Chapter 1 - Arrivals and Departures
Wednesday 30th July 1997
Rufus Scrimgeour leaned back in his office chair and let out a deep sigh. He placed the file he had been reading back on his desk and rubbed his face with both hands. He had been reading yet another report from his Aurors on the whereabouts and activities of Lord Voldemort, but this one had been much like the countless previous reports he had read; a lot of speculation, educated guesswork and - crucially - very little substance or hard facts.
Rufus looked around his office; although to be fair it wasn't really his office. It was officially the office for The Minister of Magic; he was just the unfortunate soul who happened to occupy the position at the moment. For about the thousandth time since being appointed to the post, he wondered how he had ever managed to arrive at the pinnacle of political power in the British magical world. Despite what many thought, he had never really been interested in holding high office. He had been appointed head of the Auror Division nearly fifteen years ago. Ostensibly, he had been rewarded with that position for years of successful loyal service and commitment to the department. In reality he knew it was because he had gotten too old to chase dark wizards and witches across the country. The only other serious rival at the time had been Mad-Eye Moody and his well known idiosyncrasies were always going to rule him out. He was seen at the time as a safe, if dull, appointment, but his administration of the role had proven to be very successful with the Auror Division hunting down the remnants of Voldemort's supporters after the first war. This success, coupled with the sudden fall from grace of Cornelius Fudge, had led to his appointment last year and at times like this he wished he was still a young rookie on stakeout at the hideout of some suspected dark witch or wizard. Those were happy days, he told himself, although rationally he knew that nostalgia had the convenient habit of omitting all the times he was cold or uncomfortable or scared out of his wits. Then there were those who had not been as lucky as he. Rufus had seen more than a few Aurors fall to dark spells and - when not lost in selective memory - was well aware that he was better off where he was, despite the pressures of the role.
I'm getting old, he thought to himself. He found himself reflecting more and more on the past these days and didn't know if this was because of the pressures of his current job or whether it was because he was becoming more aware of the passing of time.
He knew that he was probably not the first choice of most people to be Minister; more likely that he was the only choice. Indeed, most people's first choice had been murdered a few short weeks ago and the magical community was still trying to come to terms with the death of Albus Dumbledore. But Dumbledore had emphatically rejected time and again any overtures to take the position. The old man had seemingly been content with teaching at Hogwarts and making his influence felt behind the scenes in the Wizengamot. Whilst Rufus had not always seen eye to eye with the old headmaster, he had respected and admired the man and had - before his appointment to office had brought them into dispute - considered him a friend. Dumbledore had undoubtedly been a wizard of uncommon power and integrity and his absence would be felt keenly in the coming struggle.
Thinking of Dumbledore led Rufus to open his desk drawer and remove a letter that he had read and re-read in the past few weeks. It had arrived on his desk two days after Dumbledore's funeral and he had been shocked to discover that it had been written by the old man himself. Settling back in his chair again, Rufus scanned the now familiar sloping handwriting and read it once more, although he almost knew the contents by heart now.
My Dear Rufus,
If you are reading this then I am unfortunately no longer here to assist you in the struggle that lies ahead. You may be surprised to read these words; after all, we have had many disputes since your appointment, but I hope that you have never doubted my commitment to rid ourselves of the cancer that is Tom Riddle, or that I ever wished you personal ill. My dispute was always with your methods, not your intentions which, I know, stem from the noblest of motives.
However, I must implore you to keep in mind that which I have tried to instil in every student that has come under my care. Do you remember, Rufus? I taught you myself all those years ago and I hope that you have the same fond memories of those days as I do. I have always stressed the importance of doing what is right as opposed to what is easy and I am well aware that it is crucial that you choose the right path not just for the Ministry, but for society as a whole. Remember also that it is our choices that define us, not our abilities.
I do not envy you. Only a fool would envy the position you now find yourself in. You lead the Ministry in its greatest struggle and you must prove equal to the pressures you will find yourself facing. I can only hope that these pressures do not prove too much for you. Remember, help will be always be there for those that require it.
On that note, I have a last request to make of you, although I know I have no right to such a thing. Despite this, I implore you to help Harry in any way you can with anything he asks of you. You may wonder why I put so much faith in a boy, but I can assure you that this faith is justified. I cannot go into details, but Harry is our best and only hope of defeating Voldemort and you must help him. Unfortunately, he is not particularly well disposed towards the Ministry at the moment and I cannot in good conscience blame him. The Ministry has tried many times to manipulate him for its own ends, and when that failed, has made life very difficult for him. You must overcome this antipathy and earn the trust of the boy, for unless we are all united, we are doomed to fail.
I leave you with my fondest regards and my very best wishes for the future.
You must not fail.
Your friend (I hope) and teacher,
Albus
He had been surprised to receive such correspondence from the old man and it had given him much food for thought. He had often wondered why Dumbledore had been so insistent about the importance of Harry Potter in the fight against Voldemort. Rufus was no fool; he was well aware that the public held Potter in high esteem after the events that led to the Dark Lord's demise 16 years ago, and he himself had tried to bind the boy to the Ministry cause, but this was more because he appreciated the propaganda benefits of having him onside. Apart from that, he only saw him as a typical underage wizard. Admittedly a talented one, if the reports were true; but a boy nonetheless. He failed to see how Potter could be the key to defeating Voldemort.
But then Dumbledore hadn't been a fool either and he obviously had seen something in the boy that Rufus himself had missed. They had argued a great deal since Rufus had become Minister; something that Albus had alluded to in his letter, and something he now regretted. The source of the arguments had inevitably been the methods Rufus was trying to employ to combat Voldemort. Only recently he had brought in emergency powers that gave him almost absolute authority in magical Britain. The Ministry now had the right to hold suspects without trial; to censor the media and even to execute Death Eaters in extreme cases. That last power had taken all of his political guile to achieve in the face of strong opposition and he suspected that he would not have carried it had Dumbledore still been alive.
He had utilised a very old law to obtain this power. It had been pointed out to him by an advisor that Treason against the Crown was still a capital offence in Britain.* He had reasoned that as he was a Minister of the Crown, any act of subversion against Her Majesty's Minister or Ministry could be deemed as an act of treason against the Crown itself and so could be punished to the full extent of the law. Rather tenuous grounds for enforcing the death penalty, he knew, but it had been enough to force the legislation through. He had even ordered the execution of a number of known Death Eaters. When that news had broken it had made him deeply unpopular with a lot of witches and wizards, but others fully approved of his actions. Besides, he had never bothered about popularity - only results.
At least up until now anyway.
Rufus had once read the works of the Muggle philosopher Aristotle and had been very much struck by a sentiment expressed. 'The wise man cares more for the truth than for what people think.' Since reading this he had always tried to do his job in accordance with this conviction. His ultimate goal was the salvation of his civilisation so he had always acted according to what he deemed was best for society as a whole; not what was best for particular individuals or interest groups. He had not let personal feelings come before what needed to be done, and had not cared a whit about what others thought of him. This was until he had received another letter; a letter that had made him examine his own conscience in ways he'd never had to do before.
Placing his hand in his inside pocket, he retrieved the missive he had received only a few short days ago. Settling back once again, he began to read.
My Darling,
I hope you will forgive me if I tell you something that I feel you ought to know. One of the men in your entourage (a devoted friend) has been to me and told me that there is a danger of your being generally disliked by your colleagues and subordinates because of your rough, sarcastic & overbearing manner. It seems your Private Secretaries have agreed to behave like school boys and 'take what's coming to them' and then escape out of your presence shrugging their shoulders. Higher up if an idea is suggested (say at a conference) you are supposed to be so contemptuous that presently no ideas, good or bad, will be forthcoming. I was astonished and upset because in all these years I have been accustomed to all those who have worked with and under you, loving you. I said this and I was told, 'No doubt it's the strain'.
My Darling, I must confess that I have noticed a deterioration in your manner; and you are not so kind as you used to be.
It is for you to give the orders and if they are bungled - except for the Queen, and the Headmaster of Hogwarts - you can sack anyone and everyone. Therefore with this terrific power you must combine urbanity, kindness and if possible Olympic calm. I cannot bear that those who serve the Country and yourself should not love as well as admire and respect you - besides you won't get the best results by irascibility and rudeness. This will breed a slave mentality, something we are supposed to be fighting.
Please forgive your loving devoted and watchful
Jane**
This letter had shaken him to the core. It was one thing to ignore the opinions of the ordinary man in the street - someone he neither knew nor particulary cared about on an individual basis (he did care about others in a more general sense, of course). But this was the opinion of his wife; someone he loved with all his heart, and someone whose opinion of him mattered a great deal. He had not been able to speak to her about it yet, for he had spent most of the time since first reading the letter examining his own behaviour and actions. He had been disturbed to have found himself wanting.
The thing that Rufus feared above all others was not the ultimate victory of Voldemort. What terrified him more was the prospect of becoming exactly what he was trying to defeat. He had heard the maxim that 'power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely' and was now belatedly becoming aware that it could be applied to himself. He had been forced to ask himself a very awkward question. Just how far into the dark was he prepared to go in the name of light?
He thought again of Dumbledore. Was this why the old man had always refused the Ministry? Did he not trust himself with the power? It was a scary thought.
When he had first received Dumbledore's request to assist Potter, he had dismissed it out of hand. The boy despised him and had made that plain at their last encounter after the funeral. After reading the letter from his wife however, and having considered his actions in light of this, Rufus had come to a rather disturbing conclusion.
He had been a fool. What had he been thinking in approaching Potter immediately after the burial of his mentor and friend? It had hardly been an appropriate time to try and get Harry to change his mind about helping the Ministry. He still winced when he thought about it. Bar pissing on the old man's grave, he couldn't think of anything else more disrespectful than what he had done. No wonder Harry had all but told him to clear off.
It was then that Rufus had realised that his wife may be correct in her assertion. The stress of the job obviously was getting to him. He was aware that he was not the most sensitive of individuals, but he had always prided himself on his ability to lead rather than drive; to inspire rather than cajole. This is what he had done as an Auror; why hadn't he be doing it as Minister?
So he had finally come to a decision. He would respect the last request of Albus. He would offer to help Harry, this time with no strings attached. If the boy refused then at least he could say he had tried. And if Harry accepted his aid? Then he would help him in any way he could, whether there was political capital in it or not.
Rufus smiled to himself. He felt more like himself than he had for quite some time. He made a mental note to send his wife some flowers and then lifted the next batch of reports from his desk.
**********
Harry Potter lay on his bed with his hands behind his head in his bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive and stared at the ceiling. He was alone, as usual, but for once he found himself enjoying the enforced solitude. Since arriving back from Dumbledore's funeral over four weeks ago the Dursleys had barely spoken to him, restricting conversation to the requirements of mealtimes and domesticity. In fact, even the usual list of chores had not been forthcoming this year. It was as if his aunt and uncle sensed his new mood and acted accordingly. They had received a letter from Professor McGonagall informing them of the headmaster's untimely death and whilst Vernon had not shown the imagination to realise the implications, Petunia had been shaken to the core.
'He's dead?' she had asked him on reading the letter. Her taut features had betrayed her shock at the news. 'How?'
Harry had looked at her with a degree of sympathy that had surprised him. He had softened somewhat towards her over the past year. Perhaps he was mellowing with age. Perhaps he felt sorry for her sister's death. Or maybe he just didn't think them worthy of his contempt anymore. Whatever the reason, as he looked at the white face of his aunt, he decided to at least be civil to her.
'He was murdered by one of the other professors. They practically booted us out of the school after that. Couldn't get rid of us soon enough.'
'So what's going to happen now? Wasn't Dumbledore the only one Voldemort was afraid of?'
Harry had raised an eyebrow at this. He didn't know what was more surprising; the fact that his aunt called Voldemort by name, or the fact that they were openly discussing his world.
'He was. This is why no one seems to know what to do at the moment. I don't even know if the school is going to be opening next term.' He had paused for a moment, wondering if he should tell her of his intentions this summer. He had decided to plunge on. 'Whether the school opens or not, I will be leaving in a few weeks; leaving for good. The Weasleys have invited me to their son Bill's wedding at the beginning of August, and when I leave for that, I will be out of your hair forever. Should be on or about my birthday I think. You probably know why; I'm sure Dumbledore told you.' He had been unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice at this last statement and he thought he saw his aunt stiffen at his words. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but he couldn't help himself when it came to his relatives. There were too many bad memories bubbling under the surface.
His aunt had seemingly taken that as her cue to end the discussion and had stalked off into the living room. They had not spoken about anything of substance since.
That had been nearly a month ago, and the time to leave was now. He glanced at his watch. Eleven-thirty, and they were picking him up just before midnight. He still didn't know who his escort would be as Ron had not been very expansive in the letter he had sent him. Harry had only received four items of correspondence all summer so he decided to read through them once again in the hope of gleaning some clue from the vague instructions. Besides, it would help to pass the time.
He delved into his trunk and removed the letter at the top of the pile. This one was from Ron.
Harry,
How are you? Hope the Muggles aren't getting you down too much.
Things have been crazy here recently. Mum is going mental with all the preparations for the wedding - I mean, how much work do these things actually involve? She has had me and Ginny working our socks off all summer to have the place 'suitable' for our guests; whatever that means.
And speaking of Ginny, she says Hi. I don't know exactly what you said to her after the funeral, but she has been a right misery all summer. Hope you can sort it out.
Anyway, the reason I am writing is that Dad says you have to be packed and ready to go for five minutes to midnight on the thirtieth (that is five minutes before your birthday) as you will be coming to see us then. So make sure you don't forget anything.
Can't wait to see you
Ron
And that had been it. No news of what was going on in the wizarding world and no indication that Voldemort was on the move. Harry figured that no news was probably good news, but as he had no access to any magical publications the wizarding world could have ended for all he knew. He was aware that his friends were probably under instructions from the Order to avoid writing anything down that could compromise them by falling into the hands of the enemy, but it was frustrating for him nonetheless.
The next letter in the pile, from Ginny, was little better, but at least it was personal, even if it made him uncomfortable.
Harry,
I have to admit that our conversation after Dumbledore's funeral has left me a little confused and, if I am honest, a little angry. I know that you have the best of reasons for breaking off with me at the moment, but I have decided that these reasons are not good enough. I look around the Burrow at the moment and see the preparations for Bill and Fleur's wedding and this makes me realise that we should seize what we have today because we might not have it tomorrow. Your own parents got married and had you in the middle of the last war and I think that they should be an example to us all. Surely we should try and achieve a little happiness where we can?
I know you will be leaving the Dursleys soon and I hope we get the chance to discuss this in person. I hope you realise how much I care for you and that we can make this work, even in these dangerous times. I want you to know that I am willing to help you in any way that I can.
Take care
Love
Ginny
Harry stared at this letter thoughtfully for a minute before folding it away again. He wasn't sure what to make of it, or even of his feelings for Ginny at the moment. When he had decided to break with her after the funeral he had felt a sense of disappointment and loss, but it occurred to him now that those feelings had only proved fleeting. He had hardly thought about her since arriving at Privet Drive and now he was wondering what exactly it was that he did feel for her? There was no doubt that he had enjoyed their time together enormously, and he still wondered about the pangs of jealousy he had felt when she was seeing Dean, but when he reflected on her letter he realised that she thought more of him than he did of her. Her arguments were sound; in these times people should seize the moment, but he was beginning to realise that it wasn't the timing that was the issue. If he felt anything like an all consuming love and desire for someone then he reckoned he would make a go of things. It was in his nature; he had acted impulsively throughout his life and he didn't think that he would be any different when it came to romance. So the problem wasn't the timing. It was Ginny. Or rather, it was he and Ginny.
He loved Ginny - there was no doubt about that - but he suspected that there was more than a hint of familial love in their relationship, and that was the problem. He needed to talk to his friends about it, he realised. This could prove awkward with Ron as he had something of a conflict of interest in the matter, so he would have to wait until he got the chance to speak to Hermione.
Hermione.
The thought of her made him pull out the letter he had received from her only yesterday. Strangely, it had arrived by normal post rather than with an owl, but he suspected that this was a security measure. He had been beginning to wonder if they were still such good friends despite her promise at the funeral to stick with him whatever he decided to do. Having waited almost a month to hear from her had made him think that she was perhaps trying to put some distance between them. Last year at school had been trying for everyone, but he still felt a little put out at the way his friends had seemingly abandoned him and had refused to take his suspicions about Malfoy and Snape seriously. He felt no sense of vindication that he had been proved right as Dumbledore had died and that was far too high a price to pay. And then there was the whole 'Half Blood Prince' thing. Hermione had seemed genuinely put out because he received better marks than her in potions thanks to the book. That had surprised him; Hermione had never struck him as the envious type and he still could not understand it. He had offered to share the knowledge with her and understood her refusal; she was a stickler for doing things by the book. But this still did not explain a certain coldness he felt from her last year. He wondered if she still held him responsible for nearly dying in the Ministry at the end of their fifth year because of his 'saving people thing.'
That still hurt him. Above all else, he did not want anyone to get hurt, or even die, because of him. Did she resent him for leading them to the Ministry? Did she trust him anymore? He knew that he would not be able to complete the task before him without the help of both Hermione and Ron, but he also knew that he did not want them placed in any more danger because of him. He had thought a lot about Ron and Hermione this summer.
He didn't know if there was anything going on between them. Certainly, their actions last year seemed totally out of character for both of them. Ron's brief flirtation with Lavender had been trying for everyone, but Hermione had seemed to take particular exception to the relationship. He believed that this might be because Hermione harboured romantic feelings towards Ron, yet they had not gotten together after Ron's poisoning and subsequent break up with Lavender. He didn't know how he felt about his two best friends becoming involved romantically, fearing that he might become the third wheel in the group. The idea didn't seem so bad when he was with Ginny, but the thought of Ron and Hermione being together gave him a slightly uncomfortable feeling in his stomach that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
He didn't think he had romantic feelings for Hermione. He knew that he certainly needed her friendship. Indeed, he often thought that she was the rock that grounded him whenever he felt he was losing control. He may have resented some of her nagging over the years, but he knew that she acted as his conscience whenever he chose to ignore his own. She was certainly attractive, and smart, and honest and good; and he certainly had strong feelings towards her, but wasn't it normal to feel this way about your best friend? He did know one thing. He missed her; needed to speak to her and - if he was honest with himself - was looking forward to seeing her more than Ron, or Ginny, or anyone else for that matter.
He just wished he knew why.
He re-read her letter, seeking answers even though he wasn't sure of the questions.
Harry,
I hope you are having a good summer and that your relatives are treating you well. I will be going to the Burrow tomorrow so by the time you get this, I will already be helping with the wedding preparations. I have had a nice summer, considering all that has happened, and it has been great to spend some time with my parents.
I am sorry that I will not be able to tell you much news in this letter - we have been warned not to go into too much detail in our correspondence, which is a pity, because there is a lot you should probably know about. This letter is just to let you know that I am thinking about you.
We will have a lot to talk about, and I have some things I want to say to you, so stay safe until we see you.
Love
Hermione
He still didn't know what that meant. He had no idea what she wanted to talk to him about, or what news she felt he should know. The frustration was killing him and it was with a sense of foreboding that he awaited departure. Her letter seemed to pose more questions than provide answers and he hoped to get the chance to speak soon.
He glanced at his watch; eleven-forty eight. Only another seven minutes to go before his escort was due to arrive. He was already packed and, as he looked around the room he had lived in these past six summers (he certainly wouldn't call it home,) he discovered that he felt nothing. The wardrobe was empty, the walls bare. Hedwig's cage was empty (he had let her make her own way to the Burrow earlier) and apart from that, there was no evidence that he had lived in this house at all.
The thought made him shiver slightly. He would soon be gone from here without leaving a trace and he wondered if that was to be his fate in life. He knew he had achieved a certain degree of notoriety, but he considered the possibility that if Voldemort succeeded then it might be as if he had never existed.
He'd had a lot of black thoughts like this over the summer. Objectively he knew it was a reaction to the death of Dumbledore, but trying to rationalise his dark moods was pointless as the process did not alleviate his depression. He had been struggling to come to terms with the events of that night all summer and his mood wasn't helped by the arrival of a very much unexpected letter that he had received two days after returning to Privet Drive.
Reaching into his trunk, he removed this letter from the pile.
Harry,
If you are reading this then I know that something unfortunate has occurred and that I am currently embarking on the next great adventure. This being the case, I would urge you not to mourn my passing, but rather to continue on in good cheer. I had a long and eventful life and I am grateful for that blessing. My only regret is that I am not there to assist you in the struggle against Tom, and it is for that reason that I left this letter with the instruction that it be delivered to you in the event of my death.
First of all, Harry, I want you to continue in your hunt from where we left off. I have enclosed some odds and ends that I hope will aid you in your quest. These are yours now, and as I am most definitely unobtainable, there is no question of you returning them to me. Use them well.
Second, it is important that you continue to keep Mr Weasley and Miss Granger in your confidence. I am aware that you may have certain reservations about involving them in the hunt, but you must ignore these. They are your friends and you will need them both before the end. I permitted you to inform them for a reason Harry, and that reason is because I know you cannot do this alone.
On that note, I have one further request to make of you, Harry. I urge you to seek the aid of the Ministry if you can - in particular, the aid of Rufus. I know you have a low opinion of the Ministry, with good cause, but I implore you not to cast aside any assistance they may provide. As to Rufus; whilst he and I didn't always see eye to eye - especially where you were concerned - I considered him to be a good man and one who will fight Tom as hard as he can. If he offers you an olive branch, Harry, I beg you not to throw it back in his face.
And finally, Harry, I want to say goodbye. I will not say farewell as I have high hopes that we will meet again someday, but hopefully not for a long time to come. I also want to thank you, Harry, for restoring life and hope to an old man. It has been the greatest privilege of my life to come to know and love you and I have every confidence that you will succeed in the challenge ahead.
Take care
Your friend
Albus
Harry put the letter back in the bottom of his trunk with the others, and with the 'odds and ends' that Dumbledore had left him. He hadn't even looked at what had been left to him, preferring instead to wait until he was alone with Ron and Hermione. There was also the fact that he was still angry with the old man and was not in the mood to humour his requests at the moment. All summer he had been trying to deal with the loss and he knew that he had not yet gotten over the bitterness that rose in him every time he thought about it. He hoped a change of scenery and some company would help him to overcome this.
With this in mind, he glanced at his watch again; eleven-fifty four. Time to go.
With that thought he grabbed his trunk and Hedwig's cage and headed off down the stairs.
***********
When Harry opened the door of the living room he was surprised to find to find the Dursleys all seated on the sofa, and all wearing what Petunia would normally describe as their 'Sunday best.' In all honesty he did not know what to expect, but considering that it was nearly midnight, and that he was finally leaving, a formal departure committee was not what he'd envisaged.
As if reading his thoughts, Vernon snapped, 'Don't think this is for your benefit, boy. Your freakish kind might not know the meaning of the word 'standards,' but we have visitors arriving and we will welcome them properly, regardless of what we think of them.'
He sounded nervous and Harry could hardly blame him. In his previous encounters with the magical world, Vernon had been stalked by a flock of owls; had his son turned into half a pig (not much of a change, one could argue); had his living room demolished and had been threatened by a veritable posse of witches and wizards in the middle of King's Cross station. Harry almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
It was then that he noticed that there was a large pile of suitcases lying in the corner and that there was also three jackets placed on top of them. It appeared that the Dursleys were going somewhere too.
He made to ask them about this, but before he could open his mouth there was a knock at the front door and he rushed to open it.
'Wotcher, Harry,' came the familiar greeting of Tonks as she stepped over the threshold and into the hallway. He was glad to see that her hair was a very sombre black tonight, and that her travelling cloak was wrapped neatly about her form. She actually looked respectable and he figured she had made the effort to minimise the discomfort of the Dursleys as much as possible. He made a mental note to thank her later.
He made to close the door but was prevented by a foot that had been judiciously placed between the door and the jam.
'Potter,' came the curt greeting, and Harry was startled to see Mad-Eye Moody limp his way into the house. With his wooden leg, scarred features and magical roving eye he looked like he would have been more at home on the deck of an eighteenth century pirate ship, rather than in the heart of English suburbia. With a grimace Harry realised that Tonks' best efforts had been in vain. She could have dressed as the Wicked Witch of the West and no one would notice her next to Mad-Eye.
Next after Moody was Kingsley Shacklebolt, who nodded a curt greeting to Harry on his way past. He was closely followed by one of Harry's old professors.
'Moony!' exclaimed Harry, and broke into what felt like the first genuine smile he had had for months.
'Hi, Harry,' replied Moony, looking serious. 'Great to see you again, but we don't have time for pleasantries at the moment. We are on a tight schedule.' Harry was starting to feel a bit resentful about this but was stopped from losing his temper when the older man's face broke into a grin and he quickly embraced him.
'Don't worry; there will be plenty of time to catch up later. I Promise.' And with that, he strode past Harry into the living room.
After checking to see that no one else was trying to enter, Harry closed the door and joined the others. He noticed that his relatives had stood to 'welcome' their visitors, but everyone was standing around awkwardly as if determined to look as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on.
'Right, Potter,' began Moody without preamble, 'you know the plan. Kingsley and I will be leaving with your relatives to take them to the safe house. Tonks will be taking your luggage to the Burrow…'
'A delivery girl. That's all I seem to be these days…' muttered Tonks in the background.
'AS I WAS SAYING,' continued Moody with a severe look in Tonks' direction, 'Tonks will be taking your luggage to the Burrow, and Remus will be Side-Along Apparating you there too. We will need to do this at the stroke of midnight because by then you will be seventeen and the Ministry won't be able to charge you for using underage magic. If we time this right, we will be long gone before You-Know-Who or any of his Death Eaters get here. The time is now eleven-fifty seven, so you have just under three minutes to say goodbye, and we are off. Understood?'
'No.'
Moody, who had been turning to speak to Tonks, suddenly snapped back round to face Harry. His eye had made the turn first, beating the rest the rest of his head by a fraction. The effect was slightly disorientating.
'What do you mean "no"?' he growled. 'It's quite straightforward I would have thought. I just went through the plan with you.'
'I mean 'no' because I have had virtually no communication from anyone all summer.' Harry's temper was starting to rise now, but he continued. 'All I received was a vague letter from Ron telling me to be ready to leave for midnight tonight. I don't have a clue about anything else.'
'Oh, the letter,' replied Moody, shaking his head sorrowfully. 'I can't believe we allowed Arthur's boy to send you a letter with the time of departure in it. No one seems to care about security these days.'
'Come off it, Mad-Eye!' exploded Tonks, who up until now had seemed quite amused by the old Auror's behaviour. 'I took the owl here myself when I was acting delivery girl again and I didn't release it until I was at the end of the garden. I was invisible the whole time and I didn't see any Death Eaters spring from the rosebushes to intercept it.' She folded her arms as if in defiance of Moody's criticism.
'That's enough!' shouted Lupin, who glared between Mad-Eye and Tonks as if daring them to continue. 'Look, Harry,' he continued in a softer tone as he turned to his friends' son, 'I'll try to explain quickly now but you will have to wait until later for details.' He paused for a moment as if deciding what to say next.
'We know that your mother's protection runs out when you turn seventeen - Albus told us about that. Now we couldn't be sure if it expires at the exact hour you are seventeen so we decided not to take any chances and get you out at midnight on the thirty first. There have been some big changes at the Ministry recently so we could not risk you facing a charge of underage magic. That's why we haven't attempted this before now. Your relatives have to leave as well because once the protection is lifted they will be at the mercy of Voldemort. We cannot risk leaving them as they would probably be tortured in order to reveal your whereabouts.'
'Torture?' Vernon exploded. 'No one said anything about torture. What is the meaning of this? I have had just about enough of you people ruining our lives. If…'
'That will do.' It was spoken calmly, but with the deep authority Kingsley could bring to a discussion and it stopped Vernon in his tracks. 'We really do not have time for this. We have just over a minute to get out of here. Might I suggest that Harry says goodbye to his family and then we can gather everything and leave?'
It had been said politely but it seemed to jolt everyone to their senses. Harry turned to look at the Dursleys for what, he suddenly realised, could be for the last time. He didn't know if this was a bad thing or not, but he found himself at a complete loss for anything to say to them.
Instead, he walked over to Vernon and thrust out his hand. 'Good luck.'
His uncle looked like he would snub even that token gesture, but after a quick glance at Mad-Eye and Kingsley seemed to think better of it. He quickly shook Harry's hand before striding over to his luggage and pulling on his coat. Dudley quickly followed him and did likewise.
Harry turned to his aunt. She seemed to be having an internal dispute with herself but in the end she seemed to come to a decision and her normally severe features softened a little.
'Take care, Harry,' she said. She looked as if she might actually embrace him for a second, but thought better of it and went to join her husband and son. On the way past, however, she placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. It was the only sign of affection or comfort she had ever shown him.
'Twenty seconds,' said Mad-Eye, who was staring intently at his watch as if searching for the secret of immortality within. Harry just stood and stared at his relatives across the room.
'Hold tight now,' said Lupin, interlocking his arm with Harry's. 'Don't let go.'
'Ten seconds,' said Mad-Eye. 'Get ready.'
Harry chanced one last look at his relatives. Surprisingly, it was Dudley who looked as if he was debating something. Finally he looked up as Moody began his countdown from five.
'Thanks for saving me from those Dementors,' he said suddenly.
Harry was too astonished to reply immediately. Just as he found his voice, he heard Moody shout 'NOW!' and, with a familiar twisting sensation inside him, and after a loud crack, he found himself standing outside the back door of the Burrow.
*a/n Although no one was executed in Britain after 1965, the death penalty for Treason, Mutiny and (bizzarely) setting fire to the Royal Dockyard was not finally abolished until 1998. So I just meet the timescale for the purposes of this tale. Which is nice.
**Whilst the idea of a politician's wife sending such a letter may seem far fetched to some readers, it should be pointed out that the letter to Rufus from his wife is almost a word for word copy of a letter sent to Winston Churchill by his wife. This letter was sent in the Summer of 1940 not long after Winston had become Prime Minister and when Britain faced Nazi Germany alone after the fall of France. Its existence is proof that stress can affect even our great leaders. Winston was renowned for his personable nature and his staff were always devoted to him. However, the crushing pressure of those months obviously got to him, and after receiving this letter, his attitude improved. This I found useful, for I intend to make Rufus a more likeable character than JKR did. I always felt a bit sorry for him when reading the books.