Hunted

Chapter 9: Beaters and Backfiring Broomsticks

Guests assembled in the Weasley's cramped, but cozy kitchen in the Burrow. Molly bustled about the scrubbed and well-worn table, filling teacups and serving up slices of lemon pound cake. Angela nibbled on the moist cake and sipped her tea. The steaming brew warmed her, taking the edge off the November chill outside. Remus sat beside her with his arm around the back of her chair. Tonks, Mad-Eye, Arthur, and Angela's brother, Paul Hawkins, also gathered around the table. Paul's build was large and muscular, the exact opposite of his sister's petite frame. But he had curly auburn hair and bright eyes the same shade of sea-green. As they partook of the afternoon tea, the conversation turned to current events and news of the Order of the Phoenix.

"How is Harry?" Arthur inquired, removing his cap to reveal his balding pate and fringe of red hair. He slid his chair closer to the table and poured some cream into his teacup.

"That scar is still hurting him," Remus answered, a crease on his brow. "And he's still having those dreams. It's always in that underground room with the Malfoys and Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Poor Harry," Molly said, a concerned look on her kindly face. She sat down next to Arthur. "Does Dumbledore have any idea what it means?"

"I'm sure he has his suspicions," Remus replied, with a heavy sigh.

"Well, did Severus find out anything?" Arthur inquired, setting down his teacup. "He's closest to Malfoy."

"Malfoy won't even let his old lapdog close to him," Moody groused with a scowl. "Snape has been shut out. He can't get near to Malfoy, what with elections coming up." He took a forkful of cake, sniffed at it suspiciously, and stuffed it in his mouth.

"No inside information then?" Tonks whipped her head around, nearly spearing Moody with her spiky hairdo.

"Yes, that's correct," Lupin answered. He glanced down at his plate and took a sip of tea.

"Well, the elections should be over in a month," Arthur remarked. "Then maybe we'll get some answers." He stabbed his fork into his cake. "By the way, did you see that press conference at the Ministry of Magic? That General Cornwall is really something."

"I'll say," Angela rejoined, giggling. "He's quite a character."

"The press loves him too," Paul remarked. "He's certainly doing better than Umbridge. That last article in the Daily Prophet painted her as an ineffective insider."

"Umbridge is viewed as too close to Fudge," Angela added. "It will probably sink her candidacy." She reached for her husband's hand and flashed him a sympathetic look. "Thank goodness."

"Malfoy is a real concern though," Remus rejoined. "He's slippery and seems to have avoided any bad press."

"I'm sure he's been peddling his influence around the papers," Moody growled with a knowing wink of his normal eye. "Probably has them all in his pocket."

"There was an unfavorable article in the Quibbler," Molly remarked, between sips of tea. "I don't read the Daily Prophet anymore, since they printed those awful rumors about Harry." She scowled.

"What did it say?" Tonks asked, then stuffed a bit of cake in her mouth.

Paul scooped a spoonful of sugar from the bowl and glanced over at Tonks. He just stared. His hand absently dumped the sugar from his spoon, half of it missing his teacup and spilling on the table.

"There was an article about his imprisonment in Azkaban last year," Molly explained, "and a story linking him to You-Know-Who." She took a bite of cake.

"We all know that rapscallion lied through his teeth to cover his tracks," Moody barked, a gnarled finger jabbing the air. "And bribed plenty of government officials to get his record wiped clean."

There were nods and murmurs of agreement around the table.

"There was also an article about an alleged extra-martial affair with a young lass," Molly continued.

"Of course, Malfoy denies the affair," Arthur rejoined, with an angry glare. "Passes the whole thing off as a joke."

"And why should he bother to take the Quibbler seriously," Moody scorned, raising a bushy eyebrow. "Most wizards don't even believe half the rubbish they print in that rag."

"Well, they were the first to print the truth about Harry," Molly insisted, wagging her finger at Moody. She shot him a stern look. "And that's good enough for me."

Paul put his elbow on the table, almost landing it in the middle of his untouched slice of cake. He rested his head upon his hand and sighed. His eyes fixed on Tonks with a lovelorn look.

"So Tonks," he ventured, not taking his eyes off of her. "What case are you working on in the department these days?"

"The Black Gauntlet," Tonks replied, throwing him a passing glance.

"Sounds fascinating," he rejoined. "Tell me more."

"There's not much to tell," Tonks said, looking slightly annoyed. "I just got the case a week ago. I've been meeting with Aurors from International Wizard Intelligence. Some bumbling inspector named Bilius Gnash."

"That's an odd name," Paul said.

"He's mental," Tonks remarked. "A huge bloke. Seems completely incompetent. With Aurors like him, it's not surprising that they haven't cracked the case. They don't have a clue who the thief is."

"The Black Gauntlet doesn't worry me as much as those continuing attacks," Remus remarked, frowning. "Several members of the Order have reported suspicious sightings, dementors lurking about people's homes, strangers asking questions."

"Just the other day, Prudence Crutch mentioned that she'd received an anonymous gift," Moody said, scowling and gesturing with his fork. "The card said it was from the Houseplant of the Month Club." His magical eye spun in its socket. "It turned out to be Devil's Ivy and highly poisonous. You can't be too careful, I say."

"And there was that act of vandalism on the twins' joke shop," Remus remarked, an anxious look in his blue-gray eyes.

Molly gasped. "Oh how I worry about those boys."

"I'm sorry," Remus added, casting Molly an apologetic glance.

"Where are the twins today?" Arthur asked, looking around, as if just noticing their absence.

"They are out in the shed, dear," Molly answered. "Sorting through their joke shop inventory and running a few experiments."

As if on cue, a loud explosion shook the house. A minute later, Fred and George came sauntering from the Weasley's garage. The twins had dust in their red hair, their clothing and faces smudged with soot. They burst into the kitchen and looked around at the sea of faces staring at them.

"Hello," Fred chimed. His eyes spotted the cake. He reached for the knife to help himself to a slice.

"Not so fast," Molly scolded, rising to her feet, her hands on her hips and a look of disapprobation on her face. "Just look at your hands and faces."

Fred and George glanced down at their soiled hands. They exchanged quizzical looks and wiped their palms on their trousers. Then George reached for the knife.

Molly stared back at them, shook her head, and clucked her tongue. "Not a bite, until you wash up," she snapped. "Off with you."

Fred and George trudged over to the sink and washed their hands and faces in reluctant obedience. Then they returned to the table and helped themselves to generous slices of cake.

"What were you experimenting with today?" Arthur inquired, eyeing his boys with a look of obvious pride.

"We were making improvements to our latest invention," Fred explained.

"Backfiring Broomsticks!" George added.

"Backfiring Broomsticks?" Moody echoed. His magical eye spun around and fixed on the boys with an incredulous stare.

"How does that work?" Angela asked, an amused expression on her face.

"They look and operate like normal broomsticks for a while," Fred began. His face broke into a wily grin. "Then they backfire and act strangely."

"Our original models used to shoot backward or forward," George chimed. "But we've added improvements so that the latest model might spin in circles or shoot straight up or down."

"You never know what's going to happen," Fred rejoined, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "That's the beauty of it."

"It's bloody brilliant!" Tonks chimed, sporting a wide grin.

"Sounds dangerous to me," Moody rejoined with a scowl. "So what was the explosion?"

"Well, we tried to increase the spark on the backfiring mechanism," George explained with a sheepish look, "And got a little carried away."

"That last explosion just missed Harry's motorcycle," Fred added.

Paul's face lit up. His head whipped around to face the boys, his curiosity piqued. "Motorcycle?"

"Yeah," George said, his red head nodding in confirmation. "Harry inherited an old motorcycle from his godfather. He brought it here last summer and we're storing it for him. It's out in the shed."

"What sort of motorcycle?" Paul inquired, his gaze flicking from one twin to the other.

"A 1971 Moto Guzzi," Lupin volunteered.

Paul's mouth melted open. "Do you suppose I could take a look?" he inquired.

"I don't think he'd mind," Fred replied. He looked at his twin. "Do you?"

George just shook his head.

"Why don't we all go?" Lupin suggested, rising from his seat. "I'd like to take a look at your invention. And Paul is obviously interested in the motorcycle." He glanced at over at their hostess. "Molly, we'll help you clean up afterward."

"That won't be necessary," Molly replied. "Kindly drop your dishes in the sink."

The company pushed back from the table. Wooden chairs scraped against the stone floors. The guests filed out of the kitchen and deposited their cups and plates into the sink on the way. Molly tipped her own teacup into the sink and waved her wand. A small brush came to life, scrubbing the teacup with a gentle circular motion. Then Molly followed the others into the yard, leaving the dishes to clean up after themselves.

Outside, the autumn sky was clear and cool. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the ground. Angela's eyes surveyed the patchwork of fields surrounding the Burrow and the dense grove of trees that shielded the house from the view of the nearby village of Ottery St. Catchpole. A stiff breeze whipped over the fields. Angela pulled her forest green cloak tighter around her shoulders and followed the group to the shed.

What they called a shed was actually more like a barn, spacious on the inside with a loft above. But the beams that held up the loft were so crooked and ill-placed that they defied all the normal laws of physics. Lanterns hung from the rafters at intervals to light the expanse. Mountainous stacks of boxes and clutter littered the floor.

Paul's gaze swept the shed, locking on the motorcycle. He approached it, eyeing the contraption with the studied look of a connoisseur. He admired the 90° V-twin engine, the glistening spoked wheels, the sporty look, and the long line of the chrome exhaust pipe than ran down the side. A low appreciative whistle escaped his lips. His hand brushed over the black leather seat with a tender stroke.

"That's a beauty," he remarked, a twinkle in his eyes. "And it's in mint condition too. Whoever owned this bike really knew how to care for it."

Angela watched her brother with amusement. He really did love those motorcycles. Then her gaze strayed to Tonks, who was staring from the motorcycle to Paul with a new appreciation. Was it her imagination or was that ardor flickering in Tonks' eyes?

Paul mounted the motorcycle, studying the instrumentation. "I'm familiar with this model," he remarked, "But I don't recall ever seeing a version with these two buttons." He pointed to two yellow buttons mounted on the grip of the right handlebar.

"That one's the cloaking device," Fred explained, pointing to the first button.

"And that's the one for flight," George added, pointing to the second.

"Flight?" Paul echoed, now completely intrigued. "You mean this machine really flies?"

Fred and George both nodded.

Paul chuckled, eyeing the machine with a covetous stare. He licked his lips. "Do you suppose I could take it for a spin?"

"I don't see why not," Fred added. "I don't think Harry would mind. He let us try it this summer."

A wide grin spread across Paul's face. "Care to join me, Tonks?" he said, flashing her an inviting look. "I can't think of anything that would look better on the back of this motorcycle than you."

Tonks didn't have to be asked twice. She bolted across the shed toward the motorcycle without the least hesitation. In her eagerness, she tripped over a box of Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs and landed sprawling on the shed floor. Every eye turned to stare.

"Are you all right?" Remus asked, striding to her side to help her to her feet.

"I'm fine," Tonks replied with a chagrined look.

She picked herself up off of the floor, her hands brushing the dust from her black leather jacket. Then she bounded over to the motorcycle and mounted it behind Paul. Her cheeks were still red with embarrassment, but her face sported an eager grin.

Paul's fingers turned the key in the ignition. He hit the starter and the motorcycle sputtered and then roared to life. He revved the engine, basking in the deep thunderous rumble coming from the exhaust pipe. Tonks let out a whoop of delight. With a squeeze on the clutch and a kick into gear, motorcycle and riders shot out the open door of the shed and sped into the yard. Then the bike soared into the air, barely clearing the treetops of the grove before disappearing from sight.

Not five minutes later, the motorcycle reappeared in view, heading straight toward the garage. The spoked wheels touched down hard and bounced in an abrupt landing in the middle of the yard. Then machine and man rolled back into the shed. Instead of the exuberant look that Angela expected to see, Paul's face was ashen and pale. Tonks jumped from the back of the motorcycle, a look of alarm on her face.

"Dementors," Paul announced, pointing out the door of the garage. His voice was quavering in panic. "Hundreds of them. They've got the place surrounded and they're closing in. We've got to get out of here."

An arctic blast of wind rushed through the open doors of the shed, bringing with it mists of despair, harbingers of the wraiths' approach. Remus raced to the door. His eyes searched in the twilight shadows now creeping over the landscape. Angela shuddered and pulled her cloak tighter around her frame, but it did no good. An icy coldness, like a clawed hand, closed around her heart.

Tonks raised her wand and prepared to Apparate, but Moody grabbed her arm. "Are you daft?" he shouted, "Do you want to splinch yourself? Dementors and Apparation don't mix. We'll have to find another way out of here."

"We can use the Floo Network," Molly suggested, a terrified look on her face. "The fireplace in the kitchen."

Remus, who was still standing in the doorway, spun around to face the group, his face creased with worry. "It's no good," he warned, shaking his head. "Six, maybe seven, Death Eaters just emerged from the trees. We'd never make it back to the house. Quick, help me get these doors closed."

Arthur and Moody scrambled to help him secure the doors. The old rusty hinges creaked and groaned, as all three men pushed the wooden doors shut and barred the exit. Remus turned, his eyes now flickering around the room, looking for a solution to their predicament. Moody's magical eye spun wildly in its socket.

"Well, are we going to stand and fight?" Arthur asked, striding to his wife's side.

"No," Lupin said, shaking his head. "We can't hold off both the dementors and the Death Eaters. We need to find another way out of here." He glanced at Angela. She could read the doubt in his eyes.

"We can fly," Fred suggested.

"We can use these," George added, pointing to a stack of Cleansweeps piled in the corner.

"But don't take the ones with the red marks on the handles," Fred warned. "They're the ones that we were preparing for the joke shop."

"Backfiring Broomsticks," George explained with a snigger.

"Brilliant!" shouted Tonks, dashing over to the pile. She grabbed a handful of brooms and passed them out.

Angela just stared down at the broomstick in her hands, her eyes filling with tears. She didn't know how to fly. Try as she might, she'd never been able to learn. And even if she managed to get off the ground now, the prospect of a fall from dizzying heights filled her with paralyzing dread. She glanced over at Remus with a hopeless expression on her face.

"I can't," she sobbed, allowing the broomstick to fall from her trembling fingers to the floor with a clatter.

A volley of spells blasted against the secured doors of the garage. The doors rattled against the hinges. A few splinters flew loose into the shed, but the doors held.

Remus grabbed Angela's hand and pulled her at a run toward the motorcycle. Paul was still straddling the machine, a stunned expression on his face. Remus lifted Angela onto the back of the motorcycle behind her brother.

"Angela, you can do this," he encouraged, gazing into her eyes with a beseeching look. "Just hang on." He turned to Paul and clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm putting my wife in your hands. Take care of her."

Paul's head nodded, a grim expression on his face. Angela wrapped her arms around her brother's barrel chest. She buried her face against his back, trying to summon her courage.

"Here's the plan," Remus shouted, turning to the others. "We fly in formation around the motorcycle. Be prepared to leave the moment they break through those doors." He motioned toward the exit.

The others nodded in agreement. They tensed, as another volley of spells smashed against the shed. The doors shuddered in the frame, but stood fast. Paul maneuvered the motorcycle into position. He hit the starter. The engine emitted a low rumble.

"Mount your brooms," Moody commanded.

Arthur, Moody, and Remus took up positions on either side of the motorcycle. Tonks and Molly followed up at the rear. But Fred and George had slipped off behind a large pile of crates. Hearing their sniggers, Angela turned her head to see them stuffing their pockets with apples and joke shop merchandise. She opened her mouth to shout a warning, but she was too late.

A tremendous blast rocked the structure as the next round of spells hit. The doors to the shed flew open wide. A chilling wind rushed into the barn, swirling around them and blowing dust and dirt into the air. Curses streaked past them into the barn. Flashes of red light caught Angela's eyes. Crates of joke shop inventory split apart, spilling their contents. Dungbombs and fake wands scattered over the floor of the shed. Two hooded and masked Death Eaters dashed through the open doorway, blocking the exit. They were met by a flurry of hexes, as the members of the Order fired a defensive strike. Hexes and counter curses filled the air. Chaos ensued.

"Now!" Moody barked, amid the mayhem.

Paul popped the clutch and cranked the throttle as hard as he could. The motorcycle shot forward out of the garage with an ear-splitting roar. Remus and the others kicked off from the ground. The convoy surged toward the opening, sending the Death Eaters diving for cover.

The motorcycle sped across the dried grass and weeds of the Burrow, gaining momentum. The low rumble rose to high-pitched whine, as Paul gunned the engine. Angela watched the fallow fields loom into view in front of them. Her eyes popped open wide. They were headed straight for a ravine that separated the lawns of the Burrows from the fields and a line of dementors waited just on the far side of the gully.

"Pull up, Paul," she screamed in panic. "Pull up!"

A streak of silver whished past her and flew straight into the dementors. The silvery substance drove them back across the field. Angela glanced to her side to see her husband with his wand drawn and a dogged look on his face.

At the very edge of the ravine, the motorcycle lifted off of the ground. Angela's stomach plummeted, as they soared up into the air. Her eyes squeezed shut, too petrified to look down. She tightened her grip on her brother and held on for dear life.

Just then, the sound of a deafening explosion rang over the fields. Angela's eyes flew open. She looked toward the shed to see a huge conflagration of fireworks shooting from the open doorway. Enormous Catherine wheels spun through the air, rockets lit up the sky, and dragons spewed fire, trailing long tails of sparks. From the midst of this pyrotechnic display, Fred and George streaked into the sky on their brooms. In their hands, they carried beater paddles, swatting fireworks out of their path. Eight Death Eaters on broomsticks pursued them, hot on their trail.

"The boys!" Molly shouted with fright.

"Molly and Tonks, you stay with the motorcycle," Remus ordered. "Paul, head for Beecher's Knoll. We'll take care of this."

Arthur, Remus, and Moody pulled their brooms up and sped off to assist Fred and George in the battle against the Death Eaters. Molly's head turned to watch her boys, knitting her brow.

"Well, they can't very well expect me to leave my boys in their hour of need," Molly exclaimed, a steely glint in her eyes and a determined expression on her face. With that, she spun her broom around and deserted her post to join the fray.

Tonks glanced from Paul to the skirmish with a forlorn look, resembling that of the lone child leftover after both teams had chosen sides. She shot Paul an apologetic glance. She shrugged.

"I am an Auror, you know," she said. Then she flew off after the others.

Paul's mouth hung agape for a moment of two. Then his square jaw snapped shut with a look of resolution. He banked the motorcycle into a steep turn and headed back toward the garage.

"Paul, what are you doing?" Angela scolded, panic ringing in her voice. "You heard what Remus said. We should go to Beecher's Knoll. And how do you propose to fight with both hands on the handlebars?"

"I'm not leaving Tonks," he insisted through clenched teeth.

"But I can barely duel on foot, let alone in the air," Angela spat. "You'll get us both killed. If we were on the ground, I'd cuff some sense into you."

Paul ignored her. Angela swore. Her right hand fumbled in her pocket and extracted her wand. Her left hand gripped her brother's jacket like a vice. Her mind raced to think up a plan of defense. She spotted a few pumpkins left to rot on the vines in a nearby field. Her eyes brightened. An idea dawned.

"Paul, turn right ahead and fly low over those fields," she ordered.

"What the devil for?" he rejoined.

"Please, just do it," she snapped. "I've got a plan."

Paul jerked the handlebars to the right. They banked and swooped in a low pass over the pumpkin patch with its twisted and desiccated vines dotted with bright orange orbs. Angela extended her wand and leaned to the right, uttering incantations as they passed over the gourds. "Wingardium leviosa!" Soon, they turned toward the mêlée with a line of decomposing vegetables following in their wake.

By the time that Angela and Paul rejoined the conflict, an aerial battle was ring full force. Tonks, Remus, and Mad-Eye swooped around on their brooms, engaged in a furious dog-fight with three of the Death Eaters. Errant fireworks whizzed through the sky all around them, uncontrolled projectiles that lit the battle with blazing sparks of light and added to the confusion and danger. The three wizards dodged firecrackers and hexes, all the while firing their own forays of spells against their attackers.

Tonks headed into a steep dive, trying to shake her pursuer. Just before meeting the ground, she pulled up on the broom and skimmed low over the lawns of the Burrow. But her tracker was still close on her heels. Then suddenly, the Death Eater's broomstick backfired with a loud crack and whoosh of flame. The broomstick shot forward thirty meters, dragging its rider in the dirt behind it. Tonks dodged out of the way in the nick of time. She let out a jubilant yell, as she watched the broom crash into the chicken coop. Splinters of wood and chicken wire sailed skyward from the blow, sending chickens fluttering and squawking across the yard.

Moody's magical eye spun in its socket, tracking the movements of his opponent. He waved his wand and redirected a Catherine wheel toward his attacker with a lethal hiss. The Death Eater ducked as the pyrotechnic device whizzed just over his head. Seconds later, a rocket zoomed straight at Moody. With a flick of his wand and another incantation, the firecracker exploded, showering the company in a colorful display of sparks. But the radiant burst of fireworks blinded Mad-Eye for a moment. When his vision was restored, his magical eye was staring down the wrong end of his attacker's wand.

Just as the Death Eater was about to utter his curse, the broom supporting him backfired. The broomstick began to buck and kick, like a Brahma bull in a rodeo. The Death Eater's robes flapped wildly, his free arm and legs flailing in a futile attempt to ride out the bucking broomstick. With one mighty lurch, the enchanted broomstick freed itself of its rider, sending the Death Eater tumbling head over heels in an earthward freefall.

Remus had his own troubles. A skilled attacker dogged him closely. The Death Eater flattened his body against the handle of the broom, zeroing in on his target. The broom accelerated, gaining on Remus. Angela's eyes widened with terror.

"Paul, pull up," Angela instructed. "Get directly over that one." She pointed at the Death Eater tailing her husband.

Paul nodded, keening to the plan. Angela watched until they were directly over the skirmish. With a well-timed flick of her wand, she released part of her payload. The rotten gourds dropped like leaden weights.

The first pumpkin just missed the Death Eater. His head spun with surprise as the vegetable whished past his broom. He glanced up, just as the second pumpkin landed. The gourd's mushy underside broke open upon impact, dripping its slimy contents over the Death Eater's head. Both blinded rider and broom wobbled in the air for few seconds, before plummeting to the ground.

Remus glanced behind him to witness the hit. "Nice one!" he praised, casting his wife a grateful look. But then his expression turned serious again.

A flash of red light sped for the motorcycle and his wife. He flicked his wand and uttered a Shielding Charm, but was too late. The Death Eater's curse hit the motorcycle near the underside. The vehicle tilted to the right, the impact almost knocking Angela from the seat. In desperation, she grabbed for her brother with both hands. She managed to hang on to her wand, but was forced to release her spell. Her pumpkin payload hurtled to the earth.

Paul recovered and righted the motorcycle with a sharp twist of the handlebars. He cranked the throttle and they rocketed upward out of reach of most spells. The height was dizzying. Color drained from Angela's face. She clung to her brother with white-knuckled fear, but could not keep her eyes from the action taking place below.

Meanwhile, the Weasley twins fared well in the battle, employing unconventional tactics gleaned from their years on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Armed with their beaters bats and a ready supply of apples, they pelted their foes with fruit, dungbombs, and anything else at hand. They proved quite adept at knocking combatants from their flying perches. One unfortunate fellow toppled from his broom and landed with a splash in the family pond. A shivering and dripping Death Eater emerged from the scum-covered pond to the accompaniment of disgruntled frog song. Another met his defeat with an undignified, head-first dive into the neighbor's manure pile. A third dropped into the hedges, sending up a shower of leaves and twigs to mark the point of impact. Immediately, a hoard of little gnomes rushed from their holes, squealing angrily at the intruder. They kicked at the Death Eater with horny little feet and bit with razor-sharp teeth, as he struggled to extricate himself from the shrubbery.

The elder Weasleys teamed up to face their opponents in a choreographed attack. Each taking a side, Molly and Arthur forced their Death Eater into a squeeze play between them. The hooded invader accelerated, trying to shake off his pursuers. With bumps and jostles, the three hurtled forward across the fields. But the Weasleys steered their opponent straight toward a haystack. At the last moment, they peeled off, Molly to the left and Arthur to the right. The Death Eater ploughed headlong into the haystack, sending a flurry of chaff and straw flying into the air.

In short order, all of the Death Eaters were grounded. Angela watched them hobble from various locations around the yard, nursing their injuries and struggling to regroup. Meanwhile, the dementors had reconvened in the surrounding fields and were moving steadily closer. A shrill whistle met her ears, a signal from Moody. Moments later, the flying motorcycle was flanked by all seven members of the Order on broomsticks.

"Time to move out," Moody barked. "Stay in formation." His magical eye focused on Fred and George with a steely glare. "You two boys out front where I can keep an eye on you." He nodded. "To headquarters."

The convoy took off, flying under Moody's direction. He steered them over unpopulated areas, where they would be less likely to be spotted by Muggles or enemy wizards. As darkness fell over the landscape, the occasional light twinkled from the windows of a house or cottage far below. Headlights from cars crept along the country lanes like so many tiny fireflies in the night.

Wind whipped with icy fingers tearing at Angela's cloak. Her face was pale and she trembled from fright and cold. She pressed her body against her brother's back, trying to shield herself from the frosty breeze ripping over his shoulder. Her hands were numb, long since robbed of any feeling.

Remus pulled his broom alongside them and flew level with Angela. "Are you all right?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

"I think so," she said, through chattering teeth.

"You're doing fine," Remus whispered. He shot her an encouraging glance. He turned to Paul. "How is that old motorcycle holding out?"

"Purrs like a kitten," Paul intoned. Then he glanced down at the controls. A stream of obscenities fell from his lips. "We're low on petrol. And we're leaking brake fluid. Must have been that bloody Death Eater's hex. We might have to make an emergency landing."

"We're not far from Beecher's Knoll," Remus remarked, the crease deepening on his forehead. "If we change course now, we might just be able to make it."

"All right," Moody barked, "Change course to due south. Head for those lights over there." He pointed a gnarled finger toward a collection of tiny specks a short distance ahead.