with all the strength of a raging fire [OoTP]

October 2002

Despite all the work, the blood, the sweat, the tears, that had gone into making Grimmauld Place less like a mausoleum and more like a home Fleur still found the place uncomfortable. It was unfounded, she knew but it didn’t stop her hesitating upon entering, almost waiting for Mrs Black to start screaming. Blessedly, the entrance hall was no longer filled with the shrieks about the filthiness of mudbloods and she was able to continue through unchallenged.

Unlike during the war, Order meetings were not a frequent occurrence these days, and having one at all did not stir any good feelings. The news had been filled with horrors and Fleur could only imagine what things weren’t in the news. She was especially interested to hear if there was a clear answer as to why the Ministry had released a convicted Death Eater and was pretty sure that many other attendees would feel the same. Why was Sweden suddenly so important? If Britain should be taking direction from any country it should obviously be France, their superior in every way.

She was the cover for this particular meeting, well, the baby she carried was. Old habits were hard to shake and so, no matter that they were no longer under observation and having their movements and actions tracked, the Order still came up with reasons as to why they were meeting as a group. Tonight was to hold Fleur’s baby shower. She would have a proper one later on with Brita and other friends, but it was perfectly reasonable that the Weasleys and others would be gathering to bestow presents on the soon-to-be newest member of the family.

Entering the kitchen, Fleur was confronted by a sea of people and some unfamiliar faces. She was reminded that while she had been busy raising Victoire, the world hadn’t stopped turning and clearly the Order had been recruiting since the war. Even though she had been 18 herself when she joined the Order, Fleur couldn’t help but think some of the new members looked so young. If Victoire ever thought she was going to be allowed to join a secret resistance fighting organisation then she had another thing coming! Like she so often did in motherhood, Fleur felt another wave of empathy for Molly, having to watch all her children get involved in the war.

She wished she could say she glided across the room towards her darling husband, but Fleur knew it was more like waddling. Planting a quick, affectionate kiss on Bill’s cheek she sat down next to him, intertwining her hand with his and using him as a support to lean on. Fleur had arrived later because she’d been settling Victoire before leaving her in the care of one of the few non-Order member babysitters that they had. They could have brought their daughter with them, leaving her to sleep in one of the many guest rooms, but Victoire didn’t settle easily and Fleur would rather she slept in her own bed rather than this house of nightmares.

It seemed like she had been the last to arrive as everyone was now taking their own seats around the table, presents piling up on the wooden surface. Smiling at the attention she was receiving she greeted a few people as a present was pushed in her direction. “Merci!” she said delightedly, as she opened it to reveal a cuddly unicorn. No doubt it would be claimed by Victoire long before the baby was born. Instead of opening another present, Fleur glanced around the table and then chose to rise onto her feet to get everyone’s attention.

“It really means a lot that everyone has come tonight to celebrate with us,” she said with a tinkling laugh and a hair toss. Everyone knew the real reason they were there. The presents were simply a personal bonus. Sure, they could have kept pretending for a bit longer, but honestly, Fleur needed to get home at some point and Order meetings weren’t known for being concise. “But,” with one hand tightly grasped in Bill’s and the other clutching her baby bump protectively, Fleur continued, “I suppose we’re all thinking the same thing. Do we need to be worried?” Was there going to be another war? And if there was any hint, what were they going to do? Fleur may be a young mother and pregnant, but she was willing to do as much as she could to ensure that evil did not once more take root.

Today felt heavy. Hermione’s transfer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been approved late afternoon and she was due to start at the end of the month; she had needed to leave work early (or, early for Hermione) to make it to 12 Grimmauld Place on time, still dressed in her Ministry robes; the air in the kitchen felt thick with the anticipation of the conversation to come after they had stopped pretending at the baby shower. She didn’t want to leave her job, felt there was so much more than needed to be done, but she hadn’t been able to shake that nagging feeling that she needed to refocus. It had never been more obvious that tonight, at a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.

Hermione hadn’t attended a proper meeting to date, and she was unsure if anyone was going to actually call them to order. She supposed she could, but she didn’t want to overstep (yet), didn’t want to see smiles disappear from faces quite yet.

And pretend shower or not, their -- Ron and Hermione’s -- gift, a box quickly wrapped in Daily Prophet pages, sat among the others; Hermione had been too busy to wrap it herself or check that none of the pages used for wrapping had any of that Death Eater news; she was hopeful no one would notice if it did. The gift itself was a Chudley Cannons onesie and set of blocks with elemental symbols from the periodic table instead of letters of the alphabet -- one guess which gift came from which half of the couple. Hermione had never seen Victoire wearing the hat and booties she had knit for her baby shower, so she hadn’t attempted that again.

Seated between Ron and his sister, Hermione sipped on her butterbeer, her thoughts far and away from the party at hand. There weren’t as many empty spots at the table as she had expected; the war had ended but they had kept recruiting; that should have been a more comforting thought than it was, she figured. A present was pushed towards Fleur and Hermione glanced sidelong at Ginny, just barely resisting rolling her eyes. Had they really needed to use a baby shower as a cover? Surely there had to be one person in this room with an October birthday. Still she smiled, albeit a little tiredly, only really focusing on Fleur once she had stood to speak.

She didn’t wait for anyone else to interject first. “Purcell can’t be the only one who thinks he knows better than Voldemort.” Different methods, same goal. He couldn’t be the outlier. She knew she had seen more people at the battle -- on the other side -- than the number who had been prosecuted. Hermione frowned and glanced down the table. “I suppose the Minister had a good reason--” because she didn’t want to believe otherwise “--for agreeing to this.” She glanced the other way. “Is… is he coming tonight?” She had so many more questions -- where was Purcell now, who was keeping an eye on him, how could anyone not be worried? -- but she decided to start with the most pressing one first.

Susan was one of the first to arrive at Grimmauld Place, much to her chagrin.  It was awkward just hanging around, waiting for people to show up.  In order to avoid the worst of the small talk, the young witch busied herself with making a pot of coffee.  Frankly she needed the caffeine anyway, she was so tired.  Susan’s nightmares were back, the same ones she’d experienced as a teenager, and as a result she hadn’t been sleeping well.  No doubt it was a result of the current political climate and the types of cases that had been coming across her desk at work. 

It meant a lot to the red-head to be at this meeting for various reasons, including the link to her lost family.  She hadn’t been part of the Order during the war on account of how at the time she had been trapped at Hogwarts, being tortured by Death Eaters.  As excuses went, she thought that was a pretty good one.  In any case she had been a part of the Order’s spiritual counterpart, DA.  As people entered the kitchen, she thought she recognised most of them from school or work or other places.  Susan tried to smile as she greeted them, hoping she looked stronger and more put-together than she felt.

The last thing the young Auror wanted was for anyone to think she was oversensitive or weak.  Unfortunately recent events had been taking their toll on her psyche.  She was very angry about the release of a convicted Death Eater from Azkaban, upset about the murders of the Conways (a family she hadn’t even known) and full of loathing for herself for proving to be so ineffective in countering these events.  Susan hated feeling helpless more than anything.  She wanted to fight back, but couldn’t find a target so all of that frustrated energy was turned inwards.  When she wasn’t beating herself up mentally, Susan was pushing herself physically.  Lately she had been engaging in a punishing amount of training – boxing and mixed martial arts mostly.  She’d probably been overdoing it with the exercises based on the bruises spotting her hands and body, as well as how all of her muscles constantly ached, but she was oblivious to the pain and not about to stop any time soon. 

A baby shower, fake or otherwise, might not be an appropriate occasion for alcohol but Susan felt that she needed something to help with the tight, tense feeling in her shoulders.  She rummaged in the pantry until she found a bottle of Old Ogdens and added a splash to her coffee before finding a seat at the table.  Everyone was gathered around with presents for the unborn child.  Susan, who hadn’t thought to bring anything, cringed internally.  It wasn’t like she really knew the mother-to-be on a personal level but still couldn’t help feeling awkward.  She knew of Fleur of course – famously beautiful French witch, Beauxbatons’s Triwizard Champion, member of the Order and now wife of Bill Weasley and mother of his children.  It would be very difficult not to have heard about Fleur.  However, Susan doubted she herself had ever registered on the other witch’s radar. 

In an attempt to be friendly and polite, the young witch called out across the table, “Congratulations on your…”  Susan faltered, unsure what words to use to address the foetus in the other woman’s womb.  Clearing her throat awkwardly she simply nodded towards Fleur’s distended abdomen.  The whiskey-laced coffee burned Susan’s throat as she hastily took a large gulp, wishing she could hide under the table at that moment.  Fortunately there were enough other people at the meeting who were eager to congratulate Fleur that the group conversation progressed fairly quickly past Susan’s lapse in social skills. 

Babies were just not really a subject that Susan knew much about or had any real interest in.  It wasn’t that she had any problem with babies – she just didn’t get excited about them the way that other people did.  She remembered when a colleague had brought their baby into the office one day and everyone had gathered around the creature for hours in apparent adoration.  The only thing Susan had felt was annoyed that the excited cooing had made it so difficult to concentrate on her paperwork.  There was also something about visibly pregnant women like Fleur that gave her an uncomfortable crawling feeling in her gut.  Perhaps it was because having a child was so far removed from anything she could imagine for herself?  Clearly it was just another one of the many things that was wrong with her. 

It was a significant relief to the red-head when Fleur chose to get to the point quickly, rather than dragging out the whole present opening charade for too long.  Personally Susan was worried.  The situation with Gaius Purcell certainly frustrated her to no end so she nodded in agreement to Hermione’s comments, hoping the Minister himself might show up to give them some answers.  “There is no doubt that Purcell is dangerous”, Susan spoke up in a severe tone.  “Whatever reasons the Ministry might have had for his release, we cannot afford to let our guards down.”  It wasn’t as though the young Auror had any idea how to be anything other than guarded.  Her guard had been stuck in the ‘up’ position for years.  “Unfortunately, he’s not the only Dark Lord wannabe.  The attack on Rhayader and murders of the Conway family bears far too much similarity to events under You-Know-Who’s reign.  However, whether this new Dark Widow character is connected to Death Eater plots or a new threat, I’m not sure.”  Both of those options were disturbing to contemplate.  Returning to silence, Susan left her words to sink in.  Maybe it was paranoid of her to think so, but to her it seemed likely that they could be facing another campaign of terror by dark wizards and witches.  Susan desperately hoped that together the Order would be able to come up with a plan to do something, because this feeling of uselessness was killing her.

Ginny had already been downstairs conjuring a few extra chairs in the kitchen when the first of the ‘guests’ arrived for Fleur’s ‘baby shower’. It felt wrong, almost, using the promise of a new life as a cover for their meeting; but at the same time it was painfully fitting. After all, they were here today – still here today – to pave the way for a brighter future for those yet to come. The Order had been integral to the cause. And now, four-and-a-half years later, they were called to be integral once more.

Her long mane of fiery copper hair had been wound into a French braid; she fidgeted with the end of it as she stepped out into the hall to greet the new arrivals. She and Harry had finally managed to come up with a series of enchantments that kept Sirius’s mum’s portrait from hearing most noises in the house, but it wasn’t entirely foolproof. Fortunately most of the Order was well-aware of this minor inconvenience by now, and in any case their charms held steady.

One by one Ginny welcomed them – especially Susan, whom she hadn’t seen properly in quite some time – and gestured them to make their way to the kitchen, where assorted snacks and drinks had been laid out; not only in keeping with the guise of a party, but because Ginny herself was a stress-eater and she knew she couldn’t possibly be the only one. And as they filed in and found seats, the twenty-one-year-old felt increasingly discomforted. She had been so young – as much as it pained her to admit it – when they’d last convened in this house in such a manner. She felt an acute pang of loss for the familiar faces that would no longer grace their presence as her mind flashed back. Fred, Remus, Tonks, Moody…
Personally she could have done with a settling glass of Firewhiskey, but they’d agreed that it would probably be best to save the alcohol until after the meeting.

Mostly everyone had been seated and making casual (though somewhat blunted) conversation by the time her sister-in-law arrived. She couldn’t help but smirk slightly with amusement as Fleur accepted a present (some things never changed – even when wartime felt imminent). Ginny had picked out a Holyhead Harpies onesie that read ‘I'm a Keeper’ as her contribution to her and Harry’s joint present. Victoire had more than enough classically ‘girly’ things, and so Ginny had taken it upon herself to ensure that both girls would be… well-rounded.
She felt Hermione shift ever so slightly beside her; the redhead slid her gaze sideways to find her friend giving her a look that exactly mirrored her own current thoughts, to which she replied with a slightly raised eyebrow and an amused twitch of her lips.

After only a few short minutes of basking in attention – to Ginny’s mild surprise – the blonde unofficially began the meeting.
Unsurprisingly, Hermione was on it like a Niffler after gold. And, as usual, her logic was sound.

Ginny glanced around the table in the wake of the inquiry about the Minister being in attendance tonight, noting the uneasy looks. She cleared her throat and leaned forward slightly, arms folded across her chest.
“He did say he’d make every effort to be here. Might be difficult for him to get away…”
She harbored little doubt that he would. He’d been a staunch supporter just a few years previously; the youngest Weasley was hard-pressed to suspect he’d willfully abandon those who had effectively appointed him so quickly. It wasn’t in his nature. She agreed with Hermione: Ginny was a suspicious type, but as enraged and as unsettled as she was by all this, Kingsley had to have a good reason for it. They had to have faith in that… though it was certainly hard to believe. What could have driven him to agree to release Purcell? The threat of mass casualties? But by what methods?

Unbeknownst to her until her fingers began to cramp, her fists had been clenched so tightly that even her barely-grown nails were leaving indents in her palms. With visible effort she relaxed her shoulders, which had been creeping up towards her ears with suppressed tension, and leaned her shoulder slightly into Harry’s if only to feel his solid presence to ground her.

Susan spoke up quickly in Hermione’s wake, mentioning an unfortunate event that Ginny had heard of both in the Prophet as well as by secondary sources through the grapevine.

“Are there any new developments whatsoever on the Rhayader attack or the Dark Widow? You’ve a point that this feels uncomfortably… familiar. And still no word on Purcell’s potential whereabouts since he was last seen at the Quidditch Gala last month?”
Ginny had been especially horrified by the latter development, mostly because she was there – and yet had no idea of his presence until after the fact. She’d lain awake for nights after she’d found out, wondering what she might have done had she known. Would she have dared to try to take him out, even though he had apparently been legally freed? It would have marked her for life, doubtless… but would it have been worth it? Or would another have merely sprung up in his place, like a new head on a hydra, and it would all have been for nothing?
She didn’t know. And that was frightening enough.

Jocasta didn’t particularly want to assert that she enjoyed Order meetings. Even before she had moved up several ranks in her department, she had felt a certain obligation to help lead them. Several of their newer members had still been students at the time of the Battle of Hogwarts, and while she admired their tenacity and spirit, Jo didn’t necessarily believe they had the whole picture of the cost of being a part of the Order of the Phoenix.

While she hadn’t minded a few of her colleagues leaving work early for the meeting, Jo stayed until her day was officially done. If she had left even half an hour early, she’d have felt like things were unfinished. Kingsley was going to be late; she had discussed this with him prior and was to tell the rest of the Order he would be there later on. She hoped to see some familiar faces who didn’t work with her at the Ministry -- meetings had certainly been less frequent over the last couple of years.

She couldn’t deny that the tone of Sweden’s political leanings, especially as of late, had been concerning. Concerning enough to make people wonder about where things were going and how they were to be handled. Jocasta had a couple of hunches, which she could implement with both the Order and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but verbal processing was everyone’s friend at one time or another. Perhaps there were some glaring issues with her ideas that needed pointing out.

Jo’s gift for Fleur was wrapped in cream-colored paper with metallic swirls, and the bow she’d tied around the package was prim and proper as ever. She was fairly certain Kendrick had done the shopping; he tended to be far more sentimental and emotional than she was with people she wasn’t incredibly close to. She couldn't confidently say she knew what was even inside, but if she knew her husband, she was sure it was just the right mix of practical and thoughtful.

The woman walked confidently through the door, her robe swishing around her tightly pressed trousers and blouse, and smiled as warmly as she could at all the faces she saw. Some were familiar and some were not. “Congratulations on your pregnancy, Fleur. @Kendrick Silverman  will be here eventually, he had to go let the dog out. And so will the Minister, he was running late. Had to complete a couple of errands or finish up some business in his office, as far as I’m aware.”

All of the questions flitting around prompted her to speak up a little louder once she was in the vicinity of the general gathering. “We’ve got mixed signals on where Purcell is, to be honest with you all. We’re not sure how large his personal following is or how his release in particular was incentivized, but we’re wondering what the deal made between his posse and Sweden actually is -- because we know for certain there is a relationship.” Her eyes flitted around the room to take inventory of their expressions. Many of them looked uneasy, and she could understand why that was -- that the Ministry had released a known Death Eater into the public to wreak his havoc, seemingly enough, wherever he pleased. “Let me explain why, if you’re all in earshot.” She waited a moment for everybody to shrink into the same area. Jocasta did not enjoy repeating herself.

“There are reasons that the Minister had to release Gaius Purcell. Lose the battle to win the war, so to speak.” She remained standing as she spoke, pacing back and forth to think of how to explain the pitfall of relying on another country’s money supply to them. Money wasn’t moral, of course, but it tended to be necessary to accomplish anything on a large scale. “One of these reasons is that Sweden helped to replenish our economy by aiding us after the war’s conclusion. There was no way for us to see this switch from them coming,” The Auror gave another serious pause, “And they threatened to rescind help if we didn’t compensate them in this way.”

She left enough space for her comrades to process, but before there was enough space to allow more questions about what was next, she interjected. “We’ll have to wait for Kingsley to get here to tell us more about what is next. I’m sure you all have your questions, and he’ll be here at any moment.”

She had sat down when Hermione had began talking. No offence to her brother-in-law’s girlfriend - when were they going to get married? - but she could talk. And talk. Fleur wished she had learned the art of not talking but she supposed when you didn’t have looks then you had to try dominate the room in other ways. Fleur had never had that problem. Everyone wanted to pay attention to her when she was present. Although, if she was being honest, Fleur would be quite happy not to be the centre of attention tonight. She was just as interested as Hermione to hear whether Kingsley was going to be in attendance. He had a lot of questions to answer.

It was a new person that spoke up next. Fleur shifted slightly to see where the voice was coming from and remembered that the Order was now made up of mainly children. Maybe she was one of Ginny’s little friends. Like Hermione, her tone wasn’t filled with sweetness and light. Not that Fleur had deluded herself into believing that was what was going to happen, but, for the sake of her children, she had been hoping… But there it was. Confirmation that there might be two future Dark Lords out there, or a new Dark Lord and so-styled Dark Widow. What was with the English and their bête nicknames. Who wanted to only be remembered as a widow? It wouldn’t have happened in France.

Jocasta Silverman entered as Fleur’s sister-in-law was speaking. She didn’t like to be reminded of the Quidditch Gala. The one Bill’s little sister had also been in attendance at. In the same room as that cold-blooded murderer. Fleur could not even begin to imagine her own reaction if it had been darling Gabrielle in that situation. She nodded in grateful thanks at Jocasta’s gift. That was how to wrap a present. Not in newspaper like one was. Did some people live in the gutter?

Finally an actual adult had something to say. Fleur liked both Ginny and Hermione, despite the start of their relationships, but they had been children during the War. And the other girl looked even younger than them. But Jocasta, Fleur had been in the Order alongside her during the war. They had been in the same tense meetings, completed dangerous missions to protect those more vulnerable. Jocasta had experience. She had Fleur’s trust. The fact that she was also Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement didn’t hurt either. She would know things. And then she began talking…

If Fleur’s jaw had been capable of unhinging and dropping to the floor it would have. “Money!” She screeched bird-like and almost over Jocasta’s last words. The baby kicked upon experiencing her mother’s distress but Fleur did not let it stop her. “Mon dieu, your country is paid for by les malfaiteurs!” She was wound up now. She lived in a country, who apparently had won a war against darkness only to be financed by another kind. “Sweden ne peut pas kill les moldu, but they still punish them!” Her words came out rapidly, alternating between French and English in her distress. “I thought it was done that les personnes were locked up for how they were born!”

She let out a huff, tossing her hair over her shoulder to make her point. “This would not happen in France, pah!” Her beloved homeland would never let this happen. “Madame Chartrand would never let this happen.” Why were they not living in France? At that moment in time Fleur could not think of a single reason why Britain was worth staying in. She had plenty to say to Minister Shacklebolt when he arrived.

He was going to be late. If he was walking into anything other than the first Order meeting they’d had in months he might’ve joked that it was fashionable to be so, but it didn’t feel like the time and place to be making light of the situation. Kingsley had thought they’d left the darkest days behind them – and realistically, he knew they had – but it was easy to think with everything going on that they were on the precipice of another war. He could understand why, to the average witch or wizard, it seemed inevitable. The Daily Prophet certainly wasn’t helping matters, but it was free press and Kingsley refused to strongarm the media into reporting what the Ministry wanted it to report – despite such suggestions from some of his advisers. Wizarding Britain had experienced that before and he’d be a damned hypocrite if he allowed the same thing to happen again during his tenure as Minister.

Kingsley entered 12 Grimmauld Place and his feet automatically guided him the familiar path to the kitchen. It had been some time, hadn't it? The tall, broad-shouldered wizard hesitated for a moment before opening the door, and was surprised by the number of people who’d gathered in the space. “Sorry I’m late,” he greeted the group, aware that he had interrupted whatever train of conversation had been ongoing before he’d arrived but unable to really do anything about it. There were several faces he recognised, and several he didn’t. His dark eyes fell upon the pile of gifts on the table and he remembered the package he was carrying in his left hand. He looked down to it, then to Bill and Fleur. He walked towards them and shook Bill’s hand, then gave Fleur a kiss on the cheek as he handed over his gift (picked out by his secretary: a baby blanket), “Bill, Fleur, congratulations.” He smiled genuinely at them both, despite the raised French voice he'd heard before entering; the Order were practically his family – or had been, during the wars.

He stepped back, aware that more than one person was staring at him. The temptation to ask ‘What have I missed?’ was strong, but Kingsley had a fair inclination of what the topic du jour was (and had overheard a little when he’d paused outside the door – clearly there was no need to charm the place anymore now that Harry and the others were of age) so he knew better than to delay the unavoidable.

“I apologise for not being here on time,” he began, saying sorry a second time but with considerably more conviction in his tone, “but as I’m sure you are all aware we are attempting to deal with the… situation we’ve been put in by the Swedish Ministry.” He sighed and shook his head lightly, “I will admit freely to you all that I did not want to release Purcell, but our hands were tied. Following the war Britain was in a deficit, we had lost most of our trade agreements and it took considerable time and effort to finally secure the ones we did get – which were, unfortunately, predominantly with Sweden.” 

“In the early months – when we were rebuilding – I had to rely on the advice of those around me. If I could go back with what I know now…” he shook his head again, clearly disappointed in himself. He sighed, then picked his head up to address them once more, glancing at those he recognised as members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, specifically. “We are keeping tabs on Purcell, and on anyone with even tenuous links to the Death Eaters. It would be foolish of us to assume they are all dead or in Azkaban, we know there are some still out there – not to mention the children and families of those who were accused, whether they were found guilty or not. They feel just as strongly about their fallen as we do ours.”

“We don’t know what Nyström’s plan is – we don’t even know if it is his plan or his government’s.” Kingsley could sympathise with that much, at least. He had learnt a lot in his time in office, and had several regrets – but none as big as accepting Sweden’s helping hand in their desperation. “I meet with the French Minister next month,” he looked at Fleur, “and MACUSA in January. I am doing what I can to get us in a place where we are not susceptible to any future demands, but we need to remain vigilant with the dissent this is all causing. We can’t let it take us backwards. I can't officially ask anything of any of you, I myself am somewhat useless as an Order member these days, but we need— I need your help. They don't know it, but Britain needs us.”