Adventures of Harriet Potter

The Advance Guard

I've just been attacked by dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts. I want to know what's going on and when I'm going to get out of here. Harriet copied these words onto three separate pieces of parchment the moment she reached the desk in her dark bedroom. She addressed the first to Sirius, the second to Ron, and the third to Hermione. Her owl, Hedwig, was off hunting; her cage stood empty on the desk. Harriet paced the bedroom waiting for her to come back, her head pounding, her brain too busy for sleep even though her eyes stung and itched with tiredness. Her back ached from carrying Dudley home, and the two lumps on her head where the window and Dudley had hit her were throbbing painfully.
Up and down she paced, consumed with anger and frustration, grinding her teeth and clenching her fists, casting angry looks out at the empty, star-strewn sky every time she passed the window. Dementors sent to get her, Mrs. Figg and Mundungus Fletcher tailing her in secret, then suspension from Hogwarts and a hearing at the Ministry of Magic — and still no one was telling her what was going on. And what, what, had that Howler been about? Whose voice had echoed so horribly, so menacingly, through the kitchen?
Why was she still trapped here without information? Why was everyone treating her like some naughty kid? Don't do any more magic, stay in the house. . . . She kicked her school trunk as she passed it, but far from relieving her anger she felt worse, as she now had a sharp pain in her toe to deal with in addition to the pain in the rest of her body. Just as she limped past the window, Hedwig soared through it with a soft rustle of wings like a small ghost. "About time!" Harriet snarled, as she landed lightly on top of her cage. "You can put that down, I've got work for you!"
Hedwig's large round amber eyes gazed reproachfully at her over the dead frog clamped in her beak. "Come here," said Harriet, picking up the three small rolls of parchment and a leather thong and tying the scrolls to her scaly leg. "Take these straight to Sirius, Ron, and Hermione and don't come back here without good long replies. Keep pecking them till they've written decent-length answers if you've got to. Understand?" Hedwig gave a muffled hooting noise, beak still full of frog. "Get going, then," said Harriet. She took off immediately. The moment she'd gone, Harriet threw herself down onto her bed without undressing and stared at the dark ceiling. In addition to every other miserable feeling, she now felt guilty that she'd been irritable with Hedwig; she was the only friend she had at number four, Privet Drive. But she'd make it up to her when she came back with Sirius's, Ron's, and Hermione's answers. They were bound to write back quickly; they couldn't possibly ignore a dementor attack. She'd probably wake up tomorrow to three fat letters full of sympathy and plans for her immediate removal to the Burrow. And with that comforting idea, sleep rolled over her, stifling all further thought. At least, until Uncle Vernon woke and violated her later that night.

But Hedwig didn't return next morning. Harriet spent the day in her bedroom, leaving it only to go to the bathroom. Three times that day Aunt Petunia shoved food into her room through the cat flap Uncle Vernon had installed three summers ago. Every time Harriet heard her approaching she tried to question her about the Howler, but she might as well have interrogated the doorknob for all the answers she got. Otherwise the Dursleys kept well clear of her bedroom. Harriet couldn't see the point of forcing her company on them; another row would achieve nothing except perhaps making her so angry she'd perform more illegal magic. Or earn her another visit from Uncle Vernon.
So it went on for three whole days. Harriet was filled alternately with restless energy that made her unable to settle to anything, during which she paced her bedroom again, furious at the whole lot of them for leaving her to stew in this mess, nausea she hoped wasn't what she thought it was, tenderness in her bubbies, and with a lethargy so complete that she could lie on her bed for an hour at a time, staring dazedly into space, aching with dread at the thought of the Ministry hearing.
What if they ruled against her? What if she was expelled and her wand was snapped in half? What would she do, where would she go? She could not return to living full-time with the Dursleys, not now that she knew the other world, the one to which she really belonged, let alone might be pregnant with Uncle Vernon's baby. . . . Was it possible that she might be able to move into Sirius's house, as Sirius had suggested a year ago, before he had been forced to flee from the Ministry himself? Would she be allowed to live there alone, given that she was still underage? Or would the matter of where she went next be decided for her; had her breach of the International Statute of Secrecy been severe enough to land her in a cell in Azkaban? Whenever this thought occurred, Harriet invariably slid off her bed and began pacing again.
On the fourth night after Hedwig's departure Harriet was lying in one of her apathetic phases, staring at the ceiling, her exhausted mind quite blank, when her uncle entered her bedroom. Harriet looked slowly around at him, fearing another round of being violated by him. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and an expression of enormous smugness. "We're going out," he said. "Sorry?" she said, scrunching her face. "We — that is to say, your aunt, Dudley, and I — are going out." Uncle Vernon clarified for her. "Fine," said Harriet dully, looking back at the ceiling. "You are not to leave your bedroom while we are away." he said aggressively. "Okay." she said, relieved he wasn't violating her once again.
"You are not to touch the television, the stereo, or any of our possessions." Uncle Vernon said narrowing his eyes at her compliance. "Right." said Harriet with an unconscious touch of her abdomen. "You are not to steal food from the fridge." Uncle Vernon said with a cruel smirk at her hand on her abdomen. "Okay." she said moving her hand, not wanting to think about that possibility. "I am going to lock your door." said Uncle Vernon with a sadistic glee. "You do that." she said turning onto her side. Uncle Vernon glared at Harriet, clearly suspicious of this lack of argument, then stomped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Harriet heard the key turn in the lock and Uncle Vernon's footsteps walking heavily down the stairs. A few minutes later she heard the slamming of car doors, the rumble of an engine, and the unmistakable sound of the car sweeping out of the drive.
Harriet had no particular feeling about the Dursleys leaving. It made no difference to her whether they were in the house or not. She could not even summon the energy to get up and turn on her bedroom light. Barely managed to dress herself after cleaning herself up. The room grew steadily darker around her as she lay listening to the night sounds through the window she kept open all the time, waiting for the blessed moment when Hedwig returned. The empty house creaked around her. The pipes gurgled. Harriet lay there in a kind of stupor, thinking of nothing, suspended in misery.
And then, quite distinctly, she heard a crash in the kitchen below. She sat bolt upright, listening intently. The Dursleys couldn't be back, it was much too soon, and in any case she hadn't heard their car. There was silence for a few seconds, and then she heard voices. Burglars, she thought, sliding off the bed onto her feet — but a split second later it occurred to her that burglars would keep their voices down, and whoever was moving around in the kitchen was certainly not troubling to do so.
She snatched up her wand from her bedside table and stood facing her bedroom door, listening with all her might. Next moment she jumped as the lock gave a loud click and her door swung open. Harriet stood motionless, staring through the open door at the dark upstairs landing, straining her ears for further sounds, but none came. She hesitated for a moment and then moved swiftly and silently out of her room to the head of the stairs. Her heart shot upward into her throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as she could see, looking up at her.
"Lower your wand, girl, before you take someone's eye out," said a low, growling voice. Harriet's heart was thumping uncontrollably. She knew that voice, but she did not lower her wand. "Professor Moody?" she said uncertainly. "I don't know so much about 'Professor,'" growled the voice, "never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly." Harriet lowered her wand slightly but did not relax her grip on it, nor did she move. She had very good reason to be suspicious. She had recently spent nine months in what she had thought was Mad-Eye Moody's company only to find out that it wasn't Moody at all, but an impostor; an impostor, moreover, who had tried to kill Harriet before being unmasked. But before she could make a decision about what to do next, a second, slightly hoarse voice floated upstairs.
"It's all right, Harriet. We've come to take you away." Harriet's heart leapt. She knew that voice too, though she hadn't heard it for more than a year. "P-Professor Lupin?" she said disbelievingly. "Is that you?"
"Why are we all standing in the dark?" said a third voice, this one completely unfamiliar, a woman's. "Lumos." A wand-tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light. Harriet blinked. The people below were crowded around the foot of the stairs, gazing intently up at her, some craning their heads for a better look. Remus Lupin stood nearest to her. Though still quite young, Lupin looked tired and rather ill; he had more gray hair than when Harriet had said good-bye to him, and his robes were more patched and shabbier than ever. Nevertheless, he was smiling broadly at Harriet, who tried to smile back through her shock. "Oooh, she looks just like I thought she would," said the witch who was holding her lit wand aloft. She looked the youngest there; she had a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. "Wotcher, Harriet!"
"Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus," said a bald black wizard standing farthest back; he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear. "She looks exactly like Lily."
"Except the style of hair," said a wheezy-voiced, silver-haired wizard at the back. "James' messy hair." Mad-Eye Moody, who had long grizzled gray hair and a large chunk missing from his nose, was squinting suspiciously at Harriet through his mismatched eyes. One of the eyes was small, dark, and beady, the other large, round, and electric blue — the magical eye that could see through walls, doors, and the back of Moody's own head. "Are you quite sure it's her, Lupin?" he growled. "It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating her. We ought to ask her something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?"
"Harriet, what form does your Patronus take?" said Lupin. "A stag," said Harriet nervously. "That's him, Mad-Eye," said Lupin. Harriet descended the stairs, very conscious of everybody still staring at her, stowing her wand into the back pocket of her jeans as she came. "Don't put your wand there, girl!" roared Moody. "What if it ignited? Better witches than you have lost buttocks, you know!" Harriet was surprised by that, though realized having her wand in her back pocket was a bad idea regardless — since she could break it if she sat on it.
"Who d'you know who's lost a buttock?" the violet-haired woman asked Mad-Eye interestedly. "Never you mind, you just keep your wand out of your back pocket!" growled Mad-Eye. "Elementary wand safety, nobody bothers about it anymore . . ." He stumped off toward the kitchen. "And I saw that," he added irritably, as the woman rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Lupin held out his hand and shook Harriet's. "How are you?" he asked, looking at Harriet closely. "F-fine . . ." she lied, not wanting to bother him with news of Uncle Vernon violating her or her worries about potentially being pregnant from it.
Harriet could hardly believe this was real. Four weeks with nothing, not the tiniest hint of a plan to remove her from Privet Drive, and suddenly a whole bunch of wizards was standing matter-of-factly in the house as though this were a long-standing arrangement. She glanced at the people surrounding Lupin; they were still gazing avidly at her. She felt very conscious of the fact that she had not combed her hair for four days. And that Uncle Vernon's seed was still occasionally oozing from her teenage slit as a result of him violating her four days ago.
"I'm — you're really lucky the Dursleys are out . . ." she mumbled. "Lucky, ha!" said the violet-haired woman. "It was me that lured them out of the way. Sent a letter by Muggle post telling them they'd been short-listed for the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. They're heading off to the prize-giving right now. . . . Or they think they are." Harriet had a fleeting vision of Uncle Vernon's face when he realized there was no All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. It made her smile for the first time in four days. "We are leaving, aren't we?" she asked. "Soon?"
"Almost at once," said Lupin, "we're just waiting for the all-clear. That was puzzling. "Where are we going? The Burrow?" Harriet asked hopefully. "Not the Burrow, no," said Lupin, motioning Harriet toward the kitchen; the little knot of wizards followed, all still eyeing Harriet curiously. "Too risky. We've set up headquarters somewhere undetectable. It's taken a while . . ." Mad-Eye Moody was now sitting at the kitchen table swigging from a hip flask, his magical eye spinning in all directions, taking in the Dursleys' many labor-saving appliances.
"This is Alastor Moody, Harriet," Lupin continued, pointing toward Moody. "Yeah, I know," said Harriet uncomfortably; it felt odd to be introduced to somebody she'd thought she'd known for a year. "And this is Nymphadora —" Harriet flinched at the interruption, startled. "Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus," said the young witch with a shudder. "It's Tonks."
"— Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only," finished Lupin. "So would you if your fool of a mother had called you 'Nymphadora,'" muttered Tonks. "And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt" — he indicated the tall black wizard, who bowed — "Elphias Doge" — the wheezy-voiced wizard nodded — "Dedalus Diggle —"
"We've met before," squeaked the excitable Diggle, dropping his top hat. "— Emmeline Vance" — a stately looking witch in an emerald-green shawl inclined her head — "Sturgis Podmore" — a square-jawed wizard with thick, straw-colored hair winked — "and Hestia Jones." A pink-cheeked, black-haired witch waved from next to the toaster. Harriet inclined her head awkwardly at each of them as they were introduced. She wished they would look at something other than her; it was as though she had suddenly been ushered onstage. She also wondered why so many of them were there.
"A surprising number of people volunteered to come and get you," said Lupin, as though he had read Harriet's mind; the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. "Yeah, well, the more the better," said Moody darkly. "We're your guard, Potter." Harriet understood, though wasn't happy about it. "We're just waiting for the signal to tell us it's safe to set off," said Lupin, glancing out of the kitchen window. "We've got about fifteen minutes." Harriet assumed he meant fifteen minutes to get her out, during which no one at the Ministry was watching her trace — freeing the guard to do a few minor spells around her.
"Very clean, aren't they, these Muggles?" said the witch called Tonks, who was looking around the kitchen with great interest. "My dad's Muggle-born and he's a right old slob. I suppose it varies, just like with wizards?" That was a pleasant surprise. "Er — yeah," said Harriet. "Look" — he turned back to Lupin — "what's going on, I haven't heard anything from anyone, what's Vol — ?" Several of the witches and wizards made odd hissing noises; Dedalus Diggle dropped his hat again, and Moody growled, "Shut up!"
"What?" said Harriet. "We're not discussing anything here, it's too risky," said Moody, turning his normal eye on Harriet; his magical eye remained pointing up at the ceiling. "Damn it," he added angrily, putting a hand up to the magical eye, "it keeps sticking — ever since that scum wore it —" And with a nasty squelching sound much like a plunger being pulled from a sink, he popped out his eye. "Mad-Eye, you do know that's disgusting, don't you?" said Tonks conversationally. "Get me a glass of water, would you, Harriet?" asked Moody. Harriet crossed to the dishwasher, took out a clean glass, and filled it with water at the sink, still watched eagerly by the band of wizards. Their relentless staring was starting to annoy her. "Cheers," said Moody, when Harriet handed him the glass. He dropped the magical eyeball into the water and prodded it up and down; the eye whizzed around, staring at them all in turn. "I want three-hundred-and-sixty degrees visibility on the return journey."
"How're we getting — wherever we're going?" Harriet asked. "Brooms," said Lupin. "Only way. You're too young to Apparate, they'll be watching the Floo Network, and it's more than our life's worth to set up an unauthorized Portkey." She held off an indignant huff. "Remus says you're a good flier," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice. "She's excellent," said Lupin, who was checking his watch. "Anyway, you'd better go and get packed, Harriet, we want to be ready to go when the signal comes."
"I'll come and help you," said Tonks brightly. She followed Harriet back into the hall and up the stairs, looking around with much curiosity and interest. "Funny place," she said, "it's a bit too clean, d'you know what I mean? Bit unnatural. Oh, this is better," she added, as they entered Harriet's bedroom and she turned on the light. Her room was certainly much messier than the rest of the house. Confined to it for four days in a very bad mood, Harriet had not bothered tidying up after herself. Most of the books she owned were strewn over the floor where she'd tried to distract herself with each in turn and thrown it aside. Hedwig's cage needed cleaning out and was starting to smell, and her trunk lay open, revealing a jumbled mixture of Muggle clothes and wizard's robes that had spilled onto the floor around it. She hoped Tonks wouldn't pry into the peculiar stain on her sheets, where Uncle Vernon's seed had repeatedly leaked from her each time he violated her. Harriet started picking up books and throwing them hastily into her trunk. Tonks paused at her open wardrobe to look critically at her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door. "You know, I don't think purple's really my color," she said pensively, tugging at a lock of spiky hair. "D'you think it makes me look a bit peaky?"
"Er —" said Harriet, looking up at her over the top of Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland. "Yeah, it does," said Tonks decisively. She screwed up her eyes in a strained expression as though she were struggling to remember something. A second later, her hair had turned bubble-gum pink. "How did you do that?" said Harriet, gaping at her as she opened her eyes again. Knowing several spells that could do it, but all required a wand or at least intense training in wandless magic to perform. "I'm a Metamorphmagus," she said, looking back at her reflection and turning her head so that she could see her hair from all directions. "It means I can change my appearance at will," she added, spotting Harriet's puzzled expression in the mirror behind her. "I was born one. I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training without any study at all, it was great."
"You're an Auror?" said Harriet, impressed. Being a Dark wizard catcher was the only career she'd ever considered after Hogwarts. "Yeah," said Tonks, looking proud. "Kingsley is as well; he's a bit higher up than I am, though. I only qualified a year ago. Nearly failed on Stealth and Tracking, I'm dead clumsy, did you hear me break that plate when we arrived downstairs?"
"Can you learn how to be a Metamorphmagus?" Harriet asked her, straightening up, completely forgetting about packing. Tonks chuckled. "Bet you wouldn't mind hiding that scar sometimes, eh?" Her eyes found the lightning-shaped scar on Harriet's forehead. "No, I wouldn't mind," Harriet mumbled, turning away. She did not like people staring at her scar. "Well, you'll have to learn the hard way, I'm afraid," said Tonks. "Metamorphmagi are really rare, they're born, not made. Most wizards need to use a wand or potions to change their appearance. . . . But we've got to get going, Harriet, we're supposed to be packing," she added guiltily, looking around at all the mess on the floor.
"Oh — yeah," said Harriet, grabbing up a few more books. "Don't be stupid, it'll be much quicker if I — pack!" cried Tonks, waving her wand in a long, sweeping movement over the floor. Books, clothes, telescope, and scales all soared into the air and flew pell-mell into the trunk. "It's not very neat," said Tonks, walking over to the trunk and looking down at the jumble inside. "My mum's got this knack of getting stuff to fit itself in neatly — she even gets the socks to fold themselves — but I've never mastered how she does it — it's a kind of flick —"
She flicked her wand hopefully; one of Harriet's socks gave a feeble sort of wiggle and flopped back on top of the mess within. "Ah, well," said Tonks, slamming the trunk's lid shut, "at least it's all in. That could do with a bit of cleaning, too — Scourgify —" She pointed her wand at Hedwig's cage; a few feathers and droppings vanished. "Well, that's a bit better — I've never quite got the hang of these sort of householdy spells. Right — got everything? Cauldron? Broom? Wow! A Firebolt?" Her eyes widened as they fell on the broomstick in Harriet's right hand. It was her pride and joy, a gift from Sirius, an international standard broomstick.
"And I'm still riding a Comet Two Sixty," said Tonks enviously. "Ah well . . . wand still in your jeans? Both buttocks still on? Okay, let's go. Locomotor Trunk." Harriet's trunk rose a few inches into the air. Holding her wand like a conductor's baton, Tonks made it hover across the room and out of the door ahead of them, Hedwig's cage in her left hand. Harriet followed her down the stairs carrying her broomstick. Back in the kitchen, Moody had replaced his eye, which was spinning so fast after its cleaning it made Harriet feel sick. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Sturgis Podmore were examining the microwave and Hestia Jones was laughing at a potato peeler she had come across while rummaging in the drawers. Lupin was sealing a letter addressed to the Dursleys. "Excellent," said Lupin, looking up as Tonks and Harriet entered. "We've got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we're ready. Harriet, I've left a letter telling your aunt and uncle not to worry —"
"They won't," said Harriet. "That you're safe —" he continued. "That'll just depress them." she said. "— and you'll see them next summer." he finished. "Do I have to?" she whined. Lupin smiled but made no answer. "Come here, girl," said Moody gruffly, beckoning Harriet toward him with his wand. "I need to Disillusion you."
"You need to what?" said Harriet nervously. "Disillusionment Charm," said Moody, raising his wand. "Lupin says you've got an Invisibility Cloak, but it won't stay on while we're flying; this'll disguise you better. Here you go —" He rapped Harriet hard on the top of the head and Harriet felt a curious sensation as though Moody had just smashed an egg there; cold trickles seemed to be running down her body from the point the wand had struck. "Nice one, Mad-Eye," said Tonks appreciatively, staring at Harriet's midriff. Harriet looked down at her body, or rather, what had been her body, for it didn't look anything like hers anymore. It was not invisible; it had simply taken on the exact color and texture of the kitchen unit behind her. She seemed to have become a human chameleon.
"Come on," said Moody, unlocking the back door with his wand. They all stepped outside onto Uncle Vernon's beautifully kept lawn. "Clear night," grunted Moody, his magical eye scanning the heavens. "Could've done with a bit more cloud cover. Right, you," he barked at Harriet, "we're going to be flying in close formation. Tonks'll be right in front of you, keep close on her tail. Lupin'll be covering you from below. I'm going to be behind you. The rest'll be circling us. We don't break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed —"
"Is that likely?" Harriet asked apprehensively, but Moody ignored her. "— the others keep flying, don't stop, don't break ranks. If they take out all of us and you survive, Harriet, the rear guard are standing by to take over; keep flying east and they'll join you." She swallowed nervously. "Stop being so cheerful, Mad-Eye, she'll think we're not taking this seriously," said Tonks, as she strapped Harriet's trunk and Hedwig's cage into a harness hanging from her broom. "I'm just telling the girl the plan," growled Moody. "Our job's to deliver her safely to headquarters and if we die in the attempt —"
"No one's going to die," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep, calming voice. "Mount your brooms, that's the first signal!" said Lupin sharply, pointing into the sky. Far, far above them, a shower of bright red sparks had flared among the stars. Harriet recognized them at once as wand sparks. She swung her right leg over her Firebolt, gripped its handle tightly, and felt it vibrating very slightly, as though it was as keen as she was to be up in the air once more. "Second signal, let's go!" said Lupin loudly, as more sparks, green this time, exploded high above them.
Harriet kicked off hard from the ground. The cool night air rushed through her hair as the neat square gardens of Privet Drive fell away, shrinking rapidly into a patchwork of dark greens and blacks, and every thought of the Ministry hearing was swept from her mind as though the rush of air had blown it out of her head. She felt as though his heart was going to explode with pleasure; he was flying again, flying away from Privet Drive as she'd been fantasizing about all summer, she was going home. . . . For a few glorious moments, all her problems seemed to recede into nothing, insignificant in the vast, starry sky.
"Hard left, hard left, there's a Muggle looking up!" shouted Moody from behind her. Tonks swerved and Harriet followed her, watching her trunk swinging wildly beneath her broom. "We need more height. . . . Give it another quarter of a mile!" Harriet's eyes watered in the chill as they soared upward; she could see nothing below now but tiny pinpricks of light that were car headlights and streetlamps. Two of those tiny lights might belong to Uncle Vernon's car. . . . The Dursleys would be heading back to their empty house right now, full of rage about the nonexistent lawn competition . . . and Harriet laughed aloud at the thought, though her voice was drowned by the flapping of the others' robes, the creaking of the harness holding her trunk and the cage, the whoosh of the wind in their ears as they sped through the air. She had not felt this alive in a month, or this happy. . . .
"Bearing south!" shouted Mad-Eye. "Town ahead!" They soared right, so that they did not pass directly over the glittering spiderweb of lights below. "Bear southeast and keep climbing, there's some low cloud ahead we can lose ourselves in!" called Moody. "We're not going through clouds!" shouted Tonks angrily. "We'll get soaked, Mad-Eye!" Harriet was relieved to hear her say this; her hands were growing numb on the Firebolt's handle. She wished she had thought to put on a coat; she was starting to shiver.
They altered their course every now and then according to Mad-Eye's instructions. Harriet's eyes were screwed up against the rush of icy wind that was starting to make her ears ache. She could remember being this cold on a broom only once before, during the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff in her third year, which had taken place in a storm. The guard around her was circling continuously like giant birds of prey. Harriet lost track of time. She wondered how long they had been flying; it felt like an hour at least.
"Turning southwest!" yelled Moody. "We want to avoid the motorway!" Harriet was now so chilled that she thought longingly for a moment of the snug, dry interiors of the cars streaming along below, then, even more longingly, of traveling by Floo powder; it might be uncomfortable to spin around in fireplaces but it was at least warm in the flames. . . . Kingsley Shacklebolt swooped around her, bald pate and earring gleaming slightly in the moonlight. . . . Now Emmeline Vance was on her right, her wand out, her head turning left and right . . . then she too swooped over her, to be replaced by Sturgis Podmore. . . . "We ought to double back for a bit, just to make sure we're not being followed!" Moody shouted. "ARE YOU MAD, MAD-EYE?" Tonks screamed from the front. "We're all frozen to our brooms! If we keep going off course we're not going to get there until next week! We're nearly there now!"
"Time to start the descent!" came Lupin's voice. "Follow Tonks, Harriet!" Harriet followed Tonks into a dive. They were heading for the largest collection of lights she had yet seen, a huge, sprawling, crisscrossing mass, glittering in lines and grids, interspersed with patches of deepest black. Lower and lower they flew, until Harriet could see individual headlights and streetlamps, chimneys, and television aerials. She wanted to reach the ground very much, though she felt sure that someone would have to unfreeze her from her broom.
"Here we go!" called Tonks, and a few seconds later she had landed. Harriet touched down right behind her and dismounted on a patch of unkempt grass in the middle of a small square. Tonks was already unbuckling Harriet's trunk. Shivering, Harriet looked around. The grimy fronts of the surrounding houses were not welcoming; some of them had broken windows, glimmering dully in the light from the streetlamps, paint was peeling from many of the doors, and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps. "Where are we?" Harriet asked, but Lupin said quietly, "In a minute." Moody was rummaging in his cloak, his gnarled hands clumsy with cold. "Got it," he muttered, raising what looked like a silver cigarette lighter into the air and clicking it. The nearest streetlamp went out with a pop. He clicked the unlighter again; the next lamp went out. He kept clicking until every lamp in the square was extinguished and the only light in the square came from curtained windows and the sickle moon overhead.
"Borrowed it from Dumbledore," growled Moody, pocketing the Put-Outer. "That'll take care of any Muggles looking out of the window, see? Now, come on, quick." He took Harriet by the arm and led her from the patch of grass, across the road, and onto the pavement. Lupin and Tonks followed, carrying Harriet's trunk between them, the rest of the guard, all with their wands out, flanking them. The muffled pounding of a stereo was coming from an upper window in the nearest house. A pungent smell of rotting rubbish came from the pile of bulging bin-bags just inside the broken gate. "Here," Moody muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment toward Harriet's Disillusioned hand and holding his lit wand close to it, so as to illuminate the writing. "Read quickly and memorize." Harriet looked down at the piece of paper. The narrow handwriting was vaguely familiar. It said:

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.