Harry Potter and the Final Prophecy

     --- Chapter Twelve ---

     The Initiation

Mail at Durmstrang was delivered by many different kinds of bird, every variety of owl, but also kestrels, parakeets, eagles, augureys, vultures and more exotic creatures, reflecting the large number of different countries that Durmstrang pupils came from. Harry had only received a couple of letters, from Sirius, and delivered by ravens, but these notes had contained no news, only reassurances that Sirius was well, and encouragements to Harry not to lose hope in their eventual victory. However, on the Sunday after Easter, Harry's breakfast was interrupted by the arrival on the table in front of him of a huge silvery falcon, gleaming brilliantly in the dark hall. Its savage eyes glinted as they examined Harry minutely, as if trying to determine if he belonged to its category of prey, or if he was trustworthy. The falcon carried a small wooden tube on its leg, and as soon as it had permitted Harry to detach this it swept back into the air and shot out of the hall so fast it became no more than a silver blur. Harry tried to undo the tube, but could not. The tube was covered with strange carved runes, which he could make no sense of.

`What's that?' asked Ron, frowning, `I know there's something there but I can't see it.'

Hermione looked equally mystified when Harry tried to show it to her. `It keeps slipping out of focus,' she said, `as soon as I try to look more closely at it, it disappears. There must be come kind of spell on it to prevent anyone else reading it.'

Harry tried to describe the runes to her, one looked like a Russian `lambda' mating with a `z', but he found himself unable to utter the words, as if his mouth and mind were locked. He shook his head and hid the tube away inside his cloak. Only after dinner, when he was alone in the dormitory, did the tube allow him to open it. Inside was a short curl of parchment, purporting to be from ``The Fellowship of Osiris, the most ancient and elite order of wizards", and which invited him to apply for membership, instructing him to walk into the mirror of Etafru, at precisely midnight tonight. According to the parchment, he must first be willing to obey the conditions for membership: to uphold the traditions of the fellowship and use magic only in accord with its principles; to take a pledge of celibacy (`well that part is easy,' Harry thought sadly), and to pledge to secrecy concerning the fellowship's existence and works.

As Harry stared dumbfounded at the letter, it suddenly dissolved into nothingness in his hands. A moment later the wooden tube also vanished into a coil of dark smoke. When Ron and Hermione returned to the common room he tried to discuss the letter with them, to ask their advice about whether he should go or not, but again he found himself unable to utter anything, his mouth opened but no sound came out. He tried to draw the symbol of the organisation, but his hands would not obey him. `It's a secrecy charm,' Hermione asserted, `it must be, it binds you with a spell to prevent you communicating anything about the letter. Only a Legilimens could find out, perhaps, by looking into your mind directly.'

It was already 9pm, Harry noticed with a degree of panic, he only had three hours to decide if he should follow the instructions of the letter or not. He realised he didn't need to hear Ron and Hermione's opinions, he could imagine these all too clearly. Hermione would immediately call him outrageously reckless for even considering obeying the invitation, whilst Ron would just try to support whatever he sensed Harry had already decided to do. As they looked at him with concern, he felt afraid in some part of his mind that it was indeed a trap, a ploy by Voldemort to lure him away from the castle, but this fear was overriden by his need to do _something_, his frustration at being stuck uselessly here at Durmstrang, unable to do anything. And somehow the Fellowship did not sound as if it had anything to do with the dark arts, the falcon, for instance, was a creature of light, not darkness. Despite its rapier-like beak, he had felt a strengthening uplifting sensation from it, similar to that radiated by Fawkes.

He suddenly realised how cold the common room was. `C'mon, let's turn in,' he said, `if we stay here any longer we'll freeze to death, let's discuss it in the morning.'

`Ok,' said Hermione, looking at him dubiously, as if suspecting his deceit, `the spell may wear off in time anyway.'

Harry lay awake, checking on his watch from time under the covers by the light of his wand. When it was 11:40 he crept out of bed and out of the dormitory and through the basement to the dining hall passageway. The corridors were even more menacing at night, lit only dimly by the red light of smouldering braziers, and he gradually became aware of a sinister rustling noise all around him, as if the air was full of invisible and malevolent ghosts. At the corner of the turning to the corridor which ended in the mirror of Etafru, there was a large white statue of a demon, a horned creature with the face of a man but the body of a dragon, bearing a long bloodstained arrow-headed pikestaff in its clawed forelimbs. As he started to go along the corridor of the mirror he noticed the statue was watching him, its red eyes following him with malicious intensity.

He arrived in front of the mirror at five minutes to midnight, and stood pondering its strange surface, which reflected everything in the corridor except himself. The rustling and sinister whispering of ghosts grew louder, then suddenly the mirror became opaque, filled with a dense blackness which seemed to absorb light from the entire corridor. He checked his watch, it was counting down the last minute before midnight. As the seconds hand completed its circuit he stepped forward, not allowing himself any hesitation or fear, but half expecting to crash into the pane of glass. The surface resisted him momentarily, like the meniscus of a viscous fluid, but then dissolved, and he found himself suspended in space, hanging apparently weightless in a vast dark emptiness scattered with distant stars. Before he had time to wonder about this, the space was suddenly filled with incandescent coruscating light and he felt himself moving very fast. Abruptly the light and movement ceased and he was propelled forwards and fell out of the space onto the stone floor of a huge circular room.

He stood up unsteadily. A large number of wizards were gathered on rows of benches rising above him around the windowless circular amphitheatre, which reminded Harry ominously of the court of judgement and the execution chamber at the Ministry of Magic in London. Everyone was staring intently at him, with expressions ranging from amazement and incredulity to sneering disapproval. Harry recognised only three wizards in the crowd: Archie, who he'd last seen at the Quidditch world cup, Matlock, the ghost Auror, and Professor Tofty. Harry realised that everyone seemed to be either over 100, or already dead. Prof. Tofty gave him a small reassuring smile.

A tall white-bearded wizard was standing on a small plinth, halfway up the tiers of rows, wearing a gold cloak and resting both hands on the top of a thick staff of bronzed wood. He announced into the charged silence of the room `I introduce before you the following candidate for initiation into the Fellowship: Mr Harry James Potter, age, 17. I hereby confirm that Mr Potter has been nominated by five full members of the Fellowship in accordance with the correct procedure.'

There were exclamations of surprise and disquiet from all around the chamber at this statement. `But how can this be,' one ancient leathery-skinned warlock querolously challenged the speaker, `he is far below the age of admittance. How can this boy be accepted now when all of us have been required to wait many years for our own initiation?' There were nods and murmurs of agreement from the other wizards.

The standing wizard raised his staff and struck it loudly once against the floor. A tense silence remained when the echoes of the sound had ceased. `The inner council has agreed that there are exceptional circumstances which permit Mr Potter to be put forward at this time,' he said, looking around coldly at the assembly, with a glare which quelled dissent. `You may, of course, decide that he is after all not worthy once you have observed his performance in the initiation tasks.'

Harry wasn't particularly sure he wanted to be ``put forward" -- just what would this initiation involve? And what was this organisation about, anyway?

`So,' the speaker continued, after a pause, `Mr Potter, I am Dexter Plurabelle, Master of induction and initiation of noviates into the Fellowship of Osiris ...'

`Could I ask,' Harry interrupted, to scandalised expressions from most of the audience, `just what is the Fellowship, what does it do?'

Dexter paused, glaring down at Harry. `You will find out everything in due course. If you fail the initiation then all that you learn will in any case be wiped from your mind, along with your memory of this visit. However,' he said with an expression of forced patience, as if reciting a standard speech for the hundredth time, `I will explain for you now the basic facts. The Fellowship's origins are more ancient than Merlin, than any European wizardry; we were established in the earliest days of magic, in Egypt, China and India, in the days before there were wizarding schools or any organised world of wizards at all. The Fellowship guided wizards in the understanding and use of their powers, when they discovered them, which was often in isolation, surrounded by the ignorance and prejudice of the superstitious Muggle population in those days. Since then we have continued in our role as guardians of the most ancient wizarding knowledge, although membership now is only allowed for wizards of outstanding magical power, ability and achievements.' He paused. Harry felt somewhat dazed by this recitation, but also sensed that many things had been left unsaid, about precisely what the Fellowship did these days. `So, Mr Potter, I trust that answers your questions. Now, the matter of your initiation. We already have evidence provided to us of the extent of your basic powers, your direct descent from Godric Gryffindor, etc, and of your achievements, destroying a Basilisk, defeating the Dark Lord on several occasions, solving the secret of the death chamber at the Ministry of Magic in London ... The question of your ability, however, remains unanswered, that is, how well you have mastered your own powers, and your capability to direct them according to your will.' He peered searchingly down at Harry, then abruptly asked `What is the most important attitude of mind when performing magic?'

Harry was mystified by the question at first, his mind went blank as he saw hundreds of wizards staring down at him, mainly with looks of contempt, then he remembered what Hermione was always criticising him for lacking. `Concentration?' he offered.

`Quite right, concentration. If one can concentrate absolutely on a place, for instance, visualise it precisely in one's mind, then it is possible to apparate to it, even across continents, provided of course, that anti-apparition protections are not present. Your first task, therefore, is to apparate to the Ministry of Magic in London, where many of your possessions are now stored, and return here within fifteen minutes with your invisibility cloak.'

Harry stared up at Dexter incredulously. He had not even considered apparating from Hogwarts to London before, let alone across the thousands of miles that could separate this chamber, wherever it was, from the Ministry. `How can I return here,' he asked, `I don't know where it is?'

`This place has no location, indeed it is not in the world at all, and cannot be detected or entered except by members of the Fellowship and those invited here. However you have been here, you can visualise it exactly, and are permitted to enter, so you can apparate to it. Of course, if you fail to do so, you will have failed the task.' He smiled with satisfaction at this logic.

`Where must I go?' Harry asked.

`The Auror Dawlish has been put in charge of the Ministry's effort to track you down and capture you. Your cloak is stored in the desk in his office, in Auror Headquarters.' He took out an hour-glass from his pocket and turned it upside down. `You have fifteen minutes, starting now.'

Harry concentrated on visualising the inside of Auror headquarters, the open-plan office area divided into cubicles, the walls covered with posters of wanted Death Eaters and personal effects of the Aurors. With a bang which he feared would alert any nearby security guards, he materialised into the dark and silent office. Everything was as he'd imagined it, except that the `Wanted' posters now showed members of the Order of the Phoenix ... He crept along the row of cubicles, wondering how he would recognise Dawlish's. There were no names on the doors. Suddenly he spotted his own photograph on the wall of a cubicle, and peering inside, was startled to see that all the walls were covered with moving pictures of himself, looking decidedly shifty, together with clippings from Rita Skeeter's articles describing him as deranged and dangerous ... a map with pins in it showed claimed sightings of him. Harry couldn't resist sticking a pin right in the location marked `Ministry of Magic'. He started searching through the drawers in Dawlish's desk. The top drawer held only files full of reports about him, and the second contained his old school books and items from his truck, including his sneakoscope. But in the third his father's invisibility cloak lay, in shimmering silver folds. He pulled it out and was about to put it on when he heard voices from the corridor outside. `I'm sure I heard something down here,' one wizard was saying.

Harry quickly concentrated on the chamber at the Fellowship and willed himself to apparate there.

As he reappeared, sporadic applause broke out around the chamber, and the expressions of the wizards watching him seemed less hostile than before.

`Well done, Mr Potter,' Dexter announced, `that was quite satisfactory. Now for the second task we require you to make use of a very important power that you have, which unfortunately has been neglected and allowed to fall into disuse. I refer, of course, to your connection with the Dark Lord. Although it may seem to you that this only operates in occasional visions, in fact that link is always there, and you may at any time engage it. I would like you to focus on this connection, to will yourself to access the Dark Lord's mind, whilst maintaining a barrier against him.' Dexter came down the steps to the floor of the amphitheatre and tapped Harry on the forehead with his staff. At once Harry found himself back inside Voldemort's mind, but this time with a clarity and depth of awareness of all the deranged thoughts, feelings and memories that Harry had never experienced before. The vividness and intensity of the vision terrified him, it was as if he _was_ Voldemort, staring out through Voldemort's eyes, seeing a dark old high-ceilinged room lit dimly by flickering candles, sharing his emotions of hatred and mistrust towards Malfoy and Snape, visualising with grim satisfaction the particularly gruesome deaths he had planned for them, and then ... Harry froze in horror as Voldemort dwelled on his plans to dispose of the Muggle population of Britain, to release an agent, a mutant chizpurfle-bundimun infestation targeted on Muggles, which would enter their skins and begin to rot their bodies from the inside out ... this had been created by Snape, Harry realised, as he observed and experienced Voldemort's thoughts and memories ... and Voldemort had captured Arthur Weasley and was intending to use him to introduce the genocide agent into the Muggle population ... Voldemort began to laugh with insane peals of high-pitched maniacal laughter at this thought and Harry could not bear to remain in his mind any longer. He felt himself collapse onto the stone floor of the chamber.

`Yes, well done, Mr Potter,' said Dexter officiously, `so far you have acquitted yourself competently. Your third task is to thwart the plans of the Dark Lord which you have just observed. The attempt will be made at 9am, British time, tomorrow morning. With luck, we will see you back here tomorrow evening.'

Before Harry could object and tell Dexter that he could stick his initiation tasks anywhere he wanted, or even get to his feet, he suddenly found himself passing rapidly through a cascade of light and then falling backwards out of the mirror of Etafru, onto the floor of the dimly lit deserted corridor. He looked at his watch, it was already 6am, he had just three hours to halt Voldemort's plans ... He hurried back to the dormitory and shook Ron awake. `What's wrong?' Ron asked blearily, then he registered the horror-striken look on Harry's face.

`Fetch Hermione,' Harry whispered urgently, `I'll meet you in the common room.'

Ron got dressed and crept into the girls' dormitory and woke Hermione, who emerged after an inordinate delay.

`I had another vision,' Harry explained as they sat down in a far corner of the huge dark room, `Ron, they've got your dad, the Death Eaters have captured him.'

Both Ron and Hermione let out gasps of shock.

`But that's not all,' Harry continued, wondering how he could tell them what he'd seen in Voldemort's mind, the horror of it was beyond words. `Voldemort is planning to make him do something terrible, under the Imperius curse, they've ... they've devised something which will exterminate Muggles, and they're making your dad set it off.'

They began bombarding him with questions. `How did you see this?' asked Hermione.

`Where have they got him?' asked Ron.

`Quiet, I need to concentrate,' Harry said, pressing his hands over his eyes, trying to dredge out of his mind exactly the plans Voldemort had devised. There would be four Death Eaters guarding Mr Weasley, he saw, and they would take him, under the Imperius curse, to Embankment tube station, where he would release a flask of the substance into the rush-hour crowds ... 9am, Monday morning ... now only two hours away, Harry realised with a wave of panic. He explained this to them as they stared at him in horror, as if he was revealing to them a doorway into hell.

`We must tell Dumbledore,' Hermione insisted, `straight away.'

`There isn't time!' Harry said urgently, but he realised his real reason for not telling Dumbledore was that Dumbledore would not let him go on the rescue mission once he knew what was planned, the task of stopping the extermination attempt would be given to adult members of the order instead ... And helping to rescue Mr Weasley would somehow reduce the terrible debt of guilt he felt he owed to Ginny ...

`There's plenty of time,' Hermione corrected him, tapping his watch, `Russian time is at least three hours ahead of England, it's only 4am over there now.'

`But if we tell him, he'll stop me going, and I _have_ to go, I'm the only one who knows Voldemort's plans, they have become part of my mind, as if they are my own memories ...' Harry protested. Hermione looked at him sceptically.

`Don't tell me I'm just trying to play the hero again!' Harry said angrily.

`No, but surely you can see it makes more sense to tell Dumbledore, Harry,' Hermione pleaded, shivering and pulling her cloak tighter around her.

Ron looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione as they argued, as if unable to decide who to support.

`He's kept too much from me, for too many years,' Harry said quietly, bitterly.

`And you want to pay him back, is that it?' Hermione stared at him incredulously, `that's just so ...'

`Listen,' said Ron at last, `I don't care who goes to rescue Dad, as long as someone does. If Harry thinks he knows how to do it, then let him go.'

`He can't go on his own,' Hermione said, `that really would be crazy. I'll go, Harry, but honestly you should tell Dumbledore or someone senior in the order, like Lupin.'

`Why should you go?' Ron challenged her, `it's my father that's being forced to commit mass murder.'

`My parents are in danger too,' she reminded him quietly, `Arthur was secret-keeper for their location. Voldemort could already have forced him to say where they are. Also, I'm the only one of us who knows how to release someone from Imperius, you two didn't manage to master that, did you? Plus, Ron, you've never been to Embankment tube station, how could you apparate there?'

`I know where it is, roughly,' he said defensively.

`That's not good enough, you could end up anywhere -- in the middle of the Thames, probably!'

`Let's ask Sirius to help,' Harry said quickly, anxious to break up their argument, `we'll need more than two of us to fight off the Death Eaters.'

He went back to the dormitory and fetched the mirror, and called for Sirius in it. Nothing happened.

`Maybe ask Fred and George?' Ron suggested, `they've been complaining for weeks about wanting to do things for the order, but that Dumbledore doesn't think them responsible enough yet.'

`Ok,' said Harry, a feeling of panic growing in him again as the mirror in his hand remained stubbornly blank. Hermione frowned at him, but didn't voice her own misgivings about the twins.

`I'll go fetch them, then,' Ron volunteered, and left the common room. By now people were beginning to stir in the dormitories and get up for breakfast. Harry hid away in a dark corner of the common room waiting for Sirius to answer him, while Hermione went to breakfast.

The mirror was still empty when she returned, with a stack of oat bread for him. `Have you thought _how_ we're going to stop them and release Arthur?' she asked. The table growled warningly at her as she put her hand on it.

`We'll have the advantage of surprise,' Harry said, struggling to recall the details of Voldemort's plans, `but the Death Eaters will be in invisibility cloaks, so somehow we'll have to spot them before they see us ...'

`That's not impossible,' Hermione said, `Remember what Professor Vanadair told us? You can often spot people wearing invisibility cloaks when they move, there are slight distortions and deflections of light against the background, and sometimes you can see the boundary of the cloak as well, if you know roughly where it is.'

Ron returned with Fred and George, who were looking uncharacteristically serious. `We'll do it,' said George, `someone's got to try to rescue dad. And since our baby brother here still can't apparate to the end of the street, let alone to another country ... Better not tell Ginny anything yet, though, she's still in a state over you know what.' He nodded towards the door of the common room, where Ginny and Luna had just entered, returning, shivering, from breakfast.

Harry noticed that Fred was carrying a large bound stack of parchments, with the title `Cunning Tricks for Sneaky Types' on the front cover. He put it on the table in front of Ron.

`We thought we should leave something to impart our accumulated wisdom to the next generation of mischief makers, just in case we both get zapped,' George explained, noticing Harry's quizzical expression, `it describes all the things we've invented and how to create them in the comfort of your own home, and how to keep them secret from anyone who might interfere, like parents or teachers.'

`Of course we give credit where it's due,' added Fred, opening the book and showing Harry the dedication `To Molly Weasley and Harry Potter, who made it all possible.'

`Only to be published in the event of our untimely demises, of course,' George emphasised to Ron, `we wouldn't want to cut into the profits from our shops when we get them going again.'

`Do you two know Embankment tube station?' Hermione challenged them, `We need to apparate there.'

`Yeah,' said George, `we often used it as a meeting place to get dodgy stuff from Mundungus, no wizards would be likely to spot us, you see.'

`We'll have to go in disguise this time though,' Fred mused, `especially you, Harry.'

They all skipped the revision period to search for Muggle clothes and devise suitable disguises. Using transfiguration spells, Harry changed his hair to a sandy colour and transformed it to be long and straight, concealing the scar on his forehead. He changed the shape of his glasses to a completely different, rectangular, style. Hermione also modified her hairstyle to be long and straight, and jet-black in colour, and they both donned fairly old-fashioned but authentic Muggle garb, wearing long coats to hide their wands. Harry also put the invisibility cloak in his pocket, just in case it came in useful. The twins merely changed their hair colour to a drab mid brown. `We wouldn't recognise each other if we didn't look identical,' Fred explained.

At 10:00, Harry tried the mirror again. Finally, after a pause that seemed to stretch forever, Sirius appeared, looking dishevelled and exhausted, as if he'd just run several miles. In the background Harry could see what he was sure was the cave hideout in the hills above Hogsmeade. The first bright slivers of early morning sunlight were lancing across the dirt floor. `Where have you been?' Harry asked.

`I've been busy,' said Sirius curtly, `there are plans afoot ...'

`I know,' said Harry, cutting him off. He told Sirius what he'd seen in the vision.

Sirius stared at him in disbelief when he'd finished. `Are you sure?' he asked, `you don't think this could be another trick, a false vision that Voldemort has invented, to capture you?'

`No, I'm sure of it,' Harry emphasised, remembering guiltily that he'd also been very convinced by Voldemort's pretence to have captured Sirius, two years ago, which had resulted in Harry dashing needlessly to the Ministry, and Sirius's own near death there ... `It has never felt more real than that before, it felt like I was completely within his mind, as if I could have possessed him, even.'

Sirius considered for a moment. `Ok. It's true that Arthur has disappeared, it happened yesterday. And you say this has something to do with Snape?'

Harry explained what Voldemort's memory had told him, that Voldemort had instructed Snape to create a lethal mutation of the common wizarding parasites. Voldemort had considered doing this a proof of Snape's loyalty, Harry realised.

`I don't know what's going on with Snape,' Sirius said broodingly, `Dumbledore keeps that to himself. There are some complicated politics here. Let's just say there are some Death Eaters and Voldemort supporters who are starting to have second thoughts, now they can see the insanity of what their leader intends to do. It's like our friend Pendragon, he thinks killing a few Muggles is a good idea, but wiping out millions would be going too far.' He gave a grim laugh.

`We're going to try to rescue Mr Weasley, and stop him before he can release the infestation,' Harry explained, `are you willing to join us?'

`Of course I will!' Sirius said enthusiastically. Hermione raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

`We'll be on the Northern Line, Northbound platform at 8.50,' Harry told him, `in disguise.' He turned the mirror around so that Sirius could see what they each looked like now, `It wouldn't be a bad idea for you to come disguised as well,' Harry suggested, `but not as a big black dog ...'

Sirius laughed again, `No, well maybe I'll come as Stubby Boardman, ha ha,' He waved his wand and his long untidy black hair organised itself into a neat, but grotesque, mullet.

The twins laughed and even Hermione smiled. `Remember to wear Muggle clothes, Sirius,' she said, `otherwise you'll still stand out a mile.'

At 11.30 they crept out of the castle while everyone else was still in lessons, and took a circuitous route through groves of fir trees to the main gates, carefully avoiding some sinister bushes which consisted of writhing masses of fleshy leafless branches like snake tails, a bloodlike sap leaking from their roots. Fred had managed to steal one of the school broomsticks and they took it in turns to use it to fly over the gates, passing it back between the bars for the next person. Harry went over last. Despite feeling fear about the rescue, and terror at what would happen if they failed, Harry felt relieved to be taking action at last, instead of merely being shunted around by events. `Right,' he said, as they all cast apprehensive glances towards the dark menacing forests around the gates, `there are some stairs up to the bridge just in front of the station, remember? We should apparate to a point just under those stairs, I don't think that can be seen, and certainly no Muggle should be there. If we're spotted we'll just have to say it's a stunt for a TV programme or something. Ok? One ... two ... three ... Go!'

With a sharp CRACK Harry materialised, but on top of the stairway, where there were masses of travellers, not under it. Mercifully no-one paid him much attention, all the commuters too busy rushing to get into work to worry about loud bangs and teenagers appearing out of nowhere. He looked down, the others were waving up to him through the steps, grinning in amusement at his mistake. They went quickly into the station, getting through the barriers with well-placed Banishment charms to force the gates back, then descended to the Northern Line platform. They met Sirius lurking near the entrance and moved a short way along and waited together at the back of the platform, hiding amongst the crowds as the clock ticked down towards 9am. `There,' whispered Hermione, nudging Harry, who was beginning to fear they'd chosen the wrong place, that Voldemort had changed his plans since last night. Mr Weasley had just emerged onto the platform, swept along in a fresh tide of commuters trying to filter in amongst the masses already on it. He seemed in a daze, looking neither left or right, but staring fixedly ahead. `One guard is just behind him, I think,' Hermione added, `I can't spot the others yet.' Harry alerted Sirius and Fred and George, who had already noticed Mr Weasley. The twins were staring at their father in horror, as if unable to believe what Voldemort was making him do.

`There's two more,' said Sirius, motioning to the entrance of the platform. Harry could just detect a slight distortion and sliding movement in front of the ranks of now stationary commuters. He aimed his wand under his coat at the concealed Death Eaters. A train arrived and most of the platform swarmed to the already packed carriages, crushing desperately into the doorways until they were completely filled with very compressed and pained-looking travellers. But Mr Weasley stayed at the back of the platform, together, Harry assumed, with his guards. It was two minutes to nine. The platform rapidly filled up again. Even Harry could now spot the peculiar gaps moving through the crowds, which otherwise were packed shoulder to shoulder. It seemed the Death Eaters were moving Mr Weasley to the centre of the crowd, as zero hour approached. `I'll get the one behind Arthur,' Sirius muttered, `Fred, George, there's another two over there, see, beside that guy with the red suit, and Hermione, you've spotted the fourth one?' She nodded towards the edge of the platform. `Harry, you get close to Arthur, make sure nothing happens to him, once we've stunned the guards. Ok, ready? Now!' At once four Stunning spells streaked out over the crowds towards the Death Eaters. Harry thought it would be a miracle if they managed to hit their targets and not some unwary Muggle in between, but he edged forwards as inconspicuously as possible as shouts and more spells burst out around him. He saw the green jet of a killing curse emerge from thin air just behind Mr Weasley, and immediately aimed his own wand at the Death Eater and shouted `Impedimenta!'. There were shrieks as the invisible figure was thrown against several Muggles and then screams as its cloak slipped and a pair of apparently disembodied feet appeared on the platform. `Stupefy!' shouted Harry and Sirius together, and the guard collapsed unconscious onto the floor, the invisibility cloak slipping further to reveal the grimacing face of Antonin Dolohov.

Mr Weasley, his eyes still glazed over and apparently completely unaware of the fighting and panic around him, was reaching into his coat pocket ... Harry aimed his wand at him and muttered `Stupefy!', then dashed forward to catch the tall figure of Ron's father as he started to fall. Harry's knees buckled under the dead weight but he managed to drag Mr Weasley away from the battle that was still raging.

He could hear a tube train rumbling towards the station. He looked back, one of the twins seemed to have been hit, Hermione and his brother were trying to revive him, whilst Sirius was battling with a now uncloaked Death Eater, Macnair. `Crucio!' Harry shouted, aiming at Macnair's head, Macnair collapsed in pain and Sirius finally succeeded in stunning him. `Quick, onto the train!' Harry shouted, heaving the inert form of Mr Weasley into the crowded carriage as panicking Muggles rushed to escape from the chaos on the platform. The others piled in behind him and they managed to squeeze into a corner and prop Mr Weasley and Fred against the wall of the carriage. Thankfully no-one was taking any notice of them, the tightly packed passengers all trying, as usual, as hard as possible to ignore each other.

`Enervate,' George muttered, pointing his wand under his coat at Fred, but nothing happened. `I'm sure it was just an ordinary stunning spell they hit him with,' George said worriedly, as the train stopped at Charing Cross.

Fred's eyes flicked open, `just my little joke,' he said.

`B*****d,' said George, turning his attention to the unconscious form of his father. Harry delved his hand into Mr Weasley's pocket and carefully brought out the heavy flask. It was almost completely filled with a thick black substance, which was seething. Harry realised with a shudder that the revolting mass was millions of the lethal parasitic creatures.

`Impervius permanens,' muttered Hermione, and Harry felt a magical seal wrap tightly around the flask. He pushed it into the inside pocket of his coat. `We need more time,' said Hermione, panic in her voice, `to despell Mr Weasley. It could take twenty minutes or more. Dolohov and the others will have come round by now, they'll know what direction we're going in, so there could be Death Eaters waiting at the next station.' As she spoke the train slid into Leicester Square station. Large numbers got off, but were replaced by equally large numbers squeezing on.

`I'll never criticise the Knight Bus again after this,' Fred muttered, as they were shoved further into the corner by a large group of misguided Japanese tourists, all exitedly taking photos of each other. There was no sign of any Death Eaters however, and as the train started off again an idea came to Harry.

`What about stopping the train?' he whispered to Hermione, `the Death Eaters couldn't apparate to it if it's stuck in the tunnel, could they?'

`Brilliant!' she whispered back. Harry surreptitiously directed his wand under his coat at the emergency chain and muttered `Accio!'. All the commuters in the crowded carriage let out a collective groan as the train suddenly jerked to a halt. Hermione started feverishly performing invocations on Mr Weasley under her breath as Fred and George watched with frowns of anxiety.

`Thanks for helping,' Harry muttered to Sirius.

`And you,' said Sirius with a grin, `but we're not out of it yet.' The driver banged angrily through the connecting door into the carriage and started pushing down it, interrogating the passengers to find out who had pulled the cord. Harry was strongly reminded of Filch as the furious man fulminated against ``timewasters".

Suddenly the train gave a sickening lurch backwards. `We've been hit!' shouted the driver, `don't panic, just stay put!' He scrambled in panic over passengers who had fallen over and hurried to return to the front of the train. The train lurched again and started to move slowly backwards.

Sirius looked very worried, `it could be a locomotor spell, a very powerful one,' he muttered, `they want to pull us back to the station so they can attack us.'

Hermione continued to work desperately fast on Mr Weasley, as the train continued its jerky unnatural passage in reverse. Harry could see that his expression was now less dazed and zombie-like, but he still showed no awareness of anything around him.

`Harry, you must go back, take the flask,' Sirius urged him, `apparate to the main gates at Durmstrang, we'll join you there.'

`No,' Harry begun to object, but then Mr Weasley gave a groan and shook his head to clear it. He stared round bemusedly at his sons and the others, as if waking from a deep sleep.

`Aha, the Northern line!' he said vaugely, gazing in fascination at the route map on the wall.

`Arthur, you must apparate immediately to Durmstrang,' Sirius told him, `you were captured by the Death Eaters, we'll explain when we get back to the castle, ok?'

Mr Weasley still looked very disorientated, but nodded in agreement.

The light of Leicester Square station began to appear at the end of the carriage. `Now!' said Sirius. Harry concentrated on the huge gates at the entrance of Durmstrang and willed himself to be there, and with a violent jolt which he knew must have sounded like an explosion in the tube carriage, he landed on the cold muddy ground in the shadow of the gates. He looked around to check that everyone else had escaped as well, and saw that Professor Dumbledore was already there waiting for them, and was looking down at him with a very disapproving expression.