The Divine Ascendant

Morning light slanted through the curtains of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, casting golden lines across the walls and tables. It was, for once, a peaceful day. No howling. No drama. No ominous missives or grim faces. Just the comfortable hum of life, laughter echoing from the drawing room, and for Harry, that was more than enough.

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins had all gathered there, surrounded by the delightful chaos of idle youth. The chess set was out, pawns flying as Ron swore under his breath at a particularly cunning move by Ginny.

Exploding Snap crackled in the corner, punctuated by shrieks of surprise and laughter. Fred and George were testing new prank prototypes on themselves—half of which ended in singed eyebrows or rainbow hiccups, much to Hermione's exasperated, yet amused, tutting.

Tonks passed by, her short, spiky hair a cheerful canary yellow, with a bowl of every flavor candy. She snagged a few pieces for herself with a wink at Harry before tossing the rest, rather inaccurately, into the cluster of teenagers.

For a moment, as Harry watched them, as he felt the easy warmth of their presence, it felt like they were just teenagers, oblivious and free. He allowed himself to bask in it.

The camaraderie. The friendship. The comforting mundane. It reminded him faintly, softly of what had been in his old life and of this one. Of a life that, despite its dangers, felt simpler, less burdened. It was a fleeting, cherished illusion, a brief respite from the monumental shifts in his reality.

Before he'd become a god slayer, a force unto himself, imbued with stolen divinity.

Before he'd remembered Jacob and the startling, disorienting truth of his own existence.

Before he'd realized just how small this world truly was, how narrow the perceived scope of magic, and how many terrifying layers of reality lay hidden, far beyond the understanding of even the most powerful wizards., the easy laughter around him was a precious sound, but it now carried the faint undertone of innocence he could no longer truly share.

That fleeting peace ended abruptly after lunch.

He felt it even before he saw it. Before he saw him.

The distinct creak of the front door opening resonated through the old house, and the very air seemed to shiver in recognition, growing taut with anticipation as if sensing the arrival of a pivotal player. A subtle shift in the house's atmosphere.

Albus Dumbledore had returned. His presence, even from downstairs, was like a powerful, current, subtly altering the flow of magic within Grimmauld Place.

He had to give it to the old man, he was indeed powerful and Harry never really understood how powerful until he changed. Now that he could feel magic unlike before he could tell the difference between normal wizards and the great Albus Dumbledore.

But While powerful compared to other wizards to his senses it was still lacking, powerful sure but small and insignificant.

Within minutes of his arrival, Molly Weasley began her familiar routine, ushering people out of the drawing room with an air of determined efficiency, her expression tightening with the seriousness of the impending meeting. Her usual bustling warmth was replaced by a rigid urgency.

"There will be an Order meeting shortly," she announced, her voice brooking no argument, leaving no room for discussion. "Upstairs with you all. Now."

"But we want to help!" Ginny protested, her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing with indignant defiance, mirroring the frustration her brothers felt.

"You always say it's about keeping us safe," Ron added, echoing his sister's frustration, his voice rising. "How are we supposed to know anything if you keep locking us out? We're not babies! We're old enough to fight!"

"Not up for debate, Ronald Bilius Weasley!" Molly said sternly, her eyes flashing a warning that silenced further protest. "Go. All of you. Now."

The group filed upstairs reluctantly, grumbling under their breath, their youthful desire for involvement clashing with the adults' protective secrecy.

Harry, however, moved at his own pace. He was used to being excluded by adults, but now it felt less like a slight and more like a gift, to this tiresome, ritual of no progress. Hermione huffed beside him, clearly annoyed by the forced ignorance.

"They'll never let us in on anything important," she muttered, crossing her arms, her brow furrowed in a familiar intellectual frustration.

Just then, Fred appeared, a wide, mischievous grin splitting his face, a small, strangely familiar metal object clutched in his hand. It was a long, flesh-colored string ending in a listening device.

"That's what Extendable Ears are for, dear Hermione!" he declared, holding it aloft with a flourish, his eyes gleaming. "A Weasley invention, for just such occasions!"

Within minutes, the younger members, plus a particularly curious Harry who found himself idly interested in their mischief, were camped outside the hallway vent near the dining room.

Long, string-like magical cords stretched subtly under the door, almost invisible in the dim light. The twins adjusted the knobs on their contraption with practiced ease, fine-tuning the reception while Hermione tried, and failed, not to look utterly thrilled by the illicit eavesdropping, her usual adherence to rules momentarily forgotten in the face of juicy secrets.

Then—voices, muffled at first by the wards, then clearer, began to drift through the enchanted air, the adult world's hushed secrets laid bare for their young ears.

"…and how did the meeting go, Albus?" Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep voice resonated, calm and professional, cutting through the initial background murmur.

Dumbledore's reply was even-toned, almost dismissive, belying any deeper concerns. "Productively. No need to concern yourselves unduly with ICW matters, Kingsley. Our priority remains Voldemort and the escalating conflict here in Britain. That is where our collective focus must lie."

"You're sure, Albus?" came Moody's familiar gravelly growl, thick with suspicion that few dared to ignore. "We heard rumors about some disturbance, a significant one. Something… out of the ordinary, even for these times."

Dumbledore deflected smoothly, his tone carefully modulated. "Unconfirmed whispers, Alastor. Nothing concrete that should distract us from our immediate concerns. The international magical community has its own internal complexities, best left to those directly involved. Our focus, as I said, must remain on young Harry. His behavior continues to shift from what I'm told. He hides things. Avoids questioning. His power, too, feels… different. I need to speak with him personally, and soon, to ascertain the full extent of this recent transformation."

"He's angry, Albus," Sirius Black's voice cut in, sharp with indignation, a raw edge of protective fury. "He's hurt. You can't keep blaming him for protecting himself, for pulling away when you all abandoned him to those Muggles, knowing full well what he'd endured."

"It is not blame, Sirius," Dumbledore replied, his voice softening, though with an underlying firmness that indicated the discussion was not up for debate. "It is awareness. There are things happening within Harry, things beyond what he understands, His very essence, his magic feels… changed."

A heavy pause settled over the conversation, broken only by the faint, almost rhythmic crackle of the Extendable Ears, which seemed to capture the nervous tension in the room.

Harry could see his friends turn their heads slightly at him no doubt wondering what old dumbles meant but he just kept his gaze forward.

"What about the 'weapon', Albus?" Remus Lupin's voice was quieter, more hesitant as if treading on dangerous ground. "Has anything changed regarding its… status? Is it still secure?"

"It is being watched," Dumbledore said, a hint of steel entering his tone, a subtle command that this topic was closed. "As always. Has anything changed since my departure?"

"No," Arthur Weasley replied, his voice low and dependable, relaying factual information without inflection. "Nothing. Still secure. No signs of activity near it."

Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny exchanged confused, curious looks in the hallway, their whispers barely audible.

"Weapon?" whispered Ron, his brow furrowed in bewilderment. "What weapon are they talking about? Is it some new Ministry gadget?"

Harry, however, didn't even flinch. His expression remained calm, almost detached, He already knew.

The prophecy.

The so-called weapon the Order guarded so zealously. The very thing they assumed would be the key to defeating Voldemort, the single path to salvation. As Jacob, Harry had read the books, watched the scenes unfold countless times, consumed by the narrative. He knew the precise words, the immense, almost suffocating weight they carried in Dumbledore's grand, intricate scheme.

And frankly?

It didn't matter anymore. Not to him. The prophecy was an irrelevant detail.

What use was a flimsy, ambiguous prophecy when you had already slain gods when you commanded powers that literally bent reality to your will, when the very ground pulsed with the authority of the divine you had stolen?

What use was a predetermined fate, a fate dictated by spoken words, when you could forge your own, unbound by ancient decrees, free to carve your own destiny with raw, unfiltered power?

The discussion continued, veering into veiled warnings about Voldemort's movements, about potential Death Eater raids, about the delicate dance of alliances and counter-alliances within the magical community.

All of it felt… small. Insignificant.

When the meeting finally ended, the sound of chairs scraping and feet shuffling signaled its conclusion. The kids, eager to escape their confined listening post, rushed back upstairs, pulling the Extendable Ears back with them.

Hermione turned to Harry, her eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of concern, her mind clearly buzzing with the fragments of conversation she'd overheard. "Harry, what do you think they meant by 'the weapon'? Do you know anything about it? It sounded incredibly important."

Harry smiled faintly, his eyes distant, holding a knowledge far beyond hers, a secret that transcended their world. "Not sure, but knowing Dumbledore it must be something really important."

He wasn't about to tell her something like this when he himself was not supposed to know, that would just make Dumbledore more interested in his business and frankly, he didn't want the annoyance.

Downstairs, Dumbledore lingered in the quiet dining room, the meeting over.

"I will speak with Harry," he said at last, his voice quiet but firm when he saw the protest in Molly and Sirius's eyes.

He had to know what happened to make young Harry change like this.

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