Truth in Advertising

Truth in Advertising

(Or, why the Order has to be subtle in its recruitment procedures)

* * * * *

The following content is taken from a short-lived leaflet boasting of "truth in advertising". It was found, unsigned, one fine winter's morning atop the table in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place's basement kitchen. Though undoubtedly having thought themselves very clever in not signing their names to their work, any of the authors' wishes of anonymity were somewhat diminished by the fact that they'd passed out directly beneath said table. All three of them were discovered with fingertips covered in ink and reeking of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey.

This is the story of one long night in early January, during which three young yet world-weary Wizarding folk got bored out of their minds, got pissed into next week, and got their quiet revenge on a thoroughly frustrating situation.

The document discovered in the kitchen the following morning was scanned rapidly by a pair of highly disapproving brown eyes.......

* * * * *

So, You Want to Defend the Wizarding World?

(what you always wanted to know about the Order of the Phoenix but never knew enough to ask, and if you had thought to try and get a straight answer from Dumbledore, you'd've run, screaming the entire way)

Greetings, Impressionable Young Witch or Wizard! Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix!

We have many exciting opportunities available for you. Yes, you!

Consider, friend - does this sound familiar?

You're young, hale, and hearty, fair of face and noble of spirit. You feel strongly about keeping your family and friends safe from the forces of evil. You are driven by the need to take a stand for the good of our world.

Our advice: Learn to conjure a Patronus, stock up on canned goods, and lock yourself in the cellar. You'll know it's safe to come out when you see shooting stars over Kent and hear people toasting the Boy Who Lived. Again.

Of course, you don't have to listen to us. Go ahead and join the Order. It's highly rewarding!

Think of the prestige. You get to rub elbows with that famous powerful wizard, your former Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. And baby, you can call him "Al". In addition, the Order holds long, drawn-out meetings during which we pass around numerous bottles of wine (cost of alcohol has been subsidized by our noble organization). The war would probably be over by now if we weren't so bloody smashed all the time.

There's always the thrilling element of danger involved as well. It's only fair to warn you now that the perils are not quite what you might expect.

Entry-Level Order duties include:

You could also be selected for the illustrious task of spending hours on end sitting very, very still under an Invisibility Cloak. You have your choice of spine-tingling venues: staring at a door, and/or at an angst-ridden teenage boy. In either case, we suggest you bring a good book (and that bottle of wine you nicked from the last meeting). Of course, there is the possibility that, in the line of duty, you might be hexed by a Death Eater and forced to gain entry to a top-security department at the Ministry in the dead of night and end up in Azkaban, or find yourself attacked by a giant snake...but that can happen to anyone, right?

Speaking of anyone, we need all the help we can get. We're terribly sorry, but all positions for shape-shifters have been filled at this time. Werewolves and metamorphmagi need not apply. We are also not seeking wrongly-accused mass murderers, as it is bad enough with one housebound, stir-crazy fugitive stalking these dark halls, though we thank you for your interest.

We have a part-time position open for an Assistant Odoriferous Career Hoodlum, as our current hired hand skives off at a moment's notice; we need someone equally dodgy to fill in during peak swindling hours. If this is the job for you, our recommendation is a simple one: When he offers you a drag off his pipe, inhale deeply and hold for a count of thirty. It's more effective that way.

Our roster of Hogwarts professors is full at this time, but if you check back at the end of term, a position for Defence Against the Dark Arts professor will, without doubt, have opened. Send a resume and proof of insurance to the Headmaster, and you will most likely be hired on the spot, you poor sod, you.

We are sufficiently stocked with Aurors, including our Token Cool Black Dude with the Earring, and the must-have Paranoid One-Buttocked Retiree. However, we are always seeking Ministry employees from all other departments. All we ask is that you draw an amusing cartoon, five panels minimum, featuring depictions of Fudge being sacked, and/or Umbridge befalling some sort of greusome misfortune. Bonus points if any of the illustrations feature either of these individuals picking their nose or scratching their arse. Note: spelling and grammar will be counted.

Physical fitness is a must. We do not mean that you must be in peak condition; you wouldn't believe some of the slobs we take into this group. We simply mean that your are, literally, physically fit for the work we do. For example, can you hear me now? I said, CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?

Good, that's very good. Come into the service of the Forces of Light with an open mind and firmly plugged ears. Our Headquarters, located at (sorry, can't tell you or we'd have to kill you - tee hee hee - no, really, don't make me do it, you suicidal maniac!) proudly features a portrait that will scream insults at you as you pass. Dear old Mrs. Black will be pleased to tell you all about her worthless blood traitor of a son. Of course, by noon, Sirius is pissed enough that he is apt to begin shouting insults about your mother as well.

We are not an officially-sanctioned group, which means that we don't have badges or nifty uniforms. However, at your first Order meeting, look for the young witch bearing a head of unnaturally-coloured hair; she'll gladly take her new permanent-ink pen to your shirt and you can proudly display your allegiance for all to see. (Many evolutionist yea-sayers may argue that you are asking to be hexed if you do so. They're right.)

In short: We of the Order of the Phoenix pledge to give our time, our loyalty, our hearts, and in some cases, or sanity or our lives, for a series of missions that border on the ludicrous, for the sake of all that is good.

So...You still want to join the Order?

Bloody hell, are you mad?!?

* * * * *

She'd read and re-read the parchment she had found on the table several times, and her shock and disbelief had given way to some serious thinking about all she'd believed till then.

The Order was not perfect. Dumbledore was not all-knowing. And dear Merlin, what had these three gotten up to once she and Harry and the Weasleys had gone to bed?

Hermione stared in horror at the three people still passed out beneath the table. Sirius lay flat on his back, mouth wide open, snores loud enough to rattle the house to its very foundation. Tonks, apparently undisturbed by the noise, had her head resting on her cousin's stomach and her thumb firmly stuck in her mouth. Professor Lupin was resting on his side very close by; his head lay propped on a curled arm, and his other arm was draped over Tonks' midsection -

Sweet Circe! Does he realize where his hand is?!?...

Hermione regarded the three adults before her. She gazed thoughtfully at the document in her hand, and then at the under-the-table tableau displaying a classic aftermath of intoxication.

She would be coming of age in less than a year. She'd always thought that adults had all the answers. These three people had shown her faces full of nothing other than strength and wisdom, and she figured that, clever as she was, she would be just as capable and sensible as an adult as they had unceasingly seemed to be.

Well, one thing is for certain - I'd better go hide the evidence, she thought, and stuffing the parchment deep into the pocket of her dressing gown, she crept from the kitchen, making sure she slammed the door on her way out.

All three participants in the impromptu flagstone-floor campout started awake.

"Ohhhh..." Tonks moaned, pulling her thumb from her mouth and rubbing a temple. "Where am I, and how'd I get hit by the Knight Bus?"

Sirius peered blearily at her. "I think you finally managed to drink me under the table, little cousin."

"Literally," Remus added, squinting around at their surroundings.

"We'd better get out of here before Molly finds us," Sirius muttered, though he looked reluctant to move. "She'll do her nut if she comes in and sees us passed out on the floor, under the sodding kitchen table."

"Remus," Tonks said, prodding him in the side, "Up, get up, you've got to move."

Remus buried his head in the crook of his elbow. "Noooo, floor's fine, plenty warm, thank you."

"Remus," Tonks said again, more insistently, "You can stay on the floor if you want, I really need to use the loo, and you've got to give me those back so I can move."

"Huh?" he groaned, lifting his head to see what his other hand had been clutching. "Oh! Oh my...I'm so sorry...Uhhhhh....Oh dear."

Tonks gave a weak giggle. "Thanks, but don't worry too much about it, really. I suppose they're a fair bit softer than the floor, eh?"

She crawled out from underneath the table and staggered up the stairs, leaving Sirius and Remus sprawled on the floor.

Sirius glanced at his old friend and opened his mouth to speak.

"Padfoot, don't even start," Remus snapped, and he turned away and went to navigate his way through the chair legs, in hopes of finding a cup of tea.

* * * * *

Two days later, the events of that drunken evening were still a blur. The children had been sent back to Hogwarts that morning, and Sirius and Remus were settling back into their daily routines.

By the time Tonks arrived home and finished her traditional duel with the umbrella stand, Sirius had gone to bed, and Remus was growing sleepy, his head nodding over his book. Tonks found Remus half-dozing in the parlor. She tiptoed over to his favorite sofa and carefully lifted the teacup and saucer from his relaxing fingers, before he could spill tea all over himself.

Remus started awake. "Tonks?" he asked, glancing around.

She jumped, shrieked, and there was the tinkling of broken china at her feet.

"Reparo," Remus said quickly. "Don't worry, it's easy enough to fix. So...any leads on our missing item?"

Tonks set the repaired cup carefully on the cart, then threw herself into her usual chair. "No, and I'm getting worried...I mean, I know we wrote something, and I know it was not exactly something we'd want to end up in the wrong hands."

They both stared into the fire for a moment. Remus' eyes shifted to Tonks' front, and she blushed for a moment, then realized that he was only reading her shirt. It was one she'd made herself, and since she had removed her work robes once she got home, the lettering was clearly visible: SOD OFF, UMBRIDGE, YOU GREAT TOAD. That reminded her of something...

"Did you really put something down about how I'd create uniforms for anyone who asked with my favorite pen?" Tonks queried, an eyebrow quirked in Remus' direction.

Remus chuckled. "You know, I think I may have done so, indeed. But what would an Order of the Phoenix slogan say, anyway?"

Tonks giggled madly. "I have the perfect one. You know those horrible shirts they sell for tourists? We can make our own. 'I Joined the Order of the Phoenix, and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt'."

They both laughed, forgetting for a moment that they were dispirited and bored, forgetting that they'd lost a very incriminating piece of parchment, and for just that one golden moment, what an unlikely pair they made.

And in the meantime, the missive in question had been charmed blank and attached with a Permanent Sticking charm to the inside cover of Hermione Granger's copy of Hogwarts: A History...because, really, there was no chance that anyone else would ever think to look in there, for any reason whatsoever.

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