Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows hp-7

by J. K. Rowling

  “The last words Albus Dumbledore spoke to the pair of us!”

  “‘Harry is the best hope we have. Trust him,’” said Lupin calmly.

  Kingsley turned his wand on Harry, but Lupin said, “It’s him, I’ve checked!”

  “All right, all right!” said Kingsley, stowing his wand back beneath his cloak, “But somebody betrayed us! They knew, they knew it was tonight!”

  “So it seems,” replied Lupin, “but apparently they did not realize that there would be seven Harrys.”

  “Small comfort!” snarled Kingsley. “Who else is back?”

  “Only Harry, Hagrid, George, and me.”

  Hermione stifled a little moan behind her hand.

  “What happened to you?” Lupin asked Kingsley.

  “Followed by five, injured two, might’ve killed one,” Kingsley reeled off, “and we saw You-Know-Who as well, he joined the chase halfway through but vanished pretty quickly. Remus, he can—”

  “Fly,” supplied Harry. “I saw him too, he came after Hagrid and me.”

  “So that’s why he left, to follow you!” said Kingsley, “I couldn’t understand why he’d vanished. But what made him change targets?”

  “Harry behaved a little too kindly to Stan Shunpike,” said Lupin.

  “Stan?” repeated Hermione. “But I thought he was in Azkaban?”

  Kingsley let out a mirthless laugh.

  “Hermione, there’s obviously been a mass breakout which the Ministry has hushed up. Travers’s hood fell off when I cursed him, he’s supposed to be inside too. But what happened to you, Remus? Where’s George?”

  “He lost an ear,” said Lupin.

  “Lost an—?” repeated Hermione in a high voice.

  “Snape’s work,” said Lupin.

  “Snape?” shouted Harry. “You didn’t say—”

  “He lost his hood during the chase. Sectumsempra was always a specialty of Snape’s. I wish I could say I’d paid him back in kind, but it was all I could do to keep George on the broom after he was injured, he was losing so much blood.”

  Silence fell between the four of them as they looked up at the sky. There was no sign of movement; the stars stared back, unblinking, indifferent, unobscured by flying friends. Where was Ron? Where were Fred and Mr. Weasley? Where were Bill, Fleur, Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus?

  “Harry, give us a hand!” called Hagrid hoarsely from the door, in which he was stuck again. Glad of something to do, Harry pulled him free, the headed through the empty kitchen and back into the sitting room, where Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were still tending to George. Mrs. Weasley had staunched his bleeding now, and by the lamplight Harry saw a clean gaping hole where George’s ear had been.

  “How is he?”

  Mrs. Weasley looked around and said, “I can’t make it grow back, not when it’s been removed by Dark Magic. But it could’ve been so much worse… He’s alive.”

  “Yeah,” said Harry. “Thank God.”

  “Did I hear someone else in the yard?” Ginny asked.

  “Hermione and Kingsley,” said Harry.

  “Thank goodness,” Ginny whispered. They looked at each other; Harry wanted to hug her, hold on to her; he did not even care much that Mrs. Weasley was there, but before he could act on the impulse, there was a great crash from the kitchen.

  “I’ll prove who I am, Kingsley, after I’ve seen my son, now back off if you know what’s good for you!”

  Harry had never heard Mr. Weasley shout like that before. He burst into the living room, his bald patch gleaming with sweat, his spectacles askew, Fred right behind him, both pale but uninjured.

  “Arthur!” sobbed Mrs. Weasley. “Oh thank goodness!”

  “How is he?”

  Mr. Weasley dropped to his knees beside George. For the first time since Harry had known him, Fred seemed to be lost for words. He gaped over the back of the sofa at his twin’s wound as if he could not believe what he was seeing.

  Perhaps roused by the sound of Fred and their father’s arrival, George stirred.

  “How do you feel, Georgie?” whispered Mrs. Weasley.

  George’s fingers groped for the side of his head.

  “Saintlike,” he murmured.

  “What’s wrong with him?” croaked Fred, looking terrified. “Is his mind affected?”

  “Saintlike,” repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. “You see… I’m holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?”

  Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever. Color flooded Fred’s pale face.

  “Pathetic,” he told George. “Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humor before you, you go for holey?”

  “Ah well,” said George, grinning at his tear-soaked mother. “You’ll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum.”

  He looked around.

  “Hi, Harry—you are Harry, right?”

  “Yeah, I am,” said Harry, moving closer to the sofa.

  “Well, at least we got you back okay,” said George. “Why aren’t Ron and Bill huddled round my sickbed?”

  “They’re not back yet, George,” said Mrs. Weasley. George’s grin faded. Harry glanced at Ginny and motioned to her to accompany him back outside. As they walked through the kitchen she said in a low voice.

  “Ron and Tonks should be back by now. They didn’t have a long journey; Auntie Muriel’s not that far from here.”

  Harry said nothing. He had been trying to keep fear at bay ever since reaching the Burrow, but now it enveloped him, seeming to crawl over his skin, throbbing in his chest, clogging his throat. As they walked down the back steps into the dark yard, Ginny took his hand.

  Kingsley was striding backward and forward, glancing up at the sky every time he turned. Harry was reminded of Uncle Vernon pacing the living room a million years ago. Hagrid, Hermione, and Lupin stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing upward in silence. None of them looked around when Harry and Ginny joined their silent vigil.

  The minutes stretched into what might as well have been years. The slightest breath of wind made them all jump and turn toward the whispering bush or tree in the hope that one of the missing Order members might leap unscathed from its leaves—

  And then a broom materialized directly above them and streaked toward the ground—

  “It’s them!” screamed Hermione.

  Tonks landed in a long skid that sent earth and pebbles everywhere.

  “Remus!” Tonks cried as she staggered off the broom into Lupin’s arms. His face was set and white: He seemed unable to speak, Ron tripped dazedly toward Harry and Hermione.

  “You’re okay,” he mumbled, before Hermione flew at him and hugged him tightly.

  “I thought—I thought—”

  “’M all right,” said Ron, patting her on the back. “’M fine.”

  “Ron was great,” said Tonks warmly, relinquishing her hold on Lupin. “Wonderful. Stunned one of the Death Eaters, straight to the head, and when you’re aiming at a moving target from a flying broom—”

  “You did?” said Hermione, gazing up at Ron with her arms still around his neck.

  “Always the tone of surprise,” he said a little grumpily, breaking free. “Are we the last back?”

  “No,” said Ginny, “we’re still waiting for Bill and Fleur and Mad-Eye and Mundungus. I’m going to tell Mum and Dad you’re okay, Ron—”

  She ran back inside.

  “So what kept you? What happened?” Lupin sounded almost angry at Tonks.

  “Bellatrix,” said Tonks. “She wants me quite as much as she wants Harry, Remus, she tried very hard to kill me. I just wish I’d got her, I owe Bellatrix. But we definitely injured Rodolphus… Then we got to Ron’s Auntie Muriel’s and we missed our Portkey and she was fussing over us—”

  A muscle was jumping in Lupin’s jaw. He nodded, but seemed unable to say anything else.

  “So what happened to you lot?” Tonks asked, turning to Harry, Hermione, and Kingsley.

  They recounted the stories of their own
journeys, but all the time the continued absence of Bill, Fleur, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus seemed to lie upon them like a frost, its icy bite harder and harder to ignore.

  “I’m going to have to get back to Downing Street, I should have been there an hour ago,” said Kingsley finally, after a last sweeping gaze at the sky. “Let me know when they’re back.”

  Lupin nodded. With a wave to the others, Kingsley walked away into the darkness toward the gate. Harry thought he heard the faintest pop as Kingsley Disapparated just beyond the Burrow’s boundaries.

  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came racing down the back steps, Ginny behind them. Both parents hugged Ron before turning to Lupin and Tonks.

  “Thank you,” said Mrs. Weasley, “for our sons.”

  “Don’t be silly, Molly,” said Tonks at once.

  “How’s George?” asked Lupin.

  “What’s wrong with him?” piped up Ron.

  “He’s lost—”

  But the end of Mrs. Weasley’s sentence was drowned in a general outcry. A thestral had just soared into sight and landed a few feet from them. Bill and Fleur slid from its back, windswept but unhurt.

  “Bill! Thank God, thank God—”

  Mrs. Weasley ran forward, but the hug Bill bestowed upon her was perfunctory. Looking directly at his father, he said, “Mad-Eye’s dead.”

  Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Harry felt as though something inside him was falling, falling through the earth, leaving him forever.

  “We saw it,” said Bill; Fleur nodded, tear tracks glittering on her cheeks in the light from the kitchen window. “It happened just after we broke out of the circle: Mad-Eye and Dung were close by us, they were heading north too. Voldemort—he can fly—went straight for them. Dung panicked, I heard him cry out, Mad-Eye tried to stop him, but he Disapparated. Voldemort’s curse hit Mad-Eye full in the face, he fell backward off his broom and—there was nothing we could do, nothing, we had half a dozen of them on our own tail—”

  Bill’s voice broke.

  “Of course you couldn’t have done anything,” said Lupin.

  They all stood looking at each other. Harry could not quite comprehend it. Mad-Eye dead; it could not be… Mad-Eye, so tough, so brave, the consummate survivor…

  At last it seemed to dawn on everyone, though nobody said it, that there was no point of waiting in the yard anymore, and in silence they followed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley back into the Burrow, and into the living room, where Fred and George were laughing together.

  “What’s wrong?” said Fred, scanning their faces as they entered, “What’s happened? Who’s—?”

  “Mad-Eye,” said Mr. Weasley, “Dead.”

  The twins’ grins turned to grimaces of shock. Nobody seemed to know what to do. Tonks was crying silently into a handkerchief: She had been close to Mad-Eye, Harry knew, his favorite and his protégé at the Ministry of Magic. Hagrid, who had sat down on the floor in the corner where he had most space, was dabbing at his eyes with his tablecloth-sized handkerchief.

  Bill walked over to the sideboard and pulled out a bottle of fire-whisky and some glasses.

  “Here,” he said, and with a wave of his wand, he sent twelve full glasses soaring through the room to each of them, holding the thirteenth aloft. “Mad-Eye.”

  “Mad-Eye,” they all said, and drank.

  “Mad-Eye,” echoed Hagrid, a little late, with a hiccup.

  The firewhisky seared Harry’s throat. It seemed to burn feeling back into him, dispelling the numbness and sense of unreality firing him with something that was like courage.

  “So Mundungus disappeared?” said Lupin, who had drained his own glass in one.

  The atmosphere changed at once. Everybody looked tense, watching Lupin, both wanting him to go on, it seemed to Harry, and slightly afraid of what they might hear.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Bill, “and I wondered that too, on the way back here, because they seemed to be expecting us, didn’t they? But Mundungus can’t have betrayed us. They didn’t know there would be seven Harrys, that confused them the moment we appeared, and in case you’ve forgotten, it was Mundungus who suggested that little bit of skullduggery. Why wouldn’t he have told them the essential point? I think Dung panicked, it’s as simple as that. He didn’t want to come in the first place, but Mad-Eye made him, and You-Know-Who went straight for them. It was enough to make anyone panic.”

  “You-Know-Who acted exactly as Mad-Eye expected him to,” sniffed Tonks. “Mad-Eye said he’d expect the real Harry to be with the toughest, most skilled Aurors. He chased Mad-Eye first, and when Mundungus gave them away he switched to Kingsley…”

  “Yes, and zat eez all very good,” snapped Fleur, “but still eet does not explain ’ow zey know we were moving ’Arry tonight, does eet? Somebody must ’ave been careless. Somebody let slip ze date to an outsider. It is ze only explanation for zem knowing ze date but not ze ’ole plan.”

  She glared around at them all, tear tracks still etched on her beautiful face, silently daring any of them to contradict her. Nobody did. The only sound to break the silence was that of Hagrid hiccupping from behind his handkerchief. Harry glanced at Hagrid, who had just risked his own life to save Harry’s—Hagrid, whom he loved, whom he trusted, who had once been tricked into giving Voldemort crucial information in exchange for a dragon’s egg…

  “No,” Harry said aloud, and they all looked at him, surprised: The firewhisky seemed to have amplified his voice. “I mean… if somebody made a mistake,” Harry went on, “and let something slip, I know they didn’t mean to do it. It’s not their fault,” he repeated, again a little louder than he would usually have spoken. “We’ve got to trust each other. I trust all of you, I don’t think anyone in this room would ever sell me to Voldemort.”

  More silence followed his words. They were all looking at him; Harry felt a little hot again, and drank some more firewhisky for something to do. As he drank, he thought of Mad-Eye. Mad-Eye had always been scathing about Dumbledore’s willingness to trust people.

  “Well said, Harry,” said Fred unexpectedly.

  “Year, ’ear, ’ear,” said George, with half a glance at Fred, the corner of whose mouth twitched.

  Lupin was wearing an odd expression as he looked at Harry. It was close to pitying.

  “You think I’m a fool?” demanded Harry.

  “No, I think you’re like James,” said Lupin, “who would have regarded it as the height of dishonor to mistrust his friends.”

  Harry knew what Lupin was getting at: that his father had been betrayed by his friend Peter Pettigrew. He felt irrationally angry. He wanted to argue, but Lupin had turned away from him, set down his glass upon a side table, and addressed Bill, “There’s work to do. I can ask Kingsley whether—”

  “No,” said Bill at once, “I’ll do it, I’ll come.”

  “Where are you going?” said Tonks and Fleur together.

  “Mad-Eye’s body,” said Lupin. “We need to recover it.”

  “Can’t it—?” began Mrs. Weasley with an appealing look at Bill.

  “Wait?” said Bill, “Not unless you’d rather the Death Eaters took it?”

  Nobody spoke. Lupin and Bill said good-bye and left.

  The rest of them now dropped into chairs, all except for Harry, who remained standing. The suddenness and completeness of death was with them like a presence.

  “I’ve got to go too,” said Harry.

  Ten pairs of startled eyes looked at him.

  “Don’t be silly, Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley, “What are you talking about?”

  “I can’t stay here.”

  He rubbed his forehead; it was prickling again, he had not hurt like this for more than a year.

  “You’re all in danger while I’m here. I don’t want—”

  “But don’t be so silly!” said Mrs. Weasley. “The whole point of tonight was to get you here safely, and thank goodness it worked. And Fleur’s agreed to get married here rather than in France, we’ve arranged e
verything so that we can all stay together and look after you—”

  She did not understand; she was making him feel worse, not better.

  “If Voldemort finds out I’m here—”

  “But why should he?” asked Mrs. Weasley.

  “There are a dozen places you might be now, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley. “He’s got no way of knowing which safe house you’re in.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried for!” said Harry.

  “We know that,” said Mr. Weasley quietly, “but it would make our efforts tonight seem rather pointless if you left.”

  “Yer not goin’ anywhere,” growled Hagrid. “Blimey, Harry, after all we wen’ through ter get you here?”

  “Yeah, what about my bleeding ear?” said George, hoisting himself up on his cushions.

  “I know that—”

  “Mad-Eye wouldn’t want—”

  “I KNOW!” Harry bellowed.

  He felt beleaguered and blackmailed. Did they think he did not know what they had done for him, didn’t they understand that it was for precisely that reason that he wanted to go now, before they had to suffer any more on his behalf? There was a long and awkward silence in which his scar continued to prickle and throb, and which was broken at last by Mrs. Weasley.

  “Where’s Hedwig, Harry?” she said coaxingly. “We can put her up with Pidwidgeon and give her something to eat.”

  His insides clenched like a fist. He could not tell her the truth. He drank the last of his firewhisky to avoid answering.

  “Wait till it gets out yeh did it again, Harry,” said Hagrid. “Escaped him, fought him off when he was right on top of yeh!”

  “It wasn’t me,” said Harry flatly. “It was my wand. My wand acted of its own accord.”

  After a few moments, Hermione said gently, “But that’s impossible, Harry. You mean that you did magic without meaning to; you reacted instinctively.”

  “No,” said Harry. “The bike was falling, I couldn’t have told you where Voldemort was, but my wand spun in my hand and found him and shot a spell at him, and it wasn’t even a spell I recognized. I’ve never made gold flames appear before.”