Chapter 321: The Order

The issue of how strictly or leniently the Statute of Secrecy should be enforced sparked considerable discussion among students, and the debate was growing increasingly intense.

At Saturday's breakfast, Harry heard a crowd discussing it—arguments included "students' magical ability is inherently limited, while adults can more easily cast advanced spells," "most students are at school, while some adults live long-term in the Muggle world," and "since there's a team to reverse accidental magic incidents, off-campus magic shouldn't be punished so harshly," and so on—all angles defending the students.

Not bad at all, Harry thought as he sipped his oatmeal; if this could evolve into a "students versus arrogant adults" conflict, it might even strengthen unity among students. Moreover, "off-campus magic" was truly a trivial matter concerning the Statute of Secrecy—no matter the outcome, it wouldn't have major consequences.

With this relaxed mindset, Harry finished a little homework and set off for the Three Broomsticks. As expected, the Ministry would send a special envoy today to handle negotiations. Both the negotiations and the reception had been planned before Christmas, but all three parties had wanted a relatively peaceful holiday, so the matter had been postponed until now.

Sirius grinned broadly when he saw Harry.

"The Focal Rainbow has already begun construction," he whispered. "This is a crucial step—we'll soon establish real deterrence. I believe we can wait a year or two."

"Yes, but," Harry shrugged, "Snape seems ready to end it all immediately."

"True, he's focused on resolving internal issues," Sirius nodded. "But we all know the enemy isn't just inside."

Harry enthusiastically praised Sirius's long-term vision, refusing to admit that Snape was more skilled or clever than himself or his godfather.

The two chatted over their meal, then headed to the Hog's Head for the meeting. This gathering was held at the Hog's Head because the Order still didn't want the Ministry to know their true secret meeting place. Besides, since Kleist became the bartender, the quality of food and drink at the Hog's Head had improved dramatically.

When Harry arrived with his godfather, he was startled: the Hog's Head was now clean and bright, the air faintly scented with oak, the bar counter refurbished and coated in transparent lacquer, no more splinters showing.

Kleist wore a white shirt and black vest, clearly dressed as a bartender, while Albus Dumbledore's brother sat at the bar, watching him manipulate a peculiarly shaped cocktail glass.

Harry noticed that Albus Dumbledore's brother seemed thinner after his long absence; his expression was slightly melancholic, staring blankly at Kleist's movements.

"Phew, Albus," a heavy voice came from the door. "Still not back on your feet? What are you brooding about?"

"I can't believe it," he said in a low voice. "Albus really did it."

Harry tightened his lips. He saw Kleist still cutting lemons as if no one else existed, and he stayed silent. Besides, this was exactly Dumbledore's consistent approach: when he refused to reveal the truth but wouldn't lie, he chose silence and concealment.

"It's just a contingency," Dawlish tried to comfort him. "To face extraordinary enemies, we must use extraordinary measures—sometimes we must do things we dislike, isn't that right? All for the greater good—"

"Don't say that phrase!" Albus Dumbledore's brother suddenly erupted, then slumped back, clutching his head, voice filled with pain and despair. "That's what he always said… that summer…"

Kleist finished mixing a drink and placed it before him.

"A Margarita," Sirius murmured. "The cocktail that best represents sorrow and melancholy. This one is specially made for Albus Dumbledore's brother and all he has lost."

"Not really," Kleist smiled awkwardly. "I only know how to make this one."

"Gentlemen, I hope I'm not late," a stout Black man squeezed in, slightly easing the tension; Kingsley followed behind Dawlish and nodded to everyone.

After they sat beside Harry, Kleist brought four glasses of butterbeer and a small basket of fried chicken.

Dawlish seemed fascinated by Harry and chattered endlessly about Muggle pop culture. Harry didn't fully understand, but he was willing to listen; they exchanged idle remarks until all members arrived, seated, and each received their drink.

"Alright, friends," Dawlish said. "We're pleased to announce that the Ministry has assigned us a consultant who will provide political support. Welcome, Mr. Frank Wetherby!"

"It's Ethelby," a handsome, kind-faced young man stood up and immediately corrected Dawlish's mistake.

"Oh, sorry," Dawlish said sincerely. "Anyway, Mr. Ethelby will help us articulate and convey the Order's principles. If possible, we'll persuade the Death Eaters to abandon their prejudices and recognize their errors."

Dawlish's words undoubtedly soothed the radicals' emotions. But if we begin negotiations from such a moral high ground, the talks won't be easy.

"Wow, does this mean," Emmeline said happily, "the Ministry can order the Death Eaters to surrender all Horcruxes and face proper punishment?"

"We can convey that demand," Frank said diplomatically. "But I doubt they'll agree easily."

"We can't just beg them to surrender—or rather, we must leave them some room," Dawlish seemed unwilling to mention Dumbledore's Horcruxes within the Order. "We might allow them, say, not to be sent to Azkaban, or to keep their property."

"We never wanted their property," Emmeline said, confused.

Dawlish took a deep breath, glanced meaningfully at Frank, then said: "Of course, we don't care whether to seize their property. Our most important demand is that they surrender all Horcruxes for unified destruction. And from now on, no one may commit crimes in Voldemort's name again."

"If allowing them to keep their property helps secure this negotiation, then we should allow it," Dawlish added.

"So," Frank summarized, "we must draw a clear, definitive end to Voldemort's dark era—and to do so, we permit Death Eaters who voluntarily surrender Horcruxes to avoid retribution."

"That's wrong!" Dedalus immediately shrieked. "If we let them escape punishment just to get the Horcruxes, it's unfair to those they murdered!"

"But if we refuse negotiation and go to war, they might kill even more people—and many of us here could die," Kingsley said helplessly.

Moody, wearing sunglasses, remained silent; no one could read his expression.

"I think the core issue isn't the Horcruxes," Lupin said rationally. "If we let Death Eaters go free, even without the Dark Lord, they'll still persecute Muggles and Muggle-borns."

"No, the core issue is precisely the Horcruxes," Dawlish countered. "It was the Dark Lord who gave them the courage to commit atrocities."

Harry snapped awake—he knew Horcruxes couldn't revive Voldemort, but to maintain Britain's deterrence against the Soviet Union, he still claimed they could.

Indeed, since the end of his fourth year, Yanayev seemed to have turned his attention back inward, cracking down on dissidents. Harry didn't know how much of this benefited from his lie, but many analyses suggested Yanayev's other goal was using Chechen rebels to train his wizarding forces. In other words, he had already organized a disciplined wizarding army; if the Ministry, now short on personnel, exposed the Horcruxes as a bluff, it would be extremely dangerous for the entire British magical world.

Harry couldn't imagine how chaotic it would be if the Order and Death Eaters were forced to unite against Soviet wizards—or how he could guarantee victory, especially since the Order didn't fully obey him.

The Sword of Damocles of cold war turning hot hung overhead; Harry now had to speak up: "I think we should change our approach—allow Death Eaters to keep their Horcruxes."

"As long as the ring remains in our hands, they can't revive Voldemort," Harry clarified his logic. "And as long as they can't revive Voldemort, they won't truly have the courage to commit atrocities."

"We can monitor them. If they promise not to persecute Muggles or Muggle-borns, we let them remain as they are," Harry's thoughts were clearing. "But if we find any illegal acts, we punish them immediately."

"Good thinking," Dawlish agreed graciously. "But what leverage do we have? What does 'immediate punishment' mean—we have no real threat to scare them. To Death Eaters, it's just returning to the current situation."

"We do," Harry wanted to say: we can threaten them with Dumbledore's resurrection. But he knew Dawlish didn't want the Order to know—perhaps he himself knew it was a lie. "Dumbledore left me a secret."

"Ah, yes, I know about that," Dawlish immediately brushed past the topic vaguely. "Excellent, Harry, your thinking is brilliant. We'll use that secret against them."

"Frank, after the meeting, let's talk privately with Harry," Dawlish scanned the room. "It's Dumbledore's secret. I don't want too many people to know."

"Hmph!" Albus Dumbledore's brother snorted angrily and left the meeting on his own.