Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

by angela bretagne

This is my take on the seventh book, based on clues scattered all through the other six books. I can't wait for the real book to come out to see if I'm close. ASL please.

1. Chapter 1: Friends and Foes

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– CHAPTER ONE –

Friends and Foes

The last touches of night fought valiantly against the first hazy glow of dawn peeking upwards from the horizon, casting a pale pink sheen over the dry flowerbeds beneath the front windows of number four, Privet Drive. In an upstairs bedroom, a tall, skinny youth with untidy black hair and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead lay fully clothed upon a bed, a pair of glasses hanging from one ear as he snored softly into his pillow.

Stacked by the bedroom door, as though someone had tried to tidy up, were several newspapers. Most of the front page of the top one was taken up by the headline, DEATH OF A LEGEND, and an old black and white picture of an extremely lined face surrounded by very white, very long hair and beard. The man's eyes (which, had the photograph been colour, would have been pale blue) twinkled as they peered over the rim of a pair of half-moon spectacles; leaning back into a thronelike chair, he touched his index fingers together into a steeple and rested his chin lightly upon them.

The remainder of the room bore similar signs of trying to bring order to chaos. Beside a large open trunk were stacks of robes, socks and underwear. Leaning against a wardrobe door were three stacks of books and a very dirt-free broomstick. Beneath the window stood a large pewter cauldron. And on the bedside table stood a birdcage, empty except for an inch of droppings in its base.

The boy rolled onto his back, making his glasses unhook from his ear and fall to the floor with a soft thud. The sound, although muffled by the rug, was enough to make him wake with a start.

Harry Potter blinked hard to clear the sleep from his eyes. One hand reached out to the bedside table, groping around for his glasses, but instead, he knocked the cage, sending it crashing to the floor.

'BOY!'

Fully awake now, Harry jumped out of bed and had just snatched the cage up when his bedroom door flew open with a bang. He could just make out the large shape of his uncle through the blurry mist which was his normal vision.

'WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?' Vernon Dursley bellowed.

Harry instinctively took a step back. 'I was half awake and reached for my glasses and bumped the cage.' To confirm his story, he put the cage down on the bed, then again ran his hands over the surface of the bedside table, fingers searching like a blind man.

'Do you know what the time is?'

'Not clearly; not without my glasses.' Harry crouched down, searching the floor in case they had fallen with the cage.

'They're over here,' grunted Uncle Vernon, kicking them under the bed towards Harry. 'NOW, GET BACK TO SLEEP LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!' He slammed the door behind him as he stormed back to the comfort of his own bed.

Harry shook his head as he put his glasses on. Ever since he had come to live with his Aunt Petunia, her husband, Vernon, and their son, Dudley, after his parents died, they had been trying to make him normal. And what was normal anyway? If normal meant being obsessed with appearance, cleanliness and wealth to the point of bullying, snobbery and gross obesity, then Harry was very glad he was a wizard.

Finally able to see clearly, he glanced at the alarm clock by his bed. The hands showed that it was ten to five. Sighing tiredly, Harry decided it wasn't worth going back to sleep; an owl would be arriving in ten minutes to deliver the Daily Prophet, the newspaper detailing the happenings of the wizarding world.

Even though Harry had taken delivery of the Prophet for a couple of years now, basically ever since Lord Voldemort – the darkest wizard for at least a century and the person who had orphaned Harry at the age of one – had returned, he had only ever skimmed his eyes briefly over the front page for any important news before tossing it aside. Now, he read each copy cover to cover, scouring every page for information, not just about Voldemort, but the Ministry of Magic, and the general wizarding community at large.

For Harry Potter was on a mission.

Throughout his last year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, his headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore, had taken Harry on a journey through Voldemort's life, teaching him about his nemesis's weaknesses and secrets. The reason why Voldemort had been impossible to kill was the darkest secret.

Horcruxes. Hidden objects containing fragments of Voldemort's soul. Six of them.

Two had already been destroyed, but there were four more to find and dispose of before Harry could even begin to think of destroying Voldemort. A few weeks ago, Harry had travelled with Dumbledore to find what should have been a third Horcrux – a locket – but which actually turned out to be a fake, the real Horcrux having already been recovered by someone with the initials R.A.B. Now Dumbledore was dead, murdered that same night by Harry's Potions teacher, Professor Snape, leaving Harry alone to find the remaining four. And in order to do that, he needed information; every piece of information he could get his hands on, no matter how insignificant or silly it might seem.

A light tapping on the window announced the arrival of the newspaper. Gathering up several bronze coins from his trunk, Harry paid the owl. Just as he was about to close the window, a sparrow flew in and landed on the end of the bed. It had been a fairly regular visitor over the last few weeks and, desperate for company when his pet owl, Hedwig, wasn't around, Harry hadn't discouraged it at all. With a thatch of frizzy feathers covering its head and neck, it had reminded him of one of his best friends, Hermione Granger and so, even though he had no idea if the bird was female or not, he had named it Hermione.

Giving the sparrow a brief smile, he settled down by the window to start yet another day of reading, cross-referencing and theorising.

x

'NOT AGAIN!' bellowed Uncle Vernon, jolting Harry from his enclosed world. 'THAT'S IT! I'M NOT HAVING ANY MORE BLASTED OWLS IN THIS HOUSE!'

Harry heard heavy footsteps thundering loudly up the stairs, then Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's bedroom door slammed open. He slowly opened his own door a fraction, being careful not to let it creak. He could hear Uncle Vernon muttering under his breath and rummaging for something in the wardrobe.

'Right!' Uncle Vernon came marching out of his room, a new shotgun swinging in one hand. Gripping his wand tightly, Harry stepped out in front of him.

'Out of my way, boy!'

With an effort, Harry dragged his eyes from the gun's barrel up to Uncle Vernon's purple face. 'What's Hedwig supposed to have done now?' He was surprised his voice wasn't shaking.

'I'm not talking about your ruddy bird. I meant the one downstairs.' He jerked the shotgun towards the stairs.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, frowning. 'What owl downstairs?' but he spoke to a retreating back as Uncle Vernon pushed past and thumped down the staircase, heaving great breaths as he went. There was no room for Harry to pass him and get downstairs first, so he settled for keeping pace four steps above his uncle, just out of reach.

On reaching the entry, Harry was surprised when Uncle Vernon entered the living room; he could hear one of Dudley's favourite programs playing on the television, along with whimpering, but no sound which might have been made by an owl. Had it flown away?

Following him, Harry entered the living room and promptly made a hiccoughing sound as he struggled not to laugh.

His cousin, Dudley, was hanging half out of the open window. It looked like he had tried to climb (probably hastily) backwards through the window, but a life being indulged by his parents had left him the size of a small whale, and his very over-proportioned behind was wedged between the window-frames. Aunt Petunia was tugging both his arms but Dudley wasn't budging an inch. Instead, he whimpered each time she pulled, the whole time staring terrified at a large grey owl perched placidly on top of the television.

Uncle Vernon brought the shotgun up to his shoulder, aiming at the bored-looking bird. Harry hurried past to stand between them.

'Out of my way, boy!' he barked.

'No.' Harry brought his wand up to the same level as the gun.

'You don't scare me, boy,' said Uncle Vernon, starting to shake with fear. 'Do you want that old crackpot to throw you out of that school of yours?'

'Who said I was going back?'

That caught Aunt Petunia's attention.

'What do you mean, you're not going back? You're not staying here.' ('Like I'd want to,' muttered Harry.) 'You haven't finished school yet. You won't be able to get a job, even with your lot, if you don't graduate.'

'I'm not paying for a wastrel to laze around doing nothing.' Uncle Vernon was turning puce again. 'I've spent more than enough money on you over the years, but not one penny more. You're going back to that school of yours and graduate so you can get a job and start to pay us back.'

'Why would …' Dudley didn't seem able to say the word 'wizards' and settled for waving his hand at Harry. 'Why would they need to go to work and get money? I thought they'd just –' He clicked his fingers. 'And what about the gold your godfather left you?'

'That's right, boy. There are all those gold bars. Now hand them over!' Uncle Vernon raised the gun menacingly.

'You have absolutely no idea, have you?' Harry shook his head. 'Wizards –' (there was a chorus of squawks from the Dursleys) '– don't just wave their wands and conjure up great heaps of money. Magic money dissolves into nothing. We're just like you; we have to go out and earn our money the same as you do. We have rich and poor people the same as in your world. Why do you think the Weasleys always look so second-hand? Mr Weasley might work at the Ministry, but the department he worked for wasn't considered very important, so he didn't get paid as much as some of the others who work there. Then, once it paid for seven kids, it didn't go very far. If they could just wave their wands and get everything they wanted, they'd be a lot richer.

'Other Muggle families are usually thrilled to have a witch or wizard in the family and enjoy learning about our world and how it works, but not you. Oh no.' A small part of Harry felt he was probably being churlish, but he didn't care; he had put up with the Dursleys for sixteen years and it was time for some payback. 'You've gone out of your way to make my life hell, abusing and neglecting me. If the roles had been reversed and Dudley had been raised by my parents and they had spoiled me, feeding me heaps of sweet and fatty foods while almost starving Dudley; if they'd given me every toy imaginable for presents while only giving Dudley stuff like used tissues; if they let me punch and beat up Dudley all the time but never punished me for it, instead they just locked Dudley in a cupboard if he dared to cry about it, you two would be as mad as hell.'

'And rightly so!' Uncle Vernon was a very deep shade of magenta now. 'But then, we wouldn't expect anything less from no-gooders like your parents. Lazy, good-for-nothing –'

'You still won't get it, will you?' Harry was really into his stride now. 'This is what Dumbledore was trying to tell you about last summer. Look at Dudley.' He pointed towards the window. 'Even with a diet and the exercising he did with his boxing, he's still way too fat. And now he's got his enormous fat backside stuck in a window. All because you taught him to be scared of a postal service.'

'That's not a postal service; it's … it's …' Uncle Vernon struggled to come up a word which described just what he thought it was. 'Real mail gets delivered by a postman. It gets taken to the post office in a delivery van, sorted, flown from one end of the country to the other if necessary – by aeroplane, not birds – then a postman walks up to the front door, posts it through the letter-box, and rings the bell, all nice and polite; he doesn't toss it in your face.'

Harry leant back against the telly, his arms crossed. 'And how much does all that cost?'

'What?'

'You get all of what you just said – the use of all that equipment, fuel and staff – all for the cost of a stamp.'

'Your lot get to send your letters for free; just stick it in an owl's beak and send it on its way. You don't have to go out and earn the money to pay for a stamp.'

'A stamp worth how many shillings?' countered Harry. 'Sure, we don't have to pay for stamps. We just have to go to Eyelops Owl Emporium, pay for a specially-trained owl – you can't use wild owls – feed it, care for it and keep its cage clean. And, of course all of that doesn't cost a single shilling. It just costs Galleons, Sickles and Knuts; money my parents worked for!'

'Nuts? That's not British currency. What are you … squirrels?' Uncle Vernon attempted a laugh. 'No normal person would deal with such stupid-sounding nonsense.'

'Hermione's parents manage OK; they're Muggles. And anyway, what's wrong with non-British currencies. The rest of the world deals in non-British money and they get by.'

'Foreigners, the lot of them!'

'Including people from Texas?' asked Harry quietly.

That stopped Uncle Vernon. Since Harry had gotten back from Hogwarts, Uncle Vernon had bored them all silly with a running commentary of his progress trying to win a large contract for Grunnings, the drill-making company he worked for. A Dallas oil company had recently bought a rig in the North Sea and was looking for a firm which would be able to keep it adequately supplied with drills – long term. The contract would be worth a lot of American dollars. Uncle Vernon didn't seem to think those non-British millions worth scorning.

Harry took advantage of his uncle's momentary silence. Turning to face the television (and trying to ignore the fact that there was a shotgun aimed at his back), he untied the gold ribbon holding a gilt-edged scroll to the owl's leg. The large eyes blinked at him with an expression which clearly said, 'About time!' Harry dug in the pocket of his jeans for one of Hedwig's owl treats, then the mysterious bird gave another blink, spread its wings, and soared through the open window. Dudley cried out and batted his ham-shaped arms in the owl's general direction, but didn't come close to touching it.

Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the throat with one hand. 'What did that ruddy bird want?' he demanded.

Taken by surprise, Harry dropped the scroll and it rolled under his uncle's foot, breaking the heart-shaped seal.

Suddenly the room was filled with a soft warm breeze (Uncle Vernon let go of Harry so suddenly, he almost fell onto the television), gently blowing millions of tiny gold lights together into the centre of the room, forming two large human shapes. When all of the pinpoints had coalesced, the shapes solidified, becoming a disfigured, red-haired man and a young woman of extraordinary beauty. They stood facing each other, holding hands, heavenly voices singing softly in the background.

As yellow rose petals floated gently down upon the room, a solo voice sang above the cherubic choir:

Madame Cecile Delacour

Invites thee to witness her daughter, Fleur

Join William Weasley in the ceremony Of most sacred matrimony.

Thus, as the eighth month is reborn

On the day named for ringed Saturn

When soleil marks the hour of three

Heed well this song and gather ye

At Hogwarts school in northern Britain

To see these lovers, deeply smitten,

Vow to all that none shall part

This union wrought upon their hearts.

The accompanying voices continued to croon quietly for ten seconds until Bill and Fleur sparkled into millions of tiny lights before fading into nothing, then the music also faded away, leaving the room with only a carpet of rose petals as evidence that the vision had not been imagined.

'She's beautiful.'

Harry glanced around at Uncle Vernon. He had taken a step towards the centre of the room and was reaching a hand out, as if to stroke Fleur's now-vanished silvery-blonde hair. The shotgun hung limply by his side. Aunt Petunia threw him a dangerous look.

Fighting off his own punch-drunkenness (he hated it when any part of Fleur was suddenly sprung on him, even an image), Harry glanced around curiously at Dudley, and grinned when he saw that his cousin was also staring, unblinking, at the spot where Fleur had been, his mouth hanging open. Harry had never seen him drool over anything other than food before.

'That girl can't possibly be natural,' tsked Aunt Petunia. She was still glaring at Uncle Vernon.

'Don't worry,' Harry tried not to laugh as he glanced back at her husband. 'He hasn't got a chance. She's only got eyes for Bill. But you're right about her not being quite natural; her grandmother was a Veela.'

'What's that?' Aunt Petunia tasted the word like it was sour milk.

Harry cast around for a comparison his aunt would understand. 'A bit like the Sirens.'

Aunt Petunia looked even more frightened.

Harry picked up the scroll and brushed Uncle Vernon's shoeprint from the crushed parchment. Unrolling it, he saw it was covered in ornate gold lettering, detailing the song they had just heard, and decorated with gold cherubs flying around the edge.

'What happened to that man's face?' Aunt Petunia grunted. She had resumed her tug of war with Dudley, who was jolted out of his stupor by the renewed pain.

'He was attacked by a werewolf,' answered Harry absently. He frowned at the invitation, trying to understand it. First Saturday of August at three o'clock in the afternoon was easy enough, but why was the wedding being held at Hogwarts? Shouldn't it be in France?

While Harry puzzled over this, Dudley bellowed in the background each time Aunt Petunia tugged. It was starting to make Harry's ears hurt. Pulling his wand out, he said 'Step aside; I'll fix him,' but Aunt Petunia spread her arms across Dudley, trying to hide him from Harry but failing dismally.

'It's all right, Duddums; I won't let him hurt you.'

'I'm not going to hurt him.' Harry shouted slightly to make himself heard over Dudley's wailing. 'I'll just move the window-frame a bit so you can get him out easily, then the frame can shrink back into place. Nobody gets hurt, Dudley gets free, and you can shut the window so no more owls can get in.'

Aunt Petunia looked undecided. She clearly didn't want anything connected with the wizarding world in her house (and owls and spell-casting fitted into that category), but she also would have realised that Dudley wasn't going to budge without major, costly damage to the window. Letting Harry give his wand a quick flick would be a lot cheaper.

She bit her lip as she threw her husband (who was still staring at empty air) a nervous glance, but before she could make up her mind, there was a bright flash, the sound of timber snapping, and Dudley suddenly shot from the window like a bullet, knocking his mother over.

Uncle Vernon finally snapped out of his trance and dived at Harry, but hadn't quite reached him when the doorbell rang. Both he and Aunt Petunia exchanged panicked looks (Harry was pretty sure they were thinking that one of the neighbours had come to investigate the commotion), then Uncle Vernon straightened up and leered evilly at Harry.

'That'll be your lot come to arrest you for doing illegal acts on normal people. So …' he grabbed the neckband of Harry's T-shirt, 'they can have you!' He dragged Harry out to the hall as Aunt Petunia quickly shut the window.

Dudley, who had been stumbling from the room with his hands pressed against his behind, suddenly retreated when he realised wizards were possibly about to come through the front door, and tried to dissolve into the corner unnoticed, still clutching his backside and blubbering like a baby.

Uncle Vernon wrenched the front door open as the doorbell rang a second time.

'All right! There's no need for you to –'

He stopped mid-word, his mouth hanging open in shock. He found himself staring at a wand pointed directly at his face and held, not by a Ministry of Magic official (or even a Hogwarts teacher), but by an adolescent female with bushy brown hair and fiery sparks in her eyes. The only times Harry had ever seen Hermione Granger that angry, it had never boded well for the person on the receiving end of her ire.

'Are you OK, Harry?' Her eyes flicked briefly to Harry, taking in the beefy hand almost wrenching his T-shirt over his head. Uncle Vernon let go with a yelp, as though he had been stung.

'Hi, Harry.' Harry's best friend, Ron Weasley, threw Harry a wide grin as he followed Hermione through the doorway. Tall, lean and red-haired like his brother, he looked like he was thoroughly enjoying the show.

'You … you can't do any of that mumbo-jumbo nonsense here,' squeaked Uncle Vernon (Harry knew his fear wouldn't last). The piggy eyes hadn't moved from Hermione's wand. 'You're kids! You're not allowed!' He backed into the living room.

'Actually, we're not kids – Oh good.' Ron's grin widened as he spotted the rose petals. 'The invitation did beat us here. We weren't sure if it would or not.'

'What do you mean you're not kids?' Uncle Vernon beat a hasty retreat over to his wife, almost tripping over a footstool on the way; he seemed to have forgotten his son cowering in the corner.

'Meaning, they're legally adults,' Harry explained. He wasn't worried about being punished for any insolence; if Ron and Hermione were here, then it probably meant he was leaving very soon.

Uncle Vernon's eyes darted between Harry and Hermione's wand several times. 'And you're here to take this boy with you?'

'Of course,' said Hermione.

Uncle Vernon pulled himself up to his full height.

'Then take him. Go on, he's all yours."

That took even Harry by surprise.

'You're not going to stop them taking me?'

Uncle Vernon hitched up his trousers importantly. 'Why should I? If they're here to apprehend you, who am I to stand in the way of law enforcement. It's high time someone made you pay for all the unnatural evil you've been doing to us for years. Well, go on,' he barked at Ron, leaning against the door. 'Arrest him!'

'Why would we arrest Harry?' Hermione's wand lowered slightly.

'Because he's been breaking your laws. Even that old coot, last summer, said he has to be seventeen. And he's not; he's still got two weeks to go. So … go on …' He waved his hand at Hermione's wand. 'Throw the book at him.'

Hermione frowned at Harry, puzzled. 'What laws have you been breaking?'

'None –'

'LIAR!' Uncle Vernon was starting to turn purple again. 'Look what you did to Dudley, giving him a tail again. Then there's the window – that'll need repairing.'

Ron and Hermione glanced from Dudley, still whimpering and grasping his rear end, to the window, which didn't have so much as a chip in the paint.

'And you did something to your uncle, making him go funny over that … that … hussy!' hissed Aunt Petunia.

Hermione looked really confused. 'What hussy?'

'Fleur.' Harry scratched his nose, embarrassed. 'Apparently even just a picture of her can affect you. And Uncle Vernon was rather besotted.' He struggled not to laugh.

'But why did you give your cousin a tail?'

'I didn't; I don't know what happened there. I'd just offered to get Dudley unstuck from the window when he suddenly shot halfway across the room.'

'You see, he admits –'

'That was me,' stated Hermione.

'YOU broke the window?' Uncle Vernon stabbed a fat finger at the window.

'Oh, and I fixed that too,' added Hermione as he gaped at the unbroken window.

'YOU DID YOUR NONSENSE IN MY HOUSE?' Uncle Vernon was the deepest shade of purple Harry had ever seen 'WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SON?' He lunged at Hermione.

But didn't reach her. He was airborne when he suddenly stopped in midair and just hung there.

'Vernon!'

'Daddy!'

Both Aunt Petunia and Dudley were startled into action but had barely advanced when they, too, were stopped in their tracks.

Harry looked around the living room. It looked exactly like someone had paused a video.

'What did you do?' he asked.

'Freezing Charm.' Hermione pocketed her wand.

Ron crouched down, peering closely at the back of Dudley's trousers. 'Where's his tail?'

'There isn't one anymore,' snorted Harry. 'Hagrid tried to turn him into a pig when we first met, but he was so much like one already, all he got added was a tail. Uncle Vernon had to pay heaps for a doctor in London to cut it off. When Hermione unplugged him from the window, because the spell hit him from behind, he probably thought he was getting another tail.'

'He cut it off?' Ron stared at Harry with a look of fascinated horror. 'What, you mean –?' He made a scissor movement with his fingers. Harry nodded. 'And Muggles reckon we're weird.'

'So, are you packed yet?' asked Hermione.

'No,' Harry laughed. 'I didn't know you were coming, did I? Is Ron's dad waiting outside?'

Ron and Hermione exchanged guilty glances.

'Er …'

'What?' Harry glanced from one to the other, his grin starting to fade.

'Dad doesn't know we're here.' Ron had become very interested in the pattern on the rug.

'Then how did you two get here?'

'We Apparated,' said Hermione. 'What? I've passed my test.'

'But Ron hasn't and you haven't been taught how to do Side-Along.'

'Oh, and I suppose you have.' Hermione crossed her arms.

'What? No, of course I haven't.'

'But you still managed to bring Dumbledore back the night he died.'

And suddenly, they were talking about the one thing Harry didn't want to talk about. His face must have displayed the shocked turmoil echoing inside his head because Ron said, 'What did you have to go and do that for?' to Hermione.

Hermione's hands were covering her mouth, her frightened eyes peering over the top of them. 'I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean …' She turned bright red. Ron was watching him closely. Harry cast around for a different topic.

'So, you Apparated Side-Along. How'd it go?' He started to lead them up to his room.

'No problems,' Hermione's voice struggled to throw off the last of her embarrassment. 'Nothing to it.'

Ron snorted.

'What?' Hermione rounded on him as they reached the landing.

'Nothing.' Ron worked hard to swallow a grin. 'I didn't say anything. I wouldn't insinuate anything bad about you (like that it took you four goes to get us past the front gate) would I, Harry?'

It was rather fortunate that they had reached his bedroom, because Harry needed to hold the doorknob for support, he was laughing so hard. Hermione pushed past him angrily, waving her wand at the room in general. Suddenly, every book scattered about the room rose up as one and flew at both Harry and Ron, flapping in their faces until they were no longer laughing.

'OK, Hermione, we're sorry. We're sorry! Aren't we, Ron?' Harry threw Ron a meaningful look, jerking his head very slightly towards his room.

'What?' Ron grabbed at one of the books and got bitten for his effort. 'Ow … yeah. We're sorry.'

The books suddenly dropped to the floor with a thud.

'Finally,' Ron muttered under his breath as he followed Harry into the bedroom.

Hermione was sitting on the end of the bed, flicking her wand irritably, and making Harry's possessions fly jerkily over to his trunk one by one. Harry bent down and picked up the Invisibility Cloak he had inherited from his father, but didn't toss it into the trunk yet; he just stood watching Hermione.

'Are you OK?' he asked quietly.

'Yeah.' Harry was shocked to see Hermione blink back tears. 'I'm just missing Dumbledore, I guess. I was thinking about him when we went to come here because all I had for a reference for Side-Along-Apparition was your description of when you did it with him. So I had trouble focusing properly.'

'Is that any reason to attack Harry and me?' Ron was still wringing his hand. Hermione stood up angrily.

'Whoa! Time out!' Harry jumped between them and tried to hold them apart. 'Come on. I was responsible for Dumbledore dying; I don't want to be to blame for you two splitting up, too.'

Both Ron and Hermione instantly stopped glaring daggers at each other.

'How were you responsible for Dumbledore's death?' cried Ron.

'I didn't stop Snape killing him, did I?'

'But Dumbledore did the Body-Bind curse on you. Of course you couldn't have stopped Snape,' countered Hermione.

'I still should have stopped him escaping,' muttered Harry, guilt squeezing his chest. 'Look, can we talk about something else?'

They both stared at him a moment before Ron finally said, 'Yeah … sure … what do you want to talk about, then?'

Harry glanced from one to the other, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

'Have you two kissed in front of your mum yet?' he asked, then threw his arms up, laughing, as more books flew at him.

Getting his stuff packed didn't take long once Hermione had cheered up. Several waves of her wand, and all of his possessions not only soared from every nook and cranny, but also folded and slotted neatly into the trunk. Ron had dodged helping too much by going in search of food (Harry had suggested raiding Dudley's room, as his cousin wouldn't be able to admit anything was missing), then Ron had leant against the door, munching a Mars Bar as Hermione tidied up all of Dudley's spare and broken belongings, as well as the room in general, in between suggestions that Ron could help too. ('Why? You're doing fine without me!')

Finally, Harry gently laid his Firebolt on top of his father's Cloak.

'Harry,' Hermione had a determined air about her as he shut the trunk's lid. Harry immediately felt apprehensive. 'Can I have a word with you?'

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron's head turn. Hermione looked pointedly at Ron.

'In private?'

Ron tensed. 'What do you want to tell Harry that you don't want me to hear?'

'Nothing.' Hermione stretched her arm around Ron's back and began to steer him towards the hallway. 'It just doesn't concern you, that's all.' Reaching the door, she forcefully pushed him through, quickly shut the door and cast both a Locking and Imperturbable Charm upon it so Ron couldn't eavesdrop.

Harry's nervousness increased. 'Er, Hermione …' He took an unconscious step backwards as Hermione turned back to face the room, wand still at the ready. 'I doubt you could say anything to me that Ron won't hear.'

'Oh, he'll find out about it … eventually. I just want you to hear it first.' She was smiling a very secretive smile and eyeing Harry as if taking his measure.

'I mean,' she continued, now starting to wander slowly around the room, running her finger along shelves as if checking for dust (Harry was reminded of Aunt Petunia), 'you are determined not to return to Hogwarts next term, correct?'

Harry nodded.

'And you do own Sirius's house, so we could always hide there …'

Harry's brows were almost joined, he was frowning so deeply. He really couldn't see where this was going.

'… and even if the Ministry did manage to catch us, Azkaban can't be quite the hellhole it used to be now the Dementors have left.'

Harry's insides felt like cement – why was she talking about being sent to prison?

Hermione stopped pacing and leant upon the windowsill, facing him.

'You are equally determined never to return to this house?'

Harry nodded very slowly, anxiety rushing through his veins.

'Then this is our last chance.'

As the quiet words died, Harry suddenly saw what she was talking about. Panic coursed through him.

'We can't, we're under –'

'You're underage, Harry,' Hermione cut him off. 'But I'm not!'

'But you could get into really serious trouble. I won't let you, not a witch of your calibre. I won't let you! Our world needs you too much. I need you too much. I need you to help me figure out how to defeat Voldemort.'

There! He had said it! Despite his protestations after Dumbledore's funeral three weeks ago, he honestly couldn't see how he was supposed to manage this journey alone. He needed Hermione's brains, resources and talent as much as he needed Ron's friendship to get him through the enormous task ahead.

Hermione was watching him closely, a mischievous twitch playing at the corner of her mouth. 'We'll work it out. So tell me, what do your aunt, uncle and cousin love more than anything else?'

Harry returned her gaze for a moment, then let his eyes focus on the window behind her. How could he possibly be considering this?

'Aunt Petunia loves to clean, to have the most perfectly presented house in the street, if not the world.'

Hermione's smirk started to widen.

'Uncle Vernon loves money and power,' Harry ploughed on. 'He's always bullying the people who work for him, and he has to have the biggest, best, latest and most expensive of everything.'

Hermione's eyes developed a malicious gleam. Harry suddenly wasn't so sure.

'And Dudley loves lots of things – bullying, punching people smaller than him, being spoilt with lots of presents. But mostly food. Junk food. He was unbearable when he was on that diet, not that it did much good; well, you saw him before. Aunt Petunia gave him lots more than me, trying to make him feel better, but he was still sneaking sweets and stuff behind her back.'

'Any other vices?'

'Yeah, he's branched out to drinking with his mates.' Harry definitely didn't like the look on Hermione's face. 'Look, I don't want you to get into trouble on my account.'

'I wouldn't be getting into trouble. They'd have to find me first.'

Harry blinked. 'Grimmauld Place?' Hermione nodded. 'But it's still Headquarters.' He could see the problem immediately. 'What if one of the Order turns you in? I wouldn't put it past Scrimgeour to do a deal with Mundungus in return for something to barter with to get me to come over to his way of thinking.'

Hermione considered this for a moment. 'I'll hide somewhere the Ministry can't get to, say, the Chamber of Secrets.' (Harry's jaw dropped.) 'Or the Room of Requirement; a Room of my choosing.'

'And how would you eat?' Harry couldn't believe he was continuing this debate.

'Dobby!' said Hermione simply. Dobby was a house-elf who, after enduring years of abuse at the hands of the Malfoys – a wizarding family in the same class as the Dursleys – had been freed from his enslavement by Harry and now worked in the Hogwarts kitchens. Hermione was well known for her support of better conditions for house-elves and had even set up a group called the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare – S.P.E.W.

She continued to watch him, waiting. Harry didn't want to condemn Hermione to the sort of life his godfather, Sirius Black, had lived, but the carrot she was dangling before him was very tempting … and it would be their last chance.

Taking a steadying breath, he finally nodded.

Suddenly businesslike, Hermione gripped her wand firmly. 'You'd best let Ron in before he blows a gasket,' she said, waving it at the bedroom door. 'But don't tell him anything yet – that way he won't have to embarrass his dad and lie to the Ministry. I'll be back in a moment.' And with a crack, she Apparated downstairs.

A loud crash sounded behind him. Ron was lying face down through the now-open doorway.

'Can someone please tell me what's going on?' his muffled voice demanded into the rug.

x

'What did you do to them?' asked Ron for the fiftieth time since they came downstairs.

Hermione ignored him as she continued writing what looked like a letter. She finally finished with a flourish of her wrist and then replaced the pen in Uncle Vernon's pocket. Returning to the letter, she touched her wand to it. The letter folded itself tightly into a small square, turning bright red as it did so.

Ron's jaw dropped. 'You … you just made a Howler?'

'Don't worry about it, Ron,' Hermione soothed. 'It won't hurt them.' Looking around the room, she gave a slight nod of satisfaction at her work.

Harry glanced around. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley were still in exactly the same positions they had been in when Hermione had Frozen them earlier, making it impossible for them to stop her performing magic upon them. He wondered how large the explosion would be when they realised what had just happened. Part of him wanted to witness their dilemma, but experience had taught him that this probably wouldn't be wise. Best to just get out of there – fast – before Ministry owls started arriving. He was surprised they weren't buried under a pile of official letters already, with all the magic Hermione had been doing in the last half hour.

Suppressing the excitement starting to build in the pit of his stomach, he suddenly realised – this was it! He was finally leaving the Dursleys for good.

He thought back to a year ago when Dumbledore had sat in this room and Harry had had the distinct feeling that he had enjoyed forcing the Dursleys to realise how rude they were. Well, what Hermione had just done was going to be so much more delicious. Yes, they really did need to leave.

Leading the others out to the hall, he glanced down at his trunk. 'I suppose I could levitate it to Mrs Figg's. She should be able to get someone from the Order of the Phoenix to take it to Grimmauld Place.'

'Who's Mrs Figg?' Ron wanted to know.

'She's an old lady who lives around in Wisteria Walk.' As Ron's face still looked puzzled, Harry added, 'A Squib.'

Ron looked aghast. 'And Dumbledore let her live near you?'

'I think he might have put her here deliberately, to watch over me. She's the one who helped me when those Dementors were here two years ago; she was a witness at my hearing.'

While Ron digested this information, Hermione queried, 'Won't it seem a bit odd if any Muggles look out and see your trunk floating down the street?'

Harry thought on this problem a moment. 'I wonder …'

Opening his trunk, he removed his Invisibility Cloak then, crossing his fingers, draped it over the trunk. Almost immediately, both Cloak and trunk vanished. Grinning at Hermione, he said, 'I think that takes care of the problem.'

He pointed his wand at the invisible trunk, but Hermione grabbed his arm.

'Let me,' she said, intoning 'Locomotor Trunk' before anyone could stop her. Glancing at Harry, she arched a brow. 'Ready?'

As Harry opened the front door, he instructed, 'Keep your wands at the ready, just in case. Hopefully, it won't be necessary, but … well, it's better to be safe than sorry.'

Looking around one last time, he took a deep breath, then followed Ron and Hermione out into the night.

x

'Where did you say this woman lives?' Ron panted slightly as they turned into Wisteria Walk.

'Number sixteen.'

'That should be up the other end.' Hermione pointed, making the trunk bump into the back of Ron's legs.

'Can't you steer that thing properly?' Ron rounded on her.

'Careful,' warned Harry as number three peered out from behind their curtains.

Still muttering angrily under his breath, Ron dragged his feet until the trunk had gone past him, bringing up the rear as they headed up to Mrs Figg's front door. Harry's fist was raised, about to knock, when the door swung open.

Nobody was standing on the other side.

Tightening his grip on his wand, Harry muttered, 'Keep your eyes open,' to Ron and Hermione, then carefully stepped across the threshold. All three of them got inside and halfway down the hall when the front door slammed behind them. Ron swore, Hermione screamed and Harry yelled, but none of them managed to do anything more than spin back towards the front door when all of their wands were suddenly snatched from their hands and flew across the entrance to a red-haired young man Harry realised was Percy Weasley.

'Give those back!' Ron took a step towards his brother but the man standing beside Percy (Harry recognised him as a Ministry employee named Dawlish, even if he did have a fresh cut across his face) flicked his wand and Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves slammed against the wall opposite the staircase, hands wrenched roughly behind their backs and forced into something made of very heavy metal.

'We've got them, sir,' Percy called out.

Cheek pressed hard against the floral wallpaper, it was a moment before Harry could see who belonged to the footsteps coming from the kitchen, but the heavy limp left him in little doubt. The Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, spent a moment looking each of them up and down (Harry fought hard to suppress a sneeze as Scrimgeour's great mane of hair brushed his face, tickling him), then he said 'Bring them,' and led the way into the living room.

'I guess you were right; they were coming.' Mrs Figg stared at them in surprise. She was standing to one side of the room, cuffed like Harry, Ron and Hermione. Three cats were curled up on the sofa; whether they were dead or merely sleeping, Harry couldn't tell, but he thought he knew where Dawlish's scratch had come from.

'This act shall not lessen the charges against you, Mrs Figg.' Scrimgeour took up position in front of the fireplace.

'What charges?' demanded Ron indignantly, trying to wriggle out of what looked like a pair of medieval manacles. Scrimgeour cleared his throat as Percy raised his quill.

'Harry Potter,' the Minister began in an official tone. Harry glared at him. 'You are under arrest, in accordance with the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy, for illegally performing Dark magic upon the Muggle inhabitants of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, in full view of said Muggles and in spite of being reprimanded for previously performing unlawful underage magic.'

'He didn't perform –' Hermione tried to explain but Scrimgeour cut across her.

'Mr Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger,' he continued. 'You are under arrest for aiding and abetting the accused in his law-breaking.'

'Hang on!' Ron glared at the Minister. 'Hermione told you, Harry didn't –'

'Mrs Arabella Figg.' Scrimgeour raised his voice so he could be heard over Ron. 'You are under arrest for assisting the accused in their efforts to escape justice.'

'I already told you, I didn't know they were coming!' protested Mrs Figg, but the note of panic in her voice seemed to confirm Scrimgeour's presumption of guilt.

'Sentence shall be passed at a hearing tomorrow morning, then you shall be returned to Azkaban prison to serve out your sentences.'

'Returned?' squeaked Mrs Figg. 'You're not taking us there before you find out if there's a need, surely? We haven't done anything!'

But Scrimgeour wasn't listening. Roaming about the living room, he picked up various ornaments, peering closely at them before returning them to their resting places, finally settling on a large antique lamp sitting in the centre of the mantelpiece.

'You put that back down! That was a wedding present! If you break –'

Scrimgeour touched his wand to the lamp, which glowed blue momentarily.

'You can't!' Mrs Figg's angry indignation gave way to pure panic.

'What happened to innocent until proven guilty?' Harry took a step forwards but was pulled back by Dawlish.

Scrimgeour set the lamp on the coffee table, still ignoring the protests of his prisoners. Percy stuffed his quill and parchment into his robes and reached a hand towards the newly-created Portkey. Dawlish gave his wand another tweak; Harry, Ron, Hermione and Mrs Figg were pulled into a tight circle (their hands banged painfully against each other as their restraints tangled together) as Dawlish grabbed hold of Harry's arm with one hand and the lamp with the other.

Before anyone could say another word, Scrimgeour activated the Portkey and they were away.