Magic? || Years 5-7

The Seven Potters: Year 7/Summer

When the rusted old oil can popped into the front yard without Ron and Tonks, Amisty grew agitated. Mrs. Weasley had insisted that maybe they'd gotten off course. That the sky was particularly cloudy that night and maybe Aunt Muriel's house was harder to spot than usual, and they just missed the Portkey in a spur of bad luck.

When the old, frayed sneaker with tattered laces appeared without Mr. Weasley and Fred, she was starting to panic.

Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and her had all stayed behind at the Burrow as the rest of the Order members headed for Little Whinging. They left in pairs, two Thestrals, four broomsticks, and Sirius's old flying motorbike with several new additions that weren't necessarily up to code. Moody had a flask of Polyjuice Potion in his front pocket, ready to be served up and divided between Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Fleur, and Mundungus.

Amisty was still smarting about the grubby man taking what should have been her place. Especially when he continued to try and get out of it. Not that Moody paid her grumbling any heed. If anything, he seemed vaguely amused at the way she glared daggers into Mundungus's skull when the man wasn't looking.

"Who's next?" Amisty asked in a hushed whisper, perched on the counter just under the window overlooking the front yard. The two Portkeys, now fully unactivated, taunted them in the grass.

"Harry and Hagrid," Ginny said, shooting glances at her mother, who was growing increasingly distressed as more and more time passed. "From Tonks's parents' house."

"I should've been there," Amisty said, hissing the words under her breath as her fingers clenched around her wand. "I should've argued with—"

"Sorry to disappoint, Amisty," Ginny said, "but not even you could win a shouting match against Mad-Eye Moody."

Amisty's sarcastic—but relenting—retort was promptly cut off by Mrs. Weasley's high-pitched scream. Both Ginny and Amisty leaped to their feet, barging through the front door as a pale blue light swelled and blossomed into existence. It cut through the shadows, and for one, heartstopping moment, Amisty was certain the Portkey arrived with no one yet again. But then two figures, one hulking and the other gangly, spun and spun and fell to their knees.

"Harry!"

Skipping over the bottom step or four, Amisty ran across the lawn, scanning them over for any signs of harm. There was blood on Harry's chin and holes in his jumper, but no lasting signs of damage. Hagrid's cloak had a scorched hole in the shoulder and a large grass stain down the front, but he also lacked any particularly worrisome injuries.

"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley pulled him to his feet. "You are the real Harry? What happened? Where are the others?"

"What d'you mean?" Harry said, panting. "Isn't anyone else back?"

Wordlessly, face pale, Mrs. Weasley shook her head.

"The Death Eaters were waiting for us," Harry said. Amisty's stomach sank, a prickling feeling crawling underneath her skin as her eyes drifted to the abandoned Portkeys. "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—"

His face crumpled, guilt curling around his shoulders and raising them to his ears. Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to notice or care and wrapped him up in a very tight hug.

"Thank goodness you're all right," she said, her voice trembling.

"Haven't go' any brandy, have yeh, Molly?" Hagrid asked, groaning as he stumbled up to his feet. "Fer medicinal purposes?"