Chapter 104: The Order of the Phoenix and Maria ─ 1ｰ1

Life at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place had begun. Why was I allowed to be with Sirius instead of the Dursleys?—the answer was simple. Just like "last time," the Black house had been offered up as the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.—In other words, Dumbledore became the Secret-Keeper.

Originally, this plan was said to have been set in motion immediately last year, right when we had to tearfully give up on the idea of living with Sirius before the summer holidays. However, because Voldemort's return hadn't been anticipated—though Dumbledore might have considered it one of the possibilities based on Trelawney's prophecy—at that point, it was merely a one-sided arrangement where Sirius asked Dumbledore to be the Secret-Keeper. But now that the situation had changed, they both brought mutual benefits to the table, making it a perfect case of give-and-take.

I gazed at the Black ancestral home, which had been restored to a beautiful condition, completely unlike "last time." While Harry was amazed by the grand mansion, which he was seeing for the first time, I was shocked by how utterly different it looked compared to the previous timeline. The moth-eaten curtains had all been replaced, and the wallpaper was unified in bright colors. The curtains over that certain lady's portrait were completely drawn shut and sealed. Physically, that is. According to Sirius, since he had a whole year to get things ready, this much was only natural. Personally, I suspect he just gave orders to Kreacher and Professor Lupin and left it entirely to them.

—Professor Lupin. Yes, here at the Black house, besides us Potter siblings and our guardian, Sirius, there was another housemate. Remus Lupin. Apparently, the two of them had been living together until they could officially take us in, and Professor Lupin was far more familiar with the layout and item placements of the house than Sirius. Furthermore, with members of the Order of the Phoenix coming and going for meetings now, the Black house—which used to be nothing but a eerie memory—had become quite a lively mansion.

"Sirius, are you really okay with coming back to this house?"

"Hmm?"

"Well... because you said you didn't really like the House of Black."

Amidst these happy days that felt so perfect it almost sent a chill down my spine, I pressed my back tightly against Sirius as he sat on the sofa reading someone's letter—likely a report from an Order member. Sirius had completely regained his former good looks and healthy appearance. The man whose grey eyes used to be dark and clouded was nowhere to be seen. He was completely different from the Sirius of my past. ...This was for the best.

"Ah... just as you say, Maria, I don't care for this gloomy, distasteful mansion. I don't have a single good memory here. However, the security is absolutely flawless, living up to the name of the Black ancestral home, and it was one of the conditions of my negotiation with Dumbledore. If I wanted to protect you two at all costs, I had to use the Black house—or so he said."

I felt relieved to know that Dumbledore's intentions were involved. As long as he was pulling the strings, it shouldn't lead to any catastrophic failures. Having become Maria, I had come to realize something.—Living as a puppet without having to think about anything is incredibly easy.

"And... just between us, the truth is that after my house was confiscated during my imprisonment, they've been making all sorts of excuses, and it still hasn't been fully returned to me. It's fine if I'm living there alone, mind you. But if I try to have anyone else move in—those Ministry folks will raise a massive fuss."

"...Is that really okay?"

"It's not ideal—but as long as I can be with you two, I don't care where it is."

A large hand was placed on my head. He stroked it slowly with a smile. The ideal I had envisioned ever since my past self was right here.

Sirius, who had so bitterly cursed his confinement in the Black house back then, now wore such a peaceful expression.

"Sirius,"

I nuzzled closer to Sirius, who had put down the report. I stretched out both arms like a young child.

"I love you so much."

I closed my eyes as if dozing off against his warm chest and the arms that caught and held me back. Please, let this gentle time continue from now on.

"Sirius, do you have a moment?"

Just as I was leaning against Sirius, half-asleep, Professor Lupin poked his head in.

"About the writing desk in the guest room, it turns out a Boggart had crept inside after all. Honestly, when did it get in...? Oh, Maria, you're here too. Since you're alone, is Harry still in his room? Have you two had lunch yet?"

He directed a gentle smile at me, one that held no terror despite being lined with scars. Living as the four of us, he had completely taken on the role of a mother among us. Sirius was... more like an older brother than a father, really. He was often scolded by Professor Lupin right alongside us kids.

"Not yet."

"In that case, I'll cook today. Go and fetch Harry. If he's asleep... we'll leave him be."

"Okay."

I stood up from the sofa. Since the two of them were busy with Order work, Harry and I handled most of the chores around the Black house, but occasionally Professor Lupin or Sirius would treat us to a home-cooked meal like this. Even such a small piece of happiness was precious and dazzling to me. The adults seemed to look at us with pity because we were placed under house arrest in this mansion for safety reasons, but as far as I was concerned, I didn't mind it at all. As for Harry... I wasn't so sure.

A stagnant kind of happiness existed here.

"Remus. Have you finished dealing with the Boggart?"

"Yes. Just to be safe, I'm going to look around the other rooms while doing some cleaning."

"That Kreacher... can't even do a bit of cleaning."

Leaving the adults' conversation behind, I went upstairs to the second floor. The only time we had actually faced Kreacher was on the first day. Sirius had forced him to appear just to introduce us. Kreacher had looked around at us and Sirius with spiteful, sunken eyes.

The old house-elf who had kept clutching the locket out of devotion to his master and an unfulfillable command—and the family member who had become a good friend to my son, Albus. ...I wanted to do something about the feud between him and Sirius, though.

"Harry?"

I knocked on the door adjacent to my own room. There was no reply. Just as Professor Lupin said, he might still be asleep.

"Harry, I'm coming in."

Knowing the room well, I turned the doorknob. True to his earlier declaration, our landlord Sirius had given each of us our own separate rooms, but in the end, three days was the limit of our enjoyment of having single rooms.

—Harry was having nightmares. Dreaming of Cedric. As his connection with Voldemort deepened, sleep bared its fangs at him.

I couldn't just leave him. After all, the me who had suffered through that exact agony in the past was right there. And so, after pleading with Sirius, I spent most of my time in Harry's room, even though my room was officially designated as Maria's.

There was also the matter of the blood protection. Surely, I didn't possess a shield as strong as Aunt Petunia's. Otherwise, with me being by his side twenty-four seven, there was no way Voldemort could have gotten this close to Harry.

—Even so.

I wanted to save the heart of this child, even if just a little, as he bore the curse of his arch-nemesis and the curse of his mother.

"Harry."

On the bed, Harry was knitting his brows, drenched in a cold sweat. It looked like he was having a nightmare again. A dream of the graveyard.

"No, Ced... Ma... ri..."

"Harry. I'm right here. I'm here."

"Run, Cedric... Maria... Maria..."

"Yes. Maria is right by your side."

I took his hand, brushed away his messy fringe, and stroked his forehead. It was damp with sweat. It felt as though his scar was burning hot.

"Harry"

"Maria"

His green eyes, wavering with tears, slowly opened.

"Good morning, Harry. Though it's already lunchtime. Are you hungry? Professor Lupin is making lunch."

"...Maria"

I welcomed his outstretched arms and patted Harry's back, which was damp with clammy sweat. Breathing right by my ear, Harry's voice was raspy. Over the summer, Harry had shot up in height, his voice had started to break, and he was entering full-blown adolescence. His emotional balance was a complete mess. Having watched both my past self and my own children grow up, I could understand that.

"Maria... Maria..."

"Yes. I'm right here, alive and well."

We held each other on the bed like the children we were until my warmth transferred to Harry's cold body.

About a month later, the Weasleys, along with Ron and Hermione, arrived at the Black house. The Order's activities became more frequent, and it felt as though almost everyone was lodging at the Black residence. The house was vast enough to accommodate that. There were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; Fred and George, who frequently Apparated and annoyed Hermione; Ron; Ginny; and Bill, who only returned to the Black house occasionally due to his public job. Charlie seemed to be away at a distant location, so we hadn't seen his face even once yet. And—Percy.

"That git isn't our brother anymore. Fudge's little lackey. A disgrace of a careerist."

Fred spat out the words in a spot where they wouldn't be overheard by Mrs. Weasley—Molly—who had completely taken charge of the kitchen. This time too, Percy had sided with the Ministry of Magic.

I picked up the Daily Prophet. A smear campaign article against Dumbledore plastered the front page. In "last time," the media manipulation had been split fifty-fifty between Harry and Dumbledore, but now it seemed they were narrowing their target solely onto Dumbledore. They lacked enough information to disparage Harry. And above all—Sirius Black, whom they had wrongfully imprisoned, wasn't staying silent. This had been confirmed by the incident with Rita Skeeter's article. Keeping quiet about Pettigrew's scandal also served as a deterrent.

Therefore, Harry was being written about as a pitiful victim manipulated by Dumbledore. By turning Harry, who was everyone's beacon of hope, into a tragic figure, they seemed to be steering public hatred more towards Dumbledore.

—Either way, Harry's voice would not be heard.

"Looks like the meeting's over. Blimey, it always gets blocked when Snape's around."

George grumbled as he reluctantly reeled back the Extendable Ears. The naturally curious children couldn't help but be intensely interested in the adults' meetings. That curiosity had spread to Harry as well, causing his unstable self to feel deep frustration.

"To think Snape was a member of the Order."

"Has Sirius said anything about this?"

"No. Nothing, other than the fact that their relationship is as terrible as ever."

I shook my head in response to Hermione's question. The second floor was exclusively the children's domain, and since Maria's and Harry's rooms were configured to connect internally via a single door, it had turned into a pseudo-meeting room for the kids.

"Anyway, let's head over to Mundungus before Mum catches us, mate."

"Right you are. Gotta make it a good business venture."

Fred and George seized the opportunity, heading down the stairs with their merchandise in hand. It seemed their plans for the joke shop, sponsored by Harry, were going smoothly. At that, Hermione shrugged her shoulders conspicuously.

"I really don't like that man. He's completely untrustworthy—Aah!?"

What had made Hermione scream?—Following her gaze, everyone jumped in unison. The gloomy House-elf of the Black family, Kreacher, had snuck in without anyone noticing.

"Um, excuse me—yes, you're Kreacher, right?"

Ashamed of having screamed, Hermione tried her best to speak in a gentle voice. However, to Kreacher, an extended hand of friendship from someone who wasn't a pure-blood—especially Hermione, whose parents were both non-magical—was nothing short of an insult.

"The filthy girl speaks to Kreacher. A Mudblood, trespassing and ruining Mistress's house—oh, my poor Mistress, how she must weep to see her noble house defiled by beasts—"

"Don't mind him, Hermione. ...He's just talking to himself."

"I see..."

Hermione looked at Kreacher with sympathetic eyes. One could only wonder what kind of tragic story about the poor house-elf Kreacher was playing out in her head right now. The severed heads of past house-elves that decorated the walls in "last time" had been removed long ago, but I wondered what she would think if she knew about this horrific Black family tradition. ...Just imagining it made me want to S.P.E.W.

"There are no Black family heirlooms here, Kreacher."

"Just as you say, Miss. ...A Mudblood half-breed, acting like family to Kreacher. Acting like the master of this house. What a disgrace. If Mistress were to see such a deplorable state, what would she say to poor Kreacher..."

Kreacher left the room while muttering curses. Overcome with sympathy for his small, pitiful figure from behind, Hermione covered her mouth.

"Poor thing... he's not in his right mind."

"You're the one who's not in your right mind, Hermione. How can you feel sorry for him after he said those things to you?"

"That is the result of abuse. He became like that because everyone gangs up on them, fails to appreciate them properly, and treats them like slaves. He is the very embodiment of the house-elves' tragic fate."

Ron, and then Ginny, averted their eyes from Hermione and looked at me with pleading gazes, as if begging for help. ...Give it up, you two. This trait of hers won't change even when she becomes the Minister for Magic.

Once dinner was finished, the children were practically shooed off to bed. Mrs. Weasley's surveillance, in particular, was flawless. She didn't want any details of the Order's activities reaching the children's ears. Ever since George used the Extendable Ears a while ago and intercepted information about "a weapon of unknown form that Voldemort is seeking," she had been on tenterhooks.

"...Can't sleep?"

Having given up Maria's room to Hermione and Ginny (with the connecting door safely locked, of course), I lay down in the same bed in Harry's room. Absentmindedly, I patted Harry's back in a steady rhythm.

Harry's nightmares came in two varieties: dreams of Cedric, and dreams linked to Voldemort. The dream of the door leading to the Department of Mysteries—

"It's okay, Harry. I'll wake you up. ...I won't let you go any further than that."

"Maria..."

Harry hadn't realized whose eyes he was looking through in his dreams of the door yet. But that was only a matter of time. That sensation of having one's memories and mind slowly encroached upon—only Harry and my past self could truly understand it.

It cradled the messy-haired head that had been with me for over ten years, I repeated it over and over.

"It's okay. —Because you have me."

Because my past self never had anyone—but now, there was me, Maria.