Illusory § Order of the Phoenix

XXVII. IN THE NAME OF TRADITION

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Antares first stirred from his sleep before the dawn broke over Grimmauld Place. Today was the day before Christmas Eve, and despite the festive season, the atmosphere in Grimmauld Place remained sombre. As much as Antares wanted to curl himself under the soft green duvet, he was a pureblood with a social agenda that needed attending to.

Since arriving back at Headquarters, there was a noticeable strain on his and Harry's friendship. Antares could sense Harry's frustration, and he was sure Harry could sense his. Other than the small apology the Gryffindor offered days ago, they had not spoken to one another. There were times when Harry made eye contact from across the room, looking like he wanted to say something but was ultimately unable to say anything. Perhaps he did owe him an apology, but he shouldn't be the one to start that conversation.

Pushing aside the covers, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The cold floorboards sent a shiver through him, and he quickly crossed the room to retrieve his robe, the lush material smooth against his chest.

Making his way through the silent corridors, he descended the staircase and entered the kitchen, where it was empty and dark. Flicking on the lights, Antares approached the chipped and battered cupboard, its hinges protesting as he pulled it open. There was an assortment of delicate cups and saucers, each presumably belonging to his father's family. He selected a cup, black detailed with a gold rim, and set it towards the stove.

Placing a kettle filled with water on the stove, he waited for the water to heat manually. He reached for a worn tin which, much to his dismay, contained tea bags instead of tea leaves. As the kettle began to whistle, Antares, with a fluid motion, dropped in three bags and felt the steam waft onto his face. Minutes later, he poured out a cup for himself and sat at the kitchen table. Finally satisfied, he lifted the cup to his lips, inhaling the fragrant steam before taking a slow, deliberate sip. The warmth spread through him, momentarily displacing the chill that clung to Grimmauld Place.

Afterwards, he returned to his room, content to waste his last hours of silence before readying himself for the public eye. He had a crucial meeting to attend in Diagon Alley. Today, he was supposed to meet with Harlan Holmes, a persistent and oddly delightful reporter for the Whispering Willow, a tabloid popular amongst witches— pure-bloods, to be precise. A memorable scandal they orchestrated was the affair between the former Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Hamish MacFarlan, and a Veela diplomat. Surprisingly, it turned out to have some merit. Macfarlan was having an affair— just not with a half-Veela.

Satisfied with his reflection in the dresser mirror, he left Grimmauld Place. The meeting place was a wizarding tailor tucked away in the south corner of Diagon Alley. The tabloids loved to get exclusives with members of high society, and Antares had to pick up an outfit from the shop for an event later that night. It didn't hurt to kill two birds with one stone.