Final Year, Chapter 3 – A Plethora of Potters

From the Journal of Hermione Granger – July 16

That was the most – I don’t know – unbelievable, insane, astonishing, amazing, absurd - experience! Moody, Voldemort, duplicate Harrys … I hardly know what to describe first. Harry survived yet another encounter with Voldemort! And not merely survived … No, I think I need to start at the beginning. Or rather, the evening before.

“Harry Potter!” Hermione spoke the phrase to activate her mirror and waited impatiently for Harry to respond.

“Hermione! You’re back?”

“Yes. Meet me at the playground. I’m coming over tonight.”

“Tonight? You mean …” Harry broke off before vocalizing the implication. Given the late hour, Hermione evidently intended to spend the night with him.

“Exactly. I already took my trunk to the Burrow before I went to Australia, along with Crookshanks,” she related matter-of-factly. “All I have left are a few things that I can easily fit in my expanded bag, and I don’t want to wait until tomorrow to see you.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Harry’s protest wasn’t too forceful, since he very much wanted to see her too.

“Yes, I really need a hug. Badly. Bring your invisibility cloak.”

After a long welcome back hug, interspersed with words of comfort and reassurance, and followed by a very satisfying snogging session, the young couple left the now darkened park and walked back to Privet Drive. It took little effort for Hermione to sneak in the front door and up the stairs to Harry’s room under the cloak. There she waited, while reading the newspapers that had accumulated during her absence and exchanging a few short whispered comments with Harry, until they were certain that the other occupants of the house had retired for the evening, before removing the cloak.

It had been a warm day, and both teens were dressed in tee shirts and loose shorts, so they decided to sleep in what they were wearing ‘just in case’. Harry watched in fascination as Hermione removed her bra without taking off her tee shirt (a contortionist trick that she assured him that all girls were able to perform) and soon they were snuggled up together under Harry’s threadbare sheets. Although Hermione had taken a potion to relieve her jet lag, it required a full night’s sleep before it fully took effect, and she was dead tired. Between that, and her very relaxing position wrapped in Harry’s arms, she was asleep within minutes.

 

As usual, Hermione was awake before Harry the next morning, and she silently changed her clothing. For this day she chose a red knit sleeveless top and a red and white print knee-length skirt, a nice, conservative and thoroughly ‘muggle’ outfit that would hopefully make things as easy with the Dursleys as possible. When she was ready she walked back over to the bed and gazed fondly at Harry. On an impulse, she leaned over the bed and ran her fingers through his messy hair, while reflecting on how many girls at Hogwarts had fanaticized about being able to do exactly that (much less spending the night in bed with him, as she just had). She smiled at the thought before rousing him with a tender kiss.

“Time to get up, sweetie,” she whispered, as he opened his eyes with a smile. “I’m going to go out and walk around for a while, then come back and pretend I’ve just arrived. “How much time do you need?”

“Fifteen … no make that twenty minutes,” he decided. “I’ll start breakfast and let them know I’m expecting you.” Hermione decided that she would take a stroll over to Wisteria Walk and visit with Mrs. Figg for a few minutes while she waited.

Harry quickly got ready and informed the Dursleys that they would be having a visitor for breakfast – his girlfriend that just in case they didn’t remember was of age and allowed to do magic – who would help him pack his things in preparation for his departure. He further confirmed with them that they planned to be out of the house that evening when his other, more ‘freaky’ friends would come to pick him up.

Precisely on time the doorbell rang and Harry answered it with a grin, and ushered Hermione back into the house. He decided he could risk a quick squeeze and a peck on her cheek, then led her to the kitchen and resumed dishing up. The meal passed in strained silence until Harry and Hermione shared a nod and he cleared his throat.

“Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia?” The two adults in question pulled themselves away from a newspaper and a fashion magazine respectively and reluctantly gave him their attention.

“You understand that there’s a protection on this house while I live here, right?” Vernon muttered and gave a short nod. “And that it ends when I turn seventeen in two weeks?” This time Vernon’s large mustache quivered before he nodded, while Petunia nervously wrung her napkin. Harry gathered himself.

“Well, there’s a chance that someone … some enemy … could come looking for me after that, and I think it would be a good idea if you went away for a while,” he suggested.

“And just how do you expect us to do that?” Vernon snapped.

“I’d like to give you some money to help pay for a holiday somewhere,” Harry replied, keeping his voice steady. Hermione reached under the table to give his hand a squeeze in support. His aunt and uncle’s eyes widened in surprise, and Dudley began to pay attention to the conversation, now that money had been mentioned.

“How much?” Vernon asked in a slightly more civil tone.

“Five thousand pounds,” Harry responded.

“Five thousand pounds!” Vernon shouted. “Where would a worthless freak like you get that kind of money?” Hermione’s hand jerked toward her wand at the words ‘worthless freak’, and this time Harry squeezed her hand in an effort to calm her down.

“Well, erm …” Harry and Hermione had decided that it would not be a good idea for his relatives to learn that his parents had left him a vault full of gold, and that an alternative explanation was needed.

“Actually,” Hermione broke in right on cue, “I’ve written a story based on Harry’s life and sold it to a book publisher, and these are the proceeds.” This was partially true. She hadn’t heard back from the publisher just yet, but they were considering her proposal.

“Who’d want to read a story about him?” Dudley wondered, before stuffing another forkful of eggs into his mouth.

“Well, I wrote it sort of a like a fairy tale, you know, like Cinderella,” Hermione explained, adding a subtle dig with the final two words.

The look of disbelief that had arisen on the faces of the Dursleys was replaced on Petunia with one of suspicion as her eyes narrowed, having picked up on Hermione’s implication. “Oh?” she spat out nastily. “And I suppose we played the role of the evil stepmother and ugly stepsisters?” At this, Vernon began to turn purple while Dudley looked around in puzzlement, wondering who in the room the term ‘stepsister’ could apply to. Before Vernon could give vent to his anger Hermione stood and drew her wand.

“Do you want the money or not?”

As Hermione had always endeavored to be as pleasant as possible during her previous encounters with the Dursleys, none of them had seen her ‘irritated to the breaking point ready to hex someone’ mood that Ron triggered so frequently. The three of them cowered back into their seats and nodded.

“Fine. I’ll send you a bank draft.” With that she tossed her napkin on the table and swept from the room, Harry joining her an instant later.

The two of them spent the rest of the morning in Harry’s room, discussing their plans and packing up his remaining things, while speculating on what mad plan Moody had cooked up for the evening. To Hermione’s surprise, Harry informed her that he hadn’t seen Moody since he’d come back to Privet Drive.

At lunch they had another question for Petunia, who had calmed down since breakfast. This was one that they had wanted to ask when the three of them were alone, and they were happy that Dudley was off somewhere and not joining them.

“Aunt Petunia, can I ask you a question about my mum?” Harry began. His aunt got a sour expression on her face, but responded with a resigned shrug. “I know she told you at least a bit about the magical world …” He broke off at the shudder of disgust that rippled through her bony frame, but determined to press on. “I was wondering, did she ever mention a friend named Snape?”

The effect of that name on his aunt was startling. “That boy?” she hissed, glaring fiercely at them. “That horrible, awful boy? The one who took Lily from me?”

“Wha … what?” Harry stammered in surprise.

“He was the one who told her she was a witch,” she snapped. “He was the one who filled her head with the notion of going to … to that school of yours. He … he turned her against me.”

“How?” Harry struggled to grasp what she was telling him. “How did he … you mean she knew him before …”

“He wasn’t supposed to be in our neighborhood,” she declared bitterly. “He didn’t belong there. He lived down by the river, in Spinner’s End.” She said this with a disdainful expression that reminded Harry of the way she regarded dirt on her floors. “But he kept hanging around, spying on us. He saw her do … things … and he told her what it meant. At first she didn’t believe him, but then … she started hanging around with him and abandoned me. She left … she left me behind and went off on that train with him.” She slumped down in her chair and buried her head in her hands. Hermione was already up and had moved around the table behind her, and touched her gently on the back.

“Just go,” Petunia sniffed. “Just leave like … like she did.”

 

Silently, Harry and Hermione left the kitchen and returned to his room.

The atmosphere at dinner that evening was essentially a reprise of the one at breakfast. Hermione made several attempts at conversation to which Petunia made polite but short responses, while Vernon mumbled occasionally. For his part, Dudley looked up in amazement each time that Hermione spoke, as he was clearly not accustomed to the idea of conversation during a meal.

When Petunia began to take away the dishes after they finished eating, Vernon cleared his throat and with somewhat of an effort addressed Harry. “Now then, everything still on for tonight?” Harry nodded. “By the time we get back, you’ll be gone?” Harry nodded again. “Right. I guess that’s that.” Vernon stood up and Harry also rose to his feet. Hermione nudged him and he put his hand out to his uncle. Vernon extended his hand slightly, tried to reach it out to Harry, but pulled it back, letting it hover awkwardly by his side. He just couldn’t bring himself to shake hands with the freak. After several more uncomfortable moments he turned abruptly and left the room.

Harry turned his attention to Dudley who had risen uncertainly. Darting his eyes to the doorway through which his father had just departed and then back to Harry he asked, “So you’re leaving?” Harry nodded. “And you’re not coming back?”

Harry said, “That’s right.”

“You’re gonna fight that … that guy who killed your parents?” He glanced at Hermione, still standing next to Harry, and eyed her up and down briefly. “Both of you?”

Harry fought down his amazement. This had to have been the longest conversation he’d ever had with Dudley. “That’s the plan.”

“Well, give him the old one-two for me,” Dudley encouraged, making a pair of fists and throwing a mock punch combination.

Harry grinned. “I’ll give it my best shot.” An elbow to his ribs from Hermione prompted him to amend, “ We’ll give it our best shot.”

Dudley held out a large hand and said, “Good luck then.”

Trying not to flinch at the memory of how often that hand had been raised towards him with less than friendly intent, Harry extended his own and accepted his cousin’s best wishes.

Hermione moved close to Harry and put her arm on his shoulder, and added with a smile, “You take care of yourself, too, Dudley.”

Dudley took another long look at Hermione and turned back to Harry. “How’d you ever get a hot bird like this?”

Harry’s arm found its way around Hermione’s waist. “Just lucky, I guess.”

 

After the Dursleys drove off to spend the night at Aunt Marge’s, Harry wandered around the house and yard hand in hand with Hermione, reliving with her some of the memories of his life there. He pointed out with some pride the flower beds he had worked so hard to keep weed free, and showed her the hedge where he’d first spotted Dobby watching him the summer before second year.

They stopped at the bushes in the front of the house outside the living room window, where he’d hide and listen to the news on the telly the summer after fourth year, wondering when Voldemort would finally reveal himself. Hermione gave his hand a squeeze as she recalled their exchange of letters that summer, the summer when they’d started exploring their feelings for each other, and Harry shot her a grin before leaning in to steal a kiss.

Up in his bedroom he paused to take in his worn out bed and the broken down desk where he’d do his homework during the summer, pausing often to stare out the window of what he’d frequently considered to be his prison. With that thought in mind, he stopped to point out the marks on the window frame where Vernon had actually put bars on the window, again during the summer before second year. At that point Hermione started to cry, prompting him to draw her into a hug, and they spent some time just standing there holding each other.

“We just didn’t understand why you weren’t writing to us that summer, like you’d promised,” she sniffed. “You were the first good friend I’d ever had, and I was so afraid that you’d abandoned me, and then it turned out that you weren’t getting our letters either and were wondering the same thing about us.”

“I know,” he murmured into her ear soothingly. “But we got that all straightened out. And your letters the other summers were wonderful. Especially the last two.”

Hermione pulled back, and smiled as he gently brushed a tear from her cheek. “I’m glad I was able to provide at least some happy memories for you about this place.”

Harry made one last check of the room, showing Hermione the loose floorboard under which he’d stashed his treasures out of sight of his suspicious relatives, before they went back downstairs and made one final stop. For several long minutes he knelt in front of cupboard under the stairs, Hermione behind him with her arms wrapped around him and her chin on his shoulder, reliving the most painful memories of his existence in this house.

 

It was well after dark when Harry and Hermione finally heard the noise of people landing behind the house. After taking flanking positions by the kitchen door, Harry cautiously called out for them to identify themselves.

“It’s us, you git!” Ron responded with a grin as he led Fred and George inside. “How you been, mate?”

“Relatives not here, then?” Fred wondered, as he and George looked around.

“Nah, they heard you two were coming and bugged out right after dinner,” Harry joked, smiling at the disappointed looks on the twins’ faces at that news. Meanwhile Arthur, Bill and Fleur came through the doorway, Fleur stopping to give Hermione a hug.

“What in Merlin’s name …? Harry had begun to close the door, only to discover another wave of wizards entering the suddenly crowded kitchen. “Just how many of you are there, anyway?”

“Fourteen altogether,” Remus answered as he paused to greet Harry, “counting you and Hermione.” Behind him Tonks gave a wave and Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded, while Mad-Eye Moody ushered in a clearly reluctant Mundungus Fletcher. As Harry peered out the doorway into the darkened back garden, he spotted Hagrid holding the reigns of two thestrals, and standing right next to a large motorcycle.

“Why?” Harry inquired, turning back to face the throng. “This is even more than we had two years ago.”

“Security,” Moody answered gruffly. “Had to change the plans.”

“The Ministry’s in a bit of an uproar, everyone jockeying for position, staking out territory,” Shacklebolt offered with a bit more detail. “The new head of Magical Law Enforcement has decided to try to score some points by demanding that anti-apparation and anti-portkey wards be put on this property, and refused to consider a floo connection as well. Says it’s for your safety. And of course, since the fiasco at the Ministry last year cost Edgecombe her job, Magical Transportation pretty much does whatever the DMLE director tells it to.”

“Pius Thicknesse,” Tonks said with a hint of distaste. “We’re not too sure of him. Could be he’s just another blowhard politician, but the effect is to make this more difficult than it needed to be, so it’s also possible he’s been compromised. There’s more and more of that every day. No one knows who to trust any more.”

“Pius Thicknesse?” Harry snorted. “What kind of name is that? I swear I’ll never get used to wizarding names. Whoever heard of the name Pius?”

“Actually, Pius was the name of a Roman Catholic pope in the 1940’s and 1950’s,” Hermione broke in as she came up next to Harry to join the discussion. At Harry’s look of disbelief she added with a shrug, “I did a report on him in primary school.”

“Hermione, promise me that we won’t give our kids any ridiculous names,” Harry asked with a semi-pleading tone. To his surprise, Hermione turned bright red at his request.

“Something you two want to tell us?” Tonks smirked, as the rest of the room suddenly became very interested in their conversation.

“I knew it was a mistake to let Hermione come over here by herself,” George joked. “You work pretty fast, Harry.”

“Can I be the godfather?” Fred added. “Oh, no, that’ll probably be Ronnikins. How about back- up godfather?”

Harry tried to stammer a protest that they had misunderstood him, but couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t make things worse, so he gave up and resolved to ride out the teasing. Hermione just buried her head in his shoulder, taking care to hide the smile that had crept onto her face. Once she’d composed herself, and decided that the hilarity had gone on long enough, she pulled back and changed the subject.

“OK, now that you all got that out of your systems,” she called out. “Why don’t you clue us in on this convoluted plan of Moody’s? Just how difficult is it?”

“How about two thestrals, four brooms, a flying motorcycle, and Polyjuice Potion?” Ron answered wryly.

“Polyjuice?” Harry shared a look with Hermione, not liking where this was going. “Who are we going to disguise ourselves as?”

“Not you, mate, us,” he grinned. “Seven Harry Potters. A whole quidditch team.”

“Yeah, too bad we don’t get your skills along with your body,” Fred joked.

“We’d be unbeatable,” George finished for him.

“Wait, back up,” Harry demanded. “You’re going to pretend to be me while we all fly out of here?”

“Right in one,” Tonks confirmed. “Told you he was smart,” she smirked, nudging Remus with her elbow.

“No,” Harry shot back firmly. Hermione took his hand as he made this declaration and gave it a squeeze of support. She had figured out the reason for the deception just before he had, and knew he wouldn’t stand for it.

“Look, Potter, this is the way it’s going to be,” Moody insisted as he pushed his way forward. “There may be Death Eaters watching this area. They can’t touch you while you’re here, but they can once you leave. They probably think you won’t go until the end of the month, so we’re already throwing them off by clearing out two weeks early. If they do have anyone on watch, we’ll confuse them by flying out with seven of you, going in seven different directions. They won’t know which one to follow. It’s actually less likely that anyone will get hurt this way than if we all went off together.”

“Besides, it’s not like you have much of a choice,” Fred pointed out.

“As there’s thirteen of us and only one of you,” George completed the threat. Hermione stiffened at Harry’s side and glared at the Weasley twins.

“Right then, twelve to two,” George amended. “Same result.”

“Look,” Remus stated, trying to calm the situation. “Everyone here wants to help out. They’re all here voluntarily.” Harry doubted that was true in at least one instance, but let the former Marauder continue. “You’re putting your life on the line practically every time you show your face nowadays. This way your friends can share the burden a little bit.”

“Let us do this for you,” Tonks added in support. “It’s just a precaution. We don’t really think there will be any trouble.”

“Where will we go, then?” Harry asked, still not convinced.

“Each pair will travel to a different location,” she explained. “For example, you’re headed to my parents’ house. Once inside their wards, you’ll take a Portkey to the Burrow.”

“So why don’t they just attack us at the Burrow?” he objected.

“They don’t know it’s going to be the Burrow,” she replied. “And even so, it has several layers of wards on it, as well as a lot of adult defenders. It would take a full-scale attack to break through, and even then we could hold out long enough to escape.” Harry’s frown showed he still wasn’t convinced.

“It’s not perfect, but it’s the best we can do,” Remus interjected, taking up the argument. “We can talk more when we get there about possibly moving around from place to place to spread out the risk.”

His typically calm, well-reasoned delivery seemed pretty convincing, so Harry turned again to Hermione, seeking her opinion. She raised her hand to his shoulder and gave a small shake of her head. While she was on his side, as usual, this didn’t seem to be a battle worth fighting.

With a sigh, Harry shrugged his shoulders, accepting the situation. He then inclined his head toward Hermione and offered a lock of hair. Producing a small scissors from her handbag, she clipped several strands and passed them to the others.

“Me, Fred, George, Hermione, Fleur, and Dung are going to be the fakes,” Ron announced as Moody passed around the muddy looking potions. “Moody’s got it all worked out who’s flying with who. He’s also got changes of clothing for those of us who aren’t quite your size.”

As the hairs were added to the flasks of mudlike liquid, they sizzled and dissolved, and the potions began to clear until they were bright gold in color.

“Hey Harry,” Ron remarked. “You look a lot tastier than Crabbe.” Now it was Ron’s turn to be subjected to teasing for his unintentionally suggestive remark. After a bit of playful shoving with his brothers and a threat or two things settled down once more. The would-be Harrys downed their potions and grimaced as their bodies began changing.

“Fred!” George exclaimed as he examined his new form. “We’re twins!”

“No, triplets!” George corrected as he pulled Harry into a three-way hug with his brother.

“No, quadruplets … quintuplets … sextuplets,” Fred declared as Ron, Hermione, and Fleur changed into more duplicates of Harry in succession.

“Wait a minute, weren’t there supposed to be seven?” George-Harry glanced around as Fred-Harry counted up the Potter clones again. His question was answered as Mundungus stumbled forward, propelled by a shove from Moody. He shot a glare back over his shoulder before downing the remaining vial of the potion.

Harry found the entire situation to be altogether too surreal, as he ended up facing himself everywhere he turned. He shut his eyes tightly, shook his head, and opened them again, but to no avail. It was almost like being in a hall of mirrors.

“Wow, Harry, you really are blind,” Ron-Harry teased as he picked up a pair of glasses that Moody had supplied. “Short too,” he added with a smirk as he lifted up his leg to reveal his now overlong trousers.

“Harry, look,” Hermione noted with some excitement. “You and I wear the same size!” Harry turned her way to see a version of himself dressed in Hermione’s red top and red and white skirt, and had to admit that her outfit did appear to fit him. Hermione-Harry shot him the same lopsided grin he had so often given her as she removed the skirt, and added, “I could borrow your jeans if I wanted to,” as she pulled off the top.

The concept of sharing each other’s clothing took on a whole new dimension as Harry stared at this copy of himself, now clad only in a bright red bra and knickers set. A part of him noted that they did fit pretty well, while another noted the empty bra and how much nicer it would look if filled with Hermione. The largest part of him focused on the fact that although he found the idea of Hermione wearing his clothing somewhat arousing, the converse was most definitely not the case. By the time all of these parts sorted themselves out and he found his voice, Hermione-Harry had started to pull on the trousers Moody had provided.

“You aren’t going to leave those on, are you?” he asked nervously, gesturing at the colorful undergarments.

“Of course, since they still fit,” he/she responded with a note of practicality. “I’ll need them again in an hour when I change back, after all.”

Harry turned to see Ron-Harry staring at him with a look that said, ‘ I’ve seen Harry Potter wearing women’s underwear.’ Harry shot him a glare back that replied, ‘ and if you ever tell anyone you’ll die a painful death.’ Ron quickly turned away.

“Couldn’t you at least take the bra off,” Harry asked weakly.

“If I did, I wouldn’t be wearing a bra when we get to the Weasleys,” Hermione explained. “I’m sure you’d like the way I jiggle without one, but I don’t want to give everyone else a show like that.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Maybe a private showing for you later,” which brightened his spirits considerably.

Just as Harry began to hope that this embarrassing scene was coming to an end, Fleur provided the final indignity.

“Bill, zis one ees so leettle!” he/she blurted out, causing everyone in the room to turn his/her way. Unlike Hermione, Fleur had received advance notice of the plan, and under her robes instead of wearing a bra and knickers she had dressed for the occasion in a camisole top and boxer style shorts, with an elastic waist. To Harry’s horror, and his friends’ gleeful amusement, he/she was pulling out the waistband and taking a peek. “Not beeg like yours,” he/she finished, with a knowing look at the eldest Weasley son.

Harry-Fred, Harry-George, and Harry-Ron’s smirks were immediately stifled. “Too much information!” they shouted in unison as they raised their hands to cover their ears.

For his part, Bill flinched as his fiancée, in the guise of a teenage boy, rubbed his/her hand up his leg. The original Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands, thinking it could not possibly get any worse.

Then it got worse.

“Harry is not little!” came a voice of protest. A chorus of gasps greeted this declaration, as once again the entire room turned back to identify the source of this contention.

Realizing too late the implications of her assertion, Hermione-Harry threw his/her hands over his/her mouth in dismay, and darted behind him to hide. After some initial confusion at which of the Harrys was which, it quickly became evident to the onlookers who had spoken out to defend her boyfriend’s ‘stature’, and bedlam erupted.

Mundungus-Harry, holding himself apart from the others, could be identified by his irritated scowl, while Fleur-Harry contented him/herself with a wicked smirk. Ron-Harry, on the other hand, was looking a bit green at the uncomfortable thoughts about the activities of his two best friends that were forcing themselves into his brain. Original Harry and Hermione-Harry were standing together glowing bright red, and Fred-Harry and George-Harry were bent over, hands on their knees, laughing so hard they were battling for breath.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” George-Harry gasped to his original twin, while pulling himself upright.

“Since when has Hermione ever been a quiet one?” Fred-Harry objected.

“Good point.” George-Harry reconsidered. “It’s always the brainy ones then.”

“There you go,” his brother agreed.

Hermione was simply unable to let it go. “Well … well, you could just take a look for yourselves!” she insisted.

This caused the three Weasley-Harrys to take quick glances down at their crotches.

“Can we please change the subject?” Harry groaned through clenched teeth.

Fleur-Harry finally took pity on her embarrassed friend. “I am sorry, ’Arry,” he/she apologized as she came up to his side and took his arm contritely. “I was just teasing you. Eet was just a joke.” He/she leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek, then repeated it with Hermione-Harry.

“Oi, stop that!” Ron-Harry protested with another groan at the sight of his best mate getting kissed by … his best mate. “That looks so wrong!”

“Buck up, old chap,” one of the twins (Harry had no idea which one by this time) consoled Harry as he moved up and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “It could be worse.” Harry gave him a skeptical look. “We could have brought little Gin-Gin along with us.”

“Yeah, she’s been wanting to get into the pants of the Boy Who Lived for years,” piped up the other twin.

“Shouldn’t that be, she’s been wanting the Boy Who Lived to get into her pants, brother dear?”

“I think it’s the same thing, Fred.”

“I thought I was George.”

“No, you’re Fred, I’m George.”

“Actually, we’re both Harry, now.”

“All right, pipe down you lot. We’re behind schedule already.” Moody announced, impatient with all the clowning around. “Now all you Potters grab one of these bird cages and head outside. Miss Delacour, you’re with Bill on one of the thestrals.”

“Zatees fine wiz me, I am not fond of brooms,” Fleur-Harry agreed, moving once more to Bill’s side.

“Granger, you’re with Shacklebolt on the other thestral, same reason,” Moody continued.

Hermione-Harry, who had been leaning into Harry’s side (at least he’d assumed it was Hermione; he hoped none of his other clones would be that cozy with him) sighed. “Why does everyone think I don’t like brooms,” he/she grumbled. “I like them just fine. Just because I don’t try to kill myself when I fly them …” Harry managed a smile and gave him/her a quick squeeze.

“Potter, the real one that is, will be on the motorcycle with Hagrid,” Moody declared next.

“What? Why?” Harry objected. “I’d rather be on a broom.”

“Because that’s what the Death Eaters will expect,” Moody explained brusquely. “Plus, there’s more room for your trunk in the sidecar.”

“I’m liking this less and less all the time,” Harry murmured to Hermione, who nodded her agreement.

“Broom pairs are Arthur and Fred, Remus and George, Tonks and Ron,” Moody finished. “Mundungus is with me.”

The old Auror then began passing out birdcages with stuffed white owls in them. Harry balked once more. What was the point in this? Hedwig could more easily fly to the Burrow. He shared another concerned look with his female alter ego. He was about to voice this new objection as the group started heading for the door when another thought occurred to him.

“Wait, what about Disillusionment charms?” This finally caught everyone’s attention, and they stopped and turned back to Moody for a response.

“Not necessary,” he snapped, “Come on, we’re wasting time.” This response generated some frowns, particularly from Tonks and Remus, who also remembered the flight two years previously and shared a look of concern.

“Something is very wrong here,” Harry whispered to Hermione, who nodded again. He looked back up to see Moody glaring at him while he reached for his hip flask to take another swig. It was his one of his trademark actions, which Harry had observed countless times in past years …

Suddenly he caught his breath and paled. “Cover me!” he hissed to Hermione whose eyes went wide, although she quickly complied and slipped away from him.

“Stop!” Harry demanded as he withdrew his wand and stepped forward. Moody’s reaction was instantaneous as he quickly pocketed his hip flask while his own wand appeared in his other hand.

“What advice did you give me?” Harry nearly shouted, fighting to calm his nerves and keep his wand steady. Moody’s magical eye whirled in its socket once then narrowed, along with his regular eye, as he stared at Harry. Then he chuckled loudly.

“Good, Potter, good work. Constant Vigilance, right?” He paused for moment, as though expecting that response to be sufficient. When Harry didn’t budge, he continued with some irritation. “You need a more specific question than that, though. When did I give you this advice?”

“During the tournament,” Harry responded quickly. “For the first task.”

More uneasy glances were exchanged among the others in the room. “Uh, Harry?” Ron-Harry began. Harry flicked his free hand at his best mate in a dismissive motion.

“That was two bloody years ago, lad … but … I suppose I told you to use your broom, didn’t I?” Moody replied. His wand stayed on alert, and his magical eye spun once more before resting on Harry again.

Harry suddenly relaxed and broke into a grin. “That’s right. You told me to play to my strength.” The tension in the room eased, but not entirely as several more puzzled expressions appeared.

“But …” Ron-Harry began again. Before he could finish the objection a heavy object flew into Moody’s head from behind, even as Remus sprang forward with the fireplace poker in his hand, and the room erupted into chaos.

“Stop!” Harry yelled at the top of his lungs. “Everybody freeze! Now!”

Moody had slumped to the floor, unconscious, while Remus stood over him threateningly. Several of the onlookers had latched onto their neighbors in suspicion, while Shacklebolt had one of the Harrys in a headlock, his wand at his throat. Everyone turned to the Harry who had shouted, the beginnings of panic in some of their eyes.

“Let her go!” Harry shouted. There was initially some confusion at this instruction, since Tonks was the only female in the room, and she was standing by Remus with her wand out, darting her eyes in several directions. Gradually it was understood by everyone that this demand was directed at Shacklebolt and his captive.

“Not until we get this sorted out,” the tall black Auror snapped. “For starters, who are you?”

“I’m the real Harry,” Harry declared, and raised his holly wand up high in proof. Bolstering his claim, Hedwig, who had flown clear of the bedlam and was perched on the fireplace mantle, immediately soared over to her master and alighted on his shoulder. The others in the room relaxed somewhat, as they all realized that a familiar as clever as this snowy owl would not be fooled by Polyjuice.

“And who’s this, then,” Shacklebolt snarled next, only slightly mollified. “And what’s this all about?”

“I’m Hermione,” the figure he had subdued panted.

“Prove it,” he demanded.

Tonks, who had been watching intently, caught a glimpse of a red strap where the collar of Hermione-Harry’s shirt had been stretched out from Shacklebolt’s not so tender grasp. “That’s Hermione all right,” she confirmed.

“How do you know?” he challenged.

“She’s wearing a bra, Shack,” the pink haired Auror responded, as a small smile flickered across her face. “Now this,” she continued as her expression hardened again, turning back to the unconscious figure at her feet, “Is evidently not Mad-Eye Moody.”

“Harry?” Ron-Harry broke in. “What were you on about? The Moody at Hogwarts for the Tournament was a fake!”

“That’s right,” Harry replied grimly, as Hermione-Harry, finally released by Shacklebolt, rejoined him. “And most of the people in this room know that. But hardly anyone else does. The Ministry covered it up. And Voldemort didn’t let his Death Eaters in on it either. Only Wormtail and Crouch knew about the plan in advance. In the graveyard when the others showed up he just referred to ‘his loyal servant at Hogwarts’. And after I escaped, I don’t reckon he was in much of a mood to explain it either.”

“So how did you …?”

“The real Moody would never have overlooked something like Disillusionment charms,” Harry answered. “And then when I saw him about to take a drink from that hip flask it jogged my memory of all the times I saw the imposter do that at Hogwarts, when he was renewing his Polyjuice Potion.”

“Harry alerted me and I discretely moved around behind Moo … whoever this is, which was not too difficult because it was hard for him to keep track of all the different Harrys,” Hermione-Harry added. I noticed that Tower of London souvenir paperweight on the end table and waited until his magical eye was focused on Harry, then knocked him out with it.” He/she glanced over at their other former Defense professor, still on guard with the poker. “It looks like Remus had the same idea.”

“I always hated that paperweight,” Harry muttered. “Dudley used to threaten me with it. Glad to see you put it to good use.”

“Nice throw,” Ron-Harry noted approvingly, but with some surprise.

“Well, I have been playing quidditch all year, you know,” Hermione-Harry reminded him with a touch of pride. “Since I’m not the best flyer around, I spent a lot of time practicing my throwing accuracy.” He/she glanced around and frowned, then scanned the room again more intently.

“So now what do we do?” one of the twins asked. Several people began making suggestions.

“Wait a minute,” Hermione-Harry interrupted. “We’re one Harry short.”

Ron, Fred, George, and Fleur quickly identified themselves, and the group concluded that Mundungus had done a runner during the confusion.

“Nothing we can do about that now,” Harry decided, taking control of the situation again. “What about this guy?” He gestured to the imposter.

“First, we need to restrain him for when he wakes up,” Tonks pointed out. “But we still can’t use magic here. Do you have any ropes in the house?”

“Not that I can think of,” Harry mused. “Maybe something similar …”

“How about electrical cords?” Hermione-Harry suggested, gesturing at a lamp that had been knocked over. He/she glanced around the room to see if there were any longer ones, also taking the opportunity for a quick inspection of its other occupants. It was noteworthy that the only three people saying anything were the ones who were most familiar with the muggle environment. The rest of them were standing around uncomfortably, not knowing what to do if they couldn’t use magic.

“There are some extension cords in the garage,” Harry remembered. “Those should work.” Hermione-Harry hurried out to get them, while Hagrid was summoned in from the back garden so that they could all figure out what to do next.

Harry really took charge after that. There was some resistance from the older members of the Order, like Shacklebolt and Mr. Weasley, and Bill didn’t seem completely comfortable with it either, but everyone else deferred to his leadership, so they didn’t have much choice.

We had to assume that there were Death Eaters waiting for us just outside the protection of the blood wards, so the first thing he did was have us consider alternative escape routes. The Knight Bus was suggested, but it would have been targeted immediately when it popped into existence beside the house. Muggle transportation would have been better, but still risky. We might have escaped unseen, but if the Death Eaters had noticed we would have been sitting ducks. They could have blown up a car with us inside it. One thing that Harry didn’t even mention was that he could have walked out under his invisibility cloak and escaped easily, but I knew there was no way he’d leave the others, so I didn’t bother to bring that up.

Once we decided to stay with the original modes of transportation, he made some critical changes. First, he announced that he’d fly on his own broom, not as a passenger on the motorcycle. There were initially some objections to that, but no one could find fault with his reasons. For one thing, the only way we could transport our prisoner was in the motorcycle sidecar. (During our discussion the fake Moody’s Polyjuice wore off and he turned out to be a Death Eater named Selwyn.) For another, we had to assume that the entire operation had been compromised, and that the Death Eaters knew that he was the intended passenger of the motorcycle. But the clincher was when he asked if any of us thought that any Death Eater could outfly him on his Firebolt. Of course, no one did.

The loss of Moody and Mundungus meant that one of the brooms was freed up. Things were further shaken up when I let it be known that I was going to ride with Harry. He started to object, but then saw the look in my eye and relented. I was not about to let him out of my sight on this one. I convinced the others by pointing out that one Harry on a broom by himself would be too obvious a target. That got us thinking about how to mix up the original plan to maximize the confusion among the Death Eaters.

With a little more brainstorming, the escape plan was revised. Shacklebolt would take off on his thestral first, alone, which would start them wondering what was going on. Next, five brooms, not four, would take to the air, all heading off in different directions, as planned, with different combinations of occupants. Tonks would morph into a copy of Harry, so we were back to seven again, and would fly with Remus. Ron would fly with Arthur, and Fred and George, still looking like Harry, would fly out solo. So one broom would have two Harrys, two would have one Harry each, and two would have one Harry riding with one non-Harry. By this time the Death Eaters would be completely perplexed, and would probably split up to follow several different brooms. Finally the motorcycle (with no Harrys aboard) and the remaining thestral would take off. (It was agreed by everyone that all Death Eaters would most likely be able to see thestrals.)

Harry still wanted everyone to be disillusioned, but it was pointed out that that would defeat the purposes of the switches. We finally agreed to start out disillusioned until someone was spotted, then to drop the spells, which would throw the Death Eaters all into disarray. Before we left, Harry sent Hedwig to the Burrow (which was still our ultimate destination) with a message that let them know that the plan had been found out, and we were changing it, and to be on their guard in case the Death Eaters came there looking for us. He also told her to stay low, and keep to the trees as much as possible. Despite the seriousness of the situation, I had to smile at her reaction. She gave him a look as though she was insulted that he would try to tell her how to do her job. Harry just chuckled and ruffled her feathers, and she nipped at his fingers before she made a noise that sounded like a little huff and took off. We watched out the window as she disappeared like a ghost into the night, and let out a sigh of relief when no spells came shooting her way.

I once read a military saying that no plan survives the first contact with the enemy. Well, ours lasted a bit longer than that.

Once everyone had their assignments, Harry opened his trunk and pulled out his rucksack, then began loading essentials into it. In went the boxed up pensieve, and more boxes of memories. Then several books and stacks of parchment began to follow.

“Can you take some of this stuff, Hermione?” he asked, unaware of the astonished looks he was getting. Hermione-Harry quickly moved to his side and opened her small handbag and began loading it up as well.

“How …?” the twins began in unison. Ron-Harry had a broad grin on his face, and Remus and Tonks shared a smile as well.

“Cleverest witch of her age, that’s how,” the youngest Weasley son explained proudly to his brothers. “Extension charm, lightening charm, and who knows what else.” One of the Harrys transferring the books blushed at this praise, while the other beamed with pride. It wasn’t difficult to determine which was which.

“OK, that should do it,” Harry finally decided, leaving most of his ordinary books and all of his clothing in the trunk. These could all be replaced if necessary. Soon they were outside mounting their brooms and the thestrals, while Hagrid fired up the old motorcycle.

“Is that …?” Harry wondered, as he stowed his trunk in the sidecar. Hagrid answered before he could even finish the question.

“Yep. Sirius’s own. The very same one I brungyeh here on all those years ago,” Hagrid stated proudly. “Beauty innit?” Harry frowned in thought before turning to Remus.

“Wouldn’t Sirius have had a silencing option on this?” he asked.

“Sure,” the former Marauder responded, hurrying over to the gleaming black machine.

“And how about an Invisibility Booster?” Harry added. “Mr. Weasley had one on his car.” Large grins lit up the faces of the four Weasley boys at the look of chagrin on their father at those words. Remus reached toward the controls and pushed one button that quieted the roar from the engine, and another that caused the entire machine to vanish, then flicker back into existence before disappearing again.

“These things are tricky,” Remus muttered. “And it will probably fail at the worst possible time.” Harry nodded, recalling his and Ron’s journey to Hogwarts where the invisibility control on the old Ford Anglia had given out after a few minutes.

The last thing they did before leaving was to apply the Disillusionment charms. They knew this would generate a response from the Ministry, but expected to be long gone before the owl, possibly accompanied by Aurors, arrived.

As expected, a swarm of a dozen or more Death Eaters appeared in the sky as soon as Shacklebolt’s thestral cleared the rooftops, but they ignored it as it sped by. For good measure Kingsley got off a few well-aimed stunners to make them pay for their indifference, and two of their opponents dropped from the air. Before they could hit the ground, reinforcements were already arriving, and several of these broke off to collect their comrades.

Once the five brooms, barely visible as ripples in the air, caught the enemy’s attention, all hell broke loose, particularly when they all became visible simultaneously and the Death Eaters realized that things were not what they expected. With little time to think about it, three or four of the flying black-cloaked figures pursued each of the broomsticks, shouting out to their companions in dismay while trying to catch up with the fleeing Harrys. In this confusion, the final thestral with Bill and Fleur soared through an opening and was away almost before the remaining enemy fliers were aware of their presence. At the same time Hagrid ran the motorcycle along Privet Drive until he reached the end of the street, and only then launched into the sky. For several minutes, it appeared that everyone would make it to safety.

Unfortunately, Remus’s words proved prophetic, as the motorcycle, which Hagrid had stealthily steered in the opposite direction of the last thestral, suddenly popped into view as the invisibility charm flickered out again. Far above the whole tableau, where he had easily outdistanced his pursuers, Harry spotted this mishap and shouted out in dismay.

“Hagrid!” Without another thought he pulled his Firebolt into a tight loop and shot back straight at his startled pursuit.

“Harry, no!” Hermione cried. “You have to get to safety!”

“I’ve got to, Hermione,” he shot back. “I just …” But she already knew. This was what made Harry Potter who he was, and was one of the things about him that made her love him so much.

“I know,” she leaned up close and breathed into his ear. “Just get us out of this alive.” She then trained her wand on the closest target.

“Stupefy!” They were now upon their trailing opponents, who though caught by surprise, managed to split apart and shield themselves from the red streaks of light.

“Blow the brooms out from under them!” Harry shouted to her. “Each one without a broom will take two out of action.” Suddenly he felt the copy of his body behind him tighten against his own.

“Sticking charm,” she answered before he could ask. “Now you can do as many crazy stunts as you want to and I won’t fall off.” Harry nodded and immediately pushed the broom into a barrel roll followed by a power dive, while Hermione sent back two nonverbal explosion hexes at the Death Eaters who had regrouped and were now chasing them again. To her satisfaction, one of the brooms blew apart into splinters and twigs, causing another rider to break off to rescue its former occupant.

Below them Hagrid was pouring on all the speed the old bike could muster, while doing some maneuvering of his own, but it was only a matter of time before one of the green streaks flying at him connected. To their advantage, however, none of the enemy had spotted the attackers coming down on them from above.

To maintain this advantage, the two Gryffindors held their fire until they were within point blank range, then let fly with nonverbal hexes, catching their opponents completely by surprise. Within seconds, four Death Eaters were flailing in midair, screaming for aid, while the pair of rescuers flashed right through their pack like a hawk disrupting a flock of birds.

“This one is Potter!” a familiar voice shouted from one of the black cloaks. “Playing the hero as always!” An inverted loop brought Harry and Hermione once more behind their enemies, and two more dropped to Hermione’s accurate spellcasting before another roll brought them upright again. This time Harry laid down a barrage of Confringo hexes before sideslipping his broom and spinning away once more. He found himself heading right for the leader of this group, who he’d immediately recognized as Snape from the previous comment.

Two quick hexes headed right at them, somewhat to their surprise, but one impacted harmlessly on Hermione’s shield while the other flashed by overhead, resulting in a scream of pain as it hit one of the Death Eaters behind them. Harry smiled grimly and gave the briefest of nods to his former potions professor as they passed by each other in the blink of an eye.

By now Hagrid and the motorcycle were only a small speck on the horizon, virtually invisible in the dark sky, and Harry once more accelerated to full speed, intent on leaving this battle as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t over yet. Just as Harry thought they were in the clear a searing pain shot through his scar, and he instinctively swerved the broom, causing Hermione to shriek as a green flash shot through the space they had just occupied.

“Harry! It’s Voldemort!” she screamed, confirming what he already knew. “And he’s … he’s flying!”

Harry’s first thought was escape, but the dark lord could not be shaken, and his curses came closer and closer, one of them finally shattering Hermione’s shield charm and knocking them both off balance for an instant. Harry regained control of the Firebolt just in time to dodge yet another killing curse.

“He’s using small apparation jumps to cut us off each time you get away from him!” Hermione shouted before sending a series of blasting hexes at the now quite literal ‘Flight of Death’ behind them, who easily blocked her attack. Fortunately, it at least bought them some time to gather themselves.

“I’m going to try to lock up our wands again,” Harry shouted back to Hermione as he brought the broom around to face their nemesis. “As soon as that happens, blast him with everything you’ve got. I know we can’t kill him, but try to injure him badly enough that we can get away.”

He felt Hermione’s answering nod against his back and aimed his wand carefully. He needed his spell to connect with one of Voldemort’s and he intended to cast his disarming hex nonverbally in an attempt to surprise his foe.

The surprise was on the two Gryffindors, however. Harry’s Expelliarmus passed right by the streak of light that Voldemort launched at them next, and Hermione only just managed to get a shield up in time to partially block the bone shattering curse. Harry winced in pain as part of it deflected into his shoulder, and heard Hermione cry out behind him as well. But he managed to keep his focus on his enemy and saw his own hex connect, and to his amazement Voldemort’s wand flew out of his grasp.

Harry, struggling to steer with his wand hand and his knees, managed to get the Firebolt to respond as he tracked down the spinning sliver of wood and somehow was able to snag the deadly weapon before Voldemort could reclaim it. Another burst of speed increased the separation between the combatants, and the two students turned to see the dark lord regarding them warily.

Wiping blood out of her eyes with one hand, and ignoring the sharp pain in her leg, Hermione sent yet another series of blasting hexes his way, mixing in every variety she knew, and was rewarded by the sight of their hated foe dodging away in desperation, now defenseless without his wand. Realizing his plight, Voldemort quickly retreated toward his followers, who had been left far behind during the high speed running battle which had just taken place.

For an instant, Harry was tempted to pursue, and land a crippling blow on his sworn enemy, but quickly realized that he and Hermione would soon be outnumbered again, and now they were both injured.

“Let’s get out of here,” came her advice in his ear.

“Good idea,” he responded simply, and he once more took his trusty Firebolt up to top speed and streaked away from the battlefield.

-xox-XOX-XOX-xox-