Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallow

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"Are you out of your mind?" demanded Harry. "A plot to get this house? Are you
actually as stupid as you look?"

"Don't you dare --!" squealed Aunt Petunia, but again Vernon waved her
down. Slights on his personal appearance were it seemed as nothing to the danger he had
spotted.

"Just in case you've forgotten," said Harry, "I've already got a house my godfather
left me one. So why would I want this one? All the happy memories?"

There was silence. Harry thought he had rather impressed his uncle with this
argument.

"You claim," said Uncle Vernon, starting to pace yet again, "that this Lord Thing
- "

"—Voldemort," said Harry impatiently, "and we've been through this about a
hundred times already. This isn't a claim, it's fact. Dumbledore told you last year, and
Kingsley and Mr. Weasley  - "

Vernon Dursley hunched his shoulders angrily, and Harry guessed that his uncle
was attempting to ward off recollections of the unannounced visit, a few days into Harry's
summer holidays, of two fully grown wizards. The arrival on the doorstep of Kingsley
Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley had come as a most unpleasant shock to the Dursleys.
Harry had to admit, however that as Mr. Weasley had once demolished half of the living
room, his reappearance could not have been expected to delight Uncle Vernon.

"—Kingsley and Mr. Weasley explained it all as well," Harry pressed on
remorselessly, "Once I'm seventeen, the protective charm that keeps me safe will break,
and that exposes you as well as me. The Order is sure Voldemort will target you,
whether to torture you to try and find out where I am, or because he thinks by holding
you hostage I'd come and try to rescue you."

Uncle Vernon's and Harry's eyes met. Harry was sure that in that instant they were
both wondering the same thing. Then Uncle Vernon walked on and Harry resumed,
"You've got to go into hiding and the Order wants to help. You're being offered serious
protection, the best there is."

Uncle Vernon said nothing but continued to pace up and down. Outside the sun
hung low over the privet hedges. The next door neighbor's lawn mower stalled again.

"I thought there was a Ministry of Magic?" asked Vernon Dursley abruptly.

"There is," said Harry, surprised.

"Well, then, why can't they protect us? It seems to me that, as innocent victims, guilty of
nothing more than harboring a marked man, we ought to qualify for government
protection!"

Harry laughed; he could not help himself. It was so very typical of his uncle to put
his hopes in the establishment, even within this world that he despised and mistrusted.

"You heard what Mr. Weasley and Kingsley said," Harry replied.

"We think the Ministry has been infiltrated."

Uncle Vernon strode back to the fireplace and back breathing so strongly that his
great black mustache rippled his face still purple with concentration.


"All right," he said. Stopping in front of Harry get again. "All right, let's say for
the sake of argument we accept this protection. I still don't see why we can't have that
Kingsley bloke."

Harry managed not to roll his eyes, but with difficulty. This question had also
been addressed half a dozen times.

"As I've told you," he said through gritted teeth, "Kingsley is protecting the Mug
-  I mean, your Prime Minister."

"Exactly  -  he's the best!" said Uncle Vernon, pointing at the blank television
screen. The Dursleys had spotted Kingsley on the news, walking along the Muggle Prime
Minister as he visited a hospital. This, and the fact that Kingsley had mastered the knack
of dressing like a Muggle, not to mention a certain reassuring something in his slow, deep
voice, had caused the Dursleys to take to Kingsley in a way that they had certainly not
done with any other wizard, although it was true that they had never seen him with
earring in.

"Well, he's taken," said Harry. "But Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle are more
than up to the job  - "

"If we'd even seen CVs..." began Uncle Vernon, but Harry lost patience. Getting
to his feet, he advanced on his uncle, not pointing at the TV set himself.

"These accidents aren't accidents  -  the crashed and explosions and derailments
and whatever else has happened since we last watched the news. People are disappearing
and dying and he's behind it  -  Voldemort. I've told you this over and over again, he kills
Muggles for fun. Even the fogs  -  they're caused by dementors, and if you can't remember
what they are, ask your son!"

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Dudley's hands jerked upward to tower his mouth. With his parents' and Harry's
eyes upon him, he slowly lowered them again and asked, "There are... more of them?"

"More?" laughed Harry. "More than the two that attacked us, you mean? Of course there
are hundreds, maybe thousands by this time, seeing as they feed off fear and despair—"

"All right, all right blustered," blustered Vernon Dursley. "You've made your
point  - "

"I hope so," said Harry, "because once I'm seventeen, all of them  -  Death Eaters,
elementors, maybe even Inferi  -  which means dead bodies enchanted by a Dark wizard  -  
will be able to find you and will certainly attack you. And if you remember the last time
you tried to outrun wizards, I think you'll agree you need help."

There was a brief silence in which the distant echo of Hagrid smashing down a
wooden front door seemed to reverberate through the intervening years. Aunt Petunia
was looking at Uncle Vernon; Dudley was staring at Harry. Finally Uncle Vernon
blurted out, "But what about my work? What about Dudley's school? I don't suppose
those things matter to a bunch of layabout wizards  - "

"Don't you understand?" shouted Harry. "They will torture and kill you like they
did my parents!"

"Dad," said Dudley in a loud voice, "Dad  -  I'm going with these Order people."

"Dudley," said Harry, "for the first time in your life, you're talking sense."

He knew the battle was won. If Dudley was frightened enough to accept the Order's help,
his parents would accompany him. There could be no question of being separated from
their Duddykins. Harry glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece.


"They'll be here in about five minutes, he said, and when one of the Dursleys
replied, he left the room. The prospect of parting—probably forever  -  from his aunt,
uncle, and cousin was one that he was able to contemplate quite cheerfully but there was
nevertheless a certain awkwardness in the air. What did you say to one another at the end
of sixteen years' solid dislike?

Back in his bedroom, Harry fiddled aimlessly with his rucksack then poked a
couple of owl nuts through the bats of Hedwig's cage. They fell with dull thuds to the
bottom where she ignored them.

"We're leaving soon, really soon," Harry told her. "And then you'll be able to fly
again."

The doorbell rang. Harry hesitated, then headed back out of his room and
downstairs. It was too much to expect Hestia and Dedalus to cope with the Dursleys on
their own.

"Harry Potter!" squeaked an excited voice, the moment Harry had opened the
door; a small man in a mauve top hat that was sweeping him a deep bow. "An honor as
ever!"

"Thanks, Dedalus," said Harry, bestowing a small and embarrassed smile upon
the dark haired Hestia. "It's really good of you to do this... They're through here, my aunt
and uncle and cousin..."

"Good day to you, Harry Potter's relatives!" said Dedalus happily striding into the
living room. The Dursleys did not look at all happy to be addressed thus; Harry half
expected another change of mind. Dudley shrank neared to his mother at the sight of the
witch and wizard.

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"I see you are packed and ready. Excellent! The plan, as Harry has told you, is a
simple one," said Dedalus, pulling an immense pocket watch out of his waistcoat and
examining it. "We shall be leaving before Harry does. Due to the danger of using magic
in your house  - Harry being still underage it could provide the Ministry with an excuse to
arrest him  -  we shall be driving, say, ten miles or so before Disapparating to the safe
location we have picked out for you. You know how to drive, I take it?" He asked Uncle
Vernon politely.

"Know how to  - ? Of course I ruddy well know how to drive!" spluttered Uncle
Vernon.

"Very clever of you, sir, very clever. I personally would be utterly bamboozled by
all those buttons and knobs," said Dedalus. He was clearly under the impression that he
was flattering Vernon Dursley, who was visibly losing confidence in the plan with every
word Dedalus spoke.

"Can't even drive," he muttered under his breath, his mustache rippling
indignantly, but fortunately neither Dedalus nor Hestia seemed to hear him.

"You, Harry," Dedalus continued, "will wait here for your guard. There has been
a little change in the arrangements  - "

"What d'you mean?" said Harry at once. "I thought Mad-Eye was going to come
and take me by Side Along-Apparition?"

"Can't do it," said Hestia tersely, "Mad-Eye will explain."

The Dursleys, who had listened to all of this with looks of utter incomprehension
on their faces, jumped as a loud voice screeched, "Hurry up!" Harry looked all around the
room before realizing the voice had issued from Dedalus's pocket watch.


"Quite right, were operating to a very tight schedule," said Dedalus nodding at his
watch and tucking it back into his waist coat. "We are attempting to time your departure
from the house with your family's Disapparition, Harry thus the charm breaks the
moment you all head for safety." He turned to the Dursleys, "Well, are we all packed and
ready to go?"

None of them answered him. Uncle Vernon was still staring appalled at the bulge
in Dedalus's waistcoat pocket.

"Perhaps we should wait outside in the hall, Dedalus," murmured Hestia. She
clearly felt that it would be tactless for them to remain the room while Harry and the
Dursleys exchanged loving, possibly tearful farewells.

"There's no need," Harry muttered, but Uncle Vernon made any further
explanation unnecessary by saying loudly,

"Well, this is good-bye then boy."

He swung his right arm upward to shake Harry's hand, but at the last moment
seemed unable to face it, and merely closed his fist and began swinging it backward and
forward like a metronome.

"Ready, Duddy?" asked Petunia, fussily checking the clasp of her handbag so as
to avoid looking at Harry altogether.

Dudley did not answer but stood there with his mouth slightly ajar, reminding
Harry a little of the giant, Grawp.

"Come along, then," said Uncle Vernon.

He had already reached the living room door when Dudley mumbled, "I don't
understand."

"What don't you understand, popkin?" asked Petunia looking up at her son.

Dudley raised a large, hamlike hand to point at Harry.

"Why isn't he coming with us?

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia froze when they stood staring at Dudley as
though he had just expressed a desire to become a ballerina.

"What?" said Uncle Vernon loudly.

"Why isn't he coming too?" asked Dudley.

"Well, he—doesn't want to," said Uncle Vernon, turning to glare at Harry and
adding, "You don't want to, do you?"

"Not in the slightest," said Harry.

"There you are," Uncle Vernon told Dudley. "Now come on we're off."

He marched out of the room. They heard the front door open, but Dudley did not
move and after a few faltering steps Aunt Petunia stopped too.

"What now?" barked Uncle Vernon, reappearing in the doorway.

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It seemed that Dudley was struggling with concepts too difficult to put into words.
After several moments of apparently painful internal struggle he said, "But where's he
going to go?"

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at each other. It was clear that Dudley
was frightening them. Hestia Jones broke the silence.

"But... surely you know where your nephew is going?" she asked looking
bewildered.

"Certainly we know," said Vernon Dursley. "He's off with some of your lot, isn't
he? Right, Dudley, let's get in the car, you heard the man, we're in a hurry.


Again, Vernon Dursley marched as far as the front door, but Dudley did not
follow.

"Off with some of our lot?"

Hestia looked outraged. Harry had met this attitude before Witches and wizards
seemed stunned that his closed living relatives took so little interest in the famous Harry
Potter.

"It's fine," Harry assured her. "It doesn't matter, honestly."

"Doesn't matter?" repeated Hestia, her voice rising considerably.

"Don't these people realize what you've been through? What danger you are in?
The unique position you hold in the hearts of the anti Voldemort movement?"

"Er  - no, they don't," said Harry. "They think I'm a waste of space, actually but I'm
used to  - "

"I don't think you're a waste of space"

If Harry had not seen Dudley's lips move, he might not have believed it. As it was,
he stared at Dudley for several seconds before accepting that it must have been his cousin
who had spoken; for one thing, Dudley had turned red. Harry was embarrassed and
astonished himself.

"Well... er... thanks, Dudley."

Again, Dudley appeared to grapple with thoughts too unwieldy for expression
before mumbling, "You saved my life,"

"Not really," said Harry. "It was your soul the dementor would have taken..."

He looked curiously at his cousin. They had had virtually no contact during this
summer or last, as Harry had come back to Privet Drive so briefly and kept to his room so
much. It now dawned on Harry, however, that the cup of cold tea on which he had
trodden that morning might not have been a booby trap at all. Although rather touched he
was nevertheless quite relieved that Dudley appeared to have exhausted his ability to
express his feelings. After opening his mouth once or twice more, Dudley subsided into
scarlet-faced silence.

Aunt Petunia burst into tears. Hestia Jones gave her an approving look that
changed to outrage as Aunt Petunia ran forward and embraced Dudley rather than Harry.

"S-so sweet, Dudders..." she sobbed into his massive chest. "S-such a lovely b-boy... s-
saying thank you..."

"But he hasn't said thank you at all!" said Hestia indignantly. "He only said he
didn't think Harry was a waste of space!"

"Yea but coming from Dudley that's like 'I love you,'" said Harry, torn between
annoyance and a desire to laugh as Aunt Petunia continued to clutch at Dudley as if he
had just saved Harry from a burning building.

"Are we going or not?" roared Uncle Vernon, reappearing yet again at the living
room door. "I thought we were on a tight schedule!"

"Yes  - yes, we are," said Dedalus Diggle, who had been watching these exchanged
with an air of bemusement and now seemed to pull himself together. "We really must be
off. Harry  - "

He tripped forward and wrung Harry's hand with both of his own.

"—good luck. I hope we meet again. The hopes of the Wizarding world rest upon
your shoulders."

"Oh," said Harry, "right. Thanks."


"Farwell, Harry," said Hestia also clasping his hand. "Our thoughts go with you."

"I hope everything's okay," said Harry with a glance toward Aunt Petunia and
Dudley.

"Oh I'm sure we shall end up the best of chums," said Diggle slightly, waving his
hat as he left the room. Hestia followed him.

Dudley gently released himself from his mother's clutches and walked toward
Harry who had to repress an urge to threaten him with magic. Then Dudley held out his
large, pink hand.

"Blimey, Dudley," said Harry over Aunt Petunia's renewed sobs, "did the
dementors blow a different personality into you?"

"Dunno," muttered Dudley, "See you, Harry."

"Yea ..." said Harry, raking Dudley's hand and shaking it. "Maybe. Take care,
Big D."

Dudley nearly smiled. They lumbered from the room. Harry heard his heavy
footfalls on the graveled drive, and then a car door slammed.

Aunt Petunia whose face had been buried in her handkerchief looked around at
the sound. She did not seem to have expected to find herself alone with Harry. Hastily
stowing her wet handkerchief into her pocket, she said, "Well  -  good-bye" and marched
towards the door without looking at him.

"Good-bye" said Harry.

She stopped and looked back. For a moment Harry had the strangest feeling that
she wanted to say something to him; She gave him an odd, tremulous look and seemed to
teeter on the edge of speech, but then, with a little of her head, she hustled out of the
room after he husband and son.

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Chapter Four

The Seven Potters



Harry ran back upstairs to his bedroom, arriving at the window just in time to see
the Dursleys' car swinging out of the drive and off up the road. Dedalus’s top hat was
visible between Aunt Petunia and Dudley in the backseat. The car turned right at the end
of Privet Drive, its windows burned scarlet for a moment in the now setting sun, and then
it was gone.

Harry picked up Hedwig’s cage, his Firebolt, and his rucksack, gave his
unnaturally tidy bedroom one last sweeping look, and then made his ungainly way back
downstairs to the hall, where he deposited cage, broomstick, and bag near the foot of the
stairs. The light was fading rapidly, the hall full of shadows in the evening light. It felt
most strange to stand here in the silence and know that he was about to leave the house
for the last time. Long ago, when he had been left alone while the Dursleys went out to
enjoy themselves, the hours of solitude had been a rare treat. Pausing only to sneak
something tasty from the fridge, he had rushed upstairs to play on Dudley’s computer, or
put on the television and flicked through the channels to his heart’s content. It gave him
an odd, empty feeling remembering those times; it was like remembering a younger
brother whom he had lost.


"Don’t you want to take a last look at the place?" he asked Hedwig, who was still
sulking with her head under her wing. "We’ll never be here again. Don’t you want to
remember all the good times? I mean, look at this doormat. What memories ... Dudley
sobbed on it after I saved him from the dementors ... Turns out he was grateful after all,
can you believe it? ... And last summer, Dumbledore walked through that front door ... "

Harry lost the thread of his thoughts for a moment and Hedwig did nothing to
help him retrieve it, but continued to sit with her head under her wing. Harry turned his
back on the front door.

"And under here, Hedwig"  -  Harry pulled open a door under the stairs  -  "is where
I used to sleep! You never knew me then  -  Blimey, it’s small, I’d forgotten ... "

Harry looked around at the stacked shoes and umbrellas remembering how he
used to wake every morning looking up at the underside of the staircase, which was more
often than not adorned with a spider or two. Those had been the days before he had
known anything about his true identity; before he had found out how his parents had died
or why such strange things often happened around him. But Harry could still remember
the dreams that had dogged him, even in those days: confused dreams involving flashes
of green light and once  -  Uncle Vernon had nearly crashed the car when Harry had
recounted it  -  a flying motorbike ...

There was a sudden, deafening roar from somewhere nearby. Harry straightened
up with a jerk and smacked the top of his head on the low door frame. Pausing only to
employ a few of Uncle Vernon’s choicest swear words, he staggered back into the
kitchen, clutching his head and staring out of the window into the back garden.

The darkness seemed to be rippling, the air itself quivering. Then, one by one,
figures began to pop into sight as their Disillusionment Charms lifted. Dominating the
scene was Hagrid, wearing a helmet and goggles and sitting astride an enormous
motorbike with a black sidecar attached. All around him other people were dismounting
from brooms and, in two cases, skeletal, black winged horses.

Wrenching open the back door, Harry hurtled into their midst. There was a
general cry of greeting as Hermione flung her arms around him, Ron clapped him on the
back, and Hagrid said, "All righ’, Harry? Ready fer the off?"

"Definitely," said Harry, beaming around at them all. "But I wasn’t expecting this
many of you!"

"Change of plan," growled Mad-Eye, who was holding two enormous bulging
sacks, and whose magical eye was spinning from darkening sky to house to garden with
dizzying rapidity. "Let’s get undercover before we talk you through it."

Harry led them all back into the kitchen where, laughing and chattering, they
settled on chairs, sat themselves upon Aunt Petunia’s gleaming work surfaces, or leaned
up against her spotless appliances; Ron, long and lanky; Hermione, her bushy hair tied
back in a long plait; Fred and George, grinning identically; Bill, badly scarred and long-
haired; Mr. Weasley, kind-faced, balding, his spectacles a little awry; Mad-Eye, battle-
worn, one-legged, his bright blue magical eye whizzing in its socket; Tonks, whose short
hair was her favorite shade of bright pink; Lupin, grayer, more lined; Fleur, slender and
beautiful, with her long silvery blonde hair; Kingsley, bald and broad-shouldered; Hagrid,
with his wild hair and beard, standing hunchbacked to avoid hitting his head on the
ceiling; and Mundungus Fletcher, small, dirty, and hangdog, with his droopy beady
hound’s eyes and matted hair. Harry’s heart seemed to expand and glow at the sight: He


felt incredibly fond of all of them, even Mundungus, whom he had tried to strangle the
last time they had met.

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"Kingsley, I thought you were looking after the Muggle Prime Minister?" he
called across the room.

"He can get along without me for one night," said Kingsley, "You’re more
important."

"Harry, guess what?" said Tonks from her perch on top of the washing machine,
and she wiggled her left hand at him; a ring glistened there.

"You got married?" Harry yelped, looking from her to Lupin.

"I’m sorry you couldn’t be there, Harry, it was very quiet."

"That’s brilliant, congrat  - "

"All right, all right, we’ll have time for a cozy catch-up later," roared Moody over
the hubbub, and silence fell in the kitchen. Moody dropped his sacks at his feet and
turned to Harry. "As Dedalus probably told you, we had to abandon Plan A. Pius
Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a big problem. He’s made it an imprisonable
offense to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here, or Apparate in or
out. All done in the name of your protection, to prevent You-Know-Who getting in at you.
Absolutely pointless, seeing as your mother’s charm does that already. What he’s really
done is to stop you getting out of here safely."

"Second problem: You’re underage, which means you’ve still got the Trace on
you."

"I don’t  - "

"The Trace, the Trace!" said Mad-Eye impatiently. "The charm that detects
magical activity around under-seventeens, the way the Ministry finds out about underage
magic! If you, or anyone around you, casts a spell to get you out of here, Thicknesse is
going to know about it, and so will the Death Eaters."

"We can’t wait for the Trace to break, because the moment you turn seventeen
you’ll lose all the protection your mother gave you. In short, Pius Thicknesse thinks he’s
got you cornered good and proper."

Harry could not help but agree with the unknown Thicknesse.

"So what are we going to do?"

"We’re going to use the only means of transport left to us, the only ones the Trace
can’t detect, because we don’t need to cast spells to use them: brooms, thestrals, and
Hagrid’s motorbike."

Harry could see flaws in this plan; however, he held his tongue to give Mad-Eye
the chance to address them.

"Now, your mother’s charm will only break under two conditions: when you
come of age, or"  -  Moody gestured around the pristine kitchen  -  "you no longer call this
place home. You and your aunt and uncle are going your separate ways tonight, in the
full understanding that you’re never going to live together again, correct?"

Harry nodded.

"So this time, when you leave, there’ll be no going back, and the charm will break
the moment you get outside its range. We’re choosing to break it early, because the
alternative is waiting for You-Know-Who to come and seize you the moment you turn
seventeen.


"The one thing we’ve got on our side is that You-Know-Who doesn’t know we’re
moving you tonight. We’ve leaked a fake trail to the Ministry: They think you’re not
leaving until the thirtieth. However, this is You-Know-Who we’re dealing with, so we
can’t rely on him getting the date wrong; he’s bound to have a couple of Death Eaters
patrolling the skies in this general area, just in case. So, we’ve given a dozen different
houses every protection we can throw at them. They all look like they could be the place
we’re going to hide you, they’ve all got some connection with the Order: my house,
Kingsley’s place, Molly’s Auntie Muriel’s  -  you get the idea."

"Yeah," said Harry, not entirely truthfully, because he could still spot a gaping
hole in the plan.

"You’ll be going to Tonks’s parents. Once you’re within the boundaries of the
protective enchantments we’ve put on their house you’ll be able to use a Portkey to the
Burrow. Any questions?"

"Er  -  yes," said Harry. "Maybe they won’t know which of the twelve secure
houses I’m heading for at first, but won’t it be sort of obvious once"  -  he performed a
quick headcount  -  "fourteen of us fly off toward Tonks’s parents?"

"Ah," said Moody, "I forgot to mention the key point. Fourteen of us won’t be
flying to Tonks’s parents. There will be seven Harry Potters moving through the skies
tonight, each of them with a companion, each pair heading for a different safe house."

From inside his cloak Moody now withdrew a flask of what looked like mud.
There was no need for him to say another word; Harry understood the rest of the plan
immediately.

"No!" he said loudly, his voice ringing through the kitchen. "No way!"

"I told them you’d take it like this," said Hermione with a hint of complacency.

"If you think I’m going to let six people risk their lives -- !"

"—because it’s the first time for all of us," said Ron.

"This is different, pretending to be me  - "

"Well, none of us really fancy it, Harry," said Fred earnestly. "Imagine if
something went wrong and we were stuck as specky, scrawny gits forever."

Harry did not smile.

"You can’t do it if I don’t cooperate, you need me to give you some hair."

"Well, that’s the plan scuppered," said George. "Obviously there’s no chance at
all of us getting a bit of your hair unless you cooperate."

"Yeah, thirteen of us against one bloke who’s not allowed to use magic; we’ve
got no chance," said Fred.

"Funny," said Harry, "really amusing."

"If it has to come to force, then it will," growled Moody, his magical eye now
quivering a little in its socket as he glared at Harry. "Everyone here’s overage, Potter, and
they’re all prepared to take the risk."

Mundungus shrugged and grimaced; the magical eye swerved sideways to glance
at him out of the side of Moody’s head.

"Let’s have no more arguments. Time’s wearing on. I want a few of your hairs,
boy, now."

"But this is mad, there’s no need  - "

"No need!" snarled Moody. "With You-Know-Who out there and half the
Ministry on his side? Potter, if we’re lucky he’ll have swallowed the fake bait and he’ll


be planning to ambush you on the thirtieth, but he’d be mad not to have a Death Eater or
two keeping an eye out, it’s what I’d do. They might not be able to get at you or this
house while your mother’s charm holds, but it’s about to break and they know the rough
position of the place. Our only chance is to use decoys. Even You-Know-Who can’t split
himself into seven."

Harry caught Hermione’s eye and looked away at once.

"So, Potter  -  some of your hair, if you please."

Harry glanced at Ron, who grimaced at him in a just-do-it sort of way.

"Now!" barked Moody.

With all of their eyes upon him, Harry reached up to the top of his head, grabbed
a hank of hair, and pulled.

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"Good," said Moody, limping forward as he pulled the stopper out of the flask of
potion. "Straight in here, if you please."

Harry dropped the hair into the mudlike liquid. The moment it made contact with
its surface, the potion began to froth and smoke, then, all at once, it turned a clear, bright
gold.

"Ooh, you look much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry," said Hermione,
before catching sight of Ron’s raised eyebrows, blushing slightly, and saying, "Oh, you
know what I mean  -  Goyle’s potion tasted like bogies."

"Right then, fake Potters line up over here, please," said Moody.

Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Fleur lined up in front of Aunt Petunia’s
gleaming sink.

"We’re one short," said Lupin.

"Here," said Hagrid gruffly, and he lifted Mundungus by the scruff of the neck
and dropped him down beside Fleur, who wrinkled her nose pointedly and moved along
to stand between Fred and George instead.

"I’m a soldier, I’d sooner be a protector," said Mundungus.

"Shut it," growled Moody. "As I’ve already told you, you spineless worm, any
Death Eaters we run into will be aiming to capture Potter, not kill him. Dumbledore
always said You-Know-Who would want to finish Potter in person. It’ll be the protectors
who have got the most to worry about, the Death Eaters’ll want to kill them."

Mundungus did not look particularly reassured, but Moody was already pulling
half a dozen eggcup-sized glasses from inside his cloak, which he handed out, before
pouring a little Polyjuice Potion into each one.

"Altogether, then ... "

Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Fleur, and Mundungus drank. All of them gasped
and grimaced as the potion hit their throats; At once, their features began to bubble and
distort like hot wax. Hermione and Mundungus were shooting upward; Ron, Fred, and
George were shrinking; their hair was darkening, Hermione’s and Fleur’s appearing to
shoot backward into their skulls.

Moody, quite unconcerned, was now loosening the ties of the large sacks he had
brought with him. When he straightened up again, there were six Harry Potters gasping
and panting in front of him.

Fred and George turned to each other and said together, "Wow  -  we’re identical!"

"I dunno, though, I think I’m still better-looking," said Fred, examining his
reflection in the kettle.


"Bah," said Fleur, checking herself in the microwave door, "Bill, don’t look at me
-  I’m ‘ideous."

"Those whose clothes are a bit roomy, I’ve got smaller here," said Moody,
indicating the first sack, "and vice versa. Don’t forget the glasses, there’s six pairs in the
side pocket. And when you’re dressed, there’s luggage in the other sack."

The real Harry thought that this might just be the most bizarre thing he had ever
seen, and he had seen some extremely odd things. He watched as his six doppelgangers
rummaged in the sacks, pulling out sets of clothes, putting on glasses, stuffing their own
things away. He felt like asking them to show a little more respect for privacy as they all
began stripping off with impunity, clearly more at ease with displaying his body than
they would have been with their own.

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"I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo," said Ron, looking down at his bare
chest.

"Harry, your eyesight really is awful," said Hermione, as she put on glasses.

Once dressed, the fake Harrys took rucksacks and owl cages, each containing a
stuffed snowy owl, from the second sack.

"Good," said Moody, as at last seven dressed, bespectacled, and luggage-laden
Harrys faced him. "The pairs will be as follows: Mundungus will be traveling with me,
by broom  - "

"Why’m I with you?" grunted the Harry nearest the back door.

"Because you’re the one that needs watching," growled Moody, and sure enough,
his magical eye did not waver from Mundungus as he continued, "Arthur and Fred  - "

"I’m George," said the twin at whom Moody was pointing. "Can’t you even tell
us apart when we’re Harry?"

"Sorry, George  - "

"I’m only yanking your wand, I’m Fred really  - "

"Enough messing around!" snarled Moody. "The other one  -  George or Fred or
whoever you are  -  you’re with Remus. Miss Delacour  - "

"I’m taking Fleur on a thestral," said Bill. "She’s not that fond of brooms."

Fleur walked over to stand beside him, giving him a soppy, slavish look that
Harry hoped with all his heart would never appear on his face again.

"Miss Granger with Kingsley, again by thestral  - "

Hermione looked reassured as she answered Kingsley’s smile; Harry knew that
Hermione too lacked confidence on a broomstick.

"Which leaves you and me, Ron!" said Tonks brightly, knocking over a mug tree
as she waved at him.

Ron did not look quite as pleased as Hermione.

"An’ you’re with me, Harry. That all righ’?" said Hagrid, looking a little anxious.
"We’ll be on the bike, brooms an’ thestrals can’t take me weight, see. Not a lot o’ room
on the seat with me on it, though, so you’ll be in the sidecar."

"That’s great," said Harry, not altogether truthfully.

"We think the Death Eaters will expect you to be on a broom," said Moody, who
seemed to guess how Harry was feeling. "Snape’s had plenty of time to tell them
everything about you he’s never mentioned before, so if we do run into any Death Eaters,
we’re betting they’ll choose one of the Potters who looks at home on a broomstick. All
right then," he went on, tying up the sack with the fake Potters’ clothes in it and leading


the way back to the door, "I make it three minutes until we’re supposed to leave. No
point locking the back door, it won’t keep the Death Eaters out when they come looking.
Come on ..."

Harry hurried to gather his rucksack, Firebolt, and Hedwig’s cage and followed
the group to the dark back garden.

On every side broomsticks were leaping into hands; Hermione had already been
helped up onto a great black thestral by Kingsley, Fleur onto the other by Bill. Hagrid
was standing ready beside the motorbike, goggles on.

"Is this it? Is this Sirius’s bike?"

"The very same," said Hagrid, beaming down at Harry. "An’ the last time yeh
was on it, Harry, I could fit yeh in one hand!"

Harry could not help but feel a little humiliated as he got into the sidecar. It
placed him several feet below everybody else: Ron smirked at the sight of him sitting
there like a child in a bumper car. Harry stuffed his rucksack and broomstick down by his
feet and rammed Hedwig’s cage between his knees. He was extremely uncomfortable.

"Arthur’s done a bit o’ tinkerin’," said Hagrid, quite oblivious to Harry’s
discomfort. He settled himself astride the motorcycle, which creaked slightly and sank
inches into the ground. "It’s got a few tricks up its sleeves now. Tha’ one was my idea."
He pointed a thick finger at a purple button near the speedometer.

"Please be careful, Hagrid." said Mr. Weasley, who was standing beside them,
holding his broomstick. "I'm still not sure that was advisable and it's certainly only to be
used in emergencies."

"All right, then." said Moody. "Everyone ready, please. I want us all to leave at
exactly the same time or the whole point of the diversion's lost."

Everybody motioned their heads.

"Hold tight now, Ron," said Tonks, and Harry saw Ron throw a forcing, guilty look at
Lupin before placing his hands on each side of her waist. Hagrid kicked the motorbike
into life: It roared like a dragon, and the sidecar began to vibrate.

"Good luck, everyone," shouted Moody. "See you all in about an hour at the
Burrow. On the count of three. One ... two .. THREE."

There was a great roar from the motorbike, and Harry felt the sidecar give a nasty
lurch. He was rising through the air fast, his eyes watering slightly, hair whipped back off
his face. Around him brooms were soaring upward too; the long black tail of a thestral
flicked past. His legs, jammed into the sidecar by Hedwig’s cage and his rucksack, were
already sore and starting to go numb. So great was his discomfort that he almost forgot to
take a last glimpse of number four Privet Drive. By the time he looked over the edge of
the sidecar he could no longer tell which one it was.

And then, out of nowhere, out of nothing, they were surrounded. At least thirty
hooded figures, suspended in midair, formed a vast circle in the middle of which the
Order members had risen, oblivious  -  

Screams, a blaze of green light on every side: Hagrid gave a yell and the
motorbike rolled over. Harry lost any sense of where they were. Streetlights above him,
yells around him, he was clinging to the sidecar for dear life. Hedwig's cage, the Firebolt,
and his rucksack slipped from beneath his knees  -  

"No  -  HELP!"


The broomstick spun too, but he just managed to seize the strap of his rucksack
and the top of the cage as the motorbike swung the right way up again. A second's relief,
and then another burst of green light. The owl screeched and fell to the floor of the cage.

"No  -  NO!"

The motorbike zoomed forward; Harry glimpsed hooded Death Eaters scattering
as Hagrid blasted through their circle.

"Hedwig  -  Hedwig  - "

But the owl lay motionless and pathetic as a toy on the floor of her cage. He could
not take it in, and his terror for the others was paramount. He glanced over his shoulder
and saw a mass of people moving, flares of green light, two pairs of people on brooms
soaring off into the distance, but he could not tell who they were  -  

"Hagrid, we've got to go back, we've got to go back!" he yelled over the
thunderous roar of the engine, pulling out his wand, ramming Hedwig's cage into the
floor, refusing to believe that she was dead. "Hagrid, TURN AROUND!"

"My job's ter get you there safe, Harry!" bellow Hagrid, and he opened the throttle.

"Stop  -  STOP!" Harry shouted, but as he looked back again two jets of green light flew
past his left ear: Four Death Eaters had broken away from the circle and were pursuing
them, aiming for Hagrid's broad back. Hagrid swerved, but the Death Eaters were
keeping up with the bike; more curses shot after them, and Harry had to sink low into the
sidecar to avoid them. Wriggling around he cried, "Stupefy!" and a red bolt of light shot
from his own wand, cleaving a gap between the four pursuing Death Eaters as they
scattered to avoid it.

"Hold on, Harry, this'll do for 'em!" roared Hagrid, and Harry looked up just in
time to see Hagrid slamming a thick finger into a green button near the fuel gauge.

A wall, a solid black wall, erupted out of the exhaust pipe. Craning his neck, Harry saw it
expand into being in midair. Three of the Death Eaters swerved and avoided it, but the
fourth was not so lucky; He vanished from view and then dropped like a boulder from
behind it, his broomstick broken into pieces. One of his fellows slowed up to save him,
but they and the airborne wall were swallowed by darkness as Hagrid leaned low over the
handlebars and sped up.

More Killing Curses flew past Harry's head from the two remaining Death Eaters'
wands; they were aiming for Hagrid. Harry responded with further Stunning Spells: Red
and green collided in midair in a shower of multicolored sparks, and Harry thought
wildly of fireworks, and the Muggles below who would have no idea what was
happening  -  

"Here we go again, Harry, hold on!" yelled Hagrid, and he jabbed at a second
button. This time a great net burst from the bike's exhaust, but the Death Eaters were
ready for it. Not only did they swerve to avoid it, but the companion who had slowed to
save their unconscious friend had caught up. He bloomed suddenly out of the darkness
and now three of them were pursuing the motorbike, all shooting curses after it.

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This'll do it, Harry, hold on tight!" yelled Hagrid, and Harry saw him slam his
whole hand onto the purple button beside the speedometer.

With an unmistakable bellowing roar, dragon fire burst from the exhaust, white-
hot and blue, and the motorbike shot forward like a bullet with a sound of wrenching
metal. Harry saw the Death Eaters swerve out of sight to avoid the deadly trail of flame,


and at the same time felt the sidecar sway ominously: Its metal connections to the bike
had splintered with the force of acceleration.

"It's all righ', Harry!" bellowed Hagrid, now thrown flat onto the back by the
surge of speed; nobody was steering now, and the sidecar was starting to twist violently
in the bike's slipstream.

"I'm on it, Harry, don' worry!" Hagrid yelled, and from inside his jacket pocket he
pulled his flowery pink umbrella.

"Hagrid! No! Let me!"

"REPARO!"

There was a deafening bang and the sidecar broke away from the bike completely.
Harry sped forward, propelled by the impetus of the bike's flight, then the sidecar began
to lose height  -  

In desperation Harry pointed his wand at the sidecar and shouted, "Wingardium
Leviosa!"

The sidecar rose like a cork, unsteerable but at least still airborne. He had but a
split second's relief, however, as more curses streaked past him: The three Death Eaters
were closing in.

"I'm comin', Harry!" Hagrid yelled from out of the darkness, but Harry could feel
the sidecar beginning to sink again: Crouching as low as he could, he pointed at the
middle of the oncoming figures and yelled, "Impedimenta!"

The jinx hit the middle Death Eater in the chest; For a moment the man was
absurdly spread-eagled in midair as though he had hit an invisible barrier: One of his
fellows almost collided with him  -  

Then the sidecar began to fall in earnest, and the remaining Death Eater shot a
curse so close to Harry that he had to duck below the rim of the car, knocking out a tooth
on the edge of his seat  -  

"I'm comin', Harry, I'm comin'!"

A huge hand seized the back of Harry's robes and hoisted him out of the
plummeting sidecar; Harry pulled his rucksack with him as he dragged himself onto the
motorbike's seat and found himself back-to-back with Hagrid. As they soared upward,
away from the two remaining Death Eaters, Harry spat blood out of his mouth, pointed
his wand at the falling sidecar, and yelled, "Confringo!"

He knew a dreadful, gut-wrenching pang for Hedwig as it exploded; the Death
Eater nearest it was blasted off his broom and fell from sight; his companion fell back
and vanished.

"Harry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," moaned Hagrid, "I shouldn'ta tried ter repair it
meself  -  yeh've got no room  - "

"It's not a problem, just keep flying!" Harry shouted back, as two more Death
Eaters emerged out of the darkness, drawing closer.

As the curses came shooting across the intervening space again, Hagrid swerved
and zigzagged: Harry knew that Hagrid did not dare use the dragon-fire button again,
with Harry seated so insecurely. Harry sent Stunning Spell after Stunning Spell back at
their pursuers, barely holding them off. He shot another blocking jinx at them: The
closest Death Eater swerved to avoid it and his hood slipped, and by the red light of his
next Stunning Spell, Harry saw the strangely blank face of Stanley Shunpike  -  Stan  -  

"Expelliarmus!" Harry yelled.


"That's him, it's him, it's the real one!"

The hooded Death Eater's shout reached Harry even above the thunder of the
motorbike's engine: Next moment, both pursuers had fallen back and disappeared from view.

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"Harry, what's happened?" bellowed Hagrid. "Where've they gone?"

"I don't know!"

But Harry was afraid: The hooded Death Eater had shouted, "It's the real one!";
how had he known? He gazed around at the apparently empty darkness and felt its
menace. Where were they?

He clambered around on the seat to face forward and seized hold of the back of
Hagrid's jacket.

"Hagrid, do the dragon-fire thing again, let's get out of here!"

"Hold on tight, then, Harry!"

There was a deafening, screeching roar again and the white-blue fire shot from the
exhaust: Harry felt himself slipping backwards off what little of the seat he had. Hagrid
flung backward upon him, barely maintaining his grip on the handlebars  -  

"I think we've lost 'em Harry, I think we've done it!" yelled Hagrid.

But Harry was not convinced; Fear lapped at him as he looked left and right for
pursuers he was sure would come. . . . Why had they fallen back? One of them had still
had a wand. . . . It's him. . . it's the real one. . . . They had said it right after he had tried to
Disarm Stan. . . .

"We're nearly there, Harry, we've nearly made it!" shouted Hagrid.

Harry felt the bike drop a little, though the lights down on the ground still seemed
remote as stars.

Then the scar on his forehead burned like fire: as a Death Eater appeared on either
side of the bike, two Killing Curses missed Harry by millimeters, cast from behind  -  

And then Harry saw him. Voldemort was flying like smoke on the wind, without
broomstick or thestral to hold him, his snake-like face gleaming out of the blackness, his
white fingers raising his wand again  -  

Hagrid let out a bellow of fear and steered the motorbike into a vertical dive.
Clinging on for dear life, Harry sent Stunning Spells flying at random into the whirling
night. He saw a body fly past him and knew he had hit one of them, but then he heard a
bang and saw sparks from the engine; the motorbike spiraled through the air, completely
out of control  -  

Green jets of light shot past them again. Harry had no idea which way was up,
which down: His scar was still burning; he expected to die at any second. A hooded
figure on a broomstick was feet from him, he saw it raise its arm  -  

"NO!"

With a shout of fury Hagrid launched himself off the bike at the Death Eater; to
his horror, Harry saw both Hagrid and the Death Eater, falling out of sight, their
combined weight too much for the broomstick  -  

Barely gripping the plummeting bike with his knees, Harry heard Voldemort
scream, "Mine!"

It was over: He could not see or hear where Voldemort was; he glimpsed another
Death Eater swooping out of the way and heard, "Avada  - "


As the pain from Harry's scar forced his eyes shut, his wand acted of its own
accord. He felt it drag his hand around like some great magnet, saw a spurt of golden fire
through his half-closed eyelids, heard a crack and a scream of fury. The remaining Death
Eater yelled; Voldemort screamed, "NO!" Somehow, Harry found his nose an inch from
the dragon-fire button. He punched it with his wand-free hand and the bike shot more
flames into the air, hurtling straight toward the ground.

"Hagrid!" Harry called, holding on to the bike for dear life. "Hagrid  -  Accio
Hagrid!"

The motorbike sped up, sucked towards the earth. Face level with the handlebars,
Harry could see nothing but distant lights growing nearer and nearer: He was going to
crash and there was nothing he could do about it. Behind him came another scream,
"Your wand, Selwyn, give me your wand!"

He felt Voldemort before he saw him. Looking sideways, he stared into the red
eyes and was sure they would be the last thing he ever saw: Voldemort preparing to curse
him once more  -  

And then Voldemort vanished. Harry looked down and saw Hagrid spread-eagled
on the ground below him. He pulled hard at the handlebars to avoid hitting him, groped for the brake, but with an earsplitting, ground trembling crash, he smashed into a muddy pond.