Breath flew back into Harry's lungs, and in the midst of the blackness, somehow he hit solid, grassy ground, feeling two bodies, his trunk, and Hedwig's cage fall beside him.
He was on his feet again so fast that if asked, he would not remember getting up at all, and rounded on the other two.
"What the hell do you do that for? Didn't I say I wasn't leaving?"
Ron and Hermione picked themselves up, Ron pulling Hermione to her feet, and started back at him, Ron in defiance, Hermione in slight fear.
"It would have been worse if we'd stayed!" Ron snapped back. "In case you didn't notice, those things were after you!"
Harry opened his mouth furiously to retort, all too aware of how right Ron was. Even so, it did not ease his whirring mind; they had left him, Lupin, back there with those things, Harry, admittedly, having met them twice now, had very little knowledge of inferi. Did they know that Lupin was not Harry? Would they really call off their attack now he was no longer in their midst? If Voldermort was controlling them, where was he? Surely he could not be in Little Whining, crouched somewhere out of sight behind a bush with a wand, waving it around and making his puppets of death dance like an overgrown child. The thought was both amusing and repulsive, and Harry shoved it from his mind firmly, as he came up with a suitable retort for Ron.
"We still shouldn't have left him, how do we know those things won't just kill him for the hell of it? Voldermort's never been one for caring who he murders now, has he?"
Ron opened his mouth to reply, but Hermione cut across him for the second time that morning.
"Harry, she said earnestly, as though willing him to become calm and think sensibly, "Lupin's a capable wizard, he knows what he's doing, he's in the Order. He can handle himself."
"There were hundreds of them, Hermione!" Harry snapped back, as Hermione jumped slightly and Ron put an arm around her. "He might be good, but no one's that good!"
"Well there's no point arguing about this now, is there? We're out of the way, and it'll be a lot better for Lupin that we are I can tell you!" Catching the sudden, cold empty look on Harry's face, that of a man both troubled and beaten, Ron added in slightly gentler tones "He'll be alright mate. It's Lupin. He always is."
Harry looked up slowly. "Like my father was."
He turned his back on them then, and set of walking, not knowing where he was going, not knowing even, he realised as soon as he'd set off, where he was. As soon as he was out of sight of Ron and Hermione, he stopped and looked around, realising with an odd jolt in his stomach that they were at The Burrow, in the large back yard, and that had just emerged from a small patch of trees. The Burrow itself stood before him, just as tall and crooked and magical as he remembered it. There were no lights on inside, but he knew it couldn't be long now before its inhabitants were up and about, and they would be discovered, and Mrs Weasley would be livid.
Harry's heart gave a small, welcome flutter in the midst of all the chaos and turmoil from which he had just emerged as her realised that Ginny was inside, sound asleep now most likely, unaware that he was here, so close to her yet, in many ways so far away.
Pushing aside then the thought; he could not let himself be drawn in by her Harry turned around to see to see Ron and Hermione making their gradual way towards him. Hermione was still eyeing him carefully, as though expecting him to explode again, Ron was not looking at him at all and instead was pointedly avoiding doing so, and kicked a passing gnome to give himself something to do. The gnome squealed and swore as it scampered away, and an uneasy silence fell between them.
It was Harry that broke it, a few moments later, unable to bear it any longer.
"Does… does your mum know you came to get me?" he said to Ron.
"Not exactly," Ron replied, relieved that Harry was speaking. "We… erm, sort of left without telling them."
"Then how did Lupin-"
"He must have seen us," said Hermione, more to herself than to the others, "He must have seen us leaving."
Ron aimed a kick at a second gnome that had charged at him in the hope of avenging to indignity that had been inflicted on its fellow.
"It was Hermione's idea to go and fetch you," he said, bending down and seizing the gnome by its ear as it kicked and shouted at him ("gerrof me!") and throwing it over the fence. It flew ten feet into the air, and landed at the other side of the fence with a pitiful thump. "Mum told us to wait – Lupin and Tonks were meant to be going to fetch you on your birthday, but Hermione said that if we left you, you'd try to make a break for it by yourself. Mum was having none of that, said you'd learnt your lesson, but-"
"Hermione was right," Harry finished, slightly shamefully, only now guilt settling on his like a dark cloud, replacing the anger inside him. He did not know which he preferred. He cast around quickly for a change of subject. "Is everyone here?"
"Pretty much," said Ron. "Most of the Order that we know, it's not safe to use Grimmauld Place, so we've got this place as secure it can possibly be. The charm stops when we leave the confines, sort of like that charm that was on your Muggle, house, but erm, not as good," he admitted, edgily.
"But we're good now, right?" Harry added, suddenly alert and looking about him, as though expecting a stray inferi to jump out and try to throttle him. "We're in the confines."
"Yes, yes, the charm stops at the fence," said Hermione, slightly impatient at his childlike enquiry.
"Even so, couldn't hurt to get inside before Mum and the others wake up," added Ron, his expression suddenly anxious.
Harry smiled half heartedly, Ron's comment bringing his thoughts back to the first time he had arrived at The Burrow, in secret in the early hours of the morning, that time along with Ron's older twin brothers Fred and George.
"Come on, quick," Ron added, seizing Harry and Hermione by the sleeve and pulling the in the general direction of the house, "Before Luna gets up. She'll be looking for Wild Russian Floorboard Crawlers again no doubt."
Harry had half opened his mouth the state that he would much rather wait here in the garden for Lupin, and face Mrs Weasley's wrath knowing that his mentor was safe, but changed tack at Ron's last words.
"Luna's here?"
"Erm, yes," said Hermione, and Harry was surprised to see her face was surprisingly grim. "Her… her father went missing a few days after we finished school. No one's seen or heard from him since. When Ron's mum heard, she insisted she come here."
Harry closed his eyes at the news. It was really happening, people were disappearing again. And Luna, who had already lost her mother…, looking at the prospect of never seeing her father again. Harry knew the feeling of being orphaned all too well and would not wish it on anyone, let alone a close friend. His feeling of guilt intensified, and taking one last look behind him at the empty lawn, turned back to Ron
"I want to see her."
Hermione cast Ron an anxious look, and Harry could tell that he was taking this news exactly as she had feared he would.
"Harry, this isn't your fault, it's Voldermort, not-"
"Let's just go inside shall we?" said Harry pointedly, trying to keep the anger, not at Hermione, but at himself from his voice.
She nodded quickly, and three of them made their way towards the entrance to the burrow, Harry casting his gaze behind him every few paces in the hope that Lupin might materialise from the trees.
The Burrow's kitchen was just how Harry remembered it, chaotic and small and homely. Pots that Harry assumed were from the previous night's meal washed themselves in the sink, and Ron's owl Pigwidgeon sat contently on a shelf, his tiny head beneath a feathery wing.
The Weasley's clock, unlike any clock Harry had ever seen before sat above the stove, each of it's twelve hands engraved with the name of a Weasley, and each still, Harry saw with a great jolt in his stomach, pointing at "mortal peril".
Harry had almost walked past the clock before what he had actually seem registered in his mind, and he stopped, taking a quick step back, to look at the clock again.
Twelve hands.
Harry scrutinised it, searching for the owner of the additional hand, and his heart gave a flutter similar indeed to the one it had performed at the thought of seeing Ginny, as his eyes fell on the new hand, engraved with delicate, swirling hand, between the hands of Ginny and Ron; "Harry Potter".
"Mum thought it might be a nice birthday present," said Ron, "Seen as you'd be leaving the Muggles and all."
Harry nodded, not taking his eyes from the clock. His chest was suddenly extremely tight, and he did not trust himself to speak. After a few long moments of staring at his new hand, Harry walked silently on through the kitchen, followed by the other two.
On reaching the landing, Hermione said quietly "We should go to bed for a few hours, I think we could all do with the sleep."
Harry nodded, not really in response to anything. He had just realised how tired he actually was, but the idea of sleep now, what with Lupin still unreturned to them and out there, facing the inferi quite alone, and Luna, here and no doubt mourning the disappearance of her father, both of these things down to his, was quite impossible.
Nevertheless, Harry followed Ron and Hermione up the rickety staircase. Hermione bade them a quiet goodnight on her flaw, pausing for a brief second to cast Harry a look that said without words that there was nothing whatsoever he could do, before slipping inside the room in which, Harry tried not to think about, Ginny (and now Luna) was sleeping only a few meters away. He and Ron continued the journey up to Ron's room at the topmost floor of the house, bar the attic, and Ron collapsed promptly on his bed on entering, staring up at his ceiling, eyes open.
Harry picked his was across the mess on Ron's floor; Chudley Cannon's magazine, odd socks, repaired spell books, rolls of Spellotape, and sat down on the edge of his camp bed, that had already been assembled for him, and rested his head on his chin, deep in thought.
Again, for the second time that morning, a silence fell, both boys in quiet thought, though this time it was a tired, dull silence, of tired dull minds, and neither broke it.
Pigwidgeon had followed them up, and was perched quite contently on the post of Ron's bed, Harry suspected he had spent a great deal of the last day whizzing around and annoying everyone in general.
So much had changed since the first time Harry had entered this house, and it was almost painful to recall. Twelve years old and innocent, already having faced Voldermort once (once that he could recall anyway), Harry had been a child, fresh faced and wide eyed, scarred still, yes, but less so, and ready to head out into the mad, wonderful world into which he had been plunged. Now, seventeen almost, still nothing more really than a child, Harry felt a weight on his shoulders like he had never experienced before, as his mind, desperate as Harry was to keep it from Lupin, strayed to the Horocruxes and his task.
It was, and would stay, Harry was still determined, his task. Ron and Hermione had pledged allegiance to Harry to the bitter and, and though he had been humbled, overcome and touched by such and act, Harry would not accept it. Voldermort wanted him, and him alone, he was not going to put his friends in danger, not going to hand over any more innocent lives to The Dark Lord.
Harry had spend many a sleepless night back a Privet Drive pondering the task ahead of him, and when he was not dwelling upon it in his waking hours, he was seeing it in his sleep, the fake Horocruxes he still had at the bottom of his trunk reminding him that he, and he alone had to kill You-Know-Who.
"Neither can live while the other survives."
Those words, like the name of Severus Snape, haunted him, and it had occurred to Harry that he should be more petrified. But then again, he had a year to get used to them, get used to what they meant, come to terms with it, and though the prospect of his death was very real one to him still, Harry's mind had come to rest finally, and almost exclusively, desperately blocking out the thought of leaving Ron and Hermione, Ginny, everyone, on destroying Voldermort. Before he destroyed them all.
It was a good half an hour later before Ron's resounding snores echoed around the tip of a bedroom, and Harry was still very much awake, listening, though he had tried and failed all that time not to with for that telltale crack like a whip that still had not come.
He could not exclude his friends anymore, not then they were here (or in Lupin's case, not here) and facing him. The very fact that Lupin had been left behind now had brought something very real home to Harry, a dilemma that made him sick to consider; how could he keep them all safe and destroy Voldermort? He was not God; he was not even an adult for three more long days. And he was, though he would never admit it, even to himself, afraid of losing them all.
Where was Mr Lovegood? And how on earth could her ever make this right with Luna. Would she blame him? Demand an explanation? Abandon her usual misty exterior and cry?
And, still, he wondered, desperately wondered, where Lupin was now. What was taking him so long? It had been roughly an hour since they had left him fighting alone Privet Drive. Why had he not come back yet? He had had plenty of time to keep the inferi at bay while he apparated. Harry had seen Remus Lupin in action many times; he never left anything to chance. Harry had learnt most of what he knew from him, him and Sirius.
The thought of his godfather brought the prickle of tears to Harry's tired eyes, and he swallowed them back angrily. If Lupin died – Harry could hardly bear to think about it, but if he did, it was his fault, just like Sirius, just like Cedric, just like Dumbledore. One more death of a loved one to add the extensive list of losses for one as young as he was.
Images of Lupin surrounded, perhaps even yelling out for help that was not coming, filled Harry's mind; cold clammy hands reached out for him, empty hollow eye sockets loomed around him, mindless zombies making swipes at him… pinning him down…
What were they doing to him now?
"He's not dead," Harry whispered, allowing himself to lie backwards on his makeshift bed to stare at Ron's bright orange ceiling. "He's not. He can't be."
Repeating the words over and over Harry knew, logically, would not make am shred of difference to Lupin's fate, but he could not take it, laying there helplessly, the only other sound that of Ron's snoring; chanting made his feel like he were doing something.
Harry was so engaged in his private ritual that he only heard the knock at Ron's door the second time, as Ron himself merely grunted in his sleep and rolled over. It was followed by a girl's voice a moment later, a voice that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end and his heart race unexplainably.
"Ron, Mum says it's about time you were up," called Ginny Weasley through the closed door. "And she also says, could you please go down into the kitchen this instant, and explain what an earth Harry's trunk and Hedwig are doing in the garden."
