Chapter One: In Which Taxis Are Hired
"So what are we going to do?"
"We're going to use the only means of transport left to us, the only ones the Trace can't detect, because we need to cast spells to use them: brooms, threstals and Hagrid's motorbike."
Harry could see flaws in this plan; however, he held his tongue to give Mad-Eye the chance to address them.
". . . I forgot to mention the key point. Fourteen of us won't be flying to Tonks' parents'. There will be seven Harry Potters moving through the skies tonight, each of them with a companion, each pair heading for a different safe house."
From inside his cloak Moody now withdrew a flask of what looked like mud. There was no need for him to say another word; Harry understood the rest of the plan immediately.
He started laughing uncontrollably. He sank to his knees, clutching his chest as he marveled in the hilarity of the situation.
"He's gone completely mental!" said Ron.
Harry finally stopped, and he got up very slowly, careful not to trigger his own laughter.
"Y-you guys are j-just so funny! I mean, the plan you just told me is just s-so h-hilarious!"
Obviously, he started doing it again.
"Harry!" said Hermione. "Stop laughing!"
He did not, of course, stop immediately. It took a good thirty seconds.
"Before you tell me anything else, who the hell came up with this?" asked Harry, suddenly serious.
"Well. . . . Dung did," said Mad-Eye gruffly.
There was a humongous pause.
"Yeah, sounds about right. Hasn't it ever occured to you all that we could just — I dunno — take a taxi?" said Harry, shaking his head.
AN: Roses are red, my hand is waxy.
Harry Potter, just take a bloody taxi.