Chapter 149: A Second Order of Merlin
About a week after returning from the fourth-floor corridor, Russell relayed everything he had discovered to Quirrell.
It wasn't particularly sensitive information. After all, if the obstacles couldn't even stop a student, how could they possibly stop Quirrell?
In fact, Russell strongly suspected that when the protective measures had been arranged, Quirrell—no, Voldemort—had already known about them. Sending Russell in had merely been another test. A probe.
"What was in the final chamber?" Quirrell asked eagerly.
The last room had been prepared personally by Albus Dumbledore after everyone else had left, so Quirrell himself had no idea what it contained.
"There was a mirror," Russell replied, adopting a thoughtful expression. "When I looked into it, I saw my future—becoming Minister for Magic."
He shrugged lightly. "I'd guess the mirror shows you your future."
"What did it look like?" Voldemort's voice murmured inside Quirrell's mind, prompting him to press further.
Russell described the Mirror's grand frame and recited the strange inscription engraved across it.
"It sounds like the Mirror of Erised," Voldemort whispered in Quirrell's thoughts. "It reveals the deepest desires of the heart… But why would Dumbledore place it there?"
"Perhaps," Quirrell ventured cautiously, "you could find another opportunity to go back?"
Russell snorted. "Impossible. I ran into Dumbledore last night. He must have been alerted when I triggered the mechanism—otherwise why would he wander there in the middle of the night?"
"You didn't give anything away, did you?" Quirrell asked tensely.
"Of course not. I said I was simply curious," Russell replied, amused by Quirrell's nervousness. Even if Dumbledore had guessed something, what difference would it make? He had likely seen through Quirrell long ago.
"All right… all right," Quirrell muttered, somewhat embarrassed.
---
At noon, just as the students settled at their House tables for lunch, a sudden rush of wings filled the Great Hall. Owls poured in through the high windows, and parcels began raining down onto the long tables like a storm of wrapped gifts.
The younger students had to scramble to catch the falling parcels before they splashed straight into their soup.
To Russell's surprise, one envelope landed neatly in front of him. The wax seal looked oddly familiar.
It was from the Ministry of Magic.
"Oh," Russell murmured after scanning the contents, "it's an invitation to receive a Second-Class Order of Merlin."
He hadn't spoken loudly, but Cedric beside him still heard.
"Let me see," Cedric said, snatching the letter from Russell's hand. A moment later, his appetite visibly vanished.
"Why wasn't it me who caught Scabbers?" he muttered bitterly. "I knew Ron first. I saw Scabbers first. Why did it have to turn out like this?"
Russell ignored him and stood, scanning the hall for Senior Slughorn. He wanted to ask about the ceremony process.
"The award ceremony?" she repeated, slightly surprised. But once she saw the letter in his hand, understanding dawned. "Ah. This is about Sirius Black, isn't it?"
"Yes. It's my first time receiving a Second-Class Order of Merlin, so I'd like to know how it works."
"It's… rather lengthy," she said, frowning thoughtfully, then explained the procedure step by step.
"I see." Russell had never been fond of formal pomp and ceremony, but he understood. Many of the witches and wizards sitting on the Wizengamot were elders from Dumbledore's generation—being out of touch with the times was hardly unusual.
"Thank you, Senior," he said before returning to his seat.
The ceremony was scheduled for Sunday—no need to request leave.
---
On the appointed day, Russell traveled to the Ministry accompanied by Albus Dumbledore. Likely to show support—and protection. A Muggle-born student earning two Orders of Merlin in such a short time might well attract hostility.
Strictly speaking, even a Third-Class Order should have warranted a ceremony. But because the Wizengamot had been less than enthusiastic about Russell's Muggle background—and thanks to some quiet maneuvering by Gringotts—the medal had simply been mailed to him.
A Second-Class Order, however, demanded formality. Russell had to appear in person.
Dumbledore's concerns proved justified almost immediately. An elderly wizard rose and began criticizing Russell's attire.
"Look at you! What sort of appearance is this? I have never seen a recipient of a Second-Class Order of Merlin dress like that. You disgrace this sacred chamber!"
Russell glanced down at himself.
He was wearing his Hogwarts school uniform.
Before Dumbledore could respond, a familiar voice rang out behind them.
"Since when is the Wizengamot some exalted sanctuary?"
Russell turned, delight flashing across his face.
Esmeralda stood there in an exquisitely tailored robe, expression cool and unimpressed as she regarded the offending wizard.
"Russell is a member of the Addams family. Grolin—are you intending to make an enemy of us?"
She had always been blunt.
Behind her, Gomez adjusted his cravat and added smoothly, "The robes he's wearing were designed by one of Hogwarts' Four Founders—Helga Hufflepuff herself. The crest as well. Are you suggesting you're qualified to sneer at their work?"
Faced with that, Grolin's face flushed scarlet, and he sat down in silence.
"They care about you very much," Dumbledore murmured to Russell. "You have a remarkable family."
"You're absolutely right," Russell replied with a smile.
With both Dumbledore and the Addams family present as unmistakable backing, the remainder of the ceremony proceeded without incident. Russell formally received his Second-Class Order of Merlin.
"Magnificent, Russell!" Fester beamed, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Let me see the medal!"
Russell handed it over, then embraced each member of the Addams family in turn.
Pugsley hadn't come—he had school.
"As soon as we heard from Dumbledore, we came straight away," Esmeralda said, crunching on one of her homemade snacks. "You should have told us earlier."
"I didn't expect… that," Russell admitted, recalling the confrontation.
In truth, he had written to the Addams family the moment he learned about the award. Perhaps the letter simply hadn't reached them yet.
Either way, standing there—with Dumbledore on one side and the Addamses on the other—Russell felt no trace of isolation.
Whatever storms might come next, he would not be facing them alone.