Chapter One
The Dark Mark Over Privet Drive
The lush green lawns and respectable little houses of Privet Drive buzzed with activity in the late evening sun. The cool weather had drawn most of the neighborhood into their manicured front gardens, where they chatted over garden fences, trimmed flower beds, and shared gossip.
In front of Number four, Vernon Dursley was furiously adding yet another coat of wax to his new company car, his porky arms jiggling with the exertion. "Brand new! Top of the line, this one. The height of German engineering they say," he said in a voice just loud enough to let everyone around hear it easily. He had one wary eye on a neighbor who was poking at the tires with curiosity. Meanwhile, Petunia Dursley was nodding her blond, horsy head as she gossiped in undertones about Her-at-Number-Six with Mrs. Number Three.
In fact, only one resident of Privet drive was still indoors. Harry Potter, a tall, bespectacled boy with untidy black hair was leaning out of his bedroom window to catch the breeze. He drummed his fingers against the window frame in a bored sort of way, allowing all the activity of the street go on below him.
In truth, Harry hadn't been very interested in life at Privet Drive. Last summer, he had been frustrated by being penned up with his horrible Aunt and Uncle for four whole weeks. He had been furious at being cut off from the rest of the magical world, from other wizards and witches like himself, and forced to live with the muggles. Of course, he had had a right to be angry; that June, he had seen Lord Voldemort, the most fearsome Dark Wizard in the world, rise again. He had seen a friend killed, and he knew that the murders and the terror that had run rampant thirteen years earlier would begin again. He had seen a friend die, and he had fought for his own life. Despite all that, Harry had been left in isolation with the muggles, and he had been furious.
This summer, however, was different. This June, he had faced Lord Voldemort again, and once again he had escaped. But Harry hadn't been the same since that day. One of Lord Voldemort's followers, a Death Eater by the name of Bellatrix Lestrange had killed Harry's godfather, Sirius Black. Since then, Harry hadn't known whether he wanted to be with people or alone. When he was with other people, they always seemed to want to talk about Sirius, but Harry didn't. When he was alone, he wanted the distraction of other people.
His Aunt and Uncle's house had been a kind of refuge this last few weeks. They didn't know about Sirius or Voldemort or anything. They had been furious when, on the last day of school, three members of the Order, Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody, and Tonks, had… well… encouraged the Dursleys to treat Harry a little better. It seemed that the Dursleys' idea of treating Harry better was to avoid open hostility by ignoring his existence most of the time, and treating him with cold politeness when absolutely necessary. Actually, that suited Harry fine. He didn't have to think about things here. He didn't have to think about Sirius.
Harry glanced over at Hedwig's empty cage. He had sent her out with a message to the Order, to let them know he was okay, the night before. He had only been home for a fortnight, but already he'd gotten three letters from Lupin, all short, encouraging, and uninformative. That was okay with Harry somehow. He just wanted to be left alone right now.
Harry slumped at his desk and thought about writing a letter, but he just chewed his quill unproductively. Eventually, he threw it down onto the parchment, leaving a line of spreading inkblots. He leaned back in his chair, bored.
A squeak in the hallway, followed by the distinctive click of Dudley's door, caught Harry's attention.
He opened his own doorway and peered at his porky cousin, slinking toward the stairs.
"Going out again?" Harry said. He bit his tongue to keep from laughing out loud as Dudley jumped, and turned, his eyes wide.
"What's it to you?" Dudley managed to sneer, despite his obvious fear of Harry. Dudley had seemed unable to decide whether he should be really cruel to Harry, or really terrified of him; he'd decided on a kind of cautious condescension that Harry found comical. Dudley always seemed one step away from grabbing his bottom and running away in terror.
"Nothing," Harry shrugged. "Your gang still picking on eight year olds, are they? Or have you moved up to nine year olds?"
Dudley's face shrunk up with his anger, and Harry was struck by how much he looked like Uncle Vernon. "What a face, Duddykins!" Harry whispered, grinning. "They have medicine you can take for that, you know."
Dudley panted heavily, shoving his balled fists into his pockets. "You'll get yours," he muttered and slunk down the stairs.
Harry shook with silent laughter as he shut his bedroom door. Tormenting Dudley was always a bit of fun, but now that he was gone, Harry was alone and bored again. He picked up a book, Great Moments of Quidditch, and flopped down on his bed to read. He was halfway through an exciting chapter about the 1632 World Cup, where the seekers had somehow chased the snitch out of the stadium and into a nearby town and concussed a passing muggle. At some point he must have dozed off, because he was suddenly aware that it was dark outside, and two golden eyes were peering at him from the window ledge.
He sat bolt upright, the book slipping onto the floor with a loud thump. He flicked on the bedside lamp, slid off the bed, and crossed to the windowsill. "Hello, Hedwig," Harry said quietly to the snowy owl. She fluttered her wings and hooted in a proud sort of way. Harry stroked her feathers, and untied the envelope tied to her leg. "Thanks." She nipped at his finger, and took off into the night, probably to look for mice.
Harry ripped open the flap on the envelope and dumped its contents onto the bed. There were two small pieces of parchment inside. The first was from Ron.
"Dear Harry,
Hope the muggles are treating you okay. It's mad here, what with Fred and George's new shop. Mum hates having them to dinner because they keep slipping trick food into the dishes. Anyway, Dad talked to Dumbledore, and he reckons you can come stay with us soon. Just say when you want to leave, and we'll come for you.
Ron."
For the first time, Harry felt ambivalent about getting an invitation to the Burrow. As much as he'd like to see the Weasleys, he wasn't looking forward to the way people carefully avoided talking about Sirius around him, or the way he knew Mrs. Weasley would look at him. Of course, he didn't want to stay with the Dursley's either. He'd have to think about it for a while. He picked up the other piece of parchment.
"Dear Harry,
Glad to hear you're okay. No worries about us, everyone this end is fine. Tonks says hello. If you have any problems, just send word.
Remus Lupin."
Just like his other letters, it was reassuringly vague. Some other summer, he probably would have been furious. Right now, he was relieved.
Harry slipped into his pajamas, but he wasn't really feeling too tired, so he picked up his book again. All he really did was sleep nowadays. For a long time he had been haunted by bad dreams, but lately… he didn't dream at all. He started absently reading his chapter, letting his mind wander as he read. He listened to the rhythmic sounds of the night birds and passing cars outside. He imagined Hedwig swooping back and forth above the gardens of Little Whinging, terrifying the rodent population. He thought about Hermione, whose parents were also muggles, and wondered if she was keeping up with what was going on the wizarding world. She must be—she was probably still reading the Daily Prophet cover-to-cover. He, on the other hand, had cancelled his subscription.
He must have fallen asleep at some point, because suddenly, he was wide awake, but laying on his side. His heart was pounding. He squinted at the clock, adjusting his glasses to read the numbers. 3:26 a.m. He rubbed his tingling scar. What had woken him up?
Then he knew. There wasn't any sound, but something was moving downstairs. He didn't know how he knew, but he did.
He snatched his wand off of his bedside table and jumped out of bed. He didn't want to use it, though. After what had happened last summer, he couldn't afford to use magic. With any luck, it would just be Dudley Dursley sneaking in after the night's bullying.
Harry opened his door slowly and stepped into the hallway, jumping the creaky spot. He moved onto the landing and leaned way over, peering down the stairs.
There was nothing there. Harry straightened up. He idly wondered if he was losing his mind.
Suddenly, his scar singed with pain as though it had been burned. A bright green light flared outside, illuminating the hallways. Harry jumped back, and slid silently, but quickly, back into his bedroom.
He leaned out the window and looked up, above the house. He felt his breath catch in his throat.
Twinkling above Number Four, Privet Drive was the Dark Mark. The brilliant green stars that made up the skull with the snake in its teeth cast an eerie glow across the street, illuminating the three hooded figures in the front yard.
There were Death Eaters outside Harry's front door.
Just above the breeze and the distant sound of cars, Harry could hear them hissing at each other.
"Idiot! I told you to wait until it was done! If you woke them—" the Death Eater raised a hand to hit the other.
"I'm s-sorry! I just w-wanted to—" the smaller one whimpered, raising his own hand defensively. It glittered and shone like quicksilver in the green light of the Mark.
"Shut up! There's no time for this. Get inside," growled the third striding toward the door.
Harry sprinted across the room and threw the door back. He had to wake the Dursleys. They had to get out.
He threw the door to his Aunt and Uncle's room open.
"Wake up!" he shouted from the doorway. "Get up! We have to get out of here!"
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE PLAYING AT, BOY?" Uncle Vernon bellowed, jumping out of bed. Aunt Petunia sat up, clutching the blankets at her chest.
"There's no time! We're in danger! We have to get out of here, now!" Harry shouted back.
Aunt Petunia suddenly shrieked. Her eyes were wide and shining in the green light, staring over Harry's shoulder.
He spun around. There was a hooded figure in the hallway.
"Hello, Potter," said a low, snarling male voice. The Death Eater raised his wand to chest height. Harry jumped backward and slammed the bedroom door.
The door shattered in a jet of green light. Uncle Vernon was standing pressed against the wall beside the bed. Aunt Petunia was still shrieking, alternately babbling incoherently and bellowing for Dudley. "Shut up," Harry hissed. "Get back! I'll try to fend him off—"
The Death Eater sent a flash of red light at Harry, who ducked just in time. A brass lamp on the bedside table hissed as it melted. Harry grabbed the alarm clock and threw it at the Death Eater.
"Is that the best you can do, boy? This is how the famous Harry Potter fights?"
"What do you want?" Harry hissed.
"You, boy, are coming with me. The Dark Lord wants a word with you," the Death Eater chuckled. "And these poor muggles are about to suffer a very personal tragedy."
Aunt Petunia sort of yelped. A second Death Eater, this one shorter and plumper had appeared in the doorway. It raised its wand toward Harry. "I'll cover him. Let's take care of the muggles first," said a sinister female voice.
"Say goodbye, boy," said the first Death Eater, raising his wand and pointing it at Uncle Vernon.
There was no time to wait. Harry raised his own wand. "Prote—" he began, but the Death Eater was shouting at the same moment.
"Avada—" the Death Eater began, but he froze. A series of sharp cracks filled the room, like a bundle of firecrackers exploding. A half-dozen voices shouted "STUPEFY!" in unison, and the room was bathed in a sudden red glow.
Harry was blinded by the sudden glare. He clutched his wand and stumbled backward into the bedside table, his stomach churning with adrenaline. There were two loud thumps as the Death Eaters fell to the floor. Harry blinked his eyes and in a shower of stars the room came back into focus.
Eight faces were staring at him. His aunt and uncle were pressed as far into the corner as they could manage, Uncle Vernon's face visibly purple, even in the green light. Mad-Eye Moody was standing in the hallway, his magical eye rolling around at a nauseating speed. Mr. Weasley was standing right in front of Harry, Bill just behind him. Professor Dumbledore was standing over the fallen man and Professor McGonagall over the woman. Standing on just the other side of the bed was the last person Harry ever thought he'd see at Privet Drive—Professor Severus Snape. Everyone except Dumbledore looked rumpled, as though they'd just leapt out of bed.
"Harry," Mr. Weasley said in a guarded voice, "are you alright?"
Harry nodded, his blood pounding in his ears nearly drowning out the sound of Mr. Weasley's voice. "Yeah," he breathed. Then, his mind clearing slightly, "Wormtail! Wormtail was here too!"
"Gone now," Moody grumbled. "Must have disapparated. Just these two left." He gestured toward the floor with his wand. "Your little cousin is gone too," he added.
Harry nodded. "He snuck out hours ago. How did—how did you know they were here?" Harry panted.
"The Dark Mark," Professor Dumbledore explained. "It was seen by nearly every witch and wizard for miles around. And, of course, we've been keeping an eye on you."
"I thought I was the only wizard for miles," Harry said weakly.
"Not anymore," Bill said. "The ministry planted a few people near you. Just in case. Good thing, too."
Harry nodded. He felt too numb to speak.
Professor Dumbledore crossed toward the Dursleys. Aunt Petunia cowered behind Uncle Vernon, whose face was turning a darker and darker shade of purple.
"I'm sorry about this," Dumbledore said, his voice grave. "We have been doing everything possible to protect your family from just such an event."
"You—bloody—failed," Uncle Vernon sputtered, his face twitching as though each of his features was trying to escape in a different direction. "Why—My Home!—You—You—" He seemed to have lost the ability to speak, and simply sputtered, white froth forming at the corners of his mouth.
Dumbledore nodded patiently. "Yes, of course I understand your feelings. Believe me, we're going to do everything possible to understand what went wrong and correct the situation, but in the meantime—" he nodded at Snape, who was closest to the Dursleys.
Snape raised his wand and intoned, "Obliviate." Despite his lingering anxiety, Harry felt a guilty surge of glee at seeing his nemesis at Hogwarts, Professor Snape, using magic against the Dursleys, the only people he came close to hating that much. The Dursleys were surrounded in light for a moment, before they both went curiously still. Aunt Petunia quit cowering behind Uncle Vernon, and Uncle Vernon's face began to drain of color. Snape and Dumbledore helped them out of the corner and onto the bed, where the Dursleys sat looking dazed.
"The containment squad from the ministry should be here any minute," Bill said. "We'll leave your Aunt and Uncle to them, I think. They'll have their hands full tonight—half the muggles in Little Whinging will have seen that." He nodded up at the ceiling. He must be right, Harry thought. Hundreds of people would have seen the Mark. This was probably the first time in fifteen years that there had been something of this caliber to cover up.
"Potter, you'd best come back with us," Professor McGonagall said, stooping down to kneel beside the unconscious Death Eater. She peered under the hood, nodded grimly, and stood back up. "How will we get—them—back with us, Albus?" she asked nodding at both Harry and the Death Eaters.
"Perhaps it would be best," Professor Snape interrupted, "if Potter remained here until someone could be sent to fetch him by some non-magical means?"
"Don't be a fool, man," Moody snapped. "They could be back, and next time, they'll come better armed. Anyway, we want him out of here before the Prophet shows up." His magical eye spun around and around, probably scanning for Death Eaters.
The greenish light was beginning to fade. Harry scanned the street beyond the bedroom window; he could just make out some of the other houses, their own bedroom lights on, faces staring up at the greenish symbol tattooed in the sky over Number Four.
"Minerva and Severus, you will please accompany Harry back to Grimmauld Place. You can go by portkey," Dumbledore instructed. He turned round and nodded at Moody. "Alastor and I will see to it that these two are turned over to the proper authorities. Bill, Arthur, you will please stay and explain things to the Ministry officials?" Mr. Weasley nodded.
Professor McGonagall took Harry's elbow with her free hand. "Let's go, Potter, quickly." She escorted him over the bodies and into the hallway. Moody crushed himself against the wall to let them pass.
"See you soon," he grumbled.
"What about my things?" Harry asked.
"Don't worry," Mr. Weasley called. "We'll bring you your trunk later. Right now, you just need to get out of here." Harry nodded, glad that his trunk was only half unpacked anyway.
He pulled away just long enough to grab his shoes from beside his bedroom door, and then McGonagall resumed her grip on his elbow. He was as tall as she was, now. She steered him down the stairs and into the kitchen. Harry grabbed the first object at hand—a long, wooden spoon—and handed it to McGonagall. She sat it on the table and tapped it with her wand, muttering "Portus."
"On the count of three then," she said, as they clustered around the spoon. "One, two, three."
Harry touched the handle with his finger. It felt like a hook had grabbed something just behind his navel and jerked him violently forward. He felt slightly dizzy.
Finally his feet slammed into the ground, and he found himself in the kitchen of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
The Dark Mark Over Privet Drive
The lush green lawns and respectable little houses of Privet Drive buzzed with activity in the late evening sun. The cool weather had drawn most of the neighborhood into their manicured front gardens, where they chatted over garden fences, trimmed flower beds, and shared gossip.
In front of Number four, Vernon Dursley was furiously adding yet another coat of wax to his new company car, his porky arms jiggling with the exertion. "Brand new! Top of the line, this one. The height of German engineering they say," he said in a voice just loud enough to let everyone around hear it easily. He had one wary eye on a neighbor who was poking at the tires with curiosity. Meanwhile, Petunia Dursley was nodding her blond, horsy head as she gossiped in undertones about Her-at-Number-Six with Mrs. Number Three.
In fact, only one resident of Privet drive was still indoors. Harry Potter, a tall, bespectacled boy with untidy black hair was leaning out of his bedroom window to catch the breeze. He drummed his fingers against the window frame in a bored sort of way, allowing all the activity of the street go on below him.
In truth, Harry hadn't been very interested in life at Privet Drive. Last summer, he had been frustrated by being penned up with his horrible Aunt and Uncle for four whole weeks. He had been furious at being cut off from the rest of the magical world, from other wizards and witches like himself, and forced to live with the muggles. Of course, he had had a right to be angry; that June, he had seen Lord Voldemort, the most fearsome Dark Wizard in the world, rise again. He had seen a friend killed, and he knew that the murders and the terror that had run rampant thirteen years earlier would begin again. He had seen a friend die, and he had fought for his own life. Despite all that, Harry had been left in isolation with the muggles, and he had been furious.
This summer, however, was different. This June, he had faced Lord Voldemort again, and once again he had escaped. But Harry hadn't been the same since that day. One of Lord Voldemort's followers, a Death Eater by the name of Bellatrix Lestrange had killed Harry's godfather, Sirius Black. Since then, Harry hadn't known whether he wanted to be with people or alone. When he was with other people, they always seemed to want to talk about Sirius, but Harry didn't. When he was alone, he wanted the distraction of other people.
His Aunt and Uncle's house had been a kind of refuge this last few weeks. They didn't know about Sirius or Voldemort or anything. They had been furious when, on the last day of school, three members of the Order, Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody, and Tonks, had… well… encouraged the Dursleys to treat Harry a little better. It seemed that the Dursleys' idea of treating Harry better was to avoid open hostility by ignoring his existence most of the time, and treating him with cold politeness when absolutely necessary. Actually, that suited Harry fine. He didn't have to think about things here. He didn't have to think about Sirius.
Harry glanced over at Hedwig's empty cage. He had sent her out with a message to the Order, to let them know he was okay, the night before. He had only been home for a fortnight, but already he'd gotten three letters from Lupin, all short, encouraging, and uninformative. That was okay with Harry somehow. He just wanted to be left alone right now.
Harry slumped at his desk and thought about writing a letter, but he just chewed his quill unproductively. Eventually, he threw it down onto the parchment, leaving a line of spreading inkblots. He leaned back in his chair, bored.
A squeak in the hallway, followed by the distinctive click of Dudley's door, caught Harry's attention.
He opened his own doorway and peered at his porky cousin, slinking toward the stairs.
"Going out again?" Harry said. He bit his tongue to keep from laughing out loud as Dudley jumped, and turned, his eyes wide.
"What's it to you?" Dudley managed to sneer, despite his obvious fear of Harry. Dudley had seemed unable to decide whether he should be really cruel to Harry, or really terrified of him; he'd decided on a kind of cautious condescension that Harry found comical. Dudley always seemed one step away from grabbing his bottom and running away in terror.
"Nothing," Harry shrugged. "Your gang still picking on eight year olds, are they? Or have you moved up to nine year olds?"
Dudley's face shrunk up with his anger, and Harry was struck by how much he looked like Uncle Vernon. "What a face, Duddykins!" Harry whispered, grinning. "They have medicine you can take for that, you know."
Dudley panted heavily, shoving his balled fists into his pockets. "You'll get yours," he muttered and slunk down the stairs.
Harry shook with silent laughter as he shut his bedroom door. Tormenting Dudley was always a bit of fun, but now that he was gone, Harry was alone and bored again. He picked up a book, Great Moments of Quidditch, and flopped down on his bed to read. He was halfway through an exciting chapter about the 1632 World Cup, where the seekers had somehow chased the snitch out of the stadium and into a nearby town and concussed a passing muggle. At some point he must have dozed off, because he was suddenly aware that it was dark outside, and two golden eyes were peering at him from the window ledge.
He sat bolt upright, the book slipping onto the floor with a loud thump. He flicked on the bedside lamp, slid off the bed, and crossed to the windowsill. "Hello, Hedwig," Harry said quietly to the snowy owl. She fluttered her wings and hooted in a proud sort of way. Harry stroked her feathers, and untied the envelope tied to her leg. "Thanks." She nipped at his finger, and took off into the night, probably to look for mice.
Harry ripped open the flap on the envelope and dumped its contents onto the bed. There were two small pieces of parchment inside. The first was from Ron.
"Dear Harry,
Hope the muggles are treating you okay. It's mad here, what with Fred and George's new shop. Mum hates having them to dinner because they keep slipping trick food into the dishes. Anyway, Dad talked to Dumbledore, and he reckons you can come stay with us soon. Just say when you want to leave, and we'll come for you.
Ron."
For the first time, Harry felt ambivalent about getting an invitation to the Burrow. As much as he'd like to see the Weasleys, he wasn't looking forward to the way people carefully avoided talking about Sirius around him, or the way he knew Mrs. Weasley would look at him. Of course, he didn't want to stay with the Dursley's either. He'd have to think about it for a while. He picked up the other piece of parchment.
"Dear Harry,
Glad to hear you're okay. No worries about us, everyone this end is fine. Tonks says hello. If you have any problems, just send word.
Remus Lupin."
Just like his other letters, it was reassuringly vague. Some other summer, he probably would have been furious. Right now, he was relieved.
Harry slipped into his pajamas, but he wasn't really feeling too tired, so he picked up his book again. All he really did was sleep nowadays. For a long time he had been haunted by bad dreams, but lately… he didn't dream at all. He started absently reading his chapter, letting his mind wander as he read. He listened to the rhythmic sounds of the night birds and passing cars outside. He imagined Hedwig swooping back and forth above the gardens of Little Whinging, terrifying the rodent population. He thought about Hermione, whose parents were also muggles, and wondered if she was keeping up with what was going on the wizarding world. She must be—she was probably still reading the Daily Prophet cover-to-cover. He, on the other hand, had cancelled his subscription.
He must have fallen asleep at some point, because suddenly, he was wide awake, but laying on his side. His heart was pounding. He squinted at the clock, adjusting his glasses to read the numbers. 3:26 a.m. He rubbed his tingling scar. What had woken him up?
Then he knew. There wasn't any sound, but something was moving downstairs. He didn't know how he knew, but he did.
He snatched his wand off of his bedside table and jumped out of bed. He didn't want to use it, though. After what had happened last summer, he couldn't afford to use magic. With any luck, it would just be Dudley Dursley sneaking in after the night's bullying.
Harry opened his door slowly and stepped into the hallway, jumping the creaky spot. He moved onto the landing and leaned way over, peering down the stairs.
There was nothing there. Harry straightened up. He idly wondered if he was losing his mind.
Suddenly, his scar singed with pain as though it had been burned. A bright green light flared outside, illuminating the hallways. Harry jumped back, and slid silently, but quickly, back into his bedroom.
He leaned out the window and looked up, above the house. He felt his breath catch in his throat.
Twinkling above Number Four, Privet Drive was the Dark Mark. The brilliant green stars that made up the skull with the snake in its teeth cast an eerie glow across the street, illuminating the three hooded figures in the front yard.
There were Death Eaters outside Harry's front door.
Just above the breeze and the distant sound of cars, Harry could hear them hissing at each other.
"Idiot! I told you to wait until it was done! If you woke them—" the Death Eater raised a hand to hit the other.
"I'm s-sorry! I just w-wanted to—" the smaller one whimpered, raising his own hand defensively. It glittered and shone like quicksilver in the green light of the Mark.
"Shut up! There's no time for this. Get inside," growled the third striding toward the door.
Harry sprinted across the room and threw the door back. He had to wake the Dursleys. They had to get out.
He threw the door to his Aunt and Uncle's room open.
"Wake up!" he shouted from the doorway. "Get up! We have to get out of here!"
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE PLAYING AT, BOY?" Uncle Vernon bellowed, jumping out of bed. Aunt Petunia sat up, clutching the blankets at her chest.
"There's no time! We're in danger! We have to get out of here, now!" Harry shouted back.
Aunt Petunia suddenly shrieked. Her eyes were wide and shining in the green light, staring over Harry's shoulder.
He spun around. There was a hooded figure in the hallway.
"Hello, Potter," said a low, snarling male voice. The Death Eater raised his wand to chest height. Harry jumped backward and slammed the bedroom door.
The door shattered in a jet of green light. Uncle Vernon was standing pressed against the wall beside the bed. Aunt Petunia was still shrieking, alternately babbling incoherently and bellowing for Dudley. "Shut up," Harry hissed. "Get back! I'll try to fend him off—"
The Death Eater sent a flash of red light at Harry, who ducked just in time. A brass lamp on the bedside table hissed as it melted. Harry grabbed the alarm clock and threw it at the Death Eater.
"Is that the best you can do, boy? This is how the famous Harry Potter fights?"
"What do you want?" Harry hissed.
"You, boy, are coming with me. The Dark Lord wants a word with you," the Death Eater chuckled. "And these poor muggles are about to suffer a very personal tragedy."
Aunt Petunia sort of yelped. A second Death Eater, this one shorter and plumper had appeared in the doorway. It raised its wand toward Harry. "I'll cover him. Let's take care of the muggles first," said a sinister female voice.
"Say goodbye, boy," said the first Death Eater, raising his wand and pointing it at Uncle Vernon.
There was no time to wait. Harry raised his own wand. "Prote—" he began, but the Death Eater was shouting at the same moment.
"Avada—" the Death Eater began, but he froze. A series of sharp cracks filled the room, like a bundle of firecrackers exploding. A half-dozen voices shouted "STUPEFY!" in unison, and the room was bathed in a sudden red glow.
Harry was blinded by the sudden glare. He clutched his wand and stumbled backward into the bedside table, his stomach churning with adrenaline. There were two loud thumps as the Death Eaters fell to the floor. Harry blinked his eyes and in a shower of stars the room came back into focus.
Eight faces were staring at him. His aunt and uncle were pressed as far into the corner as they could manage, Uncle Vernon's face visibly purple, even in the green light. Mad-Eye Moody was standing in the hallway, his magical eye rolling around at a nauseating speed. Mr. Weasley was standing right in front of Harry, Bill just behind him. Professor Dumbledore was standing over the fallen man and Professor McGonagall over the woman. Standing on just the other side of the bed was the last person Harry ever thought he'd see at Privet Drive—Professor Severus Snape. Everyone except Dumbledore looked rumpled, as though they'd just leapt out of bed.
"Harry," Mr. Weasley said in a guarded voice, "are you alright?"
Harry nodded, his blood pounding in his ears nearly drowning out the sound of Mr. Weasley's voice. "Yeah," he breathed. Then, his mind clearing slightly, "Wormtail! Wormtail was here too!"
"Gone now," Moody grumbled. "Must have disapparated. Just these two left." He gestured toward the floor with his wand. "Your little cousin is gone too," he added.
Harry nodded. "He snuck out hours ago. How did—how did you know they were here?" Harry panted.
"The Dark Mark," Professor Dumbledore explained. "It was seen by nearly every witch and wizard for miles around. And, of course, we've been keeping an eye on you."
"I thought I was the only wizard for miles," Harry said weakly.
"Not anymore," Bill said. "The ministry planted a few people near you. Just in case. Good thing, too."
Harry nodded. He felt too numb to speak.
Professor Dumbledore crossed toward the Dursleys. Aunt Petunia cowered behind Uncle Vernon, whose face was turning a darker and darker shade of purple.
"I'm sorry about this," Dumbledore said, his voice grave. "We have been doing everything possible to protect your family from just such an event."
"You—bloody—failed," Uncle Vernon sputtered, his face twitching as though each of his features was trying to escape in a different direction. "Why—My Home!—You—You—" He seemed to have lost the ability to speak, and simply sputtered, white froth forming at the corners of his mouth.
Dumbledore nodded patiently. "Yes, of course I understand your feelings. Believe me, we're going to do everything possible to understand what went wrong and correct the situation, but in the meantime—" he nodded at Snape, who was closest to the Dursleys.
Snape raised his wand and intoned, "Obliviate." Despite his lingering anxiety, Harry felt a guilty surge of glee at seeing his nemesis at Hogwarts, Professor Snape, using magic against the Dursleys, the only people he came close to hating that much. The Dursleys were surrounded in light for a moment, before they both went curiously still. Aunt Petunia quit cowering behind Uncle Vernon, and Uncle Vernon's face began to drain of color. Snape and Dumbledore helped them out of the corner and onto the bed, where the Dursleys sat looking dazed.
"The containment squad from the ministry should be here any minute," Bill said. "We'll leave your Aunt and Uncle to them, I think. They'll have their hands full tonight—half the muggles in Little Whinging will have seen that." He nodded up at the ceiling. He must be right, Harry thought. Hundreds of people would have seen the Mark. This was probably the first time in fifteen years that there had been something of this caliber to cover up.
"Potter, you'd best come back with us," Professor McGonagall said, stooping down to kneel beside the unconscious Death Eater. She peered under the hood, nodded grimly, and stood back up. "How will we get—them—back with us, Albus?" she asked nodding at both Harry and the Death Eaters.
"Perhaps it would be best," Professor Snape interrupted, "if Potter remained here until someone could be sent to fetch him by some non-magical means?"
"Don't be a fool, man," Moody snapped. "They could be back, and next time, they'll come better armed. Anyway, we want him out of here before the Prophet shows up." His magical eye spun around and around, probably scanning for Death Eaters.
The greenish light was beginning to fade. Harry scanned the street beyond the bedroom window; he could just make out some of the other houses, their own bedroom lights on, faces staring up at the greenish symbol tattooed in the sky over Number Four.
"Minerva and Severus, you will please accompany Harry back to Grimmauld Place. You can go by portkey," Dumbledore instructed. He turned round and nodded at Moody. "Alastor and I will see to it that these two are turned over to the proper authorities. Bill, Arthur, you will please stay and explain things to the Ministry officials?" Mr. Weasley nodded.
Professor McGonagall took Harry's elbow with her free hand. "Let's go, Potter, quickly." She escorted him over the bodies and into the hallway. Moody crushed himself against the wall to let them pass.
"See you soon," he grumbled.
"What about my things?" Harry asked.
"Don't worry," Mr. Weasley called. "We'll bring you your trunk later. Right now, you just need to get out of here." Harry nodded, glad that his trunk was only half unpacked anyway.
He pulled away just long enough to grab his shoes from beside his bedroom door, and then McGonagall resumed her grip on his elbow. He was as tall as she was, now. She steered him down the stairs and into the kitchen. Harry grabbed the first object at hand—a long, wooden spoon—and handed it to McGonagall. She sat it on the table and tapped it with her wand, muttering "Portus."
"On the count of three then," she said, as they clustered around the spoon. "One, two, three."
Harry touched the handle with his finger. It felt like a hook had grabbed something just behind his navel and jerked him violently forward. He felt slightly dizzy.
Finally his feet slammed into the ground, and he found himself in the kitchen of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.