The air in Grimmauld Place was heavy with tension. The flickering candlelight was the only sound filling the dim parlor where the Order had gathered. The students were on break, filling the house with chatter, but one presence silenced most of them.

Feared. Respected. Their reputation was well known—someone whose past was as dark as it was deadly. A member of the Order, but not someone you approached lightly. Even some of the strongest witches and wizards in the room couldn’t mask their unease.

Sirius leaned against a wall, eyeing the corner where they sat, a figure of quiet intimidation. Kingsley broke the silence. "Do we have a plan for the next move?"

"Does it even matter?" Tonks remarked, her eyes flicking to them. "We all know who’s likely to get it done when the time comes."

Her words were casual, but everyone knew she wasn’t wrong.

The students, near the fireplace, exchanged wary glances. Harry couldn’t help but wonder if he was the only one who felt the shift in the room. The adults seemed tense, speaking in low voices, careful not to draw attention to themselves. It was as if they had cast an unspoken command over the room, making every decision feel like a potential landmine.

"Don’t get any ideas, kid," Sirius muttered, noticing Harry’s unease. "You’ve never seen them in action."

"You don’t want to," Remus added softly. "The battlefield is different when they’re involved."

The students fell silent. The room’s mood shifted. Eyes turned to them as they subtly motioned to end the conversation, their presence enough to command the attention of every person in the room.

It was clear: they weren’t just waiting for the next move. They were waiting for their move