02 | M A R G O

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   Margo did not really expect an answer. She had given up on this hope long time ago. Two years ago in June she'd written to him, and that was when he stopped replying. She'd waited and waited, an awful long time, she'd written him all over again; daily, then weekly, then she stopped. Padfoot, whoever he was, never wrote back. Scary thoughts crossed her mind. Was he in trouble? Did he die? Did she say something wrong? Or had he just lost his interest in her. He never told her, and it broke her heart.

   The more she was surprised to open the small leathery diary the next morning and found a note in a familiar handwriting. Her heart seemed to jump out of her throat, it was racing like crazy Hippogriffs when she let her fingers stride over the parchment.

   Margo,

   I'm sorry to hear about what happened. And even more I'm sorry I didn't reply to you for this long. I have gotten myself in trouble. Writing you would not only have set myself in danger, but also you. I'm in a safe place now. I'll be there for you from now on, that's a promise.

   Don't worry about your father. I know what it means to be born in a family with all the wrong ideals. You did the right thing to turn your back on him, and I'm proud of you for making the decision to fight against the dark forces that are coming for all of us. Let's hope your father will have his eyes opened, before it is too late.

   Whatever is on your heart and mind, whatever will bother you, write me if you feel like. I promise to not let you down ever again.

    Padfoot

   When Margo entered the kitchen, she found the Weasleys all sitting on the dining table once more, caught in conversation. Mrs Weasley was the first to notice her, throwing her an encouraging smile.

   "How did you sleep, dear?", she asked, getting up to take a plate from the counter and fill it with crumbled eggs and bacon for Margo, who sat down next to Bill.

   "Could have been better, but could have been worse", she replied, cracking a smile. "Thank you, Mrs Weasley", she added, as the chubby woman placed the plate onto the table in front of Margo.

   "Dumbledore contacted us an hour ago", Mr Wealsey said. "We'll leave the Burrow. He offered you to come with us, as long as your destination doesn't lay somewhere else."

   "Where are we going?", Margo asked, the fork stopping right in front of her mouth, surprised by this announcement.

   "London", Mr Wealsey told her. "To the headquarter of the Order of the Phoenix. The owner of this house offered us to stay there over the summer. It's easier for us than always having to get there for the meetings."

   "The Order —?"

   "Of the Phoenix", Mr Weasley answered her unfinished question. "An organisation against You-Know-Who. Dumbledore reanimated it right after what happened in June. They fought against You-Know-Who during the last war." He sighed. "With your father publishing all this propaganda against Dumbledore and Harry, we have to stay underground. Not literally of course, the Headquarter is a house that's pretty much overground." He chuckled.

   "How can I join?", Margo immediately asked, gaining her surprised and concerned looks from the Weasleys.

   "First let us get there", Mrs Weasley said, handing Margo some coffee. "Then we'll talk about anything else."

   "Oh, maybe there's one thing you should know before going there", Bill chuckled. "About the owner."

   Sirius Black. If that wasn't something to freak out about, than Margo didn't know what was. Sirius Black, in flesh and blood and colour, was the one who greeted her and the Weasleys behind the closed door of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. It was a good thing that Bill had warned her before he left for Egypt, otherwise Margo for sure would have had a heartattack.

   She'd seen pictures of Sirius Black a million times; her office was covered in them. But they obviously weren't that flattering, not to say far from reality. The real Sirius Black was a handsome man, his shoulder length black hair wildly framing his face. Steal grey eyes were the only thing giving a hint where he'd spend too much time of his life. A glint of apathy even remained when his face brightened into a friendly smile as he greeted the new arrivals.

   "Come in, come in", he said, shaking Arthur Weasley's hand. "Just make yourself a home. But try to stay quiet in the hallways, if you wake my mother, she'll sing us the song of her people, and that's no sweet serenade I can tell you."

   Sirius was just grateful that finally someone accompanied him in this empty house, that left him lonely and locked up as soon as the meetings ended. Despair was hanging in the heavy dark curtains like they were originally soul sucking Dementors. But with the Weasleys around, the place immediately felt a bit warmer.

   Ron, Bill, Mr and Mrs Weasley he already knew, so he was introduced to the youngest daughter Ginny, and the twins Fred and George. As he was about to greet the last remaining young woman, who was scanning her surroundings with awe in her amber glimming round eyes, the door was entrence was pushed open once more and Remus stepped in.

   But Sirius didn't really pay attention as his old friend greeted the new guests of Grimmauld Place. His eyes stayed fixed on that girl. She was in her early twenties, he guessed. Long maroon coloured straight hair framing a heartshaped, olive toned face. Long lashes framed those sparkling eyes. She was not that tall, but petite, looking like easily breakable. And as her eyes wandered further down the hallway, they finally met Sirius'. A little smile curved her full lips, and she stretched out her hand, taking a couple of steps forward, so Sirius could take it.

   "We haven't had the pleasure yet, have we?", she said, her voice so melodic, perfectly fitting her flawless appearance. "So you're Sirius Black", she said, and Sirius wasn't ungrateful as he couldn't find his voice. "Those reward posters don't really do you a favour." A bell-like laughter reached his ears. "I'm Margo. Margo Fudge."

   Like a cluster bomb this information hit him, and it took every muscle in his face to keep up the smile, while his heart was skipping beat after beat, and his mind started whirling.

   This was Margo. Innocent little Margo. The young girl who'd spilled his heart out to him ever since she was eleven years old. Margo Adelaide Fudge, as she once told him why she didn't like her full name. The minister's daughter.

   The girl he owed his sanity.

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