The Choices We Make ∆ Harry Potter Sister

Chapter 5.6

Ellie had sat on the dining table for the past forty minutes, listening to the order members bickering like there was no tomorrow over a matter that, should they just keep a cool head, would not matter at all. She slumped in her chair, her head tilted back on the crest rail, her eyes trailing the cobwebs above her head. When she was woken up that morning with a promise of joining an order meeting, she had expected something more worth listening to. Instead, she felt like a child being put on a time out for disobedience, listening to her parents blaming one another. As the cherry on top, she had also have to endure the slight tug in her heart that came with George Weasley. He was a man true to his words, he did not act any differently to her - he did not act aloof nor distant, he did not pretend she was a ghost. Instead, he greeted her with that toothy smile of his, all charming and kind, offered her tea and whatnot, which only pained her more. Nevertheless, what had been done was done, and there was nothing she could do about it. Even if she was handed a time turner, she would not do anything any differently. The times she had shared with him had been the sweetest times in her short sixteen years, but like all good things, it must come to an end.

"No! I will not allow it!" Mrs. Weasley's cry made her shot straight with surprise. "I will not let you-"

"What, Molly?" sneered Sirius with a malice glint in his eyes, "Care to butcher my parenting skill again? Mind you, she is my goddaughter."

"Sirius, be quiet," barked Remus with the little patience he had left in his weary bones. He then turned to the Weasley matron with even less of that patience though not without respect, "Molly, we have talked about it, and both Sirius and I have agreed on letting her in from now on. We are her guardians, and we trust that she is more than capable to protect herself."

Colour rose to Mrs. Weasley's cheek as she shrieked, "She's underage!"

That was the last straw for Eleanor. A loud crack made everyone around the table jumped, just as the silver goblets clattered to the ground. The old mahogany that had served as the dining table split in two and everyone turned to the oddly silent pair, sitting with their backs straight, their faces blank. As if she did not just crack a long table in half with just the touch of her fingers, she turned to her side, where Xenyk sat as pensively as she was.

"Скажи им, кто я."

Her Russian was getting better. She had learned the language well enough to read books in it, or understand what Xenyk was saying when he wanted his words for her ears and her ears only, but she had never spoken it before. If Xenyk was taken aback like the rest of the order was by her Russian, he concealed it well enough as his face remained pensive when he regarded the order.

"Eleanor is vot the Russians call a пересадка," he started without missing a beat. There was no point of arguing with her. "Her magic is a little different than yours. Contained, and she is the best vitch you vould encounter for her age. Let loose, and the vorld you know would be gone in a swish."

Ellie had not dared herself to think of what would greet her face when the news was laid down on the table, but an uproar was certainly a fitting reaction. Apparently, none of the order member, save for her godfathers and Dumbledore, the latter whom was not present in the moment, know of her and Xenyk's particular gift, and apparently the level of madness the order was willing to accept was only up to having a mass murderer opened his house to them. Having two Reapers in the midst of a war was apparently too much, even though Xenyk had not so kindly pointed out that they need not to keep an eye on both of them, as Xenyk was eyes and wand enough. Still, Mad Eye was yapping their ears off with how much a salvation and a weapon the both of them were, which only added to the list of things he needed to worry his old mind with. Perhaps it was the ego and pride in the young man, or perhaps it was just a bad timing, but Xenyk certainly stoop and bit back at Mad Eye, which only further fueled the former Auror.

"Enough!" snapped Ellie at last, "If you must Mad Eye, then pull out your wand and fight him to satisfy your anger. I don't suppose another limb or eye should matter to you. But if you won't, then we should get on with what you are all here for and not waste another minute."

Merlin blessed him, Remus cleared his throat before Mad Eye could flick his wand, or Xenyk to send a curse to the former auror's way with half a thought, and began the actual meeting. The nature of moving the boy who lived from the Dursley's to Grimmauld Place.

"By his seventeenth birthday, the protection that Lily Potter gave to Harry will washout. It is wise to believe that Voldemort will use the situation to his advantage, and attack Harry at the muggle's house should he remain there after he turned of age."

"We will need to move him before it," added Kingsley with no room for debate, which Tonks paid no heed as she countered, "But the Ministry will know, and we don't know how many of his followers are working there right now. You can't even trust the receptionist these days!"

"We'll have to fly," grumbled Mad Eye to his former mentee, his glass eye swirling in place, still locked to both Reapers in the room as if they would turn to dust the moment he took his eye off them. "There's not enough magic in it for the ministry to track."

"I for one, thinks having more than one Harry will do us some good," chimed Mundungus, whose presence Ellie had ignored until the very moment he spoke. She detested the wizard, held a grudge over him from the moment he let her brother slipped from his watch and tumble down the familiar road of trouble. To her, she was nothing but a thief making the best of the war, she had said as much to her godfathers which none of them disagreed. Nevertheless, they did tell her that his thieving nature and tendency to lurk between alleys, nooks where no half-decent wizard should be, proofed to be beneficial as he often dropped a vital information from time to time.

The look that was shared between the Weasley twins was nothing short of mischief and trouble. No doubt they were already doing a mental inventory of their stocks of potion ingredients, listing the things that they would need to buy, most probably from Knockturn Alley. As much as hard it was to believe, they were actually the best at potions, excluding the head of the Slytherin House, amongst the members of the order. And the preposition was actually brilliant, though Ellie wouldn't say it out loud out of spite with the snivelling thief. Apparently, Ellie wasn't the only one who caught the look shared between the twins as Mad Eye barked, "Don't think it would be a nice fly over a quidditch pitch. Discreet as we may, best prepare yourself for a battle."

"I'll fly with you," announced the young Potter, her eyes holding her godfathers' gaze, both of them, daring them to say no, to tell her to sit the night out. She need not to, as there was nothing but pride in Remus' eyes, and encouragement in Sirius', as if she hadn't said it, he would.

"Say things go wrong, and we need to cast a curse or two," started Mr. Weasley calmly, the first time he had opened his mouth since his wife bit Sirius' head off, "Another underage wizard, or witch, will only give the Ministry all the more reason to shoot us down."

"She doesn't have the trace, she can't be detected by the Ministry," countered Xenyk from his seat beside her, his face a mask of boredom, a soldier waiting for a command.

"Every wizard was born with the trace. No exceptions," said Mr. Weasley rather confusedly, but not unkindly. Bless his warm heart, without him, the order would otherwise be a band of ridiculously hotheaded wizards and witches.

"Every vizard that survived birth was born vith the trace," mused Xenyk with a sly wink sent to the young Potter's way, which she waved away with a roll of her eyes, the corner of his mouth tugged ever so slightly. Dear Salazar, he certainly knew how to turn a tide with a sentence and tight-lipped smirk.

"She didn't have a pulse. The healers thought she didn't make it, but she did," mumbled Remus more to himself than the Order, as he recalled those many nights ago, the night his goddaughter was born and he held her as babe for the first time in his life. He studied his goddaughter in front of him, as if an answer was written on her very forehead, one that was confirmed by the older Reaper.

"And by the time she's old enough, your ministry never bothered to check if she truly has the trace."

"Bloody devil spawn," grumbled a scowling Mad Eye.