Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003622070

Chapter 2: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003623371

(Before I continue I just want to clear something up, over the next three books there are going to be characters from the Hogwarts Mystery game, however I have never played it myself so the only information I got on these characters is from this wiki, also I have made these plans for these characters over a year in advance but the game isn’t technically over yet so by the time I introduce a character it’s possible something drastic may have happened in the game (died, changed sides, major plot twist), so going forward I only consider things that happened up to the end of year six of that game canon to my story.)

Tags: @Bellatrisblack @CatsAndRoblox @Heli aesthetics

Chapter Three: The Advanced 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 onto five separate pieces of parchment the moment he reached the desk in his dark bedroom. He addressed the first to Sirius and Remus, the second to Nymphadora, and the other three to Canini, Theodore, and Tracey, he knew those three were likely all together but he hoped if he wrote them separately one may crack and write back. 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 carrying 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 magic, 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 reproachfully at him 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 my parents, Tonks, Canini, Theodore, and Tracey and don’t come back here without good long replies. Keep pecking them till they’ve written decent-length answers if you’ve got to. Understand?'

Hedwig gave a muffled hooting noise, beak still full of frog.

'Get going, then,' said Harry.

She took off immediately. The moment she’d gone, Harry threw himself down onto 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 his friends and families answers.

They were bound to write back quickly; they couldn’t possibly ignore a dementor attack. He’d probably wake up tomorrow to five fat letters full of sympathy and plans for his immediate removal to the Cottage. 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 brought him food but did not speak a word to him. 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 making him so angry he’d perform more illegal magic.

So it went on for three whole days. Harry was filled alternately with restless energy that made him unable to settle to anything, during which he paced his bedroom again, 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, would he be allowed to return to his childhood home? Would his family be so ashamed that they would force him to live with the Dursley's forever, banished from the magical world he loved so much. Would he even be allowed to live alone with the Dursleys, 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.'

'Okay.'

'You are not to touch the television, the stereo, or any of our possessions.'

'Right.'

'You are not to steal food from the fridge.'

'Okay.'

'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 unmistakable 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.

And 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, and then he heard voices.

Burglars, he thought, sliding off the bed onto 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 his 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 door at the dark upstairs landing, straining his ears for further sounds, but none came. He hesitated for a moment and then moved swiftly and silently out of his room to the head of the stairs.

His heart shot upward into his throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; seven or eight 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.

Harry’s heart was thumping uncontrollably. He knew that voice, but he did not lower his wand.

'Professor Moody?' he said uncertainly.

'I don’t know so much about ‘Professor,’' growled the voice, 'never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly.'

Harry lowered his wand slightly but did not relax his grip on it, nor did he move. He had very good reason to be suspicious. He had recently spent nine months in what he had thought was Mad-Eye Moody’s company only to find out that it wasn’t Moody at all, but an impostor; an impostor, moreover, who had tried to kill Harry before being unmasked. But before he could make a decision about what to do next, a second, more familiar voice floated upstairs.

'Wotcher Harry, its ok, that's really the Alastor that trained me.'

Harry’s heart leapt. He knew that voice too, though he hadn’t heard it since August of the previous year.

'Tonks?' he said hopefully. 'Is that you?'

'It is. Why are we all standing in the dark?' she said in her thick southern England accent. 'Lumos.'

Her wand tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light. Harry blinked. The people below were crowded around the foot of the stairs, gazing intently up at him, some craning their heads for a better look. The only people amongst them that Harry recognized was Tonks, Moody, and Bill Weasley who gave Harry a little wave.

Nymphadora stood nearest to him. Though still only in her early twenties, Tonks looked more tired and worried then he had even seen her before. Nevertheless, she still had her dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair, though was a violent shade of violet. She was smiling broadly at Harry, who tried to smile back through his shock.

'Its safe to come down, we're here to bust you out,' said Tonks who was holding her lit wand aloft. 'Its been a while, you are really growing into a young man.'

'Yeah, I see what you mean, Tonks,' said a bald black wizard standing farthest back; he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear. 'He looks exactly like James.'

'Except the eyes,' said a wheezy-voiced, silver-haired wizard at the back. 'Lily’s eyes.'

Mad-Eye Moody, who had long grizzled gray hair and a large chunk missing from his nose, was squinting suspiciously at Harry through his mismatched eyes. One of the eyes 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, Nymphadora?' 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?'

'You know I prefer Tonks, and yes I am sure it’s him, but to ease your mind I'll ask him a question,' her hair had turn a bit more red from frustration. 'Harry, who do I consider the first person I seriously dated?'

'You technically dated Tulip first, but you consider Ben Copper your first serious relationship,’ said Harry nervously.

‘That’s my cousin, Mad-Eye,’ said Tonks.

Harry descended the stairs, very conscious of everybody still staring

at him, stowing his wand into 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?’ Tonks 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 anymore...’ He stumped off toward the kitchen. ‘And I saw that,’ he added irritably, as the Tonks rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

Tonks came over to Harry and gave him a big hug, then looked him over, ‘How are you, have the Dursley’s been starving you, have you been experiencing any long term effects from the Dementor attack?’

Recovering from his shock, Harry’s angered feelings towards his family returned, ‘I’m fine, no thanks to you, I’ve written you nearly everyday for the last four weeks and you haven’t responded once. Four weeks of nothing, not the tiniest hint of a plan to remove me from Privet Drive, and suddenly a whole bunch of wizards are standing matter-of-factly in this house as though this were a long-standing arrangement. This has been the most alone I have ever felt and you haven’t written so much as a word, at least the rest of my family has been sending vague notes!’

Her Metamorphmage abilities made her reddish-purple hair turned back to violet, as well as lengthened to cover her face more. Harry became more aware that the other people surrounding Tonks were now gazing 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, a little embarrassed at his outburst.

Tonks tried to laugh off the situation, ‘Haha, luck had nothing to do with it. It was me that lured them out of the way. Sent a letter by Muggle post telling them 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. Thought it was the best excuse based off their descriptions you’ve given in your letters.’

‘So you did receive my letters,’ he mumbled quietly.

‘Yes, but now isn’t the time to discuss it.’

Thinking about Tonks’ excuse for getting the Dursley’s to leave Privet Drive, Harry had a fleeting vision of Uncle Vernon’s face when he realized there was no All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition.

‘We are leaving, aren’t we?’ he asked. ‘Soon?’

‘Any minute now,’ said Bill Weasley. ‘We just have to wait for the all-clear.’

‘Where are we going? To the Burrow with your family, or to my families Cottage?’ Harry asked hopefully.

‘No, sadly we won’t be going to the Burrow,’ said Bill, motioning Harry toward the kitchen; the little knot of wizards followed, all still eyeing Harry curiously. ‘It is too risky and we currently don’t have enough space or defensive spells up. I’m surprised you don’t actually know where we are going...’

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 labor-saving appliances.

'I don't think you've actually been properly introduced, this is Alastor Moody,' Bill continued, pointing toward Moody.

'Yeah, I know,' said Harry uncomfortably; it felt odd to be introduced to somebody he’d thought he’d known for a year.

'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 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-colored 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 onstage. He also wondered why so many of them were there.

'When he said the task was to rescue you nearly everyone volunteered at once,' said Bill, as though he had read Harry’s mind; the corners of his mouth formed a smile.

'Yeah, well, the more the better,' said Moody darkly. 'We’re your guard, Potter.'

'Once the signal lets us know it's safe we'll set off,' said Bill, glancing out of the kitchen window. 'But we still got about fifteen minutes.'

'Very clean, aren’t they, these evil Muggle relatives of yours?' said Tonks, who was looking around the kitchen with great interest. 'I just expected them to be disgusting slobs but there isn't even a spec of dust in this place.'

‘Er—yeah, Petunia is a clean freak,’ said Harry. ‘Look’—he turned back to Bill—‘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 pointing up at the ceiling. ‘Damn it,’ he added angrily, putting a hand up to the magical eye, ‘it keeps sticking—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?’ asked 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. ‘I want three-hundred-and-sixty degrees visibility on the return journey.’

‘How’re we getting—wherever we’re going?’ Harry asked.

‘We’ll be using brooms,’ said Tonks. ‘For this situation it’s the only option. You can’t Apparate yet but even if you did the Ministry would know, they’re watching the Floo Network, and setting up a Portkey in a densely muggle populated area would land us all in Azkaban.’

‘Tonks says you’re a good flier,’ said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice.

‘He’s even better than Uncle Sirius,’ said Tonks, who was checking her watch. ‘We’ll be going soon, you should pack Harry. I’ll help.’

‘No,’ said Harry.

‘What?’

‘I survived a month without your help, I can survive another night.’

Tonks looked hurt, ‘We-we don’t have that much time.’

Bill stepped forward, ‘I’ll help him out. Come on Harry.’

He followed Harry back into the hall and up the stairs, looking around with much curiosity and interest.

‘My father would love this place,’ he said, ‘though I agree with Tonks, it’s overly clean. Oh wait, never mind,' he added, as they entered Harry’s bedroom and he turned on the light.

His room was certainly much messier than the rest of the house. Confined to it for four days in a very bad mood, Harry had not bothered tidying up after himself. Most of the books he owned were strewn over the floor where he’d tried to distract himself with each in turn and thrown it aside. Hedwig’s cage needed cleaning out and was starting to smell, and his trunk lay open, revealing a jumbled mixture of Muggle clothes and wizard’s robes that had spilled onto the floor around it.

Harry started picking up books and throwing them hastily into his trunk. Bill tried being helpful by putting anything wizard like into Harry's trunk. Harry felt awkward packing in silence so he started a conversation.

'So how come you are back from Egypt? Last I talked to Ron he said you still loved it there.'

'I transferred back. There is a lot going on right now so my family needs me here, there was a Curse-Breaker position open at the London branch so I at least don't have to change my job.'

'Besides Tonks I recognise everyone downstairs as an ex-Order member from photos, except for Kingsley, who is he?'

'Ex...?' Bill said confused, but then shook his head. 'Er, Kingsley is a high ranking auror, he knew Remus from back when he was still an auror himself.'

'Why would he be here? An auror like Tonks or Mad-Eye I understand, but a Ministry worker with very little connection to my dads? What is going on?'

'I'm starting to realise you haven't been told anything, so I'll let your folks explain when we arrive. For now just focus on packing, you won't be coming back until next summer.'

'More like never, I don't care what happens at this point, I am never coming back here again.'

Bill stayed silent, and soon all his books, clothes, telescope, and scales were all packed and ready to go, so Harry slammed the trunk's lid shut.

‘Ok Harry, do you have everything? Cadge? Cauldron? Broom? Bloody Merlin! Ron never said you had a Firebolt!’

His eyes widened as they fell on the broomstick in Harry’s right hand. It was his pride and joy, a gift from Sirius, an international above standard broomstick.

‘I’ve had the same broom since I left Hogwarts and it’s only a Comet Two Twenty,’ said Bill enviously. ‘Anyway, you’re positive you got everything, wand still in your pocket?’

Harry nodded and so the two boys brought Harry’s trunk, cage, and broom down the stairs.’

Back in the kitchen, Moody had replaced his eye, which was spinning so fast after its cleaning it made Harry feel sick. 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. Nymphadora was sealing a letter addressed to the Dursleys.

‘Signal will come in about a minute, so we should probably move to the lawn,’ she informed Harry and Bill. ‘I’ve leaving a letter just so that they know where you’ve gone...’

‘They won’t care,’ said Harry.

‘As well as a message about the horrible state of this house, maybe that’ll get them to freak out and give them just a little bit of discomfort compared to the discomfort you’ve been feeling here for years.’

Harry was still mad at his adoptive cousin, but he had to admit that was funny. For the first time since they’d arrived, Harry and Nymphadora both smiled at each other.

‘Come here, boy,’ said Moody gruffly, beckoning Harry toward him with his wand. ‘I need to Disillusion you.’

‘You need to what?’ said Harry nervously.

‘Disillusionment Charm,’ said Moody, raising his wand. ‘Sirius says you’ve got an Invisibility Cloak, but it might not stay on while we’re flying; this’ll disguise you better. Here you go—‘

Harry has about to protest that he had managed to fly from London to Hogwarts on his broom with his cloak on, but he remembered that while he concentrated on flying Theodore had been focused on keeping the cloak around them. Moody rapped Harry hard on the top of the head and Harry felt a curious sensation as though Moody had just smashed an egg there; cold trickles seemed to be running down his body from the point the wand had struck.

‘Nice one, Mad-Eye,’ said Tonks appreciatively, staring at Harry’s midriff.

Harry looked down at his body, or rather, what had been his body, for it didn’t look anything like his anymore. It was not invisible; it had simply taken on the exact color and texture of the kitchen unit behind him. He seemed to have become a human chameleon.

‘Come on,’ said Moody, unlocking the back door with his wand. They all stepped outside onto Uncle Vernon’s beautifully kept lawn.

‘Clear night,’ grunted Moody, his magical eye scanning the heavens. ‘Could’ve done with a bit more cloud cover. Right, you,’ he barked at Harry, ‘we’re going to be flying in close formation. Tonks’ll be right in front of you, keep close on her tail. Weasley’ll be covering you from below. I’m going to be behind you. The rest’ll be circling us. We don’t break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed—‘

‘Is that likely?’ Harry asked apprehensively, but Moody ignored him.

‘—the others keep flying, don’t stop, don’t break ranks. If they take out all of us and you survive, Harry, the rear guard are standing by to take over; keep flying east and they’ll join you.’

‘Stop being so cheerful, Mad-Eye, he’ll think we’re not taking this seriously,’ said Tonks, as she strapped Harry’s trunk and Hedwig’s cage into a harness hanging from her broom.

‘I’m just telling the boy the plan,’ growled Moody. ‘Our job’s to deliver him safely to headquarters and if we die in the attempt—‘

‘No one’s going to die,’ said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep, calming voice.

‘Time to mount our brooms everyone, the first signal is up!’ said Bill sharply, pointing into the sky.

Far, far above them, a shower of bright red sparks had flared among the stars. Harry recognized them at once as wand sparks. He swung his right leg over his Firebolt, gripped its handle tightly, and felt it vibrating very slightly, as though it was as keen as he was to be up in the air once more.

‘And there’s the second, time to go!’ said Bill 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 fantasizing about all summer, he was going home...For a few glorious moments, all his problems seemed to recede into nothing, insignificant in the vast, starry sky. The flying must have cheered Tonks up to because within seconds her hair had become its regular short spikey bubblegum pink.

‘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 upward; 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 of the others’ robes, the creaking of the harness holding his trunk and the cage, 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, so that they did not pass directly over the glittering spiderweb 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 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-Eye’s instructions. Harry’s 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 Ravenclaw 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 that he thought longingly for a moment of the snug, dry interiors of the cars streaming along below, then, even more longingly, of traveling 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! We’re nearly there now!’

‘Let’s start our descent!’ came Bill’s voice. ‘Harry, followed Tonks lead!’

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 that 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 street-lamps, 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 Bill said quietly, ‘Just a moment.’

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 light in the square 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 onto the pavement. Tonks and Bill 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 toward Harry’s Disillusioned hand and holding his lit wand close to it, so as to illuminate the writing. ‘Read quickly and memorize.’

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”