Certain Dark Things || Book Five

ix. the bones of the operation

When Sirius first heard Hermione's plan to oust Gaunt from the Ministry, he laughed.

It sounded like a lark, like something he and his mates would dream up in one of their large, more grandiose teenage fits. They'd sit around the dorm, sneaking tipples of smuggled firewhiskey in bottles of lukewarm Butterbeer and say ridiculous things. They'd talk about becoming Minister, fighting Death Eaters, or solo dueling Voldemort in submission. All their nonsense came to the same result in the end; nothing.

Afterward, when he had a moment to think about it, Sirius let his mind replay Hermione's tentative outline, and he realized he may have made a mistake. Remus often pointed out the girls weren't like others their age, and they definitely weren't a group of boastful Gryffindor boys like he and the Marauders had been. Elara, Harriet, and Hermione weren't anything like the witches he remembered in his youth.

The contrast had never been as sharp as it was with other teenagers in the house. The Weasley children and Frank's boy worried about their summer assignments or which Quidditch team advanced in their bracket. The twins talked about their inventions and baubles while Neville lamented not going abroad for the holidays and McGonagall assigning too many projects. Arthur's youngest two traded their Chocolate Frog cards, bemoaned the Chudley Cannons, or speculated on the Order. The looming war touched their lives, but it didn't shape them. Not yet.

On a good day, Sirius or Remus could coax Harriet to meals and have her eat more than a few mouthfuls. Otherwise, she spent her time holed up in her room or staring at the bangle on her wrist, numb to the world around her. Elara's explosive fits happened more often, rattling the timbers of the house—and Hermione obsessed over her notes day and night. The notes for the scheme Sirius had laughed at.

Fred, George, Ronald, Neville, and even Ginevra had heard about the Order of the Phoenix and had immediately wanted to join. Naturally, they'd all been denied as minors, and Molly had a row with Arthur when he'd pointed out the twins were very nearly of age. All the Gryffindor children complained bitterly about the decision, criticizing how it wasn't fair when they were already neck-deep in it, and Sirius had been inclined to agree. He remembered what it was like to be young and feel ineffectual, stuck in school.

"That's absurd," Remus had told him when they settled into his room that evening, either wizard laying on his side of the bed, a stretch of empty sheets between them. Sirius felt like an entire gulf of resentment and old anger rested there too, but it was nice to be close. It was nice to hear Remus' comforting voice, thick and raspy with sleep. "They're too young, just as we had been too young. We were stupid, frankly."

"It's not stupid to stand against oppression."

"Of course not."

"If we'd sat back, too afraid to tell Voldemort and his lot to piss off, everything'd be more fucked than it is, Remus. Don't they have a right to fight for what they believe in?"

"Not yet. And we were intolerably young and naive. All of us—Peter included. Don't give me that look. We drew battle lines in the sand, then went about starting families barely out of school, throwing ourselves knee-deep in the muck of it. Look where that got us all."

It took Sirius longer than it ought to have to realize Harriet, Elara, and Hermione hadn't said a word about the Order—or, at the very least, any desire to join in. Elara had plenty to say about it when she got on a tear, but none of the trio of Slytherin witches had expressed interest in partaking in the group's activities. At first, it'd alarmed Sirius. He'd wanted to know why they wouldn't seek to help or take a stand, why they differed from the other teens—and the answer turned his stomach.