Anne led Harry downstairs, through the entrance hall, and out the front door. She left the door slightly ajar and sat on the top step. From there, they could see a sky full of glittering stars and, not far away, two drowsy Death Eaters keeping half-hearted watch.
"Won't Hermione and Ron hear the door opening?" Harry whispered, nodding toward the Death Eaters nearby.
"Not tonight. And those two definitely won't. As long as we stay within the Fidelius Charm's protection range, we could blow the house up and they still wouldn't notice." Anne grinned, cracking open a can of beer and handing one to Harry. "You've only ever had butterbeer before, right?"
Harry accepted it and took a sip. "Once, back on Privet Drive. I stole a German dark beer from the fridge. It was terrible."
"Haha, I don't like dark beer much either," Anne said, opening one for herself and taking a drink. "The stars are beautiful tonight."
"They are," Harry agreed, gazing up at the sky.
"You're going to the Ministry the day after tomorrow. Nervous?"
"A bit. But I'm not afraid," Harry said. "Besides, I'm sure you've prepared more than you let on. Dumbledore choosing you as head of the Order of the Phoenix was the right call."
"Flattering me, are you?" Anne teased.
"No, I mean it," Harry said earnestly. "I can't say I knew Dumbledore that well, but I believe he chose wisely."
"A Slytherin being a better fit than a Gryffindor?" Anne chuckled at herself.
"Actually," Harry said thoughtfully, "I've realized… in some ways, we're quite alike."
Anne raised an eyebrow.
"We're both orphans. Both our parents were killed by Voldemort. The Sorting Hat even wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I chose Gryffindor. That was my choice."
"Just like joining the Order was yours," Harry continued. "Your choice."
"You think I regret it?"
"I don't know," Harry said quietly, taking another gulp of beer. "I don't even know why Dumbledore chose me. He told me to destroy the Horcruxes but never explained enough. It's like walking through the dark, feeling for stones to cross a river. That's what he said once. That's exactly how I feel now."
"Sometimes I'm confused," Harry admitted. "I don't know if I can really finish what he started. Even with the Order's help, the Sword of Gryffindor, all of it…"
He opened another can and drank deeply.
"You'll succeed," Anne said softly, her eyes narrowing as she looked toward the rooftops across the square. "As long as it's you three, you'll make it."
"Why?"
"Because you're the Gryffindor Trio," Anne said with certainty.
"That again?" Harry frowned. "You said that years ago. What does it even mean?"
Anne clinked her can against his lazily. "It means exactly what it sounds like. Some things only the three of you can do. We—the Order, Dumbledore, even me—we're just support. You three are meant to face the front lines."
Harry took another swig, shaking his head. "I think you and the Order have done more than just support. We've barely done anything."
Anne smiled faintly and opened a new can. "Dumbledore once told me that we might not be walking the right road, but it's the best one we've got. I didn't understand then, but now I think I do. He meant that the course of history won't change because of one or two people. It's a current too strong to divert. But if we try, we might smooth out a few rough stones along the way. The main path—its turning points—shouldn't, and perhaps mustn't, change."
"Harry," Anne said, holding her can, "you know this whole situation—if we're talking chess—what's the opponent's king?"
"Voldemort," Harry answered instinctively. "If we kill him, that's checkmate."
"Right," Anne said lazily. "But maybe you haven't realized—he's crucial, yes, but he's also a symbol. The conflict between pure-bloods, half-bloods, and Muggle-borns has existed for centuries. He's just the sharpest expression of it, the extreme leader of a larger problem."
"Why tell me this?" Harry asked, puzzled. "Do you mean that even without Voldemort, this war would still have happened?"
Anne chuckled. "Clever boy. Don't rush to argue. I'm just venting. Maybe one day, this will help you understand some of Dumbledore's choices when he was young."
"Anyway—" she waved it off and clinked cans again. "Let's not get too deep. I actually wanted to talk about Ron. That's why I asked you out here."
"Ron?" Harry blinked, thrown off by the sudden change of topic.
"Yeah. He hasn't been himself lately," Anne said. "You two talked?"
"Sort of." Harry hesitated. "He's just been off, like when he used to mess up at Quidditch. He's brilliant, but when he's down, he plays terribly."
"Oh? That's what you think?" Anne's amber eyes fixed on him, sharp yet kind.
Harry felt as if she could see straight through him—like Dumbledore used to. "Fine," he sighed. "We talked a couple of days ago. He thinks you've been too hard on him lately. He feels useless. And, well… he said Hermione and I always take your side."
Anne nodded lightly. "And you defended him yesterday. I noticed. I wasn't mad."
"Ron's feelings are understandable," she went on. "He's the simplest of you three."
Harry blinked. "Simple?"
"Ordinary," Anne said gently. "Not in a bad way. You and Hermione both have a sense of purpose he doesn't. Hermione's brilliant—she manages things well, though even she has her moments. And you… you've got instinct and a destiny bigger than most people ever will."
She smiled. "Ron feels left behind. But if you give him a few months, like during the Triwizard year, he'll come around again."
"He will," Harry said firmly.
Anne chuckled, tapping her can against his. "Too bad you don't have that long. The day after tomorrow, you head to the Ministry."
"Wait—what are you planning?" Harry asked warily.
"Tomorrow's a good day to air things out," Anne said with a sly grin. "We'll speed things up a bit."
"Huh?"
"I mean a fight," she said cheerfully. "Like back in fifth year when we clashed. You stopped going head-to-head with Umbridge after that, didn't you? Same idea. Tomorrow, when things blow up, side with Ron."
"And you?" Harry frowned. "Hermione doesn't know, does she?"
"She wouldn't approve," Anne said simply. "She'd understand it logically but hate it emotionally." A faint blush touched her cheeks. "She's my exception. And I'm hers."
Harry couldn't help smiling. He thought of Hermione studying alone late at night in the Gryffindor common room, and how much she quietly did for everyone as prefect.
"Lucky you," he said wistfully.
Anne giggled. "When this is all over, I think Ginny will still be waiting for you."
Harry flushed. "I—I'm not sure…"
"Trust me, you'll get there," Anne said, patting his shoulder. "The Chosen One can't chicken out on love. When the war's done, find her under the big beech tree by the lake. Talk, eat, laugh a little. Take it from me—I know it's a good spot."
Harry's face turned even redder. "I—I have experience too…"
"Oooh?" Anne teased. "So you have done something!"
Harry downed his beer in one go, trying to hide his grin.
From across the square, a small church bell suddenly chimed twelve times. The two Death Eaters startled awake, cursed softly when they realized it was only the bell, then pulled their coats tighter and drifted back to sleep.
"Harry," Anne said, raising her can. He looked over. "Happy birthday."
Harry froze, warmth flooding his chest. "Th-thank you, Anne."
Smiling, she pulled something from her pocket and handed it to him—a small square wooden charm, carved with the alphabet and a few letters at the top: B, A, S, SS.
"What's this?" Harry asked curiously.
"Oh, wrong one. That's my communication charm," Anne laughed, fishing out another item, a photograph. Ginny stood in the Burrow's garden, smiling brightly.
"I asked her first. She said you could have it," Anne said, passing it to him.
Harry stared at the picture, unable to blink.
"There's something on the back," Anne reminded him.
He flipped it over. In neat handwriting it read: Support you in whatever you choose to do. Justcome back.
Signed, Ginny Molly Weasley.
Harry's throat tightened. He quickly tucked the photo into the leather pouch around his neck, then took another gulp of beer to steady himself. "So… how does the charm work?"
"The idea came from Hermione's enchanted Galleons," Anne said, tapping it with her wand. The letters shifted, forming the word MESSAGE.
She pulled out her own charm sure enough, it now displayed the same word.
"Hermione does have a phone," Anne explained, "but you forget most of Britain outside the cities doesn't have signal. This is better. The letters B, A, S are alert levels for the Order. Right now, it's level B."
"That's brilliant," Harry said. "Is that how the Order stays in touch too?"
"Sometimes. But we've got other ways like enchanted rubbish bins." She smirked. "Blending in as a Muggle without using magic can be safer. Voldemort wants order now; he only targets the defiant. And London's too crowded to track everyone."
Harry nodded, impressed.
Anne flicked her wand. The scattered cans on the ground floated together, compressed into a ball, and silently landed in a trash bin across the square.
"Nice shot!" Harry said.
"Levitation's my specialty," Anne laughed. "Come on, let's head back. And remember tomorrow, I won't hold back."
"I know," Harry smiled. "You and Hermione are the same when you've made up your minds."
"True enough," Anne said with a grin. "Promise you'll keep it secret?"
"Absolutely. And… thanks for the gift."
Back upstairs, Anne watched Harry head up to the third floor. Her amber eyes flickered thoughtfully before she sank onto the living room sofa. She glanced toward the closed bedroom door and sighed.
She smelled faintly of alcohol. Best not to go in.
At dawn, Anne woke again. It was just before six. Stretching, she quietly opened the bedroom door. Hermione was still fast asleep.
Anne took her cloak and backpack from the rack, scribbled a note, and sent it floating to Hermione's bedside table with a flick of her wand. Then she closed the door gently behind her.