Cut Off The News
After many hot and humid days in a row, the residents of Privet Drive were currently welcoming the cool breeze wafting through the air on the sunny afternoon of August 8th, and even the stuck in Dursley’s had gone out gallivanting, leaving only two boys left at their home residence of number four Privet Drive. Cousins, Dudley Dursley, a great big boy with a new talent for boxing which had replaced fat with muscle no one dared go against, and Harry Potter, a skinny, jet-black-haired, tan skinned, bespeckled boy currently recovering from a growth spurt, the shirt and jeans he currently wore while flat against his back on his springy bed stretched to their limit.
Not that the newly made fifteen year old would notice or care, as he was currently too wrapped in turning over the letter in his hands. A plain piece of parchment with only a few words scribbled on in clearly a rushed fashion, which had been the focus of all his attention since the day it had come.
The letter came from the boy’s closest friend--not best, that title belonged to his first friend Ron Weasley, and his second Hermione Granger--but the boy he felt the most connection with, in a way he couldn’t quite understand. His friend, Draco Malfoy.
Draco was one to send extravagant letters in extravagant writing, making good use of the millions of galleons his family vault has to spare. Not once would he be caught dead sending a plain piece of parchment with simple black ink scribble saying six words and a short sign off, with a smudge in the corner. This was the work of a boy who was either in a hurry or in danger, and from what his friends had said before, and generally what Harry knew of the boy’s situation at the moment, it was most likely the latter.
Which was further confirmed when he sent an admittedly long-winded letter back to his friend immediately, only for his snowy owl, Hedwig, to return with an injured leg and burnt wing, which had caused her to have to recover and him to feel further closed off from the Wizarding World as he couldn’t send a letter to anyone.
Overall, Harry Potter wasn’t having a good summer. No, not at all.
He’d tried to make it more lively. Tried to visit the Dursleys neighbor, Mrs. Figg, where he used to hide when Uncle Vernon got in a certain nasty mood and drank the best tea and pet all her cats, but he’d been denied with a slamming door multiple times now, and given up sometime in mid-July. He’d, as he put in his letters, tried to extend an olive branch to his cousin Dudley, multiple times, with admittedly increasing progress, though slow, because when he’d first met his new friend Draco in a robe shop in Diagon Alley, the pale faced brat immediately reminded him of his bully cousin. But that had been to no avail as well. And even his attempts to find a source of information in the Muggle news his Aunt and Uncle watched failed as now every hiding spot he had had been discovered by a purple faced Uncle Vernon, and he was left with just the Daily Prophet, which was as informative as ever.
By that he meant the latest issues headline read, “NEGOTIATIONS BETWEEN MINISTER AND HEADMASTER STILL UNDER WAY” and then was filled with speculation over blurry pictures of what the two men could be discussing for hours in each other’s offices, but no one actually even mentioning ‘You-Know-Who.’
From what Harry could gather, Voldemort hadn’t made a single move since the graveyard, and it was making Fudge listening to Dumbledore a lot harder, the only progress they had made seemed to be the releasing of Dementors from Azkaban which had caused all the frequent speculations in the Daily Prophet now as no one knew why he would make such a bold move out of seemingly nowhere. It hasn't really changed anything when it comes to public opinion on Fudge, though, and some sympathizers for the criminals had even come out and made speeches about how this was the first step into getting them safer living conditions. Harry could imagine Sirius was probably happy about that.
Sitting up in his bed and setting aside Draco’s short letter, Harry eyed the stack of letters he’d been sent through the month of July that sat on his bedside table and then the boxes of Honeydukes chocolate from Ron and Hermione which sat beside Hedwig’s cage. He had barely resisted the temptation to throw them away, but his anger, which he had pushed down with the comforting scrawls he got from his Malfoy friend, had now reached a tipping point, and he was sure he might burst the next time he saw the two, who had denied him any contact to the Wizarding World all summer long.
Sirius had too, and possibly Draco, but he could never be mad at his Godfather, and the platinum blonde was still quite possibly in danger right now. Ron and Hermione were the natural option.
Trapping the anger inside him hurt his insides, and he was debating getting up to walk about to cool off a bit outside, when the sudden sound of chuckling and ringing bells as bikes drove down the pavement outside his window brought him out of his stupor, and he realized that would have to wait as Dudley was back at last from bullying more children with his gang of friends, which hadn’t seemingly changed in fourteen years.
He shuffled across his bed to the headboard so he could press close to the window and listen without being seen, because the last thing he needed was for the group to catch sight of him and get a sudden thirst for scrawny fifteen year old, when he was already struggling so hard to keep a stable connection with his bully cousin, who did still remind him of who Draco used to be every day.
“...made him run for the hills with wet pants tonight, right?” Malcolm was saying, to guffaws from the others.
“Oh yeah… Finally, that kid’s been bugging me for weeks.” Gordon added, to which Harry could since the agreement among the group.
“Same time tomorrow?” Came Dudley’s voice.
“Let’s have it at my place next time, alright?” Piers asked to which Dudley said, “See you then,” and the others raced their bicycles down the street, yelling, “Bye, Dud!” “See ya, Big D!” “Nice sucker Big D!”
Harry waited for the last of the bikes to drive off before springing from the bed to his feet and pounding down the hall, coming to a stop at the top of the stairs to look down on his cousin, who was just stepping inside, shirt covered in grass and a bit of ten year old kids blood.
“Hey, Big D!” Dudley looked up suddenly, and glowered at the sight of him. “Oh,” he grunted. “It’s you.”
Harry gave a smirk, slyly stepping down the stairs as Dudley turned for the kitchen. “How long have you been ‘Big D’ then?” He asked, leaning against the kitchen and dining room door frame and folding his arms tight. “I like it, it suits you.”
“Shut it, you can’t use it.” The big boy snarled, turning on the tap to wipe the grime off his hands. “No that’s alright,” Harry said with a wave of his hand. “You’ll always be ‘Ickle Diddykins’ to me.” “I said, SHUT IT!” Dudley slammed a hand against the sink suddenly, and Harry winced, frowning, and falling silent as his cousin continued to wash his hands with dish soap before turning the tap off and turning to face him, wringing a towel in his hands, which were noticeably shaking with the want to hurt, to punch. But Harry knew he couldn’t, because he was too scared of the wand tucked in the waistband of his jeans, and what it could do.
Not that he’d ever use it, he couldn't, and the last thing Dumbledore needed was another problem arising at the Ministry. That was the last thing anybody needed, really.
“Why have you been acting like this?” Dudley grunted as Harry shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. “Are you… are you trying to be… friendly?” The word sounded as sour on his tongue as any magic-related thing Uncle Vernon tried to say. “Or are you trying to pro--prov--porvid--”
“The word is ‘provoke’, Dud, and no, I’m not.” Again Dudley glowered at him. “I’m… look there’s this kid I know, at the school?” There seemed to be just a hint of relief in his cousin’s eyes when he didn’t call it, ‘Hogwarts.’ “He’s my friend, we became close last year, but when I met him a while back… He reminded me of you.” Dudley had frozen stiff, but he snorted at that, no doubt not at all happy to be compared to a wizard. “But he’s alright now so… I dunno…”
Harry shrugged his shoulders and stood straight, turning around for the stairs back to his room. He didn’t know why he had told Dudley all of that. Now, if he didn’t get away soon, his cousin would no doubt be the one provoking him for ever thinking a world where they could actually be something like friendly towards each other existed.
But when he climbed up the stairs and heard the pounding footsteps coming out of the kitchen, and turned to see what sort of rage he was going to get from ‘Big D’, he instead saw his cousin's head was lowered, and he was kicking at the carpet with one of his dirty sneaks.
“What’s gotten into you?”
“What?”
“You’ve always been wrong, but now… this… and last night…”
“Dudley, what are you talking about?”
“You were talking in your sleep!” He raised his head to meet his eyes, shouting, hands balled to fists at his side, and Harry’s eyes went wide with the realization that Dudley had heard him at his most vulnerable. Had heard him while he was trapped in the graveyard, surrounded by not just Viktor, but all his friends' dead bodies, and Voldemort’s red eyes looming over all of them.
Dudley’s eyes narrowed. “Whose Viktor? Your boyfriend?” Harry froze, and took a step back. “I…” He stepped up the final step on the stairs, turning for the hall. “That’s… that’s none of your business…” “Hey wait!”
He walked hurriedly for the door but Dudley was faster with longer legs, and he was being grabbed by the arm and turned around before he could reach for the handle, but still his hand merely twitched instinctively for his wand, not consciously grabbing it. He wasn’t even angry, just horrified, because those dreams… He’d only let Draco know about them. Maybe it was something he was ashamed of, but it was certainly nothing he’d let Dudley know about. Did the Dursleys know? Could they hear him? If this continued when he returned to Hogwarts, would Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville be asking about it too?
“Have you gone loony or somethin’? You always were weird but now you're crying in your sleep and trying to be nice to me and watching our news and--” “Just drop it, alright Dudley?” Harry nearly shouted, ripping his hand out of the boy's grip but only because he was letting go, otherwise he’d never be able to; he was admittedly too strong. “I had a rough year so I guess I thought… I wanted the summer to be better… Just leave me alone. Can we go back to pretending I don’t exist? That I’m a waste of space? It was easier that way…”
Harry turned and roughly opened the door then, not sparing a glance to his cousin’s reaction, and stomped inside, slamming it shut and sliding against it to the floor, tugging at his stubbornly messy hair as he took deep breaths, trying to calm the anger which had resurfaced at his own reminder that this summer had been awful.
“Harry?”
The boy stood and shuffled across the carpet to his bed, flopping down upon it and picking up Draco’s letter once more.
“I don’t think you're a waste of space.”
And with another round of pounding footsteps and a closing door, Harry knew that was the end of it, and Dudley had left. But still, he felt that, somehow, that had gone well, all things considered, and the anger melted away and he was left only with exhaustion.
Despite that exhaustion, Harry glanced over at his owl, who looked as good as new and was hooting at him earnestly, and dropped from his bed to the floor to drag out his trunk and dig out three scraps of parchments, scribbling down quick letters to Ron, Hermione, and Sirius, all reading the same thing,
Draco is not safe at the Manor and no one has told me a scrap of news about Voldemort all summer. I want to know what’s going on and when I’m going to get out of here.
As he tied the rolls of parchment to Hedwig’s leg, he gave her strict orders in a voice he would later on regret at being so angry, but at the moment he barely noticed he was using, “Take these straight to Sirius, Ron, and Hermione, and don’t come back here without good long replies. Keep pecking them till they’ve written decent-length answers if you’ve got to. Understand?”
Hedwig hooted her affirmative.
“Get going, then,” said Harry, and unlatched and opened up the window and waved her off, making sure to close it quickly as he spotted headlights on the quickly darkening drive, but relaxing when the car passed by in the direction of another house. The Durlsey’s were not back yet, and Harry assumed they wouldn’t be in time for dinner, so turned and reluctantly swung open the door, relieved to see Dudley was still locked up in his own room, and padded down the stairs to the kitchen.
It was now that he began to feel guilty for being rude to Hedwig, but shrugged the feeling off quickly by saying to himself it was a good way to vent out his anger, and that cooking would be an even better way. He quite enjoyed cooking, if that was the right word for how he, since he was a little child and had been forced to make meals for his muggle family, had enjoyed the way he could forget any worldly troubles existed by using Aunt Petunia’s stove. How he could feel his muscles relax while dicing vegetables, and how he could feel at peace staring at the warm oven when the light was on.
It was almost subconscious that he made two plates of bangers and mash, and when he had the plates prepared and was taking them up the stairs to his room, it was only here, standing between the two bedroom doors, that he realized he was holding a second plate, and turned to look at the plain blue door to his left, sighing.
“Big D?” He called, after a knock. “I made some sausages. I don’t know if you already ate or…” The door swung open and a big hand reached out to grab the plate and pulled it back inside before closing the door again and Harry stood there, stunned, for a moment before hearing a muffled, “Thanks.” and smiling.
“Welcome, Dud.” He said and opened his own door, sitting himself on his bed and eating, immediately feeling infinitely better than he had an hour before as he ate his hot meal. When he’d finished he placed the plate on his bedside, deciding he’d have to wash it tomorrow morning, and layed down on his covers without changing, feeling the soft blanket of sleep envelop him and putting him out without a further worry or thought, other than the hope that in the morning he’d receive letters from his friends full of exclamations and apologizes.
-*-*-*-
He got the opposite. Nothing. Hedwig wasn’t even back in the morning, when he rose to the bright sun and scanned the skies for the brilliant bird, and in an instant Harry felt a rush of the familiar anger turn inside him, as he banged a fist against the windowsill and turned and kicked his trunk, falling backwards onto his backside at the sudden spark of pain in his toe. But it was nothing compared to the fury in his heart. Didn’t they understand how much he deserved to know anything? Anything at all? Draco was his friend after all, so why did they get to know how in danger he was and he didn’t? He saw Voldemort come back in the graveyard, was the reason he did come back at all, so why was he told nothing about what the Dark Lord was up to? Surely he had to be doing something all summer…
The only thing keeping him from tying his trunk to his broom and setting off to the Manor right now was Sirius telling him not to do anything rash and Draco telling him to be safe. He couldn’t bear the look in those gray eyes if he got himself hurt and pure spite told him to prove to Sirius he could be restrained all summer.
So for four straight days, Harry remained restless. His anger grew, like a roaring dragon in the depths of his stomach that he could sense would one day become a great Ironbelly, and the only way he vented was by taking walks down every road in all of Little Whinging. By trekking through the park and avoiding Dudley’s gang--Dudley, who he didn’t speak to at all, not once, since the dinner. By pacing his room and trying to push down thoughts of Draco in danger. Of Voldemort putting Draco in danger.
It was no secret the Malfoy’s weren’t all chummy with Voldemort right now. Draco was friends with his great enemy, Harry himself, and Lucius was among the many Death Eater’s to not even go looking for their old Master, so one wrong move was sure to land them a punishment Harry didn’t want to imagine, and a lot could go wrong, always. So what had happened?
He wouldn’t get his answer until the fourth night, when Uncle Vernon suddenly came to his open door an hour before supper, and announced that he, and the rest of the Dursley’s, were leaving for a night out. “Good riddance.” Harry wanted to say, but restrained from doing so, instead plopping down on his bed and resigning himself to sleeping with an empty stomach, since he didn’t even have the energy to get up and make dinner for himself.
He was just closing his eyes, imagining returning to the Quidditch Pitch, and wishing to fall to sleep to pleasant dreams of flying through the skies and chasing a snitch that was always just out of reach with Draco zooming past on a matching Firebolt beside him, when he bolted upright in bed as a large crash sounded from the kitchen below.
There was no way that was the Dursley’s, as it was too soon, and when he checked the window he saw no car in the drive, and they would never make such a crash in their precious house, much less Aunt Petunia’s dear kitchen. So Harry slid off his bed and snuck to the doorframe, listening intently, and catching the sound of voices below.
Voices that were making hardly even an effort to be quiet. Which meant it couldn’t be burglars, unless they were very stupid burglars who didn’t know how to be quiet, but he knew muggles were smarter than that, so he slid out into the hallway, tiptoeing to the stairs and peering down, hand pulling his wand out of his waistband now very consciously.
He nearly jumped out of his skin as many balls of light emerged from his Aunt’s kitchen, but once he’d blinked and his vision cleared, he could see it was a group of hooded figures holding up wands which glowed brightly, and relaxed.
“Is that him? Is he up there?”
“Mr. Potter, is that you?”
“Harry?”
Harry slumped with relief at the familiar sound of the last voice, and quickly hurried down the stairs to the man he recognized as his Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor from his third year at Hogwarts, but was interrupted from getting closer to the hooded figure when another, larger one stepped between him, wand of light raised. “Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone’s eye out.” said a low, growling voice.
In an instant Harry’s heart beat out of control, and he didn’t dare lower his wand, because he knew that voice all too well, and had not a single memory related to it which was friendly. “Professor Moody?” He startled out as several memories from his Fourth Year, none good, most horrifying, and all probably haunting Draco’s nightmares just as Voldemort haunted his own, rushing back to him all at once.
“I don’t know so much about ‘Professor.’” the voice growled. “Never got round to much teaching, did I?” He stepped forward, and Harry could now see his face fully in the wandlight, scarred, with a magical eye that twirled around, no doubt searching for signs of suspicious behavior, but Harry didn’t move a muscle, frozen stiff and paralyzed by paranoia of this man.
He’d spent nine months with who he had thought was Mad-Eye Moody, in which he’d trusted and learned to like him as one of his favorite teachers, almost wanting to become an Auror because of him, though now he wasn’t so sure what he wanted other than the truth. He believed he had every right to be suspicious of the man in front of him, because the man who impersonated him all school year was still out there, somewhere, but before he could voice this, the familiar voice of his other favorite DADA Professor interrupted his thoughts.
“It’s all right, Harry. We’ve come to take you away.” Harry relaxed as he remembered that Lupin was here, and turned to the figure beside Moody, he had now stepped forward, and Harry could see his face too in the wandlight.
“P-Professor Lupin?” He asked in a voice shaking with disbelief but hope, because he hadn’t heard or seen this man in over a year, and truly, though he hadn’t admitted it, missed him. “Is that you?” The man stepped forward, nodding, and laying a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s me, Harry.” And it was him, though he looked more tired, grayer, and more shabbier than ever, eyes laden with a year of exhaustion. But he was smiling, which was all Harry needed to see, as he smiled back, though still in great shock.
“Oooh, he looks just like I thought he would,” said a witch who pushed through the others to stand between Moody and Lupin so Harry could see her face as well, which was quite young, compared to the other older ones, with a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a bright shade of violet. He quite liked it. “Wotcher, Harry!”
“Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus,” said a bald darker skinned wizard standing furthest back; he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear. “He looks exactly like James.”
“Except the eyes,” said a wheezy-voice, silver-haired wizard at the back. “Lily’s eyes.”
Harry didn’t know if he liked these people or not, but he certainly didn’t appreciate the gawking, though the girl seemed nice enough as she grinned with appreciation, not wonder. But Harry focused back on Moody as the wizards and witches continued to mutter amongst themselves, as he realized the Auror was eyeing him suspiciously and shuffled on uncomfortable feet, hand tightening around his wand at his side.
“Are you quite sure it’s him, Lupin?” He growled. “It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating him, since we know there’s quite the actor still running about. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?”
“Harry, what form does your Patronus take?”
“A stag.”
“That’s him, Mad-Eye.”
Harry, still shuffling uncomfortably, started to tuck his wand back in the waistband of his jeans when Moody jumped and roared like he’d pointed a gun at his face. “Don’t put your wand there, boy! What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!”
“Who d’you know who’s lost a buttock?” The violet-haired woman asked Mad-Eye with a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Never mind, you just keep your wand out of your back pocket! Elementary wand-safety, nobody bothers about it any more.” He turned and stumped off towards the kitchen, his wooden leg making a hard clunk with every other step. “And I saw that.” He added irritably, as the woman rolled her eyes high towards the ceiling.
Lupin turned back to Harry and smiled, holding out his hand, which Harry shook gratefully. “How are you?” He asked, looking close at the boy.
“F-fine…” He forced out, still shaken by the fact that he had been alone and angry for days without a word from anybody, containing news or not, and now a group of nearly half a dozen witches and wizards explodes into his Aunt and Uncle’s house. He was suddenly very conscious of how unkempt he was, how he had hardly bothered to clean himself, as he looked around at the people surrounding Lupin, all people he didn’t know.
“I’m--you’re really lucky the Dursleys are out…” He found himself mumbling.
“Lucky, ha!” Exclaimed the violet-haired woman. “It was me who lured them out of the way. Sent a letter by Muggle post telling them they’d been short-listed for the All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. They’re heading off to the prize-giving right now… Or they think they are.”
As the woman chuckled to herself Harry found himself amused as well, but he turned to Lupin earnestly, a million questions bugging at his mind but only managing one, “We are leaving, aren’t we? Soon?” The man nodded back quickly. “Almost at once, we’re just waiting for the all-clear.”
“Where are we going? The Burrow?” He asked hopefully. “Not The Burrow, no,” said Lupin, motioning Harry towards the kitchen, the group of wizards and witches following behind. “Too risky. We’ve set up Headquarters somewhere undetectable. It’s taken a while… We would have come and picked you up sooner but…”
“We knew you were bound to do something reckless if kept in the dark any longer.” Came Moody’s voice from where he was sitting at the dining room table swigging from a hip flask. “Not to mention you just needed to know that your Malfoy friend was safe, right?” Harry nodded, again feeling his gut twist to knots at the thought of Draco in danger.
“Can’t imagine why…” The violet-haired woman drawled, taking a seat beside Moody.
“This is Alastor Moody, Harry,” Lupin introduced, pointing towards Moody. “Yeah, I know,” Harry said uncomfortably, though he did and he didn’t. It was strange to be introduced to someone he had thought he knew for a year.
“And this is Nymphadora--”
“Don’t call my Nymphadora, Remus,” Said the violet-haired one with a shudder. “It’s Tonks.”
“Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only.” Finished Lupin with a hint of playfulness as the girl folded her arms childishly, “So would you if your fool of a mother had called you Nymphadora.”
“And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt,” He indicated the tall dark skinned wizard, who nodded his head to Harry. “Elphias Doge,” the wheezy-voiced wizard also nodded. “Dedalus Diggle,” “We’ve met before!” Squeaked the excitable Diggle, dropping his violet-colored top hat as he spoke. “Emmeline Vance,” A stately-looking witch in an emerald green shawl inclined her head. “Sturgis Podmore,” A square-jawed wizard with thick straw-coloured hair winked. “And Hestia Jones.” A pink-cheeked, black-haired witch waved from where she was eyeing and poking the toaster curiously.
Harry half-heartedly grinned and nodded at each of them as they were introduced, but immediately hardly liked any of them but Tonks and Moody, as they were enveloped in a conversation with each other while the others were all looking at him.
“A surprising number of people volunteered to come and get you,” explained Lupin, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly in amusement at Harry’s, ‘oh you think?’ face. “Yeah, well, the more the better.” Said Moody darkly. “We’re your guard, Potter.”
“We’re just waiting for the signal to tell us it’s safe to set off,” Lupin said, glancing over and out of the kitchen window. “We’ve got about fifteen minutes.”
“Very clean, aren’t they, these Muggles?” Tonks said aloud, stepping up from her chair and circling around the kitchen with great interest. “My dad’s Muggleborn but he’s a right old slob. I suppose it varies, just as it does with wizards?” She asked him and Harry shrugged his shoulders. “S’pose so. Look,” He turned back to Lupin, eyes narrowed darkly. “What’s going on, I haven’t heard anything from anyone, what’s Vol--”
Several of the witches and wizards made odd hissing noises, and Dedalus Diggle dropped his hat again, Moody growling, “Shut up!”
“What?” Harry exclaimed, looking around confusedly, because he’d always used Voldemort’s full name, since the day he learned it.
“We’re not discussing anything here, it’s too risky,” Moody growled, turning his normal eye on Harry, his magical eye remaining fixed on the ceiling. “Damn it,” He added angrily, putting a hand up to the thing and adjusting it with his fingers. “It keeps getting stuck--ever since that scum wore it--” With a nasty squelching sound he popped it out of his eye and Harry grimaced, looking away as Tonks smirked.
“You do know that’s disgusting, don’t you Mad-Eye? You’re lucky you even got it back. Fudge was gonna confiscate the thing, your leg too.” Tonks said conversationally, to which Lupin waved at her and narrowed his eyes as if to say, ‘don’t remind him.’
“Get me a glass of water, would you, Harry,” requested Moody, and Harry nodded, crossing to the dishwasher, and removing a clean glass and filling it with water at the sink, still watched like a circus act by the band of wizards and witches. “Cheers.” Moody said as he was handed the glass, and he dropped the magical eyeball into the water and prodded it up and down. “I want three hundred and sixty degrees visibility on the return journey.”
“How exactly are we getting to… wherever we’re getting?” Harry asked.
“Broom, only way.” Lupin explained. “You’re too young to Apparate, they’ll be watching the Floo Network on this house, have since June, and it’s more than our life’s worth to set up an unauthorized Portkey.
“Remus says you’re a good flier,” Kingsley Shacklebolt said in his deep voice, and Lupin nodded. “He’s excellent.” He checked his watch. “Anyway, you’d better go and get packed, Harry, we want to be ready to go when the signal comes.”
“I’ll come and help you.” Said Tonks brightly, pushing herself off the countertop she’d idly sat on and following the boy as he turned and stumbled up the stairs to his room. “You can tell me about why you’ve been bugging everyone you know about my cousin.”
Harry froze at the stop of the steps then slowly turned to face her, eyebrows raised high. “Your… cousin? Draco?” Tonks shrugged, frowning. “Yeah, that prat. Now move along, Harry, we don’t have all day.” She pushed him lightly in the shoulder, forcing him to stumble forwards. He entered his room and she looked around, sniffing at the place but smirking.
“Funny place. It’s a bit too clean, d’you know what I mean? Bit unnatural. Oh, this is better.” As he turned on the light and opened up his trunk she took in the messiness of his room and smiled fully, falling backward on his bed. It was indeed messier than the rest of the house, as in Harry’s bad mood he hadn’t even bothered tidying after himself. In fact, the plate of food that had been his dinner with Dudley four nights ago was still sitting beside his bed.
As Harry started picking up books and throwing them hastily into his trunk, Tonks grabbed the parchment on his bed that was Draco’s final letter to him and squinted at it, giggling. “‘Your friend?’ You two really are dramatic…” “Hey!” He snatched it out of her hand, quickly placing it with his other letters, and glared. “That’s private.”
She frowned, standing up from the bed and moving over to the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. “Sorry… Hey, Harry, do you think the violet suits me?” She said pensively, tugging at a lock of spiky hair. “D’you think it makes me look a bit peaky?”
“Er--” Said Harry, looking up at her over the top of Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland.
“Yeah it does.” She said decisively, frowning. She closed her eyes, and with a trained expression on her face as if she was struggling to remember something, Harry watched in awe as slowly the violet shade became dyed to bubble-gum pink right before his eyes. She opened her eyes, caught her reflection and grinned, posing.
“How did you do that?” Harry asked, gaping at her.
“I’m a Metamorphmagus. It means I can change my appearance at will.” She turned around to face him shrugging her shoulders. “I was born one. I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training without any study at all, it was great.”
“You’re an Auror?” He asked, impressed and the girl nodded with pride. “Yeah. Kingsley is as well; he’s a bit higher up than me, though. I only qualified a year ago. Nearly failed on Stealth and Tracking. I’m dead clumsy, did you hear me break that plate when we arrived downstairs?”
“Can you learn how to be a Metamorphmagus?” Harry asked her, straightening up and completely forgetting about packing, despite how messy his room still remained and empty his trunk seemed to be. Tonks chuckled, shaking her head. “Bet you wouldn’t mind hiding that scar sometimes, eh?”
Harry shook his head, looking away and mumbling, “No, I wouldn’t mind.” He paused, then looked back at her. “But I’m quite good at Transfiguration.” Tonks smirked. “Then you might be able to hide it for a short time, but Metamorphmagi are really rare, and they’re born, not made. But we’ve got to get going, Harry, we’re supposed to be packing.” She added guiltily, looking around at all the mess on the floor.
“Here--Pack!” Cried Tonks, waving her wand in a long, sweeping movement over the floor. Quickly, every object rose up in the air around his room and flew into his trunk, landing in a mess he was sure Draco and maybe even Hermione would turn their nose up at. “It’s not very neat,” Said Tonks, placing her hands on her hips as she peered down at the jumble inside of his trunk. “My mum’s got this knack of getting stuff to fit itself in neatly--she even gets the socks to fold themselves--but I’ve never mastered how she does it--it’s a kind of flick--” She flicked her wand hopefully, but the socks only wiggled slightly before going still once more and Tonks shrugged, slamming the lid shut. “At least it’s all in! Oh, that could do with a bit of cleaning, too.” She pointed her wand at Hedwig’s cage, and as Harry watched her clean it, his eyes fell on the letter from Draco, looking between it and her curiously.
“Your mum… She’s Andromeda, right? Andromeda Tonks?” Tonks nodded with a humming sound. “How do you know?” Harry frowned, shuffling from foot to foot. “Dumbledore told us about her.” “Us?” “Draco and I.”
Now Tonks frowned, dropping her wand and picking up the cage. “Right…” She placed the cage on top of the trunk then spotted the broom in Harry’s hand and gasped. “Wow! A Firebolt! And I’m still riding a Comet Two Sixty.” Said Tonks enviously, shaking her head. “Ah well… wand still in your jeans? Both buttocks still on? Okay, let’s go. Locomotor tunk.” Harry’s trunk rose into the air and, using her wand like a conductor's baton, Tonks directed the trunk and cage out of the room, and Harry followed, broom in hand.
Back in the kitchen Moody was wearing his eye once more, the thing currently spinning a full three hundred and sixty degrees and more. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Sturgis Podmore were examining the microwave and Hestia Jones was still stuck on shaking the toaster while Lupin sat at the table, sealing a letter addressed to the Dursleys. At the sight of Tonks and Harry, everyone straightened, and Lupin grinned, stepping up from the chair.
“Excellent, we’ve got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we’re ready. Harry, I've left a letter telling your Aunt and Uncle not to worry--” “They won’t.” Said Harry.
“--that you’re safe--”
“That’ll just depress them.”
“--and you’ll see them next summer.”
“Do I have to?” Lupin smiled but made no answer then, when he thought over what happened four nights ago, Harry shrugged his shoulders and added, “They’ll be happy I’m gone, but Dudley might be relieved I wasn’t kidnapped or anything.”
A twinge of hope entered eyes that had saddened with the reminder of how much the Dursley’s didn’t care, so Harry then added again, “Emphasis on ‘might.’” and Lupin sighed.
“Come here, boy,” said Moody gruffly, beckoning Harry towards him with his wand. “I need to Disillusion you.”
“You need to do what?” Harry asked nervously. “Disillusionment Charm.” Said Moody, raising his wand. “Lupin says you’ve got an Invisibility Cloak, but it won’t stay on while we’re flying; this’ll disguise you better. Here you go--”
He smacked him on the head with his wand, and for a second Harry thought that was excessive, then felt a curious sensation of a cold, liquid like substance running down his body, and realized he must’ve had to to cast the spell.
“Nice one, Mad-Eye.” He heard Tonks say as he looked down at his body, which looked rather strange as it was rapidly disappearing in the tendrils he felt sliding down it. But then he realized he wasn’t disappearing, merely taking on the same exact color and texture of the kitchen. He wasn’t invisible, rather blending in like a chameleon, and when he moved his arm up and down, he saw a shimmer and suddenly was back in the graveyard, watching as a shimmery figure moved through the grass.
The Disillusionment Charm must’ve been what Draco had used in June to save his life.
“Come on,” Moody said, pushing him out the door, and they all stepped out into Uncle Vernon’s beautifully kept lawn. “Clear night. Too bad, could’ve done with a bit of cloud cover.” Moody said observantly as his magical eye scanned the heavens. “Right, you,” He barked at Harry, who startled from where he was beginning to mount his Firebolt. “We’re going to be flying in close formation. Tonks’ll be right in front of you, keep close to her tail. Lupin’ll be covering you from below. I’m going to be behind you. The rest’ll be circling us. We don’t break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed--”
“Is that likely?” Harry blurted apprehensively, to which Moody grunted, and ignored him. “--the others keep flying, don’t stop, don’t break ranks. If they take out all of us and you survive, Harry, the rear guard are standing by to take over; keep flying east and they’ll join you.”
“Stop being so cheerful, Mad-Eye, he’ll think we’re not taking this seriously,” said Tonks, finishing strapping Harry’s trunk and Hedwig’s cage into a harness hanging from her broom, and turning to wink in his general direction. Harry smirked back, and Mad-Eye grunted once more. “I’m just telling the boy the plan. Our job’s to deliver him safely to Headquarters and if we die in the attempt--” His growling was interrupted by Kingsley Shacklebolt stepping up beside him and eyeing him dangerously. “No one’s going to die.” He said in a calming way that relaxed Harry’s insides in an instant.
“Mount your brooms, that’s the first signal!” Said Lupin sharply, pointing into the sky, and Harry looked up to see that far, far above them, a shower of bright red sparks had flared among the stars, much like the sparks he’d been taught to send up in the maze last year. He swung his right left over his Firebolt, gripped its handle tightly and felt it vibrating very slightly, as though as keen as he was to take to the skies after so, so long.
“Second signal, let’s go!” Declared Lupin loudly as more sparks, green this time, flared up and Harry kicked off hard from the ground, immediately relishing in the cool night air rushing through his hair. In the way the gardens of Privet Drive fell away and streaked past in a mesmerizing blur of color. It was a dream come true to at last be free from the muggle world and flying just as he had on the Quidditch Pitch for years. And in that moment, it was like he was going to have that dream once more, of Draco beside him, chasing the Snitch.
But then he turned and saw it was only his cousin Tonks, flying fast above Harry and shouting for him to slow for her broom so he did.
His eyes watered from the speed at which they flew over highways lit up with car headlights and street lamps. And when he thought of one of those cars belonging to the angry Dursley’s coming home in a rage, he laughed aloud, nearly spinning his broom in a circle, but restraining himself as Moody shouted another order of directions.
He knew for certain, as they zoomed through the air, that he hadn’t felt this happy since the train ride back to London, and for just those minutes, however long they may be, he forgot about his anger at his friends, or Draco’s life possibly being in danger.
“Time to start the descent!” Came Lupin’s voice below him at last, after what felt like maybe an hour, in which Harry had begun to feel very very cold, almost as cold as he had in his Quidditch loss to Hufflepuff and their seeker Cedric Diggory in Third Year. “Follow Tonks, Harry!”
Tonks dived sharply and Harry followed, as they headed down to the largest collection of lights he had yet seen, a huge, sprawling crisscrossing mass, glittering in lines and grids, with only patches of deep black separating them. He wanted to fall to the ground very much, though felt certain that when he did he’d have to be unfrozen from his broom. The last time he’d flown this long at night he’d been with Draco Malfoy, clinging to him for warmth and too exhausted to care about the weather. Now he was alone and wide awake with adrenaline, and therefore rightly freezing.
“Here we go!” Called Tonks, and swept to the ground, sliding off her broom smoothly, letting Harry touch down right behind her, dismounting on a patch of unkempt grass in the middle of a small square. He stepped onto the grass and shivered, looking about, and feeling they had to be quite far from neat and clean Little Whinging, as all these grimy, ivy covered houses were not at all as welcoming.
“Where are we?” He called to Lupin as he landed beside him, but he shook his head saying, “In a minute.” quietly.
Moody pulled out what seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter from the depths of his cloak and raised it up, clicking it once. The nearest streetlamp went out with a pop, and with a few more clicks every other light was extinguished, the only remaining light coming from behind the curtained windows of the houses surrounding them and the waxing gibbous moon overhead.
“Borrowed it from Dumbledore,” growled Moody, pocketing the silvery thing once more after the final click. “That’ll take care of any Muggles looking out of the window, see? Now come on, quick.” He hobbled forward and grabbed Harry by the arm, leading him from the grass and across the road, onto the pavement of the house before them. Lupin and Tonks followed, carrying Harry’s trunk and Hedwig’s cage between them, while the rest of the guard, all keeping their wands out and tossing their heads about for signs of trouble, flanked them.
“Here,” Moody muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment towards Harry’s Disillusioned hand and holding his wand to it, which lit up to illuminate the writing so Harry could read. “Read quickly and memorize.” Harry looked down at the piece of paper, only vaguely recognizing the handwriting before examining what it said.
The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.