Harry Potter and the Crystal of the Founders

Previously: The Fabulous Five (Harry, Ron, Neville, Ginny, and Luna) along with Remus, Fred, and George redecorate the library for Hermione. All the while, Harry is hiding his secret from his friends, and trying to cope when things aren't OK. Laughter and love, food and fun, pranks and paint, and another Chess Champion in this new chapter!

Chapter Six:

Order Business

The next week rushed by quickly, bringing with it even more renovating. In that next week, they redecorated the seven bedrooms, making the rooms much more comfortable places to live in.

Ginny's room was done with periwinkle blue walls and carpet of the same color. Remus transfigured her single bed into a canopy bed similar to the ones at Hogwarts, except withpale blue and white curtains, blankets, and sheets. Using the leftover maple stain from the library, they stained the window sill, bed frame, and door maple. Ginny's ceiling was charmed to reflect her mood, and when they finished her room and looked it over, the ceiling turned to a glowing red, pink, and gold sunset.

Hermione's room was painted with fawn colored walls and ceiling, polished wood floors, and a soft reddish purple rug. Remus also transfigured her bed into a canopy bed. The curtains on the windows, drapes on the bed, the blankets, and the sheets were wine colored, like the rug.

Ron's room was not done in Chudley Cannons orange, as they had expected, but Gryffindor red and gold. The walls, curtains on the windows, and the sheets were autumn gold, and the carpet, drapes on the bed, blankets, the window sill, and door were scarlet.

Harry and Neville wanted their room decorated in green. The sheets, walls, and the thick carpet were all emerald green. All the wood was stained dark mahogany; the blankets were chocolate brown, and the curtains and drapes on the canopy beds were emerald and cocoa. The ceiling on their room was special because Fred and George had enchanted it to look like whatever the sky outside was.

Remus's room had a ceiling like the one in Neville and Harry's room; the walls were sea green, a mix betwen blue and green that wasn't quite either one, but both at the same time. Nobody could agree what the color was, but Hermione and Ginny called it teal. The carpet, curtains, sheets, and drapes were cream colored, while the blankets were teal, and the wood was oak.

It was the fifteenth day after Harry had arrived; Ron, Neville, Harry, Ginny, Luna, Hermione, Fred, and George were painting the hallway outside the bedrooms. They had old sheets taped all over the wooden floor, so that the scarlet paint wouldn't have to be scrubbed off the wood.

They had been working all morning; everything from the library door at the end of the hallway to the door next to Harry and Neville's room was painted. While they worked, they talked and fooled around, splashing paint on the walls rather haphazardly. All of them had red paint on them somewhere, even Hermione, who had been trying to avoid this. Ginny and Luna, on the other hand, were not bothering to roll up the sleeves of their paint shirts or watch where they put their brushes; everywhere they had been was marked by a liberal amount of paint on the sheets covering the floor.

Harry was sure that he or Hermione would have chided them for wasting paint, but the cans would always have the right amount to do whatever room they were working on, even if they wasted or spilled some, and so he didn't; Fred and George weren't helping to calm things down, they levitated their rollers up to do the ceiling, but this time, they didn't bother to be careful not to drip paint onto the other people; Harry had bright red paint in his hair and on his face, as did everyone else.

Ginny and Luna were giggling almost hysterically and splashing the paint on the walls willy-nilly; Hermone and Ron were deep in conversation, and it looked like Ron had just told Hermione something funny, because they were both laughing; Neville was grinning and dodging swipes from George's floating roller, which was flying about his head and trying to put scarlet paint on his face, and Fred was smiling fiendishly and painting the wall without looking at his roller as he watched his twin.

"Try to get the paint on the walls, not each other, guys," said Neville, smiling as he ducked the roller again.

Downstairs, Harry faintly heard the front door open, and the vaugue rumble of many footsteps. At the moment Harry looked towards the landing at the unpainted end of the hall, something large and red flew near his face. He ducked George's runaway roller and stumbled backwards, away from the wall, slamming into Fred. Fred's wand slipped, and his levitaion charm was projected onto something else. Something even less desireable than a floating brush.

The roller fell to the floor, smearing paint on the sheet like blood. The entire bucket of red paint rose into the air, and because Fred's wand was still moving, so did the bucket. Though he didn't intend it, Fred sent the can of scarlet paint hurtling through the air, towards the landing.

Harry dropped his own brush and bolted forwards, right to the railing. He leaned up against the railing, stretching his arm out to grab the can, which was dropping since Fred's levitation charm had failed. Harry leaned farther and farther out, until his finger tips hooked around the handle, and he grabbed the open can just in time.

He froze there for a split second, the railing digging into his stomach painfully, his arm aching from holding up the bucket, staring down at the crowd two floors below him. Almost a dozen Order members had come through the front door; some Harry recognized, some he didn't. They were the new recruits, he supposed. They were finally here, after almost two weeks.

Harry heard a shout behind him; he jumped away from the edge and turned to see a roller hurtling towards him. George's roller flew past Harry's face, out over the railing. Harry leaned back, not having time to turn to face outwards again. He tilted farther back, his spine curving painfully, his ribs and chest screaming as something popped; Harry ignored it and his arm shot back, and his fingers closed around the handle. And he overbalanced and began to fall backwards.

There was a second of fear as his feet left the floor and he began to fall, his body balanced on the edge of the rail, and then somebody grabbed his shirt and pulled Harry forward. He stumbled forward a few steps, and then stopped, panting. The paint had slopped up the sides of the can, but not a drop had spilled.

Neville and Ron let go of the front of Harry's shirt. Wearily, Harry set the bucket down, and handed the roller back to George. "Sorry, mate," muttered George, "It just went flying. I didn't mean to kill ya."

Harry snorted, straightening up and set his hands on his hips, leaning back and stretching. There was an audible pop as something cracked in his back; instantly, Harry stopped stretching as pain shot through his ribs again. Ron winced, and the rest of them followed Harry as he turned and went back to the edge of the landing again.

They peered down into the semi-darkness at the people below, who were staring back up at them.

"Hey!" said Ron, surprised, and rather stupidly. "People!"

Ginny elbowed him and rolled her eyes. "No, really Ron! I don't see anybody," she said sarcastically.

Fred and George looked over Harry's shoulders. "Hey!" said one of them. "Is that Oliver?"

"Oliver Wood?" said the other.

"The infamous maniacal ex-Gryffindor Quidditch Captain?"

"Now playing Keeper for Puddlemere United?"

They continued the questions, and when Harry looked more carefully, he could see that Oliver was among the people below, still standing frozen. Harry could also spot Minerva McGonagall's strict bun, Alastor Moody's mad eye, for which he was named, and Tonks's wild hair, which was long, straight, and black in the front and blue, short and spiky in the back.

At that moment, Ron poked his nose forward, sniffing. "Hey," he said, again. "Is that-?"

And Harry noticed it too, as did Neville, Fred, and George.

"Lunch!" the five hungry boys shouted, at the same time Remus shouted it from downstairs in the kitchen, pushing away from the railing and jumping towards the stairs. All eight of the painters thundered down two flights of stairs, covered in scarlet paint and looking like they were bleeding and fleeing from some mad slasher.

Harry yanked his paint shirt over his head as he ran down the stairs, nearly falling on his face, but by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, all eight of them had their messy paint shirts off. They draped them over the banister as they ran past- even Hermione.

The teens pelted noisily past the stunned and still silent people, ignoring them completely in the rush for the food. "Remus!" shouted Harry, running down the flight of stone stairs into the basement kitchen. "People are here!"

They reached the gloomy kitchen and quickly began to get plates, cups, and cutlery out, still moving at top speed.

"People?" asked Remus, amused. He stepped back as Ginny ran past him with a stack of plates. "How many?"

"Dunno," said Ron, setting cutlery down in a rush. "Lots."

"About a dozen," Harry informed Remus, grabbing more cups from the chest of drawers where they were kept. "Tonks and Moody-"

"-McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hestia Jones-" continued Hermione.

"-and loads of new people," finished Ginny.

There was a sudden silence as they were done setting the table and stopped moving. Harry could imagine how they must have looked, splattered all over with red paint, hair messed, faces flushed and breathless. The corners of Remus's mouth began to twitch, as he struggled to stop himself from smiling, but he ended up grinning broadly anyway, as did they all.

"Well, that was interesting," said Tonks, from the doorway. "Wotcher, all!"

The people following her streamed into the kitchen, crowding about the door. "Woah," said Lupin, stepping back. "I didn't realize there were that many of you."

Indeed, there were more people than Harry had originally thought, twenty or so. He saw Kingsley, McGonagall, Moody, Professor Sprout, Dedalus Diggle, who was sporting a purple top hat, a witch he vauguely recognized as Hestia Jones, Oliver Wood, as the twins had noted, and a dozen more unfamiliar or forgotten people.

"S'OK," said George. "We'll just make more room."

He and his twin drew their wands; Fred waved his at the table and benches, and they stretched to about twice their lengths, seating about fifteen people. George jabbed his wand twice at the counters; the first time, the baskets of fruit, buns, and snacks soared onto the now huge table, and the second time, and cushions appeared on the counter top, padding it.

Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Neville grabbed plates, and jumped onto the counters; Ginny stretched out over one, laying on her stomach, Harry and Ron sat beside each other, and Neville flopped in a corner, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him.

The people moved into the dark kitchen, seating themselves at the table and grabbing plates and cups, and the low rumble of conversation started up.

Lunch went very smoothly, people lounged about and ate, talking and laughing freely. The dark, gloomy kitchen seemed much lighter and brighter now that it was full of laughter and people. Everyone was relaxing and 'letting their hair down', as it were, except for Mad-Eye, who was standing near the door with a plate of food, refusing to sit down and be put at a disadvantage in a fight.

There's cautious, and then there's impractical and irrational. He's just plain paranoid, thought Harry, studying Moody closely.

At one end of the table, Tonks was screwing up her face and changing her appearance between bites, for the entertainment of Hermione, Luna, and some of the new recruits, who were amazed, obviously not having seen a Metamorphmagus before.

Near the middle, Fred and George were retelling the story of their great escape from Umbridge the previous year. The story had almost reached myth status in the student circles, but it was true, or most of it was. From what he could hear, the twins couldn't resist adding bits here and there. About seven people, including Remus and Oliver were listening, and laughing, as Fred reached the part where they had given the order to Peeves before flying away.

There was a great deal of appreciative laughter and some applause as the twins reached the end of their story, and they made mock bows while still sitting down, resulting in George actually getting potatoes in his hair. This in turn caused more hilarity.

After three servings of potatoes, carrots, and steak, Harry set his plate down on the counter, feeling full, and then the comfortable atmosphere was broken unpleasantly.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" bellowed Moody, suddenly.

Everyone jumped, somebody screamed in shock, but Mad-Eye already had his wand out, pointing at Harry. "Stupefy!" he roared, and a jet of red light shot out of his wand.

Harry ducked and rolled forwards, off the counter, drawing his wand as he did so. The spell passed so close to his head that he smelled burning hair, and then hit the counter where he had been sitting moments before. And there was dead silence.

Only six people around the room had stood up; it was not the Aurors like Tonks or Kingsley, it was not McGonagall or Sprout, it was not the new recruits, it wasn't even Fred or George. It was Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, and Ginny.

Hary found himself breathing hard and pointing his own wand at the paranoid ex-Auror, as were his friends. Ron, Ginny, and Neville had leaped off the counters they had been sitting on, and the cushions were on the floor. Luna and Hermione had stood from where they had been sitting, and were braced and standing behind the benches with their knees slightly bent, wands pointed at Moody's heart.

The six teens had gone from relaxed and care-free to grim and deadly in mere seconds, all traces of previous amusement gone as they stared at Moody hard, suddenly ready to fight.

The grizzled old Auror was silent for a moment, before he lowered and sheathed his own wand, and he broke into a slightly lop-sided smile. "Good for you," he growled. "Staying alert."

"What in Merlin's name was that about?" asked Lupin, shocked, staring at the scarred wizard in disbelief.

Moody shook his grey mane of hair out of his eyes, looking at Lupin. "Just a test," he said calmly. "They passed. You failed. Even you, Kingsley, Tonks. Especially you two."

"We weren't expecting it!" said Tonks, rather indignantly. Harry winced. It was the wrong thing to say.

"Of course you weren't expecting it! Death Eaters aren't going to come up to your face and ask you politely if they can kill you! Constant vigilance!" barked Alastor, glaring at Tonks with his real eye, and staring into the back of his head with his false eye.

"Calm down, Mad-Eye," said Kingsley, in his deep, mellow voice. "There's no Death Eaters here, so just calm down."

"There might be!" growled Moody, his false electric blue eye rolling around and glaring at the new recruits.

"There's not," said McGonagall firmly. "You insisted on interrogating them all under Veritaserum, Alastor."

He looked rather disgruntled, but stopped studying the new people, much to their relief. Instead, he turned his mis-matched eyes back to the six teens, who were still standing, and hadn't lowered their wands.

"You can put your wands away," said Lupin calmingly.

"No you can't!" snapped Moody. "Don't put them away!"

Lupin rolled his eyes behind Mad-Eye's back, and Moody, who had seen, thanks to his magical eye, pretended to ignore Remus and kept his gaze on Harry.

Harry didn't want to look away from Mad-Eye, but he reluctantly did so, as he and Neville picked up the fallen pillows and put them back on the counters. Still trying to outstare Moody, Harry jumped back up on the counter, as did Ron, Neville, and Ginny; at the table, Luna and Hermione sat down again. Luna raised her hand to tuck her wand behind her ear, but Hermione stayed her hand, knowing that Mad-Eye would flip if he saw that, and give them all a lecture on elementary wand safety, something along the lines of, "What if it ignited? Better wizards have lost buttocks, and you could lose your head if you aren't careful!"

The rest of his friends tucked their wands back in their pockets, but surprisingly, Moody said nothing, only moving back to his spot near the door. Harry did not. He left his wand laying on the counter beside him, in easy reach, a fact that both Lupin and Moody noticed.

"Good," rumbled Alastor. "Good to see that you did learn something from that Departmentof Mysteries fiasco."

Harry stiffened. He was ready to live in Sirius's house, he was not ready to listen to how Sirius had died, yet.

"What Department of Mysteries fiasco?" chipped in Professor Sprout. "Isn't that in the Ministry of Magic?"

"Yes," growled the ex-Auror. "See, last year-"

Harry's jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth together to stop himself from shouting at Alastor, and he curled his fingers into fists. "We'd appreciate it if you didn't tell this story while we're here, Moody," said Harry, loudly and with unmistakable coldness. "Kindly wait until we're out of the room. It's not really something I, or any of us, is eager to remember."

Moody looked at him, with both eyes, a sign that he was focusing on Harry intently, but said nothing more. When Harry looked at Lupin, he saw that his werewolf friend had reacted similarly. Slowly, Lupin dropped his head into his hands, elbows resting on the table.

There was silence, and then most people began to eat quietly. For the rest of lunch, the only sounds were the clinking of cutlery on plates, and the quiet requests to pass something.

A few minutes later, Lupin caught Harry's eye. Harry had been sitting on the counter, staring about rather aimlessly, but when Remus jerked his head towards the door and raised his eyebrows, Harry caught the message immediately. He slid off the counter, grabbing a bun from the basket on the counter and hurrying out of the kitchen, past Moody. When he walked past the aged ex-Auror, Harry didn't glance at him, but went straight past, up the hallway, to the bottom of the stairs, where he waited for Lupin.

Moments later, the werewolf joined him, also holding a bun, and gave Harry a half-hearted smile. Harry nodded back, and followed Remus up the stairs silently.

When they reached the first flight of stairs, Harry sighed and took a bite of his bun. "Thanks for getting me out of there," he said gratefully. "I wanted to leave, but I didn't want to be impolite."

Lupin nodded, and muttered, "Me too."

Hary followed the older man up three flights of stairs, and then down the hallway. The first door on the right had a little brass plaque on it, saying, 'Fred', and the door across from that was, 'George'.

Harry followed Remus past these two doors, and down the hallway, past the guest bedrooms, finishing off his bun in a few bites as he did so. The guest rooms on the third floor were not cleaned; about the only thing that had been done was dusting. Remus's room was near the end of the hall, on the right.

To Harry's surprise, Remus didn't open the door to his bedroom, but pushed open the door at the very end of the hall. Harry gasped.

The walls were painted dark burgundy red, and the ceiling was an exact model of the night sky. In the center of the ceiling was the constellation Canis Major, and Harry could see Leo, Andromeda, Serpens, Draco, Phoenix, and several others. Near Cassiopia was the nearly full moon.

This room was free of dust, but very messy. Things were strewn about the room haphazardly; there were several pairs of old robes on the floor, the blankets on the bed were rumpled, the trunk at the foot of the bed was piled high with dirty laundry and books, and there were stacks of books, parchment, and quills on the desk. An old chess board was standing on the wall adjacent to the door, beneath the window, with two armchairs sitting on either side.

The desk was on the wall to the right of the door; there was a bookshelf as high as the ceiling beside that, and right beside the shelf was a dark blue couch that went all the way to the wall. The canopy bed was in the middle of the wall to the left of the door, looking very much like the four-poster beds in the Gryffindor dormitories, except that it was king size.

On the left of the bed was a dressing table, and on the right were several overstuffed navy blue armchairs. They were arranged in a gradual semi-circle facing the red brick fireplace in the wall.

Harry looked around, taking a few steps inside. "Who's room in this?" he asked curiously.

Remus shut the door, crossed the room, and sank into one of the armchairs beside the bed. He hesitated for a moment, then said, "This is Sirius's room."

Harry stiffened, then slowly moved over to the couch and flopped face down onto it. He stayed there for a few moments, then rolled over and looked at Remus. "Why here?" he asked, rather hoarsely.

Remus sighed. "I come here, sometimes," he replied. "Just for a while. I need to show you some things."

He got up and shuffled through the papers on the desk, before unearthing a large wooden box from beneath the blank scrolls of parchment.

He handed it to Harry, then sat down beside the younger boy. Harry sat up and studied the box for a moment, taking in the details of the rectangular wooden object he was holding. It was made of dark, shiny wood, smooth on all sides, except for a tiny brass clasp on one side, and minute hinges on the other. It was about seven inches high, seven inches long, and ten inches wide. Harry turned it over; whatever was inside rustled and rattled a bit. On the bottom two words were engraved in smooth wood: Sirius Black.

Harry turned the box back over, right side up again. His fingers strayed to the brass clasp, then he hesitated for a moment, not sure whether or not he wanted to look inside. Then Harry stiffened his resolve, flipped the clasp up and opened it.

Inside were about two dozen letters. Harry picked several of these up. They were all addressed to Snuffles, or Sirius. Harry recognized them as letters he, Remus, and Dumbledore had written to Sirius over the course of two years. He picked all of the letters up and set them aside, deciding to read them again later.

Below the letters were several pictures, all showing either Harry, Remus, Sirius, James, Lily, or all five. Some of these were rather yellowed and folded, these were mostly the ones of the younger people.

Harry picked the stack of pictures up, shuffling through them slowly. The first two were, respectively, of Remus and Sirius when they had been back at Hogwarts, in about fourth year. The third one Harry picked up was blank. Harry turned it over, but there was nobody on the paper.

He looked at the next one, which held two very familiar fourteen year-old people. Obviously, Lily was the one who was supposed to be in the picture, but there was another boy with her, who had messy black hair, a charming smile, and happy hazel eyes. Lily shoved James to the side, out of the picture, glaring, and then turned back to Harry and smiled prettily.

James attempted to sidle back into her frame and drape an arm about her neck affectionately, but Lily elbowed him hard, and he staggered back. Harry looked back at the blank picture, and saw his young dad stumble back into it, rubbing his ribs, but grinning, nodding, and winking knowingly. Smiling, Harry put those two pictures at the back.

The next one was at graduation, and in this one, James and Lily were much nicer to each other. Remus, Sirius, James, and Lily were wearing black Hogwarts robes with grad caps and red banners with gold borders. The banners went over their heads like ponchos, but they were long and straight, and only wide enough to go to shoulders. The banners came to about the bottom of their ribs, and then tapered to points; each had a capital gold 'G' stitched at the bottom.

They were somewhere on the grounds, on a stone bench in front of the lake. James was sitting on the far left side, his arm around Lily, who was beside him, holding her diploma and beaming up at Harry. Remus was next to her, waving energetically with one hand and holding his own diploma with the other.

Sirius was standing behind Remus, winking and flashing handsome smiles, and messing Remus's hair in a friendly way. A blur lurking in the background caught Harry's eye, and he realized that Peter must have been in the picture too, but had been deleted.

It hurt Harry a bit to see all of them so happy and care-free, not knowing that two of them would have only four more years to live and love, not knowing that one of them would soon spend twelve years with the Dementors that would harden, embitter, and transform him, and not knowing that the other would be left all alone with his grief and hate.

Harry sighed and put that picture at the bottom of the stack. There were two more pictures of graduation (though there must have been many more elsewhere), seven pictures on the Hogwarts Express, one from each year at Hogwarts, and a picture of Remus, Harry, and Sirius together in front of the Christmas tree from the previous year, when Harry had spent Christmas at Grimmauld Place.

Harry smiled a bit, remembering the happy moment. He, Harry, was standing in between the two older men, with Remus on the left, and Sirius on the right. Harry in the picture had his arms around their shoulders, and they had their arms around his. All three were grinning happily; as Harry watched, the photographic Sirius reached up a hand and ruffled Harry's hair affectionately, the Harry in the picture smiled up at Sirius and swatted his hand away, the photo Remus laughed silently, and all three smiled and put their arms around each other's shoulders again.

There were five more pictures in the pile, one of a fifteen year-old Harry, one each of older Remus and Sirius, one of the entire original Order of the Phoenix, a copy of the one Moody had shown Harry the previous year, and a new one of the current Order of the Phoenix, signed by all the people in it. There were more people than Harry had thought, and there were about thirty more people in the recent Order than the original Order.

Harry sighed again and set the stack of photographs down on top of the letters.

On the very bottom of the box was a very thick pile of tattered pieces of parchment. Harry began to flip idly through this, and realized that it was all the notes that the Marauders had ever passed in class. Some of the notes had gone back and forth for a long time, and the written conversations took up entire sheets of paper, while others were only a few words scribbled on a crumpled scrap of parchment torn off a page of class notes.

With increasing interest, Harry paged through the huge stack of notes, but soon realized that there were far, far too many for him to ever read at once, even in a week. The pile was four or five inches thick, at least.

Slightly awed, Harry set the notes on the pile of photos and letters, then set the stack carefully back in the box, closed the lid and set the box beside him, on the couch. Suddenly, Harry felt tears come to his eyes. He turned to Remus, who had been sitting beside him silently for the whole time, and wrapped his arms around Remus's neck.

Harry buried his face in Lupin's shoulder, and he felt tears flood out of his eyes. Everything he had been feeling, the emotions he had stamped down and hidden from himself, all the grief and longing Harry had ignored came pouring out in a rush. Harry's body shook with hoarse sobs, and Lupin wrapped his arms around Harry tightly, cradling the younger boy and rocking back and forth.

Slowly, Harry calmed himself, and pulled away from the werwolf, slightly ashamed of his outburst, but then he saw that Remus had a few tears on his cheeks too. Harry sniffed and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. "Sorry," he muttered, looking at his feet as he wiped his face furiously.

Remus grabbed Harry's arm and made Harry look up at him. "Don't be sorry," he said gently. "I've done that a few times, myself."

Harry smiled weakly. "Thanks for showing me this stuff," he mumbled, picking up the box again, and proffering it to Remus, rather reluctantly, because he really didn't want to part with it. But Lupin pushed it back towards Harry.

"It belongs to you," Remus told him.

And so Harry kept the box full of memories.

*

"Where are they?" growled Moody almost five hours later, pacing the kitchen restlessly. The sun had gone down about half an hour ago, but nobody had seen Harry or Remus since the two had left dinner.

"They're fine," said McGongall soothingly. "They probably just needed to talk for a while. You know how they've been."

"Or they could have been kidnapped by Death Eaters," Moody shot back, stil pacing irritably. There was a concerted sigh from McGonagall, Kingsley, Tonks, Hestia Jones, and Emmeline Vance. All five knew Mad-Eye well enough to know that he was simply being paranoid, but wouldn't give up until he ascertained that the two were alright.

"Fine then," grumbled Tonks. "We'll go and find them."

She rose from her seat on the counter, and walked from the kitchen, rather grumpily, followed by Moody, McGonagall, Oliver, Hestia, and Sprout.

They headed upstairs, still following Tonks. "D'you know where they are?" asked Sprout curiously.

"Yes," said Tonks shortly.

"How?" queried Moody, suspiciously.

"I make it my buisness to know," Tonks snapped. "No reason to panic, Mad-Eye!"

She led them up three flights of stairs, then down the hall, and pushed open the door at the very end of the hall quietly. Everybody leaned forward to see.

"Would you just look at all those Death Eaters," said Tonks coolly. "Merlin. I've never seen so many."

Remus and Harry were lying on the couch together, sleeping; Lupin had his arms around Harry, and Harry was holding Remus's hands in his own, both looking peaceful and comfortable. The box was lying open on the floor, and the contents had been spread out over the floor, as if Lupin and Harry had been going through them together.

Tonks shut the door almost silently, so as not to disturb the two. "There you go, Moody," she hissed. "Happy now?"

He shrugged his shoulders, turned about, and stumped downstairs. The rest of them stared after him, Tonks glaring. But when they went after Mad-Eye, her expression softened, and she glanced over her shoulder at the door. I wish I was in Harry's shoes, she thought wistfully, with a longing sigh.

*

The next day, Harry woke up feeling safer than he had in a long time. He actually couldn't remember a time when he had been so comfortable or calm.

He blinked lazily, smothering a yawn. Drowsily, Harry watched the little dust motes dance and twirl in the beam of early morning light coming through the window over the chess table. The golden patch of light on the floor slowly widened, and the room became brighter and brighter as minutes passed in sleepy silence.

Suddenly, Harry realized why he felt so safe.

"Remus?"he murmured. "You awake?"

Remus shifted a bit, and then let go of Harry. "Yup," he muttered, groaning as he stretched his arm.

Harry rolled off the couch and stood, stretching his entire body. Harry glanced at Lupin who was lying on the couch on his back, hands folded on his chest, blinking tiredly at him.

Harry gave a little laugh, bent down, and began to pick up the notes, letters, and pictures scattered on the floor, putting them back in the box. After a few moments, Remus sat up, got off the couch, and joined Harry; between the two of them, they gathered the papers in short order.

Harry made to leave the room, holding the box under his arm, but Lupin stopped him, and picked up a half finished letter from the desk. He handed the letter to Harry, cautioning, "You might want to read it in private. Sirius was writing that to you when we found out you'd gone to the Department of Mysteries. He... never finished it."

Harry said nothing, but nodded, feeling his throat tighten, and put the unfinished letter from Sirius on top of the box, and carried it out of the room, Remus beside him.

Harry quietly sneaked into the room he shared with Neville, put the box on his bed, and glanced at the luminous numbers on the clock on Neville's bedside table. The drapes on Neville's bed were closed, Harry could hear him snoring softly, and no wonder: it was only 6:18 in the morning.

Harry crept back out of his room and down the hall, his footsteps muffled on the sheet that was still taped over the wooden floor. He was careful not to touch the walls, because they were still wet; apparently, his friends had finished painting the hall the previous afternoon.

In the kitchen, Remus had already turned the stove on, and had placed frying pan on the burner to warm. He smiled when he saw Harry enter the kitchen.

"Morning," Lupin said cheerily. "Hungry?"

"Yes, thanks," said Harry. "Can I help?"

Without waiting for Remus to reply, Harry started making toast, and getting out plates from the chest of drawers.

Remus was just putting the plate of bacon on the table when Tonks, Sprout, and Oliver came into the kitchen, yawning. Oliver and Professor Sprout were dressed, Sprout wearing robes, and Oliver in blue jeans and a brown turtleneck sweater, but Tonks was still in her pajamas; the young Auror was wearing loose, baggy, light blue cotton pants and a long sleeved T-shirt of the same color and style. Her hair matched her clothes this morning: it was pale blue, almost blonde, and curly, down to her shoulders. She had made her eyes blue as well; they were like little chips of ice, framed by long blonde lashes, set in her heart-shaped face.

"Morning," Harry said brightly, sitting down and pouring a glass of orange juice for himself. Tonks reached for a glass for herself, but knocked over an empty one in the process. She groaned and picked it up, putting her elbow in the eggs as she did so. She yelped and yanked her elbow up, cursing under her breath.

Oliver tried smother a laugh, taking a bite of toast to cover it up. Tonks was too preoccupied with wiping the egg off her elbow to notice. At that moment, Ron, Hermione, and Neville came down, taking seats at the table.

This morning, Ron seemed to be trying to eat halfway politely, mostly because he was sitting next to Hermione, and Hermione noticed this, flashing him a smile. Suddenly, Ron didn't think it was so hard to eat slowly.

Tonks sighed again, seeing the two teens smiling and sneaking glances at each other, and she herself glanced at Remus, but the werewolf was too absorbed in turning the bacon to notice. He's dreamy, Tonks thought. If only he would notice me. I mean, really. Who wouldn't notice me when I do my hair? Isn't that why I do it? To make people notice me? But it doesn't seem like he does.

Remus's keen ears picked up Tonks's sigh, but he didn't say anything as Ginny and Luna slipped into the dark basement kitchen, blinking sleepily. "Sleep well?" asked McGonagall, as she followed them into the kitchen.

Remus nodded, sitting down beside Wood. "Very well, thanks, Minerva."

She set a bottle of potion down in front of him. "Here's your Potion," she said. "It's fresh."

Lupin picked up the bottle, examined it critically for a moment, and then uncorked it. He took a delicate sniff of it, and then made a face of disgust. "It's fresh, all right," he grumbled. "Fresh and disgusting."

But he drank the smoking potion in two gulps, making a sour face as he set the bottle down again. "It's better than without it, though," he muttered.

"Is that your Wolfsbane Potion?" asked Hermione keenly. Remus nodded. Harry felt stricken.

"Full moon is tonight?" Harry asked, upset. "I wouldn't have kept you up last night if I'd known."

Remus shook his head. "Best sleep I got in a long time, Harry. Don't worry about it."

Neville looked up from his plate, at Harry. "Speaking of that," he said, "Wherewere you last night?"

Hary shrugged. "I was with Remus last night," he said, taking a bite of toast. "I didn't come down until you were asleep."

It was a tiny bit of a lie, but it really wasn't far from the truth, and it wouldn't make a difference. Nobody contradicted him.

Breakfast passed in silence, but it wasn't the silence that it had been the night before, after Moody had attacked Harry, it was the silence that came of being not awake enough to talk.

Fred and George Apparated into the empty seats beside Harry, causing him to jump with shock, then scowl at the twins. They shrugged and began piling their plates high with food.

That afternoon, Harry finished his History of Magic essay, managing to make it two inches longer than required, much to Ron's amazement. Harry spent most of the day in the library, working through his Astronomy essay on the constellations and his second Potions essay on the use of vampire's blood in potion making. It saddened Harry more than a bit, knowing that he could turn in as many essays as he wanted, but he wouldn't get into NEWT Potions, and therefore couldn't be an Auror, as he had always wanted to.

When Harry had finished his essays, he decided he needed a break. He stood up from his chair at the table in front of the fireplace, and his spine cracked loudly several times. Harry winced and put a hand to his neck, which was sore from staying hunched over so long.

Very glad that nobody else was in the library because he knew he was limping slightly, Harry left his papers on the table for the ink to dry, and went into the Defense section, where he picked out his dad's book, Worst Case Scenario. Harry flipped to the front cover, and quickly memorized the other titles in the set.

Hary decided just to read Worst Case Scenario first, and so he took the book, and sat down on the couch to read, propping one arm against the arm of the couch and curling his legs lazily under him.

It was like this that Ron found Harry, two hours later. "Hey," he called, making Harry look up from Chapter Fifteen, Shields Without Incantations. "Are you planning to stay in here all day? It's time for dinner; if you want any, you'd better hurry. The Order meeting starts in half an hour, and we've got to be out of the kitchen before then."

Harry stood up, marking his page carefully and closing the book. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm coming."

He followed Ron downstairs, irrationally feeling the desire to open the book and read as he walked. Is this what Hermione feels like? he wondered, beating down the feeling, and telling himself that he would probably trip and fall down the stairs if he opened the book and tried to read.

"He was in the library," said Ron, jerking his thumb at Harry, who was just behind him, as they entered the kitchen. "Reading, all day."

"He still is," quipped Neville, grinning over the rim of his goblet.

"What?" asked Ron, shocked, and turned around, to come face to face with the cover of the book which was hiding Harry's face again. Harry stepped around Ron, who had frozen in surprise, and sat at the table, without glancing up.

Harry had opened the book when he had stepped off the bottom stair, and had navigated the way to the kitchen without running into anything. It had been easier than he had expected.

The kitchen burst into laughter, making Harry glance up from Worst Case Scenario. Everyone, including Hermione, was roaring with laughter, shaking their heads and holding the table for support. McGonagall was hiding her mouth behind her hand, and Mrs. Weasley was smiling as she set Harry's dinner down in front of him. "Eat up dear, and hurry. The meeting starts soon."

"Hey," said Harry, surprised. "When did you get here? No offence, I mean, just wondering," he added hastily.

Mr. Weasley smiled from over by the counter. "Just a few minutes ago, actually. For the meeting. It's going to be important."

"We finally get to see who this mysterious, important spy is," added Tonks, flipping her curly bluish-blonde hair out of her eyes. Then she froze, as the rest of the Order members who were present made hushing noises, too late.

"I mean- well, that is- that's to say-" Tonks stammered, trying to remedy her mistake, but none of the underage people in the room had missed the words, 'mysterious, important, spy'.

They had all perked up, staring fixedly at the clumsy Auror, hoping that she would let something else slip, but she shut her mouth firmly, clearly indicating that she would say no more. Tonks ducked her head, embarrassed, under the gazes of her fellow fighters.

McGonagall put a hand on Tonks's shoulder. "They would have found out anyway," she sighed. "Don't worry about it."

A few minutes passed in silence, with the only sounds of Tonks's repeated muttered aplogies, and the clinking of Harry's fork and knife on his plate.

"Out," said Mrs. Weasley, casting a disapproving glance at Tonks, not as forgiving as the Transfiguration teacher. "Out, out. You know more than enough already. Harry, are you finished with that?"

Harry took a last bite of his food, cleaning off his plate, and nodded. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley, it was great."

He passed his plate to the plump, red-haired woman, and grabbed his book, heading out the kitchen door, rather slowly, it was true, but despite the fact that all of them dragged their feet as much as possible, they were eventually ushered up the stairs, and the kitchen door was firmly closed, shutting them out. There was a concerted sigh from Harry, Ron, Neville, Ginny, Hermione, and Luna, but they slowly headed up the two flights of stairs, and stopped on their landing.

"They kicked us out," said Ron, stubbornly, "but they can't make us leave. We can just stay right here until this spy gets here, and we'll see who he is."

"How do you know it's a he?" snapped Ginny aggressively. She seemed rather short tempered, suddenly. "Who said it was male? Tonks didn't even know."

Ron looked taken aback at this. "I just thought-" he began, but Ginny cut him off.

"You just thought it would have to be a guy, because of course, a girl could never be a spy."

"What- no, Ginny, I, I-"

"What does it matter?" asked Harry quickly. "Right now, the spy is an it. We don't know, and nobody said girls were weak, Ginny."

Ginny didnt look entirely satisfied, but said no more.

"So," said Luna, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Are we just going to stand here?"

"Let's hang out in Harry and Neville's room," Hermione piped up. "It's nice in there."

"It's nice to ask," said Harry, as the other four turned and headed towards their door. "Besides, why our room?"

"You've got two beds in your room," Ron tossed over his shoulder. "Can we hang out? Thanks."

Harry glanced at Neville who shrugged, and and then followed their friends into the green room.

Hermione and Ginny had claimed Neville's bed, sprawled out over the cocoa colored blankets, with the drapes drawn back; Luna was laying comfortably in the middle of the fluffy green carpet, staring up at the ceiling.

Harry glanced up at the ceiling himself, and saw that rain was pouring from dark clouds overhead. It made Harry want to duck and get under something, even though he knew it was only a charm. A streak of lightning crossed the leaden sky, followed shortly by a muted rumble of thunder from outside.

Ron had taken Harry's bed; when Harry saw him there, he jumped over and tackled Ron of the bed. The wrestled for a while, rolling around on the floor, and somehow managing to avoid Luna completely, until Harry pinned Ron, and jumped onto his own bed victoriously.

Ron lay panting on the floor for a moment, grinning crookedly at Harry, before getting up and flopping onto the end of the bed, his eyes flashing good naturedly. Harry chuckled and let him stay there.

Neville didn't bother to kick Ginny and Hermione off his bed, but sat on the floor underneath the window with his back against the wall and pulled out a pack of Exploding Snap cards.

"Game, anyone?"

Harry and Ron abandoned the bed, stumbling in their haste to get to the cards.

The chaos that followed was the seven roughest, most rambunctious games of Exploding Snap Harry had ever played. All of them were singed in some way, and during the eighth game Ron actually caught his hair on fire, causing Harry to grab a pillow from his bed and begin smothering the small fire.

It went out in a matter of seconds, but Harry continued to beat Ron with the pillow. Ron grabbed a pillow from Neville's bed, fighting back; suddenly, the cards were scattered everywhere, and everybody was armed with pillows. Ginny and Hermione banded together, as did Neville and Luna, but Harry and Ron were on nobody's side, and they whacked everybody indiscriminately, including each other.

The boom and crash of thunder outside and the patter of rain on the roof mixed with the thumps, loud voices and giggles of the six teens as they engaged in an all out pillow war. White feathers and down flew everywhere as Ginny's pillow burst, making the room look like a blizzard in spring, with the green and brown decor, and the pale feathers floating and swirling in the air and coating the floor and beds.

Despite the mess, they continued to hit each other with the pillows; Ginny threw her ripped pillowcase aside, and tackled Luna; they began wrestling for Luna's pillow. Hermione and Neville suddenly appeared from behind Harry's bed, and attacked the two younger girls: apparently the truces between Ginny and Hermione, and Neville and Luna were broken.

Ginny shrieked in surprise, and let go of Luna, diving behind Neville's trunk for shelter, and snatching Hermione's pillow on the way past.

From downstairs, barely audible over the tumultuous noise in the bedroom, Harry heard the noise of the storm increase, and then the slam of a door, as if someone in a temper had just come into Grimmauld Place.

He froze, and paid for his lapse in concentration when Ron whacked him on the head, sending Harry tumbling head over heels to the floor. Ron looked at him, surprised. "I thought you'd duck!" he cried.

Harry sprang up from the floor. "I think they're here!" he hissed. "The spy! I just heard the door open!"

There was a sudden rush for the door as everyone dropped their pillows and ran for the door. They fled out of the room, down the red hallway, and to the landing, where they leaned forward and peered down to see who was there.

The hallway was very dark and unlit, but the gas lamps sputtered into life, throwing flickering shadows over the walls and showing the person standing in the hall.

Whoever it was had their hood pulled up against the rain; they were wearing a full length, black, dragon skin cloak that touched the floor, with the hood covering their face entirely, and black robes, which were soaked through, despite the cloak.

Rainwater rolled off the cloak and dripped off the robes onto the floor, making a dark wet patch on the carpet. The dragon skin cloak gleamed in the yellow light, dampness making the black hide shiny.

The shape of the person's body was not visible at all, hidden by the shapeless robes, and this further frustrated Harry. A gleam of metal on the person's waist caught his eye; beneath the robes, the stranger was wearing loose black pants, a brown long-sleeved shirt, and a dark leather belt with three things attached to it.

One was a black dragon skin pouch on the right hip that looked to contain a box that was slightly too large for it, there was a wand holster on the left side of the belt, and beside the wand holster, on the left hip, dangling down the side of their leg, was a long, thin, black leather sheath, about two feet long, that tapered to a point at the end. A plain bronze hilt with a round pink gem set in the end of it, and a long, straight crossguard were visible over the top of the sheath.

The person sighed and slumped against a wall, as if they were very tired. Harry saw them reach a hand up to their hood and rub at their face, and then they tugged the hood down, not appearing to notice the teens leaning over the rail on the landing above.

The person had large, dark eyes that were of an unguessable color, though they might have been cobalt blue in good light, and there were red rings around her eyes, as if she'd been crying. Her mouth was neither smiling nor sad; Harry could hear the girl taking deep, steadying breaths. Her long hair was dark chestnut brown, twisted into a practical bun at the nape of her neck. She had a small, straight nose and appeared to be very pale. She could have been rather pretty if she hadn't looked so upset and angry.

The girl fluttered her cloak, shaking off the water. The stares of the six teens seemed to attract the stranger's gaze; she tilted her head upwards toward the landing above and stared at them for a moment, then turned away, walking down the hallway, down the stairs into the basement kitchen, and out of sight.

Harry broke the silence that had fallen when the gir had left.

"More Exploding Snap, anyone?"

*

"When is she going to get here?" asked Moody, rather peevishly. The ex-Auror was leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed over his chest and eyes narrowed at Dumbledore, who was sitting unconcernedly at the head of the long table in the kitchen.

"It doesn't matter, Alastor," he said mildly. "We still need to explain that one important little issue to the new recruits. Kindly sit down."

Grudgingly, Moody sat down at the end of the table beside Lupin.

The twelve new recruits, including Oliver Wood, Professor Sprout, and Amos and Celeste Diggory, plus Fred and George, were sitting down the right side of the table. Tonks, Moody, Lupin, Mrs. and Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, Kingsley, McGonagall, Snape, Hestia Jones, Emmeline Vance, Dedalus Diggle, Elphias Doge, Mundungus and Josiphene Fletcher, and Amy Winfred were sitting on the left. Dumbledore was sitting at the head of the table; the only empty spot at the table was the one on the left, closest to Dumbledore.

There was a black cloth embroidered with a white Grim draped over the back of the empty chair, and Remus was carefully looking everywhere but there. Several of the new people were doing the exact opposite, and staring curiously at the empty chair.

"So, now that we've all become comfortable, let's begin the meeting."

Every eye in the room was on Dumbledore- with the exception of Moody's mad eye- and every person was paying keen attention to the old Headmaster, sitting up straight and looking down the table at him.

"This is one of the most important meetings of the Order of the Phoenix you will ever attend," said Dumbledore, staring at each of them in turn, "for all of you." His eyes twinkled. "Even those of you among us who are veterans of war."

The silence after his words was almost deafening.

"But we cannot begin yet, for two reasons. Firstly," his eyes twinkled again, like blue fire. "because the person who needs to be here seems to be rather late, and so the object that is being brought is late as well. And secondly, because there is an important issue that needs to be clarified."

He folded his hands on the table in front of him. "This is the issue of Sirius Black."

"Oh, something about me?" said a cheerful, and unmistakable voice from nearby. "Go on, tell us!"

Dumbledore's eyes widened in shock, and everybody looked around wildly, though the people on the right (except the Weasley twins) were looking scared, and the people on the left were looking eager, hopeful and disbelieving.

"Over here, you lot!"

They all turned to the voice. It was coming from a portrait hanging on the wall over the stove. This portrait was new; the carved mahogany frame was gleaming in the dim light, the colors on the canvas were bright and clear, and there was no dust anywhere on it.

And in the portrait was a handsome sixteen year-old Sirius Black. There was a Gryffindor banner behind him, with two gold rampant lions, facing each other on the scarlet silk. Sirius was sitting in an over-stuffed, comfortable, red armchair, with his legs draped over one arm, leaning on the other, grinning broadly.

"Hullo. Did you miss me much?" he said, looking at Remus, who was speechless. "Calm down, Moony," said Sirius soothingly. "I'm just a portrait." He sighed, and the grin faded a bit. "Not as good as the real me, but still..." He trailed off. "So, what about me, Dumbledore?"

"Perhaps you had best explain about yourself first, Sirius, before I finish what I was going to say," said Albus, but his eyes were twinkling furiously, and he was smiling.

"All right then," said Sirius eagerly. "Well, whenever a Black dies, a portrait of them appears somewhere in the house, at their default spot," he paused and looked around at the dark kitchen. "Apparently this was my default spot."

"Your default spot?" asked Tonks, curiously.

"Yup," said Sirius. "See, the owner of the house sets the default locations of the portraits. The default spot is where the portrait automatically appears when the person dies. Typically," he grimaced slightly, "my dear old mum would put her default spot in the front hall, where she could scream at everyone who comes in, while she'd put mine in the kitchen, over the stove, where I'd get all sorts of stuff on me. Really nice of her, don't you think? But at least it's not the attic, where I'd never be found, and this way, I get to sit in on the meetings."

"You're going to sit in on the meetings?" asked McGonagall.

"'Course," beamed Sirius. "Because one: my portrait is already here; two: the other Blacks sure as hell won't want me in their frames; and three: I know for a fact that Phineas won't let me use one of his frames, though he has four or five."

"Someone call my name?" drawled Phineas, walking into Sirius's picture.

Sirius scowled at him. "Get out of my frame, Phineas," he snapped, jumping up from his chair.

Phineas looked around the portrait in disgust. "You'd really want to be in this portrait? Really, at least your mother had some sense not to be painted on Gryffindor colors. But even this is better than my other frame."

"I said, get out of my picture, Phineas," Sirius growled, again. "And don't insult Gryffindor."

Some of the new recruits stared, or snorted in disbelief. Most of them were watching the portrait in apprehension.

"No, I think I'll stay here," said the older man smoothly. "Even putting up with all this tawdry red and gold is better than your silly god-son."

Sirius's scowl changed quickly to an eager smile. "He's here? Harry's here?"

"Of course," drawled Phineas. "In his bedroom, with all his friends, making a ruckus. And of course, it just had to be the bedroom with my portrait in it," here Phineas glared at Dumbledore, who smiled innocently back. "so I could listen to all his teenage woes and babysit him and his friends."

"Then I'll just go see him!" exclaimed Sirius brightly. The sixteen year-old tried to push past Phineas, but Phineas held him back.

"You think," said Phineas derisively, holding Sirius's shoulders. "That he would actually be happy to see you?"

"Yes," said Sirius, as if Phineas were stupid, and trying to shoulder past him. More of the new people snorted or glared.

"No!" cried Phineas, "He'd flip out! You haven't heard him going on about you! He's been having nightmares since you died; always talking in his sleep and asking you to come back! You can't go in there and just freak them all out; they're actually having fun for once!"

Sirius froze, and backed up to look at Phineas. "He's been- having nightmares?" Sirius asked, in a strangled voice. "Because I died?"

"Yes," said Phineas emphatically. "And I don't want to listen to that weeping and shouting anymore than I absolutely have to. So you stay here!"

Sirius looked as though he were about to shoot back a scathing retort, but instead shrugged, apparently pushing the thoughts out of his mind, and shoved Phineas out of the picture. "If I can't leave, then you get out of my portrait, Phineas."

Phineas yelped as Sirius pushed him, and stumbled backwards, apparently landing on the ground somewhere out of view, and letting out his breath with an 'Oof!' that was quite undignified.

Sirius dropped backwards, his knees hitting the arm of the chair and bending, so that he landed sideways in the chair, legs over the arm, propped up with one elbow on the other arm, in the lazy sprawl that only teenagers seem to be able to master, as he had been before Phineas interrupted.

"And reason number four why I shouldn't leave," he continued, as if there had been no interruption. "Is because I am the second in command of the Order of the Phoenix, and so have more right to stay than anybody, except Dumbledore." He tilted his head to Dumbledore, and the Headmaster nodded back. Sirius settled back in his chair, watching them, and apparently going to say no more.

All of the shocked eyes turned back to Dumbledore. "It's not true, is it?" asked Amos Diggory in a rough voice, incredulously. "He's not really in the Order, let alone second in command?"

Dumbledore tipped his head towards Amos, smiling gently. "He is indeed, Amos, and that is what I was about to explain, before Sirius turned up. You must take my word for it, for now, but Sirius Black is innocent, and has been for sixteen years."

Dumbledore gestured to the empty seat to his left, the one that was draped with the black cloth. "But sadly, Sirius was killed, not even a month ago, as you may have surmised. And so now, apparently, all that is left of him is a portrait."

"Yeah," sighed Sirius, from his portrait. "Sucks, doesn't it? I was only second in command for two months, and then my bitch of a cousin went and murdered me." He huffed. "And I can't believe that anyone would even consider calling me a Death Eater, or anything of the sort, because I spent my entire life fighting Voldemort, and that's how I got killed, thanks very much."

Suddenly, from outside the kitchen, there came the slam of a door. Sirius leaped up from his chair, crying, "Are those bloody idiots trying to wake up my mother, or what?" in exasperation, and raced out of his picture, shoving through other portraits to get to the front hall.

"His mother?" asked Celeste Diggory, half surprised, half suspicious. "Dumbledore, what is this?"

"Hey," snapped Tonks, defensively. "Lay off, and listen to him, won't you? Maybe you'd find out something if you did!"

"Don't talk to her like that," growled Amos, "and she's right. What is this? Aurors dealing with Death Eaters, and you, Shacklebolt," Diggory looked at Kingsley, "Aren't you in charge of the hunt for Black?"

"I am not a Death Eater!" snarled Sirius, coming back into his portrait, and flinging himself into his chair bad-temperedly. He had four parallel red scratches across his left cheek, as if someone had clawed him. "I am not, never was, and never will be! Did I have a trial, to prove otherwise? No! Did anyone bother to ask me? No! Did I ever kill anybody? NO! Was I the Potter's Secret-Keeper? NO! And how did I die? Protecting my godson, Harry Potter!"

There was silence at the end of Sirius's outburst, and everyone was staring at the fuming sixteen year-old in shock. Sirius glared at them regally, somehow managing to look handsome, haughty, and furious at the same time.

"Was that-?" began Dumbledore, but Sirius nodded angrily, cutting him off before he could finish.

"Yes," Sirius snapped. "She's here."

"Took her long enough," growled Moody, impatiently. "Who is it?"

"I don't know!" Sirius shot back. "I was too busy stopping my mother from freaking out and screaming at her when she came storming in!"

"Sirius," said Remus softly.

Sirius sighed and slumped down moodily in his chair. "Sorry," he muttered, not looking at any of them.

"Teenage hormones, I think," Remus teased. Sirius sighed again, but a tiny smile began twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah, probably," he said ruefully. "Oh, well. Being sixteen again is fun. You really don't realize how old you are, until you're young again." Sirius stretched his arms over his head. Then looked at Dumbledore. "How short is she, anyway? I mean, really?"

"Who said I was short?" snapped an aggressive voice from the kitchen door. Everyone looked, and the girl shifted uneasily at the sudden attention, her soaked cloak leaving wet marks on the stone floor.

"I did," yawned Sirius. "Let's just get on with the meeting, already."

"Sit," Dumbledore said in a soft voice, directing his words to the newcomer. "And let us begin, now that we are all here. You have it?" She nodded.

"Yeah," she muttered, her dark eyes flashing nervously as she swept her gaze over the silent people. "I got it."

"This is your spy, Dumbledore?" Amos Diggory said, clearly disbelieving.

"Tell me you aren't serious, Albus!" cried McGonagall.

"No fair!" said Fred and George loudly, in unison.

"This is her?" gasped Professor Sprout, shocked. "Dumbledore, she's- she's a-"

"She is here on my request, and has brought what we need," Dumbledore interrupted. "With the assistance, of course, of Tonks and Moody... thank you to all three of you."

Complete silence followed this statement. Everyone stared at the young woman, who stared impassively back at them; her face was now blank, and she didn't show whether or not she cared about her less-than-warm welcome.

"Please, sit down, and we can begin."

She swallowed and crossed the room in a few strides, her footsteps almost silent on the floor, even though they should have been loud in the deafening silence. Her face remained stonily impassive as she took a seat on the left side of the table, beside Fred, who moved over to make room for her.

"Now," said the old man. "We can begin. This is Jade Channing."

She nodded her head slightly in acknowledgement and her blank face flickered for a moment as her eyes darted skittishly over the rest of the Order as if looking for assurance. Nobody said anything.

"And the reason for this meeting is very important. Because," Dumbledore raised his voice, making it stronger, "we have in our possession a weapon which could destroy Voldemort once and for all."

Both sides of the table broke out in excited talk, and they stopped staring at Jade. Every face looked eager and curious.

Dumbledore turned his twinkling blue gaze to Jade; she seemed to know what he wanted, because she reached down, opened the pouch on her right hip, and pulled out its contents: a dark, polished, rectangular wooden box about seven inches long, three inches high, and three inches wide. It looked like a very short wand box.

Everyone seemed to be holding their breath; people leaned forward to get a better look, even Sirius sat up straighter, watching as Vernandez placed the polished box in Dumbledore's thin hand.

Dumbledore flipped the box open and placed it on the table, and every person except him winced or turned away slightly.

The small mahogany box was lined and cushioned with thick emerald green velvet. It didn't look as if the contents were breakable, more as if they were valuable. In the box was a gem; it looked like a topaz, but it every person could tell it was much more than that. It was about six inches long, and two inches around. The ends were faceted, but rounded, and the entire surface was smooth.

The centre of the gem was clear and perfect, with no flaws, chips, cracks, or veins. The crystal seemed to glow with a soft gold inner light, and it cast a very gentle, faint shine over the table, lighting up the grainy wood.

It wasn't the light, or the absolute perfection that made everyone wince, it was the magical aura that radiated off the gem. The magic was so intense that it was almost painful, yet it was obscure and intangible; irritating and enjoyable at the same time, indescribable and familiar together. It was raw power and mystique; like the tingle that a person felt when they walked into Ollivanders, when found their perfect wand, when they touched a unicorn's horn, or when they heard phoenix song, except stronger, older, more mysterious.

The air in the dingy kitchen seemed to vibrate with warm power, and then the tingling faded, and the light in the gem dimmed to a dull smoldering glow, like a fading ember, dark on the outside, burning hot on the inside, and ready to flare up in a second.

"What is that?" asked Oliver softly, in awe, the little hairs on his arms and neck still prickling.

"This," said Dumbledore proudly, "is the weapon we need. In the right hands, it can be used for great good, and for righteous purifying. It can scour the evil from a place, destroy a dark force, or bring light to the world. In the wrong hands," his voice suddenly sounded forbidding and grave, "it could taint and blacken the human soul, shatter mountains, wipe out entire continents, and eradicate all life as we know it."

There was a very heavy silence as every person contemplated the gem with slight fear and respect.

"What is the right hands, Albus? Who could wield such a thing properly?" asked McGonagall in a hushed voice, and there was a murmur of agreement.

"Not my hands, to be certain," said the old man quietly. "I could not use this. Nor do I think any of us could. It is not something that can be learned, taught, or found. It must be passed on."

"From who?" asked Tonks, mesmerized by the stone.

"From Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, or Salazar Slytherin." Dumbledore stared into the stone very intently, then looked up at the alert faces. "It must be held by an heir of one of the four founders of Hogwarts. Which is why we must do our very best to keep this out of Lord Voldemort's hands, for he could use it, and he would have, if he had retained it.

"Fortunately, or unfortunately, perhaps, once the stone is in the hands or an heir, it cannot be taken by anybody, unless it is given. We must do our utmost to find an heir who is on our side, keep them on our side, and help them to discover how to wield the power. If by any chance the heir should change sides when they hold the stone, we could not take it back, and they could give it to whomever the chose, whether it be Lord Voldemort or Cornelius Fudge- though the Minister couldn't use it. If an ordinary person holds it, it is merely a crystal, and can be taken. When an heir has the crystal in their possesion, it becomes a powerful and magical weapon, and can only be given."

Extreme silence followed this explanation. Josiphene Fletcher cleared her throat, and said in a low voice, "So... do we have an heir on our side? And who are all the heirs that we know of?"

"Well, to start, Lord Voldemort is an heir of Slytherin. I do not know of where the others are, or who they are. Though of course, there could be many of them, because the bloodlines of the four heirs have branched and divided many, many times, and so there could be five or six pure-blood families that have passed heir-ship down througout the years, without being aware of it, and if one of those heirs had married a Muggle-born or half-blood, there could be half-bloods with heir-ship as well. So, in essence, it could be almost any half-blood or pure-blood. Some of the lines may have even died out over the years."

"So it could be that there are ten heirs of Hufflepuff, say, one heir of Slytherin, and none of the other two?" asked Celeste Diggory quietly.

Dumbledore nodded. "And we do have an heir on our side-" he was cut off by the excited muttering. "But," he continued, louder, and the voices died out instantly, "I am most reluctant to pass the stone to him. I feel that it could go wrong, or become dangerous, though this person is undoubtedly with us. I feel that it is safer to simply keep it, and risk having it taken, rather than give it to our heir, and risk having it unknowingly given, used, or lost."

Another murmur went around the table, to be silenced by glares from McGonagall, Snape, and Moody.

"Remus," said Sirius suddenly, making everybody turn to look at the portrait over the stove. "You have to go. Five minutes until apex."

Remus glanced at his watch, and then jumped up. "Drat," he muttered. "I do have to go. I'll see you tomorrow."

Everyone watched him race out of the kitchen, and then turned back to Dumbledore.

"And so now," he continued, "this concludes our meeting. You may all go. If any of you wish to spend the night here, there are guest rooms on the third floor, or you may go home, as you desire. There will be another meeting tomorrow night, at the same time."

There was a rumble of quiet conversation and the scrape of chairs as everyone stood, stretched, and began to talk about the meeting. Most people lingered to stare at the stone in its velvet-lined box for a moment longer. They didn't have long to look, though, as Dumbledore picked the box up, closed it, and tucked it firmly and safely in an inner pocket of his robes.

"You can take Remus's room," he told Jade quietly, his eyes losing their twinkle and taking on concern as he looked at her emotionless face and guarded, dark blue eyes. "He will not need it tonight, but you must leave early in the morning, because he will need it then."

Channing nodded silently, but before she could leave the kitchen, Dumbledore stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Everything went well, I trust?" he asked gently.

She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah," she said again, a slight shake in her voice. "It went fine. No problems."

Jade's eyes made the sweep around the room again, as if searching for acceptance or reassurance on the faces, then left the kitchen quickly, damp cloak sweeping the stone floor and making a soft swooshing sound.

Everyone watched her go, and then broke into a tirade of questions and objections.

*

Harry paused, his hand hovering over the top of his house of Exploding Snap cards, and listened intently. Yes, there were footsteps coming up the stairs. Harry jumped up and headed out onto the landing, followed closely by his friends, who had been watching him build the card house. It blew up behind them, and they ignored it.

Harry stopped at the end of the hall as the girl wearing the dragonhide cloak stepped onto the landing, off the last stair. Her azure eyes gleamed in the dim light as she paused and looked at them.

Her eyes studied each of them in turn, and then stopped on Harry, and flicked momentarily upwards to his scar. She made no face of recognition or distaste, but remained expressionless.

"Is Lupin's room on this floor, or the next?" she asked in a shaky voice, pointing the question at Harry, seeming unsettled by something. He didn't answer, but stood frozen, staring at her, as were his friends.

"Well?" she demanded after a few seconds, getting impatient quickly. Ginny made a feeble gesture to the stairs, indicating that the girl should go up to the next floor.

"Right," she muttered. "Thanks."

Harry stared after her, watching in shock as she fled up the stairs. She couldn't have been any older than sixteen.