His eyes were filled with questions, looking between Mrs. Weasley and Adrian for answers and clarification about this mysterious organization he'd apparently been brought to without explanation.
"Oh, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, her expression spinning rapidly to something between surprise and slight reproach as she fully processed Harry's ignorance of something she'd assumed was common knowledge, at least among those being invited here.
"Didn't Albus or Adrian tell you anything at all about where you were going? Not even the basics? They just brought you here completely blind without any preparation?"
Her tone showed she found this somewhat irresponsible, though she was too polite to say so directly.
Harry turned his head to look questioningly toward Adrian, his eyebrows raised in silent inquiry, clearly hoping he would provide some direct explanation or context for what was happening and why he'd been brought to this now Order's place from previous Black manor.
Adrian met his gaze steadily but didn't answer immediately.
Come to think of it more carefully, he realized with a slight wince of acknowledgment, he really hadn't explained anything whatsoever about the Order of the Phoenix to Harry.
He'd simply told Harry to get ready for a journey, handed him the Floo powder, given him the address, and sent him through the fireplace without any real context or preparation for what he'd find on the other side.
Just then, before Adrian could give a belated explanation, a familiar, calm, voice came from the other end of the hallway, cutting through the moment: "I suppose that particular omission may be my oversight rather than Adrian's."
Everyone turned their heads simultaneously to look toward the source of the voice—Dumbledore was standing casually in the doorway leading from the hall into the kitchen with one hand resting lightly on the doorframe.
He'd apparently arrived silently while they were talking, or perhaps he'd been standing there listening for some time before making his presence known.
He wore rather unusual Muggle-style casual clothes instead of his typical robes—a light gray checkered shirt that looked like it came from a Marks & Spencer, paired with loose jeans.
The overall effect made him look remarkably like a distinguished elderly university professor on holiday, perhaps someone who taught literature or philosophy at Oxford or Cambridge.
It was just that exaggeratedly long silver beard, flowing down past his waist, that seemed somewhat out of place and marked him as particularly unusual even in casual Muggle attire.
No amount of ordinary clothing could make Albus Dumbledore look truly normal.
"Good evening, Molly, Adrian" He greeted them warmly and nodded to each in turn with warmth, then walked forward with a gentle smile, finally gazing on Harry.
"And you, Harry. It's absolutely wonderful to see you've recovered so well from your ordeal. You look healthy and strong."
"Professor," Harry nodded somewhat awkwardly in greeting, still clearly confused about the entire situation but trying to maintain proper manners. "I'm fine, thank you. I just... I heard Mr. Diggle mention something called the Order of the Phoenix earlier..."
His voice trailed off, leaving the question unfinished.
"A perfectly reasonable question," Dumbledore said with a slight nod of acknowledgment.
He gestured gracefully for everyone to move into the adjacent living room, indicating they should sit down comfortably for what surely promised to be a longer conversation.
"Come, let's sit properly. This requires some explanation and context."
The living room of 12 Grimmauld Place was surprisingly large and crowded, clearly serving as the main gathering space for the Order. There were many people already present, scattered throughout the room in small groups, most engaged in intense conversation or intense debate about various topics.
Voices overlapped, creating a constant buzz of discussion. Harry immediately noticed many completely unfamiliar faces among them—witches and wizards of various ages he'd never seen before, like Dedalus Diggle who had rushed past them earlier.
There were also several people with prominent white bandages wrapped around their arms or noticeable beneath their robes and judging by the fresh, clean appearance of the bandages and occasional patch of blood, these appeared to be quite recent injuries, probably sustained within the last few days.
Mrs. Weasley bustled over carrying a large silver tray filled with a pot of tea and several small plates of homemade biscuits. She set everything down on the low table before them.
Dumbledore immediately reached for the tea, pouring himself a cup, then went on to add what seemed like an excessive amount of honey from a small ceramic pot—at least three large spoonfuls, maybe four, and began stirring it with a silver spoon until the liquid turned almost golden.
The gesture made Adrian furrow his brow in slight disapproval. That much honey in tea was practically criminal, turning a perfect tea into liquid candy. His own preference ran toward black coffee with minimal sugar.
Once everyone was settled with their tea and the bustle had calmed, Dumbledore set down his cup and turned his attention to Harry
"The Order of the Phoenix," He began, gesturing slightly with one hand to cover the room and its occupants, "as you can see around you, is a secret organization specifically established to fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters."
Harry's eyes widened at this statement, and he unconsciously sat up straighter in his chair with sudden intense attention. His hands gripped the armrests.
This was far more significant than he'd imagined. An entire secret organization dedicated to fighting Voldemort? How had he never heard of this?
"So... did you establish the Order of the Phoenix?" He asked quickly.
In fact, this was rather obvious when he thought about it logically. Besides Dumbledore, who else in the wizarding world could possibly be associated with a "Phoenix"?
"Yes, Harry, I did," Dumbledore confirmed with a gentle nod, exactly as Harry had anticipated.
"That was during Voldemort's first rise to power, back in the early 1970s, when darkness first began to truly shroud the wizarding world. We needed a secret, reliable organization to coordinate scattered resistance forces, protect innocent people targeted by Death Eaters, gather intelligence on Voldemort's movements and plans, and find ways to oppose and ultimately defeat him..."
His voice had the tone weighing of old memories, those old losses.
"I suppose my parents must have been members of this organization," Harry interrupted suddenly.
"Core members. Two of our very best," Dumbledore's voice remained calm but carried a tone of deep sadness and respect. His eyes seemed to look past Harry. "Your parents were brave, skilled, and absolutely dedicated to the cause. We lost far, far too many good people during that terrible time. The casualties were... devastating."
He paused, and the room seemed to grow heavier with the weight of remembered grief.
Harry fell into silence for a moment, his gaze dropping to his hands, seemingly lost in thought about parents he'd never known, about their sacrifice and the war they'd fought.
A moment later, after gathering himself and taking a calming breath, he glanced toward Adrian with a questioning look, clearly seeking guidance or approval or perhaps just reassurance.
Having spent so much time with Harry over the past years, having trained him and talked with him and watched him grow, Adrian naturally knew exactly what Harry was thinking right now.
"You decide for yourself," Adrian said just this, his tone was neither encouraging nor discouraging.
Hearing this, Harry took a deep breath, turned to Dumbledore, and said seriously, "Professor, can I join the Order of the Phoenix?"
Dumbledore gazed at him quietly for several seconds.
"Under normal circumstances," He finally began slowly, "we never recruit underage students to become embroiled in this war."
Adrian pursed his lips slightly to the side.
Clearly, these were not "normal circumstances" anymore.
"But—Harry," Dumbledore continued, and there was something almost helpless in his tone, "Voldemort personally marked you when you were barely a year old. Fate, destiny, prophecy—whatever you wish to call it had already placed you at the center of this storm, long before you were old enough to choose or understand."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Therefore, yes, I will make an exception to our usual rules and formally invite you to join the Order of the Phoenix."
As expected, Adrian thought with an internal nod of confirmation.
He had anticipated Dumbledore would make this decision all along.
The struggle against Voldemort, the war that was coming, was a destiny that Harry Potter simply could not escape no matter how much anyone might wish otherwise. It was written into the fabric of events, woven into prophecy and fate and the very nature of the connection between Harry and Voldemort.
Even Adrian couldn't deny this vital point or change it.
There always seemed to be some mysterious force, some pull of destiny or the universe itself, pushing Voldemort inevitably toward Harry Potter and vice versa. They were bound together, linked by magic and prophecy and that terrible night fifteen years ago.
Harry joining the Order of the Phoenix was undoubtedly the right decision from every practical and strategic angle, and it would also greatly enhance his protection by surrounding him with experienced fighters, giving him training and resources and backup.
Better to have him inside the organization where he could be guided and protected than outside it, acting independently and recklessly without support.
Dumbledore slowly stood up from his chair, his height making him tower over everyone else in the room. His tall figure immediately attracted everyone's attention throughout the crowded living room.
The previously noisy conversations and debates gradually subsided into silence as people turned to look.
All eyes converged on the Headmaster including those unfamiliar faces Harry found strange and slightly intimidating, as well as familiar, welcome ones like Remus Lupin sitting in a corner, and Mad-Eye Moody.
"Everyone," Dumbledore cleared his throat, and his voice resounded throughout the entire living room. "I am very pleased to announce that tonight, two new members are joining our ranks.
Harry Potter! And Mr. Adrian Westeros!"
Enthusiastic applause followed immediately, breaking the silence.
The sound filled the room warmly.
However...
"?"
Adrian froze completely for a moment upon hearing his own name announced.
Wait. What?
Why had he been included too?
He had agreed to attend this gathering purely to gather intelligence, but he had never indicated he wanted to join this organization.
This was news to him too.
He looked up at Dumbledore with a mixture of surprise and accusation, raising one eyebrow in silent question.
Dumbledore met his gaze calmly and gently blinked at him twice.
Adrian sighed. 'Whatever. Fine.'
At least everyone present was ultimately on the same side, fighting the same enemy with the same goals. Joining the Order of the Phoenix formally didn't really matter.
Seeing that Adrian had no reaction, the smile on Dumbledore's face seemed to deepen somewhat.
"Welcome them both to our ranks," He continued warmly, spreading his arms in an inclusive gesture. "May our combined strength, our unity and determination, illuminate the darkness that lies ahead of us all."
After the brief but sincere welcome, after the applause finally died down and people returned to their seats, the living room gradually returned to its previous atmosphere.
Conversations resumed, debates continued, the constant background hum of multiple discussions happening simultaneously filled the space again.
For many of those present, Harry's joining was almost expected and unsurprising—the Boy Who Lived joining the fight against Voldemort seemed inevitable, natural, right.
And as for Adrian Westeros, this somewhat mysterious young man—since he was personally introduced and vouched for by Dumbledore himself, there was naturally no need to question it much.
If Dumbledore trusted him, that was sufficient.
The living room filled once more with low conversations and debates.
But not everyone accepted Harry's membership so readily or with such calm acceptance.
Mrs. Weasley quickly walked over, her face was full of worry and disapproval.
"Albus, this is far too dangerous!"
She said directly to Dumbledore, her voice was rising slightly with emotion and fear. "Harry is still just a child! We absolutely cannot let him directly participate in something so dangerous!"
"Molly, I completely understand your concern, and I share it..." Dumbledore began gently, trying to calm her with his most soothing, grandfatherly tone, reaching out as if to pat her shoulder reassuringly.
But Harry stepped forward first, interrupting before Dumbledore could continue his explanation.
"Mrs. Weasley, I think I can handle it. I know you're worried, and I appreciate it, but I'm not helpless," He said earnestly. "And... Voldemort killed my parents when I was just a baby. He's tried to kill me multiple times since. He won't suddenly spare me or leave me alone just because I'm underage or because we wish he would."
"Oh, dear boy," Mrs. Weasley's eyes immediately reddened with tears, and she looked like she wanted to gather him into another crushing hug. "You still can't... you're too young...."
Just then, before she could continue her emotional objection or the argument could escalate further, a calm yet clear voice came from over by the wall, interrupting the argument.
"In fact," Adrian said, still leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, his tone as flat as if he were stating something completely obvious that everyone should already know,
"in terms of actual practical combat ability and magical skill, at least one-third of the wizards currently in this room would probably be no match for Harry."
The living room instantly fell silent.
All eyes—surprised, doubtful, skeptical, curious, turned once more toward Adrian standing by the wall and the slightly flushed Harry standing beside Mrs. Weasley.
"Well..."
Adrian noticed everyone's stares, shrugged casually, and added nonchalantly, "Of course, that was before Harry got injured."
He wasn't exaggerating even slightly. After all, this was a student he had personally trained over the years.
He had fought a dragon successfully, had survived Death Eater attacks through skill rather than just luck, had mastered spells most seventh-years couldn't perform. He'd earned every bit of that capability through hard work and natural talent.
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