Proactive

July 1st, 1993, 3:30 PM, Twelve Grimmauld Place

Adam Clarke

Twenty feet away, a white circle had been drawn in chalk on the floor— my target. I closed my eyes, remembering my research on Apparition. I kept in mind the three D’s: Destination, Determination, and Deliberation. 

My fingers tightened around my wand. I took a deep breath, visualizing the circle. The trick wasn’t just seeing where you wanted to go— it was about feeling it, knowing it would happen. Determination flooded through me as I turned on the spot.

The familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tube consumed me. For a split second, there was nothing but pressure and darkness. Then my feet hit solid ground, and I opened my eyes.

Two feet to the left of the circle. Better than yesterday, but still not good enough.

“Come on.” I muttered to myself, wiping sweat from my forehead. The increased exertion was getting to me, but I couldn’t stop. Not when everything was so chaotic out there.

I Apparated back to my starting position. This time, I tried to focus even harder on the exact center of the circle. The thought of McGonagall’s offer to train me pushed me forward. I had to keep progressing, so that I could actually put her training to use when it mattered.

Crack!

One foot outside the circle. Closer.

Again and again I tried, each attempt bringing me slightly nearer to my goal. An hour passed as I practiced, and my shirt began to stick to my back with sweat. My breathing grew heavier, but I pressed on.

On my fifteenth attempt, I finally landed dead center in the circle. A grin spread across my face, but I knew one success wasn’t enough. I needed consistency.

The next few attempts were a mixed bag. Sometimes I hit the mark perfectly, other times I was off by varying degrees. It was frustrating, but I could feel myself improving. The sensation of Apparition was becoming more familiar, less jarring with each try.

My mind wandered to Absol as I prepared for another attempt. She had been fully recovered from the ordeal in the Forbidden Forest for a good while, though the memory of finding her surrounded by those Castelobruxo wizards still made my blood boil.

I stopped for a moment, allowed myself to feel that emotion before calming myself down before focusing on my next Apparition.

Crack!

Perfect center again. The satisfaction was immediate, but brief. Two successful attempts didn’t make me an expert. I needed to keep—

A wave of dizziness suddenly hit me, and I stumbled slightly. Perhaps I’d been pushing myself too hard. Memories of the conversations with my adopted family surfaced— their concerned faces as they told me I needed to find balance, to not let my training consume me entirely.

Sighing, I lowered myself onto the floor. They were right, of course. Even though every fiber of my being wanted to keep practicing until I could do it flawlessly, I knew better than to exhaust myself completely. I’d learned that lesson the hard way more than once.

As I sat there catching my breath, I noticed the lengthening shadows around me. I’d been at this for hours. My muscles ached, and my head felt slightly fuzzy from the constant displacement of Apparition. Still, I couldn’t help but feel satisfied with the progress I’d made.

The sound of approaching footsteps made me look up, expecting to see one of my family members coming to call me in for dinner. Instead, I saw the distinctive figure of Kreacher, holding what appeared to be a letter in his gnarled hands.

“Master Adam.” Kreacher bowed low, his bat-like ears nearly touching the ground. “A letter has arrived for you from Miss Li.”

My fatigue momentarily forgotten, I sat up straighter. Su hadn’t written in a few weeks. The envelope Kreacher held out was made of simple white paper rather than the usual parchment, likely bought from a Muggle store.

A letter traveling normal channels? How odd. Then again, wizards likely wouldn’t check that— at least, I don’t think they would.

Still, it was a little odd; why would she be sending me anything using Muggle materials?

“Thank you, Kreacher.” I said, taking the letter. The House Elf remained where he was, apparently waiting to see if I needed to send a reply.

I broke the seal and unfolded the letter. Su’s normally precise handwriting seemed a bit shaky, though she’d clearly tried to maintain her usual neat style. The ink was black rather than her preferred blue— another sign that things weren’t quite normal.

Dear Adam,

I hope this letter finds you well. Mum says I should start with pleasantries, but I know you prefer when I’m direct. This summer has been… different.

Mother’s been trying her best to keep things normal. We’ve visited the British Museum twice already (you know how she loves the Egyptian section), and she’s been teaching me a few Chinese traditions. She says it’s important to know where we come from, even if we’ve lived here for generations.

But I can’t pretend everything’s fine. People look at us differently now. Mrs. Henderson from the corner shop, who used to always give me free sweets, barely speaks to us anymore.

We went to Diagon Alley for some basic supplies last week, and the whispers followed us everywhere. A witch actually pulled her children away when we passed by, as if we were carrying some sort of disease. As if we had anything to do with Longling’s choices.

I keep telling myself that it will get better, that people will eventually remember that we’ve been part of the British magical community for decades. That my grandparents resisted against You-Know-Who’s rule in the first war.

But some days it’s hard to believe that.

I miss Hogwarts. I miss our study sessions in the library. I even miss your stupid jokes during Potions class.

Please tell me about your summer. I could use some normal friend things to think about.

Your friend (I hope still),

Su

I read the letter twice more, my hands tightening on the paper until I realized I was in danger of tearing it. The matter-of-fact way Su described the discrimination she was facing made it somehow worse than if she’d written an angry rant. This wasn’t the passionate, academically competitive Su I knew. This was someone who was being worn down, day by day, by other people’s ignorance and fear.

The frustration I’d felt earlier during Apparition practice was nothing compared to the blood chilling fury that coursed through me now. Su was one of the brightest witches in our year, someone who had fought alongside everyone else during Grindelwald’s attack. She’d helped evacuate the students and despite being very young, held her ground against adult wizards, and this was how people repaid her?

I looked down at the letter again, noticing a small water stain near the bottom of the page. It was a tear mark, hastily wiped away. Su, who prided herself on her composure, had cried while writing this.

That decided it. I needed to write back immediately.

“Come up when I call for you again, Kreacher. I’ll have a task for you.”

“Of course, Master.”

I pushed myself up from the floor, letter still clutched in my hand, and headed up the stairs towards my room. My mind was already composing responses, discarding ones that seemed too trite or wouldn’t address the real issues Su was facing. Empty platitudes wouldn’t help her right now.

In my room, I sat at my desk and dug through my drawers until I found the blank sheets of paper. It wasn’t long before I began to write:

Dear Su,

I started writing, then immediately vanished it away with my wand. “Too formal.”

Frowning, I tried once again.

Su,

First off, you’re not just “still” my friend. You’re one of my best friends, and that’s not going to change because some ignorant people can’t see past their own prejudices. I don’t care if your ancestors came from China or Mars— you’re Su Li, the girl who made Tony spurt milk out of his nose in our first year because he was being an insufferable nerd, the same person who helped me through quite a few things that I thought I couldn’t take on.

I paused, tapping my pen against the desk. The words were flowing easily now, driven by my need to make her understand that she wasn’t alone.

My summer’s been a mix of training and trying not to train too much, if that makes sense. The family’s been on my case about finding better balance. You’d probably agree with them— I can almost hear you lecturing me about the importance of proper rest for magical recovery.

I’ve been practicing everything I can. I’m getting better. McGonagall’s offered to train me, which is both exciting and terrifying. Remember when we speculated about what it would be like to be taught by her one-on-one? Well, I guess I’m about to find out.

But enough about me. What’s happening to you and your mother— it’s wrong. Completely, utterly wrong. And you shouldn’t have to just endure it. As for Mrs. Henderson and the others— they’re afraid, and they’re choosing to be stupid about it. But their stupidity isn’t your burden to bear. You and your family have proven your loyalty to Britain a thousand times over. Anyone who can’t see that is choosing not to look.

I know these words won’t fix anything. I wish I could do more than just write a letter. But I want you to know that you’re not alone. You’ve got friends who know who you really are, who are proud to stand beside you.

And if anyone gives you trouble in Diagon Alley again, let me know. I’ve been practicing some interesting new hexes that need testing.

Thinking of you fondly, my friend.

Your friend,

Adam

P.S. My jokes are great! I’ll fight you!

I read over the letter twice, adding and adjusting bits here and there. The post-script had been a last-minute addition, but I hoped it would make Su a smile.

The letter wasn’t perfect. No letter could be, given the situation. But I hoped it would remind Su that she had people in her corner, that she wasn’t facing this alone.

Now for the other message I needed to send.

I pulled out another piece of paper, this one much smaller. The message to Snape needed to be brief and clear. After everything that had happened, I knew he wouldn’t appreciate any beating around the bush.

To the shadow of the lily,

Meet at the place where screams abound, frightening many hogs. There is much to discuss indeed.

Signed,

Z

Short and to the point. Snape appreciated efficiency. After our misadventures together, I wouldn’t waste his time with trivialities.

“Kreacher.” I called softly, and the House Elf appeared with a crack.

“Yes, Master?” His large eyes looked at the papers in my hand with interest.

“I have two messages that need to be delivered.” I held up Su’s letter first. “This one goes to Su Li. Please make sure she receives it personally, not through her mother or anyone else.”

Kreacher took the letter carefully, tucking it into his tea towel with a gentle pat. Despite his sometimes gruff demeanor, he’d always shown remarkable care when handling communications between friends.

“And this one.” I held up the smaller note. “Needs to go to Professor Snape. Again, directly to him, please. No one else should see it.”

“Kreacher understands. Personal delivery only.” He took the second note with equal care. “Will Young Master be requiring anything else?”

I shook my head. “No, thank you, Kreacher. That will be all.”

With another crack, he disappeared, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The sun was setting now, painting my room in shades of orange and gold. Tomorrow at this time, I’d hopefully be getting some answers from Snape. There were things to consider about our plans that still didn’t add up, details that had been bothering me for weeks.

But for now, I could only hope that my letter would bring some comfort to Su. I walked to the window, watching the last rays of sunlight fade. Somewhere out there, Grindelwald and people like him were planning their next moves. The magical world had been shaken to its very core, breeding suspicion and fear.

And caught in the middle of it all were people like Su and her mother, paying the price for others’ actions.

I touched my wand, thinking of my earlier Apparition practice. I needed to be ready for whatever came next. Not just for my own sake, but for everyone who was counting on us to make things right again.

The sky darkened to purple, then to deep blue. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, but for now, I had done what I could. Now, I rest.

I left my room, my mind still on Su’s letter, but knowing I needed a distraction. The sound of shuffling cards led me to Harry’s room, where I found my adopted brother sprawled on his bed, practicing that Muggle card trick Tony had taught him in our last week at Hogwarts.

“Still haven’t mastered it?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Harry looked up, cards spilling everywhere. “It’s harder than it looks! Want to help me practice?”

“Sure.” I moved to sit cross-legged on the bed, gathering the scattered cards. “Though I’m rubbish at tricks. Unless you’d like me to use my wand…”

“No thanks.” Harry grinned. “I want to figure this out properly. No shortcuts.”

Shortcuts, huh…? I thought for a moment before nodding. “Have it your way, kid.”

“We’re the same age!”

We spent the next half hour with Harry attempting to perform the trick and me failing spectacularly at guessing the right card. It was nice, this simple moment of normalcy. But there was something I needed to say first.

“Harry.” I began, setting down the cards. “I’ve been a bit of a prat lately.”

“A bit?” Harry raised an eyebrow, but his smile took the sting out of it.

“Alright, a massive prat.” I admitted. “All this training and preparing… I’ve been obsessed. Haven’t been much of a brother lately.”

“Apology accepted.” Harry said immediately, shuffling the cards again.

I blinked, thrown by his quick response. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He paused his shuffling, looking at me directly. “Though I have to say, your Apparition practice is getting better. That landing in your room yesterday was almost perfect.”

“You saw that?” I felt my face heat up. Then his words fully registered. “Wait, how do you know  I’ve been practicing…?”

“One does not tell one’s secrets so easily…” Harry’s innocent expression wouldn’t have fooled a first-year. “Now that you mention it, though… I’ll tell you if, well… I was thinking maybe you could teach me, too?”

“Absolutely not.” The words came out automatically.

“Come on!” Harry protested, standing up.

“You’re already practicing. And you’re brilliant at it now. Well, mostly brilliant.” He added with a smirk.

“It’s dangerous, Harry. If something goes wrong—”

“Then I’ll have you there to help.” He countered. “Better than trying to learn on my own, right?”

I groaned, recognizing the determined look in his eyes. It was the same one he got before doing something either brilliant or monumentally stupid. Usually both.

“Fine.” I conceded. “But we’re starting with theory first. And if I think it’s too risky—”

“Then you’ll call it off and I’ll listen.” Harry finished. “Deal.”

Before I could respond, a familiar bark-like laugh echoed from the doorway. Sirius stood there with Remus, both looking entirely too amused.

“Teaching Harry to Apparate?” Sirius grinned. “I seem to recall another pair of friends having similar secret practice sessions.”

“Which ended with one of them splinching off his eyebrows.” Remus added dryly.

“That was one time, Moony!” 

“One memorable time.” Remus corrected, entering the room fully. He conjured comfortable chairs for himself and Sirius. “Though I suppose supervised practice isn’t the worst idea.”

“Especially with how things are now.” Sirius added, his expression growing serious for a moment before brightening again. “But enough of that! Who’s up for Exploding Snap?”

I stared at them for a moment, shocked that they all had known about my practice. I sighed. I suppose I am not nearly as sneaky as I think I am…

What started as a simple card game evolved into an evening of stories, laughter, and increasingly ridiculous challenges. Sirius demonstrated his own card tricks— definitely magical, despite his claims otherwise— while Remus shared tales of the Marauders’ more memorable mishaps. Harry and I traded playful insults and attempted to out-cheat each other at every game we tried.

It was exactly what I needed, though I hadn’t known it until then.

“Remember that time James tried to charm his hair to lie flat?” Sirius was saying, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Ended up with it growing straight up instead!”

“Like father, like son.” Remus chuckled, glancing at Harry’s perpetually messy hair. “Though at least Harry’s never tried to charm his.”

“Actually…” Harry started, then quickly shut his mouth.

I nearly choked on my Butterbeer. “When was this?”

“Last Christmas.” Harry mumbled, his face reddening. “Around the Yule Ball. It… didn’t go well.”

“Didn’t go well?” I grinned. “Now this I have to hear.”

Harry threw a cushion at my head, which I caught easily. “At least I didn’t try to learn to dance to impress a ghost!”

“…Fair enough, but I like Helena!” I protested, even as Sirius howled with laughter. “Besides, none of that was as ridiculous as Ron trying to learn a French accent to impress Fleur.”

“Oh, he did do that, didn’t he?” Harry said with a smirk.

“Zat is a very interesting theory about ze Goblin Rebellion.” He mimicked, causing Remus to spray his tea across the room.

A wave of laughter rang across the room, and somehow a pillow found its way to crash into Sirius’ head.

“Right, that’s it.” Sirius said over our laughter and grabbed another cushion. Soon the room devolved into an all-out pillow war, with Sirius and Remus taking opposite sides.

“Take that, you mangy mutt!” Remus called, landing a perfect hit on Sirius’s face.

“Ooof!”

“Harry, now!” Remus called out as Harry struck Sirius from behind.

“Betrayal!” Sirius gasped dramatically, falling backward onto Harry’s bed. “My own Prongs Jr., turning against me!”

The battle raged until we were all breathless and covered in feathers from a particularly well-aimed Rupturing Charm that had caught one of the pillows. Remus repaired it with a lazy flick of his wand, but left the feathers floating around the room, creating what looked like indoor snow.

“We should do this more often.” Sirius said, still lying on his back and watching the feathers drift down. “Family nights, I mean.”

“We should.” Remus agreed softly. “Merlin knows we all need the break sometimes.”

I caught Harry’s eye and saw my own contentment reflected there. This was what home felt like. Not just the place, but the people, the laughter, the shared moments that seemed insignificant but somehow meant everything.

“It’s getting late.” Remus noted, glancing at his watch. “And some of us have Apparition practice tomorrow, apparently.”

“Some unauthorized Apparition practice.” Sirius added with a wink.

“Which we know nothing about.” Remus finished smoothly. “Just like Minerva knew nothing about certain animagus practices in our day.”

We took the hint and started cleaning up the room, though Sirius insisted on leaving one feather stuck to the ceiling “for posterity.” Harry was still grinning as we said our goodnights, and I could hear Sirius and Remus’s playful bickering fade down the hallway.

Back in my own room, I changed into my pajamas, my muscles pleasantly tired from the evening’s antics. The moon cast strange shadows through my window as I sat on the edge of my bed, ready for a good night’s sleep.

Sadly, that was not to be.

Crack!

“Master Adam.” Kreacher’s voice made me jump. “Professor Snape says he will meet you now.”

“…Now?” I stared at the House Elf in disbelief. “It’s nearly midnight!”

“Professor Snape was most insistent.” Kreacher replied, his ears twitching slightly. “He awaits you at the Shrieking Shack.”

I stared at Kreacher for a moment before sighing.

“So much for a peaceful night’s sleep.” I muttered under my breath as I moved to my trunk, fishing out the vial of Wideye Potion I kept for emergencies. The purple liquid gleamed in the moonlight as I uncorked it.

“Of course he’d choose the middle of the damn night.” I grumbled, downing the potion in one gulp. The effect was immediate— the fog of sleepiness vanished, replaced by sharp clarity. Every shadow in my room seemed suddenly more defined, every sound more distinct.

But alertness wasn’t enough. If there was one thing I’d learned over the past year, it was that you couldn’t be too careful. I reached back into my trunk, retrieving several vials of Wiggenweld Potion and a general antidote. After the battle at Hogwarts, I’d taken to keeping healing Potions close at hand.

Paranoid? Maybe. But paranoia had kept me alive more than once.

As I secured the vials in my robes, I considered the situation. Snape wouldn’t harm me— probably. Our interests were aligned, as he needed my knowledge and power to realize his ambition of bringing back the love of his life. Something about this midnight meeting felt off, though.

Still, if Snape had wanted to harm me, he had plenty of better opportunities than this. Which meant he had a reason for all the cloak-and-dagger business. That thought wasn’t particularly comforting.

I gripped my wand tightly, ensuring it was easily accessible in my pocket as I focused on my destination.

I haven’t mastered it, but there’s no time like the present, huh?

The abandoned street in Hogsmeade near the Shrieking Shack was clear in my mind— the crooked lampposts casting pools of dim light, the empty shop fronts, the worn cobblestones leading up the hill to where the infamous building stood. I turned on the spot, embracing the familiar compression of Apparition.

The crack of my arrival echoed off the shuttered buildings of Hogsmeade. I opened my eyes to find myself exactly where I’d intended, at the corner where the main street began its winding path up toward the Shrieking Shack.

Above me, the Moon hung like a cruel joke— a perfect crescent, its curve sharp as a scythe against the star-studded sky. How fitting, I thought, for a midnight meeting with Hogwarts’ most feared professor.

The village was quiet at this hour with a few exceptions. The Three Broomsticks was still relatively bright compared to the surrounding buildings, which had closed up for the night. I spotted a few people exiting and quickly went on my way.

As I started up the path toward the Shack, my mind ran through every defensive spell I knew. The Wideye Potion had my senses on high alert; every creak of a shop sign, every shift of shadow caught my attention. Part of me wished I’d told someone where I was going, but that would have defeated the purpose of a secret meeting.

The Shrieking Shack loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the starlit sky. Its windows were dark, but that meant nothing— Snape was more than capable of concealing his presence. Each step up the hill felt heavier than the last, the quiet of the night pressing in around me like a physical weight.

Looking back at the sleeping village below, I could hardly believe that just hours ago I’d been having such a normal, happy evening with my family. Now here I was, creeping through the darkness to meet a professor who might or might not be setting me up for something dangerous. The absurdity of it almost made me laugh.

Finally, I reached the broken-down fence that surrounded the Shack. The building stood before me now, looking even more foreboding than usual in the moonlight. Its weathered walls seemed to absorb the darkness, the boarded-up windows like blind eyes staring down at me.

I could feel the weight of the night pressing in around me, the silence broken only by my careful footsteps on the creaking wood of the front steps.

“Praetexo.” I whispered, tapping my wand on top of my head.

The Disillusionment Charm spread over me like a cascade of gaseous air, the sensation misting from my scalp down to my toes. I watched with satisfaction as my body vanished completely from view, leaving only the faintest disturbance in the air— like the barely perceptible ripple of heat waves rising from sun-baked stone. Even that subtle distortion was only visible if you knew exactly where to look.

Months of practice had refined my spellwork to near perfection.

I didn’t bother with trying to unlock the entrance— places like this were never locked. A gentle push, and the door swung open with a drawn-out creak that seemed to pierce the midnight silence. The sound made me wince, and I waited a moment, listening for any response from within. Nothing but the hollow echo of the door’s protest.

The interior of the Shrieking Shack lived up to its reputation. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the boarded windows, creating stark patterns across dust-covered floors and wallpaper that hung in moldering strips. The air was thick with the musty smell of decay and abandonment.

Broken furniture lay scattered about, casting twisted shadows that seemed to shift and move in the dim light. Every step I took made the ancient floorboards protest, no matter how carefully I distributed my weight.

I made my way to the stairs, my eyes gradually adjusting to the deeper darkness inside. The staircase rose before me like a crooked spine, each step covered in a thick layer of undisturbed dust— except for a single set of footprints leading upward.

Fresh ones.

My heart rate quickened, but I forced myself to move slowly, testing each step before committing my weight. Even so, each one announced my ascent with a groan that seemed to echo through the entire building. Something skittered in the walls— probably a rat, I told myself, though my grip on my wand tightened instinctively. The sound of tiny claws on wood followed me upward.

The second floor opened into a long hallway that seemed to stretch endlessly into the darkness. Closed doors lined both sides, their paint peeling, brass handles tarnished with age. The moonlight barely reached here; the shadows felt almost solid. A draft whispered through the corridor, carrying with it the faint sound of creaking timbers from somewhere above. I had just decided to check the room at the far end when I felt it— the unmistakable pressure of a wand tip pressing firmly against the base of my skull.

How? My mind raced through possibilities. I’d been so careful, the Disillusionment Charm was perfect, barely a ripple in the air, I’d checked every corner, every shadow—

“You’re late, Mr. Clarke.”

Snape’s voice cut through my racing thoughts like a blade, low and precise. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, watching it disturb the dust motes floating in a nearby shaft of moonlight.

“Got held up.” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my system.

I felt a tap on my head, followed by the familiar sensation of the Disillusionment Charm dissolving, like warm water flowing upward this time. The powerful magic dissipated in waves, my body fading back into view limb by limb until I was fully visible once more.

The pressure of the wand disappeared as Snape lowered it. “There is much we need to discuss.”

His tone was impossible to read— somewhere between ominous and urgent, carrying that familiar edge that had made generations of students squirm in their seats.

“That much you’ve said. So…” I said, trying to get some control of the conversation back. “Shall we?”

Snape’s expression stayed the same. At least he hadn’t hexed me.

Yet.