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"So that's why you gathered like-minded people?"

"That's not the only reason. Voldemort's ultimate goal is war with ordinary people. That is unacceptable. Contrary to his opinion and the opinion of his loyal and not so loyal supporters, Muggles are not defenseless at all. And you need to see the whole picture. Up to a certain point, neither Muggles nor wizards in other countries will react, but a forceful seizure of power, along with attempts to exterminate ordinary people, will bring the other magical powers and enclaves out of their self-isolation in order to crush the threat to the Statute." ​​

"But what about World War II? As far as I know, it was Grindelwald and his supporters who unleashed it."

"And unleashed it in secret. His methods were quite different and did not endanger the Statute. That's the reason he was able to get this far."

Speaking of this wizard, the headmaster darkened and seemed to have aged even more.

"Why are they taking so long..." Dumbledore looked anxiously into the night sky, trying to see something up there, above, where because of the light of the city, not a single star could be seen. "Come on, I'll take you to our headquarters. It is literally two dozen meters away. I suppose you can guess where exactly?"

"There must be one house here, which, for some reason, is not there."

"Yes, exactly. Follow me."

Rising from the bench following the headmaster, I walked with him to the road across which stood the very brick houses, the walls of which seemed to be covered with soot and were no longer red in color.

"Here," the headmaster held out a note to me. "Read and remember, Mr. Knight."

Unfolding the note, I read, "The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at 7 Camberwell Street."

As soon as I read those lines and remembered them, the space between the two houses seemed to open up, revealing to me a previously unseen house of the same red brick. As in the house on Grimmauld on the day of my first visit, the walls of this building were slightly darker, the white paint of the window frames peeled off in many places, and the glass itself was almost black with a layer of soot. Kreacher has fixed a lot of things now, and the house on Grimmauld looks decent even from the outside, although only I can see it, and the old house-elf himself.

"See, Mr. Knight?"

"Yes, I can see it perfectly."

"Then, let's go inside."

We walked through the fence and up the steps of the porch. The headmaster simply turned the doorknob, but I felt the slight magical vibrations of the protection. As soon as I went inside, there was a persistent feeling of déjà vu. A dark hallway and corridor, but lighter, brownish wallpaper with much more modest monograms. They moved away from the walls in some places, and in some places, they bubbled. Because of the lighter shades, all that dirt and cobwebs in the corners was much more pronounced than it had been on Grimmauld in the past. The magic here was strange, too. It was familiar but not particularly pleasant, musty or something.

"There is still a lot of work to do," as if seeing my involuntarily twisted face, the headmaster said. "We invited Mrs. Weasley, but you know... She should at least manage her house. And it's hard without house-elves."

"I see."

The headmaster and I walked along the hallway into a small hall. The layout of the stairs and the passageways to the other rooms were different, but some echoes of the familiar layout crept subtly into my thoughts. From this hall, we went to the kitchen. The antique and solid wooden furniture had long since darkened and now only made me want to run spells over it to renew it. The room itself was large and contained two tables, albeit not as long as on Grimmauld. There were only six identical chairs, and the others seemed to have been brought in from other rooms. Near the magical semblance of a gas stove, the already familiar plump madam, Mrs. Weasley, who was already familiar to me, was actively and selflessly bustling about, dressed in a homemade yellow dress of floral motifs with an apron over it.

At the head of the table sat Sirius in a casually dressed black suit and a swamp-green elongated jacket that looked more like a coat. He has clearly improved his health a little and looks a little better than when we first met, but he is still too old for his age. He nervously twisted a glass of whiskey in his hands, where, judging by the color of the drink, there was once ice, but Sirius did not drink. He only twisted it nervously.

"Have you come already?" he jumped up hopefully, but when he saw me, he sat back down. "Not Harry ..."

"Amazing observation," I copied Snape's tone and mannerisms while also maintaining a perfect poker face. "Usually, such talents are not typical for those who like to drink a strong drink in the evening. And in the morning. And during the day. Mr. Black."

Molly Weasley spun around, holding the spatula in one hand and her wand in the other. I got a view of a lot of pots and pans, which actively exuded steam and the aroma of the cooking dinner.

"Headmaster!" the lady exclaimed joyfully, but when she saw me, she frowned. "Knight."

"Thank you for reminding me. I'd forgotten."

"Mr. Knight," the headmaster looked at me with reproach in his face but a smile in his eyes. "Enough with the sarcasm."

Obviously, petty feuds amused him. Mrs. Weasley took a deep breath and smiled again, naturally.

"You can go upstairs. There are twins and Ron. You get along well with the first ones, right?"

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," I nodded, but the headmaster interrupted our conversation.

"Mr. Knight will stay here."

"But he's still just a boy!"

"We are not discussing this, Molly."