Dudley Demented

The hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square houses of Privet Drive. Cars that were usually gleaming stood dusty in their drives and lawns that were once emerald green lay parched and yellowing for the use of hosepipes had been banned due to drought. Deprived of their usual carwashing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the inhabitants of Privet Drive had retreated into the shade of their cool houses, windows thrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistent breeze. The only person left outdoors was a teenage boy who was lying flat on his back in a flowerbed outside number four.

He was a skinny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who had the pinched, slightly unhealthy look of someone who has grown a lot in a short space of time. His jeans were torn and dirty, his T-shirt baggy and faded, and the soles of his trainers were peeling away from the uppers. Harry Potter's appearance did not endear him to the neighbours, who were the sort of people who thought scruffi-ness ought to be punishable by law, but as he had hidden himself behind a large hydrangea bush this evening he was quite invisible to passers-by. In fact, the only way he would be spotted was if his Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia stuck their heads out of the living-room window and looked straight down into the flowerbed below.

On the whole, Harry thought he was to be congratulated on his idea of hiding here. He was not, perhaps, very comfortable lying on the hot, hard earth but, on the other hand, nobody was glaring at him, grinding their teeth so loudly that he could not hear the news, or shooting nasty questions at him, as had happened every time he had tried sitting down in the living room to watch television with his aunt and uncle.

Almost as though this thought had fluttered through the open window, Vernon Dursley, Harry's uncle, suddenly spoke. 'Glad to see the boy's stopped trying to butt in. Where is he, anyway?' 'I don't know,' said Aunt Petunia, unconcerned. 'Not in the house.' Uncle Vernon grunted.

'Watching the news …' he said scathingly. 'I'd like to know what he's really up to. As if a normal boy cares what's on the news -Dudley hasn't got a clue what's going on; doubt he knows who the Prime Minister is! Anyway, it's not as if there'd be anything about his lot on our news — '

'Vernon, shh!' said Aunt Petunia. The window's open!'

'Oh - yes - sorry, dear.' The Dursleys fell silent. Harry listened to a jingle about Fruit 'n' Bran breakfast cereal while he watched Mrs Figg, a batty cat-loving old lady from nearby Wisteria Walk, amble slowly past. She was frowning and muttering to herself. Harry was very pleased he was concealed behind the bush, as Mrs Figg had recently taken to asking him round for tea whenever she met him in the street. She had rounded the corner and vanished from view before Uncle Vernon's voice floated out of the window again.

'Dudders out for tea?' 'At the Polkisses',' said Aunt Petunia fondly. 'He's got so many little friends, he's so popular

Harry suppressed a snort with difficulty. The Dursleys really were astonishingly stupid about their son, Dudley. They had swallowed all his dim-witted lies about having tea with a different member of his gang every night of the summer holidays. Harry knew perfectly well that Dudley had not been to tea anywhere; he and his gang spent every evening vandalising the play park, smoking on street corners and throwing stones at passing cars and children. Harry had seen them at it during his evening walks around Little Whinging; he had spent most of the holidays wandering the streets, scavenging newspapers from bins along the way.

The opening notes of the music that heralded the seven o'clock news reached Harry's ears and his stomach turned over. Perhaps tonight - after a month of waiting - would be the night.

'Record numbers of stranded holiday makers fill airports as the Spanish baggagehandlers' strike reaches its second week

'Give 'em a lifelong siesta, I would,' snarled Uncle Vernon over the end of the newsreader's sentence, but no matter: outside in the flowerbed, Harrys stomach seemed to unclench. If anything had happened, it would surely have been the first item on the news; death and destruction were more important than stranded holidaymakers.

He let out a long, slow breath and stared up at the brilliant blue sky. Every day this summer had been the same: the tension, the expectation, the temporary relief, and then mounting tension again… and always, growing more insistent all the time, the question of why nothing had happened yet.

He kept listening, just in case there was some small clue, not recognised for what it really was by the Muggles - an unexplained disappearance, perhaps, or some strange accident… but the baggage-handlers' strike was followed by news about the drought in the Southeast ('I hope he's listening next door!' bellowed Uncle Vernon. 'Him with his sprinklers on at three in the morning!'), then a helicopter that had almost crashed in a field in Surrey, then a famous actress's divorce from her famous husband ('As if we're interested in their sordid affairs,' sniffed Aunt Petunia, who had followed the case obsessively in every magazine she could lay her bony hands on).
Harry closed his eyes against the now blazing evening sky as the newsreader said, ' and finally, Bungy the budgie has found a novel way of keeping cool this summer. Bungy, who lives at the Five Feathers in Barnsley, has learned to water ski! Mary Dorkins went to find out more.'

Harry opened his eyes. If they had reached water-skiing budgerigars, there would be nothing else worth hearing. He rolled cautiously on to his front and raised himself on to his knees and elbows, preparing to crawl out from under the window.

He had moved about two inches when several things happened in very quick succession.

A loud, echoing crack broke the sleepy silence like a gunshot; a cat streaked out from under a parked car and flew out of sight; a shriek, a bellowed oath and the sound of breaking china came from the Dursleys' living room, and as though this was the signal Harry had been waiting for he jumped to his feet, at the same time pulling from the waistband of his jeans a thin wooden wand as if he were unsheathing a sword - but before he could draw himself up to full height, the top of his head collided with the Dursleys' open window. The resultant crash made Aunt Petunia scream even louder.

Harry felt as though his head had been split in two. Eyes streaming, he swayed, trying to focus on the street to spot the source of the noise, but he had barely staggered upright when two large purple hands reached through the open window and closed tightly around his throat.

'Put - it - away!' Uncle Vernon snarled into Harry's ear. 'Now.' Before - anyone - sees!'

'Get - off - me!' Harry gasped. For a few seconds they struggled, Harry pulling at his uncles sausage-like fingers with his left hand, his right maintaining a firm grip on his raised wand; then, as the pain in the top of Harry's head gave a particularly nasty throb, Uncle Vernon yelped and released Harry as though he had received an electric shock. Some invisible force seemed to have surged through his nephew, making him impossible to hold.

Panting, Harry fell forwards over the hydrangea bush, straightened up and stared around. There was no sign of what had caused the loud cracking noise, but there were several faces peering through various nearby windows. Harry stuffed his wand hastily back into his jeans and tried to look innocent.

'Lovely evening!' shouted Uncle Vernon, waving at Mrs Number Seven opposite, who was glaring from behind her net curtains. 'Did you hear that car backfire just now? Gave Petunia and me quite a turn!'

He continued to grin in a horrible, manic way until all the curious neighbours had disappeared from their various windows, then the grin became a grimace of rage as he beckoned Harry back towards him.
Harry moved a few steps closer, taking care to stop just short of the point at which Uncle Vernon's outstretched hands could resume their strangling.

'What the devil do you mean by it, boy?' asked Uncle Vernon in a croaky voice that trembled with fury. 'What do I mean by what?' said Harry coldly. He kept looking left and right up the street, still hoping to see the person who had made the cracking noise. 'Making a racket like a starting pistol right outside our - 'I didn't make that noise,' said Harry firmly. Aunt Petunia's thin, horsy face now appeared beside Uncle Vernon's wide, purple one. She looked livid. 'Why were you lurking under our window?' 'Yes - yes, good point, Petunia! What were you doing under our window, boy?' 'Listening to the news,' said Harry in a resigned voice. His aunt and uncle exchanged looks of outrage. 'Listening to the news! Again?' 'Well, it changes every day, you see,' said Harry.

'Don't you be clever with me, boy! I want to know what you're really up to - and don't give me any more of this listening to the news tosh! You know perfectly well that your lot

'Careful, Vernon!' breathed Aunt Petunia, and Uncle Vernon lowered his voice so that Harry could barely hear him,'- that your lot don't get on our news!' 'That's all you know,' said Harry.

The Dursleys goggled at him for a few seconds, then Aunt Petunia said, 'You're a nasty little liar. What are all those -' she, too, lowered her voice so that Harry had to lip-read the next word, - owls doing if they're not bringing you news?'

'Aha!' said Uncle Vernon in a triumphant whisper. 'Get out of that one, boy! As if we didn't know you get all your news from those pestilential birds!' Harry hesitated for a moment. It cost him something to tell the truth this time, even though his aunt and uncle could not possibly know how bad he felt at admitting it. 'The owls… aren't bringing me news,' he said tonelessly. 'I don't believe it,' said Aunt Petunia at once. 'No more do I,' said Uncle Vernon forcefully. 'We know you're up to something funny,' said Aunt Petunia. 'We're not stupid, you know,' said Uncle Vernon.

'Well, that's news to me,' said Harry, his temper rising, and before the Dursleys could call him back, he had wheeled about, crossed the front lawn, stepped over the low garden wall and was striding off up the street.

He was in trouble now and he knew it. He would have to face his aunt and uncle later and pay the price for his rudeness, but he did not care very much just at the moment; he had much more pressing matters on his mind.

Harry was sure the cracking noise had been made by someone Apparating or Disapparating. It was exactly the sound Dobby the house-elf made when he vanished into thin air. Was it possible that Dobby was here in Privet Drive? Could Dobby be following him right at this very moment? As this thought occurred he wheeled around and stared back down Privet Drive, but it appeared to be completely deserted and Harry was sure that Dobby did not know how to become invisible.

He walked on, hardly aware of the route he was taking, for he had pounded these streets so often lately that his feet carried him to his favourite haunts automatically. Every few steps he glanced back over his shoulder. Someone magical had been near him as he lay among Aunt Petunia's dying begonias, he was sure of it. Why hadn't they spoken to him, why hadn't they made contact, why were they hiding now?

And then, as his feeling of frustration peaked, his certainty leaked away.

Perhaps it hadn't been a magical sound after all. Perhaps he was so desperate for the tiniest sign of contact from the world to which he belonged that he was simply overreacting to perfectly ordinary noises. Could he be sure it hadn't been the sound of something breaking inside a neighbour's house?

Harry felt a dull, sinking sensation in his stomach and before he knew it the feeling of hopelessness that had plagued him all summer rolled over him once again.

Tomorrow morning he would be woken by the alarm at five o'clock so he could pay the owl that delivered the Daily Prophet but was there any point continuing to take it? Harry merely glanced at the front page before throwing it aside these days; when the idiots who ran the paper finally realised that Voldemort was back it would be headline news, and that was the only kind Harry cared about.
If he was lucky, there would also be owls carrying letters from his best friends Ron and Hermione, though any expectation he'd had that their letters would bring him news had long since been dashed.

We can't say much about you-know-what, obviously… We've been told not to say anything important in case our letters go astray… We're quite busy but I can't give you details here… There's a fair amount going on, we'll tell you everything when we see you…

But when were they going to see him? Nobody seemed too bothered with a precise date. Hermione had scribbled I expect we'll be seeing you quite soon inside his birthday card, but how soon was soon? As far as Harry could tell from the vague hints in their letters, Hermione and Ron were in the same place, presumably at Ron's parents' house. He could hardly bear to think of the pair of them having fun at The Burrow when he was stuck in Privet Drive. In fact, he was so angry with them he had thrown away, unopened, the two boxes of Honeydukes chocolates they'd sent him for his birthday. He'd regretted it later, after the wilted salad Aunt Petunia had provided for dinner that night.

And what were Ron and Hermione busy with? Why wasn't he, Harry, busy? Hadn't he proved himself capable of handling much more than them? Had they all forgotten what he had done? Hadn't it been he who had entered that graveyard and watched Cedric being murdered, and been tied to that tombstone and nearly killed?

Don't think about that , Harry told himself sternly for the hundredth lime that summer. It was bad enough that he kept revisiting the graveyard in his nightmares, without dwelling on it in his waking moments too.

He turned a corner into Magnolia Crescent; halfway along he passed the narrow alleyway down the side of a garage where he had first clapped eyes on his godfather. Sirius, at least, seemed to understand how Harry was feeling. Admittedly, his letters were just as empty of proper news as Ron and Hermione's, but at least they contained words of caution and consolation instead of tantalising hints:

I know this must be frustrating for you… Keep your nose clean and everything will be OK… Be careful and don't do anything rash…

Well, thought Harry, as he crossed Magnolia Crescent, turned into Magnolia Road and headed towards the darkening play park, he had (by and .large) done as Sirius advised. He had at least resisted the temptation to tie his trunk to his broomstick and set off for The Burrow by himself. In fact, Harry thought his behaviour had been very good considering how frustrated and angry he felt at being stuck in Privet Drive so long, reduced to hiding in flowerbeds in the hope of hearing something that might point to what Lord Voldemort was doing. Nevertheless, it was quite galling to be told not to be rash by a man who had served twelve years in the wizard prison, Azkaban, escaped, attempted to commit the murder he had been convicted for in the first place, then gone on the run with a stolen Hippogriff.
Harry vaulted over the locked park gate and set off across the parched grass. The park was as empty as the surrounding streets. When he reached the swings he sank on to the only one that Dudley and his friends had not yet managed to break, coiled one arm around the chain and stared moodily at the ground. He would not be able to hide in the Dursleys' flowerbed again. Tomorrow, he would have to think of some fresh way of listening to the news. In the meantime, he had nothing to look forward to but another restless, disturbed night, because even when he escaped the nightmares about Cedric he had unsettling dreams about long dark corridors, all finishing in dead ends and locked doors, which he supposed had something to do with the trapped feeling he had when he was awake. Often the old scar on his forehead prickled uncomfortably, but he did not fool himself that Ron or Hermione or Sirius would find that very interesting any more. In the past, his scar hurting had warned that Voldemort was getting stronger again, but now that Voldemort was back they would probably remind him that its regular irritation was only to be expected… nothing to worry about… old news…

The injustice of it all welled up inside him so that he wanted to yell with fury. If it hadn't been for him, nobody would even have known Voldemort was back! And his reward was to be stuck in Little Whinging for four solid weeks, completely cut off from the magical world, reduced to squatting among dying begonias so that he could hear about waterskiing budgerigars! How could Dumbledore have forgotten him so easily? Why had Ron and Hermione got together without inviting him along, too? How much longer was he supposed to endure Sirius telling him to sit tight and be a good boy; or resist the temptation to write to the stupid Daily Prophet and point out that Voldemort had returned? These furious thoughts whirled around in Harry's head, and his insides writhed with anger as a sultry, velvety night fell around him, the air full of the smell of warm, dry grass, and the only sound that of the low grumble of traffic on the road beyond the park railings.

He did not know how long he had sat on the swing before the sound of voices interrupted his musings and he looked up. The streetlamps from the surrounding roads were casting a misty glow strong enough to silhouette a group of people making their way across the park. One of them was singing a loud, crude song. The others were laughing. A soft ticking noise came from several expensive racing bikes that they were wheeling along.

Harry knew who those people were. The figure in front was unmistakeably his cousin, Dudley Dursley, wending his way home, accompanied by his faithful gang.

Dudley was as vast as ever, but a year's hard dieting and the discovery of a new talent had wrought quite a change in his physique. As Uncle Vernon delightedly told anyone who would listen, Dudley had recently become the Junior Heavyweight Inter-School Boxing Champion of the Southeast. The noble sport', as Uncle Vernon called it, had made Dudley even more formidable than he had seemed to Harry in their primary school days when he had served as Dudley's first punchball. Harry was not remotely afraid of his cousin any more but he still didn't think that Dudley learning to punch harder and more accurately was cause for celebration. Neighbourhood children all around were terrified of him - even more terrified than they were of 'that Potter boy' who, they had been warned, was a hardened hooligan and attended St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.

Harry watched the dark figures crossing the grass and wondered who they had been beating up tonight. Look round, Harry found himself thinking as he watched them. Come on… look round… I'm sitting here all alone… come and have a go…

If Dudley's friends saw him sitting here, they would be sure to make a beeline for him, and what would Dudley do then? He wouldn't want to lose face in front of the gang, but he'd be terrified of provoking Harry… it would be really fun to watch Dudley's dilemma, to taunt him, watch him, with him powerless to respond… and if any of the others tried hitting Harry, he was ready - he had his wand. Let them try… he'd love to vent some of his frustration on the boys who had once made his life hell.

But they didn't turn around, they didn't see him, they were almost at the railings. Harry mastered the impulse to call after them… seeking a fight was not a smart move… he must not use magic… he would be risking expulsion again.

The voices of Dudley's gang died away; they were out of sight, heading along Magnolia Road. There you go, Sirius, Harry thought dully. Nothing rash. Kept my nose clean. Exactly the opposite of what you'd have done.

He got to his feet and stretched. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon seemed to feel that whenever Dudley turned up was the right time to be home, and any time after that was much too late. Uncle Vernon had threatened to lock Harry in the shed if he came home after Dudley ever again, so, stifling a yawn, and still scowling, Harry set off towards the park gate.

Magnolia Road, like Privet Drive, was full of large, square houses with perfectly manicured lawns, all owned by large, square owners who drove very clean cars similar to Uncle Vernon's. Harry preferred Little Whinging by night, when the curtained windows made patches of jewel-bright colour in the darkness and he ran no danger of hearing disapproving mutters about his 'delinquent' appearance when he passed the householders. He walked quickly, so that halfway along Magnolia Road Dudley's gang came into view again; they were saying their farewells at the entrance to Magnolia Crescent. Harry stepped into the shadow of a large lilac tree and waited.

'… squealed like a pig, didn't he?' Malcolm was saying, to guffaws from the others. 'Nice right hook, Big D,' said Piers. 'Same time tomorrow?' said Dudley. 'Round at my place, my parents will be out,' said Gordon. 'See you then,' said Dudley. 'Bye, Dud!' 'See ya, Big D!'

Harry waited for the rest of the gang to move on before setting off again. When their voices had faded once more he headed around the corner into Magnolia Crescent and by walking very quickly he soon came within hailing distance of Dudley, who was strolling along at his ease, humming tunelessly.

'Hey, Big D!' Dudley turned. 'Oh,' he grunted. 'It's you.' 'How long have you been "Big D" then?' said Harry. 'Shut it,' snarled Dudley, turning away. 'Cool name,' said Harry, grinning and falling into step beside his cousin. 'But you'll always be "Ickle Diddykins" to me.' 'I said, SHUT IT!' said Dudley, whose ham-like hands had curled into fists. 'Don't the boys know that's what your mum calls you?' 'Shut your face.' 'You don't tell her to shut her face. What about "Popkin" and "Dinky Diddydums", can I use them then?' Dudley said nothing. The effort of keeping himself from hitting Harry seemed to demand all his self-control. 'So who've you been beating up tonight?' Harry asked, his grin fading. 'Another ten-yearold? I know you did Mark Evans two nights ago - 'He was asking for it,' snarled Dudley. 'Oh yeah?'

'He cheeked me.' 'Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that's been taught to walk on its hind legs? 'Cause that's not cheek, Dud, that's true.'

A muscle was twitching in Dudley's jaw. It gave Harry enormous satisfaction to know how furious he was making Dudley; he felt as though he was siphoning off his own frustration into his cousin, the only outlet he had.

They turned right down the narrow alleyway where Harry had first seen Sirius and which formed a short cut between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. It was empty and much darker than the streets it linked because there were no streetlamps. Their footsteps were muffled between garage walls on one side and a high fence on the other.

Think you're a big man carrying that thing, don't you?' Dudley said after a few seconds. 'What thing?' 'That - that thing you are hiding.' Harry grinned again. 'Not as stupid as you look, are you, Dud? But I's'pose, if you were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time.' Harry pulled out his wand. He saw Dudley look sideways at it. 'You're not allowed,' Dudley said at once. 'I know you're not. You'd get expelled from that freak school you go to.' 'How d'you know they haven't changed the rules, Big D?' They haven't,' said Dudley, though he didn't sound completely convinced. Harry laughed softly. 'You haven't got the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?' Dudley snarled.

'Whereas you just need four mates behind you before you can beat up a ten year old. You know that boxing title you keep banging on about? How old was your opponent? Seven? Eight?'

'He was sixteen, for your information,' snarled Dudley, 'and he was out cold for twenty minutes after I'd finished with him and he was twice as heavy as you. You just wait till I tell Dad you had that thing out -

'Running to Daddy now, are you? Is his ickle boxing champ frightened of nasty Harry's wand?' 'Not this brave at night, are you?' sneered Dudley. This is night, Diddykins. That's what we call it when it goes all dark like this.' 'I mean when you're in bed!' Dudley snarled. He had stopped walking. Harry stopped too, staring at his cousin. From the little he could see of Dudley's large face, he was wearing a strangely triumphant look. 'What d'you mean, I'm not brave when I'm in bed?' said Harry, completely nonplussed. 'What am I supposed to be frightened of, pillows or something?' 'I heard you last night,' said Dudley breathlessly. Talking in your sleep. Moaning.' 'What d'you mean?' Harry said again, but there was a cold, plunging sensation in his stomach. He had revisited the graveyard last night in his dreams. Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter, then adopted a high-pitched whimpering voice. '"Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!" Who's Cedric - your boyfriend?' 'I - you're lying,' said Harry automatically. But his mouth had gone dry. He knew Dudley wasn't lying - how else would he know about Cedric? '"Dad! Help me, Dad! He's going to kill me, Dad! Boo hoo!"' 'Shut up,' said Harry quietly. 'Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you!' ''Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He's killed Cedric! Dad, help me! He's going to -" Don't you point that thing at me!'

Dudley backed into the alley wall. Harry was pointing the wand directly at Dudley's heart. Harry could feel fourteen years' hatred of Dudley pounding in his veins - what wouldn't he give to strike now, to jinx Dudley so thoroughly he'd have to crawl home like an insect, struck dumb, sprouting feelers…

'Don't ever talk about that again,' Harry snarled. 'D'you understand me?' 'Point that thing somewhere else!' 'I said, do you understand me?' 'Point it somewhere else!' 'DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?' 'GET THAT THING AWAY FROM -' Dudley gave an odd, shuddering gasp, as though he had been doused in icy water.

Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch black and lightless - the stars, the moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of the alley had vanished. The distant rumble of cars and the whisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding them.

For a split second Harry thought he had done magic without meaning to, despite the fact that he'd been resisting as hard as he could - then his reason caught up with his senses - he didn't have the power to turn off the stars. He turned his head this way and that, trying to see something, but the darkness pressed on his eyes like a weightless veil.

Dudley's terrified voice broke in Harry's ear. 'W-what are you d-doing? St-stop it!' 'I'm not doing anything! Shut up and don't move!' 'I c-can't see! I've g-gone blind! I -' 'I said shut up!'

Harry stood stock still, turning his sightless eyes left and right. The cold was so intense he was shivering all over; goose bumps had erupted up his arms and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up - he opened his eyes to their fullest extent, staring blankly around, unseeing.

It was impossible… they couldn't be here… not in Little Whinging… he strained his ears… he would hear them before he saw them… 'I'll't-tell Dad!' Dudley whimpered. 'W-where are you? What are you d-do—?' 'Will you shut up?' Harry hissed, I'm trying to lis—' But he fell silent. He had heard just the thing he had been dreading.

There was something in the alleyway apart from themselves, something that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. Harry felt a horrible jolt of dread as he stood trembling in the freezing air.
'C-cut it out! Stop doing it! I'll h-hit you, I swear I will!'

'Dudley, shut—' WHAM.

A fist made contact with the side of Harrys head, lifting him off his feet. Small white lights popped in front of his eyes. For the second time in an hour Harry felt as though his head had been cleaved in two; next moment, he had landed hard on the ground and his wand had flown out of his hand.

'You moron, Dudley!' Harry yelled, his eyes watering with pain as he scrambled to his hands and knees, feeling around frantically in the blackness. He heard Dudley blundering away, hitting the alley fence, stumbling.

'DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!'

There was a horrible squealing yell and Dudley's footsteps stopped. At the same moment, Harry felt a creeping chill behind him that could mean only one thing. There was more than one.

'DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Wand!' Harry muttered frantically, his hands flying over the ground like spiders. 'Where's - wand -come on - lumos!'

He said the spell automatically, desperate for light to help him in his search - and to his disbelieving relief, light flared inches from his right hand - the wand tip had ignited. Harry snatched it up, scrambled to his feet and turned around.

His stomach turned over. A towering, hooded figure was gliding smoothly towards him, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came. Stumbling backwards, Harry raised his wand. 'Expecto patronum!'

A silvery wisp of vapour shot from the tip of the wand and the Dementor slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly; tripping over his own feet, Harry retreated further as the Dementor bore down upon him, panic fogging his brain - concentrate

A pair of grey, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the Dementor's robes, reaching for him. A rushing noise filled Harry's ears. 'Expecto patronum!' His voice sounded dim and distant. Another wisp of silver smoke, feebler than the last, drifted from the wand - he couldn't do it any more, he couldn't work the spell.

There was laughter inside his own head, shrill, high-pitched laughter… he could smell the Dementor's putrid, death-cold breath filling his own lungs, drowning him - think… something happy…

But there was no happiness in him… the Dementor's icy fingers were closing on his throat - the high-pitched laughter was growing louder and louder, and a voice spoke inside his head: 'Bow to death, Harry…it might even be painless… I would not know … I have never died …"

He was never going to see Ron and Hermione again - And their faces burst clearly into his mind as he fought for breath. 'EXPECTO PATRONUM!'

An enormous silver stag erupted from the tip of Harry's wand; its antlers caught the Dementor in the place where the heart should have been; it was thrown backwards, weightless as darkness, and as the stag charged, the Dementor swooped away, bat-like and defeated.

'THIS WAY!' Harry shouted at the stag. Wheeling around, he sprinted down the alleyway, holding the lit wand aloft. 'DUDLEY? DUDLEY!'

He had run barely a dozen steps when he reached them: Dudley was curled up on the ground, his arms clamped over his face. A second Dementor was crouching low over him, gripping his wrists in its slimy hands, prising them slowly almost lovingly apart, lowering its hooded head towards Dudley's face as though about to kiss him.

'GET IT!' Harry bellowed, and with a rushing, roaring sound, the silver stag he had conjured came galloping past him. The Dementor's eyeless face was barely an inch from Dudley's when the silver antlers caught it; the thing was thrown up into the air and, like its fellow, it soared away and was absorbed into the darkness; the stag cantered to the end of the alleyway and dissolved into silver mist.

Moon, stars and streetlamps burst back into life. A warm breeze swept the alleyway. Trees rustled in neighbouring gardens and the mundane rumble of cars in Magnolia Crescent filled the air again.

Harry stood quite still, all his senses vibrating, taking in the abrupt return to normality. After a moment, he became aware that his T-shirt was sticking to him; he was drenched in sweat.

He could not believe what had just happened. Dementors here, in Little Whinging. Dudley lay curled up on the ground, whimpering and shaking. Harry bent down to see whether he was in a fit state to stand up, but then he heard loud, running footsteps behind him. Instinctively raising his wand again, he span on his heel to face the newcomer.

Mrs Figg, their batty old neighbour, came panting into sight. Her grizzled grey hair was escaping from its hairnet, a clanking string shopping bag was swinging from her wrist and her feet were halfway out of her tartan carpet slippers. Harry made to stow his wand hurriedly out of sight, but -

'Don't put it away idiot boy!' she shrieked. 'What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to kill Mundungus Fletcher!' — CHAPTER TWO — A Peck of Owls 'What?' said Harry blankly.

'He left!' said Mrs Figg, wringing her hands. 'Left to see someone about a batch of cauldrons that fell off the back of a broom! I told him I'd flay him alive if he went, and now look! Dementors! It's just lucky I put Mr Tibbies on the case! But we haven't got time to stand around! Hurry, now, we've got to get you back! Oh, the trouble this is going to cause! I will Ml him!'

'But -' The revelation that his batty old cat-obsessed neighbour knew what Dementors were was almost as big a shock to Harry as meeting two of them down the alleyway. 'You're — you're a witch?'

'I'm a Squib, as Mundungus knows full well, so how on earth was I supposed to help you fight off Dementors? He left you completely without cover when I'd warned him -' This Mundungus has been following me? Hang on - it was him! He Disapparated from the front of my house!'

'Yes, yes, yes, but luckily I'd stationed Mr Tibbies under a car just in case, and Mr Tibbies came and warned me, but by the time I got to your house you'd gone - and now - oh, what's Dumbledore going to say? You!' she shrieked at Dudley, still supine on the alley floor. 'Get your fat bottom off the ground, quick!'

'You know Dumbledore?' said Harry, staring at her. 'Of course I know Dumbledore, who doesn't know Dumbledore? But come on — I'll be no help if they come back, I've never so much as Transfigured a teabag.' She stooped down, seized one of Dudley's massive arms in her wizened hands and tugged. 'Get up, you useless lump, get up!' A PECK OF OWLS 25 But Dudley either could not or would not move. He remained on the ground, trembling and ashen-faced, his mouth shut very tight.

Til do it.' Harry took hold of Dudleys arm and heaved. With an enormous effort he managed to hoist him to his feet. Dudley seemed to be on the point of fainting. His small eyes were rolling in their sockets and sweat was beading his face; the moment Harry let go of him he swayed dangerously.
'Hurry up!' said Mrs Figg hysterically.

Harry pulled one of Dudley's massive arms around his own shoulders and dragged him towards the road, sagging slightly under the weight. Mrs Figg tottered along in front of them, peering anxiously around the corner.

'Keep your wand out,' she told Harry, as they entered Wisteria Walk. 'Never mind the Statute of Secrecy now, there's going to be hell to pay anyway, we might as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg. Talk about the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery ... this was exactly what Dumbledore was afraid of - What's that at the end of the street? Oh, it's just Mr Prentice ... don't put your wand away, boy, don't I keep telling you I'm no use?'

It was not easy to hold a wand steady and haul Dudley along at the same time. Harry gave his cousin an impatient dig in the ribs, but Dudley seemed to have lost all desire for independent movement. He was slumped on Harrys shoulder, his large feet dragging along the ground.

'Why didn't you tell me you're a Squib, Mrs Figg?' asked Harry, panting with the effort to keep walking. 'All those times I came round your house - why didn't you say anything?'

'Dumbledore's orders. I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything, you were too young. I'm sorry I gave you such a miserable time, Harry, but the Dursleys would never have let you come if they'd thought you enjoyed it. It wasn't easy, you know ... but oh my word,' she said tragically, wringing her hands once more, 'when Dumbledore hears about this - how could Mundungus have left, he was supposed to be on duty until midnight - where is he? How am I going to tell Dumbledore what's happened? I can't Apparate.'

26 HARRY POTTER 'I've got an owl, you can borrow her.' Harry groaned, wondering whether his spine was going to snap under Dudley's weight.

'Harry, you don't understand! Dumbledore will need to act as quickly as possible, the Ministry have their own ways of detecting underage magic, they'll know already, you mark my words.'

'But I was getting rid of Dementors, I had to use magic - they're going to be more worried about what Dementors were doing floating around Wisteria Walk, surely?' 'Oh, my dear, I wish it were so, but I'm afraid - MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!'

There was a loud crack and a strong smell of drink mingled with stale tobacco filled the air as a squat, unshaven man in a tattered overcoat materialised right in front of them. He had short, bandy legs, long straggly ginger hair and bloodshot, baggy eyes that gave him the doleful look of a basset hound. He was also clutching a silvery bundle that Harry recognised at once as an Invisibility Cloak.

"S'up, Figgy?' he said, staring from Mrs Figg to Harry and Dudley. 'What 'appened to staying undercover?' Til give you undercover!' cried Mrs Figg. 'Dementors, you useless, skiving sneak thief!' 'Dementors?' repeated Mundungus, aghast. 'Dementors, 'ere?' 'Yes, here, you worthless pile of bat droppings, here!' shrieked Mrs Figg. 'Dementors attacking the boy on your watch!' 'Blimey,' said Mundungus weakly, looking from Mrs Figg to Harry, and back again. 'Blimey, I -' 'And you off buying stolen cauldrons! Didn't I tell you not to go? Didn't I?' 'I - well, I -' Mundungus looked deeply uncomfortable. 'It - it was a very good business opportunity, see —'

Mrs Figg raised the arm from which her string bag dangled and whacked Mundungus around the face and neck with it; judging by the clanking noise it made it was full of cat food.

'Ouch - gerroff- gerroff, you mad old bat! Someone's gotta tell Dumbledore!' 'Yes - they - have!' yelled Mrs Figg, swinging the bag of cat food at every bit of Mundungus she could reach. 'And - it - had A PECK OF OWLS 27 - better - be - you - and - you - can — tell - him - why - you -weren't - there - to - help!' 'Keep your 'airnet on!' said Mundungus, his arms over his head, cowering. 'I'm going, I'm going!' And with another loud crack, he vanished. 'I hope Dumbledore murders him!' said Mrs Figg furiously. 'Now come on, Harry, what are you waiting for?'

Harry decided not to waste his remaining breath on pointing out that he could barely walk under Dudley's bulk. He gave the semi-conscious Dudley a heave and staggered onwards. Til take you to the door,' said Mrs Figg, as they turned into Privet Drive. 'Just in case there are more of them around ... oh my word, what a catastrophe ... and you had to fight them off yourself... and Dumbledore said we were to keep you from doing magic at all costs ... well, it's no good crying over spilt potion, I suppose ... but the cat's among the pixies now.'

'So,' Harry panted, 'Dumbledores ... been having ... me followed?'

'Of course he has,' said Mrs Figg impatiently. 'Did you expect him to let you wander around on your own after what happened in June? Good Lord, boy, they told me you were intelligent ... right ... get inside and stay there,' she said, as they reached number four. 'I expect someone will be in touch with you soon enough.'

'What are you going to do?' asked Harry quickly. 'I'm going straight home,' said Mrs Figg, staring around the dark street and shuddering. Til need to wait for more instructions. Just stay in the house. Goodnight.' 'Hang on, don't go yet! I want to know -' But Mrs Figg had already set off at a trot, carpet slippers flopping, string bag clanking.

'Wait!' Harry shouted after her. He had a million questions to ask anyone who was in contact with Dumbledore; but within seconds Mrs Figg was swallowed by the darkness. Scowling, Harry readjusted Dudley on his shoulder and made his slow, painful way up number four's garden path.

The hall light was on. Harry stuck his wand back inside the waistband of his jeans, rang the bell and watched Aunt Petunia's 28 HARRY POTTER outline grow larger and larger, oddly distorted by the rippling glass in the front door. 'Diddy! About time too, I was getting quite - quite - Diddy, what's the matter?'

Harry looked sideways at Dudley and ducked out from under his arm just in time. Dudley swayed on the spot for a moment, his face pale green ... then he opened his mouth and vomited all over the doormat.

'DIDDY! Diddy, what's the matter with you? Vernon? VERNON!'

Harrys uncle came galumphing out of the living room, walrus moustache blowing hither and thither as it always did when he was agitated. He hurried forwards to help Aunt Petunia negotiate a weak-kneed Dudley over the threshold while avoiding stepping in the pool of sick.
'He's ill, Vernon!'

'What is it, son? What's happened? Did Mrs Polkiss give you something foreign for tea?' Why are you all covered in dirt, darling? Have you been lying on the ground?' 'Hang on - you haven't been mugged, have you, son?' Aunt Petunia screamed. 'Phone the police, Vernon! Phone the police! Diddy, darling, speak to Mummy! What did they do to you?'

In all the kerfuffle nobody seemed to have noticed Harry, which suited him perfectly. He managed to slip inside just before Uncle Vernon slammed the door and, while the Dursleys made their noisy progress down the hall towards the kitchen, Harry moved carefully and quietly towards the stairs.

Who did it, son? Give us names. We'll get them, don't worry.' 'Shh! He's trying to say something, Vernon! What is it, Diddy? Tell Mummy!' Harry's foot was on the bottom-most stair when Dudley found his voice. 'Him.' Harry froze, foot on the stair, face screwed up, braced for the explosion. 'BOY! COME HERE!' A PECK OF OWLS 29 With a feeling of mingled dread and anger, Harry removed his foot slowly from the stair and turned to follow the Dursleys.

The scrupulously clean kitchen had an oddly unreal glitter after the darkness outside. Aunt Petunia was ushering Dudley into a chair; he was still very green and clammylooking. Uncle Vernon was standing in front of the draining board, glaring at Harry through tiny, narrowed eyes.

'What have you done to my son?' he said in a menacing growl.

'Nothing,' said Harry, knowing perfectly well that Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe him. 'What did he do to you, Diddy?' Aunt Petunia said in a quavering voice, now sponging sick from the front of Dudley's leather jacket. 'Was it - was it you-know-what, darling? Did he use - his thing?'

Slowly, tremulously, Dudley nodded. 'I didn't!' Harry said sharply, as Aunt Petunia let out a wail and Uncle Vernon raised his fists. '1 didn't do anything to him, it wasn't me, it was —'

But at that precise moment a screech owl swooped in through the kitchen window. Narrowly missing the top of Uncle Vernon's head, it soared across the kitchen, dropped the large parchment envelope it was carrying in its beak at Harry's feet, turned gracefully, the tips of its wings just brushing the top of the fridge, then zoomed outside again and off across the garden.

'OWLS!' bellowed Uncle Vernon, the well-worn vein in his temple pulsing angrily as he slammed the kitchen window shut. 'OWLS AGAIN! I WILL NOT HAVE ANY MORE OWLS IN MY HOUSE!'

But Harry was already ripping open the envelope and pulling out the letter inside, his heart pounding somewhere in the region of his Adam's apple. Dear Mr Potter,

We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle.

The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion 30 HARRY POTTER from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.

As you have already received an official warning for a previous offence under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on the twelfth of August.

Hoping you are well, Yours sincerely, Mafalda Hopkirk Improper Use of Magic Office Ministry of Magic

Harry read the letter through twice. He was only vaguely aware of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia talking. Inside his head, all was icy and numb. One fact had penetrated his consciousness like a paralysing dart. He was expelled from Hogwarts. It was all over. He was never going back.

He looked up at the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon was purple-faced, shouting, his fists still raised; Aunt Petunia had her arms around Dudley, who was retching again.

Harry's temporarily stupefied brain seemed to reawaken. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand. There was only one thing for it. He would have to run - now. Where he was going to go, Harry didn't know, but he was certain of one thing: at Hogwarts or outside it, he needed his wand. In an almost dreamlike state, he pulled his wand out and turned to leave the kitchen.

'Where d'you think you're going?' yelled Uncle Vernon. When Harry didn't reply, he pounded across the kitchen to block the doorway into the hall. 'I haven't finished with you, boy!'

'Get out of the way,' said Harry quietly. 'You're going to stay here and explain how my son -' 'If you don't get out of the way I'm going to jinx you,' said Harry, raising the wand. 'You can't pull that one on me!' snarled Uncle Vernon. 'I know A PECK OF OWLS 31 you're not allowed to use it outside that madhouse you call a school!' The madhouse has chucked me out,' said Harry. 'So I can do whatever I like. You've got three seconds. One - two -'

A resounding CRACK filled the kitchen. Aunt Petunia screamed, Uncle Vernon yelled and ducked, but for the third time that night Harry was searching for the source of a disturbance he had not made. He spotted it at once: a dazed and ruffled-looking barn owl was sitting outside on the kitchen sill, having just collided with the closed window.

Ignoring Uncle Vernon's anguished yell of'OWLS!' Harry crossed the room at a run and wrenched the window open. The owl stuck out its leg, to which a small roll of parchment was tied, shook its feathers, and took off the moment Harry had taken the letter. Hands shaking, Harry unfurled the second message, which was written very hastily and blotchily in black ink.

Harry -

Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND. Arthur Weasley

Dumbledore was trying to sort it all out ... what did that mean? How much power did Dumbledore have to override the Ministry of Magic? Was there a chance that he might be allowed back to Hogwarts, then? A small shoot of hope burgeoned in Harry's chest, almost immediately strangled by panic - how was he supposed to refuse to surrender his wand without doing magic? He'd have to duel with the Ministry representatives, and if he did that, he'd be lucky to escape Azkaban, let alone expulsion.

His mind was racing ... he could run for it and risk being captured by the Ministry, or stay put and wait for them to find him here. He was much more tempted by the former course, but he knew Mr Weasley had his best interests at heart ... and after all, Dumbledore had sorted out much worse than this before.

32 HARRY POTTER 'Right,' Harry said, 'I've changed my mind, I'm staying.'

He flung himself down at the kitchen table and faced Dudley and Aunt Petunia. The Dursleys appeared taken aback at his abrupt change of mind. Aunt Petunia glanced despairingly at Uncle Vernon. The vein in his purple temple was throbbing worse than ever.

'Who are all these ruddy owls from?' he growled.

The first one was from the Ministry of Magic, expelling me,' said Harry calmly. He was straining his ears to catch any noises outside, in case the Ministry representatives were approaching, and it was easier and quieter to answer Uncle Vernon's questions than to have him start raging and bellowing. The second one was from my friend Ron's dad, who works at the Ministry'

'Ministry of Magic?' bellowed Uncle Vernon. 'People like you in government? Oh, this explains everything, everything, no wonder the country's going to the dogs.' When Harry did not respond, Uncle Vernon glared at him, then spat out, 'And why have you been expelled?'

'Because I did magic.' 'AHA!' roared Uncle Vernon, slamming his fist down on top of the fridge, which sprang open; several of Dudley's low-fat snacks toppled out and burst on the floor. 'So you admit it! What did you do to Dudley?'

'Nothing,' said Harry, slightly less calmly. That wasn't me -' 'Was,' muttered Dudley unexpectedly, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia instantly made flapping gestures at Harry to quieten him while they both bent low over Dudley. 'Go on, son,' said Uncle Vernon, 'what did he do?' Tell us, darling,' whispered Aunt Petunia. 'Pointed his wand at me,' Dudley mumbled. 'Yeah, I did, but I didn't use -' Harry began angrily, but — 'SHUT UP!' roared Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia in unison. 'Go on, son,' repeated Uncle Vernon, moustache blowing about furiously. 'All went dark,' Dudley said hoarsely, shuddering. 'Everything dark. And then I h-heard ... things. Inside m-my head.' Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged looks of utter horror. If their least favourite thing in the world was magic - closely followed A PECK OF OWLS 33

by neighbours who cheated more than they did on the hosepipe ban - people who heard voices were definitely in the bottom ten. They obviously thought Dudley was losing his mind.

'What sort of things did you hear, Popkin?' breathed Aunt Petunia, very white-faced and with tears in her eyes.

But Dudley seemed incapable of saying. He shuddered again and shook his large blond head, and despite the sense of numb dread that had settled on Harry since the arrival of the first owl, he felt a certain curiosity. Dementors caused a person to relive the worst moments of their life. What would spoiled, pampered, bullying Dudley have been forced to hear?

'How come you fell over, son?' said Uncle Vernon, in an unnaturally quiet voice, the kind of voice he might adopt at the bedside of a very ill person.

T-tripped,' said Dudley shakily. 'And then -' He gestured at his massive chest. Harry understood. Dudley was remembering the clammy cold that filled the lungs as hope and happiness were sucked out of you.

'Horrible,' croaked Dudley. 'Cold. Really cold.' 'OK,' said Uncle Vernon, in a voice of forced calm, while Aunt Petunia laid an anxious hand on Dudley's forehead to feel his temperature. 'What happened then, Dudders?' 'Felt ... felt ... felt ... as if ... as if ...' 'As if you'd never be happy again,' Harry supplied dully. 'Yes,' Dudley whispered, still trembling.

'So!' said Uncle Vernon, voice restored to full and considerable volume as he straightened up. 'You put some crackpot spell on my son so he'd hear voices and believe he was - was doomed to misery, or something, did you?'

'How many times do I have to tell you?' said Harry, temper and voice both rising. 'It wasn't me! It was a couple of Dementors!' 'A couple of - what's this codswallop?' 'De - men - tors,' said Harry slowly and clearly. Two of them.' 'And what the ruddy hell are Dementors?' They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban,' said Aunt Petunia. Two seconds of ringing silence followed these words before Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she 34 HARRY POTTER had let slip a disgusting swear word. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her. Harry's brain reeled. Mrs Figg was one thing - but Aunt Petunia! 'How d'you know that?' he asked her, astonished. Aunt Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Uncle Vernon in fearful apology, then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsy teeth. 'I heard - that awful boy - telling her about them - years ago,' she said jerkily. 'If you mean my mum and dad, why don't you use their names?' said Harry loudly, but

Aunt Petunia ignored him. She seemed horribly flustered.
Harry was stunned. Except for one outburst years ago, in the course of which Aunt Petunia had screamed that Harry's mother had been a freak, he had never heard her mention her sister. He was astounded that she had remembered this scrap of information about the magical world for so long, when she usually put all her energies into pretending it didn't exist.

Uncle Vernon opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it once more, shut it, then, apparently struggling to remember how to talk, opened it for a third time and croaked, 'So
- so - they - er - they - er - they actually exist, do they - er - Dementy-whatsits?'

Aunt Petunia nodded.

Uncle Vernon looked from Aunt Petunia to Dudley to Harry as if hoping somebody was going to shout 'April Fool!' When nobody did, he opened his mouth yet again, but was spared the struggle to find more words by the arrival of the third owl of the evening. It zoomed through the still-open window like a feathery cannon-ball and landed with a clatter on the kitchen table, causing all three of the Dursleys to jump with fright. Harry tore a second official-looking envelope from the owl's beak and ripped it open as the owl swooped back out into the night.

'Enough - effing - owls,' muttered Uncle Vernon distractedly, stomping over to the window and slamming it shut again. Dear Mr Potter, Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the A PECK OF OWLS 35

Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on the twelfth of August, at which time an official decision will be taken.

Following discussions with the Headmaster ofHogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further enquiries.

With best wishes, Yours sincerely, Mafalda Hopkirk Improper Use of Magic Office Ministry of Magic

Harry read this letter through three times in quick succession. The miserable knot in his chest loosened slightly with the relief of knowing he was not yet definitely expelled, though his fears were by no means banished. Everything seemed to hang on this hearing on the twelfth of August.

'Well?' said Uncle Vernon, recalling Harry to his surroundings. 'What now? Have they sentenced you to anything? Do your lot have the death penalty?' he added as a hopeful afterthought.

'I've got to go to a hearing,' said Harry. 'And they'll sentence you there?' 'I suppose so.' 'I won't give up hope, then,' said Uncle Vernon nastily. 'Well, if that's all,' said Harry, getting to his feet. He was desperate to be alone, to think, perhaps to send a letter to Ron, Hermione or Sirius. 'NO, IT RUDDY WELL IS NOT ALL!' bellowed Uncle Vernon. 'SIT BACK DOWN!' 'What now?' said Harry impatiently. 'DUDLEY!' roared Uncle Vernon. T want to know exactly what happened to my son!' 'FINE!' yelled Harry, and in his temper, red and gold sparks shot out of the end of his wand, still clutched in his hand. All three Dursleys flinched, looking terrified. 36 HARRY POTTER

'Dudley and I were in the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk,' said Harry, speaking fast, fighting to control his temper. 'Dudley thought he'd be smart with me, I pulled out my wand but didn't use it. Then two Dementors turned up -'

'But what ARE Dementoids?' asked Uncle Vernon furiously. 'What do they DO?' 'I told you - they suck all the happiness out of you,' said Harry, 'and if they get the chance, they kiss you -' 'Kiss you?' said Uncle Vernon, his eyes popping slightly. 'Kiss you?' 'It's what they call it when they suck the soul out of your mouth.' Aunt Petunia uttered a soft scream. 'His soul? They didn't take - he's still got his -' She seized Dudley by the shoulders and shook him, as though testing to see whether she could hear his soul rattling around inside him. 'Of course they didn't get his soul, you'd know if they had,' said Harry, exasperated.

'Fought 'em off, did you, son?' said Uncle Vernon loudly with the appearance of a man struggling to bring the conversation back on to a plane he understood. 'Gave 'em the old one-two, did you?'

'You can't give a Dementor the aid one-two,' said Harry through clenched teeth. 'Why's he all right, then?' blustered Uncle Vernon. 'Why isn't he all empty, then?' 'Because I used the Patronus -' WHOOSH. With a clattering, a whirring of wings and a soft fall of dust, a fourth owl came shooting out of the kitchen fireplace.

'FOR GOD'S SAKE!' roared Uncle Vernon, pulling great clumps of hair out of his moustache, something he hadn't been driven to do in a long time. 'I WILL NOT HAVE OWLS HERE, I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS, I TELL YOU!'

But Harry was already pulling a roll of parchment from the owl's leg. He was so convinced that this letter had to be from Dumbledore, explaining everything - the Dementors, Mrs Figg, what the Ministry was up to, how he, Dumbledore, intended to sort everything out - that for the first time in his life he was disappointed to see Sirius's

A PECK OF OWLS 37

handwriting. Ignoring Uncle Vernon's ongoing rant about owls, and narrowing his eyes against a second cloud of dust as the most recent owl took off back up the chimney, Harry read Sirius's message.

Arthur has just told us what's happened. Don't leave the house again, whatever you do.

Harry found this such an inadequate response to everything that had happened tonight that he turned the piece of parchment over, looking for the rest of the letter, but there was nothing else.

And now his temper was rising again. Wasn't anybody going to say 'well done' for fighting off two Dementors single-handed? Both Mr Weasley and Sirius were acting as though he'd misbehaved, and were saving their tellings-off until they could ascertain how much damage had been done.

'... a peck, I mean, pack of owls shooting in and out of my house. I won't have it, boy, I won't -' 'I can't stop the owls coming,' Harry snapped, crushing Sirius's letter in his fist.

'1 want the truth about what happened tonight!' barked Uncle Vernon. 'If it was Demenders who hurt Dudley, how come you've been expelled? You did you-know-what, you've admitted it!'

Harry took a deep, steadying breath. His head was beginning to ache again. He wanted more than anything to get out of the kitchen, and away from the Dursleys. 'I did the Patronus Charm to get rid of the Dementors,' he said, forcing himself to remain calm. 'It's the only thing that works against them.' 'But what were Dementoids doing in Little Whinging?' said Uncle Vernon in an outraged tone. 'Couldn't tell you,' said Harry wearily. 'No idea.' His head was pounding in the glare of the strip-lighting now. His anger was ebbing away. He felt drained, exhausted. The Dursleys were all staring at him.

'It's you,' said Uncle Vernon forcefully. 'It's got something to do with you, boy, I know it. Why else would they turn up here? Why else would they be down that alleyway? You've got to be the only - the only -' Evidently, he couldn't bring himself to say the word 'wizard'. The only you-know-what for miles.'

38 HARRY POTTER 'I don't know why they were here.'

But at Uncle Vernon's words, Harry's exhausted brain had ground back into action. Why had the Dementors come to Little Whinging? How could it be coincidence that they had arrived in the alleyway where Harry was? Had they been sent? Had the Ministry of Magic lost control of the Dementors? Had they deserted Azkaban and joined Voldemort, as Dumbledore had predicted they would?

These Demembers guard some weirdo prison?' asked Uncle Vernon, lumbering along in the wake of Harry's train of thought.

'Yes,' said Harry. If only his head would stop hurting, if only he could just leave the kitchen and get to his dark bedroom and think ...

'Oho! They were coming to arrest you!' said Uncle Vernon, with the triumphant air of a man reaching an unassailable conclusion. That's it, isn't it, boy? You're on the run from the law!'

'Of course I'm not,' said Harry, shaking his head as though to scare off a fly, his mind racing now. Then why —?' 'He must have sent them,' said Harry quietly, more to himself than to Uncle Vernon. 'What's that? Who must have sent them?' 'Lord Voldemort,' said Harry.

He registered dimly how strange it was that the Dursleys, who flinched, winced and squawked if they heard words like 'wizard', 'magic' or 'wand', could hear the name of the most evil wizard of all time without the slightest tremor.

'Lord - hang on,' said Uncle Vernon, his face screwed up, a look of dawning comprehension coming into his piggy eyes. 'I've heard that name ... that was the one who
-'

'Murdered my parents, yes,' Harry said dully. 'But he's gone,' said Uncle Vernon impatiently, without the slightest sign that the murder of Harry's parents might be a painful topic. That giant bloke said so. He's gone.' 'He's back,' said Harry heavily. It felt very strange to be standing here in Aunt Petunia's surgically clean kitchen, beside the top-of-the-range fridge and the A PECK OF OWLS 39

wide-screen television, talking calmly of Lord Voldemort to Uncle Vernon. The arrival of the Dementors in Little Whinging seemed to have breached the great, invisible wall that divided the relentlessly non-magical world of Privet Drive and the world beyond. Harry's two lives had somehow become fused and everything had been turned upside-down; the Dursleys were asking for details about the magical world, and Mrs Figg knew Albus Dumbledore; Dementors were soaring around Little Whinging, and he might never return to Hogwarts. Harrys head throbbed more painfully.
'Back?' whispered Aunt Petunia.

She was looking at Harry as she had never looked at him before. And all of a sudden, for the very first time in his life, Harry fully appreciated that Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister. He could not have said why this hit him so very powerfully at this moment. All he knew was that he was not the only person in the room who had an inkling of what Lord Voldemort being back might mean. Aunt Petunia had never in her life looked at him like that before. Her large, pale eyes (so unlike her sisters) were not narrowed in dislike or anger, they were wide and fearful. The furious pretence that Aunt Petunia had maintained all Harry's life - that there was no magic and no world other than the world she inhabited with Uncle Vernon - seemed to have fallen away.

'Yes,' Harry said, talking directly to Aunt Petunia now. 'He came back a month ago. I saw him.' Her hands found Dudley's massive leather-clad shoulders and clutched them.

'Hang on,' said Uncle Vernon, looking from his wife to Harry and back again, apparently dazed and confused by the unprecedented understanding that seemed to have sprung up between them. 'Hang on. This Lord Voldything's back, you say.'

'Yes.' The one who murdered your parents.' 'Yes.' 'And now he's sending Dismembers after you?' 'Looks like it,' said Harry. 'I see,' said Uncle Vernon, looking from his white-faced wife to Harry and hitching up his trousers. He seemed to be swelling, his 40 HARRY POTTER great purple face stretching before Harry's eyes. 'Well, that settles it,' he said, his shirt front straining as he inflated himself, 'you can get out of this house, boy!' 'What?' said Harry.

'You heard me - OUT!' Uncle Vernon bellowed, and even Aunt Petunia and Dudley jumped. 'OUT! OUT! I should've done this years ago! Owls treating the place like a rest home, puddings exploding, half the lounge destroyed, Dudley's tail, Marge bobbing around on the ceiling and that flying Ford Anglia - OUT! OUT! You've had it! You're history! You're not staying here if some loony's after you, you're not endangering my wife and son, you're not bringing trouble down on us. If you're going the same way as your useless parents, I've had it! OUT!'

Harry stood rooted to the spot. The letters from the Ministry, Mr Weasley and Sirius were all crushed in his left hand. Don't leave the house again, whatever you do. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE.

'You heard me!' said Uncle Vernon, bending forwards now, his massive purple face coming so close to Harry's, he actually felt flecks of spit hit his face. 'Get going! You were all keen to leave half an hour ago! I'm right behind you! Get out and never darken our doorstep again! Why we ever kept you in the first place, I don't know, Marge was right, it should have been the orphanage. We were too damn soft for our own good, thought we could squash it out of you, thought we could turn you normal, but you've been rotten from the beginning and I've had enough - owls!'

The fifth owl zoomed down the chimney so fast it actually hit the floor before zooming into the air again with a loud screech. Harry raised his hand to seize the letter, which was in a scarlet envelope, but it soared straight over his head, flying directly at Aunt Petunia, who let out a scream and ducked, her arms over her face. The owl dropped the red envelope on her head, turned, and flew straight back up the chimney.

Harry darted forwards to pick up the letter, but Aunt Petunia beat him to it. 'You can open it if you like,' said Harry, 'but I'll hear what it says anyway. That's a Howler.' A PECK OF OWLS 41 'Let go of it, Petunia!' roared Uncle Vernon. 'Don't touch it, it could be dangerous!' 'It's addressed to me,' said Aunt Petunia in a shaking voice. 'It's addressed to me, Vernon, look! Mrs Petunia Dursley, The Kitchen, Number Four, Privet Drive - She caught her breath, horrified. The red envelope had begun to smoke. 'Open it!' Harry urged her. 'Get it over with! It'll happen anyway.' 'No.'

Aunt Petunia's hand was trembling. She looked wildly around the kitchen as though looking for an escape route, but too late -the envelope burst into flames. Aunt Petunia screamed and dropped it.

An awful voice filled the kitchen, echoing in the confined space, issuing from the burning letter on the table. 'Remember my last, Petunia.' Aunt Petunia looked as though she might faint. She sank into the chair beside Dudley, her face in her hands. The remains of the envelope smouldered into ash in the silence. 'What is this?' Uncle Vernon said hoarsely. 'What - I don't -Petunia?'

Aunt Petunia said nothing. Dudley was staring stupidly at his mother, his mouth hanging open. The silence spiralled horribly. Harry was watching his aunt, utterly bewildered, his head throbbing fit to burst.

'Petunia, dear?' said Uncle Vernon timidly. 'P-Petunia?' She raised her head. She was still trembling. She swallowed. The boy - the boy will have to stay, Vernon,' she said weakly. 'W-what?' 'He stays,' she said. She was not looking at Harry. She got to her feet again. 'He ... but Petunia ...'

'If we throw him out, the neighbours will talk,' she said. She was rapidly regaining her usual brisk, snappish manner, though she was still very pale. They'll ask awkward questions, they'll want to know where he's gone. We'll have to keep him.'

Uncle Vernon was deflating like an old tyre. 42 HARRY POTTER 'But Petunia, dear —'

Aunt Petunia ignored him. She turned to Harry. 'You're to stay in your room,' she said. 'You're not to leave the house. Now get to bed.' Harry didn't move. 'Who was that Howler from?' 'Don't ask questions,' Aunt Petunia snapped. 'Are you in touch with wizards?' 'I told you to get to bed!' 'What did it mean? Remember the last what?' 'Go to bed!' 'How come -?' 'YOU HEARD YOUR AUNT, NOW GO UP TO BED!'

— CHAPTER THREE — The Advance Guard

Up and down he paced, consumed with anger and frustration, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists, casting angry looks out at the empty, star-strewn sky every time he passed the window. Dementors sent to get him, Mrs Figg and Mundungus Fletcher tailing him in secret, then suspension from Hogwarts and a hearing at the Ministry of Magic - and still no one was telling him what was going on.

And what, what, had that Howler been about? Whose voice had echoed so horribly, so menacingly, through the kitchen? Why was he still trapped here without information? Why was everyone treating him like some naughty kid? Don't do any more "logic, stay in the house ...

He kicked his school trunk as he passed it, but far from relieving his anger he felt worse, as he now had a sharp pain in his toe to deal with in addition to the pain in the rest of his body.

'But Petunia, dear -'
Aunt Petunia ignored him. She turned to Harry.
'You're to stay in your room,' she said. 'You're not to leave the house. Now get to bed.'
Harry didn't move.
'Who was that Howler from?'
'Don't ask questions,' Aunt Petunia snapped.
'Are you in touch with wizards?'
'I told you to get to bed!'
'What did it mean? Remember the last what?'
'Go to bed!'
'How come -?'
'YOU HEARD YOUR AUNT, NOW GO UP TO BED!'

— CHAPTER THREE

The Advance Guard

I've just been attacked by Dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts. I want to know what's going on and when I'm going to get out of here.
Harry copied these words on to three separate pieces of parchment the moment he reached the desk in his dark bedroom. He addressed the first to Sirius, the second to Ron and the third to Hermione. His owl, Hedwig, was off hunting; her cage stood empty on the desk. Harry paced the bedroom waiting for her to come back, his head pounding, his brain too busy for sleep even though his eyes stung and itched with tiredness. His back ached from hauling Dudley home, and the two lumps on his head where the window and Dudley had hit him were throbbing painfully. Up and down he paced, consumed with anger and frustration, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists, casting angry looks out at the empty, star-strewn sky every time he passed the window. Dementors sent to get him, Mrs Figg and Mundungus Fletcher tailing him in secret, then suspension from Hogwarts and a hearing at the Ministry of Magic - and still no one was telling him what was going on.
And what, what, had that Howler been about? Whose voice had echoed so horribly, so menacingly, through the kitchen?
Why was he still trapped here without information? Why was everyone treating him like some naughty kid? Don't do any more roagic, stay in the house ...
He kicked his school trunk as he passed it, but far from relieving his anger he felt worse, as he now had a sharp pain in his toe to deal with in addition to the pain in the rest of his body. Just as he limped past the window, Hedwig soared through it with a soft rustle of wings like a small ghost.
'About time!' Harry snarled, as she landed lightly on top of her cage. 'You can put that down, I've got work for you!'
Hedwig's large, round, amber eyes gazed at him reproachfully over the dead frog clamped in her beak.
'Come here,' said Harry picking up the three small rolls of parchment and a leather thong and tying the scrolls to her scaly leg. 'Take these straight to Sirius, Ron and Hermione and don't come back here without good long replies. Keep pecking them till they've written decentlength answers if you've got to. Understand?'

Hedwig gave a muffled hooting noise, her beak still full of frog.
'Get going, then,' said Harry.
She took off immediately. The moment she'd gone, Harry threw himself down on his bed without undressing and stared at the dark ceiling. In addition to every other miserable feeling, he now felt guilty that he'd been irritable with Hedwig; she was the only friend he had at number four, Privet Drive. But he'd make it up to her when she came back with the answers from Sirius, Ron and Hermione.
They were bound to write back quickly; they couldn't possibly ignore a Dementor attack. He'd probably wake up tomorrow to three fat letters full of sympathy and plans for his immediate removal to The Burrow. And with that comforting idea, sleep rolled over him, stifling all further thought.
*
But Hedwig didn't return next morning. Harry spent the day in his bedroom, leaving it only to go to the bathroom. Three times that day Aunt Petunia shoved food into his room through the cat-flap Uncle Vernon had installed three summers ago. Every time Harry heard her approaching he tried to question her about the Howler, but he might as well have interrogated the doorknob for all the answers he got. Otherwise, the Dursleys kept well clear of his bedroom. Harry couldn't see the point of forcing his company on them; another row would achieve nothing except perhaps make him so angry he'd perform more illegal magic.
So it went on for three whole days. Harry was alternately filled
THE ADVANCE GUARD 45

with restless energy that made him unable to settle to anything, during which time he paced his bedroom, furious at the whole lot of them for leaving him to stew in this mess; and with a lethargy so complete that he could lie on his bed for an hour at a time, staring dazedly into space, aching with dread at the thought of the Ministry hearing.
What if they ruled against him? What if he was expelled and his wand was snapped in half? What would he do, where would he go? He could not return to living full-time with the Dursleys, not now he knew the other world, the one to which he really belonged. Might he be able to move into Sirius's house, as Sirius had suggested a year ago, before he had been forced to flee from the Ministry? Would Harry be allowed to live there alone, given that he was still underage? Or would the matter of where he went next be decided for him? Had his breach of the International Statute of Secrecy been severe enough to land him in a cell in Azkaban? Whenever this thought occurred, Harry invariably slid off his bed and began pacing again. On the fourth night after Hedwig's departure Harry was lying in one of his apathetic phases, staring at the ceiling, his exhausted mind quite blank, when his uncle entered his bedroom. Harry looked slowly around at him. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and an expression of enormous smugness.

'We're going out,' he said.
'Sorry?'
'We - that is to say, your aunt, Dudley and I - are going out.'
'Fine,' said Harry dully, looking back at the ceiling.
'You are not to leave your bedroom while we are away.'
'OK.'

'You are not to touch the television, the stereo, or any of our possessions.'
'Right.'
"You are not to steal food from the fridge.'
'OK.'
'I am going to lock your door.'
'You do that.'
Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, clearly suspicious of this lack of
argument, then stomped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Harry heard the key turn in the lock and Uncle Vernon's footsteps walking heavily down the stairs. A few minutes later he heard the slamming of car doors, the rumble of an engine, and the unmistakeable sound of the car sweeping out of the drive.
Harry had no particular feeling about the Dursleys leaving. It made no difference to him whether they were in the house or not. He could not even summon the energy to get up and turn on his bedroom light. The room grew steadily darker around him as he lay listening to the night sounds through the window he kept open all the time, waiting for the blessed moment when Hedwig returned.
The empty house creaked around him. The pipes gurgled. Harry lay there in a kind of stupor, thinking of nothing, suspended in misery.

Then, quite distinctly, he heard a crash in the kitchen below.
He sat bolt upright, listening intently. The Dursleys couldn't be back, it was much too soon, and in any case he hadn't heard their car.

There was silence for a few seconds, then voices.
Burglars, he thought, sliding off the bed on to his feet - but a split second later it occurred to him that burglars would keep their voices down, and whoever was moving around in the kitchen was certainly not troubling to do so.
He snatched up his wand from the bedside table and stood facing his bedroom door, listening with all his might. Next moment, he jumped as the lock gave a loud click and his door swung open.
Harry stood motionless, staring through the open doorway at the dark upstairs landing, straining his ears for further sounds, but none came. He hesitated for a moment, then moved swiftly and silently out of his room to the head of the stairs.
His heart shot upwards into his throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as he could see, looking up at him.
'Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out,' said a low, growling voice. Mad-Eye Moody, who had long grizzled grey hair and a large chunk missing from his nose, was squinting suspiciously at Harry through his mismatched eyes. One eye was small, dark and beady, the other large, round and electric blue - the magical eye that could see through walls, doors and the back of Moody's own head.
'Are you quite sure it's him, Lupin?' he growled. 'It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?'

'Harry, what form does your Patronus take?' Lupin asked.
'A stag,' said Harry nervously.
That's him, Mad-Eye,' said Lupin.

Very conscious of everybody still staring at him, Harry descended the stairs, stowing his wand in the back pocket of his jeans as he came.
'Don't put your wand there, boy!' roared Moody. 'What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!'
'Who d'you know who's lost a buttock?' the violet-haired woman asked Mad-Eye interestedly. 'Never you mind, you just keep your wand out of your back pocket!' growled Mad-Eye. 'Elementary wand-safety, nobody bothers about it any more.' He stumped off towards the kitchen. 'And I saw that,' he added irritably, as the woman rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.

Lupin held out his hand and shook Harry's.
'How are you?' he asked, looking closely at Harry.
'F-fine

Harry could hardly believe this was real. Four weeks with nothing, not the tiniest hint of a plan to remove him from Privet Drive, and suddenly a whole bunch of wizards was standing matterof-factly in the house as though this was a long-standing arrangement. He glanced at the people surrounding Lupin; they were still gazing avidly at him. He felt very conscious of the fact that he had not combed his hair for four days.

'I'm - you're really lucky the Dursleys are out ..." he mumbled.
'Lucky, ha!' said the violet-haired woman. 'It was me who lured them out of the way. Sent a letter by Muggle post telling them
THE ADVANCE GUARD 49

they'd been short-listed for the All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. They're heading off to the prize-giving right now ... or they think they are.'
Harry had a fleeting vision of Uncle Vernon's face when he realised there was no All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition.

'We are leaving, aren't we?' he asked. 'Soon?'
'Almost at once,' said Lupin, 'we're just waiting for the all-clear.'
'Where are we going? The Burrow?' Harry asked hopefully.

'Not The Burrow, no,' said Lupin, motioning Harry towards the kitchen; the little knot of wizards followed, all still eyeing Harry curiously. Too risky. We've set up Headquarters somewhere un-detectable. It's taken a while ...'
Mad-Eye Moody was now sitting at the kitchen table swigging from a hip flask, his magical eye spinning in all directions, taking in the Dursleys' many labour-saving appliances. This is Alastor Moody, Harry' Lupin continued, pointing towards Moody.
'Yeah, I know,' said Harry uncomfortably. It felt odd to be introduced to somebody he'd thought he'd known for a year.

'And this is Nymphadora -'
'Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus,' said the young witch with a shudder, 'it's Tonks.' 'Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only' finished Lupin. 'So would you if your fool of a mother had called you Nymphadora,1 muttered Tonks. 'And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt.' He indicated the tall black wizard, who bowed. 'Elphias Doge.' The wheezy-voiced wizard nodded. 'Dedalus Diggle —'
'We've met before,' squeaked the excitable Diggle, dropping his violet-coloured top hat. 'Emmeline Vance.' A stately-looking witch in an emerald green shawl inclined her head. 'Sturgis Podmore.' A square-jawed wizard with thick straw-coloured hair winked. 'And Hestia Jones.' A pink-cheeked, black-haired witch waved from next to the toaster.
Harry inclined his head awkwardly at each of them as they were introduced. He wished they would look at something other than
him; it was as though he had suddenly been ushered on-stage. He
also wondered why so many of them were there.
'A surprising number of people volunteered to come and get you,' said Lupin, as though he had read Harry's mind; the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.
'Yeah, well, the more the better,' said Moody darkly. 'We're your guard, Potter.' 'We're just waiting for the signal to tell us it's safe to set off,' said Lupin, glancing out of the kitchen window. 'We've got about fifteen minutes.'
'Very clean, aren't they, these Muggles?' said the witch called Tonks, who was looking around the kitchen with great interest. 'My dad's Muggle-born and he's a right old slob. I suppose it varies, just as it does with wizards?'
'Er - yeah,' said Harry. 'Look -' he turned back to Lupin, 'what's going on, I haven't heard anything from anyone, what's Vol—?'
Several of the witches and wizards made odd hissing noises; Dedalus Diggle dropped his hat again and Moody growled, 'Shut up!'

'What?' said Harry.
'We're not discussing anything here, it's too risky,' said Moody, .
turning his normal eye on Harry. His magical eye remained focused
on the ceiling. 'Damn it,' he added angrily, putting a hand up to
the magical eye, 'it keeps getting stuck — ever since that scum wore
it.'
And with a nasty squelching sound much like a plunger being pulled from a sink, he popped out his eye.
'Mad-Eye, you do know that's disgusting, don't you?' said Tonks conversationally.

'Get me a glass of water, would you, Harry,' requested Moody.
Harry crossed to the dishwasher, took out a clean glass and filled it with water at the sink, still watched eagerly by the band of wizards. Their relentless staring was starting to annoy him. 'Cheers,' said Moody, when Harry handed him the glass. He dropped the magical eyeball into the water and prodded it up and down; the eye whizzed around, staring at them all in turn. T want three hundred and sixty degrees visibility on the return journey.'

'How're we getting - wherever we're going?' Harry asked.
directions. 'It means I can change my appearance at will,' she added, spotting Harry's puzzled expression in the mirror behind her. 'I was born one. I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training without any study at all, it was great.'
'You're an Auror?' said Harry, impressed. Being a Dark-wizard-catcher was the only career he'd ever considered after Hogwarts.
'Yeah,' said Tonks, looking proud. 'Kingsley is as well, he's a bit higher up than me, though. I only qualified a year ago. Nearly failed on Stealth and Tracking. I'm dead clumsy, did you hear me break that plate when we arrived downstairs?'
'Can you learn how to be a Metamorphmagus?' Harry asked her, straightening up, completely forgetting about packing.

Tonks chuckled.
'Bet you wouldn't mind hiding that scar sometimes, eh?'
Her eyes found the lightning-shaped scar on Harrys forehead.

'No, I wouldn't mind,' Harry mumbled, turning away. He did not like people staring at his scar. 'Well, you'll have to learn the hard way, I'm afraid,' said Tonks. 'Metamorphmagi are really rare, they're born, not made. Most wizards need to use a wand, or potions, to change their appearance. But we've got to get going, Harry, we're supposed to be packing,' she added guiltily, looking around at all the mess on the floor.

'Oh - yeah,' said Harry, grabbing a few more books.
'Don't be stupid, it'll be much quicker if I - pack!' cried Tonks, waving her wand in a long, sweeping'movement over the floor.
Books, clothes, telescope and scales all soared into the air and flew pell-mell into the trunk. 'It's not very neat,' said Tonks, walking over to the trunk and looking down at the jumble inside. 'My mum's got this knack of getting stuff to fit itself in neatly - she even gets the socks to fold themselves - but I've never mastered how she does it - it's a kind of flick -' She flicked her wand hopefully.
One of Harry's socks gave a feeble sort of wiggle and flopped back on top of the mess in the trunk.
'Ah, well,' said Tonks, slamming the trunk's lid shut, 'at least it's all in. That could do with a bit of cleaning, too.' She pointed her wand at Hedwig's cage. 'Scourgify.' A few feathers and droppings
vanished. 'Well, that's a bit better - I've never quite got the hang of these householdy sort of spells. Right - got everything? Cauldron? Broom? Wow! - A FireboltT
Her eyes widened as they fell on the broomstick in Harrys right hand. It was his pride and joy, a gift from Sirius, an international-standard broomstick.
'And I'm still riding a Comet Two Sixty' said Tonks enviously. 'Ah well ... wand still in your jeans? Both buttocks still on? OK, let's go. Locomotor trunk.'
Harry's trunk rose a few inches into the air. Holding her wand like a conductor's baton, Tonks made the trunk hover across the room and out of the door ahead of them, Hedwig's cage in her left hand. Harry followed her down the stairs carrying his broomstick.
Back in the kitchen Moody had replaced his eye, which was spinning so fast after its cleaning it made Harry feel sick to look at it. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Sturgis Podmore were examining the microwave and Hestia Jones was laughing at a potato peeler she had come across while rummaging in the drawers. Lupin was sealing a letter addressed to the Dursleys. 'Excellent,' said Lupin, looking up as Tonks and Harry entered. We've got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we're ready. Harry, I've left a letter telling your aunt and uncle not to worry -'

They won't,' said Harry.
'- that you're safe -'
That'll just depress them.'
'- and you'll see them next summer.'
'Do I have to?'
Lupin smiled but made no answer.

'Come here, boy,' said Moody gruffly, beckoning Harry towards him with his wand. 'I need to Disillusion you.'

'You need to what?' said Harry nervously.
'Disillusionment Charm,' said Moody, raising his wand. 'Lupin says you've got an Invisibility Cloak, but it won't stay on while we're flying; this'll disguise you better. Here you go -' He rapped him hard on the top of the head and Harry felt a curious sensation as though Moody had just smashed an egg there;
and felt it vibrating very slightly, as though it was as keen as he was to be up in the air once more.
'Second signal, let's go!' said Lupin loudly as more sparks, green this time, exploded high above them.
Harry kicked off hard from the ground. The cool night air rushed through his hair as the neat square gardens of Privet Drive fell away, shrinking rapidly into a patchwork of dark greens and blacks, and every thought of the Ministry hearing was swept from his mind as though the rush of air had blown it out of his head. He felt as though his heart was going to explode with pleasure; he was flying again, flying away from Privet Drive as he'd been fantasising about all summer, he was going home ... for a few glorious moments, all his problems seemed to recede to nothing, insignificant in the vast, starry sky.
'Hard left, hard left, there's a Muggle looking up!' shouted Moody from behind him. Tonks swerved and Harry followed her, watching his trunk swinging wildly beneath her broom. 'We need more height ... give it another quarter of a mile!'
Harry's eyes watered in the chill as they soared upwards; he could see nothing below now but tiny pinpricks of light that were car headlights and streetlamps. Two of those tiny lights might belong to Uncle Vernon's car ... the Dursleys would be heading back to their empty house right now, full of rage about the nonexistent Lawn Competition ... and Harry laughed aloud at the thought, though his voice was drowned by the flapping robes of the others, the creaking of the harness holding his trunk and the cage, and the whoosh of the wind in their ears as they sped through the air. He had not felt this alive in a month, or this happy.

'Bearing south!' shouted Mad-Eye. Town ahead!'
They soared right to avoid passing directly over the glittering spider's web of lights below. 'Bear southeast and keep climbing, there's some low cloud ahead we can lose ourselves in!' called Moody.
'We're not going through clouds!' shouted Tonks angrily, 'we'll get soaked, Mad-Eye!'

Harry was relieved to hear her say this; his hands were growing
56 HARRY POTTER

numb on the Firebolt's handle. He wished he had thought to put on a coat; he was starting to shiver.
They altered their course every now and then according to Mad-Eyes instructions. Harrys eyes were screwed up against the rush of icy wind that was starting to make his ears ache; he could remember being this cold on a broom only once before, during the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff in his third year, which had taken place in a storm. The guard around him was circling continuously like giant birds of prey. Harry lost track of time. He wondered how long they had been flying, it felt like an hour at least.
Turning southwest!' yelled Moody 'We want to avoid the motorway!'
Harry was now so chilled he thought longingly of the snug, dry interiors of the cars streaming along below, then, even more longingly, of travelling by Floo powder; it might be uncomfortable to spin around in fireplaces but it was at least warm in the flames ... Kingsley Shacklebolt swooped around him, bald pate and earring gleaming slightly in the moonlight ... now Emmeline Vance was on his right, her wand out, her head turning left and right ... then she, too, swooped over him, to be replaced by Sturgis Podmore ...
'We ought to double back for a bit, just to make sure we're not being followed!' Moody shouted.
'ARE YOU MAD, MAD-EYE?' Tonks screamed from the front. 'We're all frozen to our brooms! If we keep going off-course we're not going to get there until next week! Besides, we're nearly there now!'
Time to start the descent!' came Lupin's voice. 'Follow Tonks, Harry!'
Harry followed Tonks into a dive. They were heading for the largest collection of lights he had yet seen, a huge, sprawling crisscrossing mass, glittering in lines and grids, interspersed with patches of deepest black. Lower and lower they flew, until Harry could see individual headlights and streetlamps, chimneys and television aerials. He wanted to reach the ground very much, though he felt sure someone would have to unfreeze him from his broom. 'Here we go!' called Tonks, and a few seconds later she had landed.
Harry touched down right behind her and dismounted on a patch of unkempt grass in the middle of a small square. Tonks was already unbuckling Harry's trunk. Shivering, Harry looked around. The grimy fronts of the surrounding houses were not welcoming; some of them had broken windows, glimmering dully in the light from the streetlamps, paint was peeling from many of the doors and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps.

'Where are we?' Harry asked, but Lupin said quietly, 'In a minute.'
Moody was rummaging in his cloak, his gnarled hands clumsy with cold.
'Got it,' he muttered, raising what looked like a silver cigarette lighter into the air and clicking it. The nearest streetlamp went out with a pop. He clicked the unlighter again; the next lamp went out; he kept clicking until every lamp in the square was extinguished and the only remaining light came from curtained windows and the sickle moon overhead.
'Borrowed it from Dumbledore,' growled Moody, pocketing the Put-Outer. That'll take care of any Muggles looking out of the window, see? Now come on, quick.'
He took Harry by the arm and led him from the patch of grass, across the road and on to the pavement; Lupin and Tonks followed, carrying Harry's trunk between them, the rest of the guard, all with their wands out, flanking them.
The muffled pounding of a stereo was coming from an upper window in the nearest house. A pungent smell of rotting rubbish came from the pile of bulging bin-bags just inside the broken gate.
'Here,' Moody muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment towards Harrys Disillusioned hand and holding his lit wand close to it, so as to illuminate the writing. 'Read quickly and memorise.' Harry looked down at the piece of paper. The narrow handwriting was vaguely familiar. It said: The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

— CHAPTER FOUR —

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

'What's the Order of the -?' Harry began.
'Not here, boy!' snarled Moody. 'Wait till we're inside!'
He pulled the piece of parchment out of Harry's hand and set fire to it with his wand-tip. As the
message curled into flames and floated to the ground, Harry looked around at the houses again.
They were standing outside number eleven; he looked to the left and saw number ten; to the
right, however, was number thirteen.
'But where's -?'
Think about what you've just memorised,' said Lupin quietly.
Harry thought, and no sooner had he reached the part about number twelve, Grimmauld Place,
than a battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed
swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated,
pushing those on either side out of its way. Harry gaped at it. The stereo in number eleven
thudded on. Apparently the Muggles inside hadn't felt anything.
'Come on, hurry,' growled Moody, prodding Harry in the back.
Harry walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the newly materialised door. Its black paint
was shabby and scratched. The silver doorknocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There
was no keyhole or letterbox.
Lupin pulled out his wand and tapped the door once. Harry heard many loud, metallic clicks
and what sounded like the clatter of a chain. The door creaked open.
'Get in quick, Harry,' Lupin whispered, 'but don't go far inside and don't touch anything.' Harry stepped over the threshold into the almost total darkness of the hall. He could smell damp, dust and a sweetish, rotting smell; the place had the feeling of a derelict building. He looked over his shoulder and saw the others filing in behind him, Lupin and Tonks carrying his trunk and Hedwig's cage. Moody was standing on the top step releasing the balls of light the Put-Outer had stolen from the streetlamps; they flew back to their bulbs and the square glowed momentarily with orange light before Moody limped inside and closed the front door, so that
the darkness in the hall became complete.
'Here -'
He rapped Harry hard over the head with his wand; Harry felt as though something hot was
trickling down his back this time and knew that the Disillusionment Charm must have lifted.
'Now stay still, everyone, while I give us a bit of light in here,' Moody whispered.
The others' hushed voices were giving Harry an odd feeling of foreboding; it was as though
they had just entered the house of a dying person. He heard a soft hissing noise and then oldfashioned gas lamps sputtered into life all along the walls, casting a flickering insubstantial
light over the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet of a long, gloomy hallway, where a
cobwebby chandelier glimmered overhead and age-blackened portraits hung crooked on the
walls. Harry heard something scuttling behind the skirting board. Both the chandelier and the
candelabra on a rickety table nearby were shaped like serpents.
There were hurried footsteps and Rons mother, Mrs Weasley, emerged from a door at the far
end of the hall. She was beaming in welcome as she hurried towards them, though Harry
noticed that she was rather thinner and paler than she had been last time he had seen her.
'Oh, Harry, it's lovely to see you!' she whispered, pulling him into a rib-cracking hug before
holding him at arm's length and examining him critically. 'You're looking peaky; you need
feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid.'
She turned to the gang of wizards behind him and whispered urgently, 'He's just arrived, the
meeting's started.'
The wizards behind Harry all made noises of interest and excitement and began filing past him towards the door through which Mrs Weasley had just come. Harry made to follow Lupin, but Mrs Weasley held him back.
'No, Harry, the meetings only for members of the Order. Ron and Hermione are upstairs, you can wait with them until the meetings over, then we'll have dinner. And keep your voice down
in the hall,' she added in an urgent whisper.
'Why?'
'I don't want anything to wake up.'
'What d'you -?'
Til explain later, I've got to hurry, I'm supposed to be at the meeting - I'll just show you where
you're sleeping.'
Pressing her finger to her lips, she led him on tiptoe past a pair of long, moth-eaten curtains,
behind which Harry supposed there must be another door, and after skirting a large umbrella
stand that looked as though it had been made from a severed troll's leg they started up the dark
staircase, passing a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques on the wall. A closer look
showed Harry that the heads belonged to house-elves. All of them had the same rather snoutlike nose.
Harry's bewilderment deepened with every step he took. What on earth were they doing in a
house that looked as though it belonged to the Darkest of wizards?
'Mrs Weasley, why -?'
'Ron and Hermione will explain everything, dear, I've really got to dash,' Mrs Weasley
whispered distractedly. There -' they had reached the second landing, '- you're the door on the
right. I'll call you when it's over.'
And she hurried off downstairs again.
Harry crossed the dingy landing, turned the bedroom doorknob, which was shaped like a
serpents head, and opened the door.
He caught a brief glimpse of a gloomy high-ceilinged, twin-bedded room; then there was a loud
twittering noise, followed by an even louder shriek, and his vision was completely obscured by
a large quantity of very bushy hair. Hermione had thrown herself on to him in a hug that nearly
knocked him flat, while Ron's
tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, zoomed excitedly round and round their heads.
'HARRY! Ron, he's here, Harrys here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless - but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got things to tell us -the Dementors! When we heard - and that Ministry hearing - it's just outrageous, I've looked it all up, they can't expel you, they just can't, there's provision in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations -'
'Let him breathe, Hermione,' said Ron, grinning as he closed the door behind Harry. He seemed to have grown several more inches during their month apart, making him taller and more gangly looking than ever, though the long nose, bright red hair and freckles were the same.
Still beaming, Hermione let go of Harry, but before she could say another word there was a soft whooshing sound and something white soared from the top of a dark wardrobe and landed
gently on Harrys shoulder.
'Hedwig!'
The snowy owl clicked her beak and nibbled his ear affectionately as Harry stroked her
feathers.
'She's been in a right state,' said Ron. 'Pecked us half to death when she brought your last
letters, look at this -'
He showed Harry the index finger ol his right hand, which sported a half-healed but clearly
deep cut.
'Oh, yeah,' Harry said. 'Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know -'
'We wanted to give them to you, mate,' said Ron. 'Hermione was going spare, she kept saying
you'd do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore
made us -'
'— swear not to tell me,' said Harry. 'Yeah, Hermione's already said.'
The warm glow that had flared inside him at the sight of his
two best friends was extinguished as something icy flooded the pit of his stomach. All of a sudden - after yearning to see them for a solid month — he felt he would rather Ron and Hermione left him alone.
There was a strained silence in which Harry stroked Hedwig automatically, not looking at either of the others.
'He seemed to think it was best,' said Hermione rather breathlessly. 'Dumbledore, I mean.' 'Right,' said Harry. He noticed that her hands, too, bore the marks of Hedwigs beak and found that he was not at all sorry.
'I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles -' Ron began.
'Yeah?' said Harry, raising his eyebrows. 'Have either of you been attacked by Dementors this summer?'
'Well, no - but that's why he's had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time
-'
Harry felt a great jolt in his guts as though he had just missed a step going downstairs. So everyone had known he was being followed, except him.
'Didn't work that well, though, did it?' said Harry, doing his utmost to keep his voice even. 'Had to look after myself after all, didn't I?'
'He was so angry,' said Hermione, in an almost awestruck voice. 'Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary.' 'Well, I'm glad he left,' Harry said coldly. 'If he hadn't, I wouldn't have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer.'
'Aren't you ... aren't you worried about the Ministry of Magic hearing?' said Hermione quietly. 'No,' Harry lied defiantly. He walked away from them, looking around, with Hedwig nestled contentedly on his shoulder, but this room was not likely to raise his spirits. It was dank and dark. A blank stretch of canvas in an ornate picture frame was all that relieved the bareness of the peeling walls, and as Harry passed it he thought he heard someone, who was lurking out of
sight, snigger.
'So why's Dumbledore been so keen to keep me in the dark?'
Harry asked, still trying hard to keep his voice casual. 'Did you -er - bother to ask him at all?' He glanced up just in time to see them exchanging a look that told him he was behaving just as they had feared he would. It did nothing to improve his temper.
'We told Dumbledore we wanted to tell you what was going on,' said Ron. 'We did, mate. But he's really busy now, we've only seen him twice since we came here and he didn't have much time, he just made us swear not to tell you important stuff when we wrote, he said the owls might be intercepted.'
'He could still've kept me informed if he'd wanted to,' Harry said shortly. 'You're not telling me he doesn't know ways to send messages without owls.'
Hermione glanced at Ron and then said, '1 thought that, too. But he didn't want you to know anything.'
'Maybe he thinks 1 can't be trusted,' said Harry, watching their expressions.
'Don't be thick,' said Ron, looking highly disconcerted.
'Or that I can't take care of myself.'
'Of course he doesn't think that!' said Hermione anxiously.
'So how come I have to stay at the Dursleys' while you two get to join in everything that's
going on here?' said Harry, the words tumbling over one another in a rush, his voice growing
louder with every word. 'How come you two are allowed to know everything that's going on?'
'We're not!' Ron interrupted. 'Mum won't let us near the meetings, she says we're too young -' But before he knew it, Harry was shouting.
'SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN
HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT
THE DURSLEYS' FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE
EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT -WHO SAVED THE
PHILOSOPHER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR
SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?'
Every bitter and resentful thought Harry had had in the past
month was pouring out of him: his frustration at the lack of news, the hurt that they had all been together without him, his fury at being followed and not told about it - all the feelings he was half-ashamed of finally burst their boundaries. Hedwig took fright at the noise and soared off to the top of the wardrobe again; Pigwidgeon twittered in alarm and zoomed even taster around their heads.
'WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!'
Ron was standing there with his mouth half-open, clearly stunned and at a loss for anything to say, whilst Hermione looked on the verge of tears.
'BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE
BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING?'
'Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really did -' Hermione began.
'CANT'VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN
OWL, BUT Dl/MBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR
Well, he did -'
'FOUR WEEKS I'VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF
BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON -'
We wanted to -'
'I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED
UP HERE TOGETHER -'
'No, honest -'
'Harry we're really sorry!' said Hermione desperately, her eyes now sparkling with tears.
'You're absolutely right, Harry - I'd be furious if it was me!'
Harry glared at her, still breathing deeply, then turned away from them again, pacing up and
down. Hedwig hooted glumly from the top of the wardrobe. There was a long pause, broken
only by the mournful creak of the floorboards below Harry's feet.
'What is this place, anyway?' he shot at Ron and Hermione.
'Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix,' said Ron at once.
'Is anyone going to bother telling me what the Order of the Phoenix -?'
'It's a secret society,' said Hermione quickly. 'Dumbledore's in charge, he founded it. It's the people who fought against You-Know-Who last time.'
'Who's in it?' said Harry, coming to a halt with his hands in his pockets.
'Quite a few people -'
'We've met about twenty of them,' said Ron, 'but we think there are more.'
Harry glared at them.
'Well?' he demanded, looking from one to the other.
'Er,' said Ron. 'Well what?'
'Voldemort!' said Harry furiously, and both Ron and Hermione winced. 'What's happening?
What's he up to? Where is he? What are we doing to stop him?'
'We've told you, the Order don't let us in on their meetings,' said Hermione nervously. 'So we
don't know the details - but we've got a general idea,' she added hastily, seeing the look on
Harry's face.
'Fred and George have invented Extendable Ears, see,' said Ron. They're really useful.' 'Extendable -?'
'Ears, yeah. Only we've had to stop using them lately because Mum found out and went
berserk. Fred and George had to hide them all to stop Mum binning them. But we got a good
bit of use out of them before Mum realised what was going on. We know some of the Order are
following known Death Eaters, keeping tabs on them, you know -'
'Some of them are working on recruiting more people to the Order -' said Hermione.
'And some of them are standing guard over something,' said Ron. They're always talking about
guard duty.'
'Couldn't have been me, could it?' said Harry sarcastically.
'Oh, yeah,' said Ron, with a look of dawning comprehension.
Harry snorted. He walked around the room again, looking anywhere but at Ron and Hermione.
'So, what have you two been
doing, if you're not allowed in meetings?' he demanded. 'You said
you'd been busy.'
'We have,' said Hermione quickly. 'We've been decontaminating this house, it's been empty for ages and stuff's been breeding in here. We've managed to clean out the kitchen, most of the bedrooms and I think we're doing the drawing room tomo— AARGH!'
With two loud cracks, Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers, had materialised out of thin air in the middle of the room. Pigwidgeon twittered more wildly than ever and zoomed off to join Hedwig on top of the wardrobe.
'Stop doing that!' Hermione said weakly to the twins, who were as vividly red-haired as Ron, though stockier and slightly shorter.
'Hello, Harry,' said George, beaming at him. 'We thought we heard your dulcet tones.' 'You don't want to bottle up your anger like that, Harry, let it all out,' said Fred, also beaming.
There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didn't hear you.'
'You two passed your Apparation tests, then?' asked Harry grumpily.
'With distinction,' said Fred, who was holding what looked like a piece of very long, fleshcoloured string.
'It would have taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk down the stairs,' said Ron.
Time is Galleons, little brother,' said Fred. 'Anyway, Harry, you're interfering with reception.
Extendable Ears,' he added in response" to Harry's raised eyebrows, and held up the string
which Harry now saw was trailing out on to the landing. We're trying to hear what's going on
downstairs.'
'You want to be careful,' said Ron, staring at the Ear, 'if Mum sees one of them again ..."
'It's worth the risk, that's a major meeting they're having,' said Fred.
The door opened and a long mane of red hair appeared.
'Oh, hello, Harry!' said Ron's younger sister, Ginny, brightly. 'I thought I heard your voice.'
Turning to Fred and George, she said, 'It's no-go with the Extendable Ears, she's gone and put
an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door.'
'How d'you know?' said George, looking crestfallen.
Tonks told me how to find out,' said Ginny. 'You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't
make contact the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of
the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to
get under the gap.'
Fred heaved a deep sigh.
'Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape's been up to.'
'Snape!' said Harry quickly. 'Is he here?'
'Yeah,' said George, carefully closing the door and sitting down on one of the beds; Fred and
Ginny followed. 'Giving a report. Top secret.'
'Git,' said Fred idly.
'He's on our side now,' said Hermione reprovingly.
Ron snorted. 'Doesn't stop him being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us.'
'Bill doesn't like him, either,' said Ginny, as though that settled the matter.
Harry was not sure his anger had abated yet; but his thirst for information was now overcoming
his urge to keep shouting. He sank on to the bed opposite the others.
Ts Bill here?' he asked. 'I thought he was working in Egypt?'
'He applied for a desk job so he could come home and work for the Order,' said Fred. 'He says
he misses the tombs, but; he smirked, 'there are compensations.'
'What d'you mean?'
'Remember old Fleur Delacour?' said George. 'She's got a job at Gringotts to eempwve 'er
Eeenglish -'
'And Bill's been giving her a lot of private lessons,' sniggered Fred.
'Charlie's in the Order, too,' said George, 'but he's still in Romania. Dumbledore wants as many
foreign wizards brought in as possible, so Charlie's trying to make contacts on his days off.'
'Couldn't Percy do that?' Harry asked. The last he had heard, the third Weasley brother was
working in the Department of International Magical Co-operation at the Ministry of Magic.
At Harry's words, all the Weasleys and Hermione exchanged darkly significant looks. 'Whatever you do, don't mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad,' Ron told Harry in a tense
voice.
'Why not?'
'Because every time Percy's name's mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he's holding and Mum
starts crying,' Fred said.
'It's been awful,' said Ginny sadly.
'I think we're well shot of him,' said George, with an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face. 'What's happened?' Harry said.
'Percy and Dad had a row,' said Fred. 'I've never seen Dad row with anyone like that. It's
normally Mum who shouts.'
'It was the first week back after term ended,' said Ron. 'We were about to come and join the
Order. Percy came home and told us he'd been promoted.'
'You're kidding?' said Harry.
Though he knew perfectly well that Percy was highly ambitious, Harry's impression was that
Percy had not made a great success of his first job at the Ministry of Magic. Percy had
committed the fairly large oversight of failing to notice that his boss was being controlled by
Lord Voldemort (not that the Ministry had believed it - they all thought Mr Crouch had gone
mad).
'Yeah, we were all surprised,' said George, 'because Percy got into a load of trouble about
Crouch, there was an inquiry and everything. They said Percy ought to have realised Crouch
was off his rocker and informed a superior. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he
wasn't going to complain.'
'So how come they promoted him?'
That's exactly what we wondered,' said Ron, who seemed very keen to keep normal conversation going now that Harry had stopped yelling. 'He came home really pleased with himself -even more pleased than usual, if you can imagine that — and told Dad he'd been offered a position in Fudge's own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts: Junior Assistant to the Minister. He expected Dad to be all impressed, I think.' 'Only Dad wasn't,' said Fred grimly.
'Why not?' said Harry. .f
'Well, apparently Fudge has been storming round the Ministry checking that nobody's having any contact with Dumbledore,' said George.
'Dumbledore's name is mud with the Ministry these days, see,' said Fred. They all think he's just making trouble saying You-Know-Whos back.'
'Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who's in league with Dumbledore can clear out their desks,' said George.
'Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he's friendly with Dumbledore, and he's always thought Dad's a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession.'
'But what's that got to do with Percy?' asked Harry, contused.
'I'm coming to that. Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family - and Dumbledore.'
Harry let out a low whistle.
'Bet Percy loved that.'
Ron laughed in a hollow sort of way.
'He went completely berserk. He said — well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he's been having to struggle against Dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been - you know -not had a lot of money, I mean -'
'What?' said Harry in disbelief, as Ginny made a noise like an angry cat.
T know,' said Ron in a low voice. 'And it got worse. He said Dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and Dad was going to go down with him, and that he - Percy - knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family any more. And he packed his bags the same night and left. He's living here in London now.'
Harry swore under his breath. He had always liked Percy least of Ron's brothers, but he had never imagined he would say such things to Mr Weasley.
'Mum's been in a right state,' said Ron dully. 'You know - crying and stuff. She came up to London to try and talk to Percy but he slammed the door in her face. I dunno what he does if he meets Dad at work - ignores him, I s'pose.'
'But Percy must know Voldemort's back,' said Harry slowly. 'He's not stupid, he must know your mum and dad wouldn't risk everything without proof.'
'Yeah, well, your name got dragged into the row,' said Ron, shooting Harry a furtive look. 'Percy said the only evidence was your word and ... I dunno ... he didn't think it was good enough.'
'Percy takes the Daily Prophet seriously,' said Hermione tartly, and the others all nodded. 'What are you talking about?' Harry asked, looking around at them all. They were all regarding him warily.
'Haven't - haven't you been getting the Daily Prophet!' Hermione asked nervously. 'Yeah, I have!' said Harry.
'Have you - er - been reading it thoroughly?' Hermione asked, still more anxiously.
'Not cover to cover,' said Harry defensively. 'If they were going to report anything about
Voldemort it would be headline news, wouldn't it?'
The others flinched at the sound of the name. Hermione hurried on, 'Well, you'd need to read it
cover to cover to pick it up, but they - um - they mention you a couple of times a week.' 'But I'd have seen -'
'Not if you've only been reading the front page, you wouldn't,' said Hermione, shaking her
head. 'I'm not talking about big articles. They just slip you in, like you're a standing joke.' 'What d'you -?'
'It's quite nasty, actually,' said Hermione in a voice of forced calm. They're just building on
Rita's stuff.'
'But she's not writing for them any more, is she?'
'Oh, no, she's kept her promise — not that she's got any choice,' Hermione added with
satisfaction. 'But she laid the foundation for what they're trying to do now.'
'Which is what?' said Harry impatiently.
'OK, you know she wrote that you were collapsing all over the place and saying your scar was hurting and all that?'
'Yeah,' said Harry, who was not likely to forget Rita Skeeter's stories about him in a hurry. 'Well, they're writing about you as though you're this deluded, attention-seeking person who thinks he's a great tragic hero or something,' said Hermione, very fast, as though it would be less unpleasant for Harry to hear these facts quickly. They keep slipping in snide comments about you. If some far-fetched story appears, they say something like, "A tale worthy of Harry Potter", and if anyone has a funny accident or anything it's, "Let's hope he hasn't got a scar on
his forehead or we'll be asked to worship him next" -'
'I don't want anyone to worship —' Harry began hotly.
'I know you don't,' said Hermione quickly, looking frightened. 'I know, Harry. But you see what
they're doing? They want to turn you into someone nobody will believe. Fudge is behind it, I'll
bet anything. They want wizards on the street to think you're just some stupid boy who's a bit
of a joke, who tells ridiculous tall stories because he loves being famous and wants to keep it
going.'
T didn't ask - 1 didn't want - Voldemort killed my parents!' Harry spluttered. T got famous
because he murdered my family but couldn't kill me! Who wants to be famous for that? Don't
they think I'd rather it'd never -'
'We know, Harry,' said Ginny earnestly.
'And of course, they didn't report a word about the Dementors attacking you,' said Hermione.
'Someone's told them to keep that quiet. That should've been a really big story, out-of-control
Dementors. They haven't even reported that you broke the International Statute of Secrecy. We
thought they would, it would tie in so well with this image of you as some stupid show-off. We
think they're biding their time until you're expelled, then they're really going to go to town - I
mean, if you're expelled, obviously,' she went on hastily. 'You really shouldn't be, not if they
abide by their own laws, there's no case against you.'
They were back on the hearing and Harry did not want to think about that. He cast around for
another change of subject, but was
saved the necessity of finding one by the sound of footsteps coming
up the stairs.
'Uh oh.'
Fred gave the Extendable Ear a hearty tug; there was another loud crack and he and George
vanished. Seconds later, Mrs Weasley appeared in the bedroom doorway.
The meeting's over, you can come down and have dinner now. Everyone's dying to see you,
Harry. And who's left all those Dungbombs outside the kitchen door?'
'Crookshanks,' said Ginny unblushmgly. 'He loves playing with them.'
'Oh,' said Mrs Weasley, 'I thought it might have been Kreacher, he keeps doing odd things
like that. Now don't forget to keep your voices down in the hall. Ginny, your hands are
filthy, what have you been doing? Go and wash them before dinner, please.'
Ginny grimaced at the others and followed her mother out of the room, leaving Harry alone
with Ron and Hermione. Both of them were watching him apprehensively, as though they
feared he would start shouting again now that everyone else had gone. The sight of them
looking so nervous made him feel slightly ashamed.
'Look ...' he muttered, but Ron shook his head, and Hermione said quietly, 'We knew you'd
be angry, Harry, we really don't blame you, but you've got to understand, we did try to
persuade Dumbledore -'
'Yeah, 1 know,' said Harry shortly.
He cast around for a topic that didn't involve his headmaster, because the very thought of
Dumbledore made Harry's insides burn with anger again.
'Who's Kreacher?' he asked.
The house-elf who lives here,' said Ron. 'Nutter. Never met one like him.'
Hermione frowned at Ron.
'He's not a nutter, Ron.'
'His life's ambition is to have his head cut off and stuck up on a plaque just like his mother,'
said Ron irritably. 'Is that normal, Hermione?'
'Well - well, if he is a bit strange, it's not his fault.'
Ron rolled his eyes at Harry.
'Hermione still hasn't given up on SPEW
'It's not SPEW!' said Hermione heatedly. 'It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare.
And it's not just me, Dumbledore says we should be kind to Kreacher too.'
'Yeah, yeah,' said Ron. 'C'mon, I'm starving.'
He led the way out of the door and on to the landing, but before they could descend the stairs
'Hold it!' Ron breathed, flinging out an arm to stop Harry and Hermione walking any further.
They're still in the hall, we might be able to hear something.'
The three of them looked cautiously over the banisters. The gloomy hallway below was
packed with witches and wizards, including all of Harrys guard. They were whispering
excitedly together. In the very centre of the group Harry saw the dark, greasy-haired head and
prominent nose of his least favourite teacher at Hogwarts, Professor Snape. Harry leant further
over the banisters. He was very interested in what Snape was doing for the Order of the
Phoenix ...
A thin piece of flesh-coloured string descended in front of Harrys eyes. Looking up, he saw
Ered and George on the landing above, cautiously lowering the Extendable Ear towards the
dark knot of people below. A moment later, however, they all began to move towards the front
door and out of sight.
'Dammit,' Harry heard Fred whisper, as he hoisted the Extendable Ear back up again. They heard the front door open, then close.
'Snape never eats here,' Ron told Harry quietly. Thank God. C'mon.'
'And don't forget to keep your voice down in the hall, Harry,' Hermione whispered.
As they passed the row of house-elf heads on the wall, they saw Lupin, Mrs Weasley and
Tonks at the front door, magically sealing its many locks and bolts behind those who had just
left.
'We're eating down in the kitchen,' Mrs Weasley whispered, meeting them at the bottom of the
stairs. 'Harry, dear, if you'll just tiptoe across the hall it's through this door here -' CRASH.
'Tonks!' cried Mrs Weasley in exasperation, turning to look behind her.
Tm sorry!' wailed Tonks, who was lying flat on the floor. 'It's that stupid umbrella stand, that's the second time I've tripped over -'
But the rest of her words were drowned by a horrible, ear-splitting, blood-curdling screech. The moth-eaten velvet curtains Harry had passed earlier had flown apart, but there was no door behind them. For a split second, Harry thought he was looking through a window, a window behind which an old woman in a black cap was screaming and screaming as though she were being tortured - then he realised it was simply a life-size portrait, but the most realistic, and the most unpleasant, he had ever seen in his life.
The old woman was drooling, her eyes were rolling, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screamed; and all along the hall behind them, the other portraits awoke and began to yell, too, so that Harry actually screwed up his eyes at the noise and clapped his hands over his ears. Lupin and Mrs Weasley darted forward and tried to tug the curtains shut over the old woman, but they would not close and she screeched louder than ever, brandishing clawed hands as though trying to tear at their faces.
'Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers -'
Tonks apologised over and over again, dragging the huge, heavy troll's leg back off the floor; Mrs Weasley abandoned the attempt to close the curtains and hurried up and down the hall, Stunning all the other portraits with her wand; and a man with long black hair came charging out of a door facing Harry.
'Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut UP!' he roared, seizing the curtain Mrs Weasley had
abandoned.
The old woman's face blanched.
'Yoooou!' she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of the man. 'Blood traitor, abomination,
shame of my flesh!'
'I said - shut - UP!' roared the man, and with a stupendous effort he and Lupin managed to force
the curtains closed again.

NUMBER TWELVE, GRIMMAULD PLACE 75 The old woman's screeches died and an echoing silence fell. Panting slightly and sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes, Harry's godfather Sirius turned to face him.

'Hello, Harry,' he said grimly, 'I see you've met my mother.' CHAPTER FIVE —

The Order of the Phoenix

'Your -?'
'My dear old mum, yeah,' said Sirius. 'We've been trying to get her down for a month but we think she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas. Let's get downstairs, quick, before they all wake up again.'
'But what's a portrait of your mother doing here?' Harry asked, bewildered, as they went through the door from the hall and led the way down a flight of narrow stone steps, the others just behind them.
'Hasn't anyone told you? This was my parents' house,' said Sirius. 'But I'm the last Black left, so it's mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for Headquarters - about the only useful thing I've been able to do.'
Harry, who had expected a better welcome, noted how hard and bitter Sirius's voice sounded. He followed his godfather to the bottom of the steps and through a door leading into the basement kitchen.
It was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like battle fumes, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of them, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags. Mr Weasley and his eldest son Bill were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table.

Mrs Weasley cleared her throat. Her husband, a thin, balding,
red-haired man who wore horn-rimmed glasses, looked around and jumped to his feet. 'Harry!' Mr Weasley said, hurrying forward to greet him, and shaking his hand vigorously. 'Good to see you!'
Over his shoulder Harry saw Bill, who still wore his long hair in a ponytail, hastily rolling up the lengths of parchment left on the table.
'Journey all right, Harry?' Bill called, trying to gather up twelve scrolls at once. 'Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, then?'
'He tried,' said Tonks, striding over to help Bill and immediately toppling a candle on to the last piece of parchment. 'Oh no - sorry
'Here, dear,' said Mrs Weasley, sounding exasperated, and she repaired the parchment with a wave of her wand. In the flash of light caused by Mrs Weasley's charm Harry caught a glimpse of what looked like the plan of a building.
Mrs Weasley had seen him looking. She snatched the plan off the table and stuffed it into Bill's already overladen arms.
'This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings,' she snapped, before sweeping off towards an ancient dresser from which she started unloading dinner plates. Bill took out his wand, muttered, 'Evanesco!' and the scrolls vanished.
'Sit down, Harry,' said Sirius. 'You've met Mundungus, haven't you?'
The thing Harry had taken to be a pile of rags gave a prolonged, grunting snore, then jerked awake.
'Some'n say m'name?' Mundungus mumbled sleepily. T 'gree with Sirius ...' He raised a very grubby hand in the air as though voting, his droopy, bloodshot eyes unfocused.

Ginny giggled.
'The meeting's over, Dung,' said Sirius, as they all sat down around him at the table. 'Harry's arrived.'
'Eh?' said Mundungus, peering balefully at Harry through his matted ginger hair. 'Blimey, so 'e 'as. Yeah ... you all right, 'Any?'

'Yeah,' said Harry.
Mundungus fumbled nervously in his pockets, still staring at Harry, and pulled out a grimy black pipe. He stuck it in his mouth, ignited the end of it with his wand and took a deep pull on it. Great billowing clouds of greenish smoke obscured him within seconds. 'Owe you a 'pology,' grunted a voice from the middle of the smelly cloud.
'For the last time, Mundungus,' called Mrs Weasley, 'will you please not smoke that thing in the kitchen, especially not when we're about to eat!'

'Ah,' said Mundungus. 'Right. Sorry, Molly.'
The cloud of smoke vanished as Mundungus stowed his pipe back in his pocket, but an acrid smell of burning socks lingered.
'And if you want dinner before midnight I'll need a hand,' Mrs Weasley said to the room at large. 'No, you can stay where you are, Harry dear, you've had a long journey.' 'What can I do, Molly?' said Tonks enthusiastically, bounding forwards.

Mrs Weasley hesitated, looking apprehensive.
'Er - no, it's all right, Tonks, you have a rest too, you've done enough today.' 'No, no, I want to help!' said Tonks brightly, knocking over a chair as she hurried towards the dresser, from which Ginny was collecting cutlery.
Soon, a series of heavy knives were chopping meat and vegetables of their own accord, supervised by Mr Weasley, while Mrs Weasley stirred a cauldron dangling over the fire and the others took out plates, more goblets and food from the pantry. Harry was left at the table with Sirius and Mundungus, who was still blinking at him mournfully.

'Seen old Figgy since?' he asked.
'No,' said Harry, T haven't seen anyone.'
'See, I wouldn't 'ave left,' said Mundungus, leaning forward, a pleading note in his voice, 'but I 'ad a business opportunity -'
Harry felt something brush against his knees and started, but it was only Crookshanks, Hermione's bandy-legged ginger cat, who wound himself once around Harry's legs, purring, then jumped on
to Sirius's lap and curled up. Sirius scratched him absent-mindedly behind the ears as he turned, still grim-faced, to Harry.
'Had a good summer so far?'
'No, it's been lousy,' said Harry.
For the first time, something like a grin flitted across Sirius's face.
'Don't know what you're complaining about, myself.'
'What?' said Harry incredulously.
'Personally, I'd have welcomed a Dementor attack. A deadly struggle for my soul would have broken the monotony nicely. You think you've had it bad, at least you've been able to get out and about, stretch your legs, get into a few fights ... I've been stuck inside for a month.'
'How come?' asked Harry, frowning.
'Because the Ministry of Magic's still after me, and Voldemort will know all about me being an Animagus by now, Wormtail will have told him, so my big disguise is useless. There's not much I can do for the Order of the Phoenix ... or so Dumbledore feels.'
There was something about the slightly flattened tone of voice in which Sirius uttered Dumbledore's name that told Harry that Sirius, too, was not very happy with the Headmaster. Harry felt a sudden upsurge of affection for his godfather.
At least you've known what's been going on,' he said bracingly.
'Oh yeah,' said Sirius sarcastically. 'Listening to Snape's reports, having to take all his snide hints that he's out there risking his life while I'm sat on my backside here having a nice comfortable time ... asking me how the cleanings going -'
'What cleaning?' asked Harry.
Trying to make this place fit for human habitation,' said Sirius, waving a hand around the dismal kitchen. 'No one's lived here for ten years, not since my dear mother died, unless you count her old house-elf, and he's gone round the twist - hasn't cleaned anything in ages.' 'Sirius,' said Mundungus, who did not appear to have paid any attention to the conversation, but had been closely examining an empty goblet. 'This solid silver, mate?'
'Yes,' said Sirius, surveying it with distaste. 'Finest fifteenth-century goblin-wrought silver, embossed with the Black family crest.'
That'd come orf, though,' muttered Mundungus, polishing it with his cuff.
'Fred - George - NO, JUST CARRY THEM!' Mrs Weasley shrieked.
Harry, Sirius and Mundungus looked round and, within a split second, they had dived away from the table. Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of Butterbeer and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with knife, to hurtle through the air towards them. The stew skidded the length of the table and came to a halt just before the end, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface; the flagon of Butterbeer fell with a crash, spilling its contents everywhere; the bread knife slipped off the board and landed, point down and quivering ominously, exactly where Sirius's right hand had been seconds before. 'FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!' screamed Mrs Weasley. THERE WAS NO NEED - I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS - JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW, YOU DON'T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!' 'We were just trying to save a bit of time!' said Fred, hurrying forward to wrench the bread knife out of the table. 'Sorry, Sirius, mate - didn't mean to -'
Harry and Sirius were both laughing; Mundungus, who had toppled backwards off his chair, was swearing as he got to his feet; Crookshanks had given an angry hiss and shot off under the dresser, from where his large yellow eyes glowed in the darkness.
'Boys,' Mr Weasley said, lifting the stew back into the middle of the table, 'your mother's right, you're supposed to show a sense of responsibility now you've come of age -' 'None of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!' Mrs Weasley raged at the twins as she slammed a fresh flagon of Butterbeer on to the table, and spilling almost as much again. 'Bill didn't feel the need to Apparate every few feet! Charlie didn't charm everything he met! Percy
-'
She stopped dead, catching her breath with a frightened look at her husband, whose expression was suddenly wooden.
'Let's eat,' said Bill quickly.
'It looks wonderful, Molly,' said Lupin, ladling stew on to a plate for her and handing it across the table.
For a few minutes there was silence but for the chink of plates and cutlery and the scraping of chairs as everyone settled down to their food. Then Mrs Weasley turned to Sirius. 'I've been meaning to tell you, Sirius, there's something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a Boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out.'
'Whatever you like,' said Sirius indifferently.
'The curtains in there are full of Doxys, too,' Mrs Weasley went on. 'I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow.'
'I look forward to it,' said Sirius. Harry heard the sarcasm in his voice, but he was not sure that anyone else did.
Opposite Harry, Tonks was entertaining Hermione and Ginny by transforming her nose between mouthfuls. Screwing up her eyes each time with the same pained expression she had worn back in Harry's bedroom, her nose swelled to a beak-like protuberance that resembled Snape's, shrank to the size of a button mushroom and then sprouted a great deal of hair from each nostril. Apparently this was a regular mealtime entertainment, because Hermione and Ginny were soon requesting their favourite noses.
'Do that one like a pig snout, Tonks.'
Tonks obliged, and Harry, looking up, had the fleeting impression that a female Dudley was grinning at him from across the table.
Mr Weasley, Bill and Lupin were having an intense discussion about goblins. They're not giving anything away yet,' said Bill. 'I still can't work out whether or not they believe he's back. Course, they might prefer not to take sides at all. Keep out of it.' 'I'm sure they'd never go over to You-Know-Who,' said Mr Weasley, shaking his head. They've suffered losses too; remember that goblin family he murdered last time, somewhere near Nottingham?'
'I think it depends what they're offered,' said Lupin. 'And I'm not talking about gold. If they're offered the freedoms we've been denying them for centuries they're going to be tempted. Have you still not had any luck with Ragnok, Bill?'
'He's feeling pretty anti-wizard at the moment,' said Bill, 'he hasn't stopped raging about the Bagman business, he reckons the Ministry did a cover-up, those goblins never got their gold from him, you know -'
A gale of laughter from the middle of the table drowned the rest of Bill's words. Fred, George, Ron and Mundungus were rolling around in their seats.
'... and then,' choked Mundungus, tears running down his face, 'and then, if you'll believe it, 'e says to me, 'e says, "'Ere, Dung, where didja get all them toads from? 'Cos some son of a Bludger's gone and nicked all mine!" And I says, "Nicked all your toads, Will, what next? So you'll be wanting some more, then?" And if you'll believe me, lads, the gormless gargoyle buys all 'is own toads back orf me for a lot more'n what 'e paid in the first place -'
'1 don't think we need to hear any more of your business dealings, thank you very much, Mundungus,' said Mrs Weasley sharply, as Ron slumped forwards on to the table, howling with laughter.
'Beg pardon, Molly,' said Mundungus at once, wiping his eyes and winking at Harry. 'But, you know, Will nicked 'em orf Warty Harris in the first place so I wasn't really doing nothing wrong.'
'I don't know where you learned about right and wrong, Mundungus, but you seem to have missed a few crucial lessons,' said Mrs Weasley coldly.
Fred and George buried their faces in their goblets of Butterbeer; George was hiccoughing. For some reason, Mrs Weasley threw a very nasty look at Sirius before getting to her feet and going to fetch a large rhubarb crumble for pudding. Harry looked round at his godfather. 'Molly doesn't approve of Mundungus,' said Sirius in an undertone.
'How come he's in the Order?' Harry said, very quietly.
'He's useful,' Sirius muttered. 'Knows all the crooks - well, he would, seeing as he's one himself. But he's also very loyal to Dumbledore, who helped him out of a tight spot once. It pays to have someone like Dung around, he hears things we don't. But Molly thinks inviting him to stay for dinner is going too far. She
hasn't forgiven him for slipping off duty when he was supposed to be tailing you.' Three helpings of rhubarb crumble and custard later and the waistband on Harrys jeans was feeling uncomfortably tight (which was saying something as the jeans had once been Dudley's). As he laid down his spoon there was a lull in the general conversation: Mr Weasley was leaning back in his chair, looking replete and relaxed; Tonks was yawning widely, her nose now back to normal; and Ginny who had lured Crookshanks out from under the dresser, was sitting crosslegged on the floor, rolling Butterbeer corks for him to chase.
'Nearly time for bed, I think,' said Mrs Weasley with a yawn.
'Not just yet, Molly' said Sirius, pushing away his empty plate and turning to look at Harry. 'You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort.'
The atmosphere in the room changed with the rapidity Harry associated with the arrival of Dementors. Where seconds before it had been sleepily relaxed, it was now alert, even tense. A frisson had gone around the table at the mention of Voldemort's name. Lupin, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowered his goblet slowly, looking wary.
T did!' said Harry indignantly. T asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so -'
'And they're quite right,' said Mrs Weasley. 'You're too young.'
She was sitting bolt upright in her chair, her fists clenched on its arms, every trace of drowsiness gone.
'Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?' asked Sirius. 'Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He's got the right to know what's been happen—'
'Hang on!' interrupted George loudly.
'How come Harry gets his questions answered?' said Fred angrily.
'We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!' said George.
'"You're too young, you're not in the Order,'" said Fred, in a high-pitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother's. 'Harry's not even of age!'
84 ' HARRY POTTER

'It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing,' said Sirius calmly, 'that's your parents' decision. Harry, on the other hand -'
'It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!' said Mrs Weasley sharply. The expression on her normally kind face looked dangerous. 'You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?'
'Which bit?' Sirius asked politely, but with the air of a man readying himself for a fight. The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know,' said Mrs Weasley, placing a heavy emphasis on the last three words.
Ron, Hermione, Fred and George's heads swivelled from Sirius to Mrs Weasley as though they were following a tennis rally. Ginny was kneeling amid a pile of abandoned Butterbeer corks, watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Lupin's eyes were fixed on Sirius.
'I don't intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly,' said Sirius. 'But as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back' (again, there was a collective shudder around the table at the name) 'he has more right than most to -'
'He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!' said Mrs Weasley. 'He's only fifteen and -' 'And he's dealt with as much as most in the Order,' said Sirius, 'and more than some.' 'No one's denying what he's done!' said Mrs Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. 'But he's still -'

'He's not a child!' said Sirius impatiently.
'He's not an adult either!' said Mrs Weasley, the colour rising in her cheeks. 'He's not James, Sirius!'

'I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly,' said Sirius coldly.
'I'm not sure you are!' said Mrs Weasley. 'Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!'

'What's wrong with that?' said Harry.
'What's wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him!' said Mrs Weasley, her eyes still
boring into Sirius. 'You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!' 'Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?' demanded Sirius, his voice rising. 'Meaning you have been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is _why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and -'
'We'll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!' said Sirius loudly. 'Arthur!' said Mrs Weasley, rounding on her husband. 'Arthur, back me up!' Mr Weasley did not speak at once. He took off his glasses and cleaned them slowly on his robes, not looking at his wife. Only when he had replaced them carefully on his nose did he reply.
'Dumbledore knows the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry will have to be filled in, to a certain extent, now that he is staying at Headquarters.'
'Yes, but there's a difference between that and inviting him to ask whatever he likes!' 'Personally,' said Lupin quietly, looking away from Sirius at last, as Mrs Weasley turned quickly to him, hopeful that finally she was about to get an ally, 'I think it better that Harry gets the facts -not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture - from us, rather than a garbled version from ... others.'
His expression was mild, but Harry felt sure Lupin, at least, knew that some Extendable Ears had survived Mrs Weasley's purge.
'Well,' said Mrs Weasley, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come, 'well ... I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has Harry's best interests at heart -'

'He's not your son,' said Sirius quietly.
'He's as good as,' said Mrs Weasley fiercely. 'Who else has he got?'
'He's got me!'
'Yes,' said Mrs Weasley, her lip curling, 'the thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked UP in Azkaban, hasn't it?'
Sirius started to rise from his chair.
'Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry,' said Lupin sharply. 'Sirius, sit down.'
Mrs Weasley's lower lip was trembling. Sirius sank slowly back into his chair, his face white. 'I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this,' Lupin continued, 'he's old enough to decide for himself.'
'I want to know what's been going on,' Harry said at once.
He did not look at Mrs Weasley. He had been touched by what she had said about his being as good as a son, but he was also impatient with her mollycoddling. Sirius was right, he was not a child.
'Very well,' said Mrs Weasley, her voice cracking. 'Ginny - Ron - Hermione - Fred - George - I want you out of this kitchen, now.'
There was instant uproar.
'We're of age!' Fred and George bellowed together.
'If Harry's allowed, why can't I?' shouted Ron.
'Mum, I want to hear!' wailed Ginny.
'NO!' shouted Mrs Weasley, standing up, her eyes overbright. 'I absolutely forbid -' 'Molly, you can't stop Fred and George,' said Mr Weasley wearily. They are of age.'
They're still at school.'
'But they're legally adults now,' said Mr Weasley, in the same tired voice.
Mrs Weasley was now scarlet in the face.
'I - oh, all right then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron -'
'Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!' said Ron hotly. 'Won't - won't you?' he added uncertainly, meeting Harry's eyes.
For a split second, Harry considered telling Ron that he wouldn't tell him a single word, that he could try a taste of being kept in the dark and see how he liked it. But the nasty impulse vanished as they looked at each other.
'Course I will,' Harry said.
Ron and Hermione beamed.
'Fine!' shouted Mrs Weasley. 'Fine! Ginny - BED!'
Ginny did not go quietly. They could hear her raging and storming at her mother all the way up the stairs, and when she reached the hall Mrs Blacks ear-splitting shrieks were added to the din. Lupin hurried off to the portrait to restore calm. It was only after he had returned, closing the kitchen door behind him and taking his seat at the table again, that Sirius spoke.
'OK, Harry ... what do you want to know?'
Harry took a deep breath and asked the question that had obsessed him for the last month. 'Where's Voldemort?' he said, ignoring the renewed shudders and winces at the name. 'What's he doing? I've been trying to watch the Muggle news, and there hasn't been anything that looks like him yet, no funny deaths or anything.'
That's because there haven't been any funny deaths yet,' said Sirius, 'not as far as we know, anyway ... and we know quite a lot.'
'More than he thinks we do, anyway,' said Lupin.
'How come he's stopped killing people?' Harry asked. He knew Voldemort had murdered more than once in the last year alone.
'Because he doesn't want to draw attention to himself,' said Sirius. 'It would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn't come off quite the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed it up.' 'Or rather, you messed it tip for him,' said Lupin, with a satisfied smile.
'How?' Harry asked, perplexed.
'You weren't supposed to survive!' said Sirius. 'Nobody apart from his Death Eaters was supposed to know he'd come back. But you survived to bear witness.'
'And the very last person he wanted alerted to his return the moment he got back was Dumbledore,' said Lupin. 'And you made sure Dumbledore knew at once.'
'How has that helped?' Harry asked.
'Are you kidding?' said Bill incredulously. 'Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever scared of!'
Thanks to you, Dumbledore was able to recall the Order of the Phoenix about an hour after Voldemort returned,' said Sirius.
'So, what's the Order been doing?' said Harry, looking around at them all.
'Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can't carry out his plans,' said Sirius.
'How d'you know what his plans are?' Harry asked quickly.
'Dumbledore's got a shrewd idea,' said Lupin, 'and Dumbledore's shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate.'
'So what does Dumbledore reckon he's planning?'
'Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again,' said Sirius. 'In the old days he had huge numbers at his command: witches and wizards he'd bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of Dark creatures. You heard him planning to recruit the giants; well, they'll be just one of the groups he's after. He's certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of Magic with only a dozen Death Eaters.'
'So you're trying to stop him getting more followers?'
'We're doing our best,' said Lupin.
'How?'
'Well, the main thing is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who really has returned, to put them on their guard,' said Bill. 'It's proving tricky, though.'
'Why?'
'Because of the Ministry's attitude,' said Tonks. 'You saw Cornelius Fudge after You-KnowWho came back, Harry. Well, he hasn't shifted his position at all. He's absolutely refusing to believe it's happened.'
'But why?' said Harry desperately. Why's he being so stupid? If Dumbledore -' 'Ah, well, you've put your finger on the problem,' said Mr Weasley with a wry smile. 'Dumbledore.'
'Fudge is frightened of him, you see,' said Tonks sadly.
'Frightened of Dumbledore?' said Harry incredulously.
'Frightened of what he's up to,' said Mr Weasley. 'Fudge thinks Dumbledore's plotting to overthrow him. He thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minister for Magic.'
'But Dumbledore doesn't want -'
'Of course he doesn't,' said Mr Weasley. 'He's never wanted the Minister's job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but
THEORDEROFTHEPHOENIX - 89

he's never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for the job.'
'Deep down, Fudge knows Dumbledore's much cleverer than he is a much more powerful wizard, and in the early days of his Ministry he was forever asking Dumbledore for help and advice,' said Lupin. 'But it seems he's become fond of power, and much more confident. He loves being Minister for Magic and he's managed to convince himself that he's the clever one and Dumbledore's simply stirring up trouble for the sake of it.'
'How can he think that?' said Harry angrily. 'How can he think Dumbledore would just make it all up - that I'd make it all up?'
'Because accepting that Voldemort's back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn't had to cope with for nearly fourteen years,' said Sirius bitterly. 'Fudge just can't bring himself to face it. It's so much more comfortable to convince himself Dumbledore's lying to destabilise him.' 'You see the problem,' said Lupin. 'While the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort it's hard to convince people he's back, especially as they really don't want to believe it in the first place. What's more, the Ministry's leaning heavily on the Daily Prophet not to report any of what they're calling Dumbledore's rumour-mongering, so most of the wizarding community are completely unaware any things happened, and that makes them easy targets for the Death Eaters if they're using the Imperius Curse.'
'But you're telling people, aren't you?' said Harry, looking around at Mr Weasley, Sirius, Bill, Mundungus, Lupin and Tonks. 'You're letting people know he's back?'

They all smiled humourlessly.
'Well, as everyone thinks I'm a mad mass-murderer and the Ministry's put a ten thousand Galleon price on my head, I can hardly stroll up the street and start handing out leaflets, can I?' said Sirius restlessly.
'And I'm not a very popular dinner guest with most of the community,' said Lupin. 'It's an occupational hazard of being a werewolf.'
'Tonks and Arthur would lose their jobs at the Ministry if they started shooting their mouths off,' said Sirius, 'and it's very important
for us to have spies inside the Ministry, because you can bet Voldemort will have them.' 'We've managed to convince a couple of people, though,' said Mr Weasley. Tonks here, for one - she's too young to have been in the Order of the Phoenix last time, and having Aurors on our side is a huge advantage - Kingsley Shacklebolt's been a real asset, too; he's in charge of the hunt for Sirius, so he's been feeding the Ministry information that Sirius is in Tibet.' 'But if none of you are putting the news out that Voldemorts back -' Harry began. 'Who said none of us are putting the news out?' said Sirius. Why d'you think Dumbledore's in such trouble?'

'What d'you mean?' Harry asked.
They're trying to discredit him,' said Lupin. 'Didn't you see the Daily Prophet last week? They reported that he'd been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards because he's getting old and losing his grip, but it's not true; he was voted out by Ministry wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemorts return. They've demoted him from Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot - that's the Wizard High Court - and they're talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class, too.'
'But Dumbledore says he doesn't care what they do as long as they don't take him off the Chocolate Frog Cards,' said Bill, grinning.
'It's no laughing matter,' said Mr Weasley sharply. 'If he carries on defying the Ministry like this he could end up in Azkaban, and the last thing we want is to have Dumbledore locked up. While You-Know-Who knows Dumbledore's out there and wise to what he's up to he's going to go cautiously. If Dumbledore's out ol the way - well, You-Know-Who will have a clear field.'
'But if Voldemort s trying to recruit more Death Eaters it's bound to get out that he's come back, isn't it?' asked Harry desperately.
'Voldemort doesn't march up to people's houses and bang on their front doors, Harry,' said Sirius. 'He tricks, jinxes and blackmails them. He's well-practised at operating in secret. In any case, gathering followers is only one thing he's interested in. He's got

THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX 91

other plans too, plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed, and he's concentrating on those for the moment.'
'What's he after apart from followers?' Harry asked swiftly. He thought he saw Sirius and Lupin exchange the most fleeting of looks before Sirius answered.

'Stuff he can only get by stealth.'
When Harry continued to look puzzled, Sirius said, 'Like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time.'

'When he was powerful before?' 'Yes.'

'Like what kind of weapon?' said Harry. 'Something worse than the Avada Kedavra -?' 'That's enough!'
Mrs Weasley spoke from the shadows beside the door. Harry hadn't noticed her return from
taking Ginny upstairs. Her arms were crossed and she looked furious.
'I want you in bed, now. All of you,' she added, looking around at Fred, George, Ron and
Hermione.
'You can't boss us -' Fred began.
'Watch me,' snarled Mrs Weasley. She was trembling slightly as she looked at Sirius. 'You've
given Harry plenty of information. Any more and you might just as well induct him into the
Order straightaway.'
'Why not?' said Harry quickly. Til join, I want to join, I want to fight.'
'No.'
It was not Mrs Weasley who spoke this time, but Lupin.
The Order is comprised only of overage wizards,' he said. 'Wizards who have left school,' he
added, as Fred and Georg^ opened their mouths. There are dangers involved of which you can
have no idea, any of you ... I think Molly's right, Sirius. We've said enough.'
Sirius half-shrugged but did not argue. Mrs Weasley beckoned imperiously to her sons and
Hermione. One by one they stood up and Harry, recognising defeat, followed suit.

— CHAPTER SIX