The Summons
To: Harry Potter
From Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London
Late Spring
Harry’s Fifth Year at Hogwarts
Dear Harry,
The air here is almost crackling these days. People bring the sizzle in with them as they arrive and leave it behind when they go. Excitement and apprehension. So thick that I half expect to look round and see everybody’s hair is standing right up on end! Molly and Arthur Weasley commented on it last night when they came for an Order of the Phoenix meeting. Remus did, too. And later on, Tonks.
If I was at Hogwarts this restless early morning,, I’d blame the buzz on O W L time. Good thing that’s almost done with for you now, hmmm? By tonight, all the anxiety and suspense surrounding those exams will be over for you and Ron. And for Hermione, too, I expect. I can’t believe that even somebody as studious as she is, could actually find them enjoyable.
At any rate, it’s probably a good thing I’m not posting this letter to you with Dapper right now. It wouldn’t help you knowing how well I remember those dreadful hours leading up to each and every one of my Ordinary Wizarding Levels. (Not that there was ever much ordinary about them!) When your Dad and I sat down to study, the time flew by faster than we could turn the pages of our books. When there was no energy left to do anything but collapse on our beds to lie sleepless and staring at the ceiling, the seconds crawled by like hours and the bell-clock in the tower only seemed to chime every few years. I don’t think one Fifth Year bed was slept well in during those exams.
Or that one breakfast plate was more than picked over in the mornings.
Of course, you don’t need to hear any of that from me, do you?
Needless to say, Remus, the Weasleys and I, along with the rest of the Order have all been cheering you on at a distance! Me, I’ve been wearing that cool Harley motorbike tee shirt you gave me last Christmas in your honour throughout the exams. As a sort of good luck token, I guess you’d say. All of us are wishing you the best of luck and the steadiest of nerves.
Big wish, right? Especially the steady nerves part. One thing I do wish I could post to you is something mentioned last evening by Hessia- (My dear, darling Medi-Wizard with those pansy blue eyes and that lovely honey hair, who must be the most beautiful Witch in the Order and- hmm, I digress!) Suffice it to say, she said lavender and chamomile tea are great for calming nerves, though she didn’t say if they helped with her own O W L’s.
At least, they’re nearly over now. Can you believe it’s almost Midsummer’s Day already? Not long after that you’ll be done with your fifth year at Hogwarts.
I know that up til now, a lot of the times spent away from school have been rotten for you. Deadly dull, stuck in Privet Drive with the Dursleys. Probably- (dare I say it?) – they were a real Dud. Ha ha.
Albus says that even though he knows it’s a hardship for you there, he wants you to go to your Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon for a short while. Not sure why this is. But I made him repeat the short part twice. Short while. Got it? Short. Short. Molly and I are all but having a tug-of-war over being the first to bring you to stay with us. Then I can give you this silly old candy tin full of parchments and you can read how your Dad and I sweated over taking our O W LS without it adding on any worry about taking yours!
While I wish you well on your exams and dream of having you with me this summer, (though admittedly somewhere besides this old place!) that’s not what this note’s about.
I always said I’d never lie to you and I won’t start now.
Truth is, none of us in the Order are at Hogwarts, counting the hours til the end of exams. Our simmering cauldron of emotions has mainly to do with Voldemort. We know he’s been planning something these last months. The old guy wouldn’t quite be up to his usual form if he weren’t, would he now? Whatever his plan, the consensus is that he’s about to make his move.
Arthur and Tonks report from their positions at the Ministry of Magic that several of his suspected followers have been seen round the place in recent days.
Not to mention that his most loyal supporters, the innermost circle of Death-Eaters like my Cousin Bellatrix, are still at large. There has been no sighting of any of them since they escaped Azkaban, months back. He’ll have gathered them as close round him as in the old days, so they can all put their heads together and plot.
Even without knowing what direction their threat will take, each of us in the Order can feel it moving closer. Pressing in like the dark old air of this house. It has us all on edge, waiting, guessing, waiting. (Me, I pace.) We fall into odd silences. Or we snap at one another, we argue about everything, or nothing . And though there are moments of hope that at last we may defeat him, we all keep looking at each other for reassurances that nobody knows how to give.
Though he can’t, or won’t, say what he thinks Lord Snake Eyes’s latest scheme entails, Dumbledore is certain that the plan is focused on you. Using you in some way that Voldemort believes will secure his new rise to power. I know that Albus has been trying to protect you from him as much as he can throughout this past strange, ugly school year.
I can understand that.
My instinct is to do the same, though he and I would likely go about it in very different ways. You knew last summer we disagreed about what you should, or shouldn’t be told. I don’t much believe you can protect people from ideas, or from painful truths. They will find a way to make themselves known, sooner or later.
To me, ignorance is risk. And I felt you were old enough, had endured enough, to have earned a fuller explanation than what you were ever given.
Unfortunately, since I have a long time reputation as an impulsive hot-head, I suspect that there are facts in the matter of which I’ve been left unaware. So, despite my own convictions, I have remained part of the protective conspiracy of silence that surrounds you. Not because I agree with the secrecy, but because I feel that to paint you half a picture could well be more dangerous than to say nothing. Even so, I feel like I’ve been less than honest with you, and for that I’m deeply sorry, Harry.
Whatever it is that Voldemort has planned, I believe he will act on it soon. Very soon. That crackle in the air is like the charge that keeps building and building as dark storm clouds gather overhead. There is a certain ominous stillness that grows so huge and deep it almost buzzes. The weight of waiting, waiting, waiting presses close in and the only thing that will release it is that inevitable first flash of lightning.
My fear is that, when the storm breaks, I’ll still be sitting here, high and dry, not knowing the spot where the lightning bolt touched down. Not knowing what to do or where to go to offer help. Wondering, worrying, waiting to hear what danger or harm it’s strike might have brought to you or to Remus, to Hessia or Tonks or Dumbledore… To any of the people I care about. Because I feel deep to my bones that we won’t come out of this next encounter unscathed. The danger hangs so close, as thick in the air as that buzz of waiting, more ominous than it’s been in years… And with no guarantee that the battle to come will end the struggle.
Oh, yeah, it really is a good thing I’m not posting this cheerful little note this morning, isn’t it?
Can’t seem to settle to anything today. Couldn’t sleep last night. There’s been too much idle time on my hands, I guess, with too much waiting and too little action. Altogether too much confinement.
Too much being the prisoner of my past, of my household name and famous face. To the Wizarding world, I’m still a criminal at large. Far less free than in the cave Buckbeak and I shared as fugitives last year, though I must admit there’s more room here for me to pace in. House, garden, house. Upstairs, downstairs. Garden. House again.
But no room for Buckbeak to spread his sleek silver wings and fly, or for me to transform into a dog and run til my thoughts quit this pointless circling, circling, circling. And all of the bright Muggle ekseltrisity and smog of London hide the beautiful, soothing stars that the two of us could venture out to gaze on during those quiet, country nights.
There was so much I hoped to do that starlit night last summer when Beaky and I set out from that cave. When Albus asked that Remus and I summon the old gang. Far, far more than I’ve managed to do up til now. I wanted to help keep our world free from the destruction of the Dark Lord’s closing hand as he grasps at power. There’s so much more I have wanted to give to that cause than letting the Order use this old house for its Headquarters. Most of all, I have wanted to see you freed from the dangerous evil of Lord Voldemort and his plans.
The times ahead may be difficult for all of us if we don’t succeed in thwarting old Lord Snake-Eyes and his quest for power. We’ll need to stand together, be there for each other, work harder than ever. For me, that can not, will not, mean continuing to sit here like this.
It’s more than the echoes of Severus’s words, though his accusations that I’m a coward ring loud in my ears in the quiet hours. What’s harder to tolerate is listening to the talk at Order meetings and realizing that, in many ways, I’ve become something of a misfit. Even though I have regained the Magic the dementors drained from me in Azkaban, I’m rather out of step with the Wizarding world. Comes from fourteen years living set apart from all the changes it’s undergone. I’m certain Dumbledore sees this too, and recognizes, like I said before, that ignorance means risk. Probably believes I’d be nothing but a danger to the Order if they let me out of here to wander about.
Bloody hell, Harry, the last thing I’d want to do is put you, or the Order at risk through a naïve blunder on my part. It’s probably that, as much as loyalty to Dumbledore, that’s kept me in this house all this time. But, loyalty aside, I’ve waited too long for Albus to become convinced that I’m wasted here! That even with gaps in my knowledge, or this name and face, I wouldn’t have to be a liability to the Order! There must be something I can learn, something I can do that would be of real help. If I only knew what it is! Where to begin to find it! But my very ignorance holds me back. Keeps me circling round and round over the same old ideas!
But I have to try. Each day I believe more deeply that I am betraying the Order, not protecting it, by continuing to sit idle. Because one thing I’m not ignorant about is the capacity of Voldemort and his followers to create hurt and destruction and despair.
I’m sorry about these dark ramblings. Forgive me, Harry, for the list of complaints. My problems, my discontent are not of your doing. You have been my greatest joy these last months. There is so much I have wanted to do as your Godfather. I lost so many of your precious, growing up years to that miserable cell in Azkaban. Now there is only a bit more than a year left before you turn seventeen. Then you will be considered a grownup in the eyes of the Wizarding world, and will no longer have need of a guardian.
Not that I believe anymore that simply passing a birthday turns someone into an adult. It’s only a formality. It says a person has survived school, probably learned something there and has sixteen previous birthdays under their cloak.
You, Harry, have already done so much more than that. You’ve learned so much these last years. Been tested time and again in ways that few Wizards ever are. You’ve acted with courage and honour, resisting Voldemort when he’s tried to bend you to his will. At great risk to yourself, you kept him from taking the Philosopher’s Stone that would have given him a kind of immortality. You stopped him using his old diary to take on a new form of existence, and freed Ginny Weasley of the horrible spells he had put her under. You suffered the terrible loss of your friend Cedric last year at the Dark Lord’s hands, and did not let that rob you of your kindness or compassion. Instead, you defied Umbridge’s harsh authority and set yourself to the purpose of teaching other students how to defend themselves against the dark arts that are Voldemort’s weapon of choice. And you spoke out about his return, about our world’s need to defeat him, over and over again, when it would have been easier, safer, for you to remain silent.
Anyone who recognizes such a deep sense of purpose and finds the courage to act on it, has, I believe, already traveled through the rite of passage. Whether or not you’re a qualified Wizard yet, you’ve more than earned the respect due someone who has accomplished that feat. In the fullest sense of the term, I feel you have already come of age. Even when I’m not your guardian, I will always be honoured to act as your Godfather and would be pleased as anything to be counted among those you call your friends. One you can turn to at need, okay?
Hold onto that sense of purpose, Harry. It’s a wonderful and important thing to have. I wouldn’t have known to name it that as a kid, but I think purpose is what I was looking for out the window, over the wall, beyond my family’s traditions. I first found it when your Dad and I became animagi to keep Remus company on his moon-mad nights. And again later, when I stood alongside Tonks, cheering on her dream of going to Hogwarts.
It was only later that I floundered. Oh, yeah, by the time I left Hogwarts, I’d come of age in the eyes of the Wizarding world, of course I had. But except for finding a flat and buying a bike, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life when I ventured out on my own. Only knew what I didn’t want. Unlike your Mum and Dad, or Remus Lupin, who all seemed to recognize clearly what purpose they were going to set their lives too, mine was a long, time in coming and it’s recognition came only at great price.
Coming of Age
The Summons
Flying.
Fast and low. Skimming the ground with maybe an eighth inch to spare. No room for telltale light to squeeze out from under my wheels. Low enough to spray up gravel as I swerved round the corner and to feel the bounce of an occasional rock as it sent a shudder up through the tires of my bike. Fast enough to feel the resistance of the air against my chest and hear its whining in my ears.
Flying while I muttered the spell to make the low growling sound of my motor raise to a snarl, then to a roar. Loud enough to break up the run of my thoughts. Noisy enough to rattle the windows of the houses all up and down Grimmauld Place.
Riding loud and visible, dressed like a Muggle, in the denim and leather Lily had picked out for me yesterday.
Only yesterday.
Riding like nobody who would ever be welcome in the House of Black.
I could picture the pained disgust on my Father’s face as well as the fury and indignation on my Mother’s. Hear their exchanged comments as they came to the parlour window to see what was causing all the racket.
Look, Nocturna, I can scarcely believe how Sirius has turned out. he’d say. It’s the companions he chose, those Mudbloods he fell in with at Hogwarts. They’ve brought him low, debased him to the point of madness.
She’d scowl, then nod. He’s disgraced and dishonored all of us in this family, she’d say. And now he’s adding insult to injury, coming here looking like that. You’d think he’d show a little more courtesy, a little more respect…
That brought a jolt of regret.
This morning she might be right. Might need to be right.
So I’d keep my silence about it if she said anything on the subject. Give her whatever satisfaction a comment like that might bring. Seemed the least I could do.
But changing clothes would’ve taken time I didn’t have. Not when there were so many questions shouting, shouting, shouting in my head. Demanding answers. Right answers. Right now!
The very act of putting on formal wizard’s robes would have lent weight to those questions. Solemnity. Worse, it would feel like they’d already been given the answers I didn’t want to hear.
And so what if I hadn’t come dressed as a proper Wizard from a fine old family? The point was, I’d come.
I wasn’t sure why I had.
It wasn’t because I believed this morning’s note. That was a certainty, though I had to admit the thing had given me a shock. Of course, so had that other letter, the one I’d received only a little more than twenty four hours ago now. And what had come out of that first message? An unexpected hope, and then…
And then, nothing! No, worse than nothing! An echo of disappointment and betrayal. A hurt deeper than I could have imagined after all this time.
Maybe, I’d told myself half a hundred times in the last hour, yesterday’s owl had brought me a false message. It was an idea with darker, if less painful, implications. It might have been a fake, sent by someone else entirely. It could have been a trap.
So why should today’s be any different?
Because nobody would lie about something like this, whispered a wordless little voice somewhere deep in my mind. Not even your Mother would do that. And certainly not your Father.
I muttered the spell to call up the bike’s motor sound again. Muttered again. And then again.
Made the sound louder, louder all the way to blasting.
I didn’t want to listen to that little voice. Didn’t want to hear any sense in what it was saying. Because then I’d have to at least consider there was truth in its arguments. Then I’d have to believe it had a reason for making them.
That was something I wouldn’t, I couldn’t do.
Because then the words in this morning’s note might be real.
And that was impossible.
At least…
I wanted it to be.
Only thirty yards now to that large gate, with the ornately spiraling serpents wrought in its grillwork. I’d heard nothing from anyone in the old house crouching behind the tall iron fence for more than five years.
Then, two owls within less than two days…
Twenty five yards now. There was no more time to listen to that little whispering voice or to continue trying to blast it into silence. Twenty yards to concentrate on slowing my motorbike from a charge to a cruise, to a glide, to a stop.
All that was left was to climb down, brush the dust from my leather jacket and march up to that gate. Walk fast and determined into whatever future lay beyond the grillwork.
But as I secured the handlebars to the fence with a tethering charm, I paused. I couldn’t deny my uneasiness. So much had changed since I’d slipped off the seat of this bike yesterday afternoon, to hurry into a very different house. The feeling had ridden with me then, too, though its touch was only a light tug at the time, not the gut-twisting grasp it was now. Only a restless jitter I could assign to any one of a hundred causes.
It hardly seemed possible that almost half of my uneasiness then was to do with walking into a meeting late. Could that really have been less than twenty four hours ago? It seemed like a lifetime. Needed to stand here for a moment to sort it all out…