Chapter XII: The Best Laid Plan
Midnight was closing in fast. In but twenty short minutes, Harry would be leaving Privet Drive forever, never to return. It would also be the moment when the blood wards around Privet Drive collapsed, allowing the swarm of death eaters waiting outside to attack the property and everyone within. The Order thought they had taken enough precautions to ensure his safety - feeding the Ministry a fake date; trying to link the house up to the floor network; charming Portkeys to safe-houses - but Harry knew it would be for nought from the very start.
Dumbledore had received reliable information from Snape that Riddle's first target would be Pius Thicknesse (the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement) and recent intel had suggested that they had succeeded in bringing him over. Apparently, it had been Corban Yaxley who accomplished the task of placing him under Imperius and now Thicknesse's roots within the senior class of the Ministry were being fully exploited. Dumbledore had explained to Harry that, with the DMLE under their control, the dark contingent could do a great many things to impede Harry's escape, such as making it an imprisonable offence to connect Privet Drive to the floor network, use a Portkey within its ground or apparate in and out of the house. Harry was all but sure, now that they had Thicknesse as their puppet, the Death Eaters had done just that. They were always going to face opposition in their escape. Dumbledore knew that and he planned for that very occurrence, somehow managing to turn it into an advantage.
Snape's position as one of Riddle's most trusted servants relied on what would happen this very night. In order to keep Snape at Voldemort's side, he needed to look trustworthy. In order to look trustworthy, he needed to be seen going against the Order, feeding Riddle vital information. If that information wasn't true, then Snape would quickly lose favour and their closest tie to the heart of the dark contingent would be lost.
It was a twisted game of loyalties and double-crosses and Dumbledore's plan to counteract it was equally devious. However, given months on his own to ponder his old mentor's intentions, Harry had decided that he could do better. He created his own escape route, one that would hopefully accomplish all that Dumbledore set out to do with a far lesser risk of collateral damage.
Because if there was one thing that Harry Potter could no longer accept, it was other people putting their lives on the line for his sake.
Certain criteria had to be filled but they were easily worked around. Dumbledore's original plan of the Seven Potters, each a member of the Order under Polyjuice, had too many holes. Too many chances for people to be killed. This new plan, the one Harry himself had concocted, was no less perilous, but the risk of casualties had dropped from several to one. Of course, that one was himself, but the fact of his own mortality hadn't really been a priority to Harry. He was going to die anyway. If anything, his death would only be an asset to the Order. Both Hermione and Ron knew enough to carry on the fight without him, and with him out of the way, Riddle would be one step closer to death.
A win-win, in Harry's mind.
The act of changing the plan was no more complicated than a simple secret message, sent via a disgruntled Mundungus Fletcher, who was still ever-so-willing to help after being caught in Grimmauld Place. Harry knew that if he were to provide Fletcher just a glimpse of his secrets, they wouldn't remain secret for long and he used it to his advantage. From there it was a matter of having Kreacher tail Mundungus to a pub, pump him full of alcohol, then wait for Snape to happen upon him and pick up the intel. It was more of a show than anything, proof as to how Severus could know the Order's so-called plan, to begin with - since he couldn't very well say that his betrayal was a calculated move orchestrated from beyond the grave by Dumbledore himself. Another lie, another risk. However, now Snape could genuinely say that he pried the truth from Mundungus, having no previous knowledge of the escape plan. Of course, there was a risk of the plan spreading to other people, but then again, it wasn't like any of them would gather much meaning from, "Change of plan. Give chase North-East. Mind the fireworks." Not immediately of course, but in the right scenario, at the right moment, they would. Snape would.
As the last of the Order of the Phoenix gathered into the living room, Harry excused himself momentarily and headed up to his tiny bedroom. Once he was sure that he hadn't been followed, he took out an old mobile phone of Dudley's and a small black business card from his pocket. He quickly dialled the number on the card and waited for the dial tone to end.
The other end picked up and a familiar voice spoke into his ear.
"Mr Potter."
"Mr Dalton," Harry replied cordially.
"A pleasure hearing your voice again," Mr Dalton continued. "I assume it's time for me to play my part?"
"Indeed, sir."
"Very well, then."
Harry had spoken with Mr Dalton a few weeks before about formulating his elaborate escape, and despite his initial reluctance, the old man's advice had been constant and invaluable. Now, the time had come for their machinations to take shape. Harry could only hope they hadn't forgotten anything vital. Well, there was no backing down now.
"I'm not entirely sure Albus would have approved of this, Mr Potter," he heard Mr Dalton murmur from the other side.
"As you've said. And what about you?" he asked. He heard something like a chuckle emanate from the other side.
"Get some good shots in and we'll see. ETA?"
"We'll say midnight. Twenty minutes."
"Good. Gives the boys some time to rally themselves."
"Are you sure they'll believe you?"
"There's a protocol for this sort of thing. I should know. I invented it."
"Thank you, sir. And remember, tell them to wait for the fireworks."
"Wait for fireworks. Understood. Godspeed, Harry. And expect a guest."
The line went dead and Harry shoved the phone into his pocket. This was beyond him now. All he had to do was play his own part and somehow convince the others to play theirs, a task Harry was particularly dreading.
In order to calm his nerves, Harry did one last check of his equipment. He crawled under his bare bed and pulled out an inconspicuous bag - plain black and covered in straps - and opened it. Within its much larger innards lay everything he would need for his escape. His firebolt, a cluster of novelty fireworks, flight wear and a bounty of Weasley pranks that would make any teenage delinquent drool at the possibilities. Tonight though, these tools would be the linchpin of his escape and they would all be contained within this handy enchanted bag (covertly bought from Diagon Alley with the help of Kreacher). Harry fastened the bag onto his back and stood up, readying himself for what he was about to do.
He made his way back down the stairs, down into the hallway where he saw a pair of large, beaming eyes glance at him from the corner of the doorway. Their owner gave Harry a quick wink from his hiding place, telling him that he too was ready, and Harry dutifully nodded back.
The Order was still talking amongst themselves when Harry returned to the living room. He quickly counted 13 people. All accounted for. Even Mundungus Fletcher had shown up. Harry half expected him to bolt at the last minute, but surprisingly he had stuck by his word. Of course, he was still a thief, a drunk and a cheat, but at least he wasn't a coward.
Bill and Fleur had turned up as well, along with Fred and George and Arthur Weasley. Harry wanted to feel reassured by their presence but he couldn't help the guilt biting at the back of his mind. The Weasleys had already given up far too much for him. They could never truly sit out of the war, simply for Ron being his best friend, but putting their own children on the line, even if they were of age, baffled Harry. He shouldn't be worth that much, not to anyone.
Rounding out the company was Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Hagrid - all competent, powerful fighters that Harry was glad to call allies. Hagrid particularly seemed glad to see him, as his face lit up when Harry entered the room. Even in the face of what they were about to do, he seemed so buoyant and full of life. Harry couldn't help but smile back.
He could tell Hermione suspected him already, the way her eyes never left his direction, scanning him up and down for any evidence of what he was doing upstairs. Perhaps she had even noticed his choice of clothing, an ensemble of pure black, boring jacket and jeans, his feet strapped into his quidditch boots. Harry could see each of the dozens of questions flickering across her face, her mind running like a super-computer. For all he knew, she could have already figured out exactly what he was going to do. Even Ron was staring inquisitively at him from the corner of his eye. Trust his friends to notice when something was up with him.
It had to be now. It was time to get started.
Finally congregated, Mad-Eye gathered the Order around them and produced his vial of Polyjuice potion. The wizened Auror explained their plan for six volunteers, some of which being Harry's close friends, to each take a dose of the potion, morphing into his exact likeness, to act as decoys for his own escape. As much as Harry wanted to interrupt Moody - to tell him like hell he would be so cowardly as to deliberately let someone pose as him, regardless of whether it made him safer - he kept his mouth shut and played along. Occasionally he would nod solemnly as if accepting that it was simply necessary. At certain points, Mad-Eye would give him to once over, waiting for Harry to protest, but he didn't. He simply kept quiet, absorbing the information, blinking every so often as if to feign surprise.
"I'm sure you're not exactly happy with this idea," Mad-Eye spoke in his ever-gruff manner, "but we're out of options. These people-" he gestured to the six volunteers, who mostly avoided Harry's piercing gaze as his turned to look at each of them, "-are all overage and willing to take the risk. Our only chance of escape is to use decoys. Even You-Know-You can't split himself into seven."
Harry caught Hermione's eye and looked away once again.
"So, Potter- some of your hair, if you'd be so kind."
Harry glanced at Ron, who grimaced at him in a just-do-it sort of way.
"Quickly, now," barked Moody, limping forward as he pulled the stopper out of the flask of potion. "Straight in here, if you please."
"Give it to me."
Mad-Eye paused. Harry looked up at him with a casual smile.
"Give me the flask and I can give you my hair."
He reached out his hand flippantly. Harry could tell no one expected a reaction like this from him and how it unsettled them. Even shouting and screaming would have been preferable to this unknown. Wanting to waste no more time, however, Moody reached out and placed the vial of Polyjuice into Harry's waiting palm.
"Thank you," Harry nodded. Without resistance, he reached up and plucked a strand of hair from his head. He carefully slid it into the vial and watched as the muddy substance turned a bright golden colour. Harry then turned to Fred Weasley, the first in line to take the potion. "Right, Fred, you're up. Mind the glass."
Fred's face quickly turned to confusion.
"Glass?"
Harry turned and threw the vial as hard as he could.
SMASH!
It collided with the kitchen wall. The bottle shattered into a thousand pieces with a thunderous crash of glass and ceramic. By the time anyone realised what had happened the golden potion was already spilling out across the counter and soaking onto the floor.
"POTTER!" came Moody's cry of genuine distress.
"Oh, whoops," Harry shrugged in disinterest.
The room quickly descended into a cacophony of voices.
"BLOODY HELL!"
"Harry, what have you done?"
"Are you insane?"
"Do we have a spare?"
"No, of course we don't have a sodding spare- Who the hell has spare Polyjuice just lying around?"
"Merlin, Harry, you idiot!"
Immediately people began trying to fix the vial but what little potion had remained in the fractured pieces had already spoiled. The mood quickly turned from shock to panic. Harry meanwhile strolled towards the empty fireplace and reached inside his bag. From within, he grabbed a small balloon and blew into it, filling it up with air. Ignoring the chorus of alarm around him, Harry tied off the balloon at the tip and readied a pin from his pocket. Just as the furore could get any more despondent, the balloon exploded and once again the room's attention was drawn back to Harry.
"Are we quite finished?" he asked. Every person in the room was now glaring at him as if he had grown a second head. "Good. Now let's talk about our escape."
"There is no escape," Moody snarled, "not anymore! We'll have to delay it."
"We can't delay it," Arthur Weasley refuted. "We don't have time to brew more Polyjuice."
"I say we go ahead," Tonks piped in. "They don't know we're moving him today."
"That's where you're wrong," Harry replied. "They know it's today. Outside those wards I'm willing to bet are about… say, thirty Death Eaters ready to shoot us out of the sky? Give or take."
"How do you know that?"
"I checked. Hermione saw me doing it earlier before you all arrived. Turns out blood wards can not only track what's inside of its bounds but also what's outside of it, just cresting the edges. And right now, they're telling me that about thirty unknown people are hovering a quarter of a mile above the house, waiting for us to leave." Harry glanced around, observing as each of the Order realised the gravity of the situation. "If you go up now, you'll all be heading into a trap. However, there is another way out."
"And how might that be, Potter?" Fletcher argued. "We can't apparate. We can't use a Portkey. This house has no floo. What would you have us do instead? Dig our way out?"
Harry smiled at Mundungus, before swiftly turning to someone else.
"Bill, what do you make of the wards on this place?"
"What does that-" Bill tried to dispute before Harry interrupted him.
"The blood wards. Moody must have told you about them. A part of my mother's protection that was supposed to keep me safe all these years. I've been studying them these past few months-" He spun on the spot, addressing the rest of the room. "Did you really think I'd sit on my arse all this time and just wait for you to rescue me?"
"That's all very well and good," Moody remarked, "but those wards are going to break down eventually, or was your plan to wait until the 30th for them to fail on their own?"
"You think we'd be safe until then?"
"I'd say they're the only thing keeping us alive right now."
"You'd bet your life on them?"
"For the moment."
"And they're impervious to any sort of magic."
"Yes."
"No."
Moody squinted at him.
"'No'?" he parroted. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
Harry glanced at the people around him, recognising that he had them in the palm of his hand. Feeling the thrill of control, his own flair for the dramatic, he soldiered on.
"The wards on this house are impressive," he clarified, "but they're not impenetrable, not even close. There are people that can move in and out of these wards as easily as through the front door. And, fortunately, I happen to know a couple of them."
The teen stood aside and gesture to the small being that had appeared behind him. To Hermione and Ron, his flappy ears, long nose and eyes the size of dishes were instantly recognisable, but for the sake of everyone else, Harry clear his throat and introduced them to the new arrival.
"This is Dobby," he proclaimed. The excited house-elf gave everyone an ecstatic wave. "Four years ago, Dobby managed to pass through these wards and levitate a cake onto one of my aunt and uncle's guests during an important dinner meeting. To this day, the Ministry still thinks that was me. As far as they know, Dobby was never here."
"Dobby was trying to save Harry Potter's life," Dobby said happily. "Harry Potter was a boy back then. Dobby is honoured to do so again."
"He can even pop in and out of Hogwarts without much fuss. It's astonishing that nobody's thought of this before."
The occupants of the living room of 4 Privet Drive simply gawked at the two of them, seemingly bewildered.
"Just so we're clear," Ron broke the silence, "we're going to escape using a house-elf?"
"Not just a house-elf," Harry replied scandalised. "Two house-elves." He indicated to the doorway leading into the hall, suddenly occupied by another, much older house-elf. "Most of you already know Kreacher."
The elderly house-elf took one look around before his glare fixed on Mundungus, who suddenly looked far more uneasy than he did before.
"Dirty, thieving Fletcher," Kreacher murmured under his breath, before shuffling into the room and standing to attention in front of Harry.
"How are you this evening, Kreacher?" Harry asked cordially, bowing ever so slightly to properly address the elderly house-elf.
"Kreacher is well, master. Very well."
Harry smiled.
"Good." He then turned to the rest of the room. "These two will be taking each and every one of you to your safe-houses. If all goes to plan, that lot upstairs won't realise you've gone until it's too late. Not even the Ministry should be able to track you."
"And you're sure this will work?" Remus urged from his corner of the room, having listened intensely over the past couple of minutes. Harry looked his former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in the eye and nodded.
"I'm sure."
Remus sighed, fingering the fraying edges of his jacket, pondering over the possibilities.
"Okay," he finally gave in, "it's better than nothing. We'll go one at a time. Harry, you first."
Harry shook his head.
"No, I'm going last."
Remus stared at him, his face turning deadly serious.
"That's not happening."
"I'm afraid it is," Harry disagreed, "because I won't be here for long."
"Why? Where are you going?"
The teen pointed, and Remus' eyes followed, up towards the sky.
"Absolutely not!" Remus yelled, with the rest of the Order expressing similar reactions. By this point, Hermione's face had turned deathly pale and Ron's eyes were nearly bulging out of their sockets, jumping between Harry and Hermione as if screaming what on Earth to do.
"They're expecting me," Harry stated firmly. "If I'm not flying up there in person, then our spy is going to look like they were fed the wrong information and our closest link to Riddle will be gone."
"You know who the spy is?" Kingsley Shacklebolt spoke for the first time.
"Yes, I do," Harry replied, raising his hand before Kingsley could speak any further. "I can't say who it is so I need you to trust me on this. I know what I'm doing." Remus once again tried to interrupt but Harry ignored him. "After you lot have been taken to the safe-houses, only then will Dobby and Kreacher come back for me. By that time, though, I'll be exactly where I need to be."
"Where?" Mad-Eye's voice asked from the other side of the room, perhaps the only calm voice of the scene. The Auror was closely watching Harry, his face a strange mix of curiosity and scepticism, seemingly more intrigued than offended at Harry's newfound agency.
"There's a military base called RAF Northolt, not 10 miles from here," Harry said, pointing North-East. "With my Firebolt, I can make that journey in less than four minutes. When I get there, I give a signal to Northolt and they pick off any Death Eaters on my tail - which considering I'm their number one target, should be a lot."
Harry always knew his plan would be a hard sell and the astonished faces of his audiences only validated that assumption. Each of them was staring at him as if he had proposed offering himself to Voldemort on a spit and he couldn't blame them for thinking that. But then none of them knew the full truth of the situation. None of them knew just how expendable he truly was.
"You know, I think the rumours were right," one voice piped up, belonging to none other than Mundungus Fletcher. "You really have gone insane."
"Fletcher!" someone hissed back at him, likely Mad-Eye, judging from the way that Mundungus stared back at him.
"He has! Insane or bloody suicidal!"
A couple of people quickly glanced at Harry, then immediately looked away. By this point, few seemed at all composed enough to begin to untangle the tangled web of contingencies laid out in front of them.
"First of all," Kingsley began tersely, "how the hell do you think you're going to get past thirty Death Eaters without being able to cast a spell? Secondly, how will Northolt know you're coming? They're muggles! They won't even know what to fire at!"
"A friend of mine," Harry replied, "Mr Gareth Dalton." There was a great tremor that spread through certain members of the room. Harry raised an eyebrow. Evidently, that name held more weight than he had thought. Good to know. "He was at Dumbledore's funeral. He still has some connections in the RAF. I had him call in with a tip. They'll be ready. Once they see my signal, they'll begin firing in my direction."
Apparently, that perfectly reasoned response did little to douse Kingsley's nerves. He sighed once again, massaging his knotted forehead.
"It's bad enough getting the muggles involved but this only works if you make it to Northolt in one piece. This is exactly why we had decoys in the first place."
"Who said there weren't going to be decoys?"
"Potter, unless you've forgotten, we have no Polyjuice potion!"
"Who needs Polyjuice potion? I have one better. There's a very simple spell that allows me to cast a mirror image of myself for as long as I concentrate."
"You can't cast anything while you still have the trace!" Remus exclaimed.
"That's where you lot come in," Harry shot back. "It won't take long for you all to learn the spell, it only took me a few minutes. The difficult part is maintaining it and I can't do that and focus on not getting killed. That's why I need you lot to stay here. Once I'm up in the air, the copies and I will split up and fly in opposite directions, and hopefully, by the time they realise which one is the real me, I'll be well on my way to Northolt."
A murmur ran through the assembly as the pieces began to fit together. Harry was confident he was slowly winning them over, but their cooperation was still far from secure.
"Okay," Remus murmured, nodding, "so the escape I understand, but the trap only works if they figure out which one is the real you."
"The spy already knows which way I'm heading."
"And you know where their loyalties lie? What if they decide to just shoot you out of the air?
"I'm the youngest seeker in a century on the world's fastest broomstick," Harry allowed himself a momentary smirk. "I'd like to see them try."
It was then when the Weasley twins glanced at each other, shrugging.
"At this point, I'm just curious to see if it will work," George grinned.
Their smiles were banished by a stern glare from Remus, clearly nowhere near convinced. He turned back to Harry, his features schooled in a reprimand that reminded Harry of the night he had been caught red-handed looking for Peter Pettigrew with the Marauders' Map. Despite having not had a class under Remus in over three years, Harry felt like he was back in the classroom, trying to defend himself despite knowing he was in the wrong. But this time he wasn't in the wrong, was he? He was doing what was best for them. He had to hold onto that fact.
"Harry," Remus' voice was coarse, barely held, "we had a plan. It might not have been perfect, but we had one."
"You did," Harry agreed, "and it was going to get you all killed. Now we have a new plan."
"This isn't a plan, this is madness," Remus exclaimed once again. "We're supposed to be helping you, we're supposed to keep you safe-"
"What's safe anymore, Moony?" Harry challenged. "I'm a marked man. They can't risk killing me or they answer to him. Everyone else - each and every one of you - is fair game."
A switch flicked inside Remus' brain and his ire transformed into bewilderment.
"Oh, you think that's how it's going to work?" he said, his words soaked in incredulity. "Just because they can't kill you, that doesn't they can't hurt you. And they will hurt you."
"With what?" Harry scoffed, starting Remus directly in the eye. "I've been starved, beaten, poisoned, possessed, scarred, maimed, had my bones broken, tortured more than once - hell, I've nearly had my soul sucked from my body! You think they can do anything worse than that?!"
He could feel his body shaking despite himself. His vision was blurring at the edges and his voice was cracking at the seams. Damn it, he was supposed to be in control here. He was supposed to be composed. Harry took a deep breath, balling his fists, fighting to remain calm.
Throughout his speech, the colour in Remus' face had slowly drained away. Now, his once teacher was gazing at him, grey like a stone statue, as if seeing Harry properly for the first time. The rest of the room wore similar faces, ranging from shock to guilt to anger. To Harry's shame, Hermione's face was the worst. He had told her a few things, some of them she had lived alongside him, but there was still so little she knew about what he had suffered. Despite the many walls she had knocked down in their time together, she had yet to truly see the depths of how ruined he was. Harry was unsure if he would ever let anyone get down that far. He might not even have the time.
"I can handle pain," he forced himself to articulate. "That's nothing new. I don't care if they break every bone in my body but I am not letting anyone else die for me! And you don't get to decide how many lives I'm worth!"
"You are not going to get yourself killed because you think you have something to prove-" Remus began, ready to launch into a tirade, when Hermione finally decided enough was enough.
"Professor," she uttered so abruptly that it stopped Remus in his tracks. He fell silent, allowing Hermione to take control. She approached Harry carefully, taking both arms in her hands. "Harry, I want you to tell Dobby to take you first."
Harry shook his head, unable to meet her gaze.
"No."
"I'm not joking."
"Neither am I." He took her hands in his. "I've planned all of this, every detail. There's no way it couldn't-"
"You don't have to do this, Harry," she whispered, almost pleading. "Not for me, not for anyone. I don't want you up by yourself. Please, please let us find another way."
The sheer turmoil in her voice made Harry's heart crack.
This amazing person, who was willing to risk her life for him, over and over again. Harry genuinely didn't know what he would do without her, and here the Order was, trying to dress her up and send her into a maelstrom, possibly to die. And she wasn't the only one. Hermione was one of many decoys, one of many people he cared about, who were worth more than he ever would be. People, with lives and futures and families to take care of. What was Harry Potter compared to that?
"Not if I want to keep you safe." He forced himself to pull away from her grasp, for fear he might stay there forever. "Look, you've all done more than enough for me."
"You know, surprisingly, mate, this isn't just about you," Ron spoke from the other side of him, his voice tinged in something that caught Harry entirely off-guard. Harry didn't think he had ever heard Ron be actively disappointed in him, but this might just be his first taste.
This wasn't like the rare jealous remark or livid shouting he had been forced to hear but a few times in their long friendship. And here they were now, with Ron looking at him like he didn't even recognise him anymore. Ron, the one who no matter stupid the plan, no matter what the danger, was always ready to help. Ron, his brother, making him feel like a stranger.
Not for the first time that night, but perhaps most poignantly, Harry felt his confidence stumble. He gave Ron one fleeting glance and moved on.
"Look," Harry continued, "we've got about ten minutes before I have to be at Northolt. You can help me now, or you can let Dobby and Kreacher take you to safety. Either way, in six minutes, I'll be up in the air. You want to start learning the spell now or later?"
Finally returning to the quarrel, Remus spoke up, shaking his head.
"No. We're going up there with you," he insisted, scanning the room for volunteers, "with or without Polyjuice."
"I don't think so," Harry scoffed.
"No arguments!" Remus roared. "We're not going to let you fly up there all by yourself, even with decoys!"
"Oh, aren't you?"
"Yes!"
"How?"
Remus paused.
"I'm sorry?"
Harry shrugged.
"How are you going to follow me?"
"What…" Remus froze for a moment, before tearing off into the hallway. Harry heard the front door open and footsteps on asphalt. By this time, Tonks had twigged as well. Her face, even her hair, had turned ghostly white.
"Oh, no you didn't-" she sputtered as she too hurried outside. "No, you didn't!"
"Didn't what?" Fred asked. "What did he do?"
"What the hell's going on?" Bill echoed from beside Fleur.
"Hagrid!" Arthur Weasley called from the living room window, having moved there to investigate. The giant in question, along with the entire Order, turned in Arthur's direction. "Hagrid, where's your bike?"
"Shoul' be jus' on the pavemen'," Hagrid replied, jostling people out of the way and leaning down to peak through the window. "It was righ' there, I know it!"
"Where's Dobby?" Hermione pointed out, swivelling around madly. "Where's Kreacher? They were just—"
Her eyes sought Harry and found him standing casually in the middle of the room, tipping back and forth on the balls of his feet. His gaze met hers and he quickly looked elsewhere.
Not a moment later, Remus returned to the living room, marching up to Harry with a face of pure fury.
"Tell them to bring them back," he growled.
"No."
"Harry-!" His bellow cut itself off as Remus reigned himself in, his fists clenched so hard that Harry was worried his knuckles would breach the skin. "For the love of God, Harry, please just think!"
"I have, Moony, more than I ever have in my life. I know I can do this."
"If they cotton on to the real you, you won't be able to defend yourself, you'll be a sitting duck- You'll get yourself killed!"
"Not without a wand, I can't, but luckily I happen to have a bunch of new toys," Harry grinned, jostling the bag on his back, "all thanks to those two."
He pointed to the pair of redheads standing to the side of the room, who suddenly looked unusually uncomfortable being the centre of attention.
"You two…" their father seethed.
"You were helping him plan all this?" Tonks accused.
"What? No, not this!" George quickly replied, his hands raised high.
"We thought he just bored," Fred added, copying his brother. "You know what his family's like!"
"They didn't know," Harry shrugged. "Sorry, lads."
"This is not a game, Harry!" Remus insisted. "This is not Hogwarts! This is life and death and you'll only get one chance at this!"
"Sounds like every other year at Hogwarts to me," Harry replied. He glanced around at the rest of the company. "So, who's helping me?"
After an arduous few moments of silence, Mad-Eye Moody gave a single grunt and hobbled towards him.
"If you wanna get yourself killed, fine by me."
The room turned on the aged Auror, but if there was anyone to be unaffected but the attention, it would be Mad-Eye Moody. He limped over on his staff dwarfing Harry even with his hunched frame.
"You- You can't be serious." Tonks sputtered
"Far as I see it the brat's got us well and truly hogtied," Moody growled, fixing Harry with a petrifying stare, "so if he's confident about his little plan then I say we humour him. And whatever happens, he can be the one to deal with it."
Harry blinked. He really thought that it would be Moody he'd have the most trouble convincing to play along, but apparently, the old Auror was still full of surprises. Though, he didn't exactly look all on board. No, the look on Moody's face at the moment was begrudging acceptance. He seemed angrier at himself than at Harry.
"Careful, Mad-Eye," Harry grinned, "that was almost a compliment."
"Cut the crap, Potter, and teach me this blasted spell." Harry knew it was wrong to prod the man in that way that he had, but he could hardly resist. He had just got one up on Mad-Eye Moody. Amount of people on the planet who could say that was probably in the single digits!
"Anyone else?" Harry offered. "Really, now's the time."
One by one, the more experienced members of the Order gathered around him, as the rest were escorted to another room by the newly reappeared Dobby and Kreacher. Eventually, the only person left standing on their own was Hermione, still staring in Harry's direction with a conflicted expression on her face. Before long however her mind was made up and she marched over to the small group surrounding him, her wand ready.
"Alright," Harry smiled. "The spell goes like-"
"I know how it goes," Hermione responded with none of her usual warmth.
Harry sobered in an instant. Right, of course, she knew it. Why wouldn't she?
Though, as Harry surveyed the people waiting patiently for his instruction, he noticed that her attitude far from an outlier. Perhaps, Harry pondered, he really had pushed things too far this time.
In stark contrast to the subdued anxiety at the beginning of the evening, there now sat a thinly-veiled discontent amongst the group. No one seemed happy to be following his instruction, and Harry was sure if there were any other way out, they would have eagerly taken it. They were just as trapped by his will as by the Ministry, or rather the Death Eaters than ruled it behind the curtain.
Welcome to my life, Harry thought to himself.
"Right, everyone gather around, we don't have much time."
Amidst the shroud of night, a few dozen shadowy figures waited, circling the skies above Privet Drive like sharks in water. Each of them had their eyes peeled keenly on the house, waiting for any sign of movement.
Any second now, Harry Potter's escape party would make their departure. Though they were safe for now, behind wards that no spell nor body could surpass, the moment they breached the protections, they were fair game. All except for Potter himself.
The boy was for the Dark Lord only. The rest were disposable. And disposed of, they shall be. As far as every person in that house knew, they were running in an empty night. That couldn't be further from the truth. Severus Snape had not seen a force like this since Voldemort's fall. He had wondered if the Dark Lord's army would ever reach the heights of that which almost conquered Britain but seventeen years ago. Now, however, he expected the dark contingent to excel those bygone numbers.
The war was tipping ever out the Order's favour. He could only hope that Dumbledore's threads would pull together in the end. That is if Potter weren't trying his very best to muck it all up. What the hell was that boy doing? Did he really think he knew better than someone like Albus Dumbledore? Just because he tutored under the man for a time. There was no place for arrogance in war and Potter's was likely going to get him killed.
"We've got movement!" He heard MacNair shout from his side. And indeed there was.
A group of dark shape were emerging from Privet Drive. Five- no, seven- no, ten blurs shooting out of the veranda like bullets from a gun. They shot up through the air, arcing up into the moonlight on broomsticks, identical in size and shape. The decoys, Snape recognised. However, the rest of the Order was curiously missing. Each Potter was supposed to be accompanied by an escort in several means of transportation to confuse the enemy. These flyers all looked to be travelling alone. And there was only ten of them, rather than the thirteen that Snape knew had entered the house.
The moment their brooms passed the bounds of the house's protection, the Death Eaters attacked. The air devolved into a storm of spells hurling past each other, trying to hit their target.
Only, no matter how many spells they shot, not one ever met their mark. Even with ten individual targets, their curses hit anything but. The decoys were too fast, their speed and handling with a broomstick unrivalled.
Severus dared flying as close as he could to one of the decoys, trying to get a closer look, but every time he got close, they spooked away. In the madness of the firefight, tracking the decoys' path was merely impossible. Sometimes they flew straight into the line of fire, only to swerve. Some darted across the sky like they couldn't even see the chaos around them.
He needed to take a step back and get a different perspective on the scene. Severus pushed away from the chaos, flying a ways back in a tactical retreat before an errant curse blew his head from his shoulders. Leaning back on his broom, he got a good look at the commotion and immediately noticed what was wrong.
Somehow, all of the Potters were moving in perfect unison. Whenever one potter swerved, the other would copy exactly. Whenever one dipped, the others dipped, regardless of their own danger. It was as if they were mirror images of each other. They even looked identical, all flying the same broom, carrying the same bag, wearing the same clothes. Even their body language was indistinguishable. They were all Harry Potter. None of them was Harry Potter? All but one of them?
"They all look the same!" Someone bellowed in the melee. "Who do we kill?"
Before Severus could decipher which Potter was the original, the clones performed one last twirl high above the swarm, before each tore off towards the horizon in separate directions.
"Which one do we follow?"
"All of them!" Severus shouted back. "Don't let them get away!"
It was as the dark contingent split itself into groups, each picking a target to chase when Severus finally remembered the message that Mundungus drunkenly regurgitated to him in the Leaky Cauldron.
Give chase North-East.
His head swivelled, searching for the moon, only to for him to give up and discreetly conjure a compass. He aligned himself, just as Potter's distant silhouette crested the horizon, dodging oncoming spell-fire. The spy gripped the hilt of his broomstick and sped off into the night.
AN: The escape from Privet Drive was going to be one long chapter but since it ballooned in scope, I decided to cut it in half so you guys wouldn't have to wait any longer for new material. Expect the next one pretty soon, I'd be surprised it take more than a couple of weeks. Until then, consider part 1 of the escape, with part 2 covering the chase and the aftermath. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, it helps keep me motivated to write this despite being buried under a lot of uni work. I'm working on a project I'm very proud of, writing and drawing my own 45-page comic book issue. This fic is far from dead, in fact, I have the entire story charted out, all the way to the final chapter. I hope this update keeps to the quality you expect of me and I hope you look forward to the next one.
