The Stormborn Chapter 36

The Order of the Phoenix had been monitoring the Granger residence for several days, with mbers taking carefully tid shifts to remain discreet.

It was on a calm, breezy afternoon that Hestia Jones first noticed him. From her vantage point across the street, partially concealed by a tall hedge, she observed the boy walking out with Hermione Granger and her mother.

The resemblance struck her like a curse. His wild black hair, the sharp jawline reminiscent of nurous photographs of Jas Potter, and then… those eyes. Stunning, bright green eyes that seed a relic from another ti—Lily Evans’ eyes. He even bore the well-known lightning bolt scar, faint but clear to anyone who recognized it.

Hestia gasped. rlin’s beard… it truly is him.

Earlier that week, Mundungus Fletcher was on watch. During a late-night tea at the Burrow, he shared his experience with the rest of the Order.

“I got on the sa bus as them,” he said, leaning in with a cheeky smile. “Figured I’d just follow them to where they were keeping the boy. Easy, right? Wrong.”

“What happened?” inquired Emline Vance.

“They got off near Inverness, right? Walked to this little park, nothing extraordinary. And then—poof! They vanished. The first ti I saw it, it was like a… star-shaped tear in the air. The second ti—blue fog, as thick as potion smoke. And the last ti… well, it was this fiery circle. It looked like they were stepping into a bonfire, but no one got burned.”

Arthur Weasley frowned. “So you’re saying they’re using… so form of advanced portkey magic?”

“Could be,” Fletcher replied, “but it doesn’t feel like portkeys. It’s smoother. More controlled. Like he’s doing it himself.”

Hestia waited for Fletcher to finish before adding her insight. “I saw sothing similar,” she noted. “Except he wasn’t using a wand. He just… traced sothing in the air. A pattern that looked like light dancing on water. Then, in an instant, he was gone. But it wasn’t apparition—it was too seamless, too silent. And… it felt ancient, like it ca from magic older than the Ministry itself.”

Her words fell over the room like a blanket.

“Are you certain he was wandless?” Minerva McGonagall asked, her keen gaze fixed on Hestia.

“As sure as I’m sitting here.”

For years, so had suggested that Harry’s defeat of Voldemort was rely a stroke of luck—more about prophecy and timing than any real talent. But now, with accumulating reports of strange portals, odd disappearances, and effortless wandless magic, the sentint among the Order was evolving.

“He’s not just living,” Hestia continued, looking around at each mber. “He’s flourishing. I’ve seen neglected children before, and this isn’t one of them. Wherever he is, he’s safe, well-nourished, confident. And powerful—rlin, is he powerful.”

McGonagall’s expression tightened. “That may be true, but it raises further questions—how did he end up there, and who is training him?”

“And,” Emline added softly, “would he even want to return?”

The mbers exchanged anxious glances. Their relief at finding him alive was intertwined with a growing urgency. The boy who lived was out there—healthy, strong, perhaps more formidable than any of them imagined—and yet entirely out of their reach.

The cool, calm night air over the Grangers’ peaceful neighborhood contrasted sharply with the turmoil in Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody's thoughts. Having served as an Auror for decades, he had witnessed generations of dark wizards rise and fall, filling half of Azkaban's cells in the process, at a cost of lost limbs, scars, and a magical eye that was always vigilant. Retirent had begun to occupy his mind, but the news of Harry Potter's disappearance jolted him back into action.

Dumbledore had instructed him to watch and not interfere, but Moody was never the type to remain idle while things were unfolding. Though he held great respect for Dumbledore, he understood the perils of inaction.

If Harry had indeed been taken, waiting would only benefit their adversaries.

Moody assembled a team that shared his mindset: his close friend and fellow veteran Remus Lupin, the unreliable yet resourceful Mundungus Fletcher, the calm and precise Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Sturgis Podmore, known for his knack for infiltrating restricted areas.

They set off at dawn, moving stealthily around the wards of the Granger residence like predatory wolves. Moody ensured that Hermione was inside—if she weren't, their mission would be in vain.

Kingsley cast a spell that forced the front door open. Moody’s commanding voice echoed through the hallway.

“Everyone stay in place!”

Mrs. Granger froze in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a half-filled cup of tea. Hermione stood next to her, startled but already reaching for the locket around her neck. Mr. Granger hurried in from the hallway, his face pale.

Kingsley stepped forward with his wand drawn. “We need to ask you so questions about Harry Potter.”

Hermione imdiately stiffened. “You an interrogate us. Without justification.”

Moody's magical eye locked onto her. “We have enough reason, girl. You’ve been spotted with him. Nobody knows where he resides. It looks like you’re concealing sothing—or soone.”

Mrs. Granger's voice shook yet remained composed. “You have no right to barge into our ho like this.”

“Perhaps not in the Muggle world,” Moody growled, “but in ours—”

“In ours,” Hermione interjected, “you have even less authority. I know the law. Without a warrant from the Departnt of Magical Law Enforcent, this is harassnt. And to inform you, I know the law and I can't be questioned without my magical guardian. And I have a magical guardian.”

She clutched her locket tightly, keeping her gaze fixed on Moody’s scarred face. “Help!” she called out forcefully.

Suddenly, the air in the living room split with a sharp crack, and a star-shaped portal burst open, flooding the room with golden light.

Out stepped Lily Potter.

Her hair burned bright like fire, her wand already in hand, and her expression filled with wrath.

Moody, ever vigilant, was the first to act.

A red beam shot from his wand, only to be easily deflected by Lily with a casual flick.

Chaos soon ensued. Kingsley attempted to flank her but was hit by a silent disarming spell that sent his wand flying. Sturgis tried to stun her but collapsed monts later under a binding curse. Mundungus was pulled back by unseen chains before he could reach the door.

One by one, they were subdued.

Only Remus remained upright, his wand lowered and eyes wide in disbelief.

“Lily?” he asked softly, almost shattered. “Is it really you?”

She turned to him, her expression softening for the first ti.

“Hello, Remus,” she replied, her voice carrying volus of shared history. “Long ti no see.”

As all the mber of the Order stepped into the Grangers' ho, after sensing a fight, a palpable tension filled the air.

Mad-Eye Moody and three others were bound with thick, glowing ropes adorned with runic seals, their wands cast aside. Moody's magical eye was spinning erratically, struggling to focus. Nearby, Remus Lupin appeared pale, as if he had encountered a ghost.

Then Albus Dumbledore arrived, his robes sweeping gently, displaying a calm deanor alongside a calculating look in his eyes. Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape followed closely behind.

Dumbledore halted, his gaze fixating on the woman in the room's center—her familiar erald eyes and long red hair belonging to a face he never thought he would see again.

“Lily…” His voice wavered, though he quickly aid his wand directly at her heart. “No. You can't be Lily. I witnessed her death. I was there at her burial.”

Snape instinctively reached for his wand, but as he did, it shimred and transford into a large green frog that leapt away, disappearing into a corner.

“Hello, Severus,” the woman said, her voice smooth yet carrying a sharp edge.

With a simple wave of her hand, the Grangers’ modest living room transford into a spacious hall, the furniture resizing to accommodate the change; the couch extended enough to seat several people. She sat down gracefully, inviting them to join her.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. “I know you are not Lily. She wouldn’t have the power to do that wandlessly.”

Lily offered a faint smile. “I didn’t co here to prove my identity or my past. I’m here to understand why you attacked my ward.”

Whispers circulated among the group.

A middle-aged witch from the Order spoke up, “We’re here to find out what happened to Harry Potter.”

Her expression turned icy. “Why do you care where Harry resides? None of you are his kin. Where he lives and what he does is none of your concern.”

Dumbledore stepped forward, his voice tense. “It is my concern. I am his magical guardian.”

Her eyes flashed with intensity. “You are not Harry’s magical guardian. He is not Muggle-born; he is a half-blood, part of a noble family. In our world, it is the family that selects the guardians of their children, not the Wizengamot.”

Dumbledore’s jaw clenched as he regarded her warily in silence.

“We all know you’re not Lily,” he eventually said. “You have no right to assu her likeness or take Harry wherever you wish.”

Leaning forward, she spoke in a low, nacing tone. “Did you have the right to take Harry wherever you liked? Jas and I left a will designating where our son was to go after we died. You disregarded it and chose your own arrangent.”

For the first ti, Dumbledore appeared disturbed. He sank into the couch, breathing heavier.

A witch clad in dark blue robes whispered, “If you truly are Lily… why the hostility? We were once friends.”

Lily’s deanor hardened. “My son spent six years in an abusive household after my supposed death. Six years… and not one of my supposed friends bothered to check on him. And you expect to be friendly?”

An uncomfortable silence enveloped the room.

Finally, Lily broke the silence. “Five of you. This coming Sunday. I will allow exactly five mbers of your Order to co to my ho to see that Harry is safe and well. But until then, leave the Grangers alone. No more disturbances.”

Her conditions were non-negotiable, and her tone made this abundantly clear. One by one, the mbers of the Order departed, Dumbledore among them—his expression unreadable.

Wanda crossed through the sparkling star-shaped portal into the inviting warmth of the Highlands manor’s drawing room. The sound of her boots softly tapping on the polished wooden floor signaled her arrival, where she discovered Harry and Sirius sitting by the large fireplace, flas flickering lazily. Harry imdiately sensed her tension and looked up.

“You’re back,” he said, putting his book aside. “What happened?”

Removing her gloves, Wanda offered him a faint, serious smile. “The Order tried to intimidate the Grangers—Moody, Kingsley, and a few others were involved. It didn’t turn out as they intended.”

Sirius, who had been casually reclining with a cup of tea, straightened up. “rlin’s beard! Tell you didn’t go easy on them.”

“I didn’t,” Wanda replied matter-of-factly. Then her tone softened. “But they will keep trying, Harry. I think it’s crucial for you to know who they are.”

She tapped the chain around her neck, and a small vial of swirling silver-blue mist materialized in her hand. “I retrieved this from my mory—the mont they confronted the Grangers.”

Sirius’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Great idea. We’ll use the Pensieve.” He got up to fetch the shallow stone basin from the corner cabinet, the runes along its edge glowing softly as he placed it on the table between them.

Harry leaned in, his curiosity piqued. “You want to view it?”

“Yes,” Wanda replied decisively. “You need to recognize them at a glance. If they ever try to grab you, you’ll know who they are for sure.”

Sirius deposited her mory into the Pensieve. The silvery surface swirled, mirroring the flickering firelight. “Before we begin,” he said, “I’ll show you so of my own mories from my ti with the Order in the first war. This way, you can understand their patterns and tactics.”

Harry smiled slightly. “It’s like howork, but with moving images.”

“Consider it survival training,” Sirius replied with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

One by one, they leaned into the Pensieve, diving into a whirlwind of mories—Moody barking orders in a somber safehouse, Kingsley conversing quietly with Dumbledore, Sturgis struggling with a tracking spell, and Fletcher pocketing sothing he shouldn’t have.

Harry absorbed every detail—their faces, voices, and habits—as they eventually reerged into the calm room. The soft popping of the fire filled the silence.

“Well?” Sirius prompted.

Harry’s expression was contemplative, almost ominous. “If they co for … I’ll be ready.”

Wanda and Sirius exchanged a look; it was precisely the response they had hoped for.