Chapter 15:
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I had a little extra time and wrote a new chapter for Much Deadlier Tournament. It's a huge improvement over chapter 14, which I may actually delete as superfluous. What do you guys think?
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Harry woke to a soft knock. He blinked, confused, and reached for his glasses as the door creaked open.
“Get dressed,” came Kingsley’s deep voice. “You’ve been summoned.”
The man’s tone left no room for negotiation. Half-asleep and already bracing for whatever new crisis had come knocking, Harry threw on his robes and followed. The corridors of Hogwarts were still dim with early morning blue, the torches barely glowing. They walked in silence, Kingsley’s presence as calm and immovable as a glacier, until they reached the stone griffin guarding Dumbledore’s office.
“Fizzing Whizzbee,” Kingsley said flatly.
The statue leapt aside with surprising energy.
They ascended in silence. When they stepped into the circular office, Dumbledore was already there. He didn’t speak. He simply reached for a carved wooden bowl of green powder resting atop his fireplace mantle, grabbed a generous handful, and cast it into the flames.
“Number Twelve, Grim old Place.” it sounded like he said.
And he was gone.
The emerald fire licked the air where he’d stood. Kingsley nodded once at Harry, silently motioning him toward the hearth. Harry stepped in, heart thudding, and repeated the address. The flames swallowed him whole.
The house he arrived in smelled like something had died in it. Recently. Possibly more than one thing.
He stumbled out of the fireplace coughing, soot on his face and in his mouth. The hallway was pitch black and narrow, with peeling wallpaper that looked like it might bite him if touched. A massive troll leg umbrella stand loomed beside him like a warning. Dust covered everything, and the air stank of mildew, rotted food, and something vaguely magical and foul—like burnt dragon dung and old curses.
A portrait on the wall twitched behind moth-eaten curtains, and he instinctively stepped back. The curtains trembled.
Harry’s eyes adjusted slowly. The house had the aura of something that should be empty, but definitely wasn’t.
Kingsley stepped out of the fire behind him and gestured toward a cracked wooden door at the end of the hall. No words. Just a look that said go on. Harry obeyed.
The dining room was packed.
Around a heavy table sat a dozen witches and wizards, most of them unfamiliar—at first. But then his eyes found them. Sirius and Remus.
Harry’s breath caught. He didn’t hesitate. He moved fast, shoving past Arthur Weasley and nearly tripping on an ill-placed boot to wrap Sirius in a hug that actually lifted the man out of his chair.
“Alright, alright, kid!” Sirius wheezed with a laugh. “Good to see you too!”
Then Remus. Thinner than before, paler too, but still solid. Still warm. Harry grabbed him like an anchor and didn’t let go.
When he pulled back, the full picture finally sank in.
There were a lot of people here.
Arthur and Molly Weasley sat together, flanking Bill, Charlie, and a stiff-backed Percy who was eyeing the room like he might find a policy violation in the drapes. Alastor Moody was there, eye whirling, and so was Hestia Jones, elbow-deep in a pile of maps and papers. Dedalus Diggle was bouncing in his seat, hatless for once, eyes gleaming with excitement.
In the far corner, whispering with the nervous energy of schoolboys caught plotting a murder, stood Snape and Karkaroff.
Both were missing an arm.
Seriously, what the hell? Why was limb loss suddenly trending?
Before Harry could ask, Dumbledore cleared his throat.
“Thank you all for coming,” he said, sweeping the room with a gaze that silenced everyone. “Welcome, Harry, to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.”
Murmurs of greeting spread down the table.
“This organization exists for one purpose: to oppose Lord Voldemort. Quietly, intelligently, and with coordination. You are here either because you volunteered, or because fate has placed you on the board. The war has already begun—we are merely one step ahead.”
He paused, letting that settle.
“Voldemort has returned,” he said. “As confirmed by four people in this room.”
He motioned to Harry, Snape, Karkaroff... and a figure Harry hadn’t noticed before. Someone curled in the corner, dressed in muted brown and grey, slouched like a discarded umbrella.
“Tonks?” Harry asked, blinking.
She looked up and gave him a strained half-smile. Her hair was dark, her expression darker.
“Voldemort used me,” she said. “For the resurrection. He kidnapped me. Kept me conscious but bound. I reported it after I escaped.” Her mouth twisted into something like a snarl. “The Auror Office thanked me by firing me. Mental health discharge, they said.”
“Losing jobs seems to be going around,” Snape muttered.
“And limbs,” Harry added under his breath.
Tonks snorted, but stuck out both her arms and kicked out her legs.
The joke clattered to the floor like a dropped wand. No one picked it up.
Moody cleared his throat.
“If he’s back, we need to inform the ICW. Quietly. Through secure channels.”
“No,” said Karkaroff. “You do that, you give the other Ministries an excuse to panic. Half of them will lock their borders. The other half will start killing suspected Death Eaters on sight—whether they're guilty or not.”
“Good,” said Sirius.
“Counterproductive,” said Snape. “Mass panic benefits him. The Dark Lord thrives on disorder. The more noise, the more shadows he has to move through.”
Bill nodded thoughtfully.
“We could leak the truth slowly. Controlled rumors. Whispered stories. Don’t confirm anything publicly—just let fear simmer.” he suggested. "Or tell small factions we want to recruit? The Goblins will believe it and act with a bit more restraint.
Mrs Weasley folded her arms.
“We can’t fight a war by gossip. People need to know what’s coming.”
“They already know, Molly,” Sirius said, speaking up. “They just don’t know who’s behind it. And Voldemort wants them to know it's him. That’s what he told Tonks, right? He wants them scared.”
“So don’t give him what he wants,” Harry said.
All heads turned to him.
“He wants the world to know. He wants fear. He feeds off of it. So we starve him of it.”
“And what do you suggest instead?” Dumbledore asked.
Harry glanced around the room, making sure they were listening.
“We give them someone else to fear. Let his potential recruits flock to a fake figurehead and entrap them or move them towards the Order. Some symbol of darkness, mystery, rebellion. Someone the world already suspects. Someone who could convincingly take Voldemort’s spotlight, just long enough to take away potential allies AND get nations around the world prepared for a fight.”
Snape sneered.
“Despite your recent angst, you would not pass as a budding Dark Lord, Potter.” he said in what Harry interpreted as good humor for the man.
“I agree,” Harry said with a shrug. “And I’ve got too much on my plate already. But I was thinking of someone else.”
He turned in his chair and locked eyes with Sirius.
“The only man to ever escape Azkaban. Who’s avoided the entire Ministry and their dementors for over a year. Who has the family name, the mystique, the backstory… and,” Harry added with a smirk, “devilishly good looks.”
Everyone turned to Sirius.
He blinked.
“That’s... a shockingly good idea,” Karkaroff said, looking impressed. “Especially if he has two former Death Eaters by his side.”
Snape looked particularly pleased by the idea.
-
The Floo spit them out one by one into the darkened living room of Number Four, Privet Drive.
Tonks landed first after Harry, staggered slightly, and looked around with mild disgust.
“Ugh. Smells like repression.” she said, letting her hair become vibrant again.
She was followed by Padfoot, tail wagging once before he stalked off toward the kitchen like he owned the place. Remus stepped out next, brushing ash from his sleeves with practiced indifference. Then Bill Weasley, all charm and ponytail, and finally Severus Snape, who emerged from the green flames looking like he had just been personally insulted by every brick in the house.
Dumbledore had apparated Harry there to connect the floo.
They scattered immediately. Lupin took the stairs. Bill moved toward the walls, running his fingers along the baseboards with a professional eye. Snape gave Harry a look of withering suspicion, then drifted toward the back rooms like a hunting wraith.
Only Tonks remained beside Harry, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.
“Alright, what gives?” she asked. “Why’d you drag all of us here? You planning a surprise party?”
Harry shook his head.
“Kind of.” Harry admitted.
She followed him into the kitchen as the others moved room to room, the sound of creaking floorboards and faint muttering echoing through the house.
"Welcome to your new office." he said.
“You want me to house sit?” Tonks asked, voice skeptical.
“Yup,” Harry said. “Free rent and I’m paying you. Not bad as far as job benefits go, yeah? All you have to do is disguise yourself as this ugly thing.”
He picked up a photo off a stand in the hallway showing just his aunt and presented it to her.
Tonks tilted her head, suspicious.
“And all I have to do is pretend to be this Petunia?”
Harry nodded.
“Yup. It’s a paid vacation. Quiet neighborhood. Minimal supervision. Lots of time for you to get your head on straight and study for a new career choice.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“What’s the catch?”
From the doorway, Dumbledore’s voice answered before Harry could.
“You are bait.”
Tonks turned sharply. Dumbledore had entered the room soundlessly, his expression unreadable but his tone final.
“Voldemort will come for you here,” he continued. “He knows the magic tied to Petunia Dursley’s blood. Magic that once protected Harry here. Even now that she’s fled, the wards she maintained have not fully collapsed. Until the solstice, there is still power in this place… power he cannot cross directly.”
Tonks frowned.
“Blood wards? That’s very old magic. And very dark. And I’ll be here alone?”
Padfoot padded back in and flopped down beside Harry, his tail thumping softly against the tile.
“Not entirely,” Harry said, scratching the dog’s ears. “Padfoot’ll be here when he’s not out doing… whatever it is he does.”
Sirius made a low, exaggerated growl. Harry grinned.
Tonks folded her arms.
“And them?” She gestured toward the clatter upstairs and the quiet hiss of Snape in the hallway. “Why are they here?”
“Ah,” Harry said, clapping his hands together. “Glad you asked.”
The others began drifting back into the room. Bill dusting off his hands, Lupin ducking through the doorway with a satisfied look, Snape glaring like someone had just asked him to bless a Muggle marriage.
“I want this place,” Harry said, voice rising a little, “turned into a death trap.”
Everyone paused.
“For Voldemort,” Harry clarified. “Not, like… generally.”
Tonks blinked.
“You’re serious.”
Padfoot barked before transforming back into his usual self.
“I mean it, yeah,” Harry continued. “If he shows up, I want him walking into the nastiest, most unfair fight of his life. I want him wondering if this entire street was built by cursed Egyptian architects on loan from Gringotts. I want him to trip over a rug and lose a toe.”
Snape raised an eyebrow.
“So naturally, you assembled… this band of idiots.”
“Oi,” said Sirius, transforming back into himself and adjusting his coat. “I resemble that remark.”
“We all do to a certain extent,” Snape replied.
Harry smirked.
“This is the winning team. Cursebreaker? Bill. Potions? Snape. Two of the greatest pranksters in modern history?” He gestured between Lupin and Sirius. “And Dumbledore, for that extra dash of whimsy and quantum-level nonsense. This is it. The dream team. I also had Fred and George in mind, but they're not of age until April and Mrs Weasley would kill me.”
There was a long silence.
Then Bill grinned.
“I’m in,” he said.
“I never said I wasn’t,” Lupin added.
Dumbledore simply smiled, eyes twinkling.
“It has been quite some time since I built a magical mousetrap.”
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, “Merlin save us all.”
Tonks looked around at them.
“do I have to fight when he comes for me?” she asked
"Only if you want." Harry said. "But the house should do most of the fighting until Dumbledore comes to take him down."
“That’s war.”
She hesitated for but a moment. Then nodded stoicly.
“Alright. But I want hazard pay.”
Harry extended a hand.
“Deal.”
They shook on it.
-
Everyone got to work with alarming speed.
Bill rolled up his sleeves, muttered something in Ancient Egyptian, and began prying up floorboards with surgical precision. He didn’t damage a single nail. Each board floated gently aside as he etched tight, complex runes into the stone foundation with a red-glowing dagger.
Remus, unbothered by the chaos, headed for the basement.
“What’s he doing?” Tonks asked.
“Plumbing and electrical,” Harry said. “Also the furnace. I assume something’s going to explode.”
“Of course.”
Without missing a beat, he moved to the walls and began methodically stripping back plaster with quiet precision. He murmured to the pipes like they were old friends, tapping them with his wand, then whispering odd charm sequences under his breath. Wires untangled themselves as if soothed. Occasionally, something sparked. Once, a lightbulb across the house exploded with a distant pop.
“Is he—?” Tonks began.
“Charming the wiring,” Harry confirmed. “I don't even want to know with what."
“Lovely.”
Once satisfied, Remus muttered a final incantation and the walls sealed themselves back up, smooth and unblemished, like nothing had ever been touched. He then moved onto the next room.
Dumbledore—because of course—sat cross-legged on the floor in the living room with a notebook, quill moving furiously. Occasionally, the parchment would spark and yelp.
In the corner, Sirius and Snape were deep in discussion, of all things.
“I’ve kept samples,” Snape was saying, “of student accidents. Potions gone wrong. Some were so catastrophically botched they defy categorization. Never could recreate them, but their effects are… interesting. And untraceable.”
“Calling those things potions seems generous,” Sirius said.
“In that, we can agree,” Snape replied. "But how do we set them to do what we want when we want to who we want?"
"Oh, you just leave that to me." said Sirius.
Harry couldn’t tell if they were bonding or planning mutual homicide.
A few hours later, Dumbledore stood and brushed ash from his robes.
“We’ll need blood,” he said cheerfully.
Tonks blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“From both of you,” Dumbledore clarified. “To properly confuse the wards. Voldemort shares your blood now, Tonks. It gives us a unique advantage.”
He pulled out two small silver blades and offered one to each of them. Tonks raised an eyebrow but complied, pricking her thumb. Harry did the same.
Dumbledore caught the drops in vials, corked them neatly, and began scrawling new glyphs in his notebook.
“We’ll enchant the defenses to target you, Tonks,” he explained, “under normal conditions. Which means everything in this house will be primed to murder you with impressive enthusiasm.”
“Lovely,” Tonks said.
“But,” Dumbledore continued, “if you wear an object that contains a blood-bond to Harry, the system will ignore you completely. Voldemort, however, will be flagged as an intruder—because he shares your blood and lacks Harry’s magical signature. He’ll walk in thinking he’s safe.”
“And then?” she asked.
“Then the house tries to eat him.”
“Brilliant. Do I get options for these ‘don’t kill me’ trinkets?”
Dumbledore smiled. “Would you prefer earrings? A wedding band? Ankle bracelet? All of the above?”
Tonks grinned.
“Absolutely all of the above.”
“And when Voldemort comes—”
“He’ll be the one wearing me,” she said grimly. “And the house will know it.”
“Exactly.”