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Upon stepping into the threshold of 12 Grimmauld Place, Antares was greeted with a pleasantly strong stunning spell. Easily enough, he was able to shield himself. Silently thanking his mother's adept dueling skills, he moved to release a counter-spell when a voice spoke above the noise.
"Hold it, Alastor. We wouldn't like to blow up one of our own, would we?"
Antares' eyes were still trained on Mad-Eye's wand arm, his own wand raised in retaliation. Taking a glance at Dumbledore, who stood at the end of the hall behind the ex-Auror, he raised his voice, "I was under the impression they knew I was arriving."
Mad-Eye was less than pleased with the situation. The man's wand refused to release its aim toward Antares' face. Even when Dumbledore intervened, the disfigured man looked eager to hex him into oblivion. "What's the meaning of this, Albus? This place is meant to be top secret!"
"It still is," assured Antares, "I did as you asked. Care to explain why I was assaulted on the doorstep?"
"Let him through, Alastor," Dumbledore commanded.
It took a second before Moody reluctantly lowered his arm and walked back through the long hall and into the room straight ahead. "My sincerest apologies, Mr. Kelly. I was just about to inform the others of your arrival, but as it seems, you've beaten me to it. If you wouldn't mind joining us in the kitchen? The meeting will start soon."
Placing his wand back in its holster, Antares took in his surroundings as he walked toward the kitchen. He was right when he suspected that the property was in ruin. The walls were dirty with grime and in random places, stripped of wallpaper. The frames of photos hung haphazardly along the wall as if they were to fall at any moment. The floors weren't much better. They were dusty and creaked when you put even the slightest pressure on them. The wood was splintered and covered in fresh dirt tracks. What was the use of secrecy when it was evident the house was inhabited? It made Antares' nose twinge in subtle disgust.
He was sure Dumbledore had caught it, judging by the way his eyes crinkled into a soft expression Antares couldn't place. As he passed the old wizard, it felt akin to walking into a lion's den. Quite literally. Antares wasn't sure what he was about to face, but he knew that first impressions were useless. He swallowed thickly.
Prejudice goes both ways.
He hadn't been as narrow-minded in the past as most of his peers, but Antares didn't do much to prove it. He never cast the first stone but he had a nasty habit of throwing them back. The problem, as Antares saw it, was that the people he was about to face came from the generation where the tension between Hogwarts houses was much higher. Even so, they were adults, which meant they should have matured out of such animosity. Antares could only hope.
Hushed chatter and the ambient sounds of the kitchen were audible as he stood tall in the room's entry. For a brief moment, Antares went unnoticed by the small group gathered at the table. It was a beautiful moment, Antares thought. Sadly, it came crashing down when he made eye contact with an almost identical pair of eyes. They were a fearless grey that Antares shared not the colour, but the shape. The same shape he inherited from his father. The chatter from before fell silent, and a blanket of tension now weighed in the air.
"Sirius," Antares nodded, hesitation as clear as day.
Oh, how his mother would scold him if she could hear him now. That's not how I raised you, she would say. Marissa Kelly was a firm believer in the power of a strong disposition. Antares was raised to be confident, if not respectful. It was a familiar attitude among the members of the House of Kelly, taught from generation to generation. Although, as of the recent two centuries, the pure-blood traditions within the family have grown more lenient to adapt to common culture. But make no mistake, the Kelly's were a family to behold, and Marissa was nothing if not a strong matriarch.
They were Kelly's– nothing less.
"Antares," Sirius breathed. It seemed Dumbledore waited until the last second to tell everyone of his arrival. "I'd almost forgotten that accent of yours."
The chair Sirius sat on scraped the old floors, no doubt leaving scuff marks, as he pushed up and away from the table. Sirius, oblivious to Antares' discomfort, moved to embrace the younger male with his arms spread to welcome the boy. Welcome him to what? This rag-tag team of wizards? This desperate excuse of a base of operations? But seeing the gleam of happiness in Sirius' eyes made him regret his train of thought. It was best not to overthink it, he supposed.
It could have just been a simple welcome to Grimmauld Place -a welcome to his home. But that was just it. It wasn't home to either of them. From what his mother had told him, Sirius hadn't lived here for years, and that was before he was shipped off to Azkaban. It was just as foreign to Sirius as it was to Antares or the Weasleys, even to Dumbledore himself.
Antares internally sighed. He knew that Sirius meant it as a gesture of kindness, of familiarity. He was the only one in the entire room that probably meant it.
"It's not like you know another Aussie, Sirius," Antares grinned tightly, moving to accept the hug.
Sirius huffed in his ear, "Except for your mother, I suppose." There was a pause as he pulled away from Antares. "How is she?"
The boy parted his lips, letting an almost silent sigh pass them when a slam echoed through the kitchen. Antares silently praised Moody. It saved Sirius from unbearable truth, and rightfully so. There was only so much heartache a man could bare, and Antares knew Sirius didn't need to bear any more than he already does.
Antares loved his mother with his whole heart, but the memory of her just before he left his family estate was a heartbreaking reminder. It was something that he hoped to keep locked away in the recesses of his mind. Not that Antares had a choice. He knew one day he'd have to tell someone.
Moody's frustrated growl ripped through the air as he planted himself in one of the kitchen chairs, "Start the meeting already. We're here to defeat Voldemort, not have a bloody tea party!"Antares took notice of the rest of the witches and wizards in the room. He knew a good portion. There was Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, a ginger-haired man he assumed was their eldest son, Sirius, his former professor Remus Lupin, Mad-Eye and Dumbledore. The rest were either Ministry workers or Aurors.
Taking the seat closest to him, he felt the uneasy tension in the air, the eyes that followed his every movement. He refused to make eye contact with any of them, keeping his eyes solely trained on Dumbledore, who had yet to claim a seat. What was he waiting for? Antares' question, unspoken as it was, was answered when his former Head of House marched his way through the door, not bothering to greet anyone.
"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore acknowledged, his voice airy. It was as if he failed to read the room or see the grim faces. Antares never liked how the Headmaster spoke. At Hogwarts, a school for children, he used the same tone.
If Antares was right, and he usually was, then every person seated at the table was here for the same purpose. Every person knew the consequences. Every person shared the risk.
"Now that we're all here, we may start."
The tension in the room skyrocketed.
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The Order of the Phoenix. Voldemort had risen again, and Dumbledore sought to re-establish the old Order.
It was only a matter of time, Antares presumed. After all, the signs were there. Starting with the attempt to steal the philosopher's stone, a ridiculously bold move. Then a rampant uprising of blood purists within Slytherin house when they heard their "Heir" had returned. Sirius, who, at the time, was an Azkaban escapee, was believed to be an avid follower of the Dark Lord and a sadistic mass murderer. No one opened their eyes to the truth until the death of Cedric Diggory. Even then, after they had proof in the form of a dead body and a death eater parading around Hogwarts, some refused the idea of another war.
Fear does funny things to people. Fear is an instinct. Its purpose is to keep you safe. How easily it can be warped is the true killer.
Paranoia. Denial. Anger. All very tricky states of mind.
"... but why the boy, Albus? He can't be much older than Fred and George!"
Antares' eyes levelled into a glare as he looked over to the face of Molly Weasley. He had hoped Dumbledore's approval of his arrival would have been enough to end doubts about him. As it seems, Molly's concern got the best of her.
Antares didn't believe she was concerned for him.
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Well I did some major editing on the last two chapters. Holy, why didn't any of you tell me it was that bad?
~Hircines