"Bill, don't look at me — I'm 'ideous."
"In the realm of whispers, where shadows play,A tale unfolds of promises astray.(Y/n) spoke to Harry, words sweet as a dove,Yet beneath the surface, a current of deceit wove."
A/N : UNEDITED. PLEASE DO COMMENT AND VOTE. IT MOTIVATES ME.
-----
-THIRD PERSON-
Harry dashed back upstairs to his bedroom, reaching the window just in time to catch sight of the Dursleys' car pulling out of the driveway and heading up the road.
Dedalus's top hat could be seen between Aunt Petunia and Dudley in the backseat. The car turned right at the end of Privet Drive, its windows glowing crimson for a moment in the now setting sun, and then it disappeared. Harry grabbed Hedwig's cage, his Firebolt, and his rucksack, gave his unnaturally tidy bedroom one last thorough look, and then clumsily descended back downstairs to the hall. There, he left the cage, broomstick, and bag near the foot of the stairs.
The light was rapidly fading, and the hall was filled with shadows in the evening light. It felt peculiar to stand there in the silence, knowing that he was about to leave the house for the final time.
Long ago, when he had been left alone while the Dursleys went out to enjoy themselves, the hours of solitude had been a rare treat. Pausing only to sneak something tasty from the fridge, he had rushed upstairs to play on Dudley's computer or turned on the television, flicking through the channels to his heart's content. It gave him an odd, empty feeling to recall those times; it was like remembering a younger brother he had lost.
"Don't you want to take a last look at the place?" he asked Hedwig, who was still sulking with her head under her wing. "We'll never be here again. Don't you want to remember all the good times? I mean, look at this doormat. What memories... Dudley puked on it after I saved him from the Dementors... Turns out he was grateful after all, can you believe it?... And last summer, Dumbledore walked through that front door..." Harry lost the thread of his thoughts for a moment, and Hedwig did nothing to help him retrieve it but continued to sit with her head under her wing.
Harry turned his back on the front door.
"And underneath, Hedwig" — Harry yanked open a door beneath the stairs — "is where I used to bunk! You never knew me back then — Blimey, it's tiny, slipped my mind...."
Harry surveyed the stacked shoes and umbrellas, reminiscing about waking each morning, gazing up at the underside of the staircase, often adorned with a spider or two.
Those were the days before he knew a thing about his true identity; before he discovered how his parents had met their end or why peculiar things often occurred around him. Yet, Harry could still recall the dreams that plagued him even in those days: muddled dreams featuring flashes of green light and once — Uncle Vernon almost crashed the car when Harry recounted it — a flying motorbike...
A sudden, thunderous roar echoed from somewhere nearby.
Harry straightened abruptly, thumping the top of his head on the low door frame. Only pausing to employ a few of Uncle Vernon's most colorful expletives, he stumbled back into the kitchen, clutching his head and peering out of the window into the back garden.
The darkness seemed to ripple, the air itself quivering. Then, one by one, figures began to materialize as their Disillusionment Charms lifted. Dominating the scene was Hagrid, donning a helmet and goggles and perched atop an enormous motorbike with a black sidecar attached.
All around him, others were dismounting from brooms and, in two cases, skeletal, black-winged horses. Ripping open the back door, Harry dashed into their midst.
There was a collective cry of greeting as Hermione enveloped him in a hug, Ron gave him a hearty pat on the back, and Hagrid asked, "All right, Harry? Ready for the off?"
"Absolutely," said Harry, grinning at them all. "But I wasn't expecting this many of you!"
"Change of plan," grumbled Mad-Eye, gripping two colossal, bulging sacks, his magical eye darting from the darkening sky to the house to the garden with dizzying speed. "Let's get undercover before we talk you through it."
"Sabrina wanted to join, Harry, but Ron flatly refused, and you know Sabrina—she's stubborn. They had a row, and Mr Weasley had to step in to stop the fight," explained Hermione as Harry ushered them back into the kitchen.
"She what?" exclaimed Harry in disbelief. "I've written to her countless times, making it clear that I don't want her involved in whatever plan we have, but I never received a response."
"I don't think she's going to heed your advice anymore," said Hermione. "She's genuinely worried about you. If I were in her shoes, I'd be too, and honestly, if you were in her position, you'd probably do the same or even worse."
Harry remained silent, acknowledging Hermione's point.
"I just don't want her in any more danger than she already is," he blurted out to Hermione.
"I understand your concern," she replied with a smile. "But before she's your ex-girlfriend, she's been your best friend. That's a fact you can't change. It's her decision if she wants to help you without considering the danger. You can't alter her mindset on that."
"And don't even entertain the idea of changing her mind; you two would just end up arguing. It's not what we need right now; we need unity," Hermione cautioned.
They found seats, perched on Aunt Petunia's gleaming work surfaces, or leaned against her spotless appliances: Ron, tall and lanky; Hermione, her bushy hair tied back in a long plait; Fred and George, grinning identically; Bill, bearing scars and long hair; Mr. Weasley, kindly faced, balding, his spectacles slightly askew; Mad-Eye, battle-worn, one-legged, his bright blue magical eye whizzing in its socket; Tonks, her short hair in her favorite shade of bright pink; Lupin, grayer and more lined; Fleur, slender and beautiful, with her long silvery blonde hair; Kingsley, bald, black, broad-shouldered; Hagrid, with his wild hair and beard, standing hunchbacked to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling; and Mundungus Fletcher, small, dirty, and hangdog, with his droopy basset hound's eyes and matted hair. Harry's heart seemed to expand and glow at the sight: he felt incredibly fond of all of them, even Mundungus, whom he had tried to strangle the last time they had met.
"Kingsley, I thought you were looking after the Muggle Prime Minister?" he called across the room.
"He can manage without me for one night," said Kingsley. "You're more important."
"Harry, guess what?" said Tonks from her perch on top of the washing machine, wiggling her left hand at him; a ring glittered there.
"You got married?" Harry yelped, looking from her to Lupin.
"I'm sorry you couldn't be there, Harry; it was very quiet."
"That's brilliant, congrat—"
"All right, all right, we'll have time for a cozy catch-up later!" roared Moody over the hubbub, and silence fell in the kitchen.
Moody dropped his sacks at his feet and turned to Harry. "As Dedalus probably told you, we had to abandon Plan A. Pius Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a big problem. He's made it an imprisonable offense to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here, or Apparate in or out. All done in the name of your protection, to prevent You-Know-Who getting in at you. Absolutely pointless, seeing as your mother's charm does that already. What he's really done is to stop you getting out of here safely."
"Second problem: You're underage, which means you've still got the Trace on you."
"I don't—"
"The Trace, the Trace!" said Mad-Eye impatiently. "The charm that detects magical activity around under-seventeens, the way the Ministry finds out about underage magic! If you, or anyone around you, casts a spell to get you out of here, Thicknesse is going to know about it, and so will the Death Eaters. We can't wait for the Trace to break, because the moment you turn seventeen you'll lose all the protection your mother gave you. In short: Pius Thicknesse thinks he's got you cornered good and proper."
Harry could not help but agree with the unknown Thicknesse.
"So what's the plan?"
"We're going to utilize the only means of transport left to us, the ones the Trace can't detect because we don't need to cast spells to use them: brooms, thestrals, and Hagrid's motorbike."
Harry could spot flaws in this plan but kept silent to give Mad-Eye the chance to address them.
"Now, your mother's charm will only break under two conditions: when you come of age, or" — Moody gestured around the pristine kitchen — "you no longer call this place home. You and your aunt and uncle are going your separate ways tonight, with the full understanding that you're never going to live together again, correct?"
Harry nodded.
"So, when you leave this time, there'll be no going back, and the charm will break the moment you get outside its range. We're choosing to break it early because the alternative is waiting for You-Know-Who to come and seize you the moment you turn seventeen. The one thing we've got on our side is that You-Know-Who doesn't know we're moving you tonight. We've leaked a fake trail to the Ministry; they think you're not leaving until the thirtieth. However, dealing with You-Know-Who, we can't just rely on him getting the date wrong; he's bound to have a couple of Death Eaters patrolling the skies in this general area, just in case. So, we've given a dozen different houses every protection we can throw at them. They all look like they could be the place we're going to hide you; they've all got some connection with the Order: my house, Kingsley's place, Molly's Auntie Muriel's — you get the idea."
"Yeah," said Harry, not entirely truthfully, as he could still spot a gaping hole in the plan.
"You'll be going to Tonks's parents. Once you're within the boundaries of the protective enchantments we've put on their house, you'll be able to use a Portkey to the Burrow. Any questions?"
"Er — yes," said Harry. "Maybe they won't know which of the twelve secure houses I'm heading for at first, but won't it be sort of obvious once" — he performed a quick headcount — "fourteen of us fly off toward Tonks's parents'?"
"Ah," remarked Moody, "I forgot to mention the crucial point. Seven of us won't be soaring to Tonks's parents'. There will be seven Harry Potters gliding through the skies tonight, each of them with a companion, each pair heading for a different secure house." Moody withdrew a flask of what resembled mud from inside his cloak, and there was no need for him to say another word; Harry grasped the rest of the plan immediately.
"No!" he exclaimed loudly, his voice echoing through the kitchen. "No way!"
"I told them you'd react like this; that's why Ron didn't let Sabrina come because you'll be harder to convince," Hermione said with a hint of complacency.
"If you think I'm going to let six people risk their lives—!"
"— because it's the first time for all of us," Ron interjected.
"This is different, pretending to be me—"
"Well, none of us really fancy it, Harry," said Fred earnestly. "Imagine if something went wrong, and we were stuck as specky, scrawny gits forever."
Harry did not smile.
"You can't do it if I don't cooperate; you need me to give you some hair."
"Well, that's that plan scuppered," said George. "Obviously, there's no chance at all of us getting a bit of your hair unless you cooperate."
"Yeah, thirteen of us against one bloke who's not allowed to use magic; we've got no chance," added Fred.
"Funny," said Harry, "really amusing."
"If it has to come to force, then it will," growled Moody, his magical eye now quivering a little in its socket as he glared at Harry. "Everyone here's overage, Potter, and they're all prepared to take the risk." Mundungus shrugged and grimaced; the magical eye swerved sideways to glare at him out of the side of Moody's head.
"Let's have no more arguments. Time's wearing on. I want a few of your hairs, boy, now."
"But this is mad; there's no need—"
"No need!" snarled Moody. "With You-Know-Who out there and half the Ministry on his side? Potter, if we're lucky, he'll have swallowed the fake bait, and he'll be planning to ambush you on the thirtieth. But he'd be mad not to have a Death Eater or two keeping an eye out; it's what I'd do. They might not be able to get at you or this house while your mother's charm holds, but it's about to break, and they know the rough position of the place. Our only chance is to use decoys. Even You-Know-Who can't split himself into seven."
Harry caught Hermione's eye and looked away at once.
"So, Potter — some of your hair, if you please." Harry glanced at Ron, who grimaced at him in a just-do-it sort of way.
"Now!" barked Moody. With all their eyes upon him, Harry reached up to the top of his head, grabbed a hank of hair, and pulled.
"Good," said Moody, limping forward as he pulled the stopper out of the flask of potion. "Straight in here, if you please." Harry dropped the hair into the mud-like liquid.
The moment it made contact with its surface, the potion began to froth and smoke, then, all at once, it turned a clear, bright gold.
"Ooh, you look much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry," said Hermione, before catching sight of Ron's raised eyebrows, blushing slightly, and saying, "Oh, you know what I mean — Goyle's potion looked like bogies."
"Right then, fake Potters, line up over here, please," said Moody. Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Fleur lined up in front of Aunt Petunia's gleaming sink.
"We're one short," said Lupin.
"Here," said Hagrid gruffly, and he lifted Mundungus by the scruff of the neck and dropped him down beside Fleur, who wrinkled her nose pointedly and moved along to stand between Fred and George instead.
"I've told you, I'd sooner be a protector," said Mundungus.
"Shut it," growled Moody.
"As I've already told you, you spineless worm, any Death Eaters we run into will be aiming to capture Potter, not kill him. Dumbledore always said You-Know-Who would want to finish Potter in person. It'll be the protectors who have got the most to worry about; the Death Eaters'll want to kill them." Mundungus did not look particularly reassured, but Moody was already pulling half a dozen eggcup-sized glasses from inside his cloak, which he handed out before pouring a little Polyjuice Potion into each one.
"Altogether, then ..."
Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Fleur, and Mundungus drank.
All of them gasped and grimaced as the potion hit their throats. At once, their features began to bubble and distort like hot wax. Hermione and Mundungus were shooting upward; Ron, Fred, and George were shrinking; their hair was darkening, Hermione's and Fleur's appearing to shoot backward into their skulls.
Moody, quite unconcerned, was now loosening the ties of the large sacks he had brought with him. When he straightened up again, there were six Harry Potters gasping and panting in front of him. Fred and George turned to each other and said together, "Wow — we're identical!"
"I dunno, though, I think I'm still better-looking," said Fred, examining his reflection in the kettle.
"Bah," said Fleur, checking herself in the microwave door, "Bill, don't look at me — I'm 'ideous."
"Those whose clothes are a bit roomy, I've got smaller here," said Moody, indicating the first sack, "and vice versa. Don't forget the glasses; there are six pairs in the side pocket. And when you're dressed, there's luggage in the other sack."
The real Harry thought that this might just be the most bizarre thing he had ever seen, and he had seen some extremely odd things. He watched as his six doppelgangers rummaged in the sacks, pulling out sets of clothes, putting on glasses, stuffing their own things away. He felt like asking them to show a little more respect for his privacy as they all began stripping off with impunity, clearly much more at ease with displaying his body than they would have been with their own.
"I knew Sabrina was lying about that tattoo," said Ron, looking down at his bare chest.
"Harry, your eyesight really is awful," said Hermione as she put on glasses.
Once dressed, the fake Harrys took rucksacks and owl cages, each containing a stuffed snowy owl, from the second sack.
"Good," said Moody, as at last seven dressed, bespectacled, and luggage-laden Harrys faced him.
"The pairs will be as follows: Mundungus will be traveling with me, by broom —"
"Why am I with you?" grunted the Harry nearest the back door.
"Because you're the one that needs watching," growled Moody, and sure enough, his magical eye did not waver from Mundungus as he continued, "Arthur and Fred —"
"I'm George," said the twin at whom Moody was pointing.
"Can't you even tell us apart when we're Harry?"
"Sorry, George —"
"I'm only yanking your wand, I'm Fred really —"
"Enough messing around!" snarled Moody.
"The other one — George or Fred or whoever you are — you're with Remus. Miss Delacour —"
"I'm taking Fleur on a Thestral," said Bill. "She's not that fond of brooms."
Fleur walked over to stand beside him, giving him a soppy, slavish look that Harry hoped with all his heart would never appear on his face again.
"Miss Granger with Kingsley, again by Thestral —" Hermione looked reassured as she answered Kingsley's smile; Harry knew that Hermione too lacked confidence on a broomstick.
"Which leaves you and me, Ron!" said Tonks brightly, knocking over a mug tree as she waved at him.
Ron did not look quite as pleased as Hermione.
"An' you're with me, Harry. That all right?" said Hagrid, looking a little anxious.
"We'll be on the bike, brooms an' Thestrals can't take me weight, see. Not a lot o' room on the seat with me on it, though, so you'll be in the sidecar."
"That's great," said Harry, not altogether truthfully.
"We think the Death Eaters will expect you to be on a broom," said Moody, who seemed to guess how Harry was feeling.
"Snape's had plenty of time to tell them everything about you he's never mentioned before, so if we do run into any Death Eaters, we're betting they'll choose one of the Potters who look at home on a broomstick. All right then," he went on, tying up the sack with the fake Potters' clothes in it and leading the way back to the door, "I make it three minutes until we're supposed to leave. No point locking the back door, it won't keep the Death Eaters out when they come looking. ... Come on. ..."
Harry hurried into the hall to fetch his rucksack, Firebolt, and Hedwig's cage before joining the others in the dark back garden.
On all sides, broomsticks were being swiftly grasped; Hermione had already been guided onto a majestic black Thestral by Kingsley, while Fleur occupied the other beside Bill. Hagrid stood ready beside the motorbike, wearing goggles.
"Is this it? Is this Sirius's bike?"
"The very same," said Hagrid, beaming down at Harry. "An' the last time yeh was on it, Harry, I could fit yeh in one hand!"
Feeling a little humiliated, Harry got into the sidecar, placing him several feet below everybody else. Ron smirked at the sight of him, as if sitting in a child's bumper car. Harry stuffed his rucksack and broomstick down by his feet and wedged Hedwig's cage between his knees, making himself quite uncomfortable.
"Arthur's done a bit of tinkering," said Hagrid, oblivious to Harry's discomfort.
He settled himself astride the motorcycle, which creaked slightly and sank inches into the ground.
"It's got a few tricks up its handlebars now. That one was my idea." He pointed a thick finger at a purple button near the speedometer.
"Please be careful, Hagrid," said Mr. Weasley, who stood beside them, holding his broomstick. "I'm still not sure that was advisable, and it's certainly only to be used in emergencies."
"Alright then," said Moody. "Everyone ready, please; I want us all to leave at exactly the same time or the whole point of the diversion's lost."
Everyone mounted their brooms.
"Hold tight now, Ron," said Tonks, and Harry saw Ron throw a furtive, guilty look at Lupin before placing his hands on either side of her waist.
Hagrid kicked the motorbike into life. It roared like a dragon, and the sidecar began to vibrate.
"Good luck, everyone!" shouted Moody.
"See you all in about an hour at the Burrow. On the count of three. One ... two ... THREE."
There was a great roar from the motorbike, and Harry felt the sidecar give a nasty lurch. He was rising through the air fast, his eyes watering slightly, hair whipped back off his face.
Around him, brooms were soaring upward too; the long black tail of a Thestral flicked past. His legs, jammed into the sidecar by Hedwig's cage and his rucksack, were already sore and starting to go numb. So great was his discomfort that he almost forgot to take a last glimpse of number four, Privet Drive; by the time he looked over the edge of the sidecar, he could no longer tell which one it was.
Higher and higher they climbed into the sky —
And then, out of nowhere, out of nothing, they were surrounded. At least thirty hooded figures, suspended in midair, formed a vast circle in the midst of which the Order members had risen, oblivious — Screams, a blaze of green light on every side: Hagrid gave a yell, and the motorbike rolled over.
Harry lost all sense of direction: Streetlights above him, yells around him, he clung to the sidecar for dear life.
Hedwig's cage, the Firebolt, and his rucksack slipped from beneath his knees — "No — HEDWIG!" The broomstick spun to the earth, but he just managed to seize the strap of his rucksack and the top of the cage as the motorbike swung the right way up again.
A second's relief, and then another burst of green light.
The owl screeched and fell to the floor of the cage.
"No — NO!" The motorbike zoomed forward; Harry glimpsed hooded Death Eaters scattering as Hagrid blasted through their circle.
"Hedwig — Hedwig —" But the owl lay motionless and pathetic as a toy on the floor of her cage. He couldn't take it in, and his terror for the others was paramount. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a mass of people moving, flares of green light, two pairs of people on brooms soaring off into the distance, but he couldn't tell who they were —
"Hagrid, we've got to go back, we've got to go back!" he yelled over the thunderous roar of the engine, pulling out his wand, ramming Hedwig's cage onto the floor, refusing to believe that she was dead.
"Hagrid, TURN AROUND!"
"My job's ter get you there safe, Harry!" bellowed Hagrid, and he opened the throttle.
"Stop — STOP!" Harry shouted, but as he looked back again two jets of green light flew past his left ear: Four Death Eaters had broken away from the circle and were pursuing them, aiming for Hagrid's broad back.
Hagrid swerved, but the Death Eaters were keeping up with the bike; more curses shot after them, and Harry had to sink low into the sidecar to avoid them. Wriggling around he cried, "Stupefy!" and a red bolt of light shot from his own wand, cleaving a gap between the four pursuing Death Eaters as they scattered to avoid it.
"Hold on, Harry, this'll do for 'em!" roared Hagrid, and Harry looked up just in time to see Hagrid slamming a thick finger into a green button near the fuel gauge.
A wall, a solid brick wall, erupted out of the exhaust pipe. Craning his neck, Harry saw it expand into being in midair. Three of the Death Eaters swerved and avoided it, but the fourth was not so lucky: He vanished from view and then dropped like a boulder from behind it, his broomstick broken into pieces.
One of his fellows slowed up to save him, but they and the airborne wall were swallowed by darkness as Hagrid leaned low over the handlebars and sped up. More Killing Curses flew past Harry's head from the two remaining Death Eaters' wands; they were aiming for Hagrid.
Harry responded with further Stunning Spells: Red and green collided in midair in a shower of multicolored sparks, and Harry thought wildly of fireworks, and the Muggles below who would have no idea what was happening —
"Here we go again, Harry, hold on!" yelled Hagrid, jabbing at a second button. This time a great net burst from the bike's exhaust, but the Death Eaters were ready for it. Not only did they swerve to avoid it, but the companion who had slowed to save their unconscious friend had caught up. He bloomed suddenly out of the darkness, and now three of them were pursuing the motorbike, all shooting curses after it.
"This'll do it, Harry, hold on tight!" yelled Hagrid, slamming his whole hand onto the purple button beside the speedometer. With an unmistakable bellowing roar, dragon fire burst from the exhaust, white-hot and blue, and the motorbike shot forward like a bullet with a sound of wrenching metal. Harry saw the Death Eaters swerve out of sight to avoid the deadly trail of flame, and at the same time, felt the sidecar sway ominously: Its metal connections to the bike had splintered with the force of acceleration.
"It's all righ', Harry!" bellowed Hagrid, now thrown flat onto his back by the surge of speed; nobody was steering now, and the sidecar was starting to twist violently in the bike's slipstream.
"I'm on it, Harry, don' worry!" Hagrid yelled, and from inside his jacket pocket, he pulled his flowery pink umbrella.
"Hagrid! No! Let me!"
"REPARO!" There was a deafening bang, and the sidecar broke away from the bike completely: Harry sped forward, propelled by the impetus of the bike's flight, then the sidecar began to lose height — In desperation, Harry pointed his wand at the sidecar and shouted, "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The sidecar rose like a cork, unsteerable but at least still airborne: He had but a split second's relief, however, as more curses streaked past him: The three Death Eaters were closing in.
"I'm comin', Harry!" Hagrid yelled from out of the darkness, but Harry could feel the sidecar beginning to sink again: Crouching as low as he could, he pointed at the middle of the oncoming figures and yelled, "Impedimenta!" The jinx hit the middle Death Eater in the chest: For a moment, the man was absurdly spread-eagled in midair as though he had hit an invisible barrier: One of his fellows almost collided with him — Then the sidecar began to fall in earnest, and the remaining Death Eater shot a curse so close to Harry that he had to duck below the rim of the car, knocking out a tooth on the edge of his seat — "I'm comin', Harry, I'm comin'!"
A huge hand seized the back of Harry's robes and hoisted him out of the plummeting sidecar; Harry pulled his rucksack with him as he dragged himself onto the motorbike's seat and found himself back-to-back with Hagrid.
As they soared upward, away from the two remaining Death Eaters, Harry spat blood out of his mouth, pointed his wand at the falling sidecar, and yelled, "Confringo!" He knew a dreadful, gut-wrenching pang for Hedwig as it exploded; the Death Eater nearest it was blasted off his broom and fell from sight; his companion fell back and vanished.
"Harry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," moaned Hagrid, "I shouldn'ta tried ter repair it meself — yeh've got no room —"
"It's not a problem, just keep flying!" Harry shouted back as two more Death Eaters emerged out of the darkness, drawing closer.
As curses shot across the intervening space again, Hagrid swerved and zigzagged. Harry knew Hagrid didn't dare use the dragon-fire button again, with Harry seated so insecurely.
Harry sent Stunning Spells back at their pursuers, barely holding them off. He shot another blocking jinx: The closest Death Eater swerved to avoid it, and his hood slipped, revealing the strangely blank face of Stanley Shunpike — Stan.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry yelled.
"That's him, it's him, it's the real one!" The hooded Death Eater's shout reached Harry even above the motorbike's roar. Next moment, both pursuers fell back and disappeared from view.
"Harry, what's happened?" bellowed Hagrid. "Where've they gone?"
"I don't know!"
But Harry was afraid: The hooded Death Eater had shouted "It's the real one!"; how had he known? He gazed around at the apparently empty darkness and felt its menace. Where were they? He clambered around on the seat to face forward and seized hold of the back of Hagrid's jacket.
"Hagrid, do the dragon-fire thing again, let's get out of here!"
"Hold on tight, then, Harry!" There was a deafening, screeching roar again, and the white-blue fire shot from the exhaust. Harry felt himself slipping backward off what little of the seat he had, Hagrid flung backward upon him, barely maintaining his grip on the handlebars.
"I think we've lost 'em Harry, I think we've done it!" yelled Hagrid.
But Harry was not convinced: Fear lapped at him as he looked left and right for pursuers he was sure would come. Why had they fallen back? One of them still had a wand. It's him, it's the real one.
They had said it right after he had tried to Disarm Stan.
"We're nearly there, Harry, we've nearly made it!" shouted Hagrid.
Harry felt the bike drop a little, though the lights down on the ground still seemed remote as stars. Then the scar on his forehead burned like fire; as a Death Eater appeared on either side of the bike, two Killing Curses missed Harry by millimeters, cast from behind. And then Harry saw him.
Voldemort was flying like smoke on the wind, without a broomstick or thestral to hold him, his snakelike face gleaming out of the blackness, his white fingers raising his wand again. Hagrid let out a bellow of fear and steered the motorbike into a vertical dive.
Clinging on for dear life, Harry sent Stunning Spells flying at random into the whirling night. He saw a body fly past him and knew he had hit one of them, but then he heard a bang and saw sparks from the engine. The motorbike spiraled through the air, completely out of control. Green jets of light shot past them again.
Harry had no idea which way was up, which down. His scar was still burning; he expected to die at any second. A hooded figure on a broomstick was feet from him, he saw it raise its arm.
"NO!" With a shout of fury, Hagrid launched himself off the bike at the Death Eater. To his horror, Harry saw both Hagrid and the Death Eater falling out of sight, their combined weight too much for the broomstick. Barely gripping the plummeting bike with his knees, Harry heard Voldemort scream, "Mine!" It was over. He could not see or hear where Voldemort was; he glimpsed another Death Eater swooping out of the way and heard, "Avada —" As the pain from Harry's scar forced his eyes shut, his wand acted on its own accord. He felt it drag his hand around like some great magnet, saw a spurt of golden fire through his half-closed eyelids, heard a crack and a scream of fury.
The remaining Death Eater yelled; Voldemort screamed, "No!" Somehow, Harry found his nose an inch from the dragon-fire button. He punched it with his wand-free hand, and the bike shot more flames into the air, hurtling straight toward the ground.
"Hagrid!" Harry called, holding on to the bike for dear life.
"Hagrid — Accio Hagrid!" The motorbike sped up, sucked toward the earth. Face level with the handlebars, Harry could see nothing but distant lights growing nearer and nearer. He was going to crash, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Behind him came another scream, "Your wand, Selwyn, give me your wand!" He felt Voldemort before he saw him. Looking sideways, he stared into the red eyes and was sure they would be the last thing he ever saw: Voldemort preparing to curse him once more — And then Voldemort vanished.
Harry peered downward and spotted Hagrid sprawled on the ground below. He tugged firmly at the handlebars to avert a collision, fumbled for the brake, but with a deafening crash that reverberated through the ground, he collided into a murky pond.
"Hagrid?"
Struggling to extract himself from the wreckage of metal and leather that enveloped him, Harry's hands sank into inches of muddy water as he attempted to stand. The whereabouts of Voldemort perplexed him, and he half-expected the dark wizard to swoop out of the shadows at any moment. A warm, wet trickle ran down his chin and forehead. Crawling out of the pond, he staggered toward the indistinct mass on the ground that was Hagrid.
"Hagrid? Hagrid, speak to me—"
Yet, the dark mass remained unmoving.
"Who's there? Is it Potter? Are you Harry Potter?"
The voice was unfamiliar to Harry. A woman's shout rang out, "They've crashed, Ted! Crashed in the garden!"
Harry's head swirled.
"Hagrid," he mumbled incoherently, and his knees gave way.
(Y/n) jolted awake, her eyes snapping open. She sat up abruptly, scanning the kitchen where Mrs. Weasley and Ginny stood with anxious expressions near the back door.
"Mum, has anyone arrived yet?" she inquired urgently.
The looks on their faces provided an answer even before they spoke. (Y/n)'s heart raced, and cold sweat formed on her forehead. Palms damp with nervousness, she braced herself for the news she feared.
She knew Harry was safe, but her concern shifted to Hagrid and the others. Uncertainty gnawed at her—she counted on Ron and Hermione being unharmed if the plot held, but she could only hope for the safety of everyone involved.
Hedwig's death hit her hard. The realization struck her that it would affect Harry deeply. The owl had been a constant in his life for almost seven years, a companion through thick and thin. Losing a pet, a part of the family, was a pain she could only imagine.
It was probably worse for Harry.
His childhood pet, a symbol of innocence and companionship, was gone. Hedwig had been there for him throughout his formative years, a silent witness to his growth. Another death, another blow to Harry's world.
For (Y/n), it signified the end of Harry's childhood—a harsh reminder of the stakes in the battle against darkness. She turned her gaze away, staring at her hands to conceal the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Tears stung her eyes, and she struggled to maintain composure.
In moments like these, she wished fervently to be spared the direct knowledge of Harry's struggles. If only she could intervene, stop the unfolding tragedy. The sense of helplessness consumed her as she grappled with the weight of witnessing events she couldn't alter.
She couldn't help, and she couldn't share her knowledge. Revealing her awareness would complicate matters further, raising questions about how she knew.
If only Ron and Harry had allowed her to fetch Harry from the Dursleys'. She might have made a difference, even if only a small one. The frustration of being on the sidelines, unable to contribute, added to her anguish.
As her friends, along with Harry, faced danger on the other side, (Y/n) found herself relegated to the kitchen table at the Burrow, a mere spectator to the unfolding events.
"Mum, look!" Ginny exclaimed, pointing at something (Y/n) couldn't see. "Dad's and Fred's portkey already came back, just like Ron and Tonks, but they weren't here."
"Oh, dear, oh dear," Mrs. Weasley fretted, pressing her palm against her forehead and pacing around the room as if hoping to dispel her worries.
A sense of sickness settled in (Y/n)'s stomach. If she couldn't contribute, even as someone from the real world where this tale was just fiction, she questioned her purpose and worth in being brought here.
"What happened to Ron, to Fred...to Arthur, oh Merlin..." Mrs. Weasley's voice wavered with emotion, her attempt to suppress worries evident.
(Y/n) felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and helplessness. Minutes passed as she struggled not to cry, staring into her hands. Suddenly, Mrs. Weasley and Ginny screamed simultaneously, a mixture of fear and relief in their voices. They rushed down the steps of the back door.
Someone had finally arrived with their portkey. Despite the relief in the air, (Y/n) hesitated to join them. Fear gripped her, the apprehension that she might witness something utterly terrifying holding her back.
"Harry? You are the real Harry? What happened? Where are the others?" cried Mrs. Weasley.
Upon hearing that, (Y/n) stood up instantly and approached the back door. To her relief, she saw Harry looking safe and sound, his injuries seemingly mended and tended.
She glanced at Hagrid, who had just managed to clamber laboriously to his feet. When he noticed her gaze, he offered a small smile.
"What d'you mean? Isn't anyone else back?" Harry panted.
(Y/n) couldn't see Mrs. Weasley's face as she had her back turned, but her attention was on Harry.
"The Death Eaters were waiting for us," Harry explained. "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 —" (Y/n) could sense the self-justifying note in his voice, the plea for her to understand why he didn't know what had happened to her sons, but —
"Thank goodness you're all right," she said, pulling him into a hug he felt he didn't deserve.
"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, (Y/n) saw the look on her face.
Harry 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 ought to be back in about a minute."
Harry gnawed at the inside of his cheek, his eyes sweeping the area as if in search of someone—(Y/n), stationed at the back door, locked eyes with him.
Their gaze intertwined.
(Y/n) sought any flicker in his eyes that might signal her to cross the invisible barrier he had erected since Dumbledore's funeral. Capturing the longing in his eyes, echoing the weeks they spent apart —
Without a word, (Y/n) bolted out the door, hurtled down the steps, darted past Hagrid and Ginny, leapt to envelop Harry in a robust, neck-snuggling hug.
Harry, oblivious to the potential scrutiny of Mrs. Weasley, almost instantly reciprocated by placing his hand on her waist. He closed his eyes for a few heartbeats, inhaling her soothing lavender scent. In that moment, he realized he was safe.
They lingered in the embrace, oblivious to Mrs. Weasley reemerging with a bottle of brandy. She handed it to Hagrid, who uncorked it and gulped it down in one go.
Their detachment only transpired when —
"Mum!" Ginny's voice echoed, pointing to a spot several feet away.
A cerulean light materialized in the darkness, expanding and intensifying. Lupin and George materialized, twirling and then plummeting. (Y/n) and Harry immediately sensed an anomaly: Lupin cradled the unconscious George, his face shrouded in blood.
Harry dashed forward, seizing George's legs. Together, he and Lupin navigated the threshold into the house, guiding George through the kitchen and into the sitting room, where they gently laid him on the sofa.
As lamplight cascaded across George's head, gasps escaped (Y/n) and Ginny, while Harry wore an expression of horror. One of George's ears was conspicuously absent, and the side of his head and neck were awash in a shocking, scarlet sea.
Mrs. Weasley bent over her son, her response swift. Meanwhile, Lupin clamped onto Harry's upper arm and whisked him rather unceremoniously back into the kitchen. Hagrid, still attempting to navigate through the back door, protested Hagrid's forceful approach.
"Professor!" gasped (Y/n).
"Oi!" protested Hagrid indignantly. "Le' go of him! Le' go of Harry!"
Lupin disregarded Hagrid's outburst.
"What creature occupied the corner the first time that Harry Potter visited my office at Hogwarts?" he demanded, giving Harry a brisk shake. "Answer me!"
"A — a grindylow in a tank, wasn't it?"Lupin released Harry, stumbling back against a kitchen cupboard.
(Y/n) rushed to Harry's side, assisting him to his feet.
"What was that about?" bellowed Hagrid.
"I'm sorry, Harry, but I had to check," explained 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't you checking me?" panted Hagrid, still wrestling with the door.
"You're half-giant," Lupin clarified, 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," Harry interjected. "Voldemort only caught up with me toward the end; he didn't know which one I was at the beginning. If he'd been in on the plan, he'd have known from the start that I was the one with Hagrid."
"Voldemort caught up with you?" inquired Lupin sharply. "What happened? How did you escape?"
Harry concisely detailed how the Death Eaters had recognized him as the true Harry, abandoned the pursuit, and summoned Voldemort. The Dark Lord had materialized just before he and Hagrid reached the safety of Tonks's parents.
"They recognized you? But how? What had you done?"
"I ..." Harry struggled to recall; the entire journey felt like a chaotic blur of panic and confusion. "I saw Stan Shunpike. ... You know, the bloke who used to be the conductor on the Knight Bus? I tried to Disarm him instead of — well, he doesn't know what he's doing, does he? He must be under the Imperius Curse!"
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's expression reminded (Y/n) of the sneering Hufflepuff Zacharias Smith, who had ridiculed 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 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 made Harry feel idiotic, 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 turned back to Lupin.
"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 lunged for the back door; Harry and (Y/n) vaulted over Hagrid's legs ( (Y/n) almost tripped, but thankfully Harry was there to catch her) and sprinted into the yard.
Two figures had appeared, and as Harry and (Y/n) ran toward them, they recognized Hermione, now back to her normal appearance, and Kingsley, both clutching a bent coat hanger.
Hermione flung herself into (Y/n)'s arms, but Kingsley showed no pleasure at the sight of any of them.
Over Hermione's shoulder, (Y/n) 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 as she let go of Harry for a hug.
"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.
Hermione looked at (Y/n) in horror for confirmation; when (Y/n) didn't answer, Hermione gasps.
"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 five 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 hoarsely from the door, in which he was stuck again.
Harry headed through the empty kitchen and back into the sitting room, with (Y/n) where Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were still tending to George.
(Y/n) looked away, biting her lower lip.
Mrs. Weasley had staunched George's 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 have been so much worse. ... He's alive."
"Yeah," said Harry.
"Thank God."
"Did I hear someone else in the yard?" Ginny asked (Y/n).
"Hermione and Kingsley," Harry answered for (Y/n), noticing that (Y/n) seemed too uncomfortable to speak.
"Thank goodness," Ginny whispered.
Harry ignored her, looking at (Y/n). He wanted to hold her hand, to make her feel comforted, to tell her that he was sorry he didn't mean to put her brother in danger. He was tempted to hug her again, to hold on to her for a while, to kiss her; he didn't even care that Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were 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. (Y/n) couldn't help but get teary-eyed. Maybe staying here for a while was making her soft.
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 around my sickbed?"
And (Y/n), who was trying her hardest not to sob, let out a laugh. She found the word "sick bed" so dramatic and funny.
"See Freddie, already making our pretty sister laugh," he said, grinning.
"Bill and Ron are not back yet, George," said Mrs. Weasley.
George's grin faded.
Harry glanced at (Y/n) and motioned for her to accompany him back outside.
As they ambled through the kitchen, she murmured 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 maintained his silence.
Descending the back steps into the dark yard, (Y/n) gently took his hand.
"How are you?" she suddenly asked, her gaze fixed ahead, the simplicity of the question holding profound meaning for both of them.
"I'm fine," he replied, his eyes fixed on the empty black sky.
"I'll tell you one thing, Harry," (Y/n) began, "You're a good kisser, but a bad fat liar."
Though they avoided direct eye contact, (Y/n) sensed Harry was a little taken aback by her words.
"What do you want to hear from me, then?" he inquired.
Kingsley paced back and forth, glancing up at the sky each time he turned. Harry was reminded of Uncle Vernon pacing the living room a million years ago.
"I'd rather know the hurtful truth, but never reassure me with your comforting lies," she said gently, casting a fleeting glance at him.
Harry came to a halt, his gaze lingering on her.
Amidst the whirlwind of emotions, he knew one thing for certain—when he was with her, he could be himself. He could confide in her without fear of judgment. So, he wasn't entirely surprised by the words that spilled out:
"You know," he began, and (Y/n) stopped too, looking up at him with warm blue eyes. "All of that happened, all of this is happening. People wanted me to be okay. They expected me to be fine after a few days, a few weeks, a few months. I've never... never had time to have a longer grief... so how could... how could I have been fine?" He didn't whisper the last part; it just went low because he felt his throat forming an ugly sort of lump.
His eyes stung.
But he didn't want to cry.
It felt burdensome, not the right place, not the right time.
(Y/n) stared into his eyes, her gaze seeming to whisper comforting songs he didn't want to hear but knew he needed.
"Grieve with me," she said, "as long as I am here. As long as I am at your side, you're not alone. Your fears, your pain, your grief, all of it—share it with me." Her eyes started to well with tears. "I can cry for you when you don't want to cry, when you can't cry. I can be your legs when you can't stand up. I can be your voice; I can be you when you can't be yourself, Harry. I can even poop for you, you know."
Harry let out an audible sniff and a half-laugh.
"What, are you going to wipe my butt or something?"
(Y/n) chuckled playfully at him, giving a little glare.
"It means I can go to such lengths just for you... because you're my... best friend."
Harry didn't quite like the term she had used but chose to ignore it for the moment.
"You have your way with words for letting me know that I am not alone, that whatever I feel is fine. And I thank you for that, but that's not something you should do for me, because you have your own things to face too—"
"You're not a burden," she said, interrupting him. "And being vulnerable is not a burden; it's an emotion that makes you a human being. You may be the chosen one, as everyone sees you are... but you're Harry, just Harry, to me. Always will be and always have been."
Harry looked at her with those loving eyes.
"You're really... something," he said, shaking his head with a small, comforting smile. "You're like everybody else, but at the same time, different... very different."
"Heck, I am, and you should be grateful that you've experienced meeting me in this lifetime — you need to cherish these moments with me, you know, because you'll never meet someone like me again," she said, rubbing her eyes as tears built up but didn't stream down.
At this moment, Harry didn't quite grasp what she meant, so he chuckled again.
(Y/n) stared at him as though he was the most handsome boy she had ever seen in her life.
"But I am the luckiest because I've met you in person. Held you and got to experience my firsts with you. You are the chosen one, but I am the lucky one," she added warmly.
Harry took away her hands from her eyes and instead caressed her cheeks gently and slowly, as though she were a fragile vase that might break with one wrong move. Staring deeply into her eyes, he said, "No, I am the lucky one. I'd take that nickname anytime over the chosen one. Thinking of it, the chosen one seems to fit you more than me. Because you're my chosen one."
They stared at each other, their eyes carrying a silent conversation.
"Yeah," said (Y/n), "The one you chose to dump after saying, 'don't leave you.'"
Harry suddenly let go of her face.
"Sabrina, you know I've only done it to protect you," he said.
(Y/n) simply stared at him. She had so much to say, but she chose not to add to the emotions he was already battling.
She smiled at him.
"I'm only joking, you idiot. I fully understand."
"Really? Then why did Hermione tell me that you wanted to come with them to get me?"
"Listen, I want to do it because I am your best friend, not because I was once your girlfriend," she said. "Let me do something for you as your best friend. You and Ron can't change my mind, and if you do anything behind my back, Harry, I'll tell you, I won't ever forgive you. Ever," she warned, looking into his green eyes seriously.
"Sabrina—"
"Cease and desist, or I'll cast a hex on you, you underage wizard. Listen to someone who's got a few more months of life experience," she said with a sly grin.
Harry shook his head once more. "You're only a bit older than me and, not to mention, significantly shorter."
(Y/n) shot him a look as if to say he had no idea what he was talking about.
"Height doesn't matter; we were on an equal playing field when we shared a bed," she whispered, making sure Harry caught her words.
"What on earth did you just say?" he asked, utterly bewildered.
With a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, (Y/n) released his hand and adjusted her trousers, striding confidently towards Hermione, Hagrid, and Lupin, purposefully ignoring Harry.
Hagrid, Hermione, and Lupin stood shoulder to shoulder, their gazes fixed on the night sky in silence.
When (Y/n), followed by Harry, joined their silent vigil, none of them turned around, absorbed in their watch.
Minutes stretched into what felt like years.
Though Harry kept stealing glances at (Y/n), she steadfastly avoided looking in his direction.
Her mind wandered, pondering the fate of Bill, Ron, Tonks and Fleur. But she reassured herself that if Hermione was safe, Ron must be too.
A soft breath of wind made them all startle, turning towards the rustling bushes and trees, hoping to see one of the missing Order members emerging unscathed.
Suddenly, a broom materialized directly above them, streaking toward the ground.
"It's them!" screamed Hermione.
Tonks landed with a long skid, scattering earth and pebbles in all directions.
"Remus!" Tonks cried as she staggered off the broom into Lupin's arms. His face was pale and set; he seemed unable to speak. Ron stumbled dazedly towards Harry, (Y/n), and Hermione.
"You're okay," he mumbled before Hermione flew at him, hugging him tightly.
"I thought — I thought —"
"I'm all right," Ron assured her, patting her on the back.
(Y/n) smiled sweetly at the two. They were going to end up with each other — Ron and Hermione.
"I'm fine."
"Ron was great," said Tonks warmly, releasing 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?" Hermione gazed up at Ron, arms still around his neck.
"Always the tone of surprise," he said a little grumpily, breaking free.
Now it was (Y/n)'s turn to give Ron a hug.
"I'm glad you're safe, you daft thing," she said into the hug. Ron, uncomfortable with hugs from family members, awkwardly hugged (Y/n) back.
"Are we the last ones back?" he asked her.
"No," she replied, breaking free from the hug, "we're still waiting for Bill and Fleur, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus. I'm going to tell Mum and Dad you're okay, Ron."
She hurried back inside.
"So what kept you? What happened?" Lupin's voice carried a hint of frustration as he addressed Tonks.
"Bellatrix," Tonks uttered, her voice carrying the weight of a bitter history. "She wants me almost 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'd missed our Portkey, and she was fussing over us."
A muscle twitched in Lupin's jaw. He nodded, his expression laden with unspoken emotions.
"So what happened to you lot?" Tonks turned her attention to Harry, Hermione, and Kingsley.
They shared the tales of their respective journeys, yet the continued absence of Bill, Fleur, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus weighed on them like an unshakable frost, its icy grip becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
"I'm going to have to get back to Downing Street. I should have been there an hour ago," said Kingsley finally, casting 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 rushed down the back steps, with (Y/n) following them.
Both parents embraced Ron before turning to Lupin and Tonks.
"Thank you for our sons," said Mrs. Weasley.
"Don't be silly, Molly," Tonks responded promptly.
"How's George?" Lupin inquired.
"What's wrong with him?" Ron piped up.
"He's lost —" Mrs. Weasley's words were drowned in a general outcry. A Thestral had soared into sight, landing a few feet away.
Bill and Fleur gracefully dismounted, windswept but unharmed.
"Bill! Thank God, thank God —" Mrs. Weasley ran forward, but the hug Bill gave her was perfunctory.
Looking directly at his father, Bill said, "Mad-Eye's dead."
Nobody spoke; nobody moved. Harry felt as though something inside him was plummeting through the earth, leaving him forever. (Y/n) looked at him, but he didn't meet her gaze.
"We saw it," said Bill; Fleur nodded, tear tracks glittering on her cheeks in the kitchen window's light.
"It happened just after we broke out of the circle. Mad-Eye and Dung were close by us, 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 there, eyes locked in a shared disbelief.
Mad-Eye dead; the words echoed in Harry's mind, a phrase that refused to make sense. Mad-Eye, the indomitable survivor, so tough and brave...
Slowly, the gravity of the news settled on each of them, though no one dared to articulate it. There was no purpose in lingering in the yard any longer. In solemn silence, they trailed behind Mr. and Mrs. Weasley back into the Burrow, entering the living room where Fred and George were still joyously engaged in laughter.
"What's wrong?" Fred asked, the smile fading from his face as he scrutinized them. "What's happened? Who's — ?"
"Mad-Eye," Mr. Weasley said flatly. "Dead."
The gleeful expressions of the twins contorted into grimaces of shock. A heavy pall of uncertainty hung in the air. Tonks wept silently into a handkerchief, her proximity to Mad-Eye evident to Harry, who knew she was his favorite and protégée at the Ministry of Magic.
Hagrid, perched on the floor in a corner where he could fit, wiped his eyes with a tablecloth-sized handkerchief.
Bill crossed the room, producing a bottle of firewhisky and some glasses from the sideboard.
"Here," he offered, waving his wand to send twelve full glasses gliding through the room to each person, keeping the thirteenth suspended in the air. "Mad-Eye."
"Mad-Eye," they echoed in unison, raising their glasses.
"Mad-Eye," added Hagrid, a bit belated, punctuating his tribute with a hiccup.
The firewhisky blazed down Harry's throat, an intense sensation that brought back feeling, dispelling the numbness and unreality. It infused him with something akin to courage.
"So Mundungus disappeared?" Lupin inquired, having drained his own glass in one go.
The atmosphere shifted immediately. Tension gripped the room as everyone watched Lupin, simultaneously hoping he would elaborate and fearing the revelation.
"I know what you're thinking," Bill interjected, "and I pondered that too on the way back here. They seemed to anticipate us, didn't they? But Mundungus couldn't have betrayed us. They were thrown off by the seven Harrys. The moment we appeared, it confused them. And, in case you've forgotten, Mundungus was the one who proposed that little bit of skullduggery. Why wouldn't he have told them the crucial point? I think Dung panicked; it's as simple as that. He didn't want to come in the first place, but Mad-Eye forced 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 knew 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 hiccuping 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.
"Yeah, 'ear, 'ear," said George, with half a glance at Fred, the corner of whose mouth twitched.
(Y/n) rolled her eyes at that but smiled.
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 goodbye and left.
The rest of them now dropped into chairs, all except for Harry, who remained standing.
The suddenness and completeness of death were with them like a presence.
"Sit down, Harry you —" but (Y/n) was interrupted.
"I've got to go too," said Harry.
Eleven 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 prickling again, it 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 he wanted to go now, before they had to suffer any more on his behalf?
"Acting like a hero and bolting from here wouldn't make any difference," said (Y/n) suddenly, shooting daggers at Harry. "Let's play this scenario: you leave, and Voldemort shows up looking for you. Do you honestly believe he'd spare us because you're not around? If you think that, you're either incredibly dense or, dare I say, selfish."
Harry was left staring, much like everyone else.
"If you genuinely care about any of us, you wouldn't pull off some noble stunt out of sheer stupidity," she added.
A prolonged and awkward silence hung in the air, during which Harry's scar continued to prickle and throb. The quiet was finally disrupted by Mrs. Weasley.
"Where's Hedwig, Harry?" she asked gently. "We can put her up with Pigwidgeon and give her something to eat."
Harry's insides clenched like a fist. He couldn't divulge the truth. To avoid answering and breaking eye contact with (Y/n), who now wore a concerned expression at the mention of Hedwig, he downed the last of his firewhisky.
"Wait till word gets out that you 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, and I couldn't have told you where Voldemort was. But my wand spun in my hand, found him, and shot a spell at him. 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 all imagined him to have power to match Voldemort's.
No one said anything. 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 needing fresh air, he set down his glass and left the room.
Silence hung in the air when Harry exited the room.
"Someone needs to talk to Harry," said Mrs. Weasley. "That poor boy's gone through a lot."
There was another pause, and then Tonks spoke, "Who would talk to him?"
All eyes shifted to (Y/n).
"What?" she exclaimed, incredulous. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"
"Talk to Harry," urged Ron once more.
"Why don't you do it? You're his best friend too," (Y/n) retorted.
"We all know he only listens to you. Shuts up the moment you tell him how idiotic he is," added Fred.
"Fred, don't call Harry that!" scolded Mrs. Weasley.
"Can't blame me, Mum."
"Hermione, talk to him. You're good at talking to him too," suggested (Y/n) to Hermione.
"Yeah, but he always argues with me," Hermione replied, shaking her head. "And besides, you understand him."
"You two understand him too; you're just making me do the work," (Y/n) snorted, glaring at both Ron and Hermione.
"Come on, sis, you have the power over him. Just do the eye-batting and sweet smile; he'll—"
"Oh, shut up," (Y/n) interrupted Fred. "I'm not the one he needs right now. I'm pretty sure he needs someone wise... someone like Dumbledore." The room fell silent once again.
But Hermione looked at her with an odd smile.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked suspiciously. "And why are you smiling—"
"See, Sabrina," Hermione began, "we didn't think of him possibly considering Dumbledore right now, but you... you understand him fully well to think that he needs him at this moment."
(Y/n) stared at Hermione.
"Brilliant," she said, shaking her head. "You really used my words against me. Fine, fine, alright. I'll talk to him." She stood up.
Fred and George made a weird noise that sounded like a celebration.
With a defeated sigh, she left the room.
At the back door, she saw Harry at the garden gate, staring out at the overgrown plants, rubbing his forehead.
(Y/n) couldn't help but notice that, in the weeks they had been apart, he had grown even taller. The thought of how this young man continued to battle for his life, despite facing unimaginable hardships, tugged at her heartstrings. Losing his parents at such a tender age, thinking he found a father figure in Sirius only to have it cruelly snatched away, and having Dumbledore, the pillar of support, taken from him when he needed guidance the most—these were burdens that would crush most.
How did this shattered soul muster the strength to endure and repair things he never broke in the first place?
The reality of his experiences seemed surreal, like pages torn from a hauntingly vivid novel.
She understood he was a fictional character, but...
He embodied bravery, coupled with occasional stupidity.
He operated on impulse.
He wielded sarcasm.
He carried a touch of moodiness.
He could laugh.
He could cry.
He could lie.
And most significantly,
He could love.
All these traits made him unmistakably human.
Yes, she mused, Harry is undeniably human, with emotions and desires.
Dumbledore's wisdom echoed in her mind.
Just because she hailed from another world didn't diminish the authenticity of this reality.
And that concern for Harry deepened. Once the war concluded, once victory was claimed, what awaited him?
Sure, he'd be even more famous, but her worry delved deeper.
Would he battle post-war nightmares? Reflect on lives lost in the struggle? Entertain guilt, perhaps unfairly claiming responsibility for it all? How would he navigate the inevitable trauma?
And when that time eventually arrived,
Would she still be there to grasp Harry's hand? To offer solace when nightmares haunted his sleep, coaxing him through the darkness? To murmur reassurances in his ear, declaring the war was won and he needn't bear the weight any longer?
Yet, she confronted an unspoken dilemma. Would she choose to remain, standing in the realm she had grown to cherish, or would the inevitable beckoning of reality force her return to the world she once knew?
A lingering question, one that she might have unequivocally answered before, now shrouded her in uncertainty. The resounding "yes" that once echoed in her mind had transformed into an elusive murmur.
She was at a crossroads, wrestling with the conundrum of duty versus desire.
Did she truly want to relinquish this world for the familiar contours of her past life?
The answer eluded her.
A glance at Harry's figure brought forth a cascade of conflicting emotions. Would she stay, devotedly by his side, or yield to the inevitable departure dictated by the passage of time?
The immediate pull to remain was palpable, a magnetic force compelling her to choose the path of allegiance to Harry and this world.
But was it the right thing to do?
She yearned to gaze upon his silhouette a moment longer, but the unfolding events disrupted her contemplation. Harry, gripped by an unseen agony, clutched his forehead with a desperation that spurred (Y/n) into action.
Without a second thought, she descended the steps, traversed the dimly lit yard, and approached Harry. A thestral, its wings rustling in the night, observed their interaction.
"Harry?" she uttered, worry etching her voice. "Is your scar hurting again? Harry! Harry!"
As swiftly as the anguish appeared, it dissipated. Harry, tearful and breathless, seemed to emerge from the grip of pain.
"Harry—"
"Harry, Sabrina?" called Hermione from the doorway.
Prompted by the arrival of Hermione and Ron, (Y/n) motioned for them to join. Without hesitation, the two sprinted towards them, their faces etched with concern.
Hermione's eyes bore into (Y/n), seeking answers to the unspoken questions. "What happened? Does he still think of leaving?"
"Yeah, don't leave, mate. Stay," Ron chimed in, thumping Harry on the back.
"I didn't get the time to talk to him because he suddenly clutched his forehead, and I think his scar hurt," (Y/n) explained.
"What?" Hermione exclaimed. "Are you all right?" She asked Harry, closing the distance to scrutinize his face. "You look awful!"
"Well," said Harry shakily, "I probably look better than Ollivander. ..." As he recounted the harrowing vision, Ron looked appalled, Hermione utterly terrified, and (Y/n) deeply concerned for him.
"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!"
In the face of Hermione's fervent plea, Harry remained silent. Concern etched her face, and (Y/n) couldn't help but share the worry for him.
"Harry, he's taking over the Ministry, the newspapers, and half the Wizarding world! Don't let him inside your head too!" Hermione implored, her grip tightening on Harry's arm.