(Gilderoy Lockhart)
Saturday, November 6, 1993
12 Grimmauld Place, Black Family Ancestral House.
Well, this is awkward.
The thought formed the exact moment I stepped through the narrow hallway and found myself face to face with Nymphadora Tonks.
She blinked once, then snorted.
"You tell me…"
Ah.
I winced slightly.
"I said that aloud, didn't I?"
Sirius, who had been leaning casually against the peeling wallpaper moments before, looked between the two of us.
His eyebrows climbed higher and higher.
"Wait," he said slowly. "Don't tell me you two had a thing?"
Tonks crossed her arms, far too quickly for someone entirely unaffected. "Don't worry," she replied. "That ended about a week ago."
"Indeed," I added lightly. "You needn't concern yourself. I won't start snogging your niece under your roof."
Remus let out a quiet laugh at the expression that overtook Sirius's face, somewhere between horror and outrage.
Sirius dragged a hand down his face. "I hate all of this."
"Yes, well," I said smoothly, brushing imaginary dust from my sleeve, "I assure you it is entirely over."
It sounded more composed than it felt.
"Are we the only ones here?" I asked, shifting the subject before the atmosphere could curdle further.
Sirius shook his head sharply, as if physically dislodging the mental image I had so generously provided.
"No. The others are in the kitchen. It's the cleanest room so far. Kreacher's been working hard to fix the place up, but…" His voice dipped slightly. "He's gotten old."
A faint thump echoed from deeper inside the house, followed by what sounded suspiciously like muttered elf-sized swearing.
"Then what are we waiting for?" Tonks said briskly. "Let's go in already."
We made our way through the dim corridors of Grimmauld Place, the air thick with dust and the lingering scent of old magic. The house felt heavy. Not merely old, but watchful. Portraits lined the walls under dark cloths, though I could feel the weight of unseen eyes behind the fabric.
The kitchen door creaked as we entered.
Most of the Order was already gathered around the long wooden table.
Alastor Moody sat with his back to the wall, magical eye whirring faintly as it scanned each new arrival. Kingsley Shacklebolt sat upright and composed beside him, hands folded neatly. Professor McGonagall maintained impeccable posture despite the ancient chair beneath her. Hagrid occupied nearly a quarter of the bench on his own, looking slightly nervous in the cramped space.
Hestia Jones and Emmeline Vance were speaking quietly near the far end. Dedalus Diggle gave me a small enthusiastic wave. Sturgis Podmore leaned toward Arthur Weasley, who was gesturing animatedly about something involving Muggle electrical wiring.
And then…
Mundungus Fletcher.
My nose twitched involuntarily in distaste.
By the stove, Molly Weasley was in the middle of a firm but maternal argument with Kreacher, who was clutching a ladle defensively.
"It is Kreacher's duty to prepare meals for the noble House of Black!" the elf insisted, his voice raspy with age.
"And I'm not questioning your dedication," Molly replied, hands on hips, "but you will let me help."
Seeing me enter, Molly's expression brightened immediately.
"Gilderoy!" she exclaimed warmly. "Oh, we were just saying how grateful we still are for everything you've done for my children."
Ah.
Here we go again.
Thankfully, the door opened again at that precise moment.
Albus Dumbledore entered the kitchen with serene composure, silver beard flowing as though moved by a breeze only he could feel. Beside him walked Severus Snape, whose expression suggested he would rather be anywhere else, preferably somewhere devoid of humanity.
Snape's dark gaze swept the room, lingering with open distaste on Sirius.
"Snivellus," Sirius greeted lazily.
"Black," Snape replied coolly. "A shame they saw fit to let you go free."
The air sharpened instantly.
Sirius's jaw tightened. "You might have joined me in Azkaban, if not for Dumbledore's generosity. I hear he saved your sorry hide all those years ago."
Snape's lip curled.
"Gentlemen," Dumbledore interjected mildly, though his blue eyes were no longer twinkling. "This is hardly the time to revisit schoolyard grievances."
Neither man looked satisfied, but neither reached for a wand.
A wise decision.
Dumbledore moved to the head of the table, resting his hands lightly on its scarred surface.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began calmly, "thank you for coming on such short notice."
The quiet that followed was immediate and complete. Even Kreacher ceased muttering.
"As you are all aware," Dumbledore continued, "the recent mass breakout from Azkaban has altered the balance of our world in ways we cannot ignore."
Moody's magical eye spun faster.
"Multiple high-risk prisoners are now at large," Dumbledore said gravely. "Among them several confirmed Death Eaters."
A low murmur rippled through the table.
"The Ministry is scrambling to maintain public confidence," Kingsley added in his deep, steady voice. "Officially, they are calling it an isolated security failure."
Moody snorted. "Security failure? The Dementors don't just 'fail.' They withdrew."
That earned him a sharp glance from McGonagall.
Dumbledore inclined his head slightly. "There have been… whispers."
The word settled like frost over the room.
"Whispers that certain individuals are beginning to mobilize after a decade of silence."
No one needed clarification.
"And," Dumbledore finished quietly, "all signs increasingly point toward the possible return of Lord Voldemort."
The name fell into the room like a dropped blade.
Hestia inhaled sharply. Dedalus shifted uncomfortably. Even Arthur stopped fidgeting.
I remained still.
Outwardly composed.
Inwardly calculating.
Dumbledore's gaze moved deliberately from face to face.
"The Order must be prepared," he said. "We will resume full operations effective immediately."
A pause.
"Trust will be vital. Discretion, absolute. The enemy thrives in shadows."
My fingers tapped once against the table before I stilled them.
Full operations.
So the quiet years are truly over.
Across the table, Tonks's eyes met mine for the briefest moment.
I looked away first.
There would be time to navigate personal complications later.
If we survived what was coming.
…
Dumbledore's gaze shifted slowly toward the shadows near the wall.
"Severus," he said gently, "if you would?"
Snape uncrossed one ankle from the other and pushed himself upright with deliberate slowness. He folded his arms across his chest, black sleeves blending into the dimness behind him, and let his eyes drift across the table as if assessing a classroom of particularly disappointing students.
"I have not been summoned," he began in his usual silken drawl. "The Dark Lord is exercising… caution. Communication is restricted. Compartmentalized."
A faint crease formed between McGonagall's brows.
"However," Snape continued, "information does not cease to exist merely because it is concealed. There are… leaks."
Moody's magical eye fixed on him, unblinking.
"I have reason to believe," Snape said, lowering his voice slightly, forcing the room to lean in, "that several of the escapees are withdrawing from Britain. Preparations are being made elsewhere. Recruitment efforts have begun outside the country."
A murmur spread again, heavier this time.
"They intend to return," Snape finished softly, "with numbers. With force. They will seek to overwhelm before resistance can properly organize."
The words settled like cold ash.
"But that also gives us time to prepare countermeasures," I said, before I could stop myself.
The sentence cut cleanly through the tension.
Snape's head turned toward me with glacial precision. His upper lip curled ever so slightly at the interruption, but he did not immediately retaliate.
Encouraging.
I straightened in my chair, aware that every eye had shifted to me now.
"My sources indicate the same pattern," I continued evenly. "Security among their circles has tightened considerably in the past few days. Movement has increased. They're unsettled."
Kingsley leaned forward slightly. "Unsettled?"
"Yes," I replied. "They know staying here is dangerous. After the breakout, the Ministry is under scrutiny. Auror patrols have doubled. Surveillance spells in certain districts have intensified."
Tonks gave the smallest nod at that.
"It's only a matter of time before they're discovered if they remain in the country," I went on. "Retreating allows them to consolidate without pressure."
Snape gave a soft, disdainful exhale but chose not to interrupt further.
"The bastards are slippery," Moody growled, voice like gravel dragged over stone. He thumped his wooden leg once against the floor. "We caught one of the escapees two days ago. Knockturn Alley."
Several heads turned sharply.
"Just one of the lesser names," Moody continued. "Not important enough to make the Prophet headlines. We brought him in. Restrained him and administered Veritaserum."
"And?" Arthur asked quietly.
Moody's scarred face hardened.
"As soon as it took hold," he said, "he began to convulse violently. Foam at the mouth. Eyes rolled back. He was dead within seconds."
A stunned silence followed.
"Poison?" Emmeline Vance whispered.
"No," Moody replied. "Curse-triggered failsafe. Something embedded deep. Likely activated when certain information was about to be disclosed."
"That is… deeply concerning," Dumbledore said gravely. The faint light in his eyes dimmed. "Such measures indicate significant fear of exposure."
"Or absolute loyalty," McGonagall said tightly.
"Fear," Snape corrected softly. "The Dark Lord does not trust easily. Not even his own."
That earned him several unreadable looks.
"They have taken drastic steps to ensure their location remains hidden," Dumbledore concluded. "Which suggests that wherever they are consolidating, it is of considerable importance."
I folded my hands together to hide the faint tightening in my fingers.
An army abroad.
Time to prepare.
Time… but not certainty.
Discussion continued for nearly an hour. Names were suggested. Safe houses reviewed. Communication protocols revised. Kingsley volunteered to coordinate intelligence within the Ministry. Moody insisted on personal oversight of field operations. Molly objected loudly to "anyone doing something reckless alone."
In the end, however, the unavoidable truth remained.
There was little we could do immediately.
We had no location or date.
Not even precise numbers.
So it was decided to expand the Order.
Recruitment would increase discreetly. Old allies would be contacted. Promising new candidates evaluated. Defensive wards strengthened. Supply lines established.
Preparation without provocation.
Unfortunately, there was no clear timeframe.
"It may be months," McGonagall said quietly.
"Or years," Kingsley added.
"But he will return," Dumbledore said.
It wasn't even a question.
We were all certain they would be back.
"He has invested too much to abandon his designs on Britain."
The name went unspoken this time.
It did not need to be.
Around the table, resolve hardened in subtle ways. Shoulders straightened, hands clenched, and eyes sharpened.
Fear lingered, yes.
But so did defiance.
I leaned back slightly in my chair, outwardly thoughtful.
Inwardly alert.
If Voldemort was truly rebuilding beyond our shores, then this interlude was not a reprieve.
It was the calm before impact.
And when he came back, he would not come quietly.
…