when the time comes

12 Grimmauld place

Harry touches down just behind Tonks, he's shivering in the cold wind, unfortunately he can't perform wandless magic in front of the adults. This means he can't cast any warming charms, Harry is just glad he isn't underwater.

He looks around and grimaces, he doesn't want to be here. The grimy fronts of the surrounding houses are not welcoming; some of them have broken windows, glimmering dully in the light from the streetlamps, paint is peeling from many of the doors and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps.

He takes the parchment from Moody. It says:

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

No sooner did he reach the part about number twelve, Grimmauld Place, than a battered door emerges out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It is as though an extra house inflated, pushing those on either side out of its way. Harry stares impassively at it. The stereo in number eleven thuds on.

"Come on, hurry," growls Moody, prodding Harry in the back. The boy glares at him but doesn't further complain.

He glares into the interior of the house and continues as Mrs Weasley comes out of the door of the room where the order members are holding their meetings, which means his dad is inside there. He makes a mental note to himself about talking to the man. With a brief hello and allowing the red haired woman to hug him, he quietly walks up the stairs and away.

Harry crosses the dingy landing, turns the bedroom doorknob, which is shaped like a serpent's head, and opens the door. He sneers.

He catches a brief glimpse of a gloomy high-ceilinged, twin-bedded room; then there is a loud twittering noise, followed by an even louder shriek, he flinches and presses his hands to his ears, and his vision is completely obscured by a large quantity of very bushy hair-- Hermione has thrown herself on to him in a hug that nearly knocks him flat, while Ron's tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, zooms excitedly round and round their heads.

Harry goes rigid in the girl's grasp, his stomach knotting together. This is the same girl that has been planning to take away his mate, the one who became the minister of magic and started all that bloodshed. She's certainly never been the best of influences in his life.

"HARRY! Ron, he's here, Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless–but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got things to tell us–the dementors! When we heard–and that Ministry hearing–it's just outrageous, I've looked it all up, they can't expel you, they just can't, there's provision in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations–"

He pushes the girl away harshly and dusts himself off. "Save it, Granger! We haven't been friends since last year, don't think I have forgotten what you have done. I don't expect you to understand, really, I don't. What happened happened. Dumbledore has no right to keep me under surveillance, that is an invasion of my privacy, while I understand the reasoning, it doesn't excuse the action. And I don't want to talk about the Dementor attack. I really don't."

"And what about the ministry hearing, aren't you scared of that?"

Harry shakes his head slowly. "Not if I can prepare my defence. I just need to sort my thoughts out and think about my wording, I don't want to sound provocative.

In any case, can you please tell me what's going on? I don't care who does it, if you won't then I'll find a way. I just want to have a bit of time to cool off."