Chapter 1
Percy adjusted his glasses as he pushed open the door to The Three Broomsticks. The familiar warmth of Rosmerta’s bar wrapped around him—the scent of butterbeer and oak mingling in the air. The place bustled with late-evening patrons, but Percy’s focus was already on the far side of the room where Harry Potter and the Weasley twins were locked in yet another lively debate.
Percy sighed. Of course, they were causing chaos.
“I know you’re cheating, Potter,” Fred declared, leaning across the table. “No one’s that lucky, not even us.”
Harry reclined against the bar with the kind of lazy ease that grated on Percy’s nerves. “Luck?” he drawled, feigning offense. “I’d never rely on something as fragile as luck. This—” he gestured to the deck of enchanted playing cards scattered on the table, “—is pure, undeniable skill.”
George narrowed his eyes. “Skill, my arse. You’ve won five games in a row. No one beats us five times unless there’s trickery involved.”
“Come on,” Harry said with mock innocence. “Maybe I’m just naturally gifted.”
Fred huffed. “No one’s that gifted, mate. Spill it. What’s your secret?”
Harry tapped a finger against his lips, eyes gleaming with mischief. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, would it?”
“Oi, no fair!” George protested. “You’ve got to tell us how you’re doing it!”
“You two are supposed to be the infamous pranksters,” Harry teased, lifting his butterbeer. “Don’t tell me a humble orphan is outsmarting the mighty Weasley twins?”
Percy bit back a scoff. Humble? Harry Potter was about as humble as a peacock in mating season.
Fred jabbed a finger at him. “Mark my words, Potter. We’ll figure it out.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Harry quipped smoothly.
George glanced down at the deck, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to tear it apart and find the trick. “You’re hiding something,” he muttered.
“You’re both paranoid.” Harry lifted his butterbeer in mock toast. “Can’t a bloke just be brilliant?”
“I wouldn’t give him that much credit,” Percy interjected as he approached the bar. “Brilliant is a stretch.”
Harry smirked. “And yet, you’re stuck being my partner. Tragic, really.”
Percy ignored the jab. “Why don’t you stop tormenting them and admit how you did it?”
“Oh, Percy,” Harry sighed, shaking his head. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Before Percy could retort, Sirius Black strolled over, looking far too pleased with himself. His leather jacket creaked as he slung an arm around Harry’s shoulders.
“Of course he’s outsmarting you,” Sirius said with a grin. “He’s one of the heirs of the Marauders. Trickery runs in his blood.”
Harry grinned up at him. “Finally, someone who appreciates my talents.”
Fred snorted, leaning back against the bar. “Heirs of the Marauders, my arse. There’s no way he would’ve been a Gryffindor.”
George nodded, smirking as he gave Harry an appraising look. “Yeah, no chance. He’s definitely a Slytherin.”
Harry’s mouth curved into a lazy smile, clearly unbothered. “What gave me away? My charm or my cunning?”
“Both,” Fred shot back. “You’re sneaky, underhanded, and you cheat better than anyone we know. No way you’d belong with the brave and noble.”
At that, Sirius bristled, his easy-going demeanor stiffening. “Oi!” He fixed them with a glare, his hand still loosely draped around Harry’s shoulders. “This one? A snake? Don’t insult him like that.”
“I don’t know, Padfoot,” Harry drawled. “I think I’d make a pretty fantastic Slytherin.”
“You shut your mouth,” Sirius grumbled, though there was no real heat in his voice. “You’re a lion through and through.”
George raised an eyebrow. “Really? ‘Cause I don’t see it. What about him is Gryffindor?”
“He’s loyal,” Sirius said instantly, his tone brooking no argument. “And brave when it counts. And besides—” he ruffled Harry’s hair again, earning a mock-scowl, “—he’s practically family. No Marauder would ever belong in that dungeon.”
Fred snickered. “Sounds like you’re just biased, Sirius.”
“Damn right, I’m biased.” Sirius tilted his chin up, daring them to argue. “He’s one of us.”
Harry laughed under his breath, lifting his drink. “See? Family. Try to be nice to me, Weasleys. I’m practically your cousin at this point.”
Percy stayed quiet during the exchange, but his thoughts churned.
Sirius might be blinded by sentiment, but the twins had a point.
Harry Potter as a Gryffindor? Not likely.
He didn’t have the brilliance for Ravenclaw, that was certain. And humility wasn’t in his vocabulary, which ruled out Hufflepuff.
And as for Gryffindor? Percy fought the urge to scoff. Chivalry wasn’t exactly Harry’s strong suit. Whatever Sirius claimed about bravery, Harry wasn’t the kind to charge into danger for noble ideals.
No—if he had gone to Hogwarts, he would’ve fit in perfectly with the snakes. Clever, cunning, and slippery as hell.
And yet, somehow, Harry had the affection of half the Order wrapped around his little finger.
Percy adjusted his glasses and sighed quietly to himself. Whatever it was that made Harry Potter so special, he just didn’t see it. And despite the chaos he caused—or maybe because of it—people like Sirius and Remus practically tripped over themselves to defend him.
It was baffling.
Percy had grown up to think your worth was measured by how well you applied yourself. Talent was nothing without discipline. And Harry? Harry had neither.
He leaned back against the bar, allowing the conversation to wash over him while his thoughts drifted.
It was a sore topic. Everyone knew better than to mention it outright, but Harry had never gone to Hogwarts. No House, no formal education, no structure—nothing but whatever scraps of magic he’d picked up on his own.
A shame, really. If he’d had a proper education, maybe he wouldn’t be so useless.
Percy’s fingers drummed lightly against his glass. Not that anyone seemed to care. If anything, Sirius and Remus treated Harry like he was something fragile—like they owed him something.
Maybe they did.
He wasn’t sure of the full story—no one outside of Dumbledore’s inner circle really was—but Harry Potter had slipped through the cracks. Somehow, after his parents’ death, the boy had been shuffled into the muggle system and promptly forgotten.
It wasn’t until Harry was sixteen that Dumbledore had found him.
Percy wasn’t sentimental, but even he could admit that it must have been hell—growing up alone. No guidance. No family. No magic. It was no wonder Harry lacked basic magical discipline.
By the time Sirius and Remus had tracked him down, it had been too late.
Sixteen years old. Too old to be molded properly. Too wild to follow the rules.
Sirius never forgave himself for that—for losing Harry to the system.
Percy didn’t have the heart to point out that no amount of guilt would make up for Harry’s obvious lack of skill. If no one had trained him properly as a child, it was far too late now.
Percy adjusted his glasses again, watching the scene at the bar with a mix of exasperation and detached curiosity. The Weasley twins were in their usual high spirits, exchanging rapid-fire jokes with Harry, whose sharp wit always seemed to match theirs with infuriating ease.
What was more annoying, though, was how effortlessly Harry charmed everyone—including Madam Rosmerta.
She leaned over the bar now, pointing a finger at Harry with mock severity. "You've been avoiding me, Potter," she said, her lips curving into a smile. "I’m still waiting for you to pay off your tab from last month."
Harry grinned, leaning on the counter like he had all the time in the world. "Rosmerta, darling," he drawled, voice smooth as silk, "I thought you'd understand. I’m simply giving you an excuse to keep seeing me."
Percy almost rolled his eyes. It was always like this. Harry’s voice could charm the venom from a snake, and Rosmerta was no exception.
Rosmerta scoffed, but the light pink dusting her cheeks didn’t escape Percy’s notice. "Flattery won’t clear your debts."
Harry tilted his head, as if considering her words seriously. His emerald-green eyes, shining even through his glasses, caught the dim light of the bar as he leaned closer. "What if I offered something better than gold?" he asked, his tone just suggestive enough to make Rosmerta’s blush deepen.
Fred and George howled with laughter, clapping Harry on the back. "Oi, Harry, leave some charm for the rest of us!" George exclaimed.
"Not a chance," Harry shot back, flashing a cocky smile. "I’m a one-woman man, you know."
"Yeah, and how many 'one-women' is that now?" Fred teased.
Harry just laughed, and Percy found himself shaking his head. Ridiculous. Here he was, trying to maintain some sense of professionalism, and meanwhile, Harry was out here flirting his way through life.
Still, as much as he wanted to dismiss him, Percy couldn’t help but notice how easy it was for Harry to command a room. Even when he was being a menace.
Percy quietly reached for the snack bowl on the bar—an assortment of roasted nuts—and popped a few in his mouth while the banter continued.
The door creaked open just as Harry leaned in to murmur something else to Rosmerta. Percy turned slightly to see Ginny walk in, her bright red hair unmistakable even in the dim light.
She spotted him first, weaving through the crowd toward where he stood. Percy gave her a polite nod, but her eyes were already straying to the bar—more specifically, to Harry.
Her expression shifted the moment she caught sight of him, still leaning comfortably against the bar, still turning on that easy charm.
Ginny’s mouth pressed into a thin line as Harry laughed again, seemingly oblivious to the way her gaze lingered on him.
"Percy," she said, voice clipped, "Dumbledore’s waiting for you. Both of you."
Percy raised an eyebrow. "Both of us?"
Her eyes flicked to Harry once more, and this time, her frown deepened slightly. "Yes," she confirmed, her tone tight.
Percy didn’t bother asking for details—when Dumbledore called, you didn’t ask questions. He gave Ginny a brief nod before glancing back toward the bar. Harry was still effortlessly holding court with the twins, his voice smooth and teasing as Rosmerta leaned in just a bit closer than necessary. Of course, he had no idea—or maybe he just didn’t care—how obvious Ginny’s feelings for him were.
Not that it mattered.
In Percy’s opinion, her crush was pointless.
Ginny had been nursing that hopeless affection since the day Harry joined the Order, but anyone with half a brain could see it wasn’t going anywhere. Harry Potter wasn’t exactly boyfriend material. He was reckless, charming to a fault, and entirely too much trouble. Besides, if he’d ever noticed Ginny’s interest, he’d made no sign of caring.
And honestly? Percy thought she should just get over it.
Ginny deserved someone… better. Someone reliable. Not someone who spent half his time causing chaos and the other half sweet-talking barmaids.
Still, as he watched Harry lean even closer to Rosmerta—who was laughing a little too brightly at something he’d said—Percy couldn’t help but notice the way Ginny’s hands curled into fists at her sides.
She really should move on.
"Well?" she asked, a touch impatiently, when Percy didn’t immediately respond. "Are you coming, or do you want me to drag him out by his collar?"
Percy sighed, brushing crumbs off his hands. "I’m coming."
Honestly, dealing with Harry was exhausting. But at least it was better than dealing with his sister’s doomed infatuation.
Percy finally managed to tug Harry away from the bar—though not without difficulty. Harry had been in the middle of an animated story about how he’d once outwitted a pair of curse-breakers, and judging by the way the twins were howling with laughter, they weren’t eager for him to leave. Harry, naturally, had drawn the moment out as long as possible, flashing a crooked smile at Rosmerta that left her blushing faintly.
"You’re awfully eager to get me alone, Percy," Harry drawled as they climbed the narrow staircase behind the bar leading to the hidden entrance of the Order’s headquarters. "If you wanted some quality time, you could’ve just said so."
Percy rolled his eyes, tugging the door open with a little more force than necessary. "I’m trying to keep you from running up a tab you clearly can’t pay," he said dryly.
"Details," Harry replied breezily, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. "Rosmerta doesn’t mind. She’s a woman of excellent taste—obviously."
"You’re a menace," Percy muttered, stepping into the meeting room.
The hidden room above the Three Broomsticks was warm, lined with bookshelves and cluttered maps pinned to the walls—some marked with magical disturbances, others tracking Grindelwald’s movements. A round wooden table stood in the center, already occupied by Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and Snape.
Percy straightened instinctively at the sight of Dumbledore, whose calm blue eyes twinkled as he gestured for them to sit. Despite being the head of a secret resistance, Dumbledore still held his post as the headmaster of Hogwarts, and McGonagall continued her long-standing role as the Transfiguration professor. In fact, most Order meetings—like this one—were scheduled before the start of the school day to accommodate their schedules. They were two of the few members of the Order who still had day jobs.
"Ah, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter—thank you for joining us," Dumbledore greeted warmly as Percy slid into his usual chair.
Harry, predictably, flopped into his with a complete lack of decorum.
"You’re late," McGonagall said sharply, her gaze lingering disapprovingly on Harry.
"I’m fashionably late," Harry corrected with a grin. "Besides, I had to rescue Percy from socializing. You know how he gets."
Percy, unwilling to dignify that with a response, focused instead on Snape. The man’s presence in the Order was still an enigma.
When Percy had been a student, Snape had been the Potions Master—distant, harsh, and perpetually displeased. Now, however, he had left Hogwarts entirely, though no one had explained exactly why. Percy suspected Grindelwald had taken an interest in Snape’s talents—a man with that level of potion expertise would be a valuable asset to the enemy. Whatever the reason, Snape’s inclusion had sparked fierce resistance from Sirius and Remus, though Dumbledore’s support had silenced most arguments.
Snape’s black eyes flicked toward Harry, his lip curling faintly. "Surprising," he said coolly. "I expected you to be too busy making a spectacle of yourself downstairs."
Harry, as usual, didn’t take the bait. "Don’t worry, Snape. I wouldn’t dream of outshining your natural charm," he quipped, flashing a grin.
Snape’s expression remained impassive, but Percy didn’t miss the tension coiling in his posture. Whatever the history between them, there was no love lost.
"Enough," Dumbledore said mildly, though there was an unmistakable note of authority in his voice. The room fell quiet immediately. "We have a new mission."
Harry grinned. "Sounds fun," he said brightly. "What’s the job?"
Dumbledore steepled his fingers as he regarded Percy and Harry, the faintest smile playing on his lips. "We’ve received a request for warding," he began, his tone light but carrying the weight of authority. "A rather standard affair—reinforcing magical barriers around a property to protect against detection and… other inconveniences. The location, however, is in London."
Percy straightened in his seat. London. That was new. Most of the work he and Harry had been assigned since becoming partners had been in remote, rural areas—places where Grindelwald’s influence had begun creeping in quietly, and where the Order’s interference could go unnoticed. But London was something else entirely. Even if it was just a dull warding job meant to generate revenue for the Order’s continued operations, at least it meant a break from muddy roads and crumbling villages.
"We’ll leave immediately," Percy said promptly, eager to be efficient.
From the corner of his eye, he thought he caught a flicker of something—concern?—in Snape’s expression. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual scorn.
"Perhaps," Snape drawled, turning his cold gaze on Dumbledore, "you should consider removing Potter from the assignment. Warding requires precision—something he is distinctly lacking. He’ll only hinder Weasley’s work."
Percy bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself not to nod along in agreement. Snape wasn’t exactly wrong. Harry’s haphazard approach to magic was enough to drive anyone to madness, and more often than not, Percy found himself picking up the pieces of whatever mess Harry had left behind.
Harry, for his part, seemed completely unbothered. He leaned back in his chair, a knowing smirk curling his lips—like Snape’s insults were a familiar song he never tired of hearing.
"You wound me, Professor," Harry said smoothly. "I’ve only ever been a positive influence on dear Percy here. I make his life more exciting." He shot Percy a quick glance. "Right, partner?"
Percy didn’t dignify that with a response.
Snape’s lip curled. "Your ‘influence’ is more akin to catastrophe."
"Well," Harry mused, tilting his head as though considering the point, "I do have a certain flair. You can’t teach that sort of thing, you know."
McGonagall let out a sharp breath—whether it was exasperation or barely concealed amusement, Percy couldn’t quite tell.
Dumbledore, however, seemed wholly unfazed. "Your concerns are noted, Severus," he said, voice still pleasant. "But I trust that Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley are more than capable of handling the matter." His blue eyes twinkled faintly behind his half-moon spectacles. "I am quite confident in their ability to work… harmoniously."
Percy highly doubted that, but arguing with Dumbledore was a losing game.
Harry clapped his hands together, all bright, false enthusiasm. "Well then, if the boss says so. I’ll try to keep the catastrophes to a minimum."
Snape’s sneer deepened, but he said nothing further, settling back into his chair like a coiled serpent waiting to strike.
Dumbledore gave them a brief nod. "You may depart when you’re ready. Do be careful—while I expect no significant complications, we cannot afford to underestimate Grindelwald’s reach."
As they stood to leave, Percy cast one last glance at Snape. Why the concern? Whatever it was, it meant something—and Snape didn’t get rattled without reason.
Still, Percy wasn’t about to question a simple warding job. How dangerous could it possibly be?