Harry could only watch as the cat stepped out of the shadows, and with a flick of its tail, turned into the person Harry had least expected to see.
"P-Professor McGonagall?" Harry stuttered in amazement. "Um, what are you doing here?". The tall, grey-haired woman, dressed in a tartan cloak, gave a thin smile. "You will find, Mr. Potter, that I have come here in order to take you away. I'm sure you will be glad to hear that this will be the last time you will have to visit the Dursleys," said the Professor, surveying Harry's room. "Hmm, it could do with a little tidy but I suppose there isn't time" she said with a sigh of regret. After a moment she realised that Harry had not answered, and turned back to find him still gaping at her with shock.
"Now really Harry, I may not look my best after travelling across half of Britain, but surely I'm not that shocking" she said with an unknown twinkle in her eye.
Harry started, and realised he had been staring at Professor McGonagall. His cheeks took on a pink tinge as he muttered, embarrassed, "sorry Professor, I just...it's just - I didn't expect – "
"-to see me? I expect not. Well, here I am, don't you think you'd better pack?" she said, casting a critical eye over the room, which was far from pristine.
"Oh, uh, OK then Professor", Harry said as he began to dart around the room, gathering up objects lying randomly scattered around the floor. Before he could reach his wardrobe, the doors swung apart and his trunk sprang open with a soft click. Professor McGonagall gave a swift flick of her wand and all his possessions soared into the deep brown trunk and landed, neatly folded. Harry gave a smile, remembering a very similar scene last year. "I think it's safe to say that you rival Tonks' efforts at packing, Professor" he laughed. Professor McGonagall's face softened into a smile of remembrance. "Yes, Nymphadora never was one for neatness. Attempting to read her essays would have taxed the patience of a house elf! And believe me, they are the most patient creatures on this earth!" Harry thought of Hermione and S.P.E.W and felt an ache of longing to see his two best friends again after so long. Professor McGonagall must have noticed his expression for suddenly she became businesslike as usual.
"Right, Mr. Potter, where are your broom and your spellbooks?" Suddenly Harry's stomach dropped. "I-in the cupboard under the stairs" he almost whispered. The Dursleys might want him out of the house but he was sure they would create problems. Anything that would make Harry happy was totally out of the question for them. Harry sighed. Why do they have to treat me like poison? Why is everything always my fault?
McGonagall gave him a knowing look. It's a shame, she thought, if only he could have lived with Sirius. But it was not to be.
"In fact the Dursleys have gone out, Harry" she said kindly. "They've gone to the Annual Grunning's Ball, so they won't be bothering us."
Harry was startled. Of course! The Annual Ball for Uncle Vernon's drill company. The Dursleys had been talking about nothing else for weeks. Aunt Petunia had been particularly fixated about what 'that tart next door would be wearing'. Funny how her disapproval of 'that sort of thing' didn't extend to the holiday romance books she read avidly, with a seemingly insatiable appetite for reading about clandestine love affairs. Harry often wondered how, instead of a dark eyed Italian, Aunt Petunia had ended up with short, beefy, sweaty, short-tempered Uncle Vernon. Perhaps it was their love of complaining. Yes, surmised Harry, that was probably it.
By the time Harry had come to this conclusion, Professor McGonagall had reappeared with his broom and spellbooks. "I'll just give them this letter, like so, then we're ready to be off," she said as she placed a small white envelope on his desk, addressed in neat green writing to Mr and Mrs Dursley. Suddenly, Harry realised he didn't even know where they were going. If Professor McGonagall had come to collect him, it couldn't be the Burrow. Surely the Weasleys would have come? And why would she come to take him to 12 Grimmauld Place. Last time it was Lupin and Tonks who came. As if she had read his mind, the Professor explained, "I'm afraid that at the moment the Weasleys are busy, and I was the only one available to collect you. However, this year you will be going somewhere new. Oh, don't worry" she said, seeing Harry's look of uncertainty, "your friends will be there, it's just that we've decided on somewhere a little different this summer". She smiled enigmatically and, leaving Harry to puzzle out what she meant, she withdrew an empty Quavers packet from the folds of her robes. "Professor Dumbledore has kindly provided a Portkey to transport us, so if you would just hold on please..." Harry stretched out a finger, and as his fingertip made contact with the cold foil, he felt the familiar sensation of the hook jerking behind his navel, and he was rushing into the unknown beside the Professor amid a swirl of colours and rushing wind.