The walk through the darkened streets stretched longer than any of them expected, and Harry couldn’t hold the question in anymore.

"Professor — who exactly are we meeting?"

Dumbledore didn’t answer at once. His pace never slowed, his gaze fixed forward, as if the question was expected — as if the answer had already been rehearsed.

"You’ll see soon enough, Harry," he said, voice light, but not without weight. "An old... acquaintance. Someone we’ve needed for quite some time."

Hermione exchanged a glance with Ron, frowning. "Acquaintance? Are they an Order member?"

"Not yet," Remus cut in gently, walking a few steps behind Dumbledore. "But they should have been, long ago."

Ron shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. "So why weren't they?"

Sirius let out a short, humorless laugh. "Because some people don’t like being part of anyone's army. Doesn't mean they aren't dangerous in their own right."

The conversation hung heavy in the air after that. Whatever name was being held back clearly carried history, and not the pleasant kind.

When the group finally stopped, Harry looked up at the door — plain, unmarked, giving away nothing. Dumbledore stood still for a long moment, studying it as though it might speak first.

"They’re not the sort who enjoys company," he said at last. "And they rarely choose sides. But this time, the war isn’t going to give them the luxury of staying out of it."

Dumbledore then knocked on the door