The Wolf and The Raven, Bk 2

Ch 16 - The Order Convenes

The onslaught of homework meant to prepare the boys for their fast-approaching O.W.L.s began their first day back from holiday – as did Quidditch practises, Branwen's trainings with Madam Pomfrey, and Remus' prefect duties. In the midst of this increased academic activity, James, Remus, Peter, and Branwen had hardly a spare moment to remember they had been angry with Sirius. This didn't stop Sirius from trying to prove his loyalty though.

He offered to do all of Remus' Transfiguration homework and spent his evenings polishing James' and Branwen's brooms. He sneaked through the tunnel to Honeydukes and came back with piles of chocolate (assuring Branwen that he had paid for every piece). At dinner one day, invitations were delivered for the new term of the Slug Club. When Sirius saw that Remus had been left out, he promptly tore up his own letter.

Despite this flurry of events though, January seemed to drag on in an endless series of wet, windy days. The stormy weather did nothing to help the morale of the Quidditch teams, and, on the last Friday of the month, Kingsley cut their practise short.

During practise, the frozen grey sky wasn't able to decide if it wanted to rain or snow, so it did both. And even though Branwen's goggles were charmed to see through rain, the wind had buffeted her every which way until she was out of breath simply from the effort of staying on her broom. She never did find the Snitch that afternoon and suspected it had blown somewhere into the Forbidden Forest – or more likely into the Atlantic Ocean.

Once they were finished on the pitch, the rest of the team hurried back to the warmth of the castle, while James, Sirius, and Branwen remained in the locker room to meet up with Remus and Peter.

Branwen squeezed the snow and sleet from her long hair before drying it with a blast of warm air from her wand. While she cleaned up, the boys huddled in a corner, whispering to one another. She narrowed her eyes and placed her hands on her hips. "What are you boys up to now?"

"We're not up to anything!" Peter yelped.

"It's nothing to worry your little mind about, Feathers." Sirius strolled over and patted her head.

Remus rolled his eyes. "Way to go, Padfoot. Now she's going to be even more curious."

"He's right," she grinned. "So let's just skip the formalities of arguing back and forth and get to the part where you tell me what's going on."

"Well...." James pulled his glasses off and wiped the mist from them, "you have to understand that it's super top-secret and you can't tell anyone."

Branwen crossed her arms and huffed. "Oh dear. If only there were some other secrets I was keeping that proved I can be trusted."

"All right, Feathers," Sirius laughed, "the truth is, we really don't know what's going on. McGonagall told us to meet in the DADA classroom after practise. That's pretty much it. Except she told us not to tell anyone else, especially the younger students."

"Oooh, a secret meeting! I'm coming!"

The boys glanced at each other. This was exactly what they had been discussing. They knew Branwen wasn't supposed to come with them, but they had no idea how to stop her. In the end, they decided it was easier to let her tag along.

"Okay," James said. "You can come, but you have to use the Cloak." He pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his bag and handed it to his sister.

The five of them made their way through the slush of mud and snow up to the castle, then to the DADA room where Branwen donned the Cloak. Though none of them were sure what to expect when they opened the door, they were shocked at what they found.

The classroom, which was one of the largest in the school, was crammed with so many witches and wizards, there was hardly space to stand. Besides their fellow Hogwarts students (which included Lily, Marlene, and Mary), dozens of adults milled about, deep in conversation.

Dumbledore sat at a table at the head of the room beside Hagrid and a long-jowled wizard in Prussian blue robes. Gideon Prewett was running around the room with a small red-haired boy on his shoulders while Fabian chased them with a flock of paper birds, Brutus hot on his heels. Another red-haired man (probably the Prewetts' brother-in-law and father of the small boy) was leaning against the wall speaking to a small man in a tall purple hat.

"Oh no," James groaned and slouched into his seat. "Moony, don't look now, but our dads are over there."

Fleamont Potter and Lyall Lupin were speaking with a wizard who seemed to have a permanent scowl etched on his weathered face.

Sirius slumped even lower than James. "You think you're in trouble? My uncle's here."

Alphard Black, a tall, handsome wizard, was conversing with a short, fair-haired man. The stranger was laughing exuberantly and ended up sloshing an entire mug of butterbeer over Alphard's robes. Alphard gently waved away the man's attempts to apologise, easily cleaning his clothes with a wave of his hand. When he looked up, he caught sight of Sirius and smiled. "Ah, I see my nephew has arrived. Please excuse me, Ted."

The other wizard – Ted – nodded with a smile, then wandered over to join Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout.

"Tough weather for Quidditch, eh?" Alphard strolled over to his nephew. He nodded at the window, indicating the slush still falling from the dark sky.

"Yes, sir," Sirius nodded.

"How is Gryffindor doing in the House Tournament this year? Losing to Slytherin, I hope?" he winked.

"We are, actually."

"But we'll catch up!" James interjected.

"Um, Prongs...." Peter poked James' shoulder then pointed. Fleamont and Lyall were making their way through the crowd.

Lyall frowned as he approached the boys. Hope had, of course, told her husband everything that had transpired between the friends, and he wanted nothing more than to curse the Black boy for what he had done to Remus. He was none-too-pleased about Alphard's presence either. Lyall and Alphard had been in the same year at Hogwarts (they were sorted into Gryffindor and Slytherin respectively), and were fierce rivals on the Quidditch pitch. They were almost more fiercely combative off the field though, as the Blacks held their sinister reputation even back then. The two men nodded cordially to each other though. They knew the reason they had been summoned to their old stomping grounds, and it was greater than either of their personal affairs.

Fleamont, though, was too old for such rivalries. He ignored the younger men, and his blue eyes twinkled merrily as he greeted the children. "It's nice to see you, boys. And you too, Bran."

"Um, Dad," James ran his fingers through his hair, "I think you might be using too much of that hair potion again. Going a bit barmy. Bran's not here."

"Ah, well, I'm a bit disappointed then," Fleamont sighed dramatically. "What use is my little 'gift,' if not for sneaking into top secret meetings? Well, if you do see your sister, give her my love. And tell her that her Niffler is going after that little dog."

"Sean!"

The tiny Niffler had leapt from Branwen's pocket and was now clearly visible as he chased Brutus around the room. Branwen let the Cloak slide from her shoulders as she knelt down to snatch Sean as he ran past. Sliding back up into her chair, she smiled sheepishly. "Hi Daddy."

"Hello, dear," Fleamont chuckled and bent to kiss his daughter on her head.

Lyall lent her a kind smile as well, though he had mixed feelings toward the Potter girl. He appreciated her affection for his son, but was wary of her intentions. He didn't want anyone giving Remus false hopes. He had no further time to dwell on the matter though, as the meeting finally came to order.

"Hello, everyone, and welcome." Dumbledore's greeting was followed by the scraping of chairs and shushing of voices. The students all noticed a difference in their headmaster. He looked older than they had ever seen him, as though he had aged a hundred years overnight. His imposing height had always added to his magnificent presence, but on this day he looked stooped and tired. Even his voice was weary as he continued. "I am so very glad to see each of you, though I wish it could be under happier circumstances. I wish I could say that we have gathered for a celebration, but as most of you know, the opposite is true.

For several years now, a Dark force has been gathering in our world. This Darkness and its disciples, 'Death Eaters' as they call themselves, are being led by – it pains me to say – a former student of mine. During his days here at Hogwarts, he went by his given name, Tom Riddle, though now he prefers the title, Voldemort."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Many of the older witches and wizards had been classmates with Riddle. Others knew him by his reputation as Head Boy, an exemplary student who had received an award for special services to the school. They knew nothing of his dark tendencies.

Dumbledore continued. "Even the youngest of you will no doubt remember the Squib Rights movement of the last decade. This noble effort was, unfortunately, squashed through riots organised by a number of Pureblood families.

Last weekend, a group of Squibs gathered once again to discuss the possibility of further legislative proceedings. While they sat in the home of one of their members, completely unarmed, they were brutally attacked by Death Eaters. There were no survivors. The perpetrators of this heinous crime left this as a calling card." Dumbledore raised his wand and a stream of black smoke issued forth. It writhed and curled on itself, forming a grotesque shape in the air – a skull with a snake pouring from its gaping mouth.

A collective gasp seemed to empty the room of air. Branwen's eyes grew wide; she barely registered the feeling of Remus' hand as it wrapped around hers.

"This is the sign of Voldemort, the Dark Mark," Dumbledore said. "I wish I could say that this massacre was his only recent atrocity. Many of you know that unusual gale force winds have killed dozens along our coasts and there are rumours of Muggle hunting in the North.

For several years now, we have been fighting this darkness on our own or in small groups. But the time has come to combine our efforts. That is why we have all gathered here today.

Students, I would like you to look around the room. The faces you see here are ones you can trust. They are ready and willing to help you in any need you may have." Then he breathed the heaviest of sighs. "I am afraid though, that much of the fighting will be left to the young. And that is where you come in.

Beginning next week, Hogwarts will play host to monthly seminars in Defence Against the Dark Arts. These will be led by our most capable Aurors and Ministry workers, many of whom are with us now. Next term, those of you who are of age may sign up for additional weekly classes. I pray that none of you will ever be forced to fight, but if it comes to that, we want you to be armed in every way possible."

A heavy silence hung over the room. Branwen was suddenly aware of Remus' warm hand in hers. She laid her head against his shoulder.

"Are there any questions?" Dumbledore surveyed the crowd.

Eyes shifted around the room; no one wanted to be the first to speak. Finally, Winifred Hollcot, a recently graduated Ravenclaw, stood. "Professor," she started, "you said that we can trust everyone in this room. I don't see any Slytherins here though. Can we not trust them?"

It was a question Dumbledore had expected, but he still didn't know how to answer. Choosing his words carefully, he answered, "I believe that trust should be awarded or denied on an individual basis. No House is entirely evil, nor is one House entirely good. It is....unfortunate....however, that many of our students in Slytherin House have – either on their own or by virtue of their families – proved themselves to be....unfriendly to our cause."

Gathering courage, Winifred clenched her fists. "If we can't trust those families, then why are there two Blacks here?" She indicated first Sirius, then Alphard. "Aren't they the most notorious of the Purebloods?"

At this Dumbledore gave a thin smile. "Ah, yes. Here is what I meant by judging the merit of an individual. Every person in this room has been weighed on their own and deemed trustworthy by myself and others on our esteemed staff. In fact, their very presence shows a great deal of courage, coming, I suspect, at a personal cost that many of us cannot imagine."

Winifred sat down, slightly embarrassed, but seemingly satisfied with the answer.

There was another awkward silence, then James leapt to his feet. "Where do we sign up to fight?"

Dumbledore's smile melted away. "Mr. Potter, your intentions are well and good, but you should pray that there will never come a day when you will be called upon to 'sign up to fight.'

If there is anything else....?" Dumbledore glanced around the room as James lowered his eyes and took his seat. "Then I will leave you with these words: always be ready to stand up for what is right and to defend the helpless, but don't go looking for a fight. There is enough strife in this world without us adding to it."

So, I was browsing the internet, looking at what was happening in the world in January '76 and, interestingly, there were several disasters in the UK. One was the which happened early in the month.
The killer known as the was also gearing up his killing spree.
Eerie coincidences with the start of Voldemort's reign of terror? 🤔

P.S. Can you spot all the cameos included in the meeting? 😉