"I have no objection to waiting for the right moment," Snape began, his voice slicing through the heavy silence like a blade, "but whatever comes next—whether it involves Horcruxes or any other cursed business—Waters is not to be involved. The evidence is staring us in the face: Regulus Black thought he could handle things on his own as well. And where is he now? You can't even recover his corpse!"
"But I'm not Regulus!" Orli burst out, her voice cracking with frustration.
"Severus speaks the truth," Dumbledore said gravely, his ancient eyes heavy with the weight of too many lost students. "Orli, should you uncover any leads in the future, bring them to Severus or myself. You've already accomplished far more than we had any right to ask—"
"More than most Order members manage in their entire careers," Snape added with characteristic venom.
"Tell you, and then what?" Orli shot back, her hands clenching into fists. "Stand by while you march off to face mortal peril, while I sit safely in the castle eating pudding and playing wizard's chess like some pampered child?"
The words tasted bitter on her tongue. Orli would have given anything to age thirty years in that moment—to shed this insufferable body that made everyone treat her like fragile porcelain. Their protective instincts felt like chains around her chest, suffocating and absolute.
"I understand your desire to shield me from danger," she continued, her voice gaining strength, "but unfortunately, Hogwarts isn't exactly a sanctuary either. Umbridge has already begun using corporal punishment on Harry."
"How dare she!" Lupin exploded, his usually gentle features twisting with a fury Orli had never witnessed before. Magic crackled around him like static electricity, making the very air taste of copper and rage.
"She's invented some sort of specialized quill," Orli explained, her stomach churning at the memory of Harry's bloodied hand. "A torture device masquerading as a writing instrument. It carves words directly into flesh—no ink required. The letters appear in the victim's own blood. I've treated Harry's wounds and given him healing potions, but the damage goes deeper than surface cuts."
She turned to Dumbledore, whose blue eyes had grown cold as winter frost. "I urged Harry to speak with you about it, but he insists on not troubling you with what he calls 'minor inconveniences.'"
"If Potter hadn't been bellowing like a banshee in class, spouting his delusional theories for all to hear, he wouldn't have brought this torment upon himself," Snape observed with a contemptuous sneer.
"I will monitor the situation," Dumbledore promised, though Orli suspected removing Umbridge from Hogwarts would prove as challenging as extracting a tick from a dragon's hide.
"There's something else," Orli pressed on, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Harry's scar has been causing him constant agony. The pain is intensifying, and he's begun suspecting that Umbridge might be under Voldemort's influence."
"Potter's paranoia knows no bounds," Snape said with obvious distaste. "As the Dark Lord's power waxes stronger, the boy's scar will naturally torment him more frequently. However, I can state with absolute certainty that the woman is not a Death Eater."
"Quite correct," Dumbledore agreed, stroking his long beard thoughtfully. "I suspect Harry's scar responds to Voldemort's emotional states—particularly moments of intense fury or triumph."
"She may not bear the Dark Mark, but she's hardly what one would call virtuous," Lupin growled, his anger still simmering beneath the surface like molten rock. "Do you recall the anti-werewolf legislation she championed two years ago? That woman single-handedly destroyed any hope I had of finding even temporary employment!"
"Obviously, she harbors a pathological hatred for what she terms 'half-breeds,'" Snape observed with deliberate, cutting precision. "Last year she was gallivanting about the Ministry, lobbying to have all merpeople corralled and branded like livestock. Imagine the absurdity—house-elves like Kreacher roam free, yet she wastes valuable resources persecuting aquatic beings who've never harmed a soul."
"Speaking of Kreacher," Dumbledore interjected, his voice taking on a note of gentle persuasion, "Remus, perhaps you could encourage Sirius to show the creature some kindness. If he invested even a modicum of effort in building rapport with Kreacher—I believe genuine affection could develop between them—the elf might prove less... obstinate."
"Sirius restraining himself from throttling the creature would constitute miraculous progress," Lupin replied with a bitter laugh, shaking his head in resignation. "Though I must admit, Kreacher has been remarkably more cooperative lately. Perhaps even he wishes to contribute to finding Regulus."
The name hung in the air like a ghost, carrying with it the weight of unfinished business and unanswered questions. Orli felt the familiar pang of guilt—she knew more about Regulus's fate than any of them suspected, yet she couldn't reveal the truth without exposing dangerous knowledge about the future.
All she could do was wait, and hope that when the moment finally came, they would all be ready for what lay ahead.
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