Mrs. Weasley smiled tremulously.
“Being silly,” she muttered again, mopping her eyes.
But Harry, closing his bedroom door behind him some ten minutes later, could not think Mrs. Weasley silly. He could still see his parents beaming up at him from the tattered old photograph, unaware that their lives, like so many of those around them, were drawing to a close. The image of the Boggart posing as the corpse of each member of Mrs. Weasley’s family in turn kept flashing before his eyes.
Without warning, the scar on his forehead seared with pain again and his stomach churned horribly.
“Cut it out,” he said firmly, rubbing the scar as the pain receded.
“First sigh of madness, talking to your own head,” said a sly voice from the empty picture on the wall.
Harry ignored it. He felt older than he had ever felt in his lite and it seemed extraordinary to him that barely an hour ago he had been worried about a joke shop and who had got a prefect’s badge.
10. LUNA LOVEGOOD
Harry had a troubled night’s sleep. His parents wove in and out of his dreams, never speaking; Mrs. Weasley sobbed over Kreacher’s dead body, watched by Ron and Hermione who were wearing crowns, and yet again Harry found himself walking down a corridor ending in a locked door. He awoke abruptly with his scar prickling to find Ron already dressed and talking to him.
“…better hurry up, Mum’s going ballistic, she says we’re going to miss the tram—”
There was a lot of commotion in the house. From what he heard as he dressed at top speed, Harry gathered that Fred and George had bewitched their trunks to fly downstairs to save the bother of carrying them, with the result that they had hurtled straight into Ginny and knocked her down two flights of stairs into the hall; Mrs. Black and Mrs. Weasley were both screaming at the top of their voices.
“—COULD HAVE DONE HER A SERIOUS INJURY, YOU IDIOTS—”
“—FILTHY HALF-BREEDS, BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS—”
Hermione came hurrying into the room looking flustered, just as Harry was putting on his trainers. Hedwig was swaying on her shoulder, and she was carrying a squirming Crookshanks in her arms.
“Mum and Dad just sent Hedwig back.” The owl fluttered obligingly over and perched on top of her cage. “Are you ready yet?”
“Nearly. Is Ginny all right?” Harry asked, shoving on his glasses.
“Mrs. Weasley’s patched her up,” said Hermione. “But now Mad-Eye’s complaining that we can’t leave unless Sturgis Podmore’s here, otherwise the guard will be one short.”
“Guard?” said Harry. “We have to go to King’s Cross with a guard?”
“You have to go to King’s Cross with a guard,” Hermione corrected him.
“Why?” said Harry irritably. “I thought Voldemort was supposed to be lying low, or are you telling me he’s going to jump out from behind a dustbin to try and do me in?”
“I don’t know, it’s just what Mad-Eye says,” said Hermione distractedly, looking at her watch, “but if we don’t leave soon we’re definitely going to miss the train…”
“WILL YOU LOT GET DOWN HERE NOW, PLEASE!” Mrs. Weasley bellowed and Hermione jumped as though scalded and hurried out of the room. Harry seized Hedwig, stuffed her unceremoniously into her cage, and set off downstairs after Hermione, dragging his trunk.
Mrs. Black’s portrait was howling with rage but nobody was bothering to close the curtains over her; all the noise in the hall was bound to rouse her again, anyway.
“Harry, you’re to come with me and Tonks,” shouted Mrs. Weasley—over the repeated screeches of “MUDBLOODS! SCUM! CREATURES OF DIRT!”—“Leave your trunk and your owl, Alastor’s going to deal with the luggage… oh, for heaven’s sake, Sirius, Dumbledore said no!”
A bear-like black dog had appeared at Harry’s side as he was clambering over the various trunks cluttering the hall to get to Mrs. Weasley.
“Oh honestly…” said Mrs. Weasley despairingly. “Well, on your own head be it!”
She wrenched open the front door and stepped out into the weak September sunlight. Harry and the dog followed her. The door slammed behind them and Mrs. Black’s screeches were cut off instantly.
“Where’s Tonks?” Harry said, looking round as they went down the stone steps of number twelve, which vanished the moment they reached the pavement.
“She’s waiting for us just up here,” said Mrs. Weasley stiffly, averting her eyes from the lolloping black dog beside Harry.
An old woman greeted them on the corner. She had tightly curled grey hair and wore a purple hat shaped like a pork pie.
“Wotcher, Harry,” she said, winking. “Better hurry up, hadn’t we, Molly?” she added, checking her watch.
“I know, I know,” moaned Mrs. Weasley, lengthening her stride, “but Mad-Eye wanted to wait for Sturgis… if only Arthur could have got us cars from the Ministry again… but Fudge won’t let him borrow so much as an empty ink bottle these days… how Muggles can stand travelling without magic—”
But the great black dog gave a joyful bark and gambolled around them, snapping at pigeons and chasing its own tail. Harry couldn’t help laughing. Sirius had been trapped inside for a very long time. Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips in an almost Aunt Petunia-ish way.
It took them twenty minutes to reach King’s Cross on foot and nothing more eventful happened during that time than Sirius scaring a couple of cats for Harry’s entertainment. Once inside the station they lingered casually beside the barrier between platforms nine and ten until the coast was clear, then each of them leaned against it in turn and fell easily through on to platform nine and three-quarters, where the Hogwarts Express stood belching sooty steam over a platform packed with departing students and their families. Harry inhaled the familiar smell and felt his spirits soar… he was really going back…
“I hope the others make it in time,” said Mrs. Weasley anxiously, staring behind her at the wrought-iron arch spanning the platform, through which new arrivals would come.
“Nice dog, Harry!” called a tall boy with dreadlocks.
“Thanks, Lee,” said Harry, grinning, as Sirius wagged his tail frantically.
“Oh good,” said Mrs. Weasley, sounding relieved, “here’s Alastor with the luggage, look…”
A porter’s cap pulled low over his mismatched eyes, Moody came limping through the archway pushing a trolley loaded with their trunks.
“All OK,” he muttered to Mrs. Weasley and Tonks, “don’t think we were followed…”
Seconds later, Mr. Weasley emerged on to the platform with Ron and Hermione. They had almost unloaded Moody’s luggage trolley when Fred, George and Ginny turned up with Lupin.
“No trouble?” growled Moody.
“Nothing,” said Lupin.
“I’ll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore,” said Moody, “that’s the second time he’s not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus.”
“Well, look after yourselves,” said Lupin, shaking hands all round. He reached Harry last and gave him a clap on the shoulder. “You too, Harry. Be careful.”
“Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled,” said Moody, shaking Harry’s hand too. “And don’t forget, all of you—careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don’t put it in a letter at all.”
“It’s been great meeting all of you,” said Tonks, hugging Hermione and Ginny. “We’ll see you soon, I expect.”
A warning whistle sounded; the students still on the platform started hurrying on to the train.
“Quick, quick,” said Mrs. Weasley distractedly, hugging them at random and catching Harry twice. “Write… be good… if you’ve forgotten anything we’ll send it on… on to the train, now, hurry…”