The atmosphere in the dimly lit room on the second floor of 12 Grimmauld Place was gloomy and filled with frustration.
Harry Potter paced back and forth, muttering under his breath and kicking the edge of the rug. Downstairs in the kitchen, the Order of the Phoenix was holding an emergency meeting following the attacks on Azkaban, and once again, the doors had been slammed in his face.
"It's ridiculous," Harry muttered, running his hands through his messy hair. "Sirius told me he'd treat me like an adult, and Dumbledore said he'd trust me, but at the first sign of danger, they lock me up up here as if I were eleven again and knew nothing of the world."
Sitting cross-legged on one of the beds, Ron Weasley didn't seem to share the same sense of urgency. He had a huge porcelain bowl on his lap and was chewing noisily.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Harry frowned, stopping in his tracks. The sound of Ron chewing with his mouth half-open was wearing down his already thin patience.
He turned toward his friend, irritation shining in his eyes.
"Ron, please, could you stop eating like that? It sounds like you're chewing gravel," he said loudly.
Ron stopped his jaw mid-chew. He looked up at Harry, swallowed, and gave him a smile smeared with oil and salt, with no intention of letting go of the bowl.
"You need to chill out, mate," Ron replied, amused by his attitude, holding out the bowl. "You should come over and have a few with me. Honestly, I had no idea Muggles were capable of creating something as incredibly delicious as these 'potato chips.' They're really addictive."
Harry looked at Ron, then at the bowl of golden, crispy chips, feeling all his anger deflate, replaced by an overwhelming weariness. He let out a sigh, walked over to the bed, and slumped heavily down next to his friend.
"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry murmured, grabbing a handful of potato chips and popping a couple into his mouth. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. It's just that all this has me on edge."
Ron burst out laughing and gave him a friendly pat on the back.
"Don't worry about it. At this point, I'm more than used to your mood swings, Harry."
They both laughed for a while, the tension dissipating thanks to the simple, comforting normality of sharing junk food. However, they weren't completely alone.
In a dark corner of the room, Kreacher was wiping a dirty rag across the dusty shelves. The old house-elf kept muttering to himself, his raspy voice barely echoing above the crunch of the chips.
"...poor Kreacher... Kreacher failed his master... it is a disgrace to the house..." the elf stammered, punishing himself by gently banging his head against the wood of the cabinet.
Ron stopped chewing and frowned.
"What's wrong with that elf?" she asked Harry in a low voice. "He's been like this ever since we walked in."
Harry shrugged, looking at the creature with a mixture of pity and distaste.
"I don't know. All Sirius told me is that this used to be his younger brother's room, Regulus Black. I guess cleaning it brings back memories."
At the sound of that name, Kreacher stopped dead in his tracks. He spun around with terrifying speed, his large, bloodshot eyes boring into Harry with pure hatred.
"That filthy half-blood has no right to sully Master Regulus's name with his filthy mouth!" Kreacher screamed, baring his teeth in a snarl.
But almost instantly, the elf's fury broke. He lowered his head until his long nose brushed the floor and began to sob bitterly, tugging at his ears.
"But the half-blood is right! Kreacher failed him… Kreacher couldn't do it…"
Harry and Ron exchanged a curious glance. They set the bowl aside.
"How did you fail your master, Kreacher?" Harry asked, moving a little closer to the edge of the bed.
Kreacher shot him a venomous glare from the floor, clenching his fists.
"That is none of the blood-traitor's friend's business! Master Regulus's secrets go to the grave with Kreacher!"
Harry frowned. He was tired of secrets, of people withholding information from him everywhere, even within the Order's headquarters. Remembering that Sirius was the rightful owner of the house and the elf, he decided to play that card.
"In the name of Sirius Black, your current master, I command you to answer us immediately, Kreacher," Harry said in a firm, authoritative voice.
The elf choked. The magical compulsion of the direct order forced him to straighten up, writhing as if in pain. He muttered a string of dark curses against Sirius and Harry, but finally, unable to disobey, he spat out the words.
"Before he died… Master Regulus entrusted Kreacher with a very important task," the elf confessed, his raspy voice dropping to a whisper of panic and pain. "He ordered Kreacher to eliminate and destroy a very dark and powerful object. Kreacher kept it, Kreacher tried everything to destroy it, but he couldn't…"
Suddenly, the elf's voice rose into a hysterical scream, filled with pent-up frustration.
"But then, then the Serpent Boy came! He burst into the noble mistress's house and took it! He snatched it right out of Kreacher's hands! And because of him, Kreacher could never carry out his master's final order!"
The echo of the elf's screams bounced off the walls of the room.
Harry and Ron looked at each other, completely baffled.
"The Serpent Boy?" Ron asked, scratching his head. "What on earth is he talking about?"
Harry stared into space. "Serpent Boy?" he repeated in an inaudible whisper.
A chill ran down his spine. For a split second, like a flash, the arrogant, icy image of Aurelian Gaunt crossed his mind. His connection to snakes was known to everyone at Hogwarts, as was his dark lineage.
But almost as quickly as the thought had come, Harry shook his head, dismissing it violently. It was impossible. Aurelian Gaunt might be arrogant, but he wasn't a thief. Besides, what interest would Gaunt have in an old Black family heirloom? It had to be something else.
Before Harry could ask his next question about the enigmatic "Serpent Boy" and the stolen object, the door to the room creaked open.
Ginny poked her head in.
"The Order meeting is over," she announced, looking at both of them. "Mom says to come down for dinner right away."
The mystery of Kreacher had to take a back seat. The old elf took advantage of the interruption to slip into the shadows of the hallway, muttering curses under his breath. Harry let out another sigh, exchanged one last meaningful glance with Ron, and they both followed Ginny down the stairs.
When they reached the spacious kitchen, the atmosphere was heavy and somber.
Seated around the long wooden table, lit only by a few flickering candles, were Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Arthur Weasley. None of them seemed to have noticed that the teenagers had entered; they were engulfed in a deathly silence.
"Good evening," Harry greeted them cautiously, taking a seat across from his godfather.
Only Lupin and Arthur returned a faint murmur by way of greeting. Sirius gave him a tense, forced smile that didn't reach his eyes.
That was when Harry's gaze fell on the center of the table. There was a copy of the evening edition of The Daily Prophet spread wide open. The headline, printed in huge black letters that seemed to scream from the page, highlighted two names in particular.
Harry frowned, leaning forward to read it aloud.
"THE MINISTRY AT A CROSSROADS: NEW LEADERSHIP? AMELIA BONES AND TOM GAUNT EMERGE AS FAVORITES"
The pronunciation of that surname echoed through the silent kitchen. Harry looked up from the newspaper and turned directly toward the Headmaster.
"Professor Dumbledore, what does this mean? Who is Tom Gaunt?" Harry asked.
But Albus was lost in his own world. The Archmage had his gaze fixed on the tabletop, but his eyes seemed to be seeing something else, darkened by shadows Harry had never seen before. He made no indication that he had heard the question.
Seeing that Dumbledore wasn't going to give the boy any answers, Arthur Weasley cleared his throat and leaned over the table.
"With recent events… the mass breakout at Azkaban and the public pressure, Fudge finally lost his position this afternoon," Arthur explained, his voice reflecting the exhaustion of having dealt with the panic at the Ministry all day. "The country is terrified, Harry. The Wizengamot is desperately looking for someone strong to lead the Ministry in times of crisis."
Arthur placed his index finger on the newspaper on the table.
"Those two are currently the frontrunners for the position. Madame Bones, for her leadership in the Department of Magical Security… and him."
"And this Gaunt?" Harry pressed, pointing to the somewhat blurry moving photograph of a man smiling diplomatically at the cameras. "Is he related to Aurelian Gaunt? Where did he come from?"
Arthur sighed heavily.
"No one knows exactly where he came from, Harry. It's all very confusing these days. But he has the unconditional and financial support of the entire Dark faction. Furthermore, he's been representing the House of Gaunt in the Wizengamot for the past few weeks. The man is a brilliant orator… terrifyingly persuasive. He's won over a great many supporters from the Grey Faction thanks to his speeches about restoring our country's 'lost glory' and propelling it toward new horizons."
Sirius, who had been clenching his jaw while listening to Arthur, turned his face toward Dumbledore.
"Albus," Sirius called out, his tone urgent, clearly picking up a conversation they'd been having before Harry and Ron entered. "About what we were talking about a moment ago… Will Aurelian help us? Having him on the Order's side would tip the scales in our favor, especially with those inventions of his."
Dumbledore blinked slowly, finally emerging from his reverie. He looked up at Sirius, appearing a hundred years older in that very moment.
"I'll see what I can do to speak with him and ensure he supports the Order," Dumbledore replied, his voice weary. "But I'll be frank with you, Sirius. Right now, I find that highly unlikely."
Sirius frowned.
"Why? Is it related to this other Gaunt who's been nominated for Minister?"
Dumbledore simply nodded with a slow, heavy movement of his head. The true implications of that nod—that Tom Gaunt and Lord Voldemort were the same person, and that Aurelian was working side by side with him—remained locked away in the Headmaster's mind, a secret too great to reveal in that kitchen… at least for the moment.
Before Harry could demand a further explanation, the kitchen door burst open with a crash.
Mrs. Weasley hurried in, levitating steaming trays of beef stew, roasted potatoes, and freshly baked bread. Her face was tense, but her voice took on that authoritative tone that brooked no argument.
"Enough!" exclaimed Molly Weasley, setting the plates down on the table with a thud and pushing The Daily Prophet aside. "Enough politics, war, and bad news for today! Everyone is exhausted. Now let's have dinner, and we'll think about saving the world tomorrow morning. Eat up!"
Molly's command put an end to the argument. The adults began to serve themselves in silence, the uncertainty stifling any attempt at casual conversation.
Harry picked up his spoon, but he had no appetite. He began to stir the stew on his plate mechanically, watching as the meat and vegetables swirled in the thick sauce.
Kreacher and the "Serpent boy," the attack on Azkaban, Fudge losing his position, and now this mysterious Tom Gaunt on the verge of taking control of the country. Everything was connected in some way he couldn't quite grasp.
Harry clenched the spoon until his knuckles turned white. He was surrounded by adults, by teachers and friends, and yet he knew absolutely nothing about what was really going on. That ignorance infuriated him deeply, but it also terrified him.
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