Illusory § Order of the Phoenix

II. AS IT SEEMS

✯ ✯ ✯

Upon stepping into the threshold of 12 Grimmauld Place, Antares was greeted with a pleasantly strong stunning spell. Easily enough, he was able to shield himself. Silently thanking his mother's adept dueling skills, he moved to release a counter-spell when a voice spoke above the noise.

"Hold it, Alastor. We wouldn't like to blow up one of our own, would we?"

Antares' eyes were still trained on Mad-Eye's wand arm, his own wand raised in retaliation. Taking a glance at Dumbledore, who stood at the end of the hall behind the ex-Auror, he raised his voice, "I was under the impression they knew I was arriving."

Mad-Eye was less than pleased with the situation. The man's wand refused to release its aim toward Antares' face. Even when Dumbledore intervened, the disfigured man looked eager to hex him into oblivion. "What's the meaning of this, Albus? This place is meant to be top secret!"

"It still is," assured Antares, "I did as you asked. Care to explain why I was assaulted on the doorstep?"

"Let him through, Alastor," Dumbledore commanded.

It took a second before Moody reluctantly lowered his arm and walked back through the long hall and into the room straight ahead. "My sincerest apologies, Mr. Kelly. I was just about to inform the others of your arrival, but as it seems, you've beaten me to it. If you wouldn't mind joining us in the kitchen? The meeting will start soon."

Placing his wand back in its holster, Antares took in his surroundings as he walked toward the kitchen. He was right when he suspected that the property was in ruin. The walls were dirty with grime and in random places, stripped of wallpaper. The frames of photos hung haphazardly along the wall as if they were to fall at any moment. The floors weren't much better. They were dusty and creaked when you put even the slightest pressure on them. The wood was splintered and covered in fresh dirt tracks. What was the use of secrecy when it was evident the house was inhabited? It made Antares' nose twinge in subtle disgust.

He was sure Dumbledore had caught it, judging by the way his eyes crinkled into a soft expression Antares couldn't place. As he passed the old wizard, it felt akin to walking into a lion's den. Quite literally. Antares wasn't sure what he was about to face, but he knew that first impressions were useless. He swallowed thickly.

Prejudice goes both ways.

He hadn't been as narrow-minded in the past as most of his peers, but Antares didn't do much to prove it. He never cast the first stone but he had a nasty habit of throwing them back. The problem, as Antares saw it, was that the people he was about to face came from the generation where the tension between Hogwarts houses was much higher. Even so, they were adults, which meant they should have matured out of such animosity. Antares could only hope.

Hushed chatter and the ambient sounds of the kitchen were audible as he stood tall in the room's entry. For a brief moment, Antares went unnoticed by the small group gathered at the table. It was a beautiful moment, Antares thought. Sadly, it came crashing down when he made eye contact with an almost identical pair of eyes. They were a fearless grey that Antares shared not the colour, but the shape. The same shape he inherited from his father. The chatter from before fell silent, and a blanket of tension now weighed in the air.

"Sirius," Antares nodded, hesitation as clear as day.

Oh, how his mother would scold him if she could hear him now. That's not how I raised you, she would say. Marissa Kelly was a firm believer in the power of a strong disposition. Antares was raised to be confident, if not respectful. It was a familiar attitude among the members of the House of Kelly, taught from generation to generation. Although, as of the recent two centuries, the pure-blood traditions within the family have grown more lenient to adapt to common culture. But make no mistake, the Kelly's were a family to behold, and Marissa was nothing if not a strong matriarch.