Aria Ashborn and the Deathly Hallows (A Harry Potter fanfic)

Chapter 2: The Seven Potters

When Aria opened her eyes, she was no longer standing on a cobbled pathway but on a cement sidewalk, looking at a peach suburban house. It was nothing special compared to the whimsy Burrow or Auntie Muriel's front garden. But Aria knew immediately who it belonged to, after all, it was detailed in their mission. Number Four Privet Drive was where Harry Potter had lived for the majority of his life. They would be moving Harry from this location tonight and to a safe house of someone within the Order. Aria had been briefed on the plan the previous week. Harry, however, had not been.

Aria noticed the sun had officially set, meaning that Lupin was right in saying that they were late. Her stomach filled with butterflies of excitement knowing that she would soon be reunited with her friends. She had also prepared herself for seeing Harry, who had broken up with her at the end of the term. She did not resent him for this, but she did know it would make things awkward. Still, she was there to help, whether Harry wanted her to or not.

Aria had barely entered the house when she found herself wrapped in a tight hug. Aria could tell that it was Hermione hugging her as she choked on Hermione's bushy hair.

"Aria! Tonks! Remus!" Hermione exclaimed as Lupin shut the door behind them.

"Yeah, we know their names, Hermione." joked George Weasley who Aria spotted over Hermione's shoulder before Hermione let her go. Aria looked around the room to see Fred, who grinned identically to his brother; Ron, long and lanky; Bill, badly scarred and long-haired; Mad-Eye, battle-worn, his bright blue magical eye whizzing in its socket; Fleur, slender and beautiful, with her long silvery blonde hair tied back in a long plait; Kingsley, bald, black, broad-shouldered; Hagrid, ducking as to not hit his large head on the ceiling; a bald, small, and dirty wizard Aria did not know; and Harry, who looked rather surprised to see her. They were all standing in a furniture-less, salmon-colored sitting room.

"All right, all right!" mumbled Moody, "You'll all have time for a cozy catch-up later! We've got to get the hell out of here and soon! Potter, you're underage, which means you've still got the Trace on you."

"The Trace?" asked Harry.

"You sneeze and the Ministry will know who wipes your nose." Moody explained, "Point is, we have to use those means of transport the Trace can't detect: brooms, thestrals and the like. We'll go in pairs. That way if anyone's out there waiting for us -- and I reckon there will be -- they won't know which Harry Potter is the real one."

"The real one...?"

"I believe you're familiar with this particular brew." As Moody said this, he took out his familiar hip flask and unscrewed the top.

"No!" Harry exclaimed upon realizing that the flask contained Polyjuice Potion, "Absolutely not!"

"I told you he'd take it well." Hermione sighed.

"If you think I'm going to let people risk their lives for me --" Harry protested. Although he spoke to the whole room, he looked Aria straight in the eyes, as if speaking directly to her.

"Never done that before, have we?" Ron joked.

"This is different." Harry scolded, "Taking that. Becoming me -- no."

"Well, none of us really fancy it, Mate." piped up George, "Imagine if something went wrong and we were stuck as scrawny, specky gits forever."

"Everyone here's of age, Potter," Moody assured, "and they've all agreed to take the risk." Aria and the others nodded, except for the bald wizard in the corner.