The morning sun was only just breaking through the pale mist over Earling when the Grangers were startled by a knock at their front door. It was early—far earlier than any respectable guest should call—but when Mr. Granger opened the door, he found five very unusual figures waiting on his doorstep.
Professor Dumbledore, tall and commanding with his silver beard, gave a polite bow. Beside him stood Professor McGonagall, stern as ever, though her eyes betrayed some nervousness. Remus Lupin looked weary yet kindly, Moody shifted uneasily with his magical eye darting about, and Severus Snape lingered at the edge, his expression unreadable.
"Mr. and Mrs. Granger," Dumbledore began with a soft, measured tone, "we know this is unorthodox, but we wished to speak with you this morning. It concerns your daughter's friend, Harry Potter."
Mrs. Granger tightened her robe, exchanging a quick look with her husband. Despite the oddity of the situation, she could see desperation in their eyes. She stepped back and opened the door wider. "Well… you'd better come in, then."
The five wizards entered the Granger household, their robes brushing against the tidy hallway carpet. The sight of them was overwhelming—five strangers radiating power in a home that had only ever known dentists and their bright daughter.
Moody spoke first once they were gathered in the sitting room. His voice was rough, but there was something softer beneath the gravel. "I owe you an apology. Last time I came sniffing around, I was… overzealous. Threatening, even. That was wrong. And I regret it."
Mr. Granger, folding his arms, regarded him coolly. "At least you admit it. Not many would."
The tension in the room was palpable, broken only by Dumbledore's sigh. "We come not as intruders but as concerned protectors. Harry is important—not only to our world but to yours as well."
Before anyone could reply, the air outside cracked. A ripple of energy shivered through the walls, and through the window they all saw it: a star-shaped portal blossoming into existence, shimmering in colors that bent the eye. The Grangers gasped, standing instinctively.
The Order members drew their wands in alarm. Moody growled, "What in Merlin's—"
But before the curse could leave his lips, a young woman stepped through. She was tall, confident, dressed in casual clothes with a star emblazoned on her jacket. Her presence radiated calm power. She couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen.
She lifted her chin at the gathered wizards and the stunned Grangers. "Relax. If I meant you harm, you'd know it already."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with both curiosity and caution. "And you are…?"
"America Chavez," she said simply, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face. "I'm here because of Harry. He's family to me, in more ways than you'd understand."
Snape sneered faintly. "Another self-proclaimed guardian of Potter. How quaint."
But America ignored him. She gestured toward the swirling star-portal behind her. "You've been running yourselves in circles trying to track him. Following buses, tailing shadows. You want to see him? Then walk through. I'll take you."
The Order exchanged wary glances.
McGonagall's lips thinned. "This magic… I've never seen its like."
"That's because it's mine," America said firmly. "I taught Harry how to use it too. That star-shaped portal you've seen him use? That was me."
Moody's magical eye whirled as if trying to analyze her. "No wand. No incantation. Just raw portal magic…"
Remus spoke gently, bridging the silence. "If she means what she says, Albus… this might be the only way to meet Harry without chasing him like criminals."
Mrs. Granger hesitated, her hand curling around her husband's arm. But she saw no malice in the girl's face, only certainty. "If this is what it takes to stop all the skulking about… then go."
Dumbledore inclined his head respectfully.
And so, one by one—Dumbledore, McGonagall, Lupin, Moody, and Snape—stepped toward the brilliant star of light and vanished inside, following America Chavez into the unknown.
They arrived before a massive iron gate that rose high, its black bars entwined with faintly glowing runes. The metal itself seemed alive, pulsing with hidden power. America stopped, placing one hand on the warded surface.
"This is as far as the portals will open," she explained, her tone calm but certain. "Everything past this point is bound by enchantments older and stronger than most wizards can even begin to unravel. The rest, we walk."
With a casual flick of her wrist, the gate shuddered and then swung open, the runes dimming as though bowing to her authority. The Order members followed her onto the estate grounds, their eyes widening as the world within unfolded before them.
The manor itself stood far in the distance, tall and stately, its white stone walls gleaming faintly under the noonday sun. Yet what caught their attention was not the house, but the land itself.
Unicorns grazed freely in meadows of silver-tipped grass. A pair of thestrals wheeled high above the treeline, their wings dark shadows against the sky. Bushes of rare herbs shimmered with magical energy, their leaves whispering in the breeze, while trees heavy with glowing fruits lined the path. A group of pixies darted overhead, chattering merrily, while kneazles stretched lazily in the shade of a flowering oak.
Dumbledore slowed his step, his sharp eyes drinking in the sight. "Extraordinary," he murmured. "Every creature, every plant—woven into the warding lattice. Not mere decoration, but living anchors of protection. Whoever designed this estate knew their craft."
The others said nothing, their unease growing with each step. This was power beyond their reckoning, and it unsettled them.
At last, they reached the broad stone stairs that led to the front of the manor. Before they could knock, the great oak doors opened soundlessly. A woman stood there, framed in warm light.
Lily Evans.
Her auburn hair gleamed like fire, her green eyes vivid and alive. She looked untouched by time, no older than the night she had supposedly died.
"Lily…" McGonagall whispered, her voice catching.
Lupin froze, his lips parting but no words emerging. Snape's reaction was sharper, his black eyes narrowing, scanning every detail of her face with merciless precision, as though desperate to expose a flaw in a perfect illusion.
But there was no flaw.
"Professor. Remus," Lily greeted them with a soft, steady smile. "Please, come inside."
They entered cautiously. The manor's interior was warm and inviting, filled with the scent of polished wood, parchment, and faint traces of something baking in the kitchen.
In the sitting room, Harry waited for them. He rose as they entered, his eyes sharp but wary, his stance steady.
"Harry, my boy…" Dumbledore began, his voice gentle. "We came because we are concerned. Concerned for your safety, and about influences around you. This woman—" he hesitated, glancing at Lily, "—she may not be who she seems."
Harry's jaw tightened. His voice, when he spoke, was steady but edged with years of anger.
"No one worried about me," he said flatly. "Not when I was locked in the cupboard under the stairs for accidental magic. Not when I was starved. Not when I burned pancakes at five years old and was punished for it. No one worried then. No one cared when the worst things happened to me."
He looked directly at them, his green eyes burning with quiet fire.
"So tell me—why are you worrying now? Why only now, when something good has finally happened in my life?"
The room fell silent. No one had an answer.
They hadn't known exactly what to expect when they came here, but it certainly wasn't this. Many among the Order had believed Harry could still be persuaded—convinced to live with someone safer, someone they approved of. When the pressure mounted from the members, Dumbledore himself had reluctantly released the Potters' will.
The words had been clear. James and Lily had wished for their son to grow up under the care of Remus Lupin, or Professor McGonagall, or even with the Weasleys. Any of them would have taken him gladly—if only they'd been given the chance. But because of Dumbledore's plan, no such chance had ever come. And now, an unknown woman had stepped in, a woman claiming to be Lily Potter, and she had Harry in her keeping.
Convincing Harry to leave her side was proving nearly impossible. His loyalty to her was absolute, his mistrust of them deeper than any spell. And so Dumbledore shifted his attention—not to Harry, but to the woman herself.
He folded his hands, his voice calm, but laced with authority.
"We do not believe you are Lily Potter," Dumbledore began. "I have already released the will of James and Lily. In that document, it is stated most clearly who they desired their child to live with. It would be better—far safer—if Harry were with the Weasleys, or with Remus, or even Professor McGonagall."
Lily's smile was faint, but her eyes burned like emerald fire.
"You speak of wills and paper, Albus," she said quietly, "but you forget what stands before you now. You are only within my halls because I allowed it. If I had not, you would never have found this place. Not you, not the Order, not even the Ministry. None of you would have seen so much as a stone of these walls."
Her voice grew sharper, cutting through the room like a blade.
"And even if the Ministry tried to take Harry from me, they would find they cannot. He is beyond their reach. Beyond your reach."
The Order members exchanged uneasy looks. For the first time, some of them wondered if Dumbledore's influence had finally met a force it could not bend.
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. Threats would not work here—he knew that much. Still, he pressed forward, because this woman, no matter how fiercely she spoke, did not feel like Lily Evans. Her mannerisms, her defiance—it was not the Lily he had known.
"You cannot hide in this mansion forever," he said, his voice firm. "Harry must attend school. You must eventually step into the world. And when that day comes, you will face the truth. You have only two choices now: give up Harry, or prove before the Ministry that you are truly Lily Potter."
To the Order members, it sounded like a reasonable suggestion. A fair compromise, even. But the woman only smiled, a sharp, knowing smile that unsettled the room.
"I do not need to prove myself to anyone," she replied calmly. "Harry is mine. He stays with me. Not even your Ministry can take him, because—legally—you can't take him from here."
"Why?" Professor McGonagall demanded, her sharp eyes narrowing with suspicion.
In answer, the woman lifted her left hand. A ring gleamed on her finger.
Gasps rippled through the room. Remus stiffened in disbelief. He had never thought Lily—sweet, loyal Lily—would ever remarry after James. Snape's reaction was sharper, almost painful; he had clung to the faint, secret hope that with James gone, he might one day… but that dream shattered in an instant.
"Just because you are married," McGonagall said tightly, "does not mean anything in the eyes of the law."
The woman's smile widened, strange and unsettling. "Oh, I didn't marry just anyone."
She turned, gesturing toward the doorway. Every head swiveled.
And there, leaning casually against the frame, was a man with dark hair falling untidily around his face, gray eyes gleaming with mischief. A smirk tugged at his lips.
Sirius Black.
Alive. Whole. Defiant.
The same Sirius Black who was supposed to be died in Azkaban, who the world believed a traitor and murderer until someone the DMLE caught Peter Pettigrew and declared innocent posthumously. The godfather of Harry Potter, very much alive and standing in the flesh.
Shock swept through the room.
Remus staggered back a step, as though he had seen a ghost. McGonagall's lips parted in stunned disbelief. Snape's eyes darkened with fury.
And Dumbledore—for once in his long, calculating life—looked utterly shaken.