Fan Fiction ❯ Promises Fulfilled ❯ Leaving Number Four Privet Drive ( Chapter 2 )

 

 

 

 

 

Promises Fulfilled

 

Chapter 2

 

Leaving Number Four Privet Drive

 

 

 

 

 

Harry walked down the stairs slowly and quietly, not wanting to irritate that one cranky floorboard that would give an angry sounding groan if stepped on. The last thing that he wanted was for the whole house to be up, directing the source of their anger at him, as it was dreadfully early in the morning and Harry had barely any sleep. He just wasn't ready to deal with his so-called “relatives” at that moment.

 

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, he was dismayed to see that his Aunt Petunia was already up and about making breakfast. She merely pursed her lips when he entered, but said nothing to his sloppy appearance. As far as Harry was concerned, if she didn't like the way he looked there was only one way to deal with it: don't look at him. He really didn't care. He had plenty of people staring at him wherever he went in the wizarding world and he was, quite frankly, glad that his relatives didn't constantly gaze at the scar on his forehead all the time. It was extremely annoying.

 

He went to the kitchen table and sat down in his chair, unfolding the newspaper that had been residing under his arm. His aunt looked at him for a moment and he met her gaze unflinchingly; she was waiting for something. Oh, yes. He had to help make breakfast. What was it that Uncle Vernon had said in the car after he had gotten off the train at the beginning of the summer? Something about how he wouldn't be a “pampered little prince” and sit around on his “lazy arse” all summer but actually help around the house. Harry had desperately wanted to point out that the one sitting on his “lazy arse” all the time and did nothing around the house was Dudley, but he held his tongue. At that time he really didn't want to be on the receiving end of Uncle Vernon's fist. And, he still didn't.

 

Therefore, Harry folded up the Daily Prophet and set it down on the table before getting up and walking into the kitchen. As he fried bacon in a pan, Harry occupied his thoughts into thinking about how the Order was going to come and get him. Well, he hoped anyway. They were going to if he figured out the meaning behind that retched code. He wasn't the problem solver! That was Hermione's job!

 

“Look what you did! Pay attention! Stop daydreaming!” Aunt Petunia's shrill voice cut through his head like a knife.

 

Looking down, Harry realized that he had gotten grease all over the counter. He really didn't understand why Aunt Petunia was going post office however. All you needed to do was wipe it up and it would all go away. She shooed him out of the kitchen, shoving plates and cutlery into his hands, barking at him to set the table instead of standing around like a “bump on a log” in the kitchen, messing up her precious counters.

 

Harry set the table before going and taking some cups out of the cabinet and then rummaging through the fridge to find the orange juice and marmalade. He set these items on the table and sat down in his chair, once more unfolding the Prophet. Uncle Vernon strutted into the room in his work shirt and tie, paper under one arm, briefcase under the other.

 

“Good morning, Petunia,” he said sweetly, giving her a peck on the cheek.

 

“Good morning, darling,” Aunt Petunia replied.

 

Vernon took his seat at the head of the table and set his case down before unfolding the paper and sticking his nose in it. All was quiet for a moment before Uncle Vernon peeked over his paper, observing what had his good-for-nothing nephew so preoccupied. All he saw was the top of Harry's head, all messed up and sticking out at odd angles, disappearing behind a paper as big as his own. The name of the paper read, in large italicized letters: The Daily Prophet. Vernon noticed that the picture at the front of the paper seemed to be moving and that the advertisements on the back were for some ridiculous things with even more ridiculous slogans like Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain! and Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans—A Risk With Every Mouthful!

 

“Prophet. What rubbish,” Vernon grumbled, going back to his own paper.

 

Vernon had been very lenient with the whole magic bit. He realized that it kept Harry quiet and out of his way, so he tolerated Harry doing his homework and reading the Prophet in the house, so long as no one else saw. And, as part of a silent agreement, Harry did as he was told and basically stayed out of everyone's way, making all members of the household reasonably happy.

 

Harry didn't acknowledge his uncle's grunt. He felt that his uncle had been taking the whole “I'm gonna sit down and read the magical paper to the wizarding world in your muggle house thing” pretty well. He did as he was asked, and Vernon never said boo about anything else. Every now and then, Vernon would make a snide comment, but Harry was so used to those by that point in his life that he didn't even take much notice to it. But Harry was pretty sure that Uncle Vernon was on his best behavior because he was afraid of what the Order would do to him. Harry smirked when he remembered the look on his uncle's face when Moody revealed his magical eye to him. He had to keep from laughing when he recalled the look on his face as practically half of the Order had been standing around him telling him to play nice this summer. A chuckle escaped him. He could have sworn that his uncle muttered something that sounded like: “Crazy loon.”

 

Ignoring it as he always did, Harry turned back to the article he had been reading. Ever since the break-in at the Ministry of Magic, all the articles seemed to be titled: Mayhem at the Ministry. He was upset to find that in the paper there were all kinds of tips for spells and enchantments to be placed around the home and family for protection. There were interviews with Ministry officials and (once again) the names and crimes of all the escaped Death Eaters from Azkaban. Harry glared at the picture of Bellatrix Lestrange with a barely restrained anger.

 

Loud thumping from upstairs indicated that Dudley was up and awake. His loud entrance to the kitchen interrupted Harry's silent battle with the laughing picture in the Prophet that was currently shooting rude gestures at him; he turned the page irritably. Harry was just getting emerged in a very well-written article about Ireland beating the snot out of Romania in a recent Quidditch game when the table shook, announcing that Dudley had just sat down and was awaiting food.

 

“Good morning, Dudley,” Vernon grunted from behind his paper.

 

“Is breakfast almost ready?” Dudley asked.

 

“In a moment, Diddykins,” Aunt Petunia called back sweetly.

 

Harry couldn't help rolling his eyes. He continued to leaf through his paper, finding an article or two with reference to his name but nothing like the negative publicity that he had received the previous year. There was a small article that had obviously been thrown in the tiniest corner, as if trying to get by undetected, about the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, having a brief “stay” at St. Mungo's. The article didn't elaborate, but Harry had the sneaking suspicion that it was a stress problem (if it was an attack it would have definitely been on the front page) or something of the same nature.

 

He flipped towards the back and found yet another “Mayhem at the Ministry!” article written by Rita Skeeter. Skimming it, he really wondered if Rita wrote it, as it was painfully nice and devoid of all negativity. Perhaps Rita was taking Hermione's warning seriously, about telling the Ministry that she was an Animagus, that is. Pleased to find that he was no longer the main focus of her quill, Harry read the article a couple times, finding so many loopholes in the story that it was sad. The Ministry was probably trying to cover everything up, but a lot had leaked out over the summer about the attack. However, Harry was glad that there hadn't been anything about the way that he had led five other students into the Department of Mysteries and nearly gotten them all killed. And he was very glad that Sirius's death remained absent from the press.

 

The words on the page blurred together slightly as Harry felt his eyes welling up again with tears. He was so sick of wanting to cry. Shaking his head, he flipped back to the Quidditch section and read that there was a new broom coming out: The Stratus 400 that was supposed to be better than the Nimbus series, but not quite up-to-par with the Firebolt. There were editorials below from broom owners who were arguing whether the Stratus 550 (not yet released to the public but had been rumored that a team in Austria already had them) would put it at the same level as a Firebolt. Then there was one editorial about how the old Silver Arrows should be put back into circulation again. Harry had the sneaking suspicion that the article might have been written by Madam Hooch, because he remembered her saying something about her old broom once…

 

“Mum! I'm hungry!” Dudley moaned from beside of Harry.

 

The clattering of plates being set down on the table brought Harry's nose out of the newspaper; Vernon glared over the rim of The London Tribune with a look of pure irritation. Dudley grabbed the nearest bowl and started dumping its contents onto his plate. Harry merely took a piece of toast from the stack and put it on his plate.

 

“Pass the marmalade, Dudley,” Harry said from behind his paper.

 

Harry was absorbed in another article about how the Ministry of Magic appointed a bunch of security trolls to guard the cells of Azkaban. He snorted. Half the cells were probably empty by now that all those Death Eaters escaped…

 

“Don't snort at me! Dad! Harry's snorting at me!” Dudley whined from beside him.

 

“Don't snort at Dudley,” Vernon grunted from the head of the table.

 

Harry snorted, softer that time so no one would get their knickers in a bunch. He spread some jam on his toast and continued reading, pausing every now and then to watch some of the moving pictures near the articles. Harry was just helping himself to some more toast when an article on the very last page caught his eye: Werewolves - Supporters of You-Know-Who. He read on, ready to get a good laugh as he went for some more marmalade.

 

Werewolves, horrible beings that transform from human to terrifying monsters during the night of the full moon, are alleged supporters of You-Know-Who. The Ministry of Magic keeps tabs on all Werewolves in Britain and up until now has been able to control them. But, like the Dementors who have neglected their posts at the wizard prison, Azkaban, Werewolves in Britain are now running wild, helping in the spreading panic of the recent attacks made by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. All Werewolf activity in Britain has been suspended. Werewolves are being transported to a remote location that has not been disclosed to the press. The Werewolves known by the Ministry of Magic are to be sent to this location, if they refuse after the date of the new Werewolfism Decree passed by the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, they will be sought out and destroyed. Until the fall of You-Know-Who, the Werewolves will remain in this location until further notice. Other allies of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named are the Vampires, who are next on the list to be re-located once the new Vampirism Pact is put into play.

 

The knife fell from Harry's numb fingers where it clattered to the floor. He leaned over to pick it up, ignoring the looks from his relatives. Harry was aghast. What type of cock-and-bull story was the Ministry feeding the press? Werewolves and Voldemort? Doubtful! But, knowing Cornelius, he'd probably make sure that as long as he still had power, he'd use it to keep all of Voldemort's allies out of the picture. But seriously! The Werewolves? It wasn't like the Werewolves wanted to be what they were! He thought of Lupin and frowned. Poor Lupin, having to deal with all of that on top of Sirius's death. Harry swallowed hard. Had they sent him away? Surely Dumbledore would be able to pull strings to see to it that Lupin could stay in the Order?

 

Harry folded up the paper and cleared his place before heading back upstairs. He plopped down on his bed and stared at the ceiling. All was quiet in his room. From the driveway, he distinctly heard the sound of Uncle Vernon's car revving up as he pulled out of the drive and headed towards work. After that it was the usual bark from the neighborhood nuisance, Pookie, a hyperactive Shiatsu, and the drone of voices from the television downstairs.

 

Hedwig had returned and was currently in her perch, sleeping with her head beneath her wing. Harry stood and put the cover over her cage so the sun wouldn't bother her as she snoozed the day away. Sighing, he sat back down on his bed before standing and pacing. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was only about nine in the morning. He groaned in frustration and continued pacing. Every now and then he'd look up to see that barely any time had passed. He thought that maybe the clock had broken, or zapped out in the last power outage maybe? Glancing down at his wristwatch, Harry realized that the wall clock had the correct time and he scowled. It was going to be a long day…

 

 

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It was about eight thirty that night when Harry awoke from a light sleep. He had paced, taken a shower, paced some more, and repacked his suitcase until it was so uncharacteristically neat that he had to wrinkle a couple shirts and unfold a couple socks to make it look like he actually did pack his own belongings. By that time, he was feeling the aftereffects of a sleepless night and he decided to take a small nap. He must have overslept.

 

He put on his jacket and slipped his sneakers back on his feet, putting his wand under his coat in his back pocket. Harry found that his throat was dry and parched so he left his bedroom and walked down the stairs slowly, hoping that every moment he wasted was one moment closer to when the Order would come bounding through the door to get him. Filling a glass with water, Harry turned to head back upstairs when he saw Vernon glaring at him curiously from the television room in his bathrobe and slippers.

 

“Boy,” he barked. “What are you all dressed up for? What? Got a date or something?”

 

Uncle Vernon chuckled at his own lame joke. Harry walked into the T.V. room with his glass and leaned against the doorframe.

 

“No, but I might be getting picked up soon,” Harry said, trying not to sound anxious.

 

Harry watched as his uncle's face went from white to green then to a reddish-purple. It was a fun game to play: See How Many Different Colors Uncle Vernon Can Turn in Over the Span of One Minute. Harry counted over seven colors once; four different shades of scarlet was the record.

 

“Picked up?” Uncle Vernon repeated in a semi-squeak. “By that lot are you now?”

 

“I might be. I'm not sure,” Harry continued.

 

It was the truth; Harry wasn't quite sure. That statement seemed to make Uncle Vernon extremely unhappy.

 

“Not sure?! How can you not be sure, boy?” Vernon barked; Petunia walked down the stairs with Dudley behind her.

 

“What's going on, Vernon dear?” Petunia inquired, looking between them both.

 

“That lot is coming by to maybe come pick him up!” Vernon exclaimed, turning tomato red.

 

Aunt Petunia's lips pursed into a fine line and Dudley gave a small scream/yelp of terror and ran up the stairs clutching his bottom. Uncle Vernon was standing, but not looking as menacing as he could, for he was wearing a Terri Cloth bath robe with a pair of bright yellow slippers. Vernon was glaring at Harry, but Petunia was looking at the fireplace, as if daring it to spit out a bunch of wizards.

 

“Don't worry,” Harry said, following her gaze, “they're not using the Floo network to get here; too dangerous.”

 

Aunt Petunia let out a small little whimper but said nothing.

 

“Floo? What the bloody hell is that nonsense you're talking?” Vernon growled, looking at the fireplace too.

 

“It's a mode of transportation,” Harry explained, sounding bored as though he were talking about the weather or sock shopping. “Not everyone can go by broom you know.”

 

Petunia jumped and ran to the window, peering out through the blinds to make sure that the neighbors weren't sitting right outside their window, listening to every word they said; one of her curlers had fallen out.

 

“Don't talk about anything to do with your lot under this roof!” Vernon bellowed.

 

“You asked,” Harry murmured, and turned to leave.

 

He was stopped in mid-step when there came a sudden, anxious rapping from the kitchen. Uncle Vernon paled and Aunt Petunia shook terribly. Harry started towards the kitchen, but Vernon held him back with a firm hand on his shoulder that squeezed him just a little too tightly. There was a silent moment and the grip on Harry's shoulder lessened.

 

“Just a cat,” Uncle Vernon muttered.

 

But then there was the sound of the slider opening; Harry reached for his wand and he felt Vernon flinch slightly and let go. Then, the kitchen was filled with hushed voices and quiet footsteps. A pale, heart-shaped face peered around the corner at them; those eyes lit up as brightly as their hair.

 

“Wotcher, Harry!” Tonks greeted him enthusiastically.

 

Tonk's hair was a violent shade of turquoise and was put up in two, short pigtails. More figures came from around the kitchen corner and into the living room. Lupin came out from behind Tonks; Harry was so relieved to see him. He looked very pale and his face was drawn and weary while his hair was almost completely gray, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. Harry saw the slight smile that made its way onto his tired face and realized that he wasn't the only one trying to get over Sirius's death. The loss of his best friend must have been so hard…Harry thought about if he were ever to lose Ron or Hermione…his heart clenched painfully.

 

“Good to see you, Harry,” Lupin said, enveloping Harry in a strong embrace.

 

Harry was surprised at this; Lupin had never hugged him before. But it was over before Harry could even think about it further. Moody limped into the room, his wooden leg sinking into the carpet slightly, muffling the usual tempo of clunk clunk clunk that normally accompanied Mad-Eye's presence. His magical eye was swirling and twirling all about, looking about the house, through the house, and possibly down the block as well.

 

“Potter,” Moody growled, his eye swiveling over to Harry. “What did I tell you about that wand? You want to lose a buttock?”

 

“Really, Moody, I'm interested. Who have you ever known to have lost a buttock by carrying their wand in their back pocket?” Tonks inquired, folding her arms across her chest.

 

Harry could sense that Petunia and Vernon were shaking in their boots at just the sight of two wizards and a witch in their home. However, Harry was sure they almost collapsed right there when the sounds of more people entering the kitchen reached their ears.

 

“Oh, oh! Yes, this is a macrowave! You see, muggles use it to heat things up with elektricity! It's absolutely fascinating!”

 

“Arthur! Arthur! What's this strange contraption here?”

 

“That, Dedalus, is a fellytone. Muggles use it to communicate with one another over long distances.”

 

“And what is that over there?”

 

“That, my dear Hestia, is a toaster. I really don't know what it's used for yet. A bit more research and I'll have it down just-”

 

“Arthur, this isn't really the time to be giving a tour on muggle living.”

 

“Oh, yes. Yes, quite right, Kingsley. Quite right.”

 

“Hestia, Dedalus, roll those up, will you?”

 

“Sure thing, Kingsley.”

 

Arthur Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt made their way out of the kitchen and into the living room. Petunia made a sound that was close to the noise made by a wet sneaker on a tiled floor. Arthur came bounding up to Harry and shook his hand, his dark eyes bright with interest at the muggle household. Harry noticed that his normally vibrant red hair was graying; perhaps the strain of being in the Order? Harry's eyes strayed over to where Kingsley stood, also looking like he had gained twenty-five years to his appearance; he nodded his head to Harry.

 

“Eh, Potter, you remembered from last time?” Moody commented, taking the glass of water from Harry's hand. “This damn eye still isn't right…”

 

And with that said, Moody popped out his eye with a loud squelching noise; Vernon and Petunia took a great, shuddering step back from the group. Moody dropped his eye into the glass where it began zooming around the glass, bouncing off the sides and bottom. Tonks pulled a face.

 

“Ugh…just…ew…” Tonks muttered.

 

She turned her attention away from the rather disgusting sight to Harry and smiled cheerfully.

 

“I guess you did understand the message after all,” Tonks said, eyeing his ready appearance.

 

“I told you he would,” Moody growled, still letting his magical eye swim around in the glass.

 

“Is your stuff already packed?” Tonks asked, raising her wand as she looked towards the staircase; Harry nodded.

 

“I'll help—” Harry began, but Tonks was already heading up the stairs towards his room.

 

“Fascinating! Harry, Harry! What is this strange device?” Mr. Weasley asked curiously, holding up the television remote control.

 

“Arthur…” Kingsley said warningly.

 

“Right,” Arthur replied, setting down the controller carefully on the coffee table.

 

Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones walked into the room, looking exhausted and winded. Hestia brushed her long, raven hair away from her flushed face, giving Harry a nice smile while Dedalus tipped his top hat to him. They stood in silence for a moment, the only sound was when Moody put his eye back into its socket, creating a loud noise that reminded Harry of a vacuum cleaner sucking up something huge.

 

“So, erm, how're we getting to—you know,” Harry asked, turning to Lupin.

 

“Flying carpets, this time around. Heard you got that nice broom confiscated by that Umbridge woman last year,” Moody growled before Lupin could even open his mouth.

 

“But aren't those illegal?” Harry inquired, remembering something someone said about flying carpets being banned from Britain.

 

“Yes, but, Mundungus isn't in the Order just to eat Molly's wonderful meatballs,” Lupin said, smiling somewhat slyly.

 

“Dead useful when he wants to be, ol' Mundungus is,” Moody added just as Tonks came down the stairs, levitating Harry's trunk behind her.

 

A whimper issued from behind him and Harry turned around to find that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were gazing terrified at the hovering piece of luggage; he had almost forgotten that they were even there. They didn't say anything, but continued to stare dumbly with their mouths hanging wide open at the bit of elementary magic that was currently happening in their home.

 

“Okay then, you lot. Let's get moving; the signal should be up in a minute,” Moody said and limped out of the living room and into the kitchen.

 

Kingsley, Dedalus, and Hestia followed the clunk clunk clunk of Moody's leg through the kitchen. Tonks was just about to follow when she caught sight of Petunia and smiled. A look of deep concentration crossed her face before her hair suddenly shriveled and curled up on her head, mimicking Petunia's curlers, but it looked like Tonks was then sporting a greenish-blue afro. Petunia's eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed into her husband's arms; Tonks looked horrified.

 

“Does it look…that bad?” Tonks asked, looking from Harry to Lupin to Vernon.

 

She concentrated again; her hair uncurled and spiked, turning a bright shade of magenta.

 

“Better?” she inquired with a grin, before walking out of the room.

 

“Just pick a hairstyle and stay with it for goodness sakes, Nymphadora,” Moody growled at Tonks as she passed, limping back into the living room with his wand at ready; Vernon made a slight noise but that was all.

 

“Don't call me `Nymphadora!'” was Tonk's angry retort from the other room.

 

Moody's eye swiveled around and focused on the far wall, making it appear as if he were looking at the horrid family portrait (minus Harry) that hung above the television set.

 

“I saw that hand gesture, Nymphadora,” said Moody in a mocking voice; Harry choked back on his laugh.

 

“I was hoping you would, Mad-Eye,” came Tonk's equally mocking voice from the kitchen.

 

Harry saw that Lupin was smiling slightly. It was a good sight to see. Had it been just as hard for him to smile as it been for Harry since…

 

“I've just remembered I have to Disillusion you, Potter,” Moody said, brandishing his wand; Aunt Petunia was just regaining consciousness when he said this.

 

Moody rapped Harry hard over the head with his wand; a curiously cold, trickling sensation came over him. It was like little streams of ice water streaming from the point where Moody's wand had struck him. He'd been through that once before, but it still felt a bit…odd. Looking down, Harry saw that his body had again taken on the characteristics of a chameleon, blending in with everything around him; Petunia passed out again in Vernon's arms.

 

“Right then. Let's be off,” Moody said.

 

He glared back at the Dursley's for a moment, making sure that his magical eye twirled around ominously before departing. Lupin turned around to face Vernon, his face and posture calm whereas Vernon was stiff and jittery, still clinging to his unconscious wife. Lupin put a hand on Harry's shoulder before beginning.

 

“We'll be taking Harry with us now. We're sorry for such short notice but there is a bit of business for us to take care of. No problems, of course?” Lupin asked; Vernon merely shook his head dumbly. “Then we'll be leaving now. You'll see Harry next summer.”

 

Harry gave a brief wave before following Lupin out of the living room and into the kitchen. The Order was outside on the back lawn, standing before four large carpets that were hovering about five inches off the ground. Moody was giving everyone instructions when they arrived.

 

“Potter,” Moody said, “you'll be with me and Tonks.”

 

Tonks waved at him from an Asian-looking carpet. Harry awkwardly got up onto the carpet and sat cross-legged like she was. He transferred his wand from his back pocket to the front pocket of his coat. They both watched as Moody divided the Order members up: Lupin and Mr. Weasley were on one, Dedalus and Hestia were on the other, while Kingsley was by himself with Harry's belongings. Tonks tapped him on the shoulder.

 

“I hope you don't mind, but I sent your owl ahead,” Tonks informed him, indicating the empty owl cage.

 

“It's fine. She'd probably want to go out flying anyways,” Harry said.

 

“Now, everyone, stay in tight formation,” Moody was saying as the Order members got onto their respectable carpets. “Remember if something does happen, stay with Potter and keep heading east. If we all go down—”

 

“That would suck,” Tonks muttered beside Harry; he disguised his laughter as a small cough.

 

“Right then, there's the first signal,” Moody declared, indicating the red sparks that were shooting up into the air like fireworks.

 

Moody took his seat at the front of Harry and Tonk's carpet and sat Indian style before placing a quick Disillusion charm on the carpet so that it now resembled the grass below them. A shower of green sparks went up in the distance.

 

“Let's go,” Moody growled, and the carpets vibrated with a steady hum.

 

Slowly, slowly, slowly the carpets rose and took flight. The air was cold and damp and when the carpets began to speed up, the wind felt like little pinpricks of needles and ice. Harry looked down at the cities below and felt suddenly very fearful of heights. He had never been that high up in the air before not on a broomstick. It felt very weird, and the way the wind constantly changed, he feared he might fall off; Harry gripped the carpet with his fingers. Tonks, however, didn't seem to be fazed at all. In fact, she was steadily humming a tune under her breath with her eyes closed.

 

They were up in the air for a long time and Harry was beginning to feel numb and cold. Moody made them, just like the last time he had traveled with the Order, take many different turns and they doubled back a couple times over certain areas before deciding that he had thrown off someone who was trying to follow them. Harry was just about to ask when they were going to get to headquarters when he felt Tonk's tap his shoulder again. She was holding two objects in her hands: a sash and a pair of pink, fluffy earmuffs that reminded Harry horribly of the earmuffs that Professor Sprout had made them wear in second year when they were repotting Mandrakes.

 

“What—” Harry began, but stopped when Tonks adverted her eyes to something that was just a little to the left of Harry's elbow.

 

“It's a…it's a safety measure,” she replied, but didn't elaborate.

 

Harry looked over at Moody for some sort of explanation, but he fixed Harry with a look that left no room for arguments. Taking off his glasses and putting them safely in his pocket, Harry let Tonks blindfold him with the sash (that he was sure had been bewitched so that there was absolutely no way he could see a thing) and then place the earmuffs over his ears. Harry was aware that he probably looked ridiculous, but there were so many other things that he was worried about at that moment that he didn't really care.

 

A safety measure? Doubtful. Harry knew that they were doing it because they were afraid that Voldemort would be able to see their headquarters and how to get in and who was in it and all sorts of information. Harry felt suddenly so…he didn't know. But it was a really bad feeling that made him cold and sad inside. Could they not trust him? Was he really a possible leak in their system? Harry felt the carpet descending towards the ground and finally stop. He felt someone grab his arm, helping him get off the carpet and then guiding him up a flight of steps.

 

Harry stood there for a moment, feeling dumb and blind and very deaf. He really wished that he could take off the blindfold at least; he felt extremely vulnerable and he unconsciously reached for his wand. The earmuffs were removed and a gruff voice said in his ear:

 

“Potter, you won't be needing that.”

 

The blindfold was removed and Harry put his glasses back on. It wasn't as if he could see anything, however, for it was very dark wherever they were. The Order was speaking in very low voices around him. He felt Moody's wand whack him on the head harshly; he had just had the Disillusion charm lifted from him. At the feeling of tremors of warmth spreading from that point on his head throughout the rest of his body, Harry swayed slightly, but caught himself before he fell over and trod hard on someone's foot.

 

“Ow! Harry, you stepped on my foot!” Tonks whimpered softly.

 

“Sorry,” Harry replied, not knowing if he was facing her or the wall. “Where are we?”

 

The voices stopped in the hallway, cutting off Tonk's answer to his question. Sounds of someone coming their way filled their ears.

 

“All right, come along this way now,” a very familiar voice said to them.

 

Everyone quietly followed the sound of the footsteps belonging to the voice until they were in a dimly lit room. The hearth was empty and the only source of light was a few candles on the long wooden table that sat in the middle of the room.

 

“Let's get some light in here,” came Arthur's voice from somewhere to Harry's left.

 

A fire erupted in the hearth, shining light to every nook and cranny in the small space while lighting up the dark faces of the members of the Order. Harry then realized where they were and he felt his heart skip a beat. They were in Sirius's house: Number Twelve Grimmauld Place - Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

 

 

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