Everyone at the crowded table was watching Bryan intently, their expressions were shifting with curiosity about how he would handle this 'delicate' situation.
"I won't offer any opinion on the matter, Remus—"
But Bryan's response disappointed them all. He showed no sign of awkwardness or embarrassment at all, continuing to work meticulously through his dinner with his usual unshakeable composure as though the subject held no interest for him.
"If you feel that Miss Fleur Delacour meets the requirements, then you're welcome to bring her into the workshop."
"Oh—I see—"
Remus nodded thoughtfully.
"I think I understand what you mean, Bryan."
"Honestly, Bryan—" Sirius interjected with amusement. He wore a look of wry amusement mixed with what seemed like genuine concern for him.
"You really ought to make some actual progress in that department. All work and no personal connections isn't healthy."
Bryan remained completely unmoved by this observation.
"There's no need to model yourself after Dumbledore in every single respect, you know," But Severus's flat, expressionless delivery of those words made Bryan let out a quiet cough of surprise.
"Ahem—"
Bryan cleared his throat, lifted his head and shot Severus a sideways glance that everyone at the table could read. The meaning was plain enough: 'When it comes to matters of personal life and romantic attachments, you're hardly in any position to lecture me, Severus.'
Of course, Bryan wasn't about to actually call Severus out verbally in front of this many people. Seeing that everyone had already set down their forks and finished eating, he drew his wand and gave it a sharp sweep through the air—the bones and dishes vanished from the table in an instant with a soft pop.
"Let's get to the real business of this evening, shall we—" Bryan said.
SCREEEE!
A piercing, high-pitched shriek tore through the room on the fourth floor above like nails on a chalkboard. Several people collapsed onto their beds immediately, clapping their hands desperately over their ears and howling in pain.
"What's happening! What was that!" Ron shouted over the noise.
He scrambled frantically to yank out his Extendable Ear surveillance device and flung it to the floor as though it had burned him, while Fred half-rolled, half-stumbled across the cluttered room to switch on the light.
The sudden flood of brightness drew another round of anguished groans from everyone, and when the group noticed the faint wisps of smoke curling ominously from the flesh-colored earplugs scattered in their hands and on the floor, their expressions turned to sullen indignation.
"Can't they let us get away with anything!!" Ginny snapped; her face was flushed with frustration and anger.
Harry felt a surge of resentment rise in his chest too. They weren't Death Eaters plotting evil—so why did the Order treat them like a threat to be contained and controlled?
Besides, didn't he deserve to be at that meeting downstairs? Didn't he have every right?
It was he who had thwarted Voldemort and driven the Dark Lord into hiding for fourteen long years. He who had stopped Voldemort from stealing the Philosopher's Stone in his first year. He who had witnessed Voldemort's terrifying return with his own eyes in that graveyard. And it was he who was being targeted by the Ministry's political scheming now.
If the Order and Professor Watson couldn't unravel Fudge's plot in time, then he'd end up in Azkaban—just like Sirius had. Innocent and imprisoned for crimes he didn't commit.
The thought stoked the anger inside him until it blazed white-hot. He felt an almost overwhelming urge to storm downstairs right now, find Professor Watson, and demand to know whether the man had given his case even a single moment of serious thought or effort.
The hearing was almost upon him. And instead of investigating the truth and clearing his name, Professor Watson had gone off to Paris on some mysterious errand. Did he think Harry was no longer of any use to him now?
"Harry—" a voice cut through his fury.
Harry was completely lost in the torrent of his own burning fury when Ginny's voice reached him, pulling him back.
"What?"
He glanced over at her irritably and stopped short. Her expression was a strange mixture of shock and fear, as though something had genuinely frightened her about what she'd seen.
"Your eyes… just now…" Ginny said hesitantly.
"What about my eyes?"
Harry asked, impatience and frustration sharpening his tone more than he intended.
Hermione, Ron, Fred, and George all looked between the two of them with curious, searching expressions, sensing something had just happened.
"Mm…" Ginny hesitated, pressing her lips together, clearly struggling with whether to say more.
"Nothing… it must have been the light playing tricks. I must have seen wrong—"
"Oh. All right, then," Harry said dismissively.
It was like a basin of cold water poured directly over his head. Harry came back to himself with a twitch, and felt a flicker of disbelief at what had been running through his mind just moments ago.
"Since there's nothing to be done about it anyway—" Harry said abruptly.
The strange looks from the others made Harry feel stifled and uncomfortable. He turned away from their concerned eyes and slid off George's bed.
"I'm going back to my room now… I'll keep looking through those Muggle newspapers. Maybe I'll get lucky and find some kind of lead we've missed."
With that excuse, he left the room at a quick step, nearly fleeing.
By the time Harry came down the narrow stairs and reached his own shared room, Hermione and Ron had already followed him in with worried expressions.
"Why did you snap at Ginny like that?"
Ron was staring at him lookinbg annoyed.
"I—I—"
Harry sat heavily on the edge of his bed and stammered. He couldn't begin to explain to Ron and Hermione what had been going through his head just then—not unless he wanted to earn the contempt and worry of his two best friends.
"I'm sorry—I shouldn't have—" he managed weakly at last, his voice sounded flat and defeated.
Ron looked ready to push further and demand a real explanation, but Hermione gave his sleeve a quiet tug of warning. She gathered the worry visible in her brown eyes and set it aside for now.
"Oh—Harry, I just remembered. Right before we came upstairs earlier, you said you had something to tell us…"
Far below in the kitchen, the meeting continued.
"So, these wretches finally decided to stay and settle things with us after all instead of fleeing?" Alastor's tone was faintly regretful, though he'd spoken what many in the room were privately thinking.
"That's actually a good thing for us in the long run, Alastor—" Remus countered gently. His voice held a gentle note of reproach for Moody's bloodthirstiness.
"Dumbledore and all of us have worked toward this outcome for years—precisely so that Voldemort and the Death Eaters couldn't bring their campaign of terror and harm to even more innocent people across Europe."
"Sometimes—"
It wasn't Mr. Weasley who spoke, but Mrs. Weasley, her smile was fragile and trembling with suppressed emotions.
"I wish it didn't have to be us bearing all of this burden. I wish someone else could fight this war."
"But, Molly—" Remus said seriously. He had caught the weight beneath her words. His voice turned serious and sympathetic.
"If Voldemort's reach spreads beyond our borders into other countries, we'll face something far worse than what we're dealing with now. The Death Eaters have no restraints—they'll use any illegal means to destabilize the Ministries of other nations. They have no scruples or moral limits. But we do. That kind of disadvantaged position would only leave us more vulnerable in the end."
"I know that. I'm only thinking…"
Mrs. Weasley wiped her nose with a trembling hand, her voice was breaking.
"Maybe Fabian and Gideon wouldn't have had to…"
Mr. Weasley let out a heavy sigh, then rose from his chair and wrapped a comforting arm around his wife's shaking shoulders.
A deep, heavy grief settled over the underground kitchen.
In a conflict that had stretched over nearly half a century across two wars, who among those present had not lost someone they loved? Parents, siblings, friends, mentors—all stolen by Voldemort's campaign of terror.
"Adam Vogel—" Severus said, breaking the sorrowful silence.
His coldness was a sharp contrast to the atmosphere of grief around him. He observed Bryan with calm, piercing eyes—Bryan, who was turning his wand idly through his fingers, his gaze dark and unreadable.
"The intelligence he's demonstrated far exceeds that of most Death Eaters by a considerable margin. You know him better than anyone here. You were the one who brought him in and arrested him."
Bryan said nothing in response.
Not out of shame or guilt—but because there was something he could not say to these good people.
The reason he hadn't simply killed Adam Vogel and Jasnah Rosier when he'd arrested them both. The reason he had intervened personally to send them to Azkaban rather than to the prison at Erkstag where they would have been beyond Voldemort's reach.
It was because he had been deliberately planning to hand them over to Voldemort as part of a larger strategy.
Both of them were critical pieces in a game far larger than anyone here understood.
One of them held the key to whether the magical communities of Europe would unite and stand together—against the larger crisis that Voldemort might yet unleash upon their world.
The other held the key to whether a certain figure imprisoned in Nurmengard might finally stir from the depths of their long decline.
"Don't be too hard on yourself, Bryan—" Sirius said kindly. He had completely misread his silence. He clapped Bryan on the shoulder with confidence and misplaced reassurance.
"You're not a Seer—you can't account for everything that might happen. So—this descendant of a former President of the International Confederation of Wizards is now working for Voldemort, assigned to assassinate Amelia, is that right?"
Far from looking troubled by this development, Sirius's grey eyes lit with something close to excitement and anticipation.
"I'd love to see what he's planning to do about it!"
"Stay vigilant, Sirius! Don't underestimate the enemy!" Moody barked slamming his fist on the table with tremendous force, making everyone jump and the silverware rattle.
"This Vogel is far more cunning and dangerous than the vast majority of Death Eaters!"
Severus cast a sardonic glance at Sirius's overconfidence but offered no verbal rebuke. Instead, he kept his full attention focused on Bryan.
"Before Mr. Potter's hearing at the Ministry, I don't believe Adam Vogel will move against Amelia," Severus said with certainty.
"The Dark Lord is waiting patiently to see how things unfold politically. Dumbledore believes that the Dark Lord doesn't particularly care who ends up in power at the Ministry—what he's focused on is the prophecy sphere in the Department of Mysteries, because that prophecy is directly connected to what caused his catastrophic defeat the last time…"
The prophecy sphere—the one that had foretold the coming of Harry Potter and his power to vanquish the darkest wizard in history.
A hush fell over the room. Faces grew reverent and grave with the weight of this knowledge.
"Has Voldemort said anything about how he intends to obtain it?" Remus asked carefully.
"Given that he doesn't yet want to expose himself directly to Dumbledore or Bryan in open confrontation."
Severus shook his head with cool detachment.
"But the Dark Lord is utterly determined to have it at any cost. So, we can be absolutely certain he will find a way to make use of Potter to retrieve it—which isn't particularly difficult to arrange, is it? After all, Mr. Potter has always had a rather… impulsive and reckless nature that can be exploited."
Before Sirius could erupt in defense of his godson, Bryan raised a hand to forestall him.
"Did Dumbledore have any other guidance or instructions for us?" Bryan asked.
"I told Dumbledore that since his resurrection in that graveyard, the Dark Lord has clearly undergone some kind of fundamental change," Severus said gravely.
"He appears to have come into possession of a new power that he didn't possess before…"
"A new power!" Tonks exclaimed, alarmed. She looked genuinely shaken and frightened—but when she noticed that the others seemed to take it in stride, merely watching Severus and Bryan with grave attention rather than panic, she quickly pressed her lips shut.
"Are you certain he's actually mastered it completely?" Bryan asked sharply.
His eyes narrowed, a cold, keen light glinting in the slits.
At that direct question, Severus's composure flickered with uncertainty.
"I can't say with complete certainty… but he did appear to use a form of magic he had never demonstrated before—"
Each word carried the weight of doubt and concern.
"Dumbledore asked me to put the question to you—do you have any thoughts on this, Bryan?"
————————————
For More Chapters; patreon.com/FicFrenzy