Regarding Adrian's bold and "outrageous claims" about Harry's combat abilities, most of the people present clearly believed they were merely exaggerated rhetoric, the kind of exaggeration a proud teacher might use about a promising student.
Impressive boasting, perhaps, but not to be taken literally or seriously.
Could a child not yet even fifteen years old, still technically a minor by wizarding law, truly possess such exceptional capability?
It seemed highly unlikely, almost absurd on the face of it.
Mere verbal assertions were clearly insufficient to convince them of such an extraordinary claim. Several of the older Order members exchanged skeptical glances, their expressions showing polite disbelief mixed with mild amusement at Adrian's apparent exaggeration.
Mr. Weasley, however, sitting at the other end of the room with his arms crossed, fell into deep, serious thought rather than dismissing the claim completely.
His eyebrows wrinkled as he recalled the extraordinary flame spell Harry Potter had unleashed during the Triwizard Tournament.
That spectacular display had been undoubtedly magic that only truly powerful wizards could master like Aurors.
Yet Harry had cast it, and cast it well.
Perhaps...
Arthur's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he observed Harry.
Perhaps Adrian's confident words weren't actually wrong or exaggerated at all?
In any case, regardless of the skepticism or belief of those present, Harry had successfully and officially joined the Order of the Phoenix.
At dinnertime, everyone gathered together around the wooden table in the drawing room upstairs.
Adrian quickly scanned the group, mostly familiar faces, people he'd encountered before at Hogwarts or elsewhere.
The Weasleys, Moody, Sirius, Remus, Tonks...
And there was Dedalus Diggle, whom Adrian had briefly greeted earlier, still wearing that ridiculous violet top hat even in the house, along with Mundungus Fletcher, who smelled faintly of tobacco and something weird.
There were also a few wizards who appeared slightly older than Adrian himself—probably veteran members who had followed Dumbledore since the Order's earliest days during the first war.
Mrs. Weasley's dinner was quite simple and humble: a large pot of beef stew with vegetables, bread still warm from the oven, several varieties of cheese, and butter. Nothing fancy or complicated, but filling and hot and prepared with care.
But despite the modest feast, the atmosphere around the table was unexpectedly relaxed and almost cheerful, lighter than Adrian had anticipated given the grim topics they'd likely be discussing.
Many were chatting and laughing cheerfully with their neighbors, sharing stories and jokes. Even Moody's scarred face showed a rare trace of ease and something that might almost be called contentment, though he never fully relaxed his vigilance. His magical eye still rotated occasionally, checking corners and doorways.
The entire drawing room was filled with a sense of lightness.
'It was nice,' Adrian thought.
"Looks like tonight's announcements will all be good news for once?" Adrian asked, keeping his voice low as he turned to Remus sitting beside him.
Remus turned his head, and Adrian noticed immediately how tired he looked—dark circles were under his eyes, a grayish paleness clung to his skin. The full moon must have been recently.
"Probably good news, yes," Remus answered in an equally low voice. "Our recent operations have been unexpectedly smooth, actually. We successfully intercepted some crucial intelligence about Death Eater movements, and we managed to destroy a significant Death Eater contact point in Manchester without alerting anyone. And there were no casualties on our side during the raid..."
He paused, instinctively and unconsciously glanced down at the white bandage wrapped around his right forearm beneath his worn robes, and smiled with helpless self-deprecation.
"At least nothing serious or life-threatening. Just minor injuries."
Harry, sitting on Adrian's other side and listening intently to the conversation, also looked with concern at Remus's bandaged arm.
He wasn't particularly worried, though—after all, his own arm had been completely severed not long ago, a far worse injury, and even then, Adrian had somehow found a way to restore it completely through the Treants' magic.
A simple cut or curse burn seemed trivial by comparison.
"What about Voldemort himself?" Adrian continued lowly, his expression becoming more serious. "Have you actually found him? Any confirmed sightings or reliable intelligence on his location?"
This was the question that mattered most actually.
Remus shook his head slowly.
Adrian fell into thoughtful silence.
Voldemort had yet to make any kind of official public appearance or announcement of his return, yet Death Eater activities had clearly intensely increased in frequency and boldness over recent weeks.
This pattern was truly puzzling and somewhat concerning.
At that moment, before Adrian could pursue the question further, Dumbledore stopped what he was doing—he'd been cutting a piece of bread and set down his knife with a soft clink against his plate.
Everyone around the table naturally and immediately quieted down. All heads turned toward him expectantly, waiting for him to speak.
The room fell into silence.
"Friends," Dumbledore began, his voice steady and clear, resounding easily through the quiet room.
His gaze slowly swept across the entire gathering, meeting eyes, acknowledging each person separately. "We have enjoyed a pleasant moment of peace and fellowship this evening, which is good and necessary for morale. But please allow me to use this time to explain more fully why we have gathered here tonight, and to discuss frankly the current situation we all face."
His expression became more serious, and grave.
"We all know, because it has been widely reported in every newspaper and discussed in every corner of the wizarding world, that not long ago a catastrophic and unprecedented prison break occurred at Azkaban fortress. Multiple high-security prisoners escaped simultaneously. Alastor,"
He looked toward Moody with a questioning expression, "what is the confirmed number of Death Eaters who successfully escaped that night?"
"Twelve," Moody answered immediately in his gruff voice.
"Twelve dangerous, experienced Death Eaters now loose in Britain," Dumbledore nodded gravely and repeated. "And fortunately, through everyone's absolutely tireless efforts and effective operations over these recent weeks—"
His gaze swept over the bandage visible on Remus's arm and lingered on several other members sitting at the table who bore visible minor injuries, acknowledging their sacrifices, "—I believe we have successfully dealt with approximately half of them, either capturing them again or ensuring they can no longer pose any significant threat to anyone."
This news caused some of those present to straighten in their seats. Their faces showed traces of vindicated satisfaction and accomplishment.
Six Death Eaters neutralized in less than three weeks was impressive work by any standard.
Adrian also nodded slightly in approval, genuinely impressed by the efficiency.
Viewed this way, when given proper intelligence and coordination, Dumbledore and the Order had acted quite swiftly and effectively. The old man still had significant tactical skill.
Dedalus Diggle, the enthusiastic wizard wearing that peculiar and eye-catching violet top hat, suddenly raised his hand eagerly and asked urgently in confusion,
"Forgive me for interrupting, Professor Dumbledore, but... how exactly did those Death Eaters manage to escape Azkaban in the first place? The prison has hundreds of Dementors constantly guarding it, and it's supposed to be completely escape-proof! The Ministry has always claimed it's absolutely secure!"
"A very crucial question indeed, Dedalus. Thank you for raising it."
Dumbledore nodded approvingly, his expression becoming even more serious and troubled. "I personally went to Azkaban specifically to investigate this matter myself, because the Ministry's official explanation was, shall we say, suspiciously vague and clearly one-sided. They were obviously trying to minimize their culpability and avoid blame."
He paused for a moment then continued.
"The answer is unfortunately not very complicated, though it is deeply troubling. A small but significant portion of the Azkaban Dementors defected to Voldemort's side, abandoning their posts.
And additionally, a guard was placed under an expertly cast Imperius Curse, which allowed a Portkey to be smuggled into Azkaban without triggering any of the normal security measures or alarms."
The room erupted in shocked murmurs and exclamations.
"The Imperius Curse? On an Azkaban guard?" Dedalus Diggle looked absolutely stunned, his hat nearly fell off his head as he jerked back. "But... who could have possibly done that?"
Dumbledore shook his head slowly, his expression looking troubled and uncertain. "To be completely honest, I'm not certain of the perpetrator's identity. The guard himself has no memory of being cursed, which tells us something important."
He steepled his fingers thoughtfully.
"But I can tell you this: it was an indisputably perfect Imperius Curse, cast with extraordinary skill and power. The guard didn't even realize he'd been cursed or controlled until we broke the enchantment weeks later. That level of subtle mastery is exceptionally rare."
His voice dropped lower.
"As far as I know, those capable of using such a masterful, undetectable Imperius Curse are very few and far between in the entire wizarding world. Perhaps it was Voldemort himself who directly cast the spell, or perhaps he controlled someone else to do so."
"And why exactly did the Dementors defect in the first place?"
Adrian timely raised the other question that clearly concerned everyone, the one they were all thinking about but hadn't yet asked.
Dumbledore pressed his fingertips together more tightly, his expression becoming pensive and slightly grim.
"It's only speculation on my part," He said carefully, "but speculation that's not without solid basis and logic. Just as in the human world, where we have factions and disagreements and different philosophies, the Dementor community is not monolithic either. They are not all identical in desires and allegiances."
He paused, choosing his words with care.
"Among them there also exists what we might call 'factional' division, political disagreements if you will. Perhaps some significant portion of the Dementors genuinely believe that Voldemort can offer them more freedom, more victims, more opportunities to feed than the restrictive Ministry ever would.
The Ministry keeps them leashed, and limited to Azkaban. Voldemort offers them... well, everything. Unlimited hunting."
"So, some Dementors were essentially... bought off? Bribed with promises?" Adrian pressed for explanation, wanting to understand this clearly.
Honestly, he had always considered Dementors to be creatures of low intelligence, mindless beings only capable of following the most primitive desires and instincts.
But now it seemed they were considerably more intelligent than he'd previously imagined or given them credit for. They could plan, negotiate, choose sides based on calculated self-interest. That was deeply concerning.
"What about those traitorous Dementors now?" Adrian continued with his questions. "Where are they? Has the Ministry recaptured them?"
"They all escaped along with the Death Eaters," Dumbledore said flatly, his voice carrying resignation. "Perhaps two dozen Dementors, possibly more—we don't have exact counts. The Ministry originally had specific binding methods and ancient spells to command them, magical contracts dating back centuries, but those measures seemed to have completely failed."
Everyone around the table fell into brief, uncomfortable silence as the implications sank in.
It seemed their enemy list, already daunting enough, would now include yet another troublesome and terrifying entity to worry about.
Dementors weren't easy opponents to deal with under any circumstances—only the Patronus Charm could successfully counter them, and that was advanced magic many wizards never mastered.
Fortunately, everyone present at this table knew how to successfully use Patronus Charm.
On another rather frustrating note, the Ministry of Magic was truly proving itself useless to an almost impressive degree.
That Cornelius Fudge could still sit comfortably in the Minister's position after this catastrophic security failure was simply a miracle of political survival. The man should have been forced to resign in disgrace immediately.
It must be said that the current Ministry of Magic was facing unprecedented internal and external troubles, and handling none of them well.
Subsequently, over the next twenty minutes or so, Dumbledore proceeded to assign specific tasks to each person present in careful detail, pointing to people and giving them missions.
The content didn't particularly surprise Adrian—it was basically dispersing members to various locations throughout Britain to track Voldemort's whereabouts and possible hiding places, to search for Death Eater hideouts and safe houses, to gather intelligence through contacts and informants, and to protect potential targets.
Perhaps because of his passive recruitment earlier, or perhaps because Dumbledore simply didn't want to presume, he didn't assign Adrian any specific tasks or missions.
Harry, however, sitting forward in his chair looked eagerly and hopefully at Dumbledore as he meticulously issued orders to everyone else, looking desperate to be given something important to do.
For a young man, personally participating on the frontlines against dark forces was undoubtedly extremely attractive and meaningful, especially when facing Voldemort himself.
After precisely assigning all the various tasks to the members, after everyone had their orders and understood their responsibilities, Dumbledore's blue gaze finally fell gently on Harry with particular attention and concern.
"Ah, Harry," He said softly, his voice becoming warmer and more grandfatherly, his eyes were filled with concern and perhaps a touch of guilt.
"Speaking of which, in all the business and chaos of the evening, I haven't had the proper chance to inquire carefully about your condition. How has your right hand actually recovered?"
Suddenly called upon directly after watching everyone else receive assignments, feeling all eyes turn toward him, Harry immediately sat upright in his chair.
He answered almost instinctively, perhaps too quickly, "It's completely fine now, Professor! Perfect! There's no problem whatsoever casting spells anymore! I've been practicing constantly!"
He even quickly moved his fingers in demonstration, flexing and extending them rapidly, trying his best to prove his dexterity and full function to everyone watching.
However, just as the hopeful words finished leaving his mouth, before Dumbledore could respond or perhaps assign him something, a calm, straightforward voice came from beside him, deflating his enthusiasm instantly.
"Compared to before the injury, your current capability is far from adequate," Adrian said flatly, his tone carrying no judgment but absolute honesty.
Harry opened his mouth to say something in defense, but closed it again immediately because he couldn't refute Adrian's blunt words.
They were simply the truth. Right now, he could only cast perhaps three or four spells at most before his regenerated arm would begin transmitting an unbearable aching sensation that made it nearly impossible to maintain focus or wand control.
According to Adrian's assessment, Harry's arm probably wouldn't truly recover to full functionality until the very end of summer vacation at the earliest, possibly longer.
"Rest well and focus on your recovery, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, closing the door on any possibility of assignment.
Harry felt slightly disappointed.
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