Lost Memories

lvii. lost soldier

Excitement coursed through me as the warm summer night flowed through my hair. Leaning forward on my broom, I whizzed past Hermione, who was on a Thestral and flew next to Ron, who soared through the air on his own broom. Through the dark night, we rode through London towards Four Privet Drive to retrieve Harry. As we landed, Hagrid revved the engine of his motorbike, signalling Harry of our arrival.

The curtains on the kitchen window moved to reveal the confused raven-haired boy. We had a Disillusionment Charm placed on us so we wouldn't be seen by any muggles or found by Death Eaters. When it was lifted, Harry disappeared from the window and the backdoor swung open.

Jumping off my broomstick, I squealed and threw my arms around Harry as he spun me around. Hermione followed suit and squished me in between them. Ron clapped him on the back, and Hagrid said, "All righ', Harry? Ready fer the off?"

"Definitely," said Harry, beaming around at us all. "But I wasn't expecting this many of you!"

"I thought you'd be happy to see us, Harry," I whacked his head.

"I am," he rubbed the spot, "but I just wasn't expecting all of you!"

"Change of plan," growled Alastor, who was holding two enormous, bulging sacks, and whose magical eye was spinning from darkening sky to house to garden with dizzying rapidity. "Let's get undercover before we talk you through it."

Alastor dropped the sacks on the ground, causing the entire kitchen to go quiet. "As Dedalus probably told you, we had to abandon Plan A. Pius Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a big problem. He's made it an imprisonable offence to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here, or Apparate in or out. All done in the name of your protection, to prevent You-Know-Who getting in at you. Absolutely pointless, seeing as your mother's charm does that already. What he's really done is to stop you getting out of here safely.

"Second problem: You're underage, which means you've still got the Trace on you."

"I don't —"

"The Trace, the Trace!" said Alastor impatiently. "The charm that detects magical activity around under-seventeens, the way the Ministry finds out about underage magic! If you, or anyone around you, casts a spell to get you out of here, Thicknesse is going to know about it, and so will the Death Eaters.

"We can't wait for the Trace to break, because the moment you turn seventeen you'll lose all the protection your mother gave you. In short: Pius Thicknesse thinks he's got you cornered good and proper."

"So what are we going to do?"

"We're going to use the only means of transport left to us, the only ones the Trace can't detect, because we don't need to cast spells to use them: brooms, thestrals, and Hagrid's motorbike.

"Now, your mother's charm will only break under two conditions: when you come of age, or" — Alastor gestured around the pristine kitchen — "you no longer call this place home. You and your aunt and uncle are going your separate ways tonight, in the full understanding that you're never going to live together again, correct?"

The only thing that mattered was getting Harry Potter to the safe house as quietly and quickly as possible, without disruption and issues. Of course, that wasn't the case; wherever Harry Potter went, trouble usually followed.

Alastor handed out egg-cup-sied glasses full of Polyjuice Potion that contained a piece of Harry Potter's hair. Six people– me, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Mundungus Fletcher– would transform to have seven Harry Potters, each escorted by an Order member acting as a protector, and fly away from Little Whinging, as no other method of transportation was safe.