Harry Potter and the Dark Times

Harry Potter and the Dark Times

Chapter One: Preparation

(A/N: Hello all. After HBP I decided that I needed to personally set about fixing the mess that JK has made of our favorite fandom. While I know my writing skill is no where near her caliber, I hope to at least spin a tale that is entertaining. It's rater R, because as the story progresses, the fighting will become quite gory and the language will be come quite…er…descriptive. Hopefully will be updated at least once a week, Enjoy and Review if the moment strikes you.)

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter. If I did children probably wouldn't be able to read it.

“I fear we have awakened a sleeping giant.” -Japanese General after the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

Harry thought, as he surveyed the dark green, pristinely cut lawn of Number Four, Privet Drive that once he could leave the fucking place, never to return, he might actually learn to enjoy his summer vacations.

`If I can kill Voldemort, that is.' He thought to himself with a dark look that had become familiar to his friends and surrogate family in the prior weeks.

He raised his hand to knock, but before his fist touched the pale white wood, the door flung open and Aunt Petunia sallow face was looking at him like she always did, as though he were a particularly nasty rag that needed to be thrown out.

“So you're back, are you?” She said disdainfully.

“Only for four nights,” Harry answered, lowering his arm. “I sent an owl in explanation. Did you not get it?”

Aunt Petunia's mouth turned into tone of the nastiest scowls Harry had ever seen. “Yes! That retched little beast of yours flew through the window of my kitchen while I was washing dishes! It was lucky I had just seen off Mrs. Nettle from Number Six!”

“Oh yes. Luck is what it was.” Harry muttered as he pushed past his Aunt into the house. He knew full well why Hedwig had waited until there was no one else in the house before entering; he had instructed her to do so.

He had sent news of his imminent arrival from The Burrow two days before. After attending Bill and Fleur's wedding, which was a joyous, if not a little subdued because of the recent loss of Dumbledore, occasion, Harry had sent word that he would be coming to stay for four nights at Privet Drive, just as his now deceased beloved Headmaster had wanted. The wedding was something Harry had enjoyed and loathed all at once. He saw witches and wizards by the dozen, smiling and laughing, and each time it pissed him off. Why should people be smiling and laughing? Why should there be joy in such a time of turmoil? Dumbledore was dead, and many more were joining him everyday, and Harry couldn't do a damned thing about it.

`Not yet, anyway.' He thought to himself. `Just two more weeks till I'm legal, then I'm taking the fight right back at him. And I promise you this, Dumbledore, Voldemort will finally know what it is to fear us as we do him. I'll fucking see to that.'

Before leaving he had informed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that he had planned to take a trip to Godric's Hollow after his sojourn to his relatives, and that Ron and Hermione were both going to accompany him. Mrs. Weasley began to protest almost instantly, but with a small murmur from Mr. Weasley, reminding his wife that Ron was now of age and couldn't be told he wasn't allowed to go, her protests quieted. Initially Ron had said that he and Hermione would be coming to Privet Drive as well, but after much thought the three decided that they would stay at the Burrow and prepare for their trip instead of risking the chance of Harry's Uncle Vernon blowing his top and forcing Ron to jinx him.

After writing the letter to his Aunt, he had written a letter to Professor McGonagall, whom Mr. Weasley had told him would probably be in charge of the Order after Dumbledore's passing. The letter, which had turned out to be quite longer than Harry originally intended, requested a meeting with her, and a hand full of those Order members that Harry trusted implicitly, the night he returned to The Burrow. Her answer arrived only a few moments before Harry left the Burrow for Privet Drive. She had acquiesced, but only under the stipulation that Harry answered a few questions she had of her own. Writing a quick response, which told McGonagall that he would tell her what he thought Dumbledore would have wanted him to, Harry had left for Privet Drive.

The subject of just how Harry planned to get around during the summer had come up more than once at The Burrow. While Mrs. Weasley was all for a full regimen of Aurors to accompany Harry, he had dismissed the idea quickly. He figured he could get around quicker and more covertly by himself. So when he left for Privet Drive, donned in his invisibility cloak, he had Hermione call the Knight Bus for him. The man who had replaced Stan Shunpike, who was still being held under Death Eater suspicion, had thought her quite odd when she told him that she had changed her mind and didn't want a ride as Harry slipped onto the bus unnoticed. It didn't take long for the bus to stop in Diagon Alley, and with a lot of quick movement, and little bit of luck, Harry managed to slip into Muggle London unnoticed. He hailed himself a taxi, which he paid for with the small bit of Muggle money he had exchanged at Gringotts.

Since he would only be at Privet Drive for a few nights, he had not brought his trunk. A small bag, which he had informed Mr. Weasley many times was a muggle backpack, was strapped to his back. Ignoring his Aunt's further protests to his presence, Harry trudged up the stairs for what he hoped would be one of the last times. He entered his small room and placed his backpack atop the dresser. He looked up at the small mirror that had been placed above the desk the previous year, and grimaced at the face that looked back at him. His eyes, which used to be so vibrant and green, were now pale and hard. Dark bags hung down from each socket like he had taken a particularly bad beating from Dudley. He took several sheaves of parchment and sat down at his small desk. Pointing his wand at the parchments he said, “Hogwarts, A History” and they seemed to fill with writing of their own accord. Hermione had bewitched them for him the night before he left The Burrow.

The first was a checklist of things Harry needed to do in the next few weeks. He, Hermione, and Ron had stayed up late several nights discussing what needed to be done in the wake of Dumbledore's passing. They had decided that several things needed to be divulged to those Order members who they deemed trustworthy, namely McGonagall, Remus Lupin, the Weasley's and Tonks. Harry had decided that they should not know the prophecy in its entirety, but to gain their cooperation they would need to know that he was indeed the `Chosen One.' Hermione had pointed out that they would need resources in order to find and destroy Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes, and the only way to gain those resources would be to show the importance of their task to the Order members.

Dumbledore had told him to tell no one of the Horcruxes, with the exception of Ron and Hermione, and Harry planned to stick to that. He would not tell the Order what they were planning to do. He would inform them that he was taking up the task Dumbledore had been trying to complete before his death, and that he, Ron, and Hermione would be doing it with or without their help. Privately Harry new that without some help, finding the horcruxes would be almost impossible, if not deadly. While he was fairly confident that he and his friends could possibly come up with several places to being to look, he knew that getting to them, and having the resources to research them, would be difficult without the help of the Order.

Harry glanced once more at the mirror, and the dark bags reminded him of the dreams he had been experiencing. Every night when he slept horrible visions of Snape killing Dumbledore flashed through his mind. These dreams usually progressed to Snape murdering his father, then his mother, and sometimes Ron, Hermione and Ginny. Those few days he had spent at the Burrow, he and Ginny had reverted to form, acting as friends like they had for years. But, every now and then, Harry would catch Ginny looking at him forlorn, as though she wanted to say something, but wouldn't permit herself. Harry wanted to speak to her about it. To explain to her that they couldn't be like that ever again, that he didn't want it, but every time he tried, the small glint in her eyes stopped him. He couldn't bear to hurt her, not so soon after everything that had happened.

Harry shook his head as his thoughts drifted. He had decided only a few days after the death of Dumbledore that he wouldn't let himself dwell on things that may happen, he would deal with the here and now, and what he had to do next. So, refocusing his conscience, he began to look over the parchment, and the many things that still had yet to be done.

*

“Harry.”

“Harry, wake up.”

Harry slowly opened his eyes to find himself face down on his desk at Privet Drive, parchment sticking to his face.

“That's a boy. Wake up now Harry, I haven't much time.”

Harry knew that voice. But how could it be?

“Oh many things that can't be, are, Harry.”

Harry shot straight up, spinning in his chair. There, sitting on his bed, wearing his best periwinkle robes was Albus Dumbledore, smiling at him, eyes twinkling.

Harry found he couldn't speak.

“Hello, Harry.” Dumbledore said kindly.

Harry managed to scrape a, “How?” from his throat.

“Don't worry about that now. I've come to tell you about the Horcruxes.”

“What about them, sir?” Harry said in a dry voice.

“You've seen one before.”

“I know. I saw your ring, and I saw the locket, but it was a fake.”

“Ah yes, the locket. You've seen the real one once before, Harry.”

Harry's eyes widened. “I have? When? I don't remember.”

“Oh yes, you've seen it. It was in…”

Before Dumbledore could tell Harry where he had seen the locket, Harry's bedroom door burst open.

In the doorway stood Snape, his arm raised, fire blazing in his eyes.

“Hello Severus.” Dumbledore said calmly.

“Dumbledore!” Snape exclaimed. “I've killed you once, old man! Why won't you stay dead?”

“As Harry here will tell you,” Dumbledore replied, nodding at Harry, “as long as there are those at Hogwarts still loyal to me, I shall never be gone.”

“We shall see!” Snape shouted, sending a green light speeding at Dumbledore from his wand.

Before the spell hit, Dumbledore turned to Harry and said, his voice echoing, “Sirius.”

*

Harry's head flew up from his desk. He spun, his glasses askew to look at his bed, but nothing was there.

“A dream, Harry,” he told himself, “just a damn dream.”

But had it really just been a dream? Could Dumbledore really have sent him a message from beyond the grave? Had he really seen the locket horcrux before? Harry racked his still sleep muddled brain to answer these questions. Finding no answer suitable, he flung his glasses from his face and turned to the window. Moonlight was streaming in, the hour was late and Harry wondered how long he had been asleep on the desktop. Standing to change into his bedclothes, he continued to rack his brain about the odd dream.

Crawling into bed and turning off his bedside lamp, Harry wondered if he might be going insane, like the Prophet had said the year before.

That night, as Harry slept, the same dream occurred over and over again. Each time ending with Dumbledore's echoing voice saying, “Sirius” and Harry sitting straight up in his bed, a cold sweat covering his body.

*

The next three days passed in relative quickness for Harry. He spent most of his time, writing letters to various people, checking on the well being of some, and asking for the cooperation of others. He had asked Lupin to obtain an estimate of rebuilding Godric's Hollow, a request that was quickly granted. Now all that stood between Harry and having his parent's house back was leaving Privet Drive and making his way there.

So Harry's days passed, writing letters, reading letters, making loose plans after discarding almost every idea that had crept into his mind. And every night the same haunting dream, Dumbledore telling him he had seen the real Slytherin's locket before, and ending with an echoed `Sirius'.

Harry had come to the determination that he had to go to Number 12, Grimmauld Place as soon as possible.

Harry's last morning at Privet Drive was exactly how he had pictured it. He made his way down the steps at eight o'clock, told the Dursley's he was leaving for good, received a grunt from Uncle Vernon in return, and walked out the door.

Slipping on his invisibility cloak, he flung his wand into the air. A moment later the Knight Bus appeared with a Bang! And the door opened. The man at the door was confused by apparently being hailed by no one, but left the door open just long enough for Harry to slip aboard. An hour later he slipped back off the bus into Diagon Alley.

Cautiously making his way down the street, he spied Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes and slipped in the door. Finding Fred (or was it George?) standing at the register, Harry slipped behind him.

Harry leaned up and whispered, “Hey, it's Harry; meet me in the backroom in two minutes.”

Fred jumped, but to his credit didn't make a sound and simply nodded.

Two minutes later Harry was standing, inspecting the various expensive items of W.W.W.'s back room, when Fred joined him.

“So,” Fred said, “why the need to scare me witless, Harry?”

“Sorry about that,” Harry answered, “but I have to keep myself scarce.”

Fred nodded. “So what can I do for you, oh esteemed investor?”

“Well,” Harry said, turning back to the shelves, “I need three sets of, pretty much everything you've got for battle purposes. I'll pay for it, of course.”

Fred held up a finger and disappeared into the front room. Harry heard him announce that the store would be closing early and for everyone to bring their final purchases to the register. Ten minutes later he returned, George in tow.

“So Harry,” George said, “Fred tells me you want three sets of everything we've got back here.”

“That's right, and I'm more than prepared to pay for it.”

George shook his head. “We're not concerned with the money when it comes to you, Harry, what we're concerned with is what you need them for.”

Harry had never seen the twins look so serious before.

“I can't really give a lot of details, but I'll tell you as much as I can. We're leaving, Hermione, Ron and I. We've got things to do. I've got things to do; things that must be done to end this war.”

George nodded and turned to look at Fred. “What do you think, Fred?”

“I think I'm fairly insulted.”

“Oh yes, greatly insulted.”

Harry was confused. “What?”

“You think you three are just going to run off, without anyone else?” George asked.

Harry began to shake his head. “Guys, seriously, no one else can go. No one else can know what we are going to do.”

“And why is that, Harry?” Fred asked.

Harry sighed. “Because we are continuing the work that Dumbledore was doing before he died, and he told me not to tell anyone else. And,” he held up a finger to stop the protest that was on both of the twin's faces, “it's not because I don't trust you, or that Dumbledore didn't trust you, it's because if you don't know, then you can't be forced to tell.”

Fred and George both nodded.

“Well then,” Fred began, “let's get you suited up.”

An hour later Harry left the twin's shop, three bags full of shrunken items over his shoulder, and headed for the Burrow.

*

A thousand miles away, at a large mansion in the northern mountains of Georgia, a southern state of America, the fate of the wizarding world was decided by a man, who by all appearances was a normal, successful Muggle business man.

Appearances can be deceiving.

Moments earlier, the man's best friend had entered and told him terrible news.

Albus Dumbledore was dead.

After the man's initial anger had slightly faded, he turned to look at his best friend, and said, “Go pack, we're leaving for England in an hour.”

“And why am I not going?” A female voice sounded from his left.

“I'm sorry, Willow,” the man replied, “but this is something I have to take care of myself.”

He walked away, but stopped before leaving the room to say over his shoulder, “There's a young man out there who's just had his guidance taken from him. I'm going to goddamned give it back.”

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Chapter Two: Meetings and Old Friends

Harry was terrified. Absolutely, shit worthy, terrified. The event that he knew was coming was staring him right in the face, and it scared him to death. As He, Ron, and Hermione walked up the path to Hogwarts, with the moon shining down and a soft breeze blowing across the grounds, it was by all outward appearances a beautiful night, but for Harry Potter it was miserably storming in his heart. He and his best friends were headed to Hogwarts to meet with those few Order members that he trusted. He wasn't afraid of that part; meeting the Order would be quite easy compared to what else awaited him.

He was finally going to speak with Dumbledore's portrait, and that thought was scarier than the thought of facing Voldemort.

Thought for the life of him, Harry couldn't figure out why he was so scared. It should be something that inspired hope in him; that even though Dumbledore had died, he could still speak with the wizened Professor, and gain guidance from him.

Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts as they entered the Great Doors. Professor McGonagall was waiting inside for them, and gave a quick nod as greeting as she turned and walked up the staircase. Wordlessly, Harry, Hermione, and Ron followed her.

Before Harry knew it, he was staring at the stone gargoyle that guarded the stairwell to the Headmaster's office. He smiled slightly as he heard Professor McGonagall murmur “Chocolate Frogs”, and then followed her up the twisting staircase, Ron and Hermione in tow.

He entered the office to find the requested Order members already awaiting them. He knew Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would already have arrived; they had left the Burrow before Harry had. Lupin and Tonks rose to greet Harry, he shook their hands, followed by Hermione and Ron. Alastor `Mad-Eye' Moody was the last member he had invited. He trusted the elder Auror's opinion, and wanted him there for advice as how to proceed. And Harry knew that if anyone would support their decision to go after Voldemort's power, Moody would.

Harry noticed that three seats had been arranged opposite of the Order members, directly in front of McGonagall's desk. He, Ron and Hermione sat down and Professor McGonagall began to speak.

“Now, Harry,” she began in her familiar burr, “would you tell us why you've called this meeting?”

Harry didn't hear her, his focus was drawn to a portrait that had been placed above the Gryffindor sword's case. Professor Dumbledore still slumbered peacefully in his frame.

McGonagall noticed Harry's gaze and her face softened slightly.

“Yes, Albus still slumbers. The transition is most difficult at first; I would be surprised if he woke up before another two weeks.”

Harry nodded and released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. He felt guilty for not wanting to talk to the old Headmaster, but he wasn't emotionally ready, yet.

“Now Harry,” McGonagall said, her voice kinder, “why don't you tell us why we're here?”

“As you all know,” Harry began, trying to remember the speech Hermione had told him to say before leaving the Burrow, “Professor Dumbledore was often gone for days at a time before his…death. I and I alone know what he was after, and, working with his permission, I have told Hermione and Ron. As soon as possible, after a brief visit to both Grimmauld Place and Godric's Hollow, we are leaving to continue the task that he has set for us. And we're going to need some cooperation from all of you to do it.”

“What was he searching for?” McGonagall said at once.

Harry shook his head. “I'm sorry Professor, but it was Dumbledore's request that, even if he passed away, I not tell anyone.”

McGonagall's face darkened but she nodded. “So what can you tell us about this…mission?”

“It's extremely dangerous,” Harry began, but was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley.

“Then I don't want Ron going!”

“But,” continued Harry, fixing Mrs. Weasley with a stare, “if it's not done, then we will lose the war, and Voldemort will never die.”

Silence greeted his words. After a moment, McGonagall opened her mouth to say something, but before a word could leave her lips, the office door was flung open.

Everyone stood at once, their wands raised. A man appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a small hat, made of a material Harry couldn't identify, that covered his head like a sock down to his ears. Light blonde tuffs of hairs stuck out on all sides from under the small hat. On his small, slightly blunted nose, sat a pair of wireless half-moon blue glasses. His frame was thick, but not with fat, Harry noted, but with muscle. He wore a dark black t-shirt with `The Doors' emblazoned on the front in bright metallic blue, and a pair of dark blue jeans that almost completely covered his brown flip flops, which were unheard of in Hogwarts. He was no taller than Harry, but the way he seemed to stand made his height seem larger than it was.

The man stepped into the office and waved his hand, everyone's wand arm suddenly dropped, despite feverish resistance by each owner.

Everyone struggled to raise their wands once again, but one person was standing in shock, not moving, her mouth open in a most uncharacteristic way.

After a moment of silence, Professor McGonagall said in a small but hopeful voice, “D..David? Is that you?”

The man smiled grimly. “Hello Minerva. It's been quite awhile.”

His smooth, American, voice reached the ears of the other elder members present, and each mouth fell open in shock.

The man turned his head and nodded at each of them as he said their names. “Remus, Arthur, Molly, Nymphadora, Alastor.”

“David Richardson? Is that really you?” Remus asked, sliding his now released wand back into his cloak.

“That it is.”

Hermione gasped beside Harry, causing David to notice them. “And this must be the youngest Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger. And of course Mr. Potter.”

Mad-Eye Moody stepped forward. “How do we know it's you? Might be a Death Eater.”

David snorted. “A Death Eater?”

He raised his hand and a ball of flame appeared in it. With a raised eyebrow he threw it at Moody, Harry started to let out a shout, but before hitting Moody the ball turned to water and soaked Moody's cloak.

“That do?” David said.

Mad-Eye growled a “Yes,” and went about drying off his cloak with his wand.

“Who are you?” Harry said boldly. “This is supposed to be a private meeting.”

Hermione hit him on the shoulder with a slight, “Shh.”

“Why are you here now, David?” Mr. Weasley asked, “After so long away?”

David turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think I'm here? Albus is dead, is he not?”

Mr. Weasley nodded.

“Did you think I would not come to see for myself if the rumors were true? Did you not think I would come to try and avenge his death?”

McGonagall spoke. “But why now? Dumbledore has been dead for almost a month.”

“There was a problem in Los Angeles that required my attention. It has taken awhile but I've managed to get it squared away. I had heard several rumors, various stories, as to what had happened, but I came here to learn the truth.”

Remus said, “Why have you just come back now? Why not a month ago? Why not six months ago? Maybe if you had Dumbledore wouldn't be dead.”

David turned a fiery gaze on Remus. “You should not speak of matters you know little about.”

Harry felt waves of power coming off of David in his fury. Who was this man who had walked into the Headmistress's office? Who was this man that everyone but he and Ron seemed to know?

Harry asked again, “So who exactly are you?”

“This, Potter,” said McGonagall “is David Richardson; an old friend of Dumbledore's.”

“Some friend,” muttered Ron “didn't even make it back for his funeral.”

David turned a sharp eye on Ron. “As you are young, and quite ignorant, I will let that go. But I would advise to hold your tongue, boy.”

Harry expected Mr. or Mrs. Weasley to say something in the defense of their son, but both of them nodded furiously at Ron, who seemed to blanch and quickly sat down in his seat.

David noticed Dumbledore's portrait and walked over to it. He stood, gazing for a moment, before turning a questioning eye on McGonagall.

“He hasn't awakened yet.” She answered his unspoken question.

David nodded and turned to sit in an empty chair.

“So Minerva, I want to know everything that has happened in the past year. Everything Dumbledore was up to and everything that the Order was up to, including the events surrounding his death.”

To Harry's growing astonishment with this new man, McGonagall did not hesitate in telling David everything he wanted to know. Including things Harry himself did not know about what the Order had been up to all year in defense of Voldemort and his army.

Harry sat down in amazement and shock, followed quickly by Hermione. For almost an hour McGonagall talked, telling the entire story of Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts.

“What was Dumbledore searching for?” David interrupted when McGonagall had told him of Dumbledore's frequent absences from the school.

“We do not know.” McGonagall said with a look at Harry. “There is only one person who does, and he will not break Dumbledore's confidence.”

David looked at Harry for a long moment and nodded. “Good. And it had better stay that way Mr. Potter.”

McGonagall searched David's face for a moment, and then said, “You know what he was searching for, don't you?”

“Of course I do.”

Harry gasped. Dumbledore had told him no one else, with the exception of Ron and Hermione had known. “That's a lie. Dumbledore said he told no one else.”

“I didn't say he told me, now did I boy?”

Harry gaped. How had this David found out? How had he known what no one else was supposed to know?

“If you will, Minerva,” David said.

McGonagall continued the story, and when she reached the eve of Dumbledore's death she said, “The only one here who saw the incident was Mr. Potter.”

David turned to Harry. “Tell me everything that happened when you arrived back at Hogwarts. I assume that Dumbledore was weakened after your trip, I have a good idea of where you went, and that he was caught by surprise.”

Harry looked to McGonagall uneasily. Why should he tell this man, who looked barely older than Harry himself, how Dumbledore had died? McGonagall nodded reassuringly, and Harry grudgingly told the tale of Malfoy's revealed plot and Snape's murder of Dumbledore.

When Harry had finished his part of the story, David reached into his pocket and took out Muggle pack of cigarettes. Placing one between his lips he flicked his finger at the tip, causing it blaze to life. Harry fully expected Professor McGonagall to reprimand him, but her face remained impassive as she waited for David to speak.

Mr. Richardson sat for a long moment, staring at the front of McGonagall's desk, taking deep drags of his cigarette.

When he finally spoke was with a sigh and an air of resignation. “Minerva I'll need to call an Order meeting, we can have it at my London estate. I'll need to address everyone.”

“So I take it you are planning to resume your former place in the Order?”

David nodded. “I'll also be taking on the role of Harry, Ron, and Hermione's instructor, as I'm sure they are planning to pick up where Dumbledore left off, and they won't do it unaccompanied.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, Hermione spoke. “Your help would be most welcome, Mr. Richardson.”

Harry and Ron both turned to look at her aghast, but she shook her head.

David chuckled, “It's good to know at least one of you has heard of me.” He turned back to McGonagall, “Let's aim for two nights time from now for the meeting Minerva. Quince and I need to get a few things in order beforehand.”

“Quince Vandiver?” Hermione said in an awed voice.

David nodded and stood. “Send me an owl with confirmation, Minerva.”

He began to walk away from McGonagall's desk, but stopped to turn, “Oh and, Minerva? Please see to it that these three are present at the meeting as well.” He gestured to Harry, Hermione, and Ron.

Harry was sure that McGonagall, or Mrs. Weasley, would protest to the notion of them being present at an actual Order meeting, but to Harry's surprise, McGonagall just nodded.

David nodded back. “Goodnight all.” And as quickly as he had come, David Richardson turned and moved quickly from the office.

Everyone stared after him. Mrs. Weasley spoke in a shaky voice, “I can't believe he's back.”

Tonks said, “I know. But Merlin it's about time! I've never had the pleasure of working with him of course, I was too young last time, but I grew up hearing about David.”

“Who is he?” Harry and Ron both said.

“That Harry,” Hermione said, “is one of the greatest wizards of our time.”

“Dumbledore is, was the greatest wizard of our time!” Harry said defiantly.

“Yes, Harry. He was.” Lupin said kindly. “Dumbledore was quite possibly the greatest wizard since Merlin to hold a wand. But, you see, David doesn't use a wand.”

“How do you do magic without a wand?” Ron said, confused.

“You've never heard of earth magic?” Hermione asked.

Harry and Ron both shook their heads.

“You see,” Mr. Weasley started, “there are all kinds of magic. The kind we do, is pulled from around us, channeled using our wands. But there is another, jut as powerful type of magic that comes from the earth itself. I'm sure you, Harry, have heard of Muggle Wicca's?”

Harry nodded. Ron said, “What are they?”

“Wicca's,” Hermione said, “are really just muggles who want to pretend to do the type of magic we do. But every now and then, it's really rare, you know, there are those who can actually use it. David is one of those people.”

“Did he go to Hogwarts?” Harry asked. He was shocked at learning about this new type of magic.

“Oh no.” Hermione said shaking her head, “He's not a wizard, per se, so the magic quill didn't write his name down when he was born. No, Harry, David isn't what you'd call a wizard; he's more of a warlock.”

“But wasn't Dumbledore the Supreme Warlock of the Wizengamont?”

McGonagall nodded. “Yes he was, but that was just a title Harry. Warlocks, real warlocks, don't use wands or incantations. They can feel the magic flowing around them and can bend it to their will. The last warlock, who was as powerful as David, was a man by the name of Michaelus Dalshan, who lived during the 12^th century. That's how long it's been since someone of David's power has existed, in that type of magic at least.”

“But how could he have been good friends with Dumbledore?” Harry asked. “He's barely older than we are.”

Lupin chuckled. “If you had to guess, Harry, how old would you say David is?”

“I'm not sure. Nineteen maybe? Twenty?”

Lupin shook his head. “David is over eighty years old, Harry. Warlocks age differently than even we wizards do. While we usually live fifty to sixty years longer than muggles, warlocks live one or two centuries longer than we do.”

Harry, for the tenth time that night it seemed, was shocked into silence.

“So why's he just coming back now? Someone like that, we could have used.” Ron asked.

McGonagall sighed. “Yes we could. But after Voldemort's first downfall, David and Dumbledore argued. David, always being more active and aggressive than Dumbledore, wanted to hunt down and kill all the remaining Death Eaters, including Severus Snape, regardless of who had talked their way out of punishment by the Ministry, but Dumbledore, of course, wouldn't hear of it.”

“He had the right bloody idea.” Mad-Eye murmured.

“You see that was always the difference in David and Dumbledore,” McGonagall said “while neither would kill someone without reason or cause, David would kill rather more rashly than Dumbledore would have. I have no doubt that if David had been here the night Dumbledore died he would have killed every Death Eater he came into contact with.”

“And that's another reason he hasn't been here.” Mr. Weasley said, “The Ministry has a warrant out of his arrest because of the deaths he caused during the last war. Of course he never killed someone who wasn't on the other side, but in several cases he killed when he could have captured. He's always been very firm that if you align yourself with the Dark Arts, you should be punished by death.”

“And there's something wrong with that?” Harry asked.

“To some people,” Lupin responded.

“How do you know who David and this Quince fellow are?” Ron asked Hermione.

“I've read about them, of course. Quince is like David, though not as powerful, and they've worked together for years.” Hermione answered.

“So he was in the Order last time?” Harry asked.

“Yes, he was.” McGonagall answered.

“Why didn't I see him in the picture Mad-Eye showed me?” Harry asked.

“He never lets himself be photographed. Not many people have ever seen him in person. Less than a dozen I'm sure. Dark wizards don't even know what he looks like, because usually if one sees his face, it's the last thing they ever see.” Mad-Eye said, with an approving voice.

(A/N: Ok I know that David sounds kind of mary-sueish right now, but that won't last, I promise you that. And the entire back-story of how David fits into the past will be told; just be patient. And to a few sharp-eyes reviewers out there, no, this will not be a crossover…yet. Right now I'm currently writing a BTVS story with David and Quince in it, that takes place before this one. (Which messes up all kinds of time differences, but I really don't care.) After this story there will be a sequel-like story that brings both worlds together. If you want to know the location of the other story, please let me know and I'll get it to you.

David and Quince, by the way, are my original characters that are part of my original novel that's been bouncing around my computer for a year or so.)

Oh yea, and review if the muse strikes you. It's always nice to hear from folks. And if anyone would like to beta, please let me know.

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Chapter 3: Rising From Ash

(A/N: Sorry this took so long, school is rough right now. I have not had this beta read, so please forgive any inconsistencies and point them out if possible. Enjoy!)

“Harry, wake up. It's time to go to the meeting, mate.” Ron's voice rang out from down the hallway.

“Dumbledore!” Harry screamed as Ron's voice pulled him out of his dreams of the former headmaster's demise at the hands of Professor Snape.

He reached blindly to the bedside table, his hand searching for the familiar feeling of the small, wired rimmed glasses. Successfully finding and putting on his glasses, Harry tried to slow his breathing as he glanced around the unfamiliar room. It took a moment before he realized he was in the Head-Boy dorm at Hogwarts, which had been offered to him by McGonagall the night before.

“Harry?” Ron's voice echoed down the hallway.

“I'm up, Ron.” Harry said loudly.

“Professor Lupin reckons we ought to leave in about fifteen minutes.”

“I'll be ready.”

Shaking the memory of the dream from his thoughts, Harry made another mental note to get to Grimmauld Place as soon as he could and set about getting ready to meet the remnants of the Order of the Phoenix.

*

Harry took a relieved breath when the pressure of side-apparition began to fade. Harry could make out the shapes of Lupin, Ron, and Hermione in the slight moonlight that the waning moon emitted.

Harry approached the house with a look of awe on his face. David's London estate was far larger than any house he had ever seen before. Pale white, with four large columns in front, it reminded Harry of some of the old homes he had seen in his history books during his muggle schooling. Arched over the entrance was an engraving in black marble, the characters, which Harry did not understand, seemed to glow in the moonlight.

“What language is that?” Harry whispered to Hermione, nodding his head toward the arch.

“I'm not sure.” Hermione whispered back, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You don't know?” Ron and Harry said at the same time.

Lupin chuckled. “Don't worry Hermione; there aren't many people in the world who can read that. It's in ancient Sumerian.”

“What does it say?” Harry asked.

“It barely translates to English, but basically it says: `Abandon Hope, Ye Who Enter with Evil Spirit.”

Harry nodded wordlessly, storing the information for later perusal.

The two gates opened wordlessly for them, and Harry followed Lupin up the walk.

“I didn't know you could read Ancient Sumerian.” Hermione said to Lupin.

Lupin laughed. “Oh no, I don't speak Sumerian. I just know what that says.”

“How do you know that?” Harry asked.

“I spent a little time here during the first war. Come on.” Lupin said in a terse voice as he turned up the walk, ending the conversation.

The granite slabs that lined the path to the mansion were inscribed on each side with ancient runes, and Harry could not see more than a foot to either side. He lifted his arm, intent on seeing how far the light stretched from the path, when his wrist was seized by Lupin.

His face was stern and his voice edgy as he leaned close to Harry, saying, “Never leave the path, even just for a second. Even just a part of you.”

“Why?” Harry asked, pulling his arm free.

“There are animals on this property that are trained to kill trespassers. If you leave the granted path, you will be considered one.”

“What kinds of animals?” Ron asked, his eyes flicking from side to side, glancing quickly into the darkness.

“Nothing as nice as Fluffy.” Lupin said quietly as he turned and continued walking.

As the group reached the front steps, two figures, which Harry had taken to be statues, moved out of the shadow cast by the front porch light.

“Bloody hell,” Ron said as he began to back up.

Two giant dogs, one white and one black, began to move slowly toward the newcomers. Two sets of small black eyes surveyed each person separately, followed quickly by two sets of nostrils. The dogs stood easily up to Harry's chest, and the raven-haired wizard suddenly found himself wondering what he would do should they be attacked.

Before the dogs could get within five feet of the guests, the front door flew open and a man stood in the doorway. Harry had never seen someone dressed the way this man was. Standing over six feet tall with a lean body, the man had a metal hoop through each ear and his hair, which once might have been all brown, was various shades of blue and red. Harry was reminded strongly of Tonks, and had to stifle a chuckle at the thought of a male version of the klutzy Auror.

“Its ok girls, they're friends. Go continue your patrol.”

To Harry's amazement, the dogs wordlessly stood and walked back into the darkness.

The man then spoke in an ancient language, which after an inquisitive gaze, Hermione identified as Romanian.

Lupin answered back and walked up the stairs to shake hands with the strange looking man.

Lupin turned to the three behind him and said, “And this is Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.” He gestured back at the man, “This is Quince Vandiver.”

Quince nodded a greeting, his face half hidden in shadow and turned back into the house. Lupin smiled and nodded reassuringly as Harry, Hermione, and Ron entered in front of him. The entrance parlor was as large as the Dursley's entire downstairs, Harry thought. A marble staircase rose from the floor at the opposite end of the room from the door. Several doors led off the room, and the one directly to the right of the front entrance stood open. Quince walked through with the group of guests in tow.

The room was softly lit from each corner by an unseen source, and Harry thought there might be lamps hidden in the floor or ceiling. Several guests were spread around the room, some sitting and some standing, each with the same haggard, defeated look that everyone had carried in their eyes after the death of Dumbledore.

Professor McGonagall, her pointed hat straight on her head as always, sat between Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody on a large white couch. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat to the left in two matching chairs and Tonks was seated to McGonagall's right, a chair waiting beside her for Lupin. Harry, Hermione, and Ron took seats on an open couch across from McGonagall. There were several Order members arranged around the parlor that Harry had never seen before, and few that looked as though they were not in the Order at all.

Hagrid stood in the corner by the fireplace, staring into the fire; seemingly unaware of the world around him.

Harry caught Hermione's eye and they both frowned at the sight of their friend.

“We should talk to him, after.” Hermione said softly.

“That's what I was thinking.” Harry said with a small smile and began to look at the room's occupants once more.

A group of six individuals sat alone on the far end of the room from Harry. They sat along the wall, their legs and arms folded into various poses, their faces hidden within the depths of their dark cloaks. Harry noticed that no one wanted to be near this group, and those who were closest, even though over ten feet away, appeared nervous.

Quince crouched to one of the figures, whose cloak was a dark green, and muttered something. The figure seemed to chuckle, then nod.

Harry took a good look at Quince in the light of the parlor. He was dressed in dark jeans with a bright greet, collared shirt. Harry noticed a small metal bar protruding from Quince's right eyebrow and small metal ball under his bottom lip, just above his chin.

“David will be here momentarily.” Quince said, gesturing to the assembled group. “Would anyone care for something to drink?”

Several people nodded and Quince waved his hand, full glasses appearing in the hands of those who asked.

“How did he do that?” Hermione whispered, more to herself than to anyone else, Harry thought.

Harry glanced around the spacious parlor, which had room to hold even more than the few dozen present. The walls were a deep red; the floor a black marble, everything was trimmed in what Harry suspected was real gold. Each couch and chair was a lush white leather, a fire burned merrily in the hearth, although it did not emit heat. Harry thought this was a good solution to wanting a fire but it being the middle of June.

The loud roar of a powerful car engine came from outside and a second later the front door slammed in the entrance hall.

Quince stood and said cheerily, “And there's David…now…”

His voice trailed off as David appeared in the door to the parlor. The shirt David was wearing, Harry thought had originally been a bright blue, but was now covered with slashes and stained a deep blood red. His light colored kaki pants were charred, and he was missing one trainer. His blue glasses were cracked and sat askew on his head.

“My goodness, David!” McGonagall exclaimed, “What has happened to you?”

David chuckled darkly. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “Had a run in with a few Death Eaters.”

“What happened?” Quince said, his face slowly turning red upon the sight of David.

“I went to visit an old friend of mine earlier.” David said, sitting down in a recently vacated chair and lighting a cigarette.

“Brother Vance?” Quince asked.

David nodded.

“Dead?” Quince asked, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage.

David nodded once more and sighed.

“Did you give him the rights?” Quince asked with a tear in his eye, his face red with furious anger.

“Yea, that's why I was late.” David said hoarsely.

“Brother Vance is dead?” a shaking female voice sounded from the far corner of the room.

All heads turned to look at the figure Harry had decided to call Blue, due to her dark blue cloak and the wisps of blue hair that stuck out from under her hood.

“Yes,” David said sadly.

“And the reason you went there?” said the dark grey figure beside Blue.

“I found it. The Death Eaters couldn't. It seems as if Tom had the same idea I did though. They were leaving just as I pulled up.”

“How many?” Moody asked gravely.

“Oh I don't know,” David replied flippantly, his face tense in deep thought, “half dozen or so.”

Everyone gasped. Harry was shocked. How could David have survived a direct attack by that many Death Eaters?

“How in Merlin's name did you get away?” Hermione asked.

David turned a raised eyebrow on her. “Get away?” He repeated. “I didn't get away, girl.”

“You fought that many Death Eaters?” Ron asked in awe.

“No, I killed that many Death Eaters.” David said frankly. “I just had to fight them first.”

Silence met his statement. Harry finally understood the difference in David and Dumbledore. The deceased Headmaster would have just apparated, rather than confront so many Death Eaters, while David chose to fight and kill.

“While the death of Brother Vance is terrible, the attack does show me one thing. Tom is still operating as he did before.” David rubbed his chin softly and sat back into the chair in thought.

“Well we already knew that didn't we? Isn't this how things were last time?” Tonks asked.

“Quince,” David said, holding up a finger to Tonks, “would you mind getting me a drink? I haven't the strength right this second to do it myself.”

“Yeah man, no problem.” A second later, a copper colored drink appeared on the table in front of David.

“Appreciate it.” David said reaching for the glass and downing it in one gulp.

David cleared his throat before saying, “He is doing a few things similar to last time, but quite a few things are being differently, being done better really.”

“What do you mean?” McGonagall asked.

“Well this time Tom is doing things like I would in his situation. Eliminate targets while staying out of sight and hidden. Use smoke and mirrors along with the media to spread fear among the public. Last time, Dumbledore and I could always figure out Tom's next basic move, but we could never figure out exactly what he was going to do. This time it looks like Tom has his shit together. Make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen, as of right now we are losing this war.”

“So do we need to reschedule the meeting, David?” Professor McGonagall asked.

David shook his head. “Just give me and Quince a second and I'll be right as rain.”

“Full body heal?” Quince asked moving to a small cabinet beside a computer desk on the far side of the room.

“That should do it.” David said with a nod.

“Excuse me, Mr. Richardson?” Hermione asked hesitantly.

“Yes?” David said turning to face Hermione.

“Would you mind if I watched? I've never seen anyone do your type of magic before.”

“Oh I'm sure David wouldn't want…” Mrs. Weasley began with a reproving eye on Hermione.

“Oh that's all right Molly.” David said with a wave. “If I remember correctly Miss Granger is the most inquisitive student Hogwarts has seen in quite awhile. It'll be fine if she looks on.”

Hermione blushed, but followed Quince out of the room to watch him prepare.

David turned to look at Harry and Ron. “And it wouldn't hurt for the two of you to take a gander either.”

David stood and Harry and Ron followed him after Quince and Hermione.

“Be just a sec.” David said over his shoulder.

*

Harry had never seen magic done with the kind of preparation he was seeing. Several sticks of incense were burning around the screened in porch on the back of David's house. Quince sat, cross-legged in the middle of a black circle, with David facing him.

“Don't make any noise.” David said to Harry, Hermione, and Ron.

“On a count of three, Quince,” David said.

Quince nodded and the two joined hands.

After a moment, white light encircled the two, blinding Harry to see what was taking place inside the circle. The light swirled around the two spell casters and began to blow Harry's clothing against his body.

After only a moment, the light vanished, and both David and Quince stood. The injuries to David were now gone, so was the blood from his clothes, although the rips remained.

“Pity,” David said, fingering his shirt, “I liked this shirt.”

“Wow,” Hermione murmured.

“How did you do that?” Ron asked bluntly.

David turned and looked at Ron oddly. “Magic.”

Quince walked to a small cabinet in the room. Lifting the top, Harry saw a flash of several pieces of glass, molded into what looked like various colored tubes, before Quince shut it and turned to David, handing him what looked like a cigar.

Taking out a blue lighter, David motioned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

“I expect those out there wouldn't like you all to be around this, so go out and tell them we'll be right out as soon as I've changed clothes.”

Harry eyes the cigar oddly, he had seen his Uncle Vernon smoke a cigar a thousand times, and he told David so.

Quince and David both chuckled. “This ain't a regular cigar. Just run along and we'll be right there.”

Harry shrugged, and with Ron and Hermione in tow returned to the parlor.

“David said he and Quince we'll be right out after they've smoked a cigar and David changes clothes.”

Mrs. Weasley turned red faced, “They made you leave before lighting that awful thing, didn't they?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “I've seen people smoke cigars before, what's the big deal about it?”

Harry saw Lupin hide a smile and heard Moody chuckle slightly before McGonagall said with a frown, “It's not a cigar that should be smoked in front of people your age.”

Harry, as always when decisions were being made for him because of his age, got angry. “I think I've earned the right to decide what exactly I'm old enough for, don't you?”

“No, Harry,” Lupin said in his kind voice, “this isn't like that. They aren't smoking a tobacco cigar in there.”

Harry and Ron looked at Lupin confused, while Hermione gasped and her face turned red.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

Hermione hit him on the arm and said in loud whisper, “I'll tell you later.”

*

“So we're sure Snape did it?” David said in way of greeting a few minutes later when he sat down.

Harry looked at David in the eyes to find them slightly bloodshot. After the night the warlock had been through, Harry was not surprised.

“Yes, we are.” Harry said curtly.

David nodded. “I should have killed him years ago, but Dumbledore thought differently. Guess I'll have to remedy that now.”

“You don't kill Snape!” Harry said vehemently.

David turned an eye on Harry. “I suppose you want revenge, do you boy? Well I believe you have bigger fish to fry.”

Harry was aghast. Did David know of the prophecy? It wasn't possible, was it? But then again, David said he knew what Dumbledore had been searching for, and Harry was under the impression no one else knew.

David had turned back to the group, and was now discussing current placements, and who was doing what in the fight against Voldemort.

“So what about the giants? Where do they fall in this?” David asked.

“We sent envoys, but so did You-Know-Who. Just as last time, You-Know-Who's incentives seemed to have appealed the most.” McGonagall answered.

“Who went?” David asked.

“Hagrid and Madame Maxine.”

“Maxine from Beauxbatons?” David asked, looking at Hagrid.

“Aye.” Hagrid answered.

“Tell me what happened.” David said.

So Hagrid began to retell the tale he had told Harry, Hermione, and Ron upon his return from the giants during their fifth year. David asked Hagrid many questions, but instead of asking Hagrid in a tone of voice usually reserved for first years, David spoke intelligently and quickly, asking for Hagrid's personal opinions and observations.

“Do you think they will all follow Tom?” David asked Hagrid.

“Not all, o' course. There was a few that knew how grea' a wizard Dumbledore was, and knew that he was the righ' side ter be on.”

“Do you think, with the right posturing of course, that more giants could be convinced to, not necessarily join us, but just not join Tom?”

“I reckon so, if you could get someone to `em that they respec'” Hagrid said, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

“Indeed.” David said, his eyes flicking quickly to Harry, then back to Hagrid.

“If you think of anything else, Hagrid, don't hesitate to let me know.”

Hagrid nodded his large head, a small twinkle in his dark eyes that had not been there since Dumbledore's death.

“So who's protecting Harry from He-Who-Let-The-Boy-Live?” David asked in a sarcastic voice with a gesture at Harry.

“He won't let anyone follow him!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. “He refuses to have a guard and slips anyone who tries to follow him with that invisibility cloak of his!”

“Good.” David said to Harry's shock. “If he's slipping you all he's slipping the Death Eaters as well, but from now on he'll be living here. Of course Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley are welcome as well.”

“Now hold on a minute!” Harry said, standing quickly in his anger.

“Want to stay at the Burrow, do you? Or somewhere else? Number 12? Maybe Godric's Hollow?” David said instantly, as if expecting Harry to argue.

“Yes, actually!” Harry replied. “I had planned to stay at all three of those places throughout the summer.”

“And tell me, Mr. Potter,” Said Quince as he lit a cigarette, “If five giants came storming down on either of those places, would you be able to hold them off? Would the Weasley's? While I'm sure there is high security on the Burrow, I seriously doubt there is that kind of fire power.”

“You're right, there's not.” Mr. Weasley said shaking his head at the thought of giants swarming down onto his home.

“So you mean to tell me that if five giants swarm down on your home you could repel them?” Harry said with a sneer.

“That's right, we could.” David said bluntly, turning back to the group.

“Are you going to be instructing them here, David?” McGonagall asked.

David nodded. “And if you wouldn't mind, Minerva, could you come down on occasion to help with the Transfiguration? Most things I can teach without a wand, but that's difficult.”

“Not a problem.” McGonagall answered.

Harry was livid. He was not a child anymore! He could make his own damn decisions.

He opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione grabbed his hand and shook her head, muttering under her breath, “Don't, Harry. We need him to teach us, and to help us.”

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. “You had better tell me why later.”

She smiled and nodded.

Ron watched the interaction between his two best friends with an increasingly red face.

“And Tonks?” David said turning to Tonks, who was sitting very closely beside Lupin.

“Yes, Mr… David?”

“Would you mind coming down and helping with a few Auror training ideas I have?”

“No, of course not.”

“Excellent. Now tell me what we are doing on the offensive front against Voldemort.”

Everyone was quite, glancing around at each other.

“Anything?” David said, sounding agitated.

Still no one replied, and David shook his head in disgust.

“You mean to tell me you all are just responding to things that are happening? No one is doing anything to strike back? Even after Dumbledore's death?”

No one answered; Harry thought it was rather like watching Professor McGonagall addressing someone who had not done their homework.

David sighed and shook his head. “This is ridiculous. Almost twenty years and you are still making the same mistakes. Well that ends now. We ran around last time, reacting to Voldemort, cleaning up the messes he made, and look where it got us; right back where we fucking were.” He chuckled to himself. “I seriously wonder what would have happened if it hadn't been for Harry. Voldemort would have been in charge of the damned world by now.”

Harry found his anger at David fading. This sounded right, taking the fight to Voldemort, not running around letting him do what he wanted.

“By this time next week, when I plan to hold another meeting, I'll know where some of his idiot goons are staying, and by god we're going to take the death and destruction right back at him. Before this is all over we're going to make sure that Voldemort, for once, knows what it is to fear our robes for a change.”

“Robes?” Harry said before he could catch himself.

McGonagall turned to him. “Yes, Mr. Potter; robes. During the first war, we were an open organization and wore robes when not at other places of employment. During this war, however, we have not used them due to our need for secrecy and our decreased level of funding.” She grimaced with distaste the mention of funding, while Harry looked at her dumbly.

“You've had a lack of funding?” He asked.

Professor McGonagall nodded and said, “Yes, Mr. Potter.”

“I'll need the sizes of those who want a robe, and their occupation, I can get quite a few things that they may need. Hermione, would you…?” He gestured with his hand as if he was writing and Hermione nodded. Pulling her wand from her jeans, she transfigured her watch into a notebook and her left earring into a muggle pen.

Professor McGonagall looked at Harry with a total look of bewilderment that Harry had never seen her express before. Harry glanced at David and found the elder warlock to be half smiling at him and nodding his head to himself.

“Well Mr. Potter we can't of course…” Professor McGonagall began but for once, Harry interrupted her without hesitation.

“You can and you will. This organization will no longer be secret, or I will have nothing to do with it.” Harry said this with a finality that he had never shown before, and those around noticed the man he was becoming.

“Very well then, Mr. Potter.” Professor McGonagall said with a formal air. “I believe we can all just see Miss Granger after the meeting. Your help would be most appreciated.”

Harry waved his hand, the money did not matter; destroying Voldemort did.

“Now then,” David said, “I will get in touch with all of you during the next week and inform you of the next meeting time. I don't know if you all are still using the old communications devices, but I have something new for you. Quince will make sure all of you get one before you leave. Bring anyone and everyone that is interested in joining.”

David lit a cigarette before he continued. “I don't know if this new Minister is really with us or against us, I've never had the opportunity to meet him and find out for myself. If he is against us, then those of you who work in the Ministry may have a hard time being open about the Order. Whether or not you want to risk it, is up to you. If the Minister is against us, he's most likely going to take your job, and probably try to take your life. If he is with us then recruiting could be much easier. I cannot make any promises as to how he will react, but I can promise full protection of anyone that needs it. Anytime, anywhere.”

Apparently done speaking, David rose and began to leave the room. Harry saw the six cloaked figures in the far corner of the room rise and exit silently out the back door.

Before following them out, David stopped and turned back.

“Oh yea, I almost forgot… Quince…” he gestured at his friend who nodded and raised a hand. David echoed his raised hand and they both closed their eyes. With muttered words in an odd sounding language, a pale blue light settled over the room for a moment, then dissipated as if made of smoke.

“David?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“If anyone here betrays this Order with their mouth, I will know about it. If anyone here attempts to harm another Order member, I will kill for it. If you think you can escape from me, you are wrong. Do not try it. Even Tom knows this.”

With that, David turned and exited out of the room.

“For those of you who weren't here for our previous war,” Quince said jokingly, “all threats and or promises made by David and or myself are probably true. Unless of course we are really drunk, then don't worry about anything we say.”

*

Harry sighed as the last Order member, Tonks, gave her cloak measurements to Hermione. He began to stand, but was stopped by Quince's voice.

“You three are welcome to stay here tonight, especially if you'd like to begin training immediately.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, “I'm not sure if we are going back with Lupin or…,” he turned to look at Hermione and Ron with a raised eyebrow.

“Fine with me, mate.” Ron said with a shrug.

Hermione just nodded and Harry answered Quince with the same gesture.

“All right then. Look in the kitchen for food; you can eat whatever you want. All of the first floor bedrooms are open, so just pick one out for yourself. My room is the one to the left on the third floor and David's is the only one at the top. If you need to talk to either one of us at any time, just use the intercom by each doorway. You can use magic here, even underage; no detection devices can even find this house, much less the magic going on inside.”

Quince turned to leave saying, “Don't go outside without telling one of us first. Do not hesitate to call either of us, anytime. We don't really sleep that much around here. And I'd rather be woken up by one of you than have to explain to the Order why one of our charges was eaten by a Griffin or something.”

Hermione took a sharp breath and said, “There are Griffins here?”

Quince chuckled as he walked out the door, calling over his shoulder, “You aren't in Kansas anymore there Dorothy.”

Hermione and Harry chuckled, while Ron looked on in confusion.

“What is Kansas and who is Dorothy?”

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