𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞 | 𝐇.𝐏.

𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟕 - 𝟏

"You're lookin fit!" Hagrid exclaimed.  

"Yeah, he's absolutely gorgeous," Moody growled, pushing past us. "How about we get undercover before someone kills him."

"Evening," Potter greeted him. The sarcasm didn't escape me.

Moody threw a brown bag full of clothes onto the floor of the completely emptied living room as everyone filed in behind us. As I looked around I realized that all the rooms were completely empty, void of everything besides the curtains and antique lights on the walls.

"Kingsley, I thought you were looking after the Prime Minister," Potter said when he saw him.

"You are more important," Kingsley replied.

"Hello, Harry," Bill said from behind him. "Bill Weasley." He held out his hand and Potter shook it.

"Pleasure to meet you," Potter nodded to him and hugged Fleur.

"He wasn't always this handsome, Harry," Fred said as he walked by, grinning at Bill. 

"Dead ugly," George agreed.

"True enough," Bill chuckled, gesturing to the severely cut side of his face. "Owe it all to a werewolf, name Greyback. Hope to repay the favor one day."

"Well, you're still beautiful to me, William," Fleur said, kissing him on the cheek.

"Just remember, Fleur, Bill takes his stakes on the raw side now," Remus added, him and Tonks completing the circle that had been formed against the walls of the room.

"My husband, the joker," Tonks smiled up at him. "By the way, Harry, wait till you hear the news. Remus and I-"

"Oh, all right, we'll have time for a cozy catch-up later," Moody shouted gruffly as he forced his way to the front of the group. "We've got to get the hell out of here, and soon." Then he stood next to Mr. Weasley and said, "Potter, you're underage, which means you've still got the Trace on you."

"What's the Trace?" Potter asked.

"What's the Trace?" Moody said. "Why, if you sneeze, the Ministry will know who wipes your nose. The point is we have to use means of transport the Trace can't detect. Brooms, thestrals, and the like. We go in pairs. That way if there's anyone out there waiting for us—and I reckon there will be—they won't know which Harry Potter is the real one."

"The real one?" Potter repeated suspiciously.

Moody reached into his coat and pulled out a bottle of Polyjuice Potion. "I believe you're familiar with this particular brew?" He asked with a grim smile on his face.

"No. Absolutely not," Potter finally caught on.

"I told you he'd take it well," I muttered.

"No," he said again, looking back at us with wide eyes. "If you think I'm going to let everyone risk their lives for me, I-"

"Never done that before, have we?" Moody asked.

"No! No. This is different," Potter glanced back again, waiting for someone to back him up. "I mean, taking that, becoming me—no!"

"Well, none of us really fancy it, mate," George said.

"Yeah," Fred smiled. "Imagine if something went wrong and we ended up a scrawny, specky git forever?"

Potter was not amused.

"Everyone here is of age, Potter," Moody said. "They've all agreed to take the risk."

Behind everyone, Mundungus cleared his throat. "Technically, I've been coerced. Mundungus Fletcher, Mr. Potter. I don't believe we've formally met. Always been a huge admirer."