FicWad

Chapter 25 – The Order of the Phoenix

Harry's breaths were ragged and his heart was beating a rapid, demanding tattoo in his chest. He could feel the sweat dripping from his brow and the beads of perspiration forming and sliding down the back of his neck. He slowed his pace, his lungs burning and refusing to allow him to continue at a run. While he could employ Occlumency to ignore such ails and push himself to the extreme, the whole point of working out was to push himself physically without having to use mental energy.

Harry raised his hands above his head and continued at a steady walk, refusing to give into the urge to stop and double over with panted breaths. Pathetic, he thought to himself derisively, as the soles of his running shoes sunk into the soft forest floor repeatedly, being caked with an ever thickening layer of mud and forest debris. In the other world, he been able to run for miles, while keeping up a decent pace that had allowed him to put significant amounts of distance between him and his start point within just a few hours. Not to mention, he'd been able to fight in battles that had lasted not only hours, but sometimes days.

All Harry could manage in his current body was a five minute sprint, before having to slow back down to a walk and catch his breath. He'd repeated this sequence several times already and was closing in on his family's cottage once more. Upon stepping from the forest boundary into the back garden and moving quickly beyond the last sliver of shade that remained of the morning sun's rise above the forest to beat down on Godric's Hollow, the nearly high noon sun seared his already heated flesh. He followed the garden's center path, casting cleaning and drying charms on his running shoes as he did so. His mother would be even more displeased with him than she already was, if he tracked mud into the house.

“Ten minutes, Harry.”

Harry heard his mother call to him from the kitchen, as he dashed through the back door and made for the stairs. “No worries, Mum,” he said, knowing that he only needed five minutes at the most. Upon rounding the top of the stairs, he was met with a slammed door from up the hall.

Bethany.

Harry regarded his sister's closed door with a cross between annoyance and concern for but a half-second, before turning and making for the bathroom. He needed a shower and to get dressed in clothing that wasn't soaked through with sweat. He didn't have time to deal with his sister, who had refused to talk to him or so much as look at him or his father all morning. She'd even snubbed Sirius at breakfast, much to their host's displeasure. Apparently, they were all liars, which wasn't exactly something that they could deny. Entering the bathroom swiftly, he turned on the shower to a lukewarm temperature and began shrugging off his sticky, dirty, and distinctly smelly shirt. His shoes, socks, shorts, and pants were soon to follow.

It was over seven minutes later that Harry stood in his family's sitting room – showered, dressed in a casual tunic shirt, jeans, and his boots, and munching on a sandwich his mother had made him. His father stood beside him, looking like the nap that he'd taken, after they'd finally returned home for what had remained of the morning, had at least taken the edge off.

Lucky bastard, Harry thought with envy. He had tried to take a nap as well, but had been too restless and had been forced to settle for a ridiculously long workout session instead.

“... and try not to spend it all in one place,” his mother continued to lecture Bethany, as she hand over a money pouch filled with one and five pound notes to her daughter. “You may have to buy yourselves dinner.”

Bethany glared, her hazel eyes communicating that they had best be home before dinner, because the world would surely end if she had to babysit the Black children well into supper. The fact that her mother had just given her a significant amount of cash for her and the Black children to enjoy the Garlic Festival with was far from being a consolation.

Lily sighed. “This is important, Bethany. I need you to be a grown-up about this. Please.”

“Just because Harry wants to play grown-up –” Bethany began, casting a nasty look at her brother.

“You brother is doing what he must,” James said sharply, silencing Bethany under an authoritative stare. “And you will do what you must to support this family. You'll be turning twelve at the end of the month. That's old enough to start taking on some responsibility.”

Before another word could be so much as uttered, the floo flared and Sirius stepped out carrying Caelum in his arms – the man dressed in wizard attire and the toddler dressed in appropriate Muggle attire. Sirius had no sooner stepped aside, when Mayra arrived with Mira clutching her right hand and Aries clutching her left hand. The two elder Black children were also dressed to fit in with the Muggles. Aries had been fitted with denim shorts, a plain white shirt, and sandals, similar to his younger brother's outfit, while Mira had on a pretty pink sun dress adorned with daisies.

“Bethany,” Mira exclaimed excitedly, her young face lighting up at the sight of the older black haired girl. With all the energy and eagerness of a five year old, she dashed away from her mother's attempt to rid her of soot and launched herself at Bethany, who barely caught the younger girl and prevented them both from careening back into the couch. “Mummy says we get to stay with you!”

“Yes, you do,” Bethany confirmed, smiling a fake smile. “Won't it be fun?” Her sarcasm was lost on the five year old, but not on the adults.

Mira nodded enthusiastically, looking like she couldn't think of anything that could possibly be more fun.

“Why isn't Harry staying?” Aries pouted, as he batted away his mother's wand, clearly deciding that he was as free of soot as he was going to get. He sounded as if he'd asked the question several times already and was unsatisfied with the answers he'd gotten. This time, he directed his question at James and Lily, rather than his own mother and father.

“Hawy bye-byes wif Dada 'n' Mama.” Caelum glowered at his older brother, as Sirius set him down, looking as if he couldn't understand what his brother didn't understand about the concept.

Aries rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I get that, but why –”

“I'm not late, am I?” Remus asked, as he tumbled out of the floo and nearly knocked into the Blacks.

“Uncle Remus, why does Harry get to go and we don't?” Aries turned to the tawny haired man and crossed his arms over his chest with petulance plain on his face.

“Er…” Remus said and looked to Harry.

“Yes, why is Harry forced to go, while this lot gets to have a nice day in the village?” Harry indicated to his sister and the three young Blacks, while pinning his mother, Mayra, and Remus with pointed looks in turn. If it weren't for them, his mother specifically, he wouldn't be going to the meeting at all.

“We're not having this discussion again,” Lily said briskly to Harry and turned back to Bethany. “Be safe,” she said, embracing her daughter and kissing her forehead. “And don't –”

“– spend too much in one place,” Bethany finished for her mother, as she returned the embrace.

This prompted good-byes to be exchanged all around, much to Bethany and the Black children's discontentment. Never had they been left entirely alone before and Harry could see his sister's worry beneath her attitude. If he thought that it would help, he would have attempt to reassure her that they'd be just fine. The Garlic Festival would have them so busy that they'd hardly recognize the hours slipping by. As things were between them, however, he sincerely doubted she cared for his opinion.

With one last warning to the Black children to 'listen to Bethany and be good', Harry was herded out to the front garden by his parents, Sirius, Mayra, and Remus. Bethany scowled after them and shut the front door behind them with a resound snap.

“This is a bloody awful idea,” Harry said, in one last effort to get his mother to release him from attending the Order meeting.

“Language.” Lily threated her son to a reprimanding glare, as her husband pulled out the portkey Alastor had supplied their party with earlier in the morning, as the wards around Oakmere Manor were on full alert and only authorized portkeys were able to get through.

“But this really is a bloody awful idea,” Sirius agreed wholeheartedly with his godson, giving Harry a sympathetic and somewhat worried look.

James's own concern for his son showed only in his eyes, as they rested upon Harry. He said nothing, though, obliviously remembering the conversation they had had after breakfast that morning all too clearly. He held out the portkey, a line of knotted rope.

Harry hesitated. He'd thought about his position on joining the Order all throughout breakfast and had come to the conclusion that it was a terrible, truly terrible, absolutely horrible idea. He had had every intention of turning down the invitation extended to him. That is, until his mother, supported by Mayra and Remus, had declared a conflicting view on the matter and had explained in excruciating detail why he should join the Order not a second after he had informed them of his desire to keep distance between him and the Order.

As Harry hadn't been about to explain to his mother, Mayra, and Remus about the other world – not because his father and godfather had made him promise not to, but because he hadn't wanted to tempt fate and open that can of worms after the morning he'd already had and still preferred that Mayra and Remus knew nothing about it – he had found himself being shanghaied by illogical logic that was only logical when one didn't factor in the fact that he had a plethora of experience in warfare that had shaped and changed him in ways that they had yet to understand.

Harry envisioned a cell in Azkaban with his name on it, as he stared contritely at the proffer portkey, which would bring him in perpetual close contact with Albus Dumbledore. Such a bad idea.

“Harry,” Lily said and cast a meaningful glance at the portkey.

All the adults had a hold of the rope. They were waiting on him.

“I'm so going to regret this,” Harry murmured more to himself than anyone else and took hold of the portkey as well.

'A united front between us will be better for all of us,' Mayra had insisted.

'It'll be a stabler and safer way for you to procure the information that you obviously feel is necessary for you to know. Dumbledore has spies, Harry, who are more capable of discerning Voldemort's plans than you, your father, and Sirius ever will be,' his mother had informed him, while pinning him, his father, and Sirius with disapproving looks. 'I'd rather you be in the Order than off gallivanting about the night without any backup, let alone anyone knowing where you are. As I can't keep you from the war,' here she had glared at James, 'then I insist you compromise with me on this.'

'Going against Dumbledore –' 'I'm not –' 'Fine, refusing to join the Order when you've no intentions of staying out of the war or aligning yourself with the Ministry either … It'll look bad, Harry, like you're –' 'I'm not!' 'We, your family, know this and will trust this, but what will others think? For most people, having to worry about two warring faction will be bad enough, the possibility of a third … Harry, the Peverell name does not favor you on this,' Remus had pointed out to him with brutal honesty and his father and godfather had begrudgingly agreed with the tawny haired man.

Harry had to admit that even he could see sense in Remus's words. People would and already did assume that he had stepped forward and reclaimed the Honour of Peverell for a reason. 'If not to take back his family's legacy and position, then why else?' would be the skeptical question on every person's mind, should he raise an army of his own with no alliance established between him and Dumbledore or him and the Ministry, even if he stated his intentions of standing against Voldemort and his Death Eaters in simple, unmistakable English.

Harry had of course argued vehemently against all that they had said, but the three had been steadfast in their positions and were ill-equipped to understand his reservation for joining the Order, as he had made it quite plain from the start that he had every intention of being an active participant in the war and his father and godfather had back him fully, which had been a minor argument in and of itself, if only for the sake of someone protesting a fourteen year old –emancipated and the Baron of the Peak he may be – joining the war effort. In the end, his mother had demanded that he give her one good reason why he shouldn't join the Order, a legitimate reason that wasn't contrived bollocks or a half-truth at best. When he'd remained silent under the force of her glare – her eyes showing just how hurt, upset, and visibly fearful for him she was – she had turned to his father and godfather for answers, which they had given none.

'You're joining, Harold James,' she had said in a manner that suggested she would accept nothing less from him. 'If you love and respect me as your mother, you will do this for me.'

The discussion had ended then and there with Mayra and Remus in full support of Lily's resolve and James, Sirius, and Harry wary of the consequences that would surely come from Harry working closely with Dumbledore and the Order. No one had doubt what his final decision would be.

The jerk of the portkey pulling at his navel and the world turning to spinning colors around him jolted Harry from his reveries and cemented the finality of his choice, which his mother had made no choice at all. /Already regretting this,/he thought, as a queasy sensation accompanied the pull of the portkey. Between taking a portkey or the floo, he'd pick the floo every time and that was saying something, considering he despised the floo network with every bone of his body.

The entrance hall of Oakmere Manor was noisy. That was the first thing that Harry registered, as he touched down upon the familiar marble floor of a light cream color and felt the sun's rays warm the back of his neck, as they poured in through the clerestory windows that vaulted the entrance hall to a full two stories, the full height of the 16th century manor. The noise died down swiftly, as many eyes came to rest upon the newly arrived party.

There was an awkward, tense sort of silence, where the circumstance of the new arrivals' presence was obvious, yet uncertainty, distrust, doubt, and surprise afflicted the room.

“My lords, my lady,” Frank greeted Harry, Sirius, and Mayra respectfully, as he stepped forward from where he'd been in conversation with Elphias Doge, whose silver hair was as thin and his belly just as portly as ever. He bowed to his fellow nobles in the manner of his role as their host and friend. “James, Lily, Remus.” He acknowledge each in turn with a welcoming smile and a tilt of his head. “The meeting will be in the dining hall. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

As if Frank's words had not been directed merely at the group of six to arrive most recently, but at the hall as a whole, a consensus swept through the present Order of the Phoenix members and those who had previously refrained from moving from the entrance hall in order to greet old friends and speculate on why the Order had been recalled moved towards the dining hall at last.

Harry hung back. Once the entrance hall was mostly empty, he made his way over to Frank, who had not move from his place beside the right stairs – no doubt waiting for the last of their number to arrive. The blond man didn't seem at all surprised that he had approached him.

“I said nothing,” Frank said seriously in a low undertone, meeting Harry's gaze with open honesty that besought Harry to believe him.

What the man had said nothing about Harry needed not ask. “I know,” Harry said, having been confident in Frank's discretion and undoubting of it to the very moment. “I merely wished to inquire after Neville. I would have … earlier, but … well, I –”

“– had more pressing issues on your mind,” Frank supplied with a knowing look.

Harry nodded.

“He's shook up.” Frank released a weary sigh. “He was supposed to have Dean, Seamus, and Ron over yesterday, but … we had to cancel.”

“He's refusing to leave the greenhouse, isn't he?” Harry held back a sigh of his own. So typically Neville, he thought with exasperation and affection. Plants, in both worlds, had always been his friend's safe haven.

“Alice barely got him to go up to bed last night.” Frank grimaced.

The gestured was telling. The mystery of why Frank had been drinking his way through a decanter of Firewhisky with his godfather at two o'clock in the morning no longer seemed like such a mystery to Harry. Knowing exactly what the sort of trauma Neville had experienced could do to kid, he felt sympathy for his friend.

“Do you think he'd mind, if I dropped in on him after the meeting?” Harry asked with the barest hint of uncertainty, not sure if Neville would want to see him after watching him kill a woman.

“I'd be grateful, if you did,” Frank said with sincerity. “Alice too. Whether he'd mind or not, I haven't a clue.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at Frank, having expected that the father would have known his son's state of mind.

Frank shifted uncomfortably. “Dumbledore will be here soon. You best head in and get seated.”

Harry regarded Frank a second longer, before turning away from the man and making for the open, intricately carved double doors that led to the dining hall. As he stepped from the entrance hall and into the dining hall, he felt eyes settle upon him, if only surreptitiously. Upon sweeping his gaze up the dinning table that was made of polished oak and looked as if it could easily seat twenty or more people, he located his parents, Sirius, Mayra, and Remus seated roughly about the middle of the table.

With a purposeful stride, Harry made his way around the end of the table, passing behind Emmeline Vance and Dedalus Diggle's chairs, to the empty seat between his father and godfather and directly across from his mother, who was sitting between Mayra and Remus. The eyes followed his every move. He maintained an unperturbed countenance.

“How's Neville?” James asked quietly, as Harry claimed the seat they'd reserved for him.

With the silence of the room, his father lowering his voice was about as effective at keeping their conversation private as trying to knock a troll out with a feather pillow. Harry gave his father a look that communicated as much. “At the moment … obsessively attempting to cultivate a Venomous Snare, I believe.”

“A what?” Remus asked, giving Harry a look that suggested he quiet possibly didn't want know.

The sound of a group of persons arriving by portkey out in the entrance hall saved Harry from having to supply an answer. Sitting forward in his seat and looking back towards the entrance hall, Harry saw Frank greet Dumbledore and two others. It wasn't the wizen wizard or the stern witch in emerald robes beside Dumbledore who drew and held his attention.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Sirius growled.

“The same thing we are, I'd imagine,” Lily said sharply with a note of warning.

“I wouldn't be so certain of that,” Harry refuted darkly, his eyes locked on the greasy hair, black eyes, and overly large, hooked nose of a man that he quite possibly hated more than he hated Nikita Kalinouski, hated nearly as much as he hated Voldemort. The urge to strike down Severus Snape right where the bastard stood burned his veins, tensed his muscles, and settled his mind set into that of a killer as naturally as taking his next breath.

I ought to kill him purely on principle, Harry thought insidiously, not really caring if this world's Snape had actually turned sides or not. Judging from his memories of his Potions classes with the man, Snape was just as much of a miserable, unbearable fuck as he'd always been. He'd be dumbfounded, if Snape was truly loyal to Dumbledore. In the other world, Dumbledore had had his mother's death to hold over Snape. In this world, his mother was alive, but she remained cold to him. Harry was highly inclined to believe that Dumbledore's hold over Snape was even shakier in this world than in the other.

A painful kick to his shin, snapped Harry out of his homicidal contemplations. A jaw clenched grimace saved him from exclaiming his pain. As he met his mother's narrowed eyes across the table, reality of his surroundings came back to him. He leaned back in his chair and composed a look of indifference upon his face. Judging from his father and Sirius's mirrored actions, he hadn't been the only one to receive a jarring kick beneath the table.

As Dumbledore led the procession of McGonagall, Snape, and Frank into the dining hall, Harry made it a point to avoid looking at Snape. In fact, he focused his gaze out the window behind his mother and refused to let it waver, even as Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, and Frank passed before him. The sky, he noted, was a fathomless blue, extending over Oakmere Manor, touching upon the oak blanketed hills in the distance, and reflecting across the surface of the small lake that he remembered many of his summer days in years past being spent beside or within. The teenage longing to be outside, instead of couped up inside, hit him with force and made him all the more unwilling to sit through a meeting that he hadn't even wanted to attend.

“Good afternoon,” Dumbledore's voice drifted down the table from where he had claimed the head of the table. He sounded tired and his greeting was appropriately grave. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I know many of you had to cancel your plans for the day.”He paused.

Feeling the heavy weight of Dumbledore's eyes upon him, Harry tore his gaze away from the picturesque scene outside the window and looked to the head of the table.

“I must give my profoundest apologies to you, Lord Peverell, for having disrupted your birthday of all days,” Dumbledore said with wholehearted sincerity, as his and Harry's eyes connected. “I'm grateful that you and your family,” his gaze moved from Harry to James, across the table to Remus, Lily, and Mayra, and back around to Sirius, before resettling on Harry, “agreed to accept the invitations extended to you, despite the day and our past differences.”

Harry nodded stiffly in acknowledgement and acceptance of the apology, while wondering just when he had lost track of time so badly that he hadn't even realized that today was his birthday.

“Now,” Dumbledore continued with a grim air, seeming to realize that a nod was all he was going to get from Harry for the time being, “to get right at the heart of matter, I bear the regrettable burden of informing you that Lord Voldemort is active once more.”

At the outbursts, gasps, and startled looks of their fellow meeting attendees, excluding Frank, Alice, and Mad-Eye, it became apparent to Harry and the five adults surrounding him that his mother and Mayra had to have been the only ones that Mad-Eye had told about Lord Voldemort being active.

“Are you certain, Albus?” Sturgis Podmore asked from the other side of Mayra.

“Quite,”Dumbledore said, his aged features solemn. “I would not have called you all here, if I were not. I have long suspected that Voldemort did not die thirteen years ago, as many of you know. This morning I received indisputable proof that he is … not alive necessarily, I do not believe … but he is gathering his forces in preparation of his full revival. The magics he is using to do this, I cannot say.”He frowned, looking perplexed and deeply concerned. “We can only hope to prepare ourselves and gather our own forces before he succeeds.”