“It’s not a problem, just keep flying!” Harry shouted back, as two more Death Eaters emerged out of the darkness, drawing closer.
As the curses came shooting across the intervening space again, Hagrid swerved and zigzagged. Harry knew that Hagrid did not dare use the dragon-fire button again, with Harry seated so insecurely. Harry sent Stunning Spell after Stunning Spell back at their pursuers, barely holding them off. He shot another blocking jinx at them: The closest Death Eater swerved to avoid it and his hood slipped, and by the red light of his next Stunning Spell, Harry saw the strangely blank face of Stanley Shunpike—Stan—
“Expelliarmus!” Harry yelled.
“That’s him, it’s him, it’s the real one!”
The hooded Death Eater’s shout reached Harry even above the thunder of the motorbike’s engine. Next moment, both pursuers had fallen back and disappeared from view.
“Harry, what’s happened?” bellowed Hagrid. “Where’ve they gone?”
“I don’t know!”
But Harry was afraid: The hooded Death Eater had shouted, “It’s the real one!”; how had he known? He gazed around at the apparently empty darkness and felt its menace. Where were they?
He clambered around on the seat to face forward and seized hold of the back of Hagrid’s jacket.
“Hagrid, do the dragon-fire thing again, let’s get out of here!”
“Hold on tight, then, Harry!”
There was a deafening, screeching roar again and the white-blue fire shot from the exhaust. Harry felt himself slipping backwards off what little of the seat he had. Hagrid flung backward upon him, barely maintaining his grip on the handlebars—
“I think we’ve lost ’em, Harry, I think we’ve done it!” yelled Hagrid.
But Harry was not convinced. Fear lapped at him as he looked left and right for pursuers he was sure would come… Why had they fallen back? One of them had still had a wand… It’s him… it’s the real one… They had said it right after he had tried to Disarm Stan…
“We’re nearly there, Harry, we’ve nearly made it!” shouted Hagrid.
Harry felt the bike drop a little, though the lights down on the ground still seemed remote as stars.
Then the scar on his forehead burned like fire: as a Death Eater appeared on either side of the bike, two Killing Curses missed Harry by millimeters, cast from behind—
And then Harry saw him. Voldemort was flying like smoke on the wind, without broomstick or thestral to hold him, his snake-like face gleaming out of the blackness, his white fingers raising his wand again—
Hagrid let out a bellow of fear and steered the motorbike into a vertical dive. Clinging on for dear life, Harry sent Stunning Spells flying at random into the whirling night. He saw a body fly past him and knew he had hit one of them, but then he heard a bang and saw sparks from the engine; the motorbike spiraled through the air, completely out of control—
Green jets of light shot past them again. Harry had no idea which way was up, which down. His scar was still burning; he expected to die at any second. A hooded figure on a broomstick was feet from him, he saw it raise its arm—
“NO!”
With a shout of fury Hagrid launched himself off the bike at the Death Eater; to his horror, Harry saw both Hagrid and the Death Eater, falling out of sight, their combined weight too much for the broomstick—
Barely gripping the plummeting bike with his knees, Harry heard Voldemort scream, “Mine!”
It was over: He could not see or hear where Voldemort was; he glimpsed another Death Eater swooping out of the way and heard, “Avada—”
As the pain from Harry’s scar forced his eyes shut, his wand acted of its own accord. He felt it drag his hand around like some great magnet, saw a spurt of golden fire through his half-closed eyelids, heard a crack and a scream of fury. The remaining Death Eater yelled; Voldemort screamed, “NO!” Somehow, Harry found his nose an inch from the dragon-fire button. He punched it with his wand-free hand and the bike shot more flames into the air, hurtling straight toward the ground.
“Hagrid!” Harry called, holding on to the bike for dear life. “Hagrid—Accio Hagrid!”
The motorbike sped up, sucked towards the earth. Face level with the handlebars, Harry could see nothing but distant lights growing nearer and nearer: He was going to crash and there was nothing he could do about it. Behind him came another scream, “Your wand, Selwyn, give me your wand!”
He felt Voldemort before he saw him. Looking sideways, he stared into the red eyes and was sure they would be the last thing he ever saw: Voldemort preparing to curse him once more—
And then Voldemort vanished. Harry looked down and saw Hagrid spread-eagled on the ground below him. He pulled hard at the handlebars to avoid hitting him, groped for the brake, but with an earsplitting, ground trembling crash, he smashed into a muddy pond.
5. FALLEN WARRIOR
“Hagrid?”
Harry struggled to raise himself out of the debris of metal and leather that surrounded him; his hands sank into inches of muddy water as he tried to stand. He could not understand where Voldemort had gone and expected him to swoop out of the darkness at any moment. Something hot and wet was trickling down his chin and from his forehead. He crawled out of the pond and stumbled toward the great dark mass on the ground that was Hagrid.
“Hagrid? Hagrid, talk to me—”
But the dark mass did not stir.
“Who’s there? Is it Potter? Are you Harry Potter?”
Harry did not recognize the man’s voice. Then a woman shouted.
“They’ve crashed, Ted! Crashed in the garden!”
Harry’s head was swimming.
“Hagrid,” he repeated stupidly, and his knees buckled.
The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back on what felt like cushions, with a burning sensation in his ribs and right arm. His missing tooth had been regrown. The scar on his forehead was still throbbing.
“Hagrid?”
He opened his eyes and saw that he was lying on a sofa in an unfamiliar, lamplit sitting room. His rucksack lay on the floor a short distance away, wet and muddy. A fair-haired, big-bellied man was watching Harry anxiously.
“Hagrid’s fine, son,” said the man, “the wife’s seeing to him now. How are you feeling? Anything else broken? I’ve fixed your ribs, your tooth, and your arm. I’m Ted, by the way, Ted Tonks—Dora’s father.”
Harry sat up too quickly. Lights popped in front of his eyes and he felt sick and giddy.
“Voldemort—”
“Easy, now,” said Ted Tonks, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder and pushing him back against the cushions. “That was a nasty crash you just had. What happened, anyway? Something go wrong with the bike? Arthur Weasley overstretch himself again, him and his Muggle contraptions?”
“No,” said Harry, as his scar pulsed like an open wound. “Death Eaters, loads of them—we were chased—”
“Death Eaters?” said Ted sharply. “What d’you mean, Death Eaters? I thought they didn’t know you were being moved tonight, I thought—”
“They knew,” said Harry.
Ted Tonks looked up at the ceiling as though he could see through it to the sky above.
“Well, we know our protective charms hold, then, don’t we? They shouldn’t be able to get within a hundred yards of the place in any direction.”
Now Harry understood why Voldemort had vanished; it had been at the point when the motorbike crossed the barrier of the Order’s charms. He only hoped they would continue to work. He imagined Voldemort, a hundred yards above them as they spoke, looking for a way to penetrate what Harry visualized as a great transparent bubble.
He swung his legs off the sofa; he needed to see Hagrid with his own eyes before he would believe that he was alive. He had barely stood up, however, when a door opened and Hagrid squeezed through it, his face covered in mud and blood, limping a little but miraculously alive.
“Harry!” Knocking over two delicate tables and an aspidistra, he covered the floor between them in two strides and pulled Harry into a hug that nearly cracked his newly repaired ribs. “Blimey, Harry, how did yeh get out o’ that? I thought we were both goners.”