Chapter Text
Mrs. Weasley teared up the first time Ron voluntarily left his room to finally take Harry up on that house tour, and announced later that day that it was time they all sat down together for a meal. Her eyes drilled relentlessly into Snape while doing so. Communal dinners, while common, had never strictly been mandatory, but of all the residents of Grimmauld Place, Snape was the only one who’d somehow slithered out of joining each and every meal thus far.
“I insist,” Mrs. Weasley said sweetly while glaring daggers at Snape.
Snape’s put-off expression had Harry trying—and failing—to smother a grin. “Looking forward to it, Mrs. Weasley.”
Although Snape didn’t say a word, Mrs. Weasley accepted Harry’s answer for the both of them.
Mad-Eye (the real one) managed to tick off Madam Pomfrey to the point that she all but kicked him out of the hospital wing (at least according to Sirius), enabling him to come by the headquarters to introduce himself. Harry found this more than a little strange, considering that from Harry’s perspective, they had taken classes with him for almost an entire school year.
“Everybody better have kept on top of the security,” he growled, narrowing his one natural eye. “Terrible place, this is. Becomes a death trap during an invasion, with the Floo network so unreliable these days.”
“What are we supposed to do about it?” Ron protested. “I thought that’s what the wards are for.” He flinched violently as the brunt of Mad-Eye’s glare now aimed at him.
“Poppycock.” Mad-Eye jerked his head towards Harry. “Ask him a question only you’d know the answer to.”
Ron opened and closed his mouth and shared a bewildered look with Harry.
“And you,” growled Mad-Eye, now fixing his mismatched gaze on Harry, “do the same for your friend.”
“Uh...”
“Nobody taught you how to do a simple identity check? Gotta have a word with your guardians. Times we live in, one moment of carelessness can spell the difference between life and death.”
“But the entire place is warded,” Harry said. “There’s the security from Sirius’ family, and a whole bunch of additional stuff. And the Fidelius charm, too. Nobody could get in if we didn’t want them to.”
“Nice and simple, that’d be.” Mad-Eye leaned in towards Harry uncomfortably close. “Did you know your parents trusted in the Fidelius charm, too? Took a single dishonest person to do them in.”
Even though they unnerved him, Harry stubbornly met the man’s eyes. All of a sudden it seemed vital that he didn’t flinch.
“He really knows how to make a first impression,” Harry grumbled once Mad-Eye had limped away, likely about to make true of his threat of lecturing the other inhabitants of Grimmauld Place.
“What if he’s got a point?”
“About checking each other’s identity?”
“Just saying.” Ron gave an unconvincing shrug. “With how long he’s been on the job, he’s gotta know what he’s talking about, right?”
Harry didn’t want to tell Ron that not so long ago, he’d felt just as paranoid as Mad-Eye. “So what would you ask me?”
“Dunno. Something only the two of us did? Like,” he grimaced, “what was our worst trip into the Forbidden Forest?”
“Running into Aragog and his family.” The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched, even though the experience had been many things, but certainly not funny. “How did we become friends with Hermione?”
“Fighting off a mountain troll during Halloween.”
“Other people know about that. What’s the part we didn’t tell anybody?”
Ron’s ears flushed red. “We locked it in with her in the girl’s bathroom.”
“Congrats. You pass.”
“Yeah, you too.”
They sat in silence until Ron snorted. “Well that felt stupid.”
Harry grinned. “At least we’ll know what to do the next time Mad-Eye asks.”
Mrs. Weasley’s long awaited communal dinner was almost immediately hijacked. Mad-Eye spent all evening going on about daily-changing passwords, weekly drills for break-ins, security wards cordoning off each room of the property, and many, many more precautions. Every attempt to change the subject was expertly diverted. While the other Order members accepted his suggestions of fortifying the already existing wards and security spells, the more ambitious of his ideas went largely ignored.
But although nobody else seemed the least bit worried, Harry couldn’t quite manage to put his conversation with Ron and Mad-Eye out of his mind.
“Maybe we should be taking him a bit more seriously,” he admitted while cutting up a small pile of pebble plants during one of their brewing sessions. “It wasn’t paranoia when he was kidnapped and kept in a trunk for almost a year.”
“Moody is well within his rights to feel cautious.” Snape accepted the seeds Harry was removing from the plants and added them to the bubbling potion one by one. “But I can assure you that we are taking no chances with your safety.”
“I know.” But even so, Mad-Eye’s warning lingered.
Snape finished tossing the pebble seeds into the potion. He turned down the heat underneath the cauldron so the potion would simmer, preventing it from entering the next stage. “Think what you will about anybody else in this house,” he said, “but I do not take your safety lightly.”
Harry didn’t know why the simple change from ‘we’ to ‘I’ made such a difference. Why the notion of Snape looking out for him felt different from Sirius and Remus and all the others doing the same.
Trust between them used to be unthinkable. He and Ron had once convinced themselves that Snape, and not Quirrell, was working for Voldemort after less than a year of knowing him—ironically so, considering they hadn’t found out about Snape actually having been a Death Eater until two years later. While they’d gotten better after that, Harry had still believed Snape would sell out Sirius instead of clearing his name in his third year. Even in the graveyard Harry’d had his doubts. He both regretted and felt ashamed of those splintered moments in which he’d entertained the possibility of Snape having betrayed him.
Each time, Snape had proven him wrong: He’d worked against Quirrell to keep Harry safe, cleared Sirius’ name despite loathing the other man, and rescued Harry from right out of Voldemort’s grasp.
“I know,” Harry said, because if there was a person who’d proven that he would do anything to keep him safe, it was Snape. “I trust you.”
With Mad-Eye’s return, the Order of the Phoenix began operating in earnest. But when it was time to gather for the first meeting, Harry and the others found themselves in front of a relentless, cross-armed sentry named Mrs. Weasley. “Absolutely not.”
“That’s not fair.” Fred—who’d had the same plan as Harry, George and Ron—glared at his mother. Ginny had been meaning to join them, but Harry was fairly sure she’d overheard Mrs. Weasley and was now listening on the staircase. “We’re of age. There’s no reason we shouldn’t get to be a part of it.”
“You’re still in school. You’ve got more important things to focus on than—”
“The war that’s about to break out any day now?” George interrupted.
“Don’t you two take that tone with me.”
Harry squared his shoulders and joined the fray. “If you’re talking about Voldemort, I want to be there.”
“Harry’s right,” said Ron. “It’s not fair for us to be the only ones left in the dark.”
“These meetings are for Order members only, and you are not members.”
“So let us join! We want to join.”
“No.” She whisked around her head to stare down whoever was currently talking, which gave the impression of an overzealous cat preying on several targets at once. “The things going on during those meetings are hardly suitable for children.”
“We’re not children!” Fred threw up his hands, his voice climbing. “You’re treating us like we’re five!”
“I wouldn’t need to if you weren’t acting like it!”
“You don’t get to tell us—”
“If you wanna send my mother into another fit, you’re on the right track.” Sirius rounded the corner into the dining room. “What’s going on?”
“It’s okay if I join the Order meetings,” Harry said before Mrs. Weasley could get a word in, “right?”
“The meetings? Sure. I don’t see why—”
“Absolutely not!” Mrs. Weasley snapped. Sirius winced, now on the receiving end of her glare. “He’s not old enough.”
“Well, we are,” George said. “You can’t keep treating us like we’re unable to make our own decisions.”
“The answer is no. Nothing you’ll say is going to—”
“You can’t stop us if we—”
Sirius wasn’t the only one who’d been attracted by the argument. Snape hovered in the hallway with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
“What do you think?” Harry asked. He didn’t think he stood a chance changing Mrs. Weasley’s mind, and he doubted that Sirius would be able to, either. But he also didn’t see how either of them should have a say.
“He’s been through enough.” Mrs. Weasley wrung her hands in agitation. “There’s no need to make it worse.”
“I’ll feel worse not knowing what’s going on,” Harry protested.
“I’m with Harry,” Sirius said. “You bet if I was kept in the dark, it’d drive me insane.”
Mrs. Weasley ignored him. “Severus, please.”
Snape uncrossed his arms. “Exclude him if you like.”
Indignant fury shot through Harry veins. “But—”
“There we have it. Now off into your rooms, all of you.”
“But it’s not—”
“I don’t see how this is supposed to apply to—”
“Just know that if you do,” Snape continued without raising his voice, “he will learn everything that has been discussed afterwards, from me.”
Mrs. Weasley’s mouth fell open. “Be reasonable. Harry is still—”
“The person in this room who has come to the most harm during the events of this year,” Snape said quietly. “If he did not have it before, I believe he earned the right to stay informed when he was made to duel the Dark Lord.”
Nobody seemed to know what to say to that. Doing his best to ignore Mrs. Weasley’s crestfallen expression, Harry shot Snape a grateful look.
Nobody else tried to go against Snape’s decision, but the meeting wasn’t nearly as interesting as Harry had hoped it would be. They talked about their connections within the Ministry (including Ron’s brother, Bill, who’d come back to England), a diplomatic mission to reach out to a group of giants that concerned Hagrid, and various speculations about Voldemort’s plans that as of now had no base in reality.
The discussion briefly ground to a halt when it moved onto the Ministry, but once again Snape followed through on his words. The other members had no choice but to cave, and presented Harry with several newspaper articles.
Harry Potter—Liar or Demented?
Hallucination Hex Wreaks Havoc—Hogwarts’ Potions Master Danger Towards Students?
Boy-Who-Lied? Hogwarts Staff Spreads Ludicrous Story
One article that was only a few days old mentioned Sirius’ status as Harry’s godfather and suggested that a feeble mind ran in the family (ignoring that they were not actually related by blood). Alternatively, it speculated that Sirius had cracked during his time in Azkaban and was now infecting Harry with his crazy.
“This is ridiculous.” Harry tossed the newspaper back onto the table with a satisfying slap. “How can they just lie to everybody? People need to know that Voldemort’s back!”
The vast majority of the Order members collectively flinched.
“That’s exactly what Fudge doesn’t want.” Mr. Weasley sported dark eye bags that seemed to be getting worse with each day. “Knowing about You-Know-Who’s return would send people into a panic.”
“That’s better than being overrun once he makes his move!”
“We’re on your side,” Remus said soothingly, “obviously. But Fudge is...”
“A coward and a fool.”
Harry half-expected Remus to counter Sirius’ accusations, but he only gave a tired sigh. “Unfortunately so.”
“Is there nothing we can do?”
Remus sent him a sympathetic look. “Dumbledore is working on it. But for the moment, nothing we can say is going to stop the Ministry from spreading their version of the story.”
It was only after Remus had mentioned his name that Harry realized how odd it was that despite being the Order’s leader, Dumbledore had yet to make a single appearance at the headquarters.
“I’ve been told that Harry took part in the first Order meeting.”
“You must have been,” Severus said, “seeing as it appeared not worth your personal time.”
Dumbledore did not reply. Severus watched as he diluted his tea with an upsetting amount of milk and sugar. Severus’s own cup remained untouched on the table beside him.
“I’m afraid you must tell him that at least for the time being, he may not do so again.”
Severus waited, but Dumbledore did not continue. “I would like an explanation,” he said tersely. “Both for the secrecy, as well as why you cannot tell him so yourself. You should have recognized by now that keeping secrets leads to him making reckless decisions.”
Dumbledore’s eyes were fixed on the empty fireplace. His turquoise robes looked dull in the dim lighting of the sitting room. “It is possible that in failing to kill Harry on the night of his parents’ death, Voldemort passed on parts of himself to Harry.”
Severus accepted the news in the same manner as he had those of Lucius Malfoy’s death: stoically, using the same self-control that had allowed him to serve as a spy under a madman. “You believe that is the source of their connection?”
“I’ve not been able to prove whether a link exists at all, much less its nature,” Dumbledore said, his undrunk tea clasped in rigid hands. “Until we know more, I believe it best to limit the information he learns about the Order.”
A part of Severus resented Dumbledore for forcing him to pass on the news, even though rationality dictated that unless and until Dumbledore’s suspicions were proven false, contact between him and Harry ought to be limited. If the potential link truly was as strong as Dumbledore suggested, and if Voldemort found out how to utilize it, they would play right into his hands by giving him direct access to Dumbledore through Harry.
“He will have to master Occlumency even faster than we believed necessary,” Severus noted.
“Precisely.”
“He should know about what you’ve told me, even if the threat might turn out to be non-existent.”
Dumbledore set his teacup onto the table in front of him. “I have been warring with myself on that. It is such pressure to put on a boy who has so many other things weighing on his mind already.”
“He will notice that something is amiss. Especially if you ask me to lie to him.”
A line formed between Dumbledore’s brows. “You’re certain?”
“Completely. Besides, he’s shown no talent for Occlumency. Additional motivation will certainly do no harm.”
Dumbledore sunk further into his armchair, his eyes falling shut. The gesture looked so uncharacteristically human that Severus spent several heartbeats contemplating what exactly he was aiming to achieve through it.
“In this, I trust your judgment more than mine,” Dumbledore said.
Severus set his jaw. Once or twice before, Dumbledore had deferred to him in matters that concerned Harry. But for Dumbledore to undermine his own authority so blatantly was not something Severus had expected.
He wasted no time after Dumbledore had taken his leave, the majority of Grimmauld Place never having learned of his presence. A trip to Harry’s room and an impatient demand for privacy towards Weasley later, Severus chose to forgo tact in order to convey the news as concisely—yet truthfully—as he was able.
After he’d explained Dumbledore’s suspicions, he added, “He has asked me to emphasize that as of now he has no proof. But until we are certain, it would be foolish not to act.”
Harry, having chosen to remain seated on his bed, stared at the row of flower pots unevenly arranged on his windowsill. “So about the Order meetings...”
“Until we’ve made considerable progress with your Occlumency lessons, it would be inadvisable for you to attend them.” Harry said nothing, so Severus pushed on. “I suggest we increase their frequency.”
“Yeah,” Harry said quietly, eyes still aimed at his windowsill. Tension curled his shoulders inwards. “Sounds like a good idea.”
Severus worried that if nothing was done, the Occlumency sessions would completely take over the summer and the next school term, tainting them. He could not spare Harry the lessons, but that did not mean his hands were tied. Reminding himself of everything Harry excelled at, as well as the anxiety he’d shown at the beginning of the summer, an idea began to form in Severus’ mind.
“Run that by me one more time?”
Severus closed his eyes and counted to ten, wishing that there was a person in the headquarters more qualified for what he had in mind. “Which part exactly did you find too challenging to comprehend?”
“Interesting approach of asking somebody for help.” Black had draped himself across an armchair in the drawing room in a manner that could only loosely be defined as ‘sitting’. “Disregarding the fact that you’re asking me to break several Ministry laws, what makes you think it’s doable?”
“I know that it is.” Severus crossed his arms. “It has merely been a long time. I cannot proceed without a second pair of eyes.”
“I’ve even more questions now than I did before.”
Severus gave an impatient sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “During our fifth and sixth year at Hogwarts, the runes became a popular incentive for... recruitment. Instructions on how to craft them were used to persuade underage students to join his ranks.”
“You’re kidding.” The bored undertone had fallen out of Black’s voice. “If an entire generation of Slytherins just casually knew how to break the Trace—”
“There is a vast difference between ‘breaking’ the Trace and temporarily subduing it,” Severus snapped. “Besides, you vastly overestimate the number of students who were privy to the knowledge.”
The more closely guarded a secret, the easier it was to tempt outsiders with promises of bringing them into the fold: whether they be pure bloods raised on ideals of wizard supremacy itching to follow in their parents’ footsteps, or half bloods wanting to rise above the masses, desperate to prove themselves. Severus was under no illusion. He would have joined them regardless of whether or not he’d been tempted with knowledge. But a closely guarded, illegal technique passed down from one pure blood family to another, one that allowed him to use his wand underneath his magic-hating father’s roof, had certainly sweetened the deal.
“Fine.” Black rose up until he sat in something vaguely resembling a normal sitting position. “Still doesn’t explain why you’re asking me for help.”
“Out of all the residents of this house, you have by far the least amount of respect for the law.”
Black bared his teeth in a grin. “I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with my superior skills in Runes.”
Severus sent him a scathing glare. He had taken Ancient Runes as an elective, but he’d never had the same interest in it that he’d had in other subjects. Black, tragically enough, had been the most skilled crafter of runes in their Hogwarts year.
“Out with it then,” Black said. “Why’re you so bent on making me help you bypass the Trace? Last I checked we’ve been of age for well over a decade.”
“I am going to give Harry dueling lessons, and I would prefer not to wait until the start of the school term.”
Black straightened up so quickly that he lost his balance. All traces of mirth had vanished from his expression. “You think he’s ready for that?”
“He does not have the luxury not to be.”