."
"You can't be saying we should entertain this?" Mrs. Weasley, asked incredulously.
"I can," Sirius spoke up, looking harrowed. "It's not like we didn't talk about this last night either. I'd rather have my godson trained, and he doesn't end up needing it, than coddled and dead."
Mrs. Weasley's eyes narrowed as she looked from Kingsley to Sirius. "So, we're just going to encourage reckless behaviour? Teaching a teenager to fight against the most dangerous dark wizard of our time?"
"Molly, it's not about encouraging recklessness. It's about being prepared. We can't afford to pretend the danger isn't real. Harry's not a child anymore, and he's already faced Voldemort more times than we'd like to admit." Sirius sighed wearily.
Lupin, who had been silently observing the exchange, finally spoke up.
"But this is what the Order is for. To protect people like Harry from needing to face danger. I'm not saying I'm opposed to training him a little, but I think it's a bit pessimistic to assume Harry will need to face Voldemort again anytime soon. Think about how much work he had to do to get Harry last year."
"Last year, Voldemort couldn't just walk up to me. He had to get Wormtail and Crouch to do it for him." Harry pointed out, "If nothing else, he's also massively increased the number of followers he has access to. And more to the point, you lot here couldn't even undo my spell… How are you planning on protecting me from Voldemort?"
Before anyone could come up with a suitable argument against him, the clear sound of the front door opening reached them. "Oh look, anything else!" Fred exclaimed, clearly relieved.
"Anyone want to take bets on who it could be?"
Seconds later they heard the troll's leg umbrella stand clutter over, followed by several swear words.
"Tonks." George wisely replied, before the ear splitting shriek of Walburga Black echoed throughout the house.
"At least Ron will be awake now."
"Harry, deal with my mother's portrait, and I'll say that's your cleaning duties for the week." Sirius begged, as Mrs. Weasley hurried out to deal with the trouble.
"Deal." Harry instantly agreed, swiftly leaving his chair to follow Mrs. Weasley. Behind him, he heard the others rise to follow, and together, they entered the hallway where the portrait of Walburga Black continued her tirade. The harsh, disapproving gaze from the portrait fell upon Harry as he approached.
"Filthy blood traitor! Bringing your Mudblood associates into this noble house! I won't stand for it!" the portrait screeched.
"You won't stand for anything soon enough." Harry replied, placing the Gauntlet against her canvas. Instantly, he could detect a faint prickling against his mithril, which he figured would hurt a lot if his hand had still been made of flesh.
Focusing upon the Philosopher's Stone, he willed it to transmute the fabric into stone, only to be met with a surprising amount of resistance. Looking closer, he scowled as he saw the House wards themselves folded over the painting, pushing against his attack.
Even with all three Stones working together, Harry wasn't sure the Perenellion Gauntlet could actually damage the wards. And although it would likely shut her up, Harry was quite sure the Order wouldn't appreciate the house falling down around them regardless.
However, just as he was about to give up, the Eidolon Core sparked the Soul Gem, before his hand sank somewhat within the painting, leaving a withered hole in the wards behind.
From just his final touch, the canvas began to change, with the rough stone slowly spreading within its frame. Now yelling in panic, Walburga tried to flee, only to realise the stone had already covered her painted leg, apparently sealing her within the frame.
Even as she desperately tugged at her trapped leg, the stone closed in on her, before with grim determination she looked at Harry with pure malice. And then the stone sealed over her face, making it impossible to tell she had been there at all.
Removing his hand, he felt the Black Family wards repairing the hole he'd made, going back to work protecting a portrait that no longer existed.
"Well… that was absolutely terrifying." Tonks summed up, staring at the slowly peeling stone in awe.
After everyone had a chance to admire his work, they moved back into the kitchen. After she'd finished her breakfast, Tonks cleared her throat, bringing everyone's focus.
"Right, so, morning shift at the Ministry," Tonks began, her voice quivering and her features serious. "Not the most cheerful place, I'll tell you that. Basically, they didn't believe my report, so your hearing is definitely going ahead, Harry. I'm also no longer your bodyguard."
A subtle shift in Tonks' demeanour caught Harry's attention—a fleeting shadow in her eyes, a fraction of a second where her shoulders slumped. She'd always been so cheerful and bubbly, it felt like a sudden gust had blown out the vibrant spark within her.
He clenched his fists, his frustration yet again boiling just barely beneath the surface. The Ministry's shortsightedness had not only jeopardised Tonks' career, but also put himself at further risk. All because Fudge refused to see the truth.
"Some nonsense about me needing retraining, but I suspect they just don't want me too close to you anymore. Tough luck for them, though. The Minister gave Dumbledore the option of getting another 'Ministry-approved' Auror as a replacement, but he chose to cancel the contract."
She shrugged, and Harry sensed a forced nonchalance that barely concealed the way her hair drooped in sorrow. "Guess I'll be stuck doing paperwork and brewing coffee for the higher-ups for a while. Anyway, that's the update from the Ministry."
"I'll see if I can get you reassigned to my unit, Nyphadora." Kingsley announced, calmly ignoring the way Tonks' hair flashed at the mention of her name.
Harry, though appreciative of Kingsley's attempt to remedy the situation, couldn't deny the disappointment he felt. The prospect of not having Tonks as his bodyguard, the friendly face he'd grown attached to, weighed on him.
"Won't that be a bit suspicious, though?" Fred Weasley asked, pointing his fork between the two Aurors. "Like, I know Fudge isn't the brightest, but if Tonks is in trouble for knowing Harry, surely having her in the same unit as Kingsley would raise some eyebrows?"
"I doubt it. You should know, even now I rarely agree with Dumbledore on most matters. If I didn't believe You-Know-Who is back, I still wouldn't. As far as the Minister is concerned, I've always been solely loyal to the Ministry."
"How did you end up here then?" Ron asked suspiciously, breakfast momentarily forgotten. "I mean, if you don't agree with Dumbledore, how would you even find out he was telling the truth?"
Settling back in his chair, Kingsley fixed the teen with a steady gaze. "Well, just because I find his methods underwhelming, I still keep a professional respect for him. Dumbledore's track record with You-Know-Who is not something to be easily ignored, nor the fact he has no need to sprout lies to take over the Ministry.
"So when he starts saying the Dark Lord has returned, I paid attention. He's faced him more times than anyone else and survived. So, even if I think he could be more proactive, I won't sit around and do nothing."
"What do you mean by 'more proactive'? Do you think Dumbledore isn't doing enough to stop You-Know-Who?" Ginny asked, speaking up for the first time.
Kingsley sighed, running a hand over his bald head. "It's a delicate matter. Dumbledore is a brilliant wizard, but he's a poor leader. Sometimes, he focuses on the long game, which involves too many sacrifices in the short term. If You-Know-Who hadn't died at the Potters in the first war, we would have lost.
"In truth, if there had been another option, I wouldn't have joined up. But, as matters stand, I will always side against You-Know-Who, and currently that means working within this order."
"What about during the first war? I take it you weren't a part of the Order back then, given your opinions." Harry asked.
"Indeed I did not. Back then, it was accepted You-Know-Who was a threat, so we Aurors could work freely under the Ministry. This time, things aren't so easy."
Harry leaned forward, a determined glint in his eyes. "So, you're saying we need to be more proactive this time. Not just reaching out to allies, but actively dealing with threats before they become bigger problems."
"No, I wouldn't say that at all, not with this Order." Kingsley countered instantly, "Our main focus should always be to get the Ministry to realise the growing threat. Gathering allies, obtaining as much intelligence as we can, that is what Dumbledore has been leading the Order for."
Harry frowned slightly, not fully satisfied with the response. "But what if the Ministry continues to ignore the signs? What if they refuse to acknowledge the danger until it's already too late?"
Kingsley sighed, understanding the urgency in Harry's words. "If we had more fighters, I'd be inclined towards a more proactive stance. But look around us, most of the men and women here aren't capable of taking down an inner-circle Death Eater. A point you yourself made the night before."
"Exactly." A familiar voice growled, as the kitchen door banged open, revealing the imposing figure of Alastor Moody. Several around the table jumped at his arrival.
"Dumbledore managed to get most of our fighters killed off in the last war, we won't survive a similar war. At a scratch, we could perhaps gather a half dozen decent fighters.
Something I've decided you need to see for yourself, Potter. I want all of you into Black's basement, double time." Moody barked, his gruff voice leaving no room for argument, as his magical eye whirred, constantly scanning the room with its characteristic intensity.
As Moody issued his order, Mrs. Weasley's face tightened with concern. She started to voice her reservations, "Now Alastor, I hardly feel like the children-" but Moody promptly cut her off.
"You don't want the children fighting, I can respect that. But they need to know, Molly. They need to know where they stand."
With Moody already moving away, she glanced around at the remaining occupants of the kitchen, realising most were already obeying Moody's command, and huffed after them.
As the kitchen emptied around them, Kingsley approached Harry. "We'll continue this discussion later, but for now, let's focus on the task at hand. The Ministry might be slow to act, but they alone hold the numbers we need to adequately fight the Death Eaters."
Finally, only Harry and Moody remained, the latter gesturing for Harry to follow.
"I suppose it was you who petrified the hag's portrait, Potter?" Mad-Eye asked, his gravelly voice cutting through the lingering tension. "Good bit of magic, but don't you think that opens a security risk?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You don't think the existing wards are enough?"
"I don't think anything is enough when it comes to defence," Moody asserted. "They may call me paranoid, but only because I've survived to tell the tale. Many aren't as safety-conscious, and died for it."
Moody led Harry further into the heart of Grimmauld Place, past Mrs. Black's stone portrait, and down an easily missed creaky staircase. The once-cramped passageways expanded dramatically into a sizable basement, noticeably cleaner and better restored compared to the dilapidated house above.
The Black Basement, though still bearing the clear neglect and decay, had been swept and cleaned, revealing the potential grandeur it might have held in its prime. The ceiling stood tall, supported by sturdy but worn pillars. The floor, etched with ancient runes, had been scrubbed clean, rekindled.
Leading Harry past the assembled Order, Moody took to the centre of the chamber. He turned to Harry, his magical eye whirring with intensity.
"This place has seen its fair share of battles, Potter. It probably won't survive your full might. But that said, now is the time to show us all how dedicated you are. Prove you aren't just blowing hot air.
"Ronald, Fred, George! Come over here and fight Potter. If you beat him, I'll guarantee you a spot in the Order."
The three Weasleys exchanged glances as they approached Harry, ready for the mock battle they all knew they couldn't win.
"Begin when ready." Moody announced, as he backed away from them.
Immediately, Ron snapped his wand up and fired a strong stunning spell. Shaking his head, Harry just turned slightly, letting his trenchcoat take the hit. Between its dragon skin scales, and Dementor aura, Ron's curse didn't leave a mark.
Which left him free to deal with George's Incarcerous, slashing through the ropes with some wandless magic. Fred's spell froze the ground at his feet in the exact next moment, which had no effect. With Harry's shoes having long allowed him to walk on a layer of air, the thin sheet of ice became inconsequential.
He smoothly sidestepped Ron's next spell – the fire hex crackling through the air, leaving no impact on its elusive target. The Weasley twins, undeterred by their unsuccessful attempts, exchanged a quick glance and synchronised their wands.
"Expelliarmus!" they chorused, casting the disarming spell in unison. However, Harry, easily reacting, deflected both spells, rebounding them harmlessly into the air.
Moody, observing the mock battle with his characteristic scrutiny, grunted in approval. "Not bad, not bad at all. But you've gotta be quicker than that if you want to catch the Boy Who Lived, lads."
For the first time in that battle, Harry had to actually summon a shield, as Ron used one of Harry's own spells against him. With a determined expression, Ron brandished his wand, unleashing a continuous off-white beam.
The off-white beam danced across the magical barrier, creating ripples and distortions in its otherwise solid appearance. The paralysing curse embedded in the spell tried to seep through the protective layer, causing the shield to flicker with each impact. Ron, maintaining the steady stream of magic, seemingly intended to wear down Harry's defences.
Despite the situation, Harry felt a surge of pride at Ron's attack, recognising how strong his friend had grown. But, he still wasn't capable of beating Harry. Easily holding the magical shield with one hand, Harry drew his wand and fired the Mollesco hex at Ron.
The yellow hex spiralled around the beam attack, forcing Ron to cancel the attack and dive out the way. Slightly out of practice, Harry hadn't expected the wave of concussive force from George Weasley, which ruined his follow up attack against Ron.
Caught off guard, Harry staggered as the force rippled through the air. The disruption, however, hadn't been enough to significantly affect him. Recovering easily, Harry seamlessly spun around, swiftly sending his own whip of force at Fred, the magical lash crackling through the air with precision.
Fred, who'd been planning a sneak attack, reacted instinctively, conjuring a protective shield to intercept the incoming magical force. The clash of spells resonated in the basement, creating a brief but intense flash as Fred's shield shattered around him.
Spinning back to face Ron and George, Harry thrust his palm towards the second twin, sending a bolt of pure air. Shielding against Ron's fire attack, Harry used the brief cover to cast the bright gold missile jinx.
The golden bolt flew unnoticed through the flames, before it exploded into a dozen smaller darts, streaking towards Ron. His friend yelped when the first dart stung his thigh, before doing his best to block the remaining darts.
"Hurry up, Potter! Stop playing around! William, step up and help your brothers, show them how a fight should be," Moody bellowed, his gravelly voice cutting through the magical chaos in the basement.