Replay

Replay

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Chapter Three

Absent without Leave

"I can't wait to see the expression on Potter's face when he sees me," Malfoy said, grinning maniacally. "And he thought he was so safe here, that his precious Dumbledore would protect him...."

Snape wanted to throttle the boy, to halt his annoying sing-song voice, but settled for letting him prattle on, hopefully incriminating himself. However, Snape would need someone else to witness a misstep by Malfoy if he wasn't to destroy his own cover. Even a Muggle would do. (The Ministry would question the person before modifying his or her memory.) He wasn't certain how he was going to manage it, but he would see to it that Malfoy paid for attacking Ron and Ginny Weasley. Of course, he didn't think much of the Weasleys for allowing their children to wander off to play Quidditch during a war. They should have been staying at the Order headquarters in London, even though he found the Weasleys' presence at number twelve, Grimmauld Place to be a very effective deterrent to his going there very often, except when he had to give reports. It would, however, have saved him from cleaning up the mess that had resulted from the brief period during which they'd attempted to return to their home near Exeter.

Bloody hell, he thought again. How did the barrier collapse? Dumbledore insisted that Potter was protected by the most ancient magic, virtually foolproof....

Fool. Snape made a sceptical noise which only he could hear as he strode down the middle of the street behind Malfoy and Macnair. Potter is an inveterate fool, just like his father, just like Sirius Black. If there is a way to put himself at risk, Potter will find it. And make the life of everyone protecting him--Muggle and magical--a living hell.

Do I dare try to Apparate? Remus asked Snape silently, surprising him. He'd almost forgotten about the werewolf. In addition to the spell, Albus said he'd put an anti-Apparation jinx on the village, partly to make sure Dung couldn't just run off when he was supposed to have guard duty. Don't know what'll happen to me if I try. I don't fancy being Splinched.

Snape watched the two figures in front of him, the old man and the boy, thinking back at Lupin, Stay with us. If the time comes that we need Albus, I have an emergency Portkey to Hogwarts castle. I'll need to stay with them, but perhaps you can use it.

Lupin agreed with him and they all continued on as sirens cut through the night. They finally turned onto a small, tidy street with a signpost at the end proclaiming it to be Privet Drive. However, Snape found that other Death Eaters had beaten them there; number four was smoking and the rear of it appeared to be in flames. There were already Muggle fire-fighting vehicles outside the house, which had been heralded by the sirens they'd heard. Men in strange hats and what appeared to be oversized raincoats were tramping about the flowerbeds in front and back of the house, carrying enormous hoses that spewed geysers of water at the flames. A white van with a peculiar device protruding from the top was blocking the traffic on the street and a very glossy, lacquered-looking woman stood on the lawn, speaking very quickly into a sort of wand, which rather confused Snape.

The three of them managed to blend in with the neighbours, who were standing about on the pavement in clusters from three to five, talking excitedly to each other. Snape heard snatches of conversation, things people were saying about Harry:

"Well, he's a juvenile delinquent, you know. This had to happen sooner or later."

"Bloody hell, I'd blow up Vernon Dursley in a trice, and I ain't no delinquent. If Potter did this, I'd like to shake his hand."

"Poor Petunia! As if she hasn't enough to worry about. Did you know she's nursing her poor sister-in-law day and night? She's dying. Any day now, to hear Petunia tell it."

"Most likely all the way dead, now, no waiting. I saw bodies being carried out of the house...."

"The big one told Greta Lockwax that the house was firebombed..."

Snape almost jumped out of his skin when a sharp, shrill whine from one of the Muggle vehicles started up again; it was smaller than the vehicles with the hoses and roared along the otherwise quiet street away from Snape, Macnair and Malfoy. An ambulance, he realised after a moment, cursing himself for hesitating. He wondered who was in it. Was it taking Potter away? Or one of his relatives? Where was it going? Where was the nearest Muggle hospital? Were the bodies that had been removed from the house dead or alive?

The woman who'd been standing on the lawn suddenly bolted for the white van, along with a man Snape hadn't noticed who'd been crouching in the shrubbery with a large black thing on his shoulders, trailing wires. Was it a camera? Bloody hell, was this going to be on the Muggle news?

The woman and her cameraman, presumably, roared off after the ambulance. Snape whispered to Macnair and Malfoy, "You wait here. Now that she's out of the way, let me go in. Keep an eye on the front, in case they carry out any more casualties."

"Oy, come on, Snape!" Malfoy whinged. Snape's eyes flashed at his impertinence, which Malfoy was actually astute enough to notice. "I mean--Professor. I want to see!"

"People from the Ministry could be here any minute! I have a cover story, you do not. I can simply say that I am his teacher and was checking on him. What reason do you have for being here?" Snape responded. "Are you that eager to be brought before the Wizengamot? Thinking of sharing an Azkaban cell with your father? Is that why you attacked Ginny Weasley?"

Malfoy's mouth worked silently, open and closed. "But--I want to help the others!" he finally said. "There may still be some Muggles in there. We can have some fun!"

Damn, Snape thought. Malfoy didn't take the bait and admit to trying to attack the Weasley girl. However, to his relief, Macnair actually "agreed" with Snape, although he presumably had radically different reasons.

"You're no good to the Dark Lord in prison, lad. We'll do as your professor suggested and wait here. It's always good to have someone checking your escape route for you, anyways. Remember that. You're in training, something else you need to remember. You can't just go charging into a situation. Remember--we heard that Potter was doing secret Defence Against the Dark Arts training all last year. No telling what he's picked up. Sounds like even the Muggles around here are scared of him. Can't be too careful. He's probably miles ahead of you by now," he added, looking disdainfully at the thin blond boy.

Draco Malfoy drew himself up indignantly at that and whipped out his wand. "You don't know what my father taught me before he went to prison! Why, right this minute, I could--"

"Put that away!" Snape growled at him, glancing at the other Muggles nearby and pushing Malfoy's wand against his body so that it became lost in the folds of his robe. Luckily, the people of Little Whinging were so absorbed in their gossip about Potter and the Dursleys they hadn't noticed a young wizard drawing his wand. "You won't be much use to the Dark Lord if you can't think," he growled between his teeth, following Macnair's lead.

Draco Malfoy scowled, causing him to resemble a petulant five year old. Snape was starting to think he'd definitely drawn the short straw to be stuck shadowing the boy. The sooner I have enough evidence to have him join his father at Azkaban, the better.

He stepped into the shadow of an exceptional large hedge beside number four's next door neighbour and put a Disillusionment Charm on himself, shivering at the sensation of egg sliding over his body. He walked out of the shelter of the hedge and around the side of the house so that he could see the rear, where most of the action was going on now; Muggles with axes were chopping the greenhouse to bits so that there would be a firebreak and other nearby houses wouldn't catch fire. The already dry summer foliage looked like kindling waiting to be lit; the hydrangeas would probably go up like paper if the fire progressed to the front, Snape thought. When he lightly pushed open the front door, which hadn't been properly closed, the water hitting the rear of the house made it sound like a monsoon had been imported to Surrey from the tropics. The place smelled both damp and singed, making Snape's nose twitch. He just wanted to find out what had happened.

I'm right behind you, Lupin thought at him. Don't close the door yet.

Thanks for the warning, Snape thought back at him, not wanting to admit to being startled again. He kept forgetting about Lupin, who'd obviously been able to track his thoughts to locate him, although Snape knew that someone who was observant could still spot the telltale signs of someone moving about while cloaked with a Disillusionment Charm.

Everything about this evening was jarring. Night after night there had been absolutely nothing of note when he had kept company with Death Eaters at the perimeter of Dumbledore's protection spell, and now this. If the Dark Lord can get through Dumbledore's spell here, he thought, then is even Hogwarts safe?

That was another jarring thought. He had to push it from his mind, concentrate on the work at hand. He looked briefly around the living-room of number four, Privet Drive, which was not burnt but quite damp, and the front window was broken. Beyond that, the dining room was a mess, the table and chairs in a charred, soggy heap, the singed wallpaper hanging in strips, dripping water. Through a gash in the wall he could glimpse a little of the kitchen and the greenhouse beyond that, where leaping flames were still visible amid the spouts of water gushing from the hoses.

He returned to the front hall and strode quickly up the stairs, hoping both that he would and wouldn't find Harry. The Muggle residents of the house all appeared to be gone. Was that why this had happened? Dumbledore had told him that the basis of the spell's protection was Harry's blood relationship to his aunt, his mother's closest relative, and that as long as his home was considered to be with her, all would be well. Had she kicked him out on his ear? Snape could well imagine feeling compelled to do that, having wanted to throw Potter out of the Potions dungeon for the previous five years, but the stupid woman had been told that she could not do that. Did she not realize that the spell afforded protection to her and to her family as well as to her nephew?

Evidently not, he answered himself silently, cursing the stupid Muggles as much as he'd cursed Potter before. And now see where it's got them....

There was a heap of clothing in the upstairs corridor, blocking the passage. He started to step over it but misjudged how long his stride would need to be, stepping on some of the clothes on the far side of the pile. Except that he also stepped on what felt like a human; a cry emerged from the untidy pile and he pulled his foot back, bending over to find the person he'd trod on.

There was no one there. Then suddenly--there was. Tonks pulled the Invisibility Cloak from her head and gazed gratefully up at Snape. "Who's there?" He took the charm off himself so that she could see him, as there was no point to it now. "Oh, gawd, Snape. Am I glad it's you! It's bloody awful, all of this is." There were the tracks of dried tears on her cheeks and a gash on her forehead which dripped blood onto her nose. She appeared to be covered in soot. "I tried to stop'em, honest I did," she choked. "I don't know where they could've come from...."

"What happened?" he asked her, trying to help her stand. She winced, wrapping her arms around her waist.

"Ribs," she explained briefly, squeezing her eyes shut because of the pain.

"Here, let me," Remus Lupin said, taking off his own Invisibility Cloak and putting his arm around her shoulders. "I don't think you should be trying to stand on your own right now."

"Thanks, Remus. Didn't know you was here, too," she said shyly, averting her eyes from him as he pulled her against his chest. Snape rolled his eyes; Tonks' obvious schoolgirl crush on Remus Lupin was just another one of the very annoying things he'd had to endure since Dumbledore had recalled the Order.

"What happened?" he repeated through gritted teeth, as quietly as he could while still being audible.

"Well, as far as I could tell, the spell just stopped working. All o'these Death Eater types were suddenly flying up the road, like, on their brooms. I thought--maybe they're just on a fishing expedition, yeah? Trying to find Harry's house. They prob'ly know the name of 'is village, an' all. But then they started attacking the house, and I was hexing them right back, but there were too many. I got one or two really good, but they still managed to get away. I couldn't keep'em all back by meself. Some of'em aimed flames at the back of the house, others went into the house, lookin' for Harry. I don't know if they found 'im. If they didn', that means--" She let out a distressed sob. "I let 'im get past me! I'm no better when I'm here than Dung was when he left 'is post! I was here the entire time and never saw a thing! How can I--" She choked on a sob and Lupin tightened his hold around her shoulders; "how can I face Dumbledore and the others? Because of me--"

She couldn't finish, putting her head on Remus Lupin's shoulder and sobbing uncontrollably. Snape drew his lips into a line at her display of emotion. Finally, he managed to say, in carefully measured tones, "I am quite certain that it is not your fault. Many's the time at school when Potter managed to evade even me in order to sneak about the castle at night. And you needn't worry about Dumbledore." He cleared his throat and swallowed for a moment, thinking of what he wanted to say. It was on my watch that the Dark Lord attacked Potter's parents in Godric's Hollow. No; he couldn't possibly tell her that....

He didn't know whether he'd said anything that helped, but he needed her to pull herself together or the Muggles would discover them. Or worse--Malfoy and Macnair. He didn't think much of Tonks and had absolutely no idea how she'd got through Auror training. He wasn't even certain how she'd got through her Potions OWLs, let alone NEWT-level Potions with him, a few years earlier. He remembered the many melted cauldrons that usually preceded a mildly successful potion from her. He hoped her potion-brewing days were behind her; the world would be a lot safer. But if he knew Potter (which he did) and the Dursleys (he knew about them second hand, but he knew about them) none of this was likely to be Tonks' fault. She'd clearly fought to the best of her ability and was grossly outnumbered by some very determined Death Eaters.

"Here is what we shall do," he told her and Lupin. "The pair of you shall use the Portkey to the castle; you shall give me your Invisibility Cloak, Lupin. I have need of it and you do not, once you are at Hogwarts; a Disillusionment Charm is useless at close range. And your cloak would be also be useless," he told Tonks, "as it smells like fire and damp. Madam Pomfrey can take care of you at the castle while Lupin tells Dumbledore what's happened. I shall see whether I can find out which Death Eaters did this."

"I can help wif'at!" she said thickly, through her tears. "Well, sort of. See, I saw a bloke I recognised, which really threw me, 'cause 'e works at the Ministry in Transportation, and I never pegged 'im for a Death Eater. I didn' recognise none o' the others, but I could do, if I saw photos."

"Who was the Ministry employee?" Snape said sharply, one eye on the stair, should any Muggles--or Death Eaters--appear.

"That bloke, what's 'is name, you know--Basil. That's 'is name! Basil. Last person I'd ever 'spect to be a Death Eater."

Snape's mouth was very thin as he nodded at her. "You're probably right about that. Because he's not, I'll wager. He's a good friend of both Arthur Weasley and Dumbledore. It's very likely, I think, that the people you saw were not wearing their own faces."

Tonks swore. "Then my seeing any of them is totally useless....I didn' think o' that. It occurred to me that some of'em might be under Imperius; they moved kind of weird, like, and didn' seem to really see what was in front of'em...."

Imperius. He cursed himself for not thinking of that. He looked at Tonks with a grudging respect; perhaps there was a good reason for her having got through Auror training. "Good point," he conceded, before taking a clear vial from his robe pocket. It contained a single red feather, a rather small one from the crest on Fawkes' head.

"Here is the Portkey. You grab thoroughly onto Remus, Tonks. Hold out your hand," he said to the werewolf, who thrust his Invisibility Cloak at Snape first. The Cloak under his left arm, Snape uncorked the vial and turned it over; the feather wafted gently from the vial and the moment it touched Remus Lupin's hand he and Tonks appeared to be pulled into a kind of vortex, disappearing in a silver rush of wind. Snape grabbed onto a nearby doorknob, almost carried along in their wake, and heaved a sigh of relief when the dust settled in the hall again.

Donning the Invisibility Cloak, he descended the stairs and then left the house. Malfoy and Macnair were still on the pavement, waiting with the Dursleys' neighbours for some news as though they'd lived in the village all their lives. Instead, Snape approached the vehicle bearing the legend Surrey Fire Brigade, for the man in charge appeared to be talking on a telephone and Snape was in sore need of information, of good solid facts.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, Bernie. I couldn't stop her," he was saying into a small black box held cupped against his cheek. "She shoved her microphone into the woman's face before anyone could do anything. Yeah, I know the woman was being put in an ambulance. You don't need to tell me that we aren't to let bloody reporters do that. What a cow. Anyway, she's gone and it's almost under control. S'not a firebombing though; don't know what did this. We can't find nothing. It's like the place blew itself up. Damn queer."

So, thought Snape; one of the people taken away by ambulance was a woman. That was probably Harry's aunt. Which meant that number four, Privet Drive wouldn't be her home for a little while, presumably. A hospital would be. And where was Harry? Had they turned him out?

He didn't see any way of getting more information at the moment; he was at the mercy of whatever the Muggle said into his--telephone? Snape didn't think they came so small, and he also thought they required long, curling cords. He would recommend to Dumbledore that they get Moody on it; with his magical eye, he could see through doors at a hospital and read medical reports through doctors' clipboards. It was time for Snape to return to what he did best: pretending to be a loyal Death Eater.

He slipped back into the house, removed the Cloak and stuffed it discreetly under his robes. He put the Disillusionment Charm on himself once more and slipped out of the house unseen in the now-thorough darkness.

In the shadow of the hedge he took the charm off himself once more, surprising Malfoy but not Macnair. "No one left in the house," he whispered to them, watching the Muggles return to their vehicle, preparing to leave the smoking, soggy shell of a house. "We should report to the Dark Lord, find out who we should congratulate for this."

Malfoy dropped his jaw. "Congratulate? Can't we just say we did it, too?"

Snape fought a very strong urge to cuff the boy. "No, because those who really did it will tell him that we did not. It pays to be generous when others fall into good fortune, Malfoy. Otherwise you risk those people attempting to steal your thunder when you have good fortune. The Dark Lord does not hold with people who lay claim to accomplishments not their own."

"That doesn't sound very dark to me," Draco Malfoy mumbled, following the two older wizards away from the wrecked house. Macnair whirled on him.

"Shall I tell our Master that he doesn't seem sufficiently dark to you, eh Malfoy? Or would you like to tell him to his face?"

Malfoy trembled and stared into the frightening face, not an inch from his. "Erm, no. I'll just--"

"--you'll just shut your mouth now," Snape said briskly, striding quickly down the pavement. "We need to get out of this village; I doubt that we can Apparate here...."

Suddenly a sharp pain made him double up, gripping his left forearm. He bit his lip to keep from screaming, drawing blood. Macnair had no such self-restraint, crying out hoarsely and sinking to his knees. Snape glared at him.

"Get up. As I said, we need to get out of the village. We don't have time to roll around on the ground like infants," he hissed. "Ignore it until we can do something about it."

Malfoy looked very eager about it, following them with a bounce in his step. The pain had passed but Snape knew that they would need to report soon. When they'd finally walked the length of the High Street and were officially out of Little Whinging, Snape said to Malfoy, "You go home. You do not have the Mark yet. This is not your concern."

"Not my concern! I want to come!"

"You cannot! The Protean charm on the Mark prevents our telling anyone else the location to which we are being summoned. It--it isn't that far to Wiltshire. Go!"

"Not that far!"

Snape raised his wand, preparing to Apparate, but an irate Draco Malfoy beat him to it. Aha! he thought. Now I've seen you Apparate illegally. A pity I can't tell anyone.

Macnair nodded to him and they waved their wands simultaneously.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Harry had enjoyed his second bacon sarnie. Gary was telling something like his thirtieth football story and an advert for tinned meat was on the telly. He was laughing at a face Gary was making, to simulate having been hit in the nose by a bloke twice his size (he'd have to be as big as Hagrid, Harry reckoned, for the story to be true) when he heard something at the edge of his attention span, something that sounded familiar....

"....most shocking thing ever to happen in the sleepy surburb of Little Whinging....."

"--and then me best mate, see, he--"

"Ssssh!" Harry said quickly, looking up at the television.

An immaculate blonde woman stood on the brown lawn of what was clearly his house, saying, "How far will a disgruntled teenager go to get revenge? Well, if you're Harry Potter, you'd be willing to fire-bomb your own house...."

Harry choked, his eyes wide. A moment later, the grotesque image of Aunt Marge filled the television screen. She was strapped to a stretcher, a bloody bandage wrapped around her head, her face covered in soot and scorch marks, her eyes wild. "Wants to be like his godfather, he does, a mass murderer! He brags about it!"

A moment later, the reporter was speaking to Yvonne, who was holding an ice pack to her cheek while a paramedic took her blood pressure. "He's in touch with a fugitive, you know, that Sirius Black, the one who escaped from prison three years ago. He visits him at school. Black, that is. I'd like to know why the police still haven't caught him. He's probably teaching that young thug everything he knows now."

The reporter's face filled the screen now. "And so there you have it. An unhappy sixteen year old boy with a previous criminal record--"

I haven't! Harry thought indignantly.

"--who is close with a fugitive. The result? A fire-bombed house and an entire family in hospital. Greta Lockwax, reporting from Little Whinging, Surrey."

The television screen now showed a young man in a dark suit sitting at a desk, holding a sheaf of papers at which he never looked. "Potter is reportedly a student at St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, something which should surprise no one. We have the headmaster of St Brutus's on the telephone; just a moment....Ah, yes, hello Mr Nacey. Thank you for joining us this evening. What can you tell us about Harry Potter? What offences caused him to be sent to St Brutus's? What sort of student is he? Always picking fights with the other students, is he?"

There was an awkward silence on the line; the dead air was deafening. "Mr Nacey?" the young man said with a shaking voice. "Are we having technical difficulties?"

Finally, a terse man's voice said, "We are not having technical difficulties. There is no such student at St Brutus's. I do not know who told you he was a student here, but they are sadly misinformed. All of our boys are being rehabilitated to be productive members of society. None of them would ever do such a thing as fire-bomb his own home. If Potter is in some other facility, perhaps they are trying to blame St Brutus's for their inability to reform him--"

"Erm, thank you Mr Nacey," the awkward young man said. "On a related note, we have spoken with Scotland Yard about the fugitive now known to be Harry Potter's 'godfather,' Sirius Black. When asked why the hunt for Black was called off over two years ago, Scotland Yard simply responded 'no comment.'"

Gary had been squinting at the television screen above the bar; something the young man had said made him think. "Oi, Harry--didn't you say your name is Potter? Harry? Mate?"

He whirled around, looking in every corner of the pub. The boy with the messy black hair, glasses, and scar on his forehead was nowhere to be seen.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Harry crept down the pavement under his Invisibility Cloak, his heart beating rapidly, his mind tumbling over the words he'd heard coming from the television. How far will a disgruntled teenager go to get revenge? Well, if you're Harry Potter, you'd be willing to fire-bomb your own house....

Fire-bomb my own house! he thought indignantly. Then he stopped dead, feeling like an icy fist had closed around his heart. Oh, no...The house has been attacked. Voldemort has attacked Privet Drive....

He leaned against a wall, swallowing, trying to work out where he could go. He should never have come out, he should have stayed at home...

To get blown up?

No, he thought, to help defend my home.

Home. He'd just been thinking that Privet Drive wasn't really his home, Grimmauld Place was, and he'd even told Gary--

Bloody hell.

He'd left Privet Drive and even Little Whinging well before his birthday, he'd told someone his name and that his home was Grimmauld Place in London....it was his fault this had happened. He'd broken the charm, he'd destroyed the protection of the ancient magic Dumbledore had used since he was first brought to his aunt and uncle. And now his house lay in ruins and he wasn't even certain his aunt--the basis of his protection--was still alive. He might be responsible for her death, and maybe the deaths of his uncle and cousin. He wasn't a bit upset that Marge was injured, though. Then he remembered that earlier he'd thought it would be poetic justice if she outlived them all. He sincerely hoped that this wasn't what had happened. He didn't want to live with the Dursleys anymore, but he didn't want them dead, either.

And it was all his fault, just because he couldn't exercise a little self-control and stay in the house with Marge.

He looked around, wondering how on earth he was going to get back to Little Whinging. He didn't know when the next bus was due; it might not be for an hour, and he couldn't count on someone else getting the bus to Little Whinging, so he'd have a way to get on and off. Certainly he didn't dare travel without the Cloak now; if he encountered Gordon and Chloe on the bus again, Gordon would surely recognise him, and the pub where they were going in Harrington might have also shown the news report on the television. Gordon could have gone to the bar for some food or drinks to take to their room and seen it....

"You want to go where?" one of the footballers was saying to Gary, who had walked out of The Bartered Bull. Harry started to edge away from them, but stopped when he heard what Gary was saying.

"Greater Whinging. S'not too far. That bloke I was just talking to had the same name as the bloke they said blew up that house. The thing is--how could have he been blowing up a house when he was sitting right here in the pub eating rotten crisps and flat Coke? It's a classic frame-up. He's probably on the run now 'cause of it, so we should go and tell the coppers he's not the one. Only fair. Remember when Dirk done that frame-up on me, when twenty-quid went missing from Archie's wallet? I appreciated Tony saying he knew I hadn't done it 'cause he was with me at his old lady's at the time. If there's one sort of person I hate, it's someone who'd frame someone else. This Harry needs to know it's safe for him to stop running. We can tell the cops it wasn't him. We got to go. It happened in Little Whinging, but they probably got the police station in Greater Whinging."

His friend shrugged and climbed into the passenger seat of the car. "All right, then. Off to do a good deed."

Harry didn't know what else to do; while Gary's door was still open, he quietly took out his wand and pointed it at the boot of the car, whispering, "Alohomora," hoping Dumbledore would think of this as an emergency. He climbed in with difficulty and did not close the door completely. Gary sounded all right, and he probably could have revealed his presence to him (although he couldn't have explained the Invisibility Cloak), but he didn't want to risk the police taking him into custody first and asking questions later. The problem with the story Gary was prepared to tell the police was that Harry would have to explain how he'd come to be at The Bartered Bull. Since he hadn't paid to ride the bus and was not seen by anyone on the bus, his story very likely would not be believed. Gary had also been drinking quite a lot and probably smelled like it. The sweet little old lady who'd left the bus at the same time as Harry could probably be located fairly easily, and she would say that no one else got off the bus with her. As well-intentioned as Gary was, Harry was convinced that his telling the police that Harry had been framed would cause more problems than it would solve.

It seemed like the longest drive of Harry's life, even including the flying car ride to Hogwarts in his second year. Of course, he'd never had to ride in a boot before; Vernon threatened many times to make him ride in the boot, but he'd never actually made him do it. When Gary finally turned off the motor, Harry waited for the sound of his footsteps and those of his friend to recede before carefully raising the door. He glanced around; the car was in the car park outside the Greater Whinging police station, which was very near the Grunnings drill factory. Harry crept from the boot, careful that the Cloak was covering him thoroughly, and carefully closed it. He ran quietly down the pavement, feeling an uncontrollable guilt wash over him during the time (a very long time) that it took for him to pass the enormous factory, his uncle's domain. He sped up when he drew closer to the streets near his house, a miasma of soggy-burnt-house assaulting his nostrils as he came closer and closer....

Standing across the street from number four, Privet Drive, he stared helplessly through the Cloak at what remained of the house in which he'd grown up. The empty windows stared at him like the catatonic eyes of one who has been kissed by a Dementor. The flowerbeds in front were trampled, and he could see that the trampling extending to the side of the house and very likely the rear, as well. The street was very quiet; not even a slight breeze moved the leaves on the trees. Harry didn't know what to do. The Muggle authorities thought he'd done this, and so the Ministry would probably also think him guilty. They, however, would probably assume he'd used magic to blow up the house (especially since that was what had been used).

He had to find someone to help him, someone he could convince that he was innocent. Yes, he'd left the house and broken the charm, that was all his fault; but he hadn't attacked anyone. He was the intended target of the Death Eaters, in fact. And he had to find out how his aunt and uncle were, and Dudley. Marge and Yvonne looked like they'd pull through....

He couldn't imagine where he could go, though. His money might take him to London, but how could he face the people at number twelve, Grimmauld Place after this? Then he remembered:

Tonks.

What had happened to Tonks, who had been guarding the house? Had she tried to fight the Death Eaters by herself? Was she all right?

He paced the pavement, guilt starting to make him feel like his stomach lining was eating itself. This is the biggest mess ever, he thought, trying not to hark back to the image of Sirius dying, but failing. First I fly off to London with five of my friends, nearly getting them killed, then I get Sirius killed, and now this....

He felt too stupid to live.

What to do, what to do?

Suddenly, a cat leapt from a garden wall to the pavement, then ran across the street, dashing behind the dustbins next to number five. Cats, he thought. That's it! I'll go to Mrs Figg's!

He tried to calm his breathing as he marched purposefully to Wisteria Walk, glad to finally have a plan, of sorts. However, when he was still across the street from Mrs Figg's, he saw something which disconcerted him more than a little.

Outside her house there was an unfamiliar wizard standing guard, his wand drawn for all to see. Through a window, Harry could see another wizard he didn't know, pacing. The Ministry are already here, he realized. They knew I'd come here. They're going to arrest me and haul me before the Wizengamot. They're going to expel me and break my wand....

He swallowed. No. I will never let that happen....

He remembered his determination to become a fugitive when he had inflated Aunt Marge, his resolve to run for as long as he needed to. But when he'd decided to do that, he had all of his belongings with him, his trunk and clothes and broom, all of which had probably burned up in the fire at number four, Privet Drive. This time he had only the clothes on his back and a far worse offence for which he was being blamed. And even though Voldemort's return was now being acknowledged by the Ministry, he strongly doubted that there would be any leniency shown to an underage wizard who had blown up his house and put his family in hospital. Even though he hadn't.

Suddenly, a car turned onto Wisteria Walk and slowed down when it reached Mrs Figg's house; Harry watched, frowning. A woman who looked very familiar got out of the car while the engine was still idling; she unlocked the garage door of the house next door to Mrs Figg's and struggled to pull it up. When the door was finally open, she returned to her car, presumably so she could drive it into the garage. His heart in his throat, Harry thought quickly, seeing his opportunity. He had no other choice at this point. He needed to take shelter somewhere, and this would give him the opportunity to watch Mrs Figg's house from close range.

He dashed across the street and into the open garage while the woman was still climbing into her car and closing the door. Pressing himself flat against the wall of the garage, he watched her drive the car closer and closer to him, his heartbeat growing deafeningly loud (to him). He heaved a sigh of relief when she finally stopped the car and turned off the engine. When she emerged from the car and switched on the light inside the garage, he finally realised why she had looked so familiar to him.

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