"This is none of your business, Snivellus!"
Sirius gave Snape an icy stare across the table, his voice flat and contemptuous.
"Oh, I only thought you might feel some shame about it, Black—" Snape drawled slowly.
He ignored the weary looks being exchanged around the crowded kitchen by the other Order members and let a show of mock sympathy spread slowly across his sallow face.
"Thirteen long years rotting in Azkaban among the Dementors, and the very first thing you manage to do upon your release is lose the ancestral family home that's been in the noble House of Black for generations. I imagine your illustrious ancestors are tremendously proud of you, aren't they? Perhaps they're applauding from their portraits even now, celebrating your magnificent achievement."
Sirius shot to his feet with such explosive force his chair scraped loudly against the stone floor, fury was blazing in his grey eyes like wildfire.
"Want a fight, Snivellus? I'd be more than happy to oblige you right here and now!"
"Does it really have to come to this every single time you two are in the same room?" Remus asked tiredly.
He shook his head with a helpless smile. The moon was nearly full in the sky outside, visible through the kitchen window, and he had sunk again into the deep, bone-heavy exhaustion he could not fight no matter how much Wolfsbane Potion Severus brewed for him each month.
"Sirius—"
The instant, knife-edged tension that always crackled to life whenever Sirius and Severus were in the same room together made Amelia genuinely uneasy. She called his name softly.
Sirius pressed his lips together tightly, dragged his gaze away from Snape's sneering face and sat back down without another word.
"Severus—"
Molly's hands moved restlessly against her apron.
"I don't suppose you've had dinner yet? You're very welcome to join us, of course. There's plenty."
The table was crowded and full of familiar faces.
Among the Order members gathered around it were Bill Weasley and Nymphadora Tonks—both former students of Severus's from their Hogwarts days. Out of some reluctant concession to that past connection and the presence of his former students, Severus let the matter drop for now and held his sharp tongue.
His dark, lightless eyes swept the room. He found a gap between Arthur Weasley and Tonks with her vivid green hair and lowered himself into it with.
"Dumbledore says he won't be coming tonight,"
Snape's first words upon sitting down fell on the room like a stone dropped into still water, creating ripples of surprise and concern that spread across every face.
"Has something urgent detained Albus? Is he all right?" Remus asked immediately, visibly surprised and worried.
"On that particular subject, I'd suggest you ask our charming headmaster yourself when next you see him,"
He accepted the plate of food Molly passed him with a nod so slight it was barely perceptible, then answered Remus's concerned question with his customary edge of bitter sarcasm.
"He keeps his own counsel, as always."
A subdued silence settled over the table at this unwelcome news. Dumbledore was the Order's cornerstone—its founder and guiding light, the one person who held everything together and his absence left people unsettled, even when it was only for a single evening's meeting rather than something more serious.
"Where do you think Professor Dumbledore's gone? What could be so important?" Hermione whispered urgently.
In Fred and George's darkened room four floors above the kitchen, Hermione looked at Harry with a meaningful, questioning expression full of concern.
"Looking for clues about Harry's case, obviously," Ron said, joining the speculation eagerly without hesitation.
"He's trying to work out what the Ministry's playing at with this ridiculous murder charge, you can be absolutely sure of that."
A feeling rose in Harry's chest—something between gratitude and guilt, tangled together uncomfortably like thorns.
Over the past year his direct contact with Dumbledore had grown increasingly sparse and distant, but the headmaster clearly hadn't pulled back his concern for Harry's welfare at all. He was still out there somewhere in the night, running himself ragged over Harry's legal troubles.
"Listen! Quiet, everyone!" Ginny suddenly pressed a hand urgently over her ear, lowering her voice to a whisper.
"They've started talking about you specifically now, Harry. Pay attention."
Harry shook himself free of his guilty thoughts and strained to hear more clearly.
"—can you find out anything from your department, Arthur? Anything at all about Harry's situation?" came a voice.
The question came from Harry's godfather Sirius.
"You work at the Ministry too now, Sirius—" Arthur said, his spirits clearly low and beaten down.
"You'll have heard all the talk going around the corridors. The general feeling among most of the staff seems to be that Harry Potter murdering a Muggle is some sort of joke—but nobody's got the nerve to actually go and ask the Minister about it directly to his face.
Dedalus Diggle in the Goblin Liaison Office claims he knows the real story, but you know exactly what he's like. I'd bet anything he's just showing off and trying to seem important when he doesn't actually know more than anyone else."
"Ha—I've seen through their nasty game from the very start!" Elphias Doge wheezed with indignation.
"The Minister must have pinned somebody else's dirty work on that poor innocent boy! It's a frame-up, plain and simple!"
A buzz of murmured agreement rippled around the crowded table at this statement.
Sirius raised his voice over the general noise, impatience and frustration coloring every word he spoke.
"That's the most likely explanation, yes—but here's the problem: for Fudge to successfully frame Harry for murder in a way that sticks, he needs to establish a credible connection between Harry and this supposed victim. And Harry has been at Hogwarts all year long under constant supervision from dozens of professors. The one time he came to London, he was with me and Remus—in our sight the entire time!"
"What does Dumbledore think about all this? And what about Bryan?" Bill asked reasonably from his seat.
"Albus wrote to say that Bryan would sort out Harry's situation," Remus said, though worry was clearly etching deeper wrinkles in his aged face with each passing day.
"I expect his absence these past few days means he's been investigating the matter."
"I rather doubt that's where he's actually been, to be honest," Arthur said heavily with a tired sigh.
"Someone from my department spotted him in Paris just yesterday afternoon. I shouldn't think the trail for this murder business leads all the way to Paris, France, of all places."
"Dedalus knows the inside story, I'm certain of it," Sirius said with conviction, a dangerous glint was sharpening his narrowed grey eyes. "Perhaps we should consider taking a more… direct approach to extracting that information from him."
"The Dementors would be absolutely delighted to welcome you home, Black,"
Severus said with a cold, cruel smile. The jab sent the color draining from Sirius's face all over again.
"I think we'd better be prepared for any possible outcome here!" Alastor Moody shouted gruffly, his magical eye spinning.
"Whatever Fudge thought he was doing when he set this in motion, now that it's done and public there are only two ways it ends: either Potter goes down and gets expelled or imprisoned or worse, or Fudge does and loses his position as Minister. There's no middle ground here. We need a comprehensive security plan—one that gets Potter safely to the Ministry on the day of his hearing and, just as importantly, gets him out again alive afterward when Fudge realizes he's lost."
"Well now, Alastor, listen to yourself for a moment,"
Mundungus muttered from his shadowy corner where he lurked, shifting uncomfortably. "You'd almost think the Order meant to take on the Ministry itself in open warfare before You-Know-Who gets the chance to …."
And honestly, it was rather unsettling to hear it. The Ministry was the legitimate government of Wizarding Britain, after all. Plenty of witches and wizards had worked against it quietly, in the shadows, throughout history—but open resistance, the kind Moody was casually describing as necessary?
Even Sirius frowned at the troubling implications of that thought.
BANG—
A sharp crack of Apparition from the wooden trapdoor at the top of the stairs that led up from the kitchen. Moody's magical eye swung toward the sound immediately.
"Ah—the man of the hour arrives at last,"
Moody rasped a short laugh.
"Sorry, everyone—I had to make a bit of a journey—came as quickly as I could manage—"
Bryan arrived before them looking travel-worn and a little dusty from the road, his silver hair were slightly disheveled from wind. His pale violet eyes swept the room as he exchanged a warm smile with the gathered company. His gaze lingered, just for a moment, on something near the dresser.
Not every member of the Order had met Bryan Watson before in person; some were seeing this newly crowned legendary wizard for the first time with their own eyes. They rose respectfully from their seats, bowing their heads in respect to his extraordinary reputation and power, and he nodded in return with an easy, gracious smile.
"Have I missed anything important?"
Bryan took the seat Sirius had cleared for him at the head of the long table, thanked Molly warmly for the heaping plate of food she offered him, cleared his throat, and looked around with a pleasant expression.
"Severus hasn't given his report yet, Bryan—" Remus said with a tired smile.
"But there is one matter—a fairly pressing one, I think. If you could help me decide what to do about it before the formal meeting begins, I'd be very grateful for your guidance and wisdom."
"What is it, Remus? What's troubling you?" Bryan asked with interest. He cut into his sausage with evident hunger, clearly not having eaten in many hours.
"The champion from Beauxbatons Academy," Remus said carefully, weighing each word.
"She sent her résumé to the Learning Machine Workshop for employment. I… had a formal conversation with her, following our standard hiring procedure, and…"
He trailed off awkwardly, unable to find the right words to explain the situation.
Bryan's brow moved slightly. He had nearly put the whole situation out of his mind. Fleur had come to him before—consulting him, as she had phrased it—on whether she'd have better career prospects working at the Ministry or developing her skills at the Learning Machine Workshop, if she were to stay in England after her graduation from Beauxbatons.
But Bryan knew perfectly well that Fleur's real reasons for wanting to remain in Britain lay elsewhere entirely and had absolutely nothing to do with career advancement or professional development.
"Ah, that beautiful girl …"
Tonks raised her head with a mischievous grin, tossing her seaweed-green waves dramatically for effect, and gave Remus an expression of gleeful mischief that made him wince.
"There was a piece in the Daily Prophet before the Tournament started, wasn't there—said she had Veela blood. I'd wager she's got you absolutely bewitched, hasn't she, Remus?"
"Ahem—"
A flush of embarrassment rose on Remus's pale, wearied face.
"That's very funny, Tonks, but—well, Miss Delacour is undeniably a gifted young witch with exceptional magical talent. She more than meets the Workshop's criteria for exceptional young talent that we're actively recruiting across Europe. My original intention was to offer her the position, genuinely, purely for her abilities and potential for growth—"
He said it with conviction, then turned to Bryan with discomfort and uncertainty.
"Miss Delacour was very candid during our conversation. She told me outright, without any attempt to hide it, that her reason for coming to work in England was…"
He hesitated again, clearly at a loss. "Which is why I told her I needed time to think it over and consult with you before making a final decision."
"For what?" Harry asked blankly from the darkened room on the fourth floor.
"Did I miss something?"
"To clear your name, Mr. Potter!"
Hermione rolled her eyes dramatically and said it with considerable exasperation.
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