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 p___ounced: 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 h___sely 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 protégée at the Ministry of Magic. Hagrid, who had sat down on the floor in the corner where he
had most s___e, 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 p____ling 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 p____le 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 a__uage 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 colormatching
favors, ribbons, and flowers, of de-gnoming the garden and helping Mrs. Weasley cook
vast batches of canapés, 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 awfful,
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 s_____ed 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 s___.
"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.
"a__uming 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 s___e. 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.
"It is!" said Ron, clearly frustrated that Harry had not grasped the brilliance of the plan.
"Look, when we three don't turn up at Hogwarts again, everyone's going to think Hermione and I
must be with you, right? Which means the Death Eaters will go straight for our families to see if
they've got information on where you are."
"But hopefully it'll look like I've gone away with Mum and Dad; a lot of Muggle-borns are
talking about going into hiding at the moment," said Hermione.
"We can't hide my whole family, it'll look too fishy and they can't all leave their jobs," said
Ron. "So we're going to put out the story that I'm seriously ill with spattergroit, which is why I
can't go back to school. If anyone comes calling to investigate, Mum or Dad can show them the
ghoul in my bed, covered in pustules. Spattergroit's really contagious, so they're not going to want
to go near him. It won't matter that he can't say anything, either, because apparently you can't once
the fungus has spread to your uvula."
"And your mum and dad are in on this plan?" asked Harry.
"Dad is. He helped Fred and George transform the ghoul. Mum . . . well, you've seen what
she's like. She won't accept we're going till we're gone."
There was silence in the room, broken only by gentle thuds as Hermione continued to throw
books onto one pile or the other. Ron sat watching her, and Harry looked from one to the other,
unable to say anything. The measure they had taken to protect their families made him realize, more
than anything else could have done, that they really were going to come with him and that they
knew exactly how dangerous that would be. He wanted to tell them what that meant to him, but he
simply could not find words important enough.
Through the silence came the m___led sounds of Mrs. Weasley shouting from four floors
below.
"Ginny's probably left a speck of dust on a poxy napkin ring," said Ron. "I dunno why the
Delacours have got to come two days before the wedding."
"Fleur's sister's a bridesmaid, she needs to be here for the rehearsal, and she's too young to
come on her own," said Hermione, as she pored indecisively over Break with a Banshee.
"Well, guests aren't going to help Mum's stress levels," said Ron.
"What we really need to decide," said Hermione, tossing Defensive Magical Theory into the
bin without a second glance and picking up An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, "is
where we're going after we leave here. I know you said you wanted to go to Godric's Hollow first,
Harry, and I understand why, but . . . well . . . shouldn't we make the Horcruxes our priority?"
"If we knew where any of the Horcruxes were, I'd agree with you," said Harry, who did not
believe that Hermione really understood his desire to return to Godric's Hollow. His parents' graves
were only part of the attraction: He had a strong, though inexplicable, feeling that the place held
answers for him. Perhaps it was simply because it was there that he had survived Voldemort's
Killing Curse; now that he was facing the challenge of repeating the feat, Harry was drawn to the
place where it had happened, wanting to understand.
"Don't you think there's a possibility that Voldemort's keeping a watch on Godric's
Hollow?" Hermione asked. "He might expect you to go back and visit your parents' graves once
you're free to go wherever you like?"
This had not occurred to Harry. While he struggled to find a counterargument, Ron spoke
up, evidently following his own train of thought.
"This R.A.B. person," he said. "You know, the one who stole the real locket?"
Hermione nodded.
"He said in his note he was going to destroy it, didn't he?"
Harry dragged his rucksack toward him and pulled out the fake Horcrux in which R.A.B.'s
note was still folded.
"'I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.'" Harry read out.
"Well, what if he did finish it off?" said Ron.
"Or she." Interposed Hermione.
"Whichever," said Ron. "it'd be one less for us to do!"
"Yes, but we're still going to have to try and trace the real locket, aren't we?" said
Hermione, "to find out whether or not it's destroyed."
"And once we get hold of it, how do you destroy a Horcrux?" asked Ron.
"Well," said Hermione, "I've been researching that."
"How?" asked Harry. "I didn't think there were any books on Horcruxes in the library?"
"There weren't," said Hermione, who had turned pink. "Dumbledore removed them all, but
he - he didn't destroy them." Ron sat up straight, wide-eyed.
"How in the name of Merlin's pants have you managed to get your hands on those Horcrux
books?"
"It - it wasn't stealing!" said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron with a kind of
desperation. "They were still library books, even if Dumbledore had taken them off the shelves.
Anyway, if he really didn't want anyone to get at them, I'm sure he would have made it much
harder to -"
"Get to the point!" said Ron.
"Well . . . it was easy," said Hermione in a small voice. "I just did a Summoning Charm.
You know - Accio. And - they zoomed out of Dumbledore's study window right into the girls'
dormitory."
"But when did you do this?" Harry asked, regarding Hermione with a mixture of admiration
and incredulity.
"Just after his - Dumbledore's - funeral," said Hermione in an even smaller voice. "Right
after we agreed we'd leave school and go and look for the Horcruxes. When I went back upstairs to
get my things it - it just occurred to me that the more we knew about them, the better it would be . .
. and I was alone in there . . . so I tried . . . and it worked. They flew straight in through the open
window and I - I packed them."
She swallowed and then said imploringly, "I can't believe Dumbledore would have been
angry, it's not as though we're going to use the information to make a Horcrux, is it?"
"Can you hear us complaining?" said Ron. "Where are these books anyway?"
Hermione rummaged for a moment and then extracted from the pile a large volume, bound
in faded black leather. She looked a little nauseated and held it as gingerly as if it were something
recently dead.
"This is the one that gives explicit instructions on how to make a Horcrux. Secrets of the
Darkest Art - it's a horrible book, really awful, full of evil magic. I wonder when Dumbledore
removed it from the library. . . . if he didn't do it until he was headmaster, I bet Voldemort got all
the instruction he needed from here."
"Why did he have to ask Slughorn how to make a Horcrux, then, if he'd already read that?"
asked Ron.
"He only approached Slughorn to find out what would happen if you split your soul into
seven," said Harry. "Dumbledore was sure Riddle already knew how to make a Horcrux by the time
he asked Slughorn about them. I think you're right, Hermione, that could easily have been where he
got the information."
"And the more I've read about them," said Hermione, "the more horrible they seem, and the
less I can believe that he actually made six. It warns in this book how unstable you make the rest of
your soul by ripping it, and that's just by making one Horcrux!"
Harry remembered what Dumbledore had said about Voldemo

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