Just as Draco finished the conversation, something unknown was unfolding far away.
12 Grimmauld Place...
This address lay in northwest London, about a twenty-minute walk from King's Cross Station.
Yet strangely, Muggles had no awareness of 12 Grimmauld Place at all.
More precisely, they had no concept of Number 12. Grimmauld Place clearly had Number 11 and Number 13, but Number 12 simply didn't exist in their perception.
It seemed illogical, but to Muggles, there was nothing unusual about it.
It wasn't that it didn't exist. They simply ignored the inconsistency without realizing it.
Because the house at 12 Grimmauld Place belonged to wizards.
And not just any wizards. This had once been the residence of a noble, ancient, and renowned pure-blood family.
Before its decline, that family had a name known to all.
One of the Sacred Twenty-Eight… the Black family.
From the outside, the house had a black-painted door covered in scratches, with a silver handle shaped like a coiled serpent.
As for why a serpent?
It was said to be tied to the Black family's history, though some believed it symbolized their loyalty to Slytherin House.
In any case.
A closer look would reveal that the door had no keyhole, nor any mailbox for Muggles to deliver letters.
There was only a doorbell. The moment it was pressed, it would awaken the portrait of Mrs. Walburga Black inside, alerting the occupants that a visitor had arrived.
Judging from these details alone, there was nothing particularly unusual about it by wizarding standards.
However, after 1985, this house became impossible to find. Not just for Muggles, but even for most wizards.
Because from that point on, it had been placed under the Fidelius Charm.
And this was the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.
...
The Order of the Phoenix.
An organization founded in the 1970s, during the First War against Voldemort.
In 1985, they selected 12 Grimmauld Place as their base.
And its founder was, of course, the wizard who stood at the forefront against Voldemort: Albus Dumbledore.
As an organization, it naturally consisted of more than just Dumbledore alone.
Among its members, one person Draco was quite familiar with was currently standing before the fireplace in the second-floor drawing room.
At first glance, his posture seemed somewhat stiff and unnatural.
Alastor Moody.
Crackle.
The firelight flickered across his face, making him look even older than the year before.
Or more accurately, even older than Professor Moody had looked after Barty Crouch Jr. drank the Polyjuice Potion.
The injuries from last year's kidnapping had taken their toll. Moody, already missing a leg, now looked even more unsteady on his feet.
A hoarse, grating voice, like stone grinding against stone, came from his throat.
"Molly, I'm sorry about Arthur. But I don't think he should stay in the hospital any longer. It only leaves him exposed to danger."
Following Moody's line of sight, it became clear that despite most of the light being blocked by him, several figures were seated on the worn, old-fashioned sofa in the living room.
"Alastor, St. Mungo's isn't as dangerous as you're making it sound. Lupin and Figg are watching over Arthur."
"…Hmph."
"Severus, do you have an issue with that?"
"It seems our Miss Tonks has quite the fondness for werewolves."
Once Moody sat down, the firelight filled the room again. It revealed Snape, dressed entirely in black with a cold sneer on his face, and Tonks with her strikingly bright hair. Beside them stood Mrs. Weasley, her brows tightly knit.
Putting aside Snape's obvious malice, the reason they had gathered here clearly had to do with Arthur Weasley.
As soon as Snape finished speaking, the first to respond wasn't Tonks, whose hair had already begun shifting colors, but Sirius Black, who had just stepped into the room.
"You can trust Lupin. I guarantee it."
"..."
The moment Sirius Black appeared, Snape's expression darkened even further.
Knowing the history between them, Molly spoke up instead of remaining silent, firmly rejecting Moody's suggestion.
"I'm sorry, Alastor. I can't let Arthur leave the hospital like this. I'm worried…"
"I don't think it would cause any lasting harm to a wizard. Trust me, I know exactly what these Dark Wizards are capable of."
"..."
Looking at Moody's scar-covered, intimidating face, Molly Weasley could only twitch her lips, unsure how to respond.
After all, a man missing one eye and one leg wasn't exactly the most convincing example.
Tonks, who understood just how cautious Moody could be, stepped in again to ease the tension.
"Dumbledore hasn't made any specific arrangements about this, Moody."
"…I don't need you to remind me. And I'm doing this for everyone's sake. Don't forget what kind of enemy we're up against. I'll make sure to remind Dumbledore myself."
Moody, never one for persuasion, dropped his final remark and strode off on his wooden leg.
Only after he left did Molly finally let out a soft breath.
Tonks leaned closer, her tone sympathetic.
"Alastor's getting more and more peculiar, isn't he?"
"Thanks, Tonks."
"Let's drop that. Black, did you talk to Harry?"
"Yeah… You know how things are with Harry. It's getting worse."
A trace of worry crossed Sirius Black's pale face. Though they hadn't spent much time together, it was clear he was genuinely concerned about Harry Potter.
At that moment, Sirius Black suddenly turned to Snape.
"Severus, I know you don't like the boy, but I hope you can…"
"Keep your mouth shut. I have no reason to take orders from you."
"Fine. But your progress hasn't met Dumbledore's expectations, has it?"
"Hmph. That's because Potter is so unbelievably incompetent."
The two were completely incompatible, like fire and water. It was hard to believe they belonged to the same organization.
Yet, none of the surrounding wizards made any move to stop them.
If anything, for the two of them, this already counted as holding back.