Chapter 3: The Will of the Fallen One
There was a loud crack! Remus, George, Lee, and Angelina appeared near the Burrow. Remus and Lee helped George, who was struggling to walk, toward the house. As they approached, Remus glanced up and saw Harry, Ginny, Fleur, and Hagrid already standing by the door.
"Remus!" Hagrid called, his voice thick with concern. "What happened?"
"We have to get him inside!" Remus replied urgently, helping George forward as Lee steadied him. They hurried into the kitchen and then moved into the sitting room, where Molly had been frantically cleaning. She spun around, startled, her eyes widening as she saw George being carefully laid onto the couch.
"Oh, my boy," Molly gasped, rushing to his side.
Harry tried to catch a glimpse of George, but before he could, Remus grabbed him, shoving him roughly against the wall. Hagrid, Lee, and Angelina protested, but Remus silenced them with a sharp shush. He turned back to Harry, his wand pointed at his chest, staring intently into his eyes.
"What creature was sitting in the corner the first time Harry Potter entered my office?" Remus demanded.
"Are you mad?!" Harry growled, both confused and angry.
"What creature!?" Remus shouted.
"A Grindylow!" Harry snapped, his mind racing to catch up.
Remus lowered his wand with a sigh of relief. "We've been betrayed," he muttered. "Voldemort knew you were being moved tonight. I had to make sure you weren't an imposter." Harry nodded, understanding the need for caution.
"Are you going to question me, too?" Hagrid asked, his voice tinged with anger at the treatment.
"It's hard to impersonate a half-giant," Remus replied dryly.
Another crack! echoed through the air. Remus rushed outside, with Harry close behind. In the yard, Sirius, Hermione, and Susan emerged into view. Sirius and Hermione looked haggard. Harry took a step forward, about to run to Hermione, but Remus stopped him.
"Wait!" Remus shouted, raising his wand toward Sirius.
Sirius immediately mirrored him, his wand pointed at Remus. "The last words Dumbledore spoke to the two of us," he said firmly.
Remus slowly lowered his wand. "Harry is our best hope. Trust him."
Sirius dropped his wand as well. At that, Harry and Hermione immediately rushed toward each other, collapsing into a tight, relieved hug. Both of them exhaled as if they'd been holding their breath for far too long. After a moment, Harry released Hermione and hugged his godfather.
"Are we the only ones?" Sirius asked after pulling away from Harry.
Remus nodded. "So far. Only one injured, but I think he'll pull through." Sirius gave a grim nod.
Crack!
Footsteps approached, and everyone turned to see four figures step into view: the McCallister siblings, followed by Tracey and a drowsy-looking Regulus. His right arm was in a sling, and he was smiling slightly. The group stopped in front of the first group. Sirius stepped forward.
"Regulus, are you okay?"
"I'm hic fine," Regulus hiccupped.
"He was struck by a nerve-burning curse," Tracey explained to Sirius. "Luckily, Bridget had elixirs ready just in case someone was hurt."
Bridget nodded. "We thought one might help with the pain and healing," she said.
"Or seven," Brick muttered, causing Bridget to shush him and slap his arm.
Sirius eyed his brother. "Reg, who did mother discipline when her stew exploded in her face one dinner?"
Regulus smiled drunkenly, recalling the memory. "It was you," he answered, "even though I put the whizbee in the stew. You got the blame."
Sirius grinned triumphantly. "Good to hear you finally admit it." He walked over to his brother, putting an arm around him and leading him toward the house. "Let's get you to lie down for a bit."
Harry, Hermione, Tracey, Bridget, and Brick stayed outside, waiting for others to arrive at the Burrow. Tracey had been informed of George's condition and was worried about how his twin or Ron would handle it.
Another crack!
Everyone hushed and looked into the darkness where the apparition spot had been. Two figures walked into view—Tonks and Ron. In an instant, Tracey ran over and wrapped her arms around Ron, hugging him tightly.
"So much for protocol," Hermione muttered.
"Deserves that he does," Tonks said. "Bloody brilliant he was. Wouldn't be here if it weren't for him."
"Of course," Tracey smiled, brushing Ron's hair. She knew he'd been worried about this mission, but now that it was over, she felt relief. "I knew you'd pull through."
"Of course I did," Ron replied, hugging Tracey again.
Crack!
Everyone turned to see Arthur, Fred, Charlie, and Bill appear. Arthur had his arm around Fred and saw the group gathered in his yard. "Are we the last ones back?" he asked, his smile fading when he noticed the solemn faces all around him. Fred suddenly had a sinking feeling in his stomach, which deepened when he saw that George was missing. Bill, Charlie, and Arthur also noticed, but it was Fred who sped toward the house. Everyone followed.
Fred rushed into the living room, his heart sinking at the sight of his brother lying on the couch. Molly was softly brushing George's hair. The Weasleys gathered around George, worry etched on their faces. Fred knelt in front of his twin brother.
Harry felt a wave of unease and guilt as he looked at George and the Weasleys surrounding him.
Fred touched George's arm. "How're you feeling, Georgie?" he asked softly.
"Saint-like," George muttered, his eyes closed.
"Come again?"
"Saint-like," George repeated, opening his eyes and smirking. "I'm holy." He pointed at his ear and grinned. "I'm holy, Fred. Get it?"
Fred snorted and shook his head. "The entire world of ear-related humor, and you go with 'I'm holy'? Pathetic."
"Reckon I'm still better-looking than you," George said softly, glancing around at everyone.
"Hi, Harry," he added. "Are you alright?" Harry nodded uneasily. George looked around once more. "Someone's missing. Where's Josh? And Moody?
With a pop, Josh and Sophie arrived on the grounds of the Burrow. If Josh hadn't been so consumed by the death of Moody, he might've noticed that he didn't trip or stumble after the apparition.
"Where is everyone?" Sophie asked, glancing around.
"They're probably inside," Josh replied solemnly. "We should go and deliver the news."
As they walked forward, Sophie noticed the pained expression on Josh's face. "Are you okay?" she asked, stopping him in his tracks.
Josh shrugged, his voice quiet. "I'm tired of losing people," he said. "I wish I could save them all, but every time someone dies, I don't get sad. I get angry."
"What do you mean?"
Josh looked into Sophie's eyes. "Ever since this war began, I've been having these urges," he confessed. Sophie's brow furrowed, worry creeping into her expression. "I think there's something wrong with me."
"Josh," she said softly, stepping closer, "I've seen you do amazing things. You've inspired others to be better. I don't think there's anything wrong with you. We're at war. It's brutal, and sometimes, death is the only way to survive." Josh wasn't sure how to feel about that. His urges to hurt, to kill, felt different.
This is what you're going to become, echoed in his mind.
Josh opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Sophie suddenly enveloped him in a hug. It was warm—maybe because he hadn't been hugged in a while—but it was comforting. He hugged her back.
"Ahem." Someone cleared their throat. Sophie and Josh pulled away to see Tracey standing a few feet away, her eyes wide.
"Uh..." Tracey started.
"Tracey," Josh said, a bit flustered. "Er, glad to see you're okay."
"You look like you're doing just fine," Tracey retorted with a raised eyebrow, glancing at Sophie, who was awkwardly looking away.
"Actually, I'm not," Josh answered seriously.
Tracey's expression shifted to confusion. "Why? What's going on?"
"Let's go inside, I'll tell everyone," Josh said. Tracey nodded and led them inside.
The moment they entered the Burrow, everyone looked up, relieved to see Josh and Sophie.
"Josh, thank Merlin!" Hermione exclaimed, rushing over to hug him.
"Josh, glad you're back," Harry said, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Josh!" Sirius gasped, as he hurriedly ran over to his son and pulled him into a hug. "Thank merlin you're alright." He released his son and noticed the haunted look in his son's eyes. "Josh, son, what's wrong?"
Josh looked up, the weight of the news bearing down on him. "Mad-Eye's dead," he said quietly. The room went eerily still. Most of the women began to tear up or sob quietly, while the men lowered their heads, some staring blankly ahead. It was Harry who dropped to his knees. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours until someone spoke.
"Wait, what?" Fred asked, his voice strained. "Who's dead?"
"Mad-Eye," Sophie confirmed, her voice quiet. "He's dead."
Tonks turned into Remus's chest, openly sobbing. Her mentor, the man who had taught her so much, was gone. How could this be?
"How?" Bill asked, his voice rough.
"Not without a fight, I'd expect," Charlie said, and several people nodded in agreement.
"Josh," Sirius spoke softly, "What happened?"
"Voldemort happened," Josh said simply. His anger flared. "He's the reason Buckbeak and I are alive. Mad-Eye stayed to fight while I ran away!" He punched the wall in frustration. "I should've stayed behind."
"If you had stayed," Hermione said gently, "who knows? You could've died too. Moody did what he could, but Voldemort got the best of him."
"He almost went after me," Josh said, his voice trembling. "But he left. He realized Harry had been found and let me run away."
"What gave you away?" Sirius asked, his eyes locking on Harry.
"Hedwig," Harry answered, his voice thick with emotion. "She was trying to protect me, but... she's gone too." He looked down, unable to meet anyone's eyes. Hermione knelt beside him, wrapping her arms around him.
Bill walked over to the sideboard, pulling out a bottle of Firewhisky and glasses. "Here," he said, sending a glass to everyone with a flick of his wand. "Mad-Eye."
"Mad-Eye," they all said in unison, raising their glasses before drinking.
The Firewhisky burned Josh's throat as it went down, filling him with a warm, almost painful courage, washing away some of the numbness that had settled over him.
The room fell into a heavy silence until George's strained voice broke through. "How did they know we were moving Harry tonight?"
"Somebody must have been careless," Tracey suggested, glancing around the room. "Someone must've let something slip. It's the only explanation for them knowing the date but not the whole plan." She looked at them all, daring anyone to contradict her. No one did.
"No," Harry said aloud, his voice amplified by the Firewhisky. They all turned to him, surprised by the force of his words. "I mean... if someone made a mistake, I know they didn't mean to. It's not their fault." He repeated it, louder this time. "We have to trust each other. I trust all of you. I don't think anyone in this room would ever sell me to Voldemort."
"Well said, Harry," Fred said unexpectedly.
"Yeah, 'ear, 'ear," George added, giving Fred a sidelong glance. Fred's mouth twitched slightly.
Sirius wore an odd expression as he looked at his godson, something close to pity in his gaze.
"You think I'm a fool?" Harry demanded, feeling irrationally angry. He knew what Sirius was thinking.
"No," Sirius replied quietly, "I think you're like James," he said softly. "He would have regarded it as the height of dishonor to mistrust his friends." Remus nodded in agreement.
Harry's anger flared. He knew what his godfather was implying: his father had been betrayed by his friend, Peter Pettigrew. Harry wanted to argue, but Sirius had already turned away.
"There's work to do," Sirius said to Remus, Bill, Charlie, and a few others. "Maybe we can—"
"I'll take you to him," Josh spoke up, having drunk some more Firewhisky. He looked at his father. "I know where he is. Plus, I feel like I should go back."
"Go back?" Tonks repeated, her face streaked with tears.
"Mad-Eye's body," Sirius said quietly. "We need to recover it."
"I'll go with you," Charlie volunteered.
"Can't it—?" Mrs. Weasley began, her eyes pleading with Charlie.
"Wait?" Charlie said, his voice firm. "Not unless you'd rather the Death Eaters take it."
The room fell silent. Sirius, Josh, and Charlie said their goodbyes and left. The trio of men exited the Burrow and made their way to the apparition spot.
"We need to figure out how to get Buckbeak back to Hogwarts too," Josh said as Sirius and Charlie grasped him by the arms.
"We'll think of something," Sirius said. In an instant, the trio disapparated with a pop!
Within seconds, they arrived at the spot where Josh had last seen Mad-Eye. The night was dark, making it hard to see clearly. The three men split up, lighting their wands and searching the area.
It was Josh who found the body. "Over here!" he called. Mad-Eye lay on his side. Josh turned him onto his back, and as he did, a gasp escaped him. Mad-Eye's magical eye was gone.
"Those bloody graverobbing arseholes," Charlie growled.
"Come on," Sirius said, grabbing the body. "Let's get him back to the Burrow. We can decide where to bury him later."
Charlie and Josh took hold of the body, and moments later, the trio had vanished, leaving the dark field behind
Dawn had approached, but Josh hadn't slept a wink. He sat on a bench in the Weasley's garden, staring out at the horizon as the early morning light cast a soft glow over everything. His thoughts were a whirlwind, replaying the events of the previous night over and over again. What if I had done this instead? What if he had said that? But it was no use. The scenarios just swirled around without any resolution.
A sigh escaped his lips, and he rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the weariness from his body. The skittering of a gnome nearby caught his attention, but he didn't pay it much mind.
"Are you going to start dating Roper now?" came a voice that snapped him out of his thoughts.
Josh turned to see Tracey standing a few feet away, freshly showered, her hair still damp, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"What?" Josh asked, confused.
"I said," Tracey repeated, a teasing edge to her tone, "are you going to start dating Roper?"
Josh blinked, his mind still foggy from lack of sleep. "Of course not," he answered quickly, shaking his head. "We're just friends. Besides, Roper's in love with Draco. My heart belongs to—" He stopped himself mid-sentence, wondering why he was talking about his feelings out loud.
"Daphne?" Tracey finished for him, her voice curious.
Josh sighed and nodded, reluctantly giving in. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Of course, it's her. No one else could ever have my heart. Sophie was just trying to comfort me after... after everything with Moody. That's all."
Tracey's expression softened, though there was still a trace of skepticism in her eyes. "Josh," she began, sitting down beside him on the bench, "I don't get it. You and Daphne—what are you two doing? This whole back-and-forth thing... it's really stupid. You obviously care about each other. So, why the break?"
Josh ran a hand through his hair, looking away for a moment before answering. "It was something she suggested," he said, his voice distant. "It made sense at the time. I've got a big part to play in this war. So does Daphne. She's going to help all the lost and injured people, and I—well, I'm fighting the bad guys. I have a lot to deal with right now. And there's the whole family issue... Cyrus put a target on my back. He wants me dead, and anyone close to me could be in danger."
Tracey rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "You sound like Harry," she mocked, adopting a high-pitched voice, "'You're not risking your lives for me.'"
Josh nudged her with his shoulder, his tone serious. "He's got a point," he said quietly. "Last night... It was insane. I still can't believe it happened the way it did. It wasn't supposed to go down like that. This world is falling apart."
Tracey sighed, leaning back against the bench. "We'll get through it. Remember, there was another Dark Wizard before Voldemort. Dumbledore defeated him, too—Grindelwald, remember?"
Josh nodded, appreciating the reminder, but his thoughts still felt clouded. "Yeah, I remember," he murmured.
"Anyways," Tracey continued, her tone shifting back to something more practical, "about Daphne. You two should just get back together."
Josh's shoulders slumped, and he shrugged, looking down at his hands. "I don't know," he said quietly, voice tinged with uncertainty.
"Look," Tracey persisted, "Bill and Fleur's wedding is in a week. You both were invited. You should at least talk about it with her. You never know—maybe it'll clear things up." She stood up, dusting off her clothes. "And by the way, one of Daphne's coworkers seems to be trying to move in where you're supposed to be."
Josh blinked, his heart skipping a beat. "What?!" he exclaimed, standing up quickly. "Tracey, what are you talking about?" He followed her as she started to walk away, panic creeping into his voice. "Are you joking? Tell me you're joking!"
Sirius sat in Arthur Weasley's shed, surrounded by an odd collection of Muggle items—radios, vacuum cleaners, and various tools. The only thing that stood out was the covered body of Alastor Moody, lying motionless on the floor. Sirius leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on the blanket that covered Moody. A great soldier had been taken from them. Moody had been experienced, powerful—a decorated Auror. His paranoid mind had always been a bit much, but no one could question his ability to take down Dark wizards. Still, even he was no match for Voldemort.
Sirius couldn't help but think of Harry. How could his godson possibly defeat Voldemort, even after all the Horcruxes were destroyed? Sure, Harry was strong, but Voldemort had years of experience, years of cruelty and power that Harry couldn't possibly replicate.
Sirius shook his head, pushing the dark thoughts aside. No, he couldn't think like that. Not now. He refused to lose hope. He wouldn't. Not when Harry and Josh were depending on him. He would support them, do everything in his power to make sure his sons survived this war. They would live, and they would live the lives he had never been able to.
The door creaked open, and Sirius looked up to see Remus standing in the doorway, his expression filled with concern.
"Sirius," Remus began softly, "Sandra's here." He hesitated before continuing. "Also, Mrs. Weasley made breakfast for everyone, though most are still asleep. Josh finally passed out on the couch."
Sirius nodded but didn't respond immediately. Remus walked over and sat in the chair next to him. The silence lingered for a moment before Remus spoke again.
"There's something I've been meaning to tell you."
Sirius raised an eyebrow and gave a wry smile. "You're having a baby?"
Remus looked taken aback, but Sirius just shrugged. "I'm an Auror. Nymphadora already spilled the beans to Sandra after she figured it out. The symptoms were pretty obvious."
Remus sighed, but there was no real frustration in it. "I'm excited, but I'm worried," he confessed, his voice tight with concern.
Sirius cocked his head, sensing the deeper concern. "Worried the baby might inherit some... wolf-like traits?" he asked gently.
Remus nodded, a trace of unease in his eyes. "Not many people like me... tend to procreate. It's not unheard of, but it doesn't always go over well." He paused, his gaze distant, as if pondering the future.
Sirius placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, a comforting gesture. "Even if the baby has your special qualities..." He let the thought hang between them. "Would it really matter?"
Remus thought about it for a moment, his eyes meeting Sirius's. "I guess not," he said quietly, though there was still a weight in his voice. "I just want them to have a normal life, you know?"
Sirius smiled, giving him a reassuring clap on the back. "I'm sure they will," he said confidently. "Especially once this war is over. Things will get back to normal." He looked over at Moody's body again, his expression hardening. "As for Alastor, we should give him a proper pyre funeral."
"When?" Remus asked, his voice soft.
Sirius exhaled, his gaze drifting toward the horizon. "A couple of days," he replied. "We're celebrating Harry's birthday today, so I don't want the funeral to overshadow it. We'll do it after, and before the wedding."
Josh fluttered his eyes open, greeted by the sight of red and gold streamers strung above him. He groggily sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and looked around. The room was adorned with more red and gold decorations, and golden snitch balloons floated lazily in the air.
"Good morning, sunshine," a voice called. Josh turned to see Tracey jumping over the couch and landing beside him. "Good nap?"
"What time is it?" Josh mumbled, still bleary-eyed.
"It's around 2," Tracey answered casually, scrunching her nose as she brushed dirt off his shoulder. "Still enough time to shower before Harry's party."
Josh gave her a side-eye. "Gee, thanks," he muttered, prompting Tracey to giggle.
After a hot shower and a fresh set of clothes, Josh stepped out into the Burrow's yard. Several tables were arranged in preparation for the party, and the yard was bursting with red and gold decorations and more balloons. A few people—Ginny, Hermione, Fleur, Sandra, and Molly—were working their magic to finish the setup. Josh scanned the yard, wondering where everyone else was. Tracey, Harry, and Ron were still inside, and Tracey was likely with his little brother while Harry and Ron probably hung out in Ron's room.
He wandered over to Hermione, who was waving her wand to make red and gold streamers cascade over the fence.
"Hey, have you seen Sirius?" Josh asked.
Hermione glanced at him, her wand still glowing. "He was watching over Moody's body in Mr. Weasley's shed, but that was hours ago," she replied. "Everything alright?"
Josh nodded, though his gut tightened with unease. "Yeah, I just wanted to talk to him about something." Hermione gave him a small nod, and Josh turned away, heading toward the shed where Mr. Weasley kept his tools.
As Josh entered, his eyes immediately found Moody's covered body. A wave of guilt hit him, but he shoved it aside. Sirius wasn't there. Instead, Remus was fast asleep in a chair, his arms crossed over his chest. Josh, trying to be quiet, crept up to him, intending to wake him, but before he could make a sound, Remus shot to his feet with lightning speed, grabbing Josh by the arm and slamming him to the ground, wand pointed at his face.
Josh froze, stunned by the older man's sudden and terrifying reflexes. "It's me!" he cried, heart racing.
"Joshua," Remus sighed, his grip loosening as he realized his mistake. "I'm so sorry." He helped Josh to his feet, glancing down at Moody's body. "I'm on edge since..." His words trailed off, and Josh understood.
"It's okay, I get it," Josh replied, rubbing his aching head. "Have you seen Sirius?"
"He's by the pond, I think," Remus answered, his voice apologetic. "Sorry again."
Josh forced a smile. "It's fine." He left the shed, but only a few steps away, his head throbbed painfully from the impact. Remus had thrown him down hard, and Josh hadn't realized how strong the man truly was. It had to be that werewolf strength. He conjured a chunk of ice and pressed it to his head, letting out a small groan. "Note to self: Don't mess with Remus Lupin," he muttered to himself.
Minutes later, Josh arrived at the pond, where Sirius was sitting on a stone, absentmindedly tossing rocks into the water. When he heard footsteps, he turned to see Josh approaching.
"What happened to your head?" Sirius asked, noticing the ice pack.
"Remus," Josh answered simply, tossing the ice into the pond.
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess," he said with a grin. "You woke him up and he tossed you to the ground?"
Josh nodded, and Sirius chuckled. "He did the same to me in school. Swear, I couldn't walk for days after that." Josh smirked and sat next to his father. "What's up?"
"What was the first war like?" Josh asked.
Sirius raised an eyebrow, his gaze distant. "Well, it was war, just like any other," he began, tossing a rock into the pond. "Voldemort rose to power in the seventies, gathering followers one by one. He used dark magic to instill fear in everyone. Many lives were lost, and some suffered worse fates than others—like Frank and Alice Longbottom." He paused, his eyes darkening. "Dumbledore formed the Order of the Phoenix to fight back. Our mission was to protect innocent witches and wizards. We almost succeeded, but as you know, things eventually fell apart. We lost the Prewitt twins—"
Josh frowned. "The Prewitt twins?"
"Molly's brothers," Sirius explained. "They were brilliant wizards. Imagine a double-powered Fred and George. Together, they were unstoppable."
Sirius stared into the distance. "Voldemort was powerful, and not many had the courage to face him. Dumbledore himself never had the chance. But James, Lily, Dorcas Meadowes, and the Longbottoms—those were the ones who fought him face-to-face. Meadowes died in battle. And, of course, James and Lily... they were betrayed." He exhaled slowly. "Voldemort chose Harry."
Josh blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Part of the prophecy," Sirius replied. "'Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.'" He looked directly at Josh. "Alice and Frank defied Voldemort three times. And as fate would have it, Neville was born just one day before Harry."
Josh's eyes widened. "You think if Voldemort had chosen Neville, he would have been the Boy Who Lived?"
Sirius nodded solemnly. "And James and Lily would still be alive. Or... they'd have been tortured beyond recognition." He sighed. "There are always 'what-ifs' in war. Always."
Josh was silent for a moment, clearly thinking. Then, almost hesitantly, he asked, "When you first took a life... how did it make you feel?"
Sirius let out a heavy sigh. "It didn't feel good," he admitted quietly. "Death Eaters are dark wizards, sure. But they're still human. They're not monsters, no matter how much they act like one." Josh nodded, but there was an unease in his eyes. "Taking a life can be quick, even simple. But the consequences, they ripple out in ways you can't predict. You don't just take a life; you change the lives of everyone who's left behind. Sometimes it's necessary—when it's in defense, when it's to protect others. But before you cast a spell, you have to think. Most Death Eaters don't. They don't think about anything except the power they gain. But we, the ones who fight for the right reasons—we think first."
Josh thought back to his fifth year, when he'd killed Dolohov. It had been self-defense, and he hadn't even used a lethal spell. But there was another death, one that still haunted him—one that was different from Dolohov's.
Sirius glanced at him, his voice low. "Is this about your first kill?"
Josh stiffened. "Dad—"
Before he could continue, Tracey appeared, interrupting them. "Hey!" she called, walking toward them. "The party's about to start. I think the godfather should be there, don't you?"
Josh sighed, but Sirius grinned and clapped him on the back. "We'll talk later, son. Come on, let's get some food."
When Tracey, Josh, and Sirius arrived in the yard of the Burrow, they found most of the chairs filled with many familiar faces, from the Weasley family to friends from Hogwarts to wizards and witches that fought by Harry's side. Josh and Sirius took a seat next to Harry and Sandra, who was holding Artie. Tracey sat next to Ron. Molly had prepared a beautiful feast.
At the center of the table, a large, magnificent roast chicken, its skin golden and crisp, glistened under the warm light. Surrounding the chicken were a variety of vibrant side dishes, each more enticing than the last. Bowls of mashed potatoes, creamy and fluffy, sat next to a platter of golden-brown stuffing. A large dish of buttered carrots, their bright orange color contrasting beautifully with the soft green beans drizzled in olive oil and sprinkled with slivers of almonds, added freshness to the spread. There were also warm, flaky dinner rolls, their tops dusted with a light sprinkle of sea salt, and a creamy, velvety gravy made from the rich drippings of the roast chicken, ready to pour over everything. To complete the spread, a salad of mixed greens, adorned with juicy cherry tomatoes, cucumber slices, and a tangy vinaigrette, brought a touch of freshness to the table. And finally, at the end of the table, a beautifully and deliciously cake, shaped like a golden snitch adorned with golden frosting and silver and gold glittering sprinkles.
At the far end of the table, where Harry had been sitting, a small pile of gifts lay neatly arranged before him. He carefully unwrapped a square black parcel, revealing a sleek silver watch. Its face was unlike any ordinary watch, adorned with tiny stars that circled the dial in place of hands, their soft glow twinkling as if they were caught in a perpetual dance.
"It's traditional to give a wizard a watch when he comes of age," Sirius said with a warm, nostalgic smile. Josh couldn't help but glance at his own watch—a similar black-and-silver timepiece that Sirius had given him for his birthday, though a little late. It didn't matter; he treasured it just the same.
Harry grinned and continued to eagerly unwrap his gifts, a joy in his eyes that had been missing for a long time, especially since the war had cast its shadow over everything. Each gift seemed to lift his spirits higher. Hermione had picked out a brand-new Sneakoscope, its polished surface gleaming under the light. Bill and Fleur had given him an enchanted razor, along with chocolates from the Delacours, their sweet scent filling the air. Fred and George had outdone themselves as usual, sending an enormous box packed with the latest— and probably most mischievous—Weasley's Wizard Wheezes merchandise.
Neville's gift was practical yet thoughtful: a sturdy dragonskin wand holster, perfect for the battles they knew were ahead. Shaun had given him a box of Honeyduke's sweets, the kind that always made you smile. As Harry continued to unwrap, Josh noticed most of the gifts were sweets—chocolates, candies—and practical books on advanced defensive spells and charms, a nod to the ongoing fight they all faced.
Josh's own gift, tucked in the back of the pile, was a book on strong magical wards and traps, something useful for when they were on the move—something that could protect them in the darkest moments.
Watching Harry's excitement and the love in his friends' gifts, Josh felt a flicker of warmth. It was a rare moment of peace, a brief respite from the chaos of their world.
The night continued with their great feast and random conversations among the guests. Sirius stood up and called for everyone. He had a small grin upon his face, holding up a glass of butterbeer.
"Alright, Harry, it's your birthday. The day you were born, and if you ask me, the world got a lot more interesting the moment you came into it. You might not remember it, but I certainly do... well, I don't remember it the way a lot of people might—no cradle-totting for me—but I remember the day we met. You were just a little thing, barely old enough to say a full sentence, but I could see even then that you had something about you. Something that made everyone else around you a little bit better, a little bit braver, a little bit more willing to fight for what's right."
Sirius pauses, his smile softening as he looks at Harry with a deep, almost fatherly pride.
"Though I wish I could have been around more to have watch you grown, but these past few years, I have seen you grow into a truly extraordinary person. You've faced more than most people ever will in a lifetime—things that would have broken a lesser person. But not you. You keep pushing forward, always with that determination, that fire. You've got your mother's heart and your father's courage. And you've got your own strength, too. The kind that makes people believe that maybe—just maybe—everything will turn out alright in the end."
He raises his glass slightly, a glint of mischief returning to his eyes.
"So, to Harry James Potter, my godson, my family, and one of the bravest people I know—happy birthday. I'm proud of you, kid. Never forget that."
Harry smiled at his godfather, and then everyone raised their glasses and together chorused, "To Harry! Happy Birthday!"
After the party, Josh climbed the steps of the Burrow, the warm glow from inside fading behind him. He just needed some space—maybe a quiet moment to collect his thoughts or a conversation with Ominus. But then, without warning, a sharp jolt of pain shot through his body, so intense it left him gasping. It wasn't just a flash; it spread like wildfire, starting at his core and radiating out to every limb, every nerve. It was a pain unlike anything he'd ever experienced, worse than the Cruciatus curse. His breath hitched, and he collapsed to his knees, gripping the stone railing for support as the agony pulsed through him, each wave more excruciating than the last. And then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone, leaving him trembling.
"Josh?"
Josh blinked, barely able to focus on the figure at the bottom of the stairs. Ginny's voice was concerned, but there was a note of uncertainty in it. "Are you okay?"
He swallowed hard, pushing the lingering effects of the pain down. Standing shakily, he forced a casual expression. "I'm fine," he said, his voice betraying none of the turmoil he felt inside. "I just tripped."
Ginny studied him for a moment, her brow furrowed, but after a beat, she nodded and turned back to the kitchen, though Josh could see her hesitation. As she disappeared, he sank down onto the stairs, his mind racing.
What the hell had just happened? That pain... it hadn't been like anything he'd felt before. He couldn't remember getting cursed during the rescue mission. His thoughts spiraled. Could it be connected to something else? Something more?
He looked down at his hands, still trembling slightly. What was going on?
Josh, Sirius, Charlie, and Regulus were wandering through a dense, random forest, searching for specific trees. Each of them had their wands drawn, ready to cut down trees or defend themselves against any dark wizards lurking nearby. After a couple decent night's sleep, Josh was feeling better. His body was no longer feeling the effects of whatever pain he had been in the night of Harry's party. He figured he could ask Madam Cece to look him over or maybe Daphne. No, he shouldn't ask Daphne. She'd worry and he didn't want to burden her.
"How many do you think we'll need?" Charlie asked, reaching out to touch a nearby tree.
"Maybe about six," Sirius replied. He raised his wand, casting a spell that magically sliced a tree at its base. The men stepped back as it crashed to the ground. Sirius immediately began to sever unnecessary branches with a flick of his wand.
"What kind of trees are we looking for?" Regulus asked, his arm still in a sling from the curse that had struck him. It would take a little longer to heal.
"Any that aren't healthy," Sirius answered. "Dead ones would be easiest to burn." Josh, Charlie, and Regulus nodded in understanding and got to work, scanning the forest for any suitable trees to take back to the Burrow.
A couple of hours later, the four of them portkeyed with their cut trees to an open clearing near the Burrow, large enough for a funeral pyre. Sirius and Charlie began stacking the logs while Josh and Regulus bundled up the branches they had also gathered, preparing to lay them at the base of the pyre.
Within minutes, Ron, Harry, Hermione, Tracey, Ginny, George, and Fred arrived, bringing chairs and a table to set up around the pyre for the guests. Most carried chairs, but Harry, without his trace, was freely using magic for the first time in a while, just because he could.
The setup was complete within the hour, and the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the clearing. The group stood in silence near the pyre, the reality of the event slowly settling in. It hit them especially hard, particularly Harry.
"Should we get dressed, or…?" Tracey asked, her voice tentative.
"I don't think we need to," Josh replied. "Moody wasn't one for fancy dress, and I doubt he'd care what we wore at his own funeral."
Ron nodded in agreement. "As long as we look like fighters," he said.
Soon, people began to filter in, taking their seats around the pyre. It was mostly those who had respected Alastor Moody: Aurors, former Aurors, members of the Order, students who forgotten the time he'd been impersonated at Hogwarts but came anyway, and some soldiers from the Resistance. But one guest stood out, and everyone was surprised to see him.
People gasped. "It's the Minister."
Josh and Harry immediately turned to see Minister Scrimgeour striding toward the pyre, taking a front-row seat with a couple of his aides. They exchanged a suspicious glance. Josh scanned the area, noticing many familiar faces. Neville and his grandmother sat together, with Augustus repeatedly urging his grandson to sit up straight. Shaun was beside them, sitting with Rina and Astoria, and next to them were Victor and Daphne.
Josh did a double take when he caught Daphne staring at him. She quickly averted her gaze when she realized she had been caught. His heart skipped a beat. He hadn't expected to see her until the wedding, and it took him by surprise to find her here now. He looked down, a small smile tugging at his lips.
A few minutes later, the area grew silent as Moody's body was brought to the pyre. Tonks was the one magically levitating him, tears streaming down her face. She gently placed her mentor on the pyre, then stepped back, running to Remus, who held her in his arms as she sobbed.
"Should you say something?" Sandra whispered to Sirius.
"Me?" he whispered back, glancing up to see all eyes on him. "Right," he muttered, standing and stepping forward. Now, every eye in the clearing was fixed on him. He wasn't sure what to say, not really, but when he opened his mouth, the words flowed naturally.
"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed colleagues, friends, and family,
Today, we gather to say farewell to one of the bravest, most formidable man I have ever known—Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody. A man whose life was defined by unwavering dedication to the cause of justice and protection, who lived not for himself, but for others, often at great personal sacrifice.
Alastor was not a man of ceremony, nor one who sought accolades. He was, first and foremost, a soldier, a warrior in the truest sense of the word, who dedicated his life to the defense of our world. He fought not just in battle, but in the trenches of two wars of the same enemy.
His bravery, his experience, and his sense of duty were unmatched, and those of us who were fortunate enough to know him were made stronger, wiser, and more prepared by his example.
For Alastor, there was no retirement, no time off, no "peace" in the way the rest of us might know it. He carried his vigilance—his watchfulness—into every aspect of his life. He trusted no one entirely, yet in his own way, he was fiercely loyal to those he considered allies. His heart was bound by a simple but powerful truth: to protect, to defend, and to fight until his last breath to ensure that the world would be a safer place for the generations to come.
Alastor was a man of few words, but the ones he spoke were often filled with wisdom, tinged with caution, and always designed to prepare us for the harsh reality we faced. He taught us to keep our eyes open, to never lower our guard, and to never forget that evil does not rest. And while we may have found his methods unorthodox, or his demeanor unnerving at times, there is no question that his intent was always to protect.
There are many words I could use to describe Alastor—brave, resilient, fierce, unyielding—but perhaps the most fitting word of all is selfless. He never asked for recognition. He never sought glory. He lived his life in the service of others, without hesitation, without thought of the cost to himself. He gave up his peace, his comfort, and yes, even parts of his own body in the name of protecting us all. And, in the end, he gave the ultimate sacrifice. Alastor Moody died doing what he had done his entire life—fighting against the darkness, protecting those who could not protect themselves.
Though he has left this world, his legacy will endure. We, his friends and comrades, carry forward the lessons he instilled in us—the importance of vigilance, the value of bravery in the face of fear, and the necessity of standing tall against evil, no matter the odds. Alastor's life was a lesson in resilience, and his death a reminder that the fight is far from over. We must honor him by continuing the work he started, by standing together against the darkness he fought so fiercely to keep at bay.
So today, as we bid farewell to our friend, our mentor, our protector, let us not dwell on the pain of his absence, but on the strength of his example. Alastor Moody may be gone, but he will never be forgotten. His spirit lives on in all of us who were touched by his courage, his wisdom, and his unshakeable commitment to a world free from the threat of evil.
Rest in peace, Mad-Eye. You fought valiantly. You served honorably. And you will forever be remembered with gratitude, respect, and pride.
Thank you."
And with that, Sirius jabbed his wand at the Pyre, and it instantly caught fire. He waved his wand again as the able that had glasses filled with drinks floated over to each person that had attended the funeral. Sirius raised his glass. "To Constant Vigilance," he toasted.
"Constant Vigilance," Everyone repeated, taking a drink.
After a small while, guests began to filter out and leave. Smaller grounds began to gather and conversated amongst themselves. Molly was going to hold a small feast for anyone who was going to stay behind and celebrate the life of Alastor Moody.
"What is he doing here?" Shaun asked as he and Neville walked over to Josh. Josh, Ron, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Tracey, and the Twins had said sitting together and chatting.
Josh shrugged, glancing over at the Minister who was speaking with Sirius and Tonks. "I doubt he's here to pay his respects to Moody," Harry said. He too was looking at the Minister.
"I think he's going to try and recruit you again," Hermione suggested.
"I wouldn't put it past him," Harry replied.
"Such a low move to do it at a funeral," Ron said with a grimace. "I mean who does that? A pompous git with no respect for anyone does - "
"Shh!" Tracey quickly shushed her boyfriend as she noticed the Scrimgeour was walking up to them. Everyone turned a curious or suspicious eye towards the Minister. Josh noticed the man looked older somehow, more scraggy and grim.
"Mr. Potter," He greeted with a nod.
"Minister, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He replied.
"Sorry to intrude," said Scrimgeour, limping to a halt in front of the teens. "I need to have a private word with you… and with Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger as well."
"Us?" Ron asked, sounding surprised. "Why us?"
"I'll explain once we're somewhere more private," Scrimgeour replied. "Is there such a place?" He waved around at the crowd of people talking and milling about.
"Er, we could go to my sitting room," Ron suggested nervously. "No one but my mum's at the house." Tracey glanced nervously at Ron, but he gave her an assuring nod.
"You can lead the way," Scrimgeour said, turning to Ron. He nodded and began to walk off. Harry and Hermione stood up to follow, but Scrimgeour turned to Josh.
"You too, Mister Black, if you please."
Josh gave him a surprised look, nodded, and followed his friends and the Minister to the Burrow. Once inside the sitting room, the four teens squeezed onto the sofa, while Scrimgeour took a seat in a chair across from them. That was when Josh noticed the suitcase beside the Minister—he hadn't seen it before and wondered when Scrimgeour had brought it.
The question on everyone's mind was why the Minister had summoned them. They all assumed it had something to do with the upcoming changes to their lives and the decisions about their futures, instead of going back to school.
"I have a few questions for the four of you," Scrimgeour began. "I think it's best we do this individually." Josh scoffed.
"If you three," he said, pointing to Josh, Harry, and Hermione, "can wait upstairs, I'll start with Ronald."
"We're not going anywhere," Harry said firmly, Hermione nodding vigorously beside him.
"You can speak to us together or not at all," Josh added.
Scrimgeour gave Harry and Josh a cold, appraising look. "Very well," he said, shrugging. "Together, then." He cleared his throat. "I'm sure you all know I'm here because of Albus Dumbledore's will."
The four teens exchanged glances.
"A surprise, apparently?" Scrimgeour continued. "Were you unaware that Dumbledore left you anything?"
"Maybe Harry," Ron said slowly, "but all of us? Me, Josh, and Hermione too?"
"Yes," Scrimgeour replied.
But Harry interrupted. "Dumbledore died over a month ago. Why has it taken this long for us to receive what he left us?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione said before Scrimgeour could answer. "They wanted to examine whatever he left us. You had no right to do that!" Her voice trembled slightly with anger.
"Typical," Josh muttered, glaring at the Minister.
"I had every right," Scrimgeour said dismissively. "The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation grants the Ministry the power to seize the contents of a will—"
"That law was created to prevent the passing of Dark artifacts," Hermione cut in. "The Ministry is supposed to have proof that the deceased's possessions are illegal before seizing them! Are you telling me you thought Dumbledore was trying to give us something cursed?"
"Are you planning to pursue a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?" Scrimgeour asked, his tone almost mockingly.
"No, I'm not," Hermione shot back. "I'm hoping to do some good in the world!"
Harry spoke up. "So why are you letting us have our things now? Can't you think of some excuse to keep them?"
"It's because the thirty-one days are up," Josh said matter-of-factly. "They can't keep the objects any longer unless they can prove they're dangerous, right, Hermione?"
"Right," Hermione agreed.
Scrimgeour ignored their exchange and turned his attention back to Ron. "Would you say you were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?" he asked.
Ron looked startled. "Me? No—not really... It was always Harry who—" He glanced at Hermione, who gave him a subtle but urgent look, silently urging him to stop talking. But the damage was done. Scrimgeour's eyes narrowed in satisfaction.
"If you weren't very close to Dumbledore, how do you explain the fact that he remembered you in his will? He left very few personal bequests. The majority of his possessions—his private library, magical instruments, and other personal effects—were left to Hogwarts. Why do you think he singled you out?"
"Maybe he liked my jokes?" Ron said, attempting humor. Harry looked away to hide a smile, Josh snickered, which quickly turned into a cough, and Hermione gave him a disappointed look.
Scrimgeour, however, didn't seem to be listening. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a large drawstring pouch—much larger than the one Hagrid had given Harry. He removed a scroll of parchment, unrolled it, and began reading aloud.
"'The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.'... Yes, here we are: 'To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it.'"
Scrimgeour took something from the pouch—an object Josh hadn't seen before. It looked like a silver cigarette lighter.
Scrimgeour leaned forward and passed the Deluminator to Ron, who took it in surprise, turning it over in his fingers. "That's a valuable object," Scrimgeour remarked. "It may even be unique. Certainly, it's of Dumbledore's own design. Why do you think he left you something so rare?"
"Dumbledore left this to me?" Ron asked, smiling in disbelief. "Brilliant... but what is it?" He clicked a button on the Deluminator, and suddenly, the light from a nearby lamp was drawn into the device. "Excellent!" He clicked it again, and the light returned to the lamp.
"Dumbledore must have taught thousands of students," Scrimgeour continued, ignoring Ron's excitement. "Yet the only ones he remembered in his will are you four. Why do you think that is? To what use did he think you would put his Deluminator, Mr. Weasley?"
"Put out the lights, I suppose," mumbled Ron. "What else could I do with it?"
It was clear that Scrimgeour had no immediate answer. After a moment of squinting at Ron, he turned back to Dumbledore's will. "'To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that she will find it both entertaining and instructive.'"
Scrimgeour pulled a small, ancient-looking book from his bag, reminiscent of the Secrets of the Darkest Arts upstairs. Its binding was stained and peeling in places. Hermione took the book silently, cradling it in her lap as she stared at it. Josh noticed the title was written in runes, and as he gazed at the embossed symbols, a tear splashed onto the page.
"Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?" Scrimgeour asked.
"He... he knew I liked books," Hermione replied, her voice thick with emotion. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
"But why that particular book?"
"I don't know," she said, voice trembling. "He must have thought I'd enjoy it."
"Did you ever discuss codes, or ways of passing secret messages, with Dumbledore?"
"No," Hermione said firmly, still dabbing at her eyes. "And if the Ministry hasn't found any hidden codes in it after thirty-one days, I doubt I will." She suppressed a sob, and Harry, wedged beside her, had to carefully extract his arm to comfort her.
Scrimgeour turned back to the will. "'To Joshua Malcolm Black, I leave my enhanced Celestial Compass, in the hope that whenever he's lost, it helps him find his way back.'" Scrimgeour pulled out a small, silver compass and handed it to Josh.
Josh examined the compass, its surface etched with intricate runes. He opened it to reveal a crystal dial, with a needle that didn't point north but seemed to point in an entirely different direction—toward the funeral pyre. Why was it pointing that way? He noticed that the needle shimmered with an ethereal glow, flickering in different colors.
"Why would Dumbledore leave this to you?" Scrimgeour asked, his voice tinged with skepticism. "Is it supposed to lead you to something?"
"Don't think so," Josh answered, closing the compass. "Like he said. It's to help me find my way back when I get lost."
Scrimgeour cleared his throat and continued. "'To Harry James Potter, I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.'" Scrimgeour pulled out the tiny, walnut-sized golden ball, its silver wings fluttering weakly.
"Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?" Scrimgeour asked.
"No idea," Harry replied, shrugging. "For the reasons you just read out, I suppose... to remind me what you can get if you persevere and... whatever it was."
"You think this is just a symbolic keepsake?" Scrimgeour pressed.
"I suppose so," Harry said. "What else could it be?"
"I'm asking the questions," Scrimgeour snapped, shifting his chair closer to the sofa. The dusk outside had deepened, casting an eerie light through the windows, where the marquee loomed ghostly over the hedge.
Scrimgeour held out the Snitch, and Harry slowly reached up, his heart racing. Their eyes locked for a brief moment before Harry took the Snitch from the Minister's hand. Nothing happened. Scrimgeour's shoulders slumped, and Josh thought he detected a flicker of disappointment on his face.
As Harry's fingers closed around the Snitch, its tired wings fluttered, then stilled. Scrimgeour, Ron, Josh, and Hermione stared at the now silent ball, still hoping it might transform.
"That was dramatic," Ron muttered, breaking the silence.
"That's it, then?" Harry asked, his voice a mixture of confusion and frustration.
"Not quite," Scrimgeour replied, now looking increasingly irritated. "Dumbledore left you a second bequest, Potter."
"What is it?" Harry asked, excitement rekindling.
Scrimgeour didn't bother to consult the will again. "The Sword of Godric Gryffindor," he said.
At this, Hermione, Josh, and Ron stiffened. Harry scanned the room, searching for the ruby-encrusted hilt, but Scrimgeour didn't pull out the sword. In fact, the leather pouch he held looked far too small to contain it.
"So where is it?" Harry asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.
"Unfortunately," Scrimgeour said, his tone almost condescending, "that sword was not Dumbledore's to give away. It's an important historical artifact and as such, belongs—"
"It belongs to Harry!" Hermione interrupted hotly. "It chose him! He found it, it came to him out of the Sorting Hat—"
"The sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor, Miss Granger," Scrimgeour countered, his voice sharp. "That does not make it the exclusive property of Mr. Potter, no matter what Dumbledore may have decided." He scratched his rough cheek, eyeing Harry. "In any event, the whereabouts of the sword are unknown."
"Excuse me?" Harry said, incredulous.
"The sword is missing," Scrimgeour confirmed, his voice laced with frustration. "I don't know or care what you're up to, Mr. Potter, but you can't win this war alone. He's too strong. We should be working together."
"I don't like your methods, Minister," Harry replied matter-of-factly. "Remember?" Scrimgeour didn't respond, only glared at Harry. Moments later, the Minister stormed off, leaving the Burrow in a heavy silence.
A minute later, Tracey, Neville, and Shaun entered, curious about what had just happened. "What happened?" Tracey asked, her eyes wide. "What did he want?"
"To give us things Dumbledore left behind," Hermione said, holding up her book.
"Oh, my mum used to read me those," Tracey said, examining the book.
"What are they?" Shaun asked, intrigued.
"Magical fairytales," Neville explained, turning to Ron. "What did you get?"
Ron showed the deluminator in his hand, using it to extinguish a nearby light before turning it back on. "Amazing," Tracey said, impressed.
"Yeah, it's pretty brilliant," Ron said. "But I'm not sure what good it'll do yet. Not until I figure it out."
Shaun walked over to Josh. "What did you get?" Josh tossed the compass to Shaun, who caught it with ease. "Cool," Shaun said, opening it. "It's not pointing north."
Josh walked over to him and saw that the needle was pointing toward the kitchen. "It's pointing towards the kitchen," Shaun noted, just as his stomach growled.
"Interesting," Josh said with a smirk. "It's showing you something you want or need... which, in your case, is food."
"That's interesting," Hermione said, stepping closer, curious about the magical compass. "What did it show you, Josh?"
Josh grabbed the compass back from Shaun, watching as the needle shifted slightly, once again pointing toward the funeral pyre. Everyone gathered around to see. "It's pointing toward the funeral pyre," Hermione said, puzzled. "I don't understand. What do you need or want over there?"
"I might have an idea," Tracey teased, winking at Josh, who rolled his eyes.
"Maybe it's not working properly," Josh said quickly, closing the compass. "I don't know all the specifics yet. It could mean something else."
After a few minutes, Josh stepped out of the Burrow, the compass firmly in his hand. He hoped, desperately, that it wasn't pointing to what—or, more precisely, who—he feared. With a deep breath, he opened it again. His stomach sank as the needle once again pointed toward the funeral pyre.
Against his better judgment, Josh started walking toward it. Each step felt heavier than the last. Soon enough, he stood in front of the pyre, the wind whispering through the trees. He opened the compass again, only to find the needle had shifted to the left. Josh exhaled slowly, bracing himself.
The compass was pointing right at Daphne.
She was talking with Susan, Astoria, and Fleur, likely discussing the upcoming wedding. Josh felt a knot tighten in his chest, but without thinking, he snapped the compass shut, turned on his heel, and started walking back to the Burrow. He didn't notice Daphne glance up, her eyes briefly following him with a look of curiosity.
As he made his way back, Josh's thoughts swirled. What was the true purpose of this strange compass? Did it simply lead to what you wanted or desired? Or did it do more? There had to be more to it than just guiding him toward his wants. But there was one thing Josh knew for certain now: the compass didn't lie. It knew exactly what he wanted.