Note: The second part of today's double bill. You lucky folks!

Chapter Five

Trunks and Trust

Harry watched as the Dursleys' car vanished out of sight at the end of Privet Drive. None of them looked back. He had not expected them to. It was strange; he felt as if he ought to be feeling something at this momentous occasion – after all, his family had been the bane of his existence for as long as he could remember, and he was in all probability never going to see them again. But despite this heady realisation, there was nothing: no happiness, no relief, nothing.

"Are you ready, Harry?" asked Professor McGonagall gently. "It would not do to linger now that the protection has been broken."

Harry started at her words; not only had he been so wrapped up in analysing his own thoughts that he had almost forgotten that she was there, he was certain that this was the first time that the stern headmistress had called him by his first name alone.

"Yes, I, erm, almost…" Harry paused as Professor McGonagall closed the door to number four after looking around the neighbourhood furtively. Harry privately liked to think that in a curtain-twitching street like Privet Drive, any lurking Death Eaters would be spotted fairly quickly, but the maxim of 'one can never be too careful' was a telling one, especially in the middle of a war.

"Professor, why have the plans changed?" he finally finished.

"We like to keep Voldemort on his toes," said Professor McGonagall drily. "We thought that if we changed dates at the last moment; informing only the most necessary people of the change, then there was less chance of Voldemort finding out and launching a full-scale… something or other." She sighed uneasily, and Harry could tell that she was uncomfortable trying to use the terminology of war and fighting. "I'm afraid that a little resistance is likely to be unavoidable; there can be no doubt that you have been under observation for some time now."

Harry nodded his understanding, but there was something in the professor's face that made him think that perhaps there was something else to the story; that she had not told him the full truth. He shrugged inwardly as she gave him a look that, whilst sad, was also expectant. Harry realised that they were still standing in the darkened hallway and he began to make his way up the stairs towards his room, where he had been in the middle of working out what he would and wouldn't require on his journey in search of horcruxes. Professor McGonagall followed, and they stood in awkward silence in the doorway for a while. Harry was horribly aware that his room was in a slight state – well, 'slight' was putting it mildly – and to add insult to injury, there was a pair of underpants hanging off his bedside lamp where he had thrown them earlier in a fit of frustration.

"I think I'll go and keep a lookout downstairs," said the headmistress quickly, and she hurried away. Harry cringed and swept the offending undergarments into his rucksack. He tossed in a couple of things at random, conscious of time slipping away and not really caring what he packed. Just as he was putting the photo album in, there was a soft hooting at his window, announcing Hedwig's return. She flew in, perching on the bed-head. Harry paused, wondering what to do with her. Taking her with him would seem to be an impossibility, but at the same time he could not simply abandon her. Maybe she could go to Hogwarts and live in the owlery there. At least she'd be cared for. Harry sighed, he didn't want to give her up. Hedwig had been one of his first friends in the wizarding world; his first impression that the magical universe into which he had been so abruptly inducted was something real and tangible, rather than something that his mind had created of its own accord having gone half-mad in boredom and desperation.

"Do you need help?" Professor McGonagall had reappeared in the doorway. "I hadn't heard anything for a disproportionately long time and I feared that you had perhaps fallen into your trunk and been swallowed by its contents."

Harry looked at the half-open trunk and then glanced at the clock on the bedside table. He was alarmed to learn that he had been pondering Hedwig's predicament for a good ten minutes. Finally he ushered her into her cage. He would cross that bridge later; now was not the time to make such an important decision, not when time was running out and he was not in the most clear of mindsets. She hooted angrily at being ruffled about as he fastened the door securely, but her protestations fell on deaf ears. Harry picked up the rucksack and turned to face his teacher.

"Ready," he said. Professor McGonagall looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow.

"Were you not planning on taking any courses at Hogwarts next year, Mr Potter?" she asked. "Or perhaps Miss Granger performed a charm on your bag allowing you to transport all your books and school equipment therein?"

Harry looked sheepish, realising that whilst the Order had known, in a roundabout way, of his plans not to return to Hogwarts for his final year, he had not actually got round to informing the head-teacher.

"I, erm…"

"Don't worry, I believe I can put two and two together. Professor Dumbledore did leave me fairly well informed of what you and he had been pursuing during the last year. You were not, in fact, anticipating returning to school at all, were you?"

Harry shook his head.

"You were going to go off on a search for dangerous items of powerful dark magic, no doubt nobly aided and abetted by Miss Granger and Mr Weasley, weren't you?"

Harry nodded, unable to form any sort of words under the professor's stern gaze, and he wished that she didn't possess the uncanny ability to make him feel eleven years old whenever she looked at him disapprovingly. She raised her eyes heavenwards and sighed.

"Potter… Harry… I know how important this is. I admire your courage and the Gryffindor within me would like nothing more than to encourage you on your quest every step of the way. But as an old and experienced adult and the person who is, for the moment, in charge of your well-being, I have to act as killjoy."

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Professor McGonagall held up a hand.

"Now is not the time to argue the issue. We'll discuss it later, once we have safely left this precarious state of limbo. For now though, will you humour me and at least make it look as if you intend on returning to school?"

There was more than pedagogical authority in her words as she spoke; there was also a note of pleading. If Harry went against her wishes now then it would be out of sheer bloody-mindedness alone, rather than any logical reason. They could make an informed decision at a later date; Harry accepted that when he had first made the choice not to return to Hogwarts, and he told his friends of this choice, he had not been in the most lucid frame of mind himself, the events at the top of the tower and funeral having coloured his perception of the world. He had since had time to calm down, to plan and think about the consequences of his actions properly, but he had not exactly used this time productively.

However reluctantly, Harry pulled the trunk into the centre of the room and emptied the rucksack into it, adding his robes on top. Professor McGonagall cast a practised eye over the pile of books in one corner of the room and easily discarded those that wouldn't be necessary, cheerfully tossing them onto the bed with a disregard for order that was wholly unlike her. For a brief moment Harry was convinced that the person in front of him was not actually Professor McGonagall but an imposter, and he was only reassured when he remembered the hysteria that had no doubt accompanied her transformation from feline to human. Harry was fairly certain that a Death Eater under the influence of a glamour or Polyjuice potion would not take on their victim's animagical abilities upon disguise.

"There," she said, placing the books she had kept into the trunk and closing it. "I think we're ready." She looked down at the heavy luggage and pressed her lips together. "I would offer to levitate it for you but my words to Mr Dursley earlier ring true. Whilst my magic would not necessarily alert the Ministry, it may well alert attention from less desirable directions. The quieter our getaway, the better."

Harry shrugged and began to drag the trunk out of the room, Professor McGonagall following with Hedwig, who had since given up chuntering for her freedom and was surveying Harry and the teacher haughtily. A thought crossed his mind and halfway down the stairs, he eventually ventured to give voice to it.

"Professor… If we aren't going to use magic then how are we going to get away in the first place?"

Professor McGonagall smiled minutely to herself.

"Hestia's car is still outside." From her amused expression, there was obviously something more to be said, but the firm set of her mouth revealed that she was not going to share it with him in a hurry. As they reached the front door, the small convoy stopped, and the professor's face changed on a dime. No longer smiling, her eyes were worried, and if Harry didn't know better, he would have said she was scared.

"Harry," she said quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Do you trust me?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. What reason did he have not to trust his teacher? He nodded, but she did not remove her hand, nor did she break her gaze. After a moment she continued to speak.

"From the moment you step outside this door, you are vulnerable. We will try our utmost to protect you, we have measures in place, but there is always the possibility that something will happen. As the one who has orchestrated this sudden divergence from the original plan" – here Harry fought the temptation to ask precisely what the original plan had actually been – "I am responsible should anything happen. So I ask you again, Harry, do you trust me?"

Harry thought of the dead weight of her words, of the heavy responsibility that a witch ostensibly not all that young in years had taken on in the wake of Dumbledore's death, and he knew that he too would be having misgivings in her position. He nodded once more.

"Yes," he said. "I trust you Professor. Honestly."

Professor McGonagall nodded, seeming to be satisfied, but not for the first time Harry got the feeling that there was something she was not telling him.

"Now I have to ask if I can trust you," she said. "If, Merlin forbid it, something does happen, you need to get away. Don't worry about me, or anyone else. Just get out."

The tone was non-negotiable and Harry nodded, a little reluctantly. He could not leave people to die because of him, it went against the very nature of his being, and too many had met their fate because of his actions, his words, his mere existence already. But Harry knew Professor McGonagall, and he knew that if she said to leave her behind, then she meant it. Harry only hoped that he would not have to do so.

"Right," she said briskly, opening the front door and staring out at the wholly unexciting black car parked outside. "Then there's no time like the present."

Somewhat nervously, Harry pulled his trunk out into the driveway and towards the car. When nothing untoward befell them during these first few tentative steps of their journey, Harry picked up speed slightly. He was not sure what he was anticipating; perhaps he thought that Voldemort was going to drop out of the sky and land on him, but despite this generally uncharacteristic nervousness, he did not feel embarrassed showing it in the presence of his Head of House. Professor McGonagall was not exactly the picture of ease herself, and it had possibly been her, or maybe it was someone else, who had told him that fear helped one to stay alive. Harry could not think of an occasion upon which she would have said it to him, but when he heard the words in his head, they were spoken undeniably in her voice. Harry shook himself. Dwelling on this tension was not going to get him anywhere, and he forced his thoughts elsewhere. Professor McGonagall was flipping through the keyring that Hestia had given her earlier, and Harry had the overwhelming urge to ask his next question.

"Erm, Professor, can you drive a muggle car?"

A smile ghosted over the witch's features as she located the correct key and unlocked the doors and boot.

"Oh, believe me Potter, this is not a muggle car."

This declaration did not do anything for Harry's uneasiness. His previous experiences with the Weasleys' Ford Anglia had been enough to put him off travelling in any magically enhanced vehicle for the foreseeable future. He hefted his trunk into the boot very carefully, aware that the car might have some degree of sentience and might not thank him for unceremoniously lumping a heavy item of luggage into its rear end. As he got into the passenger door, he looked around the vehicle closely, but he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.

"Arthur and Professor Burbage have done a magnificent job," said Professor McGonagall, fastening her seatbelt, and Harry did likewise. One could never be too careful when magic was concerned. "For a backup plan it turned out to be rather handy. Now…"

Her brow furrowed in concentration, the teacher slipped the key into the ignition and started the engine before setting off down Privet Drive at a snail's pace. Harry kept wondering when the car would show its magical potential; as of yet there was nothing to suggest that there was anything less-than-muggle about the vehicle at all. Maybe that was the beauty of the whole thing – it was an ordinary muggle car, and the time it had spent with Mr Weasley and the Muggle Studies professor had just been a decoy. Harry wondered exactly how that would be an effective escape method whilst keeping his eyes open for any signs of untoward activity. Every so often he would glance across at Professor McGonagall; although she had since picked up a little speed she was still driving like a short-sighted pensioner who had mislaid her spectacles. After about five minutes, her expression changed from one of intense concentration to one of anger.

"Oh dear," said the professor through gritted teeth, and Harry could tell that she was resisting the urge to use slightly stronger language. He was privately glad that she did so; the shock of hearing the respectable headmistress swearing might have been worse than anything the Death Eaters could throw at him. He looked in the rear-view mirror and saw points of light flashing in the sky above them, lights that were definitely not attributable to an aeroplane.

"Kingsley, Remus and Tonks followed Hestia here, and they were following us," she continued, "but they have just been engaged. Well, we're nearly at the motorway, I'll be able to get my foot down then."

Harry risked a glance at the speedo, but before he could register their velocity or indeed lack thereof, there was an almighty thump and the car rocked from side to side.

"It appears there were more of Voldemort's followers on your watch than we had originally calculated for," muttered Professor McGonagall, and out of the window Harry could make out two dark shapes travelling along beside them. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he could see a dangerous glint come into the professor's own eyes.

"Potter, I believe it is time for… what do the muggles call it? Ah yes. Evasive manoeuvres."

Note2: *Rubs hands together in glee.*