Grimmauld Place was unusually quiet.
The long table in the drawing room had been cleared of its usual clutter, no old parchment, no half-finished cups of tea, no stray Dark detectors humming ominously in corners. Candles burned low, their light reflected in the warped glass of ancestral portraits that pretended not to listen.
They were all there.
The Order filled the room in loose clusters, Sirius leaning back against the wall with his arms folded, Moody standing rigid despite the absence of his flask, Tonks perched on the arm of a chair, hair a muted blue. Remus sat near Harry, close enough that his presence felt grounding without being smothering. Molly and Arthur Weasley took up one side of the table, Ron and Hermione beside them, expressions tense and alert.
At the head sat Albus Dumbledore.
Harry stood near the fireplace, shoulders squared, face calm in a way that worried Hermione more than fear ever had.
"The hearing," Dumbledore said gently, breaking the silence, "will take place in two days' time. Officially, it concerns Harry's alleged misuse of underage magic and, more pointedly, his supposed endangerment of a Muggle."
A low growl came from Sirius.
"Unofficially," Dumbledore continued, unfazed, "it is an attempt by Cornelius Fudge to reassert control. His denial of Voldemort's return has… failed to convince many. This hearing is not about justice. It is about authority."
Moody snorted. "Always is."
"The Wizengamot has already been… encouraged," Dumbledore went on. "Several members are undecided. Others are firmly in Fudge's pocket. Which is why", his eyes twinkled, "we will not be relying solely upon the British Ministry."
The door creaked open.
Boots echoed against the floorboards, measured, confident.
Elira Vael entered the room as though she owned it.
She wore deep indigo robes embroidered with subtle sigils that shimmered when the candlelight struck them just so. Her dark hair was bound back in a single braid, silver threads woven through it, and her expression was cool, sharp, and utterly unimpressed by the collective presence of Britain's most infamous resistance group.
She took one look at the table, pulled out a chair, and sat.
"The International Confederation of Wizards will be representing Harry Potter," she said crisply. "For two reasons."
Every head snapped toward her.
Fudge, it seemed, had finally lost more ground than he realised.
"The first," Elira continued, folding her hands on the table, "is Minister Fudge himself. His smear campaign, suppression of evidence, and attempts to silence witnesses have already drawn international attention. This hearing is not an isolated incident, it is one more nail in the coffin during an ongoing confidential ICW investigation into his abuse of power."
Arthur's eyes widened. "Investigation?"
"Very quiet," Elira said. "Very thorough."
Sirius smiled like a man seeing sunlight after Azkaban.
"The second reason," Elira said, turning her gaze to Harry, "is… more unusual."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
Dumbledore inclined his head. "I took the liberty," he said calmly, "of informing the ICW of Harry's… experiences."
Several voices rose at once.
"You what?" Ron blurted.
"That's classified information!" Moody snapped.
Hermione's eyes flicked to Harry, alarmed.
Dumbledore raised one finger.
"It was necessary," he said, voice still gentle, yet utterly final. "The British Ministry cannot be trusted with this knowledge. Not while Cornelius Fudge remains in power. The ICW required context, full context, to understand why Harry must be protected, not exploited."
Elira nodded. "The Ministry is being kept deliberately in the dark. No leverage. No advantage."
"And," Dumbledore added, eyes bright, "because what Harry has learned, what he continues to learn, may help evolve the wizarding world itself."
Silence fell.
Harry swallowed.
"I" he began, then paused. "There's… something else."
Everyone turned to him.
"I travelled again," Harry said quietly.
The reaction was immediate, chairs scraping, wands half-raised, Hermione leaning forward so fast she nearly stood.
"Another world?" Remus asked carefully.
"Yes," Harry said. "But… in the past."
Dumbledore's expression sharpened with interest.
"Hogwarts," Harry continued. "About a hundred years ago. Phineas Nigellus Black was Headmaster."
Sirius stiffened.
"…That sounds like him," he muttered.
Dumbledore rose without ceremony and crossed the room, producing a Pensieve from within his robes as though he'd been waiting for precisely this moment.
"Then," he said, setting it gently on the table, "let us see."
One by one, they stepped forward.
Harry first.
Then Hermione, Ron, the Weasleys, Elira Vael, Dumbledore, and the rest of the Order.
The world tilted and they were falling.
They saw Hogwarts as it had been.
Sharper. Wilder. Less softened by time.
They saw the Sorting, different robes, different traditions. The common rooms shifted subtly, layouts altered, magic older and less refined but no less powerful.
Gasps echoed as ancient magic flared, raw, golden, responding to emotion and intent rather than incantation.
"Merlin's beard," Arthur whispered as hidden rooms unfolded, doors responding to touch and will.
"That's not on any map," Bill breathed.
They saw classes, Isadora Morganach, Percival Rackham, ancient trials woven with magic long forgotten.
They saw Gareth Weasley.
Fred and George, watching from the edges of the memory, grinned in unison.
"Reckon he's our lot," George said proudly.
The room grew still as Ranrok rose corrupted, furious, ancient magic twisting in his wake.
The final battle tore through the memory, stone shattering, magic roaring, Harry standing defiant against something older than Voldemort himself.
Then, they were back.
No one spoke for several long seconds.
Hermione finally exhaled. "That… that changes everything."
Molly dabbed her eyes. "So young… all of them."
Elira Vael leaned back, eyes alight. "Now that," she said softly, "is why the ICW is interested."
Dumbledore smiled.
And Harry, for the first time, felt the weight of the future shift, just a little, in his favour.