At the long table in the basement kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Bryan was sitting.
His gaze was hung low, fixed with apparent intensity on his clasped hands resting motionless in his lap. His voice remained calm and precise, as he answered Harry's question.
"Professor Dumbledore and I both have every reason in the world to believe that Professor Snape is genuinely on our side, Harry. We wouldn't maintain this position lightly or without substantial evidence. I sincerely hope you can find it in yourself to extend him a little more trust—"
'Trust Snape more? SNAPE?'
The anger flared up hot and immediately in Harry's chest before he could even attempt to stop it or push it down.
"But what I saw in the vision this morning—"
"Regarding the visions you've been having, Harry—"
Bryan raised his voice slightly, just enough to cut through Harry's building protest. He fixed the boy with a sharp, penetrating look.
"I'm not questioning whether they're real experiences. I believe you're genuinely seeing these things. But I would strongly advise you not to rely too heavily on whatever information comes through them as being complete or accurate."
'Don't rely on the visions? Don't trust what I'm seeing with my own eyes—well, Voldemort's eyes, but still?'
'What did that even mean?'
Harry seethed internally, his jaw was clenching with frustration. He couldn't understand why Professor Watson who was usually so sharp, so perceptive had suddenly gone so inexplicably obtuse about something this important.
It was just like this morning at Gringotts: even Remus, with his more limited experience, had suspected something was deeply off about that woman named Bessel. The behavior, the obsession with Harry, the violent reaction—all of it had screamed warning signs.
Yet Professor Watson had looked right at her, right through the situation, without a second glance or any apparent concern.
"Right then—"
Harry was still trying desperately to work out how to phrase his concerns differently, how to make Professor Watson take his warnings seriously and understand the danger, when the professor sitting across the table let out a loose, easy sigh that told the conversation was concluded.
Bryan rolled his shoulders as though working out tension, then rose smoothly from his seat.
"I have to get back to the Ministry immediately, Harry. Even Professor Dumbledore is there helping Minister Bones develop strategy and manage various political crises right now—I really can't afford to slack off much longer, you understand."
Before Harry could respond or protest that they weren't finished talking, Professor Watson had already left the table and was heading up the narrow wooden stairs, pushing open the heavy trapdoor that led to the entrance hall above.
Remus and the Weasley family members who had been waiting anxiously in the hallway rushed forward at once the moment Bryan emerged, their faces were showing various mixtures of concern and curiosity.
"You've finished talking with Harry? Is he—is everything—"
Mrs. Weasley's worried question tumbled out before Bryan had fully cleared the doorway.
"No need to worry yourselves, Molly. Nothing too serious—just the normal strain of dealing with such stuff." Bryan smiled reassuringly. "Harry just needs rest and normal routine. Now—I really must get back to the Ministry before Amelia sends out a search party."
"Won't you stay for lunch, Bryan? Just a quick bite?" Mrs. Weasley called after him hopefully. "I've made enough for an army, as always—"
"I'm afraid I genuinely don't have the time, much as I'd enjoy it." Bryan gave Mrs. Weasley an apologetic smile, then turned his attention to Remus. His expression grew more serious.
"Dumbledore told me that he hoped the Order could contribute something meaningful to this operation. It goes against my better professional judgment to involve civilians in what's essentially a military operation, but since you're all willing to volunteer and he's insisted—I won't stand in the way. Kingsley has the full operational details of the mission—he'll brief everyone properly at tonight's meeting."
Remus gave a slow, heavy nod of understanding. He knew better than most what "operational details" meant in practice.
Bryan paused at the door, studying Remus's expression carefully, then said with intentional gravity: "I trust you understand exactly what you'd be walking into."
"We all know the risks involved, Bryan. We've done this kind of thing before." Remus's expression was grave but resolute, showing no hesitation. "We're not going in blind or naive."
There was nothing more that needed saying. Bryan gave a small smile. His pale violet eyes drifted past the two adults to settle briefly on the cluster of young witches and wizards gathered behind them, their eyes were rolling constantly with curiosity about what the mysterious grown-up conversation had been about.
"Well then—enjoy the rest of your summer holiday, all of you. Try to do something normal and fun."
And without another word, he simply vanished with a crack.
Mrs. Weasley drew a deep breath and pulled Harry gently into her soft side in a gesture of comfort, her plump arm was wrapping around his shoulders.
"Go on up to your room, dear. You and Ron and Hermione get some rest—lunch won't be long now. You've had enough stress for one day."
Remus gave Harry's other shoulder a firm, reassuring pat. "If Bryan says your scar isn't anything serious, then I don't think there's too much to worry about on that front. He'd tell us if there was real danger."
Harry nodded silently, mechanically, and said nothing more.
Perhaps sensing that the three of them had private things to discuss among themselves, Fred and George made no attempt to linger on the third floor. They headed straight up the staircase to the fourth floor without their usual joking commentary. Ginny followed the twins obediently, casting one concerned glance back at Harry before disappearing up the stairs.
"What exactly did Professor Watson say to Remus just now? Before he left?" Ron demanded the very moment they were through the door and it had clicked shut behind them.
Harry dropped heavily onto his unmade bed, letting himself fall backward. He stared up at the water-stained ceiling, letting the pale daylight filtering through the grimy window wash over his face.
A dull, gnawing feeling—of not being believed, of being dismissed like a hysterical child worked at something deep inside him, making his chest feel tight and uncomfortable.
"I think it's about the mission to escort the seized money from the Death Eaters' Gringotts vaults—the ones who've been placed under arrest warrant but haven't surrendered yet," Hermione said slowly, working it out aloud.
Her clever face had gone pale with understanding. "You can't exactly expect You-Know-Who to let his Death Eaters voluntarily hand themselves in and lose all their wealth without a fight, can you? He'll surely send forces to stop the transfer."
Ron's lips moved mutely as he processed this. Whatever thought had just crossed his mind about the consequences drained the color completely from his face. He sat down heavily on the edge of his own bed and went unnaturally quiet, staring at nothing.
"Harry—what exactly did Professor Watson say about your scar?" Hermione crossed the room and sat carefully beside him on the mattress, lifting the wrist he'd thrown over his eyes to block out the world.
She observed his face with deep worry etched into every line of her expression.
"He told me not to rely too heavily on whatever information comes through the visions—"
Harry hadn't actually meant to say anything about the conversation. But this was Hermione and the words came spilling out anyway before he could stop them.
The moment they emerged into the open air, his anger came flooding back with them like a dam breaking. He sat bolt upright, his green eyes were blazing.
"As if I want to see those horrible things! My scar hurts like someone's driving a knife through my skull and I can't control when it happens or what I see—it's not like I have any choice in the matter!"
His voice had risen to something like a shout.
Harry was on his feet now, unable to sit still, pacing the length of the small room with agitation. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.
"He knows perfectly well that everything I've seen through these visions is real. And he still doesn't take what I'm telling him seriously now! And then—and then he has the nerve to tell me to trust Snape more, it's completely laughable!"
Harry let out a bitter laugh.
"If you ask me, letting Snape into the Order in the first place was Professor Dumbledore's greatest folly—I mean—"
Harry caught himself abruptly, realizing he was about to say something truly disrespectful about Dumbledore. He took a shuddering breath, trying to regain control.
"Professor Dumbledore is too kind, too willing to see the best in people. That's his weakness. That's why Snape's been able to take advantage of him all these years, playing on his trust."
"But if Professor Watson also trusts Snape..." Ron looked profoundly unsettled, thrown off balance by the force of Harry's mood and the implications of what he was saying.
"That's because—"
Harry pressed his lips together hard, struggling to articulate the thought.
"We all know that Snape looked out for Professor Watson when he was a student at Hogwarts. Snape's been exploiting that gratitude ever since."
"Harry—"
Hermione, who had been lost in deep thought while Harry paced and ranted, suddenly looked up with sharp attention. The anger radiating off Harry in waves only deepened the worry flickering in her eyes.
"Professor Watson specifically told you not to rely too much on what you see in those visions? Those were his exact words?"
"That's right."
Harry stopped his pacing, turning to frown at her with confusion and irritation. "Why? Does he think the pain's made me delirious?"
Hermione bit her lower lip hard but said nothing more. Her expression had turned contemplative, as though she were working through some complex problem in her head.
A heavy, suffocating atmosphere settled over the ancient Manor for the rest of that long day.
The tension persisted through the afternoon and into early evening, until dinner time finally arrived. That's when Sirius came home for the first time in what felt like ages, and the grimness finally cracked visibly from Harry's drawn face.
"You know I've been assigned to protect Minister Bones—" Sirius said between enormous, enthusiastic mouthfuls of Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking. His words came out half-muffled by food, his table manners were abandoned in his excitement.
"Following her around everywhere while she meets with workers who've been deliberately stirred up and agitated. They'll definitely try to take her out at some point—so I've had to stay close to her basically twenty-four hours a day."
"How did you manage to slip away tonight, then?" Remus asked from across the table, his tone mildly curious.
"She's safely at the Ministry for now—won't set foot outside the building before the end of the month. And with both Bryan and Dumbledore in the building at all times..."
Sirius shrugged expressively.
"Even Voldemort wouldn't be reckless enough to storm the Ministry of Magic directly, would he? Not with those two there. It'd be suicide for his forces."
His grey eyes found Harry's face across the table.
"Besides, I had to come back and see you, pup. Make sure you were all right. Bryan's already told me in detail about everything that happened this morning."
Before Harry could ask what Sirius made of it all, Sirius let out a cold, bitter laugh that echoed strangely in the flickering candlelight of the basement kitchen.
"Heh. So, Lucius Malfoy wants to reclaim the gold my dear departed mother left to my beloved cousin Bellatrix. Makes me absolutely sick to think about."
His voice took on a dark tone of savage satisfaction.
"But Bryan had exactly the right idea about it—I'd much rather see the Black family fortune make some real, tangible contribution to the wizarding world than end up funding Voldemort's war."
"That's not the point I care about, Sirius."
Harry leaned forward urgently.
"Did Professor Watson tell you what I've been seeing in the visions? What I told him about Snape?"
Every face at the table turned toward Sirius.
Sirius had been about to bite enthusiastically into half a grilled sausage. He froze mid-motion. He slowly lowered his fork and exchanged a long look with Remus across the table.
"If you mean your accusations against Snape—" Sirius hesitated. "Honestly? My personal opinion is that… I'm with you, Harry. I've never believed for one second that that Snivellus wretch had a complete change of heart or genuine redemption. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, in my experience."
He saw the shadow of vindication beginning to fall across Harry's face and quickly adjusted his tone.
"That said—I do believe that Bryan isn't entirely dismissing your concerns out of hand, Harry. From what I've heard, Bryan's decided to keep Snape completely out of the escort mission the day after tomorrow."
"Is that so?"
Harry's eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise, caught genuinely off guard.
"And what about you, Sirius?" Remus asked. "Has Bryan included you in the mission roster?"
"Dumbledore and Bryan talked it over at length."
There was a flash of distinctive pride in Sirius's voice.
"They both know how dangerous this escort operation will be. So even within the Order members, they're only bringing in those with real combat ability and experience."
His chest puffed out slightly.
"I'm one of them, naturally. Made the cut without question."
————————————
For More Chapters; patreon.com/FicFrenzy