Past Present

"Well, speaking of taking sides," Dumbledore interjected, "we need to take care of some business as to making it clear who is definitely on our side. It's all very well and good to talk about possibilities and vague, amorphous groups, but names and faces are what largely got us through the first war. I've no doubt that it will be the case once again. We have three here with us tonight who have already done a great deal for us, and will probably do a great deal more, but they haven't been properly inducted." Dumbledore rose and studied the group around the table over his glasses. "When I look around this table, I see so many familiar faces. Some from the first Order. A little more lined, a little more haggard, a bit more gray in the temples, some of us, but still the same hearts and spirits that we had the first time around. I see so many familiar names, families who gave so much in the first war, who are willing to do more. I think Arthur and Molly might have gone a bit further than most, providing us with new recruits, but so many of you come from lines that sacrificed a great deal the first time around."

He paused for a moment, fiddling with the end of his long, white beard before continuing. "And, of course, I see so many faces that I watched grow up for seven years at Hogwarts, and beyond. Hestia Jones, stand up." Hestia hesitantly stood, looking around a bit awkwardly, normally pink cheeks going even pinker. "When we founded the Order, we decided that we would only take those who fit a set of requirements. First, they must want to join. No conscription to the Order, no matter how much we would like to draft the best and brightest and put them to work for us. Second, they must be of age. Much as I would like to pull in some of the students," his eyes slid momentarily down the table to the chairs of Hermione, Ron and Harry, "clever as they are, talented as they are, brave as they are, they are still my students and worthy of protection. Not children, certainly, but not yet quite adults. Third, they must be prepared to demonstrate one quality above all others. Loyalty. It's the thing that holds together the fabric of so many institutions. House, country, school, friendship, marriage. It's what holds the Order together. Talent is nothing without someone willing to sacrifice a bit of comfort and safety for another."

Dumbledore stopped letting his eyes roam the table, and instead focused on Hestia. "You were a talented student, Hestia. I knew you would make a wonderful Auror. Alastor tells me he admires your skill and the way you've grown into your job. You come of your own free will and truly desire to join the Order of the Phoenix?"

Hestia answered in a soft but steady voice, "Yes."

"You came of age, when?"

"Eight years ago, now."

"Are you willing to give your utmost to this Order, your loyalty?"

"Yes."

"Nymphadora Tonks, stand," Dumbledore said, lifting a hand in her direction. She wrinkled her face in distaste at the sound of her own name, but stood. "Tonks, you and Sirius have journeyed a long way. The ancient and most noble house of Black certainly wouldn't have foreseen either Sirius or the daughter of Ted Tonks a few generations back, now would they?" he asked with a bemused expression. "Ted would be so proud if he were here right now. I know he's proud of you, anyway. It takes courage for a woman to step away from her family, everything she's been taught, and strike out on her own. You have that same bravery your mother had. Never fearing to do what is right, what you know you must. You, too, have become an Auror, and though still fairly new at it, you've demonstrated some wonderful skill. I needn't ask if you're of age, I think we all know you are. You wish to join?"

"Yes."

"It hardly bears asking since you and Sirius both gave up everything to be here, but I'll ask anyway. Ready to give us your loyalty?"

"Yes."

"Viktor Krum, stand." Viktor rose and looked at Dumbledore across the corner of the table that separated them. "But for an accident of fate, I might be congratulating you on following in the footsteps of your parents in joining the Order. As it is, I congratulate you on following their footsteps in everything else. It would have been so easy to follow in your Headmaster's footsteps. Easier, probably, than things have been this far. You've come farther than anyone else here. A few years ago, the idea of a former Durmstrang student sitting at this table with the Order would have been nearly unthinkable. I needn't ask if you're of age, anyone with a passing interest in Quidditch knows you are. I don't think I need to question your loyalty either. You were willing to lay your life down, we can ask no better than that. You wish to join the Order of the Phoenix?"

"I do." Viktor answered firmly.

"Any opposed to their admittance?" Dumbledore asked, surveying the table once more. "All in favor, indicate so," and instead of simply saying "Aye", the group around the table all flicked their wands, generating showers of red sparks. "So be it, then," Dumbledore said, nodding approvingly, then flicking his own wand. In a burst of flame and feathers, Fawkes appeared in the middle of the table, swooping to perch on Dumbledore's shoulder. "Meeting called to a fitting end, then. Get some sleep. It's near four in the morning." he added pleasantly. But the group milled about the room, murmuring and talking among themselves for several minutes, and many of the old members insisted on welcoming the new ones personally with proffered handshakes and conspiratorial slaps on the shoulders. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were all lamenting among themselves how very heavy their eyes felt and Hermione was wondering where they would fit everyone when the door opened.

"Been an attack!" came Hagrid's voice. His horrible hairy overcoat was covered in brambles and twigs, and covered in damp, as though he had been crashing through a wood somewhere.

"Attack?" Dumbledore asked, clearly alarmed.

"Olympe owled me. Death Eaters at Beauxbatons. Some o' the ones who escaped. I think Fudge has his proof," Hagrid said, shaking his head forlornly.

"He'll just write it off as panic. A dream. Something. Mass hysteria," Sirus muttered darkly.

"Can't deny one thing," Hagrid protested. "Two dead bodies."