"You must be Harry, right? Come in!"
The sandy-haired man beckoned Harry through the doors of Longbottom Manor. He wasn't exactly ugly, but his jaw was extraordinarily square, lending him a slightly peculiar appearance. Despite this he was smiling brightly, and Harry couldn't help giving him a friendly nod in return.
"Sturgis Podmore," the man introduced himself. "I've been with the Order for what feels like ages now. Since the first war, I mean. Always good to see a new face. Can never have enough friends, that's what I say! Friends are good. Much better to make than enemies. You agree, right Harry?"
"I, er, expect that most people would," Harry said, not having expected such a verbal flood.
Had Sturgis always been so talkative? Harry never got to know him that well, only meeting him once as a member of the Advance Guard that escorted Harry to Grimmauld Place in the lead up to his trial. The man had been quiet enough then, albeit friendly. Of course, he was also travelling with Alastor Moody at the time. The grizzled old Auror was enough to make anyone think twice about chatting in his presence.
"Come right this way," Sturgis said, leading Harry through a hall decorated with Augusta Longbottom's peculiar taxidermied animals. "She's expecting you, you know. I guess you do know— sent you an invitation. Usually that means someone is expecting you, doesn't it? Heh heh. Well, it's true anyway, she's waiting just through here. I'll show you the way."
Before arriving at where Augusta Longbottom purportedly was, they passed through a room with a very lived-in feel. Three people were lounging around in the middle of different activities. There was a brunette woman (Emmeline Vance, Harry was pretty sure) sprawled on her back on a couch, catching a quick nap. Her chest rose and fell quickly.
Beside the couch, in a comfortable-looking chair, Dedalus Diggle had his nose buried in a book. He looked up, eyeing Harry stonily as Harry and Sturgis walked past. Harry's eyes flicked down, noting the page he was on: the first one out of the whole book.
Finally, on the other side of the room, Marlene McKinnon was sat down blowing on a fresh untouched soup. When she saw Harry she grinned, setting down her spoon to tip an invisible hat at him. Harry returned her smile with one of his own. As soon as he turned away, it faded.
He knew Augusta Longbottom had the loyalty of some of the Order, but he didn't realize that it was this bad.
Emmeline was breathing too quickly to truly be asleep. Dedalus was reading, yet it was clear he just opened his book. Marlene had done better, blowing on her soup to make it seem fresh. But the bowl hadn't been steaming, not even a little bit, on a chilly day like today. All three of them had been posted there on purpose. Why?
Most likely, Augusta Longbottom wanted to make him feel at ease as one of many Order members present, but didn't want this meeting to be common knowledge. So she called on those who were loyal to her and set them up like this as props.
Harry hoped that was it. Anything else he could think of was a whole lot less harmless.
"She's in here!" Sturgis stopped with his hands on his hips in front of a white door. "Don't worry too much. I know she can look somewhat scary, but she's really a good woman. Such a good woman, actually, that—"
"Just send him in, Sturgis," came a voice from the other side of the door."
"Right." Sturgis blushed as he opened the door. "See you."
Harry stepped into a parlor on the other side. The only taxidermied animal in this room was the vulture atop Augusta's trademark hat, the accessory set aside atop an end table. Augusta was sitting straight-backed in a leather armchair in the corner. There was a window at her back, and she was reading an issue of the Daily Prophet by the light that trickled in.
The only other seat in the room was a stool placed right in the middle of the floor. Harry approached it and sat down, seeing no other course of action. He squinted at the newspaper in Augusta's hands. He didn't recognize the headline. His eyes darted to the date, and although he couldn't make it out exactly, he could tell it said nineteen-seventy-something.
Augusta folded the newspaper shut, lifting her gaze to Harry.
"Sturgis is a good boy," she said, "but his mouth has always had a tendency to run. He means well, despite any annoyance he may cause."
"I'm sure, Ma'am," Harry said.
The room was dim, relying on natural light that was in short supply on such a cloudy day. Augusta set her folded newspaper onto the table beside her, tucking it against the hem of her hat.
"You are brave," she said.
Harry didn't have to act at all in order to frown. "I'm just a teacher, Ma'am. My students can get a little unruly from time to time, but I don't know if I'd call myself brave for facing them. Maybe on Monday mornings."
Augusta smiled. "Funny."
Harry thought about pointing out that people didn't usually say funny. They, you know, laughed. If they were actually amused.
"That's exactly what I mean, however," Augusta went on. "You are a teacher. And yet, at a time when countless people bury their heads in the sand, when our Minister and government would attack children rather than acknowledge the murderers running loose, you have stepped up. You joined the Order of the Phoenix— the only group of non-fools left in this country. I thank you. For doing the right thing."
"It's nothing, Ma'am. Really."
"It is most assuredly not nothing. Do not downplay actions worthy of praise. It's a waste of time."
"...Alright, Ma'am."
Augusta studied him. In many ways she was the quintessential older woman, with a skinny, bony frame and harshly wrinkled skin. But her eyes revealed something else. They offered a glimpse of the power, both magical and moral, that had kept her going strong for over seven decades.
"Featherham," she said. "Have you heard of it? I doubt you would have. It was wiped off of the map nearly twenty years ago. Death Eaters raised it to the ground, torturing and slaughtering the hundred Muggles who lived there. Ava Grimberly was crushed by a giant. Her body was discovered days later picked clean of all meat. Benjy Fenwick turned up dead, blasted to pieces. He was one of ours— a member of the order. Can you guess what all of these things have in common?"
"They're tragedies?" Harry offered.
"Perhaps," Augusta said. "But the answer I was looking for is that they're all in here."
She patted the newspaper she'd placed on the table, the one she'd been reading from when Harry entered.
"This is what it meant to be alive during the war," Augusta said. "Every morning you read about more innocent deaths, and despite everything, you could not help but feel relieved that it was not your family and your friends who had fallen… until it was." She glanced at the paper beneath her hand, then back at Harry. "I do not enjoy reminiscing on such times, but I feel I would be negligent if I did not. When I discovered this paper in storage this morning, I knew I had to read through it. To remind myself of what we must avoid."
"What would that be, Miss Longbottom?"
"War."
Harry scratched the back of his head. "Don't you think it's a little late for that?"
"No, Mr. Potter, I do not," said Augusta. "This past spring, Voldemort returned to life through a trap laid for my grandson. What you likely do not know is that Neville foiled two similar plots in his time at Hogwarts. It may sound unbelievable, but it's true, as is the fact that Neville dueled the resurrected Voldemort well enough to escape. Mark my words, Voldemort is reeling. It is up to us to capitalize."
She raised similar points at the last Order meeting. Harry recalled the push she made for a more aggressive stance against remaining Death Eaters. She backed down at the time in the face of Dumbledore's disagreement, but it seemed she had merely changed approaches rather than giving up. She was reaching out to members one at a time to win them over to her point of view.
Harry didn't completely disagree with her, either. Dumbledore favored the cautious approach, leaning toward taking things slowly and reacting to new developments, instead of moving proactively. Augusta wanted to strike Voldemort at his weakest before he could accumulate enough power for a second reign of terror.
But her approach had glaring problems of its own. Not even Harry knew where Voldemort was hiding during this time, and the only Death Eaters that could be reached easily were grunts. Most of the Inner Circle was in Azkaban, dead, or already captured by the Order. The only exceptions were Lucius Malfoy and Corban Yaxley, both of whom were rich and well-guarded with sway at the Ministry. If they chased leads on Death Eaters too hard, the Order was going to overextend, and a mistake like that could easily cost lives.
"What are you suggesting we do, Ma'am?" Harry asked.
"I have been keeping an eye out for particularly brave witches and wizards," Augusta said. "Out of all of them, I've approached you first. You, Harry, have potential. Although Hestia might have done most of the work, you brought in the Carrow Twins on your first mission. That is exactly the kind of results we need to drive Voldemort into the open!"
"I was just an advisor," Harry said meekly. "I taught Hestia how to blend in with Muggles. She did the rest."
Augusta smiled. "My son was like that too, always downplaying his achievements. But that didn't change that he was a hero. Would you like to be a hero too, Harry? I can make you one."
She was laying it on a bit thick. Offering to turn him into a hero, talking of untapped potential, and telling him he was the first person she had approached. If he was really a starry-eyed Muggle Studies teacher, he could've seen himself getting swept up by this. Alas, he was a bit too jaded of a target.
Augusta claimed that she'd stumbled on the newspaper by accident earlier that day, yet it was deeply creased where fingers would hold it. He didn't doubt it came out of her storage, but this was clearly not the first time in years that it had been read. Just like the Order members loitering outside, it was another part of an illusion curated to make her speech more alluring.
"What would you need me to do, Ma'am?" Harry asked.
"Missions," Augusta said. "Nothing more. They'll be just like the one Dumbledore sent you on, except they will come from me. Each one would bring with it the knowledge that you are making the Wizarding World a safer place. I can count on you, can't I Harry?"
"I… I'd like to think about it," Harry stammered.
Augusta frowned slightly, but turned it into a small smile soon after.
"That's acceptable," she said. "Do not tarry too long, however. Your first mission will be this Tuesday if you choose to accept it."
"I'll keep that in mind Miss Longbottom," Harry promised, already rising. He left the room quickly, just slow enough not to be rude. When he stepped back into the room outside, Marlene's voice stopped him.
"Good meeting?" she asked cheekily.
Harry smiled softly. "It gave me a lot to think about."
"She has a habit of doing that," Marlene said, idly stirring the last third of her soup as she looked at him. "At the end of the day, she backs up her talk though. The Longbottoms have done more to stop Voldemort than anyone else."
Harry nodded, excusing himself with a hasty goodbye. Marlene wasn't wrong, but he found himself caught up on her phrasing.
Frank and Alice sacrificed themselves. Neville risked his life through events Harry knew all too well. What had Augusta done to be added to the list, other than take credit for her family name? It rubbed him the wrong way, given how he empathized with Neville.
Despite her faults, though, the meeting had at least given Harry a valuable insight. He understood what Augusta's goal was now. When she grew heated, she let it slip once, saying that they needed results to 'Drive Voldemort into the open!'
She likely didn't believe herself that they could actually end the war before it began. Instead, she was looking to begin the war. She wanted to prove Voldemort's return to the public as soon as possible.
Things would get messy then. Attacks like the ones in her old newspaper would make a return, replacing the clandestine moves the Death Eaters were currently making. But in doing so, the target the ministry painted would be forced off of Neville's back.
Harry could respect grandmotherly affection. The question was, how many lives would Augusta risk to make her wishes happen?
O-O-O
"You have a mutiny on your hands in case you hadn't noticed," Harry said, plopping himself down in the seat across from Dumbledore's desk.
The headmaster looked up, pushing his spectacles higher on his nose. "I had noticed, actually. Nonetheless, I thank you for the generous warning."
"Augusta Longbottom got to you?"
Harry looked to his side at the other man sitting in front of Dumbledore's desk. Ever since the meeting that proved Harry's identity, James Potter had joined their memory-viewing sessions. Neither Harry nor James had addressed their awkward parting that night again, but the undercurrent of animosity had disappeared from their interactions, which was enough to take a load off of Harry's back.
"She invited me to the manor over the weekend," Harry said. "Gave me a talk. She even stationed her own people throughout the house to build the right atmosphere."
"Who?" James asked.
"Sturgis Podmore, Marlene McKinnon, Dedalus Diggle, and Emmeline Vance. Word of advice Dumbledore, don't send them on any espionage missions."
"Noted," Dumbledore said cheerfully.
"We knew about the others, but the old war hawk got to Emmeline too?" James scowled. "That's… troubling."
"She's been reaching out to specific Order members one at a time," Harry said. "She lied that I was the first. I don't know if that's a line she uses on everyone, if she thought I'd be easy to fool."
"A grave miscalculation on her part," Dumbledore said. "However, not one she would be alone in making. You possess a unique talent for making others underestimate you."
"I do try," Harry said. "Anyway, I got out of it by acting scared. I wasn't sure she'd take it well if I turned her down too harshly. I'll go back tomorrow and inform her I can't do it—"
"Would you mind accepting her offer?" Dumbledore cut in. When Harry stopped, giving him a strange look, he chuckled. "I'm not senile yet, I assure you. There's a reason I ask this."
"You want me to play the spy?"
"No, he wants you to play the babysitter," James said sourly. "He's worried about them."
"I don't think it's as unreasonable as you make it sound," Dumbledore said. "We may have our differences, but they are still our allies. For many of them, they're friends. They might not have the highest opinion of me, but in their minds, I'm sure they're trying their best."
"They're moving behind your back," James grumbled.
"Working toward the same goal that we are," Dumbledore pointed out. "A difference of opinion would not stop me from mourning their deaths."
This seemed like an old argument between the two of them, but Dumbledore's last line proved to be one James had no answer for. Although he was still visibly irritated, James crossed his arms and did not interrupt again.
"I sympathize with Augusta's motives, even if I believe her methods to be reckless." Harry wondered if Dumbledore also understood what he gleaned about Augusta's concern for Neville. "What pains my heart is that sooner or later — likely the first one — she is going to send Order members into a situation they are not equipped for. It would soothe my heart if you went along with their antics, so that should such trouble befall them, perhaps you could dig them out of it."
James suddenly slammed his hand onto the desk.
"Then you're just throwing Harry into danger along with them!" James said.
The vehemence in his voice momentarily took Harry aback. Was James being… protective of him? It was slightly misguided, but parental concern was something Harry was so unused to that he found himself tongue-tied, a warm feeling beginning around his heart.
Dumbledore just smiled.
"I think you will find, James," he said, "that it will be the danger that is being thrown to him."
O-O-O
The three of them had viewed memory's from Harry's fifth year after that. When they got to some of Umbridge's most outrageous ways of punishing Harry, James looked tempted to track down the current version of the woman. Dumbledore merely frowned— though it grew progressively deeper with each passing scene they witnessed.
The group called it a night before they reached the ill-fated battle at the Department of Mysteries. The closer they got to their current time, the slower Dumbledore insisted on taking things, studying almost all of Harry's memories in order to gain insight. They said goodbye to James, Harry excused himself, and penned an answer for Augusta that very evening, sending it off with a school owl the next morning. In return, less than a day later, Harry got a Floo call from Augusta herself, telling him coordinates and a time for the following evening— which was how he came to be standing outside a Muggle village on a cold night, his breath creating clouds visible in a full moon's light.
"It sure is cold out here! Takes me back to Hogwarts days, all the way up there in Scotland. Now that was cold. Especially during winter. I never liked the cold much, mind. More of a Summer guy myself. Always has been, or at least that's what my mum says. She's partial to Autumn."
"Sturgis?" Marlene said.
"That's me, the one and only!"
"When we get into the village, let me do the talking," Marlene pleaded.
Sturgis looked heartbroken. "But I love talking!"
"We can tell," Marlene whispered. Then, louder for Sturgis' benefit, added, "You're very good at talking, so we'll keep you as a last resort. Ideally we want to keep this brief. Remember, we're here on business."
Sturgis nodded, his face turning serious. The three of them walked across soft dirt, still slightly muddy from the rain a few days prior. Lights were on in a couple of the Muggle homes in front of them, but most were dark and bleak. The village was called Oldritch, and its inhabitants had been disappearing one by one.
At least that was the report filed by a Ministry clerk who lived in the village. The man, one Albert Fawley, lived by himself on the outskirts of this Muggle town. Three weeks ago he gave a tip to the Aurors office that described mysterious disappearance as if 'magic was involved'. When the Ministry dispatched Aurors, they found no sign of Albert, just an empty house, and reported that he must have left town. The report began collecting dust until Kingsley Shacklebolt discovered it in the archive and brought it to the Order's attention.
Their job here was simple: find Albert Fawley if they could, find out where he went if he left, or find what happened to him if he didn't.
Fawley's house was a cozy enough one-story cottage set aside from the other houses. The blinds were drawn and the wards were raised. Despite the muddy ground, there were no footprints in front of the door. Either Albert was a distant relative of Mad-Eye or no one had been home for a while.
Marlene knocked on the door, got no answer, and sighed.
"This is where the Aurors gave up," she said. "Can't go in without a warrant and all that. That would be breaking a law." She turned to Sturgis. "You're up."
The blond man beamed, stepping forward and raising his wand. Harry expected him to say something, but instead he just started casting. Harry recognized a few of the spells that left his wand from old Auror work— diagnostic charms designed to feel out wards and locate weak points.
"Sturgis is a Gringotts-trained Curse-breaker," Marlene said. "Usually, he's louder than a songbird with its feet set on fire, but once he gets working…"
Peculiar metaphor aside, Marlene had a point. The light from Sturgis' flashing spells was reflecting in his eyes and off of his bright white teeth. In under five minutes he straightened, a victorious smirk on his face, and pulled the door open.
The three of them strolled through the house, a hand on their wands. None of them knew what to expect. Harry had years of Auror experience, while the two with him had done missions like this during Voldemort's first reign of terror. They had all seen things.
Tonight however, they found no blood or gore of any kind. There wasn't a single sign of a struggle. The bed was made and the pantry was fully stocked. Marlene discovered silverware set out for a dinner that was never eaten.
"He certainly didn't plan on moving," she said.
They could find nothing else of note. Soon enough, the three of them regrouped outside the house again, shutting the door behind them.
"What's the plan now?" Marlene asked.
"Ask the locals, right?" Sturgis said. "If other people were disappearing before our wizard here, they'll have to know something."
They all agreed that this seemed like a reasonable approach. Unfortunately, it proved more difficult than assumed. The first four houses they tried were completely silent even after knocking. They tried some of the houses with lights on inside, but had no more luck. Just as they were giving up hope, someone barked, "Who are you?"
They turned to find a hunched old man in the street, holding a lantern above his head. His clothes were Muggle and his face was mean— or perhaps scared. Maybe both.
"Hi there!" Marlene smiled brightly. Despite being less of a chatterbox than Sturgis, she was still a gregarious type, and she showed it with her disarming demeanor. "We're here about Arthur Fawley—
"There's no one in this village by that name."
Marlene's smile faltered. "Well, there was. But we've been to his house and it was empty."
"Because he's gone," said the Muggle.
"Well do you know where we can find him?"
Silently, the Muggle lifted a bony hand, pointing into the dark forest beyond the village's western edge. Marlene exchanged looks with the others, then slowly walked in that direction.
"...Thanks?" she told the Muggle.
She got no reply except for when they'd left him almost a block behind, at which point he cupped his hands around his mouth to shout, "Don't come back!"
"Friendly place," Marlene grumbled. "I think I see why everyone is dipping out."
Harry nodded, his wand still out. The other two had theirs drawn as well as the trio slipped into the woods. Once out of sight of the village, Marlene and Sturgis conjured Lumos lights from the end of their wands, lighting the thick undergrowth around them to keep from tripping on roots.
Harry's eye twitched. Two lights were enough to see by, so he avoided casting a spell like the other two, keeping his wand ready in case of unexpected circumstances. As the three of them trudged deeper into the woods, shivers traveled up Harry's spine. Something was off here.
On a hunch, he attempted to Apparate a few feet away, only to be treated to the sensation of bouncing off a stiff object. The shivers intensified.
"If we get too deep in, we can always Apparate out, can't we?" Harry asked tentatively.
His question caused Marlene and Sturgis to try to Disapparate, only to discover the same thing Harry had— an Anti-Apparition Jinx blanketing the area, possibly extending over the entire forest.
"Trap—" Marlene said.
Something crunched through a bush behind them.
Immediately, Marlene and Sturgis spun, blasting stunners into the night. The red light collided with a hasty shield, Full Body-Bind Curses flying back at them. Marlene and Sturgis shielded themselves while Harry dove behind a nearby tree.
More offensive spells flew back and forth. Safe so far behind cover, Harry studied the barrages, noting that neither side was using anything lethal. Did the attackers want them alive for some reason? Or was it possible that these weren't Death Eaters?
Harry's question was answered when a jinx from Marlene got through the opponents' defenses, tangling one assailant up in ropes. As they fell to the ground, Harry saw a flash of pink hair followed by a long string of nasty vulgarities. His eyes widening, he darted out.
"STOP!" he shouted, creating a deafening whistle with a spell often used by Quidditch referees. All those present flinched, and he took the opportunity to place himself between the two groups.
"Look at their robes, you two!" Harry urged. "They're Aurors!"
Marlene and Sturgis squinted, discovering that sure enough the two they'd been trading spells with were in the trademark red robes… including the pink-haired one Marlene's spell binded.
Nymphadora Tonks lay on the ground like a caterpillar, struggling to get up with her limbs bound by thick cords. At her side, a dour-faced man refused to lower his shield. John Dawlish was enough of a veteran Auror for Harry to recognize him on sight, although he was far from the most accomplished member to grace the force in its time.
"Who are you?" Dawlish demanded.
"Friends of Albert Fawley," Harry said. "We hadn't heard from him, so we got worried. His neighbors directed us here."
"Why did you curse an Auror? That can get you time in Azkaban."
"We were scared. We just discovered that we couldn't Apparate out and thought you did it."
Harry watched Dawlish attempt to Disapparate and fail, just like the Order members had before him. The man swore up a storm under his breath.
"You're real Aurors, right?" Harry asked, injecting wonder into his voice. "Can you help us get out of here? We're in over our heads!"
"I still have questions for you," Dawlish grumbled. "Don't think you're off the hooks yet." He looked at the darkness around them. "This isn't the place, though. We've got a tent outside the woods. Follow us there."
"Thank you, Sir," Harry said. "Who do you think is keeping us from Apparating?"
"Don't concern yourself with that, citizen." Dawlish turned to Tonks, cutting her loose, and she stood up as quickly as she could, brushing twigs off of herself with a mighty blush. "This trainee and I are on the case. Whatever is in these woods, we'll find and handle it."
Right on queue, a droning howl pierced the air. Everyone looked up as the noise echoed between the tree, bouncing off of the bark and beating against their ears.
"Wolves?" Marlene asked.
Harry stared between the branches at the full moon shining down on the forest they were trapped in. Suddenly, the night felt colder than it had.
"Worse," he said.