Chapter Five
Fallen Warrior
"Hagrid?"
Harry struggled to raise himself out of the debris of metal and leather that
surrounded him; his hands sank into inches of muddy water as he tried to stand. He could
not understand where Voldemort had gone and expected him to swoop out of the
darkness at any moment. Something hot and wet was trickling down his chin and from
his forehead. He crawled out of the pond and stumbled toward the great dark mass on the
ground that was Hagrid.
"Hagrid? Hagrid, talk to me- "
But the dark mass did not stir.
"Who's there? Is it Potter? Are you Harry Potter?"
Harry did not recognize the man's voice. Then a woman shouted. "They've
crashed. Ted! Crashed in the garden!"
Harry's head was swimming.
"Hagrid," he repeated stupidly, and his knees buckled.
The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back on what felt like cushions, with
a burning sensation in his ribs and right arm. His missing tooth had been regrown. The
scar on his forehead was still throbbing.
"Hagrid?"
He opened his eyes and saw that he was lying on a sofa in an unfamiliar, lamplit
sitting room. His rucksack lay on the floor a short distance away, wet and muddy. A fair-
haired, big-bellied man was watching Harry anxiously.
"Hagrid's fine, son," said the man, "the wife's seeing to him now. How are you
feeling? Anything else broken? I've fixed your ribs, your tooth, and your arm. I'm Ted, by
the way, Ted Tonks-Dora's father."
Harry sat up too quickly. Lights popped in front of his eyes and he felt sick and
giddy.
"Voldemort- "
"Easy, now," said Ted Tonks, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder and pushing him
back against the cushions. "That was a nasty crash you just had. What happened,
anyway? Something go wrong with the bike? Arthur Weasley overstretch himself again,
him and his Muggle contraptions?"
"No," said Harry, as his scar pulsed like an open wound. "Death Eaters, loads of
them-we were chased- "
"Death Eaters?" said Ted sharply. "What d'you mean, Death Eaters? I thought
they didn't know you were being moved tonight, I thought- "
"They knew," said Harry.
Ted Tonks looked up at the ceiling as though he could see through it to the sky
above.
"Well, we know our protective charms hold, then, don't we? They shouldn't be
able to get within a hundred yards of the place in any direction."
Now Harry understood why Voldemort had vanished; it had been at the point
when the motorbike crossed the barrier of the Order's charms. He only hoped they would
continue to work: He imagined Voldemort, a hundred yards above them as they spoke,
looking for a way to penetrate what Harry visualized as a great transparent bubble.
He swung his legs off the sofa; he needed to see Hagrid with his own eyes before
he would believe that he was alive. He had barely stood up, however, when a door
opened and Hagrid squeezed through it, his face covered in mud and blood, limping a
little but miraculously alive.
"Harry!"
Knocking over two delicate tables and an aspidistra, he covered the floor between
them in two strides and pulled Harry into a hug that nearly cracked his newly repaired
ribs. "Blimey, Harry, how did yeh get out o' that? I thought we were both goners."
"Yeah, me too. I can't believe- "
Harry broke off. He had just noticed the woman who had entered the room behind
Hagrid.
"You!" he shouted, and he thrust his hand into his pocket, but it was empty.
"Your wand's here, son," said Ted, tapping it on Harry's arm. "It fell right beside
you, I picked it up...And that's my wife you're shouting at."
"Oh, I'm-I'm sorry."
As she moved forward into the room, Mrs. Tonks's resemblance to her sister
Bellatrix became much less pronounced: Her hair was a light’s oft brown and her eyes
were wider and kinder. Nevertheless, she looked a little haughty after Harry's
exclamation.
"What happened to our daughter?" she asked. "Hagrid said you were ambushed;
where is Nymphadora?"
"I don't know," said Harry. "We don't know what happened to anyone else."
She and Ted exchanged looks. A mixture of fear and guilt gripped Harry at the
sight of their expressions, if any of the others had died, it was his fault, all his fault. He
had consented to the plan, given them his hair . . .
"The Portkey," he said, remembering all of a sudden. "We've got to get back to
the Burrow and find out-then we'll be able to send you word, or-or Tonks will, once
she's- "
"Dora'll be ok, 'Dromeda," said Ted. "She knows her stuff, she's been in plenty of
tight spots with the Aurors. The Portkey's through here," he added to Harry. "It's
supposed to leave in three minutes, if you want to take it."
"Yeah, we do," said Harry. He seized his rucksack, swung it onto his shoulders. "I
- "
He looked at Mrs. Tonks, wanting to apologize for the state of fear in which he
left her and for which he felt so terribly responsible, but no words occurred to him that he
did not seem hollow and insincere.
"I'll tell Tonks-Dora-to send word, when she . . . Thanks for patching us up,
thanks for everything, I- "
He was glad to leave the room and follow Ted Tonks along a short hallway and
into a bedroom. Hagrid came after them, bending low to avoid hitting his head on the
door lintel.
"There you go, son. That's the Portkey."
Mr. Tonks was pointing to a small, silver-backed hairbrush lying on the dressing
table.
"Thanks," said Harry, reaching out to place a finger on it, ready to leave.
"Wait a moment," said Hagrid, looking around. "Harry, where's Hedwig?"
"She . . . she got hit," said Harry.
The realization crashed over him: He felt ashamed of himself as the tears stung
his eyes. The owl had been his companion, his one great link with the magical world
whenever he had been forced to return to the Dursleys.
Hagrid reached out a great hand and patted him painfully on the shoulder.
"Never mind," he said gruffly, "Never mind. She had a great old life- "
"Hagrid!" said Ted Tonks warningly, as the hairbrush glowed bright blue, and
Hagrid only just got his forefinger to it in time.
With a jerk behind the navel as though an invisible hook and line had dragged
him forward, Harry was pulled into nothingness, spinning uncontrollably, his finger glued
to the Portkey as he and Hagrid hurtled away from Mr. Tonks. Second later, Harry's feet
slammed onto hard ground and he fell onto his hands and knees in the yard of the Burrow.
He heard screams. Throwing aside the no longer glowing hairbrush, Harry stood up,
swaying slightly, and saw Mrs. Weasley and Ginny running down the steps by the back
door as Hagrid, who had also collapsed on landing, clambered laboriously to his feet.
"Harry? You are the real Harry? What happened? Where are the others?" cried
Mrs. Weasley.
"What d'you mean? Isn't anyone else back?" Harry panted.
The answer was clearly etched in Mrs. Weasley's pale face.
"The Death Eaters were waiting for us," Harry told her, "We were surrounded the
moment we took off-they knew it was tonight-I don't know what happened to anyone
else, four of them chased us, it was all we could do to get away, and then Voldemort
caught up with us- "
He could hear the self-justifying note in his voice, the plea for her to understand
why he did not know what had happened to her sons, but-
"Thank goodness you're all right," she said, pulling him into a hug he did not feel
he deserved.
"Haven't go' any brandy, have yeh, Molly?" asked Hagrid a little shakily, "Fer
medicinal purposes?"
She could have summoned it by magic, but as she hurried back toward the
crooked house, Harry knew that she wanted to hide her face. He turned to Ginny and she
answered his unspoken plea for information at once.
"Ron and Tonks should have been back first, but they missed their Portkey, it
came back without them," she said, pointing at a rusty oil can lying on the ground nearby.
"And that one," she pointed at an ancient sneaker, "should have been Dad and Fred's,
they were supposed to be second. You and Hagrid were third and," she checked her
watch, "if they made it, George and Lupin aught to be back in about a minute."
Mrs. Weasley reappeared carrying a bottle of brandy, which she handed to Hagrid.
He uncorked it and drank it straight down in one.
"Mum!" shouted Ginny pointing to a spot several feet away.
A blue light had appeared in the darkness: It grew larger and brighter, and Lupin
and George appeared, spinning and then falling. Harry knew immediately that there was
something wrong: Lupin was supporting George, who was unconscious and whose face
was covered in blood.
Harry ran forward and seized George's legs. Together, he and Lupin carried
George into the house and through the kitchen to the living room, where they laid him on
the sofa. As the lamplight fell across George's head, Ginny gasped and Harry's stomach
lurched: One of George's ears was missing. The side of his head and neck were drenched
in wet, shockingly scarlet blood.
No sooner had Mrs. Weasley bent over her son that Lupin grabbed Harry by the
upper arm and dragged him, none too gently, back into the kitchen, where Hagrid was
still attempting to ease his bulk through the back door.
"Oi!" said Hagrid indignantly, "Le' go of him! Le' go of Harry!"
Lupin ignored him.
"What creature sat in the corner the first time that Harry Potter visited my office
at Hogwarts?" he said, giving Harry a small shake. "Answer me!"
"A-a grindylow in a tank, wasn't it?"
Lupin released Harry and fell back against a kitchen cupboard.
"Wha' was tha' about?" roared Hagrid.
"I'm sorry, Harry, but I had to check," said Lupin tersely. "We've been betrayed.
Voldemort knew that you were being moved tonight and the only people who could have
told him were directly involved in the plan. You might have been an impostor."
"So why aren' you checkin' me?" panted Hagrid, still struggling with the door.
"You're half-giant," said Lupin, looking up at Hagrid. "The Polyjuice Potion is
designed for human use only."
"None of the Order would have told Voldemort we were moving tonight," said
Harry. The idea was dreadful to him, he could not believe it of any of them. "Voldemort
only caught up with me toward the end, he didn't know which one I was in the beginning.
If he'd been in on the plan he'd have known from the start I was the one with Hagrid."
"Voldemort caught up with you?" said Lupin sharply. "What happened? How did
you escape?"
Harry explained how the Death Eaters pursuing them had seemed to recognize
him as the true Harry, how they had abandoned the chase, how they must have
summoned Voldemort, who had appeared just before he and Hagrid had reached the
sanctuary of Tonks's parents.
"They recognized you? But how? What had you done?"
"I . . ." Harry tried to remember; the whole journey seemed like a blur of panic
and confusion. "I saw Stan Shunpike . . . . You know, the bloke who was the conductor
on the Knight Bus? And I tried to Disarm him instead of-well, he doesn't know what
he's doing, does he? He must be Imperiused!"
Lupin looked aghast.
"Harry, the time for Disarming is past! These people are trying to capture and kill
you! At least Stun if you aren't prepared to kill!"
"We were hundreds of feet up! Stan's not himself, and if I Stunned him and he'd
fallen, he'd have died the same as if I'd used Avada Kedavra! Expelliarmus saved me
from Voldemort two years ago," Harry added defiantly. Lupin was reminding him of the
sneering Hufflepuff Zacharias Smith, who had jeered at Harry for wanting to teach
Dumbledore's Army how to Disarm.
"Yes, Harry," said Lupin with painful restraint, "and a great number of Death
Eaters witnessed that happening! Forgive me, but it was a very unusual move then, under
the imminent threat of death. Repeating it tonight in front of Death Eaters who either
witnessed or heard about the first occasion was close to suicidal!"
"So you think I should have killed Stan Shunpike?" said Harry angrily.
"Of course not," said Lupin, "but the Death Eaters-frankly, most people!-
would have expected you to attack back! Expelliarmus is a useful spell, Harry, but the
Death Eaters seem to think it is your signature move, and I urge you not to let it become
so!"
Lupin was making Harry feel idiotic, and yet there was still a grain of defiance
inside him.
"I won't blast people out of my way just because they're there," said Harry, "That's
Voldemort's job."
Lupin's retort was lost: Finally succeeding in squeezing through the door, Hagrid
staggered to a chair and sat down; it collapsed beneath him. Ignoring his mingled oaths
and apologies, Harry addressed Lupin again.
"Will George be okay?"
All Lupin's frustration with Harry seemed to drain away at the question.
"I think so, although there's no chance of replacing his ear, not when it's been
cursed off- "
There was a scuffling from outside. Lupin dived for the back door; Harry leapt
over Hagrid's legs and sprinted into the yard.
Two figures had appeared in the yard, and as Harry ran toward them he realized
they were Hermione, now returning to her normal appearance, and Kingsley, both
clutching a bent coat hanger, Hermione flung herself into Harry's arms, but Kingsley
showed no pleasure at the sight of any of them. Over Hermione's shoulder Harry saw him
raise his wand and point it at Lupin's chest.
"The last words Albus Dumbledore spoke to the pair of us!"
"'Harry is the best hope we have. Trust him,'" said Lupin calmly.
Kingsley turned his wand on Harry, but Lupin said, "It's him, I've checked!"
"All right, all right!" said Kingsley, stowing his wand back beneath his cloak,
"But somebody betrayed us! They knew, they knew it was tonight!"
"So it seems," replied Lupin, "but apparently they did not realize that there would
be seven Harrys."
"Small comfort!" snarled Kingsley. "Who else is back?"
"Only Harry, Hagrid, George, and me."
Hermione stifled a little moan behind her hand.
"What happened to you?" Lupin asked Kingsley.
"Followed by five, injured two, might've killed one," Kingsley reeled off, "and we
saw You-Know-Who as well, he joined the chase halfway through but vanished pretty
quickly. Remus, he can- "
"Fly," supplied Harry. "I saw him too, he came after Hagrid and me."
"So that's why he left, to follow you!" said Kingsley, "I couldn't understand why
he'd vanished. But what made him change targets?"
"Harry behaved a little too kindly to Stan Shunpike," said Lupin.
"Stan?" repeated Hermione. "But I thought he was in Azkaban?"
Kingsley let out a mirthless laugh.
"Hermione, there's obviously been a mass breakout which the Ministry has
hushed up. Travers's hood fell off when I cursed him, he's supposed to be inside too. But
what happened to you, Remus? Where's George?"
"He lost an ear," said Lupin.
"lost an -- ?" repeated Hermione in a high voice.
"Snape's work," said Lupin.
"Snape?" shouted Harry. "You didn't say- "
"He lost his hood during the chase. Sectumsempra was always a specialty of
Snape's. I wish I could say I'd paid him back in kind, but it was all I could do to keep
George on the broom after he was injured, he was losing so much blood."
Silence fell between the four of them as they looked up at the sky. There was no
sign of movement; the stars stared back, unblinking, indifferent, unobscured by flying
friends. Where was Ron? Where were Fred and Mr. Weasley? Where were Bill, Fleur,
Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus?
"Harry, give us a hand!" called Hagrid hoarsely from the door, in which he was
stuck again. Glad of something to do, Harry pulled him free, the headed through the
empty kitchen and back into the sitting room, where Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were still
tending to George. Mrs. Weasley had staunched his bleeding now, and by the lamplight
Harry saw a clean gaping hole where George's ear had been.
"How is he?"
Mrs. Weasley looked around and said, "I can't make it grow back, not when it's
been removed by Dark Magic. But it could've been so much worse . . . . He's alive."
"Yeah," said Harry. "Thank God."
"Did I hear someone else in the yard?" Ginny asked.
"Hermione and Kingsley," said Harry.
"Thank goodness," Ginny whispered. They looked at each other; Harry wanted to
hug her, hold on to her; he did not even care much that Mrs. Weasley was there, but
before he could act on the impulse, there was a great crash from the kitchen.
"I'll prove who I am, Kingsley, after I've seen my son, now back off if you know
what's good for you!"
Harry had never heard Mr. Weasley shout like that before. He burst into the living
room, his bald patch gleaming with sweat, his spectacles askew, Fred right behind him,
both pale but uninjured.
"Arthur!" sobbed Mrs. Weasley. "Oh thank goodness!"
"How is he?"
Mr. Weasley dropped to his knees beside George. For the first time since Harry
had known him, Fred seemed to be lost for words. He gaped over the back of the sofa at
his twin's wound as if he could not believe what he was seeing.
Perhaps roused by the sound of Fred and their father's arrival, George stirred.
"How do you feel, Georgie?" whispered Mrs. Weasley.
George's fingers groped for the side of his head.
"Saintlike," he murmured.
"What's wrong with him?" croaked Fred, looking terrified. "Is his mind affected?"
"Saintlike," repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother.
"You see. . . I'm holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?"
Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever. Color flooded Fred's pale face.
"Pathetic," he told George. "Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related
humor before you, you go for holey?"
"Ah well," said George, grinning at his tear-soaked mother. "You'll be able to tell
us apart now, anyway, Mum."
He looked around.
"Hi, Harry-you are Harry, right?"
"Yeah, I am," said Harry, moving closer to the sofa.
"Well, at least we got you back okay," said George. "Why aren't Ron and Bill
huddled round my sickbed?"
"They're not back yet, George," said Mrs. Weasley. George's grin faded. Harry
glanced at Ginny and motioned to her to accompany him back outside. As they walked
through the kitchen she said in a low voice.
"Ron and Tonks should be back by now. They didn't have a long journey; Auntie
Muriel's not that far from here."
Harry said nothing. He had been trying to keep fear at bay ever since reaching the
Burrow, but now it enveloped him, seeming to crawl over his skin, throbbing in his chest,
clogging his throat. As they walked down the back steps into the dark yard, Ginny took
his hand.
Kingsley was striding backward and forward, glancing up at the sky every time he
turned. Harry was reminded of Uncle Vernon pacing the living room a million years ago.
Hagrid, Hermione, and Lupin stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing upward in silence. None
of them looked around when Harry and Ginny joined their silent vigil.
The minutes stretched into what might as well have been years. The slightest
breath of wind made them all jump and turn toward the whispering bush or tree in the
hope that one of the missing Order members might leap unscathed from its leaves-
And then a broom materialized directly above them and streaked toward the
ground-
"It's them!" screamed Hermione.
Tonks landed in a long skid that sent earth and pebbles everywhere.
"Remus!" Tonks cried as she staggered off the broom into Lupin's arms. His face
was set and white: He seemed unable to speak, Ron tripped dazedly toward Harry and
Hermione.
"You're okay," he mumbled, before Hermione flew at him and hugged him tightly.
"I thought-I thought- "
"'M all right," said Ron, patting her on the back. "'M fine."
"Ron was great," said Tonks warmly, relinquishing her hold on Lupin.
"Wonderful. Stunned one of the Death Eaters, straight to the head, and when you're
aiming at a moving target from a flying broom- "
"You did?" said Hermione, gazing up at Ron with her arms still around his neck.
"Always the tone of surprise," he said a little grumpily, breaking free. "Are we the last back?"
"No," said Ginny, "we're still waiting for Bill and Fleur and Mad-Eye and
Mundungus. I'm going to tell Mum and Dad you're okay, Ron- "
She ran back inside.
"So what kept you? What happened?" Lupin sounded almost angry at Tonks.
"Bellatrix," said Tonks. "She wants me quite as much as she wants Harry, Remus,
She tried very hard to kill me. I just wish I'd got her, I owe Bellatrix. But we definitely
injured Rodolphus . . . . Then we got to Ron's Auntie Muriel's and we missed our Portkey
and she was fussing over us- "
A muscle was jumping in Lupin's jaw. He nodded, but seemed unable to say
anything else.
"So what happened to you lot?" Tonks asked, turning to Harry, Hermione, and
Kingsley.
They recounted the stories of their own journeys, but all the time the continued
absence of Bill, Fleur, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus seemed to lie upon them like a frost, its
icy bite harder and harder to ignore.
"I'm going to have to get back to Downing Street, I should have been there an
hour ago," said Kingsley finally, after a last sweeping gaze at the sky. "Let me know
when they're back,."
Lupin nodded. With a wave to the others, Kingsley walked away into the darkness
toward the gate. Harry thought he heard the faintest pop as Kingsley Disapparated just
beyond the Burrow's boundaries.
Mr. And Mrs. Weasley came racing down the back steps, Ginny behind them.
Both parents hugged Ron before turning to Lupin and Tonks.
"Thank you," said Mrs. Weasley, "for our sons."
"Don't be silly, Molly," said Tonks at once.
"How's George?" asked Lupin.
"What's wrong with him?" piped up Ron.
"He's lost- "
But the end of Mrs. Weasley's sentence was drowned in a general outcry. A
thestral had just soared into sight and landed a few feet from them. Bill and Fleur slid
from its back, windswept but unhurt.
"Bill! Thank God, thank God- "
Mrs. Weasley ran forward, but the hug Bill bestowed upon her was perfunctory.
Looking directly at his father, he said, "Mad-Eye's dead."
Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Harry felt as though something inside him was
falling, falling through the earth, leaving him forever.
"We saw it," said Bill; Fleur nodded, tear tracks glittering on her cheeks in the
light from the kitchen window. "It happened just after we broke out of the circle: Mad-
Eye and Dung were close by us, they were heading north too. Voldemort-he can fly-
went straight for them. Dung panicked, I heard him cry out, Mad-Eye tried to stop him,
but he Disapparated. Voldemort's curse hit Mad-Eye full in the face, he fell backward off
his broom and-there was nothing we could do, nothing, we had half a dozen of them on
our own tail- "
Bill's voice broke.
"Of course you couldn't have done anything," said Lupin.
They all stood looking at each other. Harry could not quite comprehend it. Mad-
Eye dead; it could not be . . . . Mad-Eye, so tough, so brave, the consummate survivor . . .
At last it seemed to dawn on everyone, though nobody said it, that there was no
point of waiting in the yard anymore, and in silence they followed Mr. And Mrs. Weasley
back into the Burrow, and into the living room, where Fred and George were laughing
together.
"What's wrong?" said Fred, scanning their faces as they entered, "What's
happened? Who's --?"
"Mad-Eye," said Mr. Weasley, "Dead."
The twins' grins turned to grimaces of shock. Nobody seemed to know what to do.
Tonks was crying silently into a handkerchief: She had been close to Mad-Eye, Harry
knew, his favorite and his protegee at the Ministry of Magic. Hagrid, who had sat down
on the floor in the corner where he had most space, was dabbing at his eyes with his
tablecloth-sized handkerchief.
Bill walked over to the sideboard and pulled out a bottle of fire-whisky and some
glasses.
"Here," he said, and with a wave of his wand, eh sent twelve full glasses soaring
through the room to each of them, holding the thirteenth aloft. "Mad-Eye."
"Mad-Eye," they all said, and drank.
"Mad-Eye," echoed Hagrid, a little late, with a hiccup. The firewhisky seared
Harry's throat. It seemed to burn feeling back into him, dispelling the numbness and
sense of unreality firing him with something that was like courage.
"So Mundungus disappeared?" said Lupin, who had drained his own glass in one.
The atmosphere changed at once. Everybody looked tense, watching Lupin, both
wanting him to go on, it seemed to Harry, and slightly afraid of what they might hear.
"I know what you're thinking," said Bill, "and I wondered that too, on the way
back here, because they seemed to be expecting us, didn't they? But Mundungus can't
have betrayed us. They didn't know there would be seven Harrys, that confused them the
moment we appeared, and in case you've forgotten, it was Mundungus who suggested
that little bit of skullduggery. Why wouldn't he have told them the essential point? I think
Dung panicked, it's as simple as that. He didn't want to come in the first place, but Mad-
Eye made him, and You-Know-Who went straight for them. It was enough to make
anyone panic."
"You-Know-Who acted exactly as Mad-Eye expected him to," sniffed Tonks.
"Mad-Eye said he'd expect the real Harry to be with the toughest, most skilled Aurors. He
chased Mad-Eye first, and when Mundungus gave them away he switched to
Kingsley. . . . "
"Yes, and zat eez all very good," snapped Fleur, "but still eet does not explain 'ow
zey know we were moving 'Arry tonight, does eet? Somebody must 'ave been careless.
Somebody let slip ze date to an outsider. It is ze only explanation for zem knowing ze
date but not ze 'ole plan."
She glared around at them all, tear tracks still etched on her beautiful face, silently
daring any of them to contradict her. Nobody did. The only sound to break the silence
was that of Hagrid hiccupping from behind his handkerchief. Harry glanced at Hagrid,
who had just risked his own life to save Harry's-Hagrid, whom he loved, whom he
trusted, who had once been tricked into giving Voldemort crucial information in
exchange for a dragon's egg. . . .
"No," Harry said aloud, and they all looked at him, surprised: The firewhisky
seemed to have amplified his voice. "I mean . . . if somebody made a mistake," Harry
went on, "and let something slip, I know they didn't mean to do it. It's not their fault," he
repeated, again a little louder than he would usually have spoken. "We've got to trust each
other. I trust all of you, I don't think anyone in this room would ever sell me to
Voldemort."
More silence followed his words. They were all looking at him; Harry felt a little
hot again, and drank some more firewhisky for something to do. As he drank, he thought
of Mad-Eye. Mad-Eye had always been scathing about Dumbledore's willingness to trust
people.
"Well said, Harry," said Fred unexpectedly.
"Year, 'ear, 'ear," said George, with half a glance at Fred, the corner of whose
mouth twitched.
Lupin was wearing an odd expression as he looked at Harry. It was close to
pitying.
"You think I'm a fool?" demanded Harry.
"No, I think you're like James," said Lupin, "who would have regarded it as the
height of dishonor to mistrust his friends."
Harry knew what Lupin was getting at: that his father had been betrayed by his
friend Peter Pettigrew. He felt irrationally angry. He wanted to argue, but Lupin had
turned away from him, set down his glass upon a side table, and addressed Bill, "There's
work to do. I can ask Kingsley whether- "
"No," said Bill at once, "I'll do it, I'll come."
"Where are you going?" said Tonks and Fleur together.
"Mad-Eye's body," said Lupin. "We need to recover it."
"Can't it -- ?" began Mrs. Weasley with an appealing look at Bill.
"Wait?" said Bill, "Not unless you'd rather the Death Eaters took it?"
Nobody spoke. Lupin and Bill said good bye and left.
The rest of them now dropped into chairs, all except for Harry, who remained
standing. The suddenness and completeness of death was with them like a presence.
"I've got to go too," said Harry.
Ten pairs of startled eyes looked at him.
"Don't be silly, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley, "What are you talking about?"
"I can't stay here."
He rubbed his forehead; it was prickling again, he had not hurt like this for more
than a year.
"You're all in danger while I'm here. I don't want- "
"But don't be so silly!" said Mrs. Weasley. "The whole point of tonight was to get
you here safely, and thank goodness it worked. And Fleur's agreed to get married here
rather than in France, we've arranged everything so that we can all stay together and look
after you- "
She did not understand; she was making him feel worse, not better.
"If Voldemort finds out I'm here- "
"But why should he?" asked Mrs. Weasley.
"There are a dozen places you might be now, Harry," said Mr. Weasley. "He's got
no way of knowing which safe house you're in."
"It's not me I'm worried for!" said Harry.
"We know that," said Mr. Weasley quietly, but it would make our efforts tonight
seem rather pointless if you left."
"Yer not goin' anywhere," growled Hagrid. "Blimey, Harry, after all we wen'
through ter get you here?"
"Yeah, what about my bleeding ear?" said George, hoisting himself up on his
cushions.
"I know that- "
"Mad-Eye wouldn't want- "
"I KNOW!" Harry bellowed.
He felt beleaguered and blackmailed: Did they think he did not know what they
had done for him, didn't they understand that it was for precisely that reason that he
wanted to go now, before they had to suffer any more on his behalf? There was a long
and awkward silence in which his scar continued to prickle and throb, and which was
broken at last by Mrs. Weasley.
"Where's Hedwig, Harry?" she said coaxingly. "We can put her up with
Pidwidgeon and give her something to eat."
His insides clenched like a fist. He could not tell her the truth. He drank the last of
his firewhisky to avoid answering.
"Wait till it gets out yeh did it again, Harry," said Hagrid. "Escaped him, fought
him off when he was right on top of yeh!"
"It wasn't me," said Harry flatly. "It was my wand. My wand acted of its own
accord."
After a few moments, Hermione said gently, "But that's impossible, Harry. You
mean that you did magic without meaning to; you reacted instinctively."
"No," said Harry. "The bike was falling, I couldn't have told you where
Voldemort was, but my wand spun in my hand and found him and shot a spell at him, and
it wasn't even a spell I recognized. I've never made gold flames appear before."
"Often," said Mr. Weasley, "when you're in a pressured situation you can produce
magic you never dreamed of. Small children often find, before they're trained- "
"It wasn't like that," said Harry through gritted teeth. His scar was burning. He felt
angry and frustrated; he hated the idea that they were all imagining him to have power to
match Voldemort's.
No one said anything. He knew that they did not believe him. Now that he came
to think of it, he had never heard of a wand performing magic on its own before.
His scar seared with pain, it was all he could do not to moan aloud. Muttering
about fresh air, he set down his glass and left the room.
As he crossed the yard, the great skeletal thestral looked up-rustled its enormous
batlike wings, then resumed its grazing. Harry stopped at the gate into the garden, staring
out at its overgrown plants, rubbing his pounding forehead and thinking of Dumbledore.
Dumbledore would have believed him, he knew it. Dumbledore would have
known how and why Harry's wand had acted independently, because Dumbledore always
had the answers; he had known about wands, had explained to Harry the strange
connection that existed between his wand and Voldemort's . . . . But Dumbledore, like
Mad-Eye, like Sirius, like his parents, like his poor owl, all were gone where Harry could
never talk to them again. He felt a burning in his throat that had nothing to do with
firewhisky. . . .
And then, out of nowhere, the pain in his scar peaked. As he clutched his forehead
and closed his eyes, a voice screamed inside his head.
"You told me the problem would be solved by using another's wand!"
And into his mind burst the vision of an emaciated old man lying in rags upon a
stone floor, screaming, a horrible drawn-out scream, a scream of unendurable agony. . . .
"No! No! I beg you, I beg you. . . ."
"You lied to Lord Voldemort, Ollivander!"
"I did not. . . . I swear I did not. . . ."
"You sought to help Potter, to help him escape me!"
"I swear I did not. . . . I believed a different wand would work. . . ."
"Explain, then, what happened. Lucius's wand is destroyed!"
"I cannot understand. . . . The connection . . . exists only . . between your two
wands. . . ."
"Lies!"
"Please . . . I beg you. . . ."
And Harry saw the white hand raise its wand and felt Voldemort's surge of
vicious anger, saw the frail old main on the floor writhe in agony-
"Harry?"
It was over as quickly as it had come: Harry stood shaking in the darkness,
clutching the gate into the garden, his heart racing, his scar still tingling. It was several
moments before he realized that Ron and Hermione were at his side.
"Harry, come back in the house," Hermione whispered, "You aren't still thinking
of leaving?"
"Yeah, you've got to stay, mate," said Ron, thumping Harry on the back.
"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, close enough now to look into Harry's face.
"You look awful!"
"Well," said Harry shakily, "I probably look better than Ollivander. . . ."
When he had finished telling them what he had seen, Ron looked appalled, but
Hermione downright terrified.
"But it was supposed to have stopped! Your scar-it wasn't supposed to do this
anymore! You mustn't let that connection open up again-Dumbledore wanted you to
close your mind!"
When he did not reply, she gripped his arm.
"Harry, he's taking over the Ministry and the newspapers and half the Wizarding
world! Don't let him inside your head too!"
Chapter Six
The Ghoul in Pajamas
The shock of losing Mad-Eye hung over the house in the days that followed;
Harry kept expecting to see him stumping in through the back door like the other Order
members, who passed in and out to relay news. Harry felt that nothing but action would
assuage his feelings of guilt and grief and that he ought to set out on his mission to find
and destroy Horcruxes as soon as possible.
"Well, you can’t do anything about the"-Ron mouthed the word Horcruxes-
"till you’re seventeen. You’ve still got the Trace on you. And we can plan here as well as
anywhere, can’t we? Or," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "d’you reckon you already
know where the You-Know-Whats are?"
"No," Harry admitted.
"I think Hermione’s been doing a bit of research," said Ron. "She said she was
saving it for when you got here."
They were sitting at the breakfast table; Mr. Weasley and Bill had just left for
work. Mrs. Weasley had gone upstairs to wake Hermione and Ginny, while Fleur had
drifted off to take a bath.
"The Trace’ll break on the thirty-first," said Harry. "That means I only need to
stay here four days. Then I can- "
"Five days," Ron corrected him firmly. "We’ve got to stay for the wedding.
They’ll kill us if we miss it."
Harry understood "they" to mean Fleur and Mrs. Weasley.
"It’s one extra day," said Ron, when Harry looked mutinous.
"Don’t they realize how important- ?"
"’Course they don’t," said Ron. "They haven’t got a clue. And now you mention
it, I wanted to talk to you about that."
Ron glanced toward the door into the hall to check that Mrs. Weasley was not
returning yet, then leaned in closer to Harry.
"Mum’s been trying to get it out of Hermione and me. What we’re off to do.
She’ll try you next, so brace yourself. Dad and Lupin’ve both asked as well, but when we
said Dumbledore told you not to tell anyone except us, they dropped it. Not Mum, though.
She’s determined."
Ron’s prediction came true within hours. Shortly before lunch, Mrs. Weasley
detached Harry from the others by asking him to help identify a lone man’s sock that she
thought might have come out of his rucksack. Once she had him cornered in the tiny
scullery off the kitchen, she started.
"Ron and Hermione seem to think that the three of you are dropping out of
Hogwarts," she began in a light, casual tone.
"Oh," said Harry. "Well, yeah. We are."
The mangle turned of its own accord in a corner, wringing out what looked like
one of Mr. Weasley’s vests.
"May I ask why you are abandoning your education?" said Mrs. Weasley.
"Well, Dumbledore left me . . . stuff to do," mumbled Harry. "Ron and Hermione
know about it, and they want to come too."
"What sort of ‘stuff’?"
"I’m sorry, I can’t- "
"Well, frankly, I think Arthur and I have a right to know, and I’m sure Mr. And
Mrs. Granger would agree!" said Mrs. Weasley. Harry had been afraid of the "concerned
parent" attack. He forced himself to look directly into her eyes, noticing as he did so that
they were precisely the same shade of brown as Ginny’s. This did not help.
"Dumbledore didn’t want anyone else to know, Mrs. Weasley. I’m sorry. Ron and
Hermione don’t have to come, it’s their choice- "
"I don’t see that you have to go either!" she snapped, dropping all pretense now.
"You’re barely of age, any of you! It’s utter nonsense, if Dumbledore needed work doing,
he had the whole Order at his command! Harry, you must have misunderstood him.
Probably he was telling you something he wanted done, and you took it to mean that he
wanted you - "
"I didn’t misunderstand," said Harry flatly. "It’s got to be me."
He handed her back the single sock he was supposed to be identifying, which was
patterned with golden bulrushes.
"And that’s not mine. I don’t support Puddlemere United."
"Oh, of course not," said Mrs. Weasley with a sudden and rather unnerving return
to her casual tone. "I should have realized. Well, Harry, while we’ve still got you here,
you won’t mind helping with the preparations for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, will you?
There’s still so much to do."
"No-I-of course not," said Harry, disconcerted by this sudden change of
subject.
"Sweet of you," she replied, and she smiled as she left the scullery.
From that moment on, Mrs. Weasley kept Harry, Ron and Hermione so busy with
preparations for the wedding that they hardly had any time to think. The kindest
explanation of this behavior would have been that Mrs. Weasley wanted to distract them
all from thoughts of Mad-Eye and the terrors of their recent journey. After two days of
nonstop cutlery cleaning, of color-matching favors, ribbons, and flowers, of de-gnoming
the garden and helping Mrs. Weasley cook vast batches of canapes, however, Harry
started to suspect her of a different motive. All the jobs she handed out seemed to keep
him, Ron, and Hermione away from one another; he had not had a chance to speak to the
two of them alone since the first night, when he had told them about Voldemort torturing
Ollivander.
"I think Mum thinks that if she can stop the three of you getting together and
planning, she’ll be able to delay you leaving," Ginny told Harry in an undertone, as they
laid the table for dinner on the third night of his stay.
"And then what does she think’s going to happen?" Harry muttered. "Someone
else might kill off Voldemort while she’s holding us here making vol-au-vents?"
He had spoken without thinking, and saw Ginny’s face whiten.
"So it’s true?" she said. "That’s what you’re trying to do?"
"I-not-I was joking," said Harry evasively.
They stared at each other, and there was something more than shock in Ginny’s
expression. Suddenly Harry became aware that this was the first time that he had been
alone with her since those stolen hours in secluded corners of the Hogwarts grounds. He
was sure she was remembering them too. Both of them jumped as the door opened, and
Mr. Weasley, Kingsley, and Bill walked in.
They were often joined by other Order members for dinner now, because the
Burrow had replaced number twelve, Grimmauld Place as the headquarters. Mr. Weasley
had explained that after the death of Dumbledore, their Secret-Keeper, each of the people
to whom Dumbledore had confided Grimmauld Place’s location had become a Secret-
Keeper in turn.
"And as there are around twenty of us, that greatly dilutes the power of the
Fidelius Charm. Twenty times as many opportunities for the Death Eaters to get the
secret out of somebody. We can’t expect it to hold much longer."
"But surely Snape will have told the Death Eaters the address by now?" asked
Harry.
"Well, Mad-Eye set up a couple of curses against Snape in case he turns up there
again. We hope they’ll be strong enough both to keep him out and to bind his tongue if he
tries to talk about the place, but we can’t be sure. It would have been insane to keep using
the place as headquarters now that its protection has become so shaky."
The kitchen was so crowded that evening it was difficult to maneuver knives and
forks. Harry found himself crammed beside Ginny; the unsaid things that had just passed
between them made him wish they had been separated by a few more people. He was
trying so hard to avoid brushing her arm he could barely cut his chicken.
"No news about Mad-Eye?" Harry asked Bill.
"Nothing," replied Bill.
They had not been able to hold a funeral for Moody, because Bill and Lupin had
failed to recover his body. It had been difficult to know where he might have fallen, given
the darkness and the confusion of the battle.
"The Daily Prophet hasn’t said a word about him dying or about finding the
body," Bill went on. "But that doesn’t mean much. It’s keeping a lot quiet these days."
"And they still haven’t called a hearing about all the underage magic I used
escaping the Death Eaters?" Harry called across the table to Mr. Weasley, who shook his
head.
"Because they know I had no choice or because they don’t want me to tell the
world Voldemort attacked me?"
"The latter, I think. Scrimgeour doesn’t want to admit that You-Know-Who is as
powerful as he is, nor that Azkaban’s seen a mass breakout."
"Yeah, why tell the public the truth?" said Harry, clenching his knife so tightly
that the faint scars on the back of his right hand stood out, white against his skin: I must
not tell lies.
"Isn’t anyone at the Ministry prepared to stand up to him?" asked Ron angrily.
"Of course, Ron, but people are terrified," Mr. Weasley replied, "terrified that
they will be next to disappear, their children the next to be attacked! There are nasty
rumors going around; I for one don’t believe the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts
resigned. She hasn’t been seen for weeks now. Meanwhile Scrimgeour remains shut up in
his office all day; I just hope he’s working on a plan."
There was a pause in which Mrs. Weasley magicked the empty plates onto the
work surface and served apple tart.
"We must decide ‘ow you will be disguised, ‘Arry," said Fleur, once everyone
had pudding. "For ze wedding," she added, when he looked confused. "Of course, none
of our guests are Death Eaters, but we cannot guarantee zat zey will not let something
slip after zey ‘ave ‘ad champagne."
From this, Harry gathered that she still suspected Hagrid.
"Yes, good point," said Mrs. Weasley from the top of the table where she sat,
spectacles perched on the end of her nose, scanning an immense list of jobs that she had
scribbled on a very long piece of parchment. "Now, Ron, have you cleaned out your
room yet?"
"Why?" exclaimed Ron, slamming his spoon down and glaring at his mother.
"Why does my room have to be cleaned out? Harry and I are fine with it the way it is!"
"We are holding your brother’s wedding here in a few days’ time, young man- "
"And are they getting married in my bedroom?" asked Ron furiously. "No! So
why in the name of Merlin’s saggy left- "
"Don’t talk to your mother like that," said Mr. Weasley firmly. "And do as you’re
told."
Ron scowled at both his parents, then picked up his spoon and attacked the last
few mouthfuls of his apple tart.
"I can help, some of it’s my mess." Harry told Ron, but Mrs. Weasley cut across
him.
"No, Harry, dear, I’d much rather you helped Arthur much out the chickens, and
Hermione, I’d be ever so grateful if you’d change the sheets for Monsieur and Madame
Delacour; you know they’re arriving at eleven tomorrow morning."
But as it turned out, there was very little to do for the chickens. "There’s no need
to, er, mention it to Molly," Mr. Weasley told Harry, blocking his access to the coop, "but,
er, Ted Tonks sent me most of what was left of Sirius’s bike and, er, I’m hiding-that’s
to say, keeping-it in here. Fantastic stuff: There’s an exhaust gaskin, as I believe it’s
called, the most magnificent battery, and it’ll be a great opportunity to find out how
brakes work. I’m going to try and put it all back together again when Molly’s not-I
mean, when I’ve got time."
When they returned to the house, Mrs. Weasley was nowhere to be seen, so Harry
slipped upstairs to Ron’s attic bedroom.
"I’m doing it, I’m doing-! Oh, it’s you," said Ron in relief, as Harry entered the
room. Ron lay back down on the bed, which he had evidently just vacated. The room was
just as messy as it had been all week; the only chance was that Hermione was now sitting
in the far corner, her fluffy ginger cat, Crookshanks, at her feet, sorting books, some of
which Harry recognized as his own, into two enormous piles.
"Hi, Harry," she said, as he sat down on his camp bed.
"And how did you manage to get away?"
"Oh, Ron’s mum forgot that she asked Ginny and me to change the sheets
yesterday," said Hermione. She threw Numerology and Grammatica onto one pile and
The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts onto the other.
"We were just talking about Mad-Eye," Ron told Harry. "I reckon he might have
survived."
"But Bill saw him hit by the Killing Curse," said Harry.
"Yeah, but Bill was under attack too," said Ron. "How can he be sure what he
saw?"
"Even if the Killing Curse missed, Mad-Eye still fell about a thousand feet," said
Hermione, now weight Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland in her hand.
"He could have used a Shield Charm- "
"Fleur said his wand was blasted out of his hand," said Harry.
"Well, all right, if you want him to be dead," said Ron grumpily, punching his
pillow into a more comfortable shape.
"Of course we don’t want him to be dead!" said Hermione, looking shocked. "It’s
dreadful that he’s dead! But we’re being realistic!"
For the first time, Harry imagined Mad-Eye’s body, broken as Dumbledore’s had
been, yet with that one eye still whizzing in its socket. He felt a stab of revulsion mixed
with a bizarre desire to laugh.
"The Death Eaters probably tidied up after themselves, that’s why no one’s found
him," said Ron wisely.
"Yeah," said Harry. "Like Barty Crouch, turned into a bone and buried in
Hagrid’s front garden. They probably transfigured Moody and stuffed him- "
"Don’t!" squealed Hermione. Startled, Harry looked over just in time to see her
burst into tears over her copy of Spellman’s Syllabary.
"Oh no," said Harry, struggling to get up from the old camp bed. "Hermione, I
wasn’t trying to upset- "
But with a great creaking of rusty bedsprings, Ron bounded off the bed and got
there first. One arm around Hermione, he fished in his jeans pocket and withdrew a
revolting-looking handkerchief that he had used to clean out the oven earlier. Hastily
pulling out his wand, he pointed it at the rag and said, "Tergeo."
The wand siphoned off most of the grease. Looking rather pleased with himself,
Ron handed the slightly smoking handkerchief to Hermione.
"Oh . . . thanks, Ron. . . . I’m sorry. . . ." She blew her nose and hiccupped. "It’s
just so awf-ful, isn’t it? R-right after Dumbledore . . . I j-just n-never imagined Mad-Eye
dying, somehow, he seemed so tough!"
"Yeah, I know," said Ron, giving her a squeeze. "But you know what he’d say to
us if he was here?"
"’C-constant vigilance,’" said Hermione, mopping her eyes.
"That’s right," said Ron, nodding. "He’d tell us to learn from what happened to
him. And what I’ve learned is not to trust that cowardly little squit, Mundungus."
Hermione gave a shaky laugh and leaned forward to pick up two more books. A
second later, Ron had snatched his arm back from around her shoulders; she had dropped
The Monster of Monsters on his foot. The book had broken free from its restraining belt
and snapped viciously at Ron’s ankle.
"I’m sorry, I’m sorry!" Hermione cried as Harry wrenched the book from Ron’s
leg and retied it shit.
"What are you doing with all those books anyway?" Ron asked, limping back to
his bed.
"Just trying to decide which ones to take with us," said Hermione, "When we’re
looking for the Horcruxes."
"Oh, of course," said Ron, clapping a hand to his forehead. "I forgot we’ll be
hunting down Voldemort in a mobile library."
"Ha ha," said Hermione, looking down at Spellman’s Syllabary. "I wonder . . .
will we need to translate runes? It’s possible. . . . I think we’d better take it, to be safe."
She dropped the syllabary onto the larger of the two piles and picked up Hogwarts,
A History.
"Listen," said Harry.
He had sat up straight. Ron and Hermione looked at him with similar mixtures of
resignation and defiance.
"I know you said after Dumbledore’s funeral that you wanted to come with me,"
Harry began.
"Here he goes," Ron said to Hermione, rolling his eyes.
"As we knew he would," he sighed, turning back to the books. "You know, I
think I will take Hogwarts, A History. Even if we’re not going back there, I don’t think
I’d feel right if I didn’t have it with- "
"Listen!" said Harry again.
"No, Harry, you listen," said Hermione. "We’re coming with you. That was
decided months ago-years, really."
"But- "
"Shut up," Ron advised him.
" -are you sure you’ve thought this through?" Harry persisted.
"Let’s see," said Hermione, slamming Travels with Trolls onto the discarded pile
with a rather fierce look. "I’ve been packing for days, so we’re ready to leave at a
moment’s notice, which for your information has included doing some pretty difficult
magic, not to mention smuggling Mad-Eye’s whole stock of Polyjuice Potion right under
Ron’s mum’s nose.
"I’ve also modified my parents’ memories so that they’re convinced they’re really
called Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and that their life’s ambition is to move to Australia,
which they have now done. That’s to make it more difficult for Voldemort to track them
down and interrogate them about me-or you, because unfortunately, I’ve told them quite
a bit about you.
"Assuming I survive our hunt for the Horcruxes, I’ll find Mum and Dad and lift
the enchantment. If I don’t-well, I think I’ve cast a good enough charm to keep them
safe and happy. Wendell and Monica Wilkins don’t know that they’ve got a daughter,
you see."
Hermione’s eyes were swimming with tears again. Ron got back off the bed, put
his arm around her once more, and frowned at Harry as though reproaching him for lack
of tact. Harry could not think of anything to say, not least because it was highly unusual
for Ron to be teaching anyone else tact.
"I-Hermione, I’m sorry-I didn’t- "
"Didn’t realize that Ron and I know perfectly well what might happen if we come
with you? Well, we do. Ron, show Harry what you’ve done."
"Nah, he’s just eaten," said Ron.
"Go on, he needs to know!"
"Oh, all right. Harry, come here."
For the second time Ron withdrew his arm from around Hermione and stumped
over to the door.
"C’mon."
"Why?" Harry asked, following Ron out of the room onto the tiny landing.
"Descendo," muttered Ron, pointing his wand at the low ceiling. A hatch opened
right over their heads and a ladder slid down to their feet. A horrible, half-sucking, half-
moaning sound came out of the square hole, along with an unpleasant smell like open
drains.
"That’s your ghoul, isn’t it?" asked Harry, who had never actually met the
creature that sometimes disrupted the nightly silence.
"Yeah, it is," said Ron, climbing the ladder. "Come and have a look at him."
Harry followed Ron up the few short steps into the tiny attic space. His head and
shoulders were in the room before he caught sight of the creature curled up a few feet
from him, fast asleep in the gloom with its large mouth wide open.
"But it . . . it looks . . . do ghouls normally wear pajamas?"
"No," said Ron. "Nor have they usually got red hair or that number of pustules."
Harry contemplated the thing, slightly revolted. It was human in shape and size,
and was wearing what, now that Harry’s eyes became used to the darkness, was clearly
an old pair of Ron’s pajamas. He was also sure that ghouls were generally rather slimy
and bald, rather than distinctly hairy and covered in angry purple blisters.
"He’s me, see?" said Ron.
"No," said Harry. "I don’t."
"I’ll explain it back in my room, the smell’s getting to me," said Ron. They
climbed back down the ladder, which Ron returned to the ceiling, and rejoined Hermione,
who was still sorting books.
"Once we’ve left, the ghoul’s going to come and live down here in my room,"
said Ron. "I think he’s really looking forward to it-well, it’s hard to tell, because all he
can do is moan and drool-but he nods a lot when you mention it. Anyway, he’s going to
be me with spattergroit. Good, eh?"
Harry merely looked his confusion.