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 Harry picked up Hedwig’s cage, his Firebolt, and his rucksack, gave his
unnaturally tidy bedroom one last sweeping look, and then made his ungainly way back
downstairs to the hall, where he deposited cage, broomstick, and bag near the foot of the
stairs. The light was fading rapidly, the hall full of shadows in the evening light. It felt
most strange to stand here in the silence and know that he was about to leave the house
for the last time. Long ago, when he had been left alone while the Dursleys went out to
enjoy themselves, the hours of solitude had been a rare treat. Pausing only to sneak
something tasty from the fridge, he had rushed upstairs to play on Dudley’s computer, or
put on the television and flicked through the channels to his heart’s content. It gave him
an odd, empty feeling remembering those times; it was like remembering a younger
brother whom he had lost.

 “Don’t you want to take a last look at the place?” he asked Hedwig, who was still
sulking with her head under her wing. “We’ll never be here again. Don’t you want to
remember all the good times? I mean, look at this doormat. What memories … Dudley
sobbed on it after I saved him from the dementors … Turns out he was grateful after all,
can you believe it? … And last summer, Dumbledore walked through that front door … “

 Harry lost the thread of his thoughts for a moment and Hedwig did nothing to
help him retrieve it, but continued to sit with her head under her wing. Harry turned his
back on the front door.

 “And under here, Hedwig” – Harry pulled open a door under the stairs – “is where
I used to sleep! You never knew me then – Blimey, it’s small, I’d forgotten … “

 Harry looked around at the stacked shoes and umbrellas remembering how he
used to wake every morning looking up at the underside of the staircase, which was more
often than not adorned with a spider or two. Those had been the days before he had
known anything about his true identity; before he had found out how his parents had died
or why such strange things often happened around him. But Harry could still remember
the dreams that had dogged him, even in those days: confused dreams involving flashes
of green light and once – Uncle Vernon had nearly crashed the car when Harry had
recounted it – a flying motorbike …

 There was a sudden, deafening roar from somewhere nearby. Harry straightened
up with a jerk and smacked the top of his head on the low door frame. Pausing only to
employ a few of Uncle Vernon’s choicest swear words, he staggered back into the
kitchen, clutching his head and staring out of the window into the back garden.

 The darkness seemed to be rippling, the air itself quivering. Then, one by one,
figures began to pop into sight as their Disillusionment Charms lifted. Dominating the
scene was Hagrid, wearing a helmet and goggles and sitting astride an enormous
motorbike with a black sidecar attached. All around him other people were dismounting
from brooms and, in two cases, skeletal, black winged horses.

 Wrenching open the back door, Harry hurtled into their midst. There was a
general cry of greeting as Hermione flung her arms around him, Ron clapped him on the
back, and Hagrid said, “All righ’, Harry? Ready fer the off?”

 “Definitely,” said Harry, beaming around at them all. “But I wasn’t expecting this
many of you!”

 “Change of plan,” growled Mad-Eye, who was holding two enormous bulging
sacks, and whose magical eye was spinning from darkening sky to house to garden with
dizzying rapidity. “Let’s get undercover before we talk you through it.”

 Harry led them all back into the kitchen where, laughing and chattering, they
settled on chairs, sat themselves upon Aunt Petunia’s gleaming work surfaces, or leaned
up against her spotless appliances; Ron, long and lanky; Hermione, her bushy hair tied
back in a long plait; Fred and George, grinning identically; Bill, badly scarred and long-
haired; Mr. Weasley, kind-faced, balding, his spectacles a little awry; Mad-Eye, battle-
worn, one-legged, his bright blue magical eye whizzing in its socket; Tonks, whose short
hair was her favorite shade of bright pink; Lupin, grayer, more lined; Fleur, slender and
beautiful, with her long silvery blonde hair; Kingsley, bald and broad-shouldered; Hagrid,
with his wild hair and beard, standing hunchbacked to avoid hitting his head on the
ceiling; and Mundungus Fletcher, small, dirty, and hangdog, with his droopy beady
hound’s eyes and matted hair. Harry’s heart seemed to expand and glow at the sight: He

felt incredibly fond of all of them, even Mundungus, whom he had tried to strangle the
last time they had met.

 “Kingsley, I thought you were looking after the Muggle Prime Minister?” he
called across the room.

 “He can get along without me for one night,” said Kingsley, “You’re more
important.”

 “Harry, guess what?” said Tonks from her perch on top of the washing machine,
and she wiggled her left hand at him; a ring glistened there.

 “You got married?” Harry yelped, looking from her to Lupin.

 “I’m sorry you couldn’t be there, Harry, it was very quiet.”

 “That’s brilliant, congrat –“

 “All right, all right, we’ll have time for a cozy catch-up later,” roared Moody over
the hubbub, and silence fell in the kitchen. Moody dropped his sacks at his feet and
turned to Harry. “As Dedalus probably told you, we had to abandon Plan A. Pius
Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a big problem. He’s made it an imprisonable
offense to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here, or Apparate in or
out. All done in the name of your protection, to prevent You-Know-Who getting in at you.
Absolutely pointless, seeing as your mother’s charm does that already. What he’s really
done is to stop you getting out of here safely.”

 “Second problem: You’re underage, which means you’ve still got the Trace on
you.”

 “I don’t –“

 “The Trace, the Trace!” said Mad-Eye impatiently. “The charm that detects
magical activity around under-seventeens, the way the Ministry finds out about underage
magic! If you, or anyone around you, casts a spell to get you out of here, Thicknesse is
going to know about it, and so will the Death Eaters.”

 “We can’t wait for the Trace to break, because the moment you turn seventeen
you’ll lose all the protection your mother gave you. In short, Pius Thicknesse thinks he’s
got you cornered good and proper.”

 Harry could not help but agree with the unknown Thicknesse.

 “So what are we going to do?”

 “We’re going to use the only means of transport left to us, the only ones the Trace
can’t detect, because we don’t need to cast spells to use them: brooms, thestrals, and
Hagrid’s motorbike.”

 Harry could see flaws in this plan; however, he held his tongue to give Mad-Eye
the chance to address them.

 “Now, your mother’s charm will only break under two conditions: when you
come of age, or” – Moody gestured around the pristine kitchen – “you no longer call this
place home. You and your aunt and uncle are going your separate ways tonight, in the
full understanding that you’re never going to live together again, correct?”

 Harry nodded.

 “So this time, when you leave, there’ll be no going back, and the charm will break
the moment you get outside its range. We’re choosing to break it early, because the
alternative is waiting for You-Know-Who to come and seize you the moment you turn
seventeen.

 “The one thing we’ve got on our side is that You-Know-Who doesn’t know we’re
moving you tonight. We’ve leaked a fake trail to the Ministry: They think you’re not
leaving until the thirtieth. However, this is You-Know-Who we’re dealing with, so we
can’t rely on him getting the date wrong; he’s bound to have a couple of Death Eaters
patrolling the skies in this general area, just in case. So, we’ve given a dozen different
houses every protection we can throw at them. They all look like they could be the place
we’re going to hide you, they’ve all got some connection with the Order: my house,
Kingsley’s place, Molly’s Auntie Muriel’s – you get the idea.”

 “Yeah,” said Harry, not entirely truthfully, because he could still spot a gaping
hole in the plan.

 “You’ll be going to Tonks’s parents. Once you’re within the boundaries of the
protective enchantments we’ve put on their house you’ll be able to use a Portkey to the
Burrow. Any questions?”

 “Er – yes,” said Harry. “Maybe they won’t know which of the twelve secure
houses I’m heading for at first, but won’t it be sort of obvious once” – he performed a
quick headcount – “fourteen of us fly off toward Tonks’s parents?”

 “Ah,” said Moody, “I forgot to mention the key point. Fourteen of us won’t be
flying to Tonks’s parents. There will be seven Harry Potters moving through the skies
tonight, each of them with a companion, each pair heading for a different safe house.”

 From inside his cloak Moody now withdrew a flask of what looked like mud.
There was no need for him to say another word; Harry understood the rest of the plan
immediately.

 “No!” he said loudly, his voice ringing through the kitchen. “No way!”

 “I told them you’d take it like this,” said Hermione with a hint of complacency.

 “If you think I’m going to let six people risk their lives -- !”

 “—because it’s the first time for all of us,” said Ron.

 “This is different, pretending to be me –“

 “Well, none of us really fancy it, Harry,” said Fred earnestly. “Imagine if
something went wrong and we were stuck as specky, scrawny gits forever.”

 Harry did not smile.

 “You can’t do it if I don’t cooperate, you need me to give you some hair.”

 “Well, that’s the plan scuppered,” said George. “Obviously there’s no chance at
all of us getting a bit of your hair unless you cooperate.”

 “Yeah, thirteen of us against one bloke who’s not allowed to use magic; we’ve
got no chance,” said Fred.

 “Funny,” said Harry, “really amusing.”

 “If it has to come to force, then it will,” growled Moody, his magical eye now
quivering a little in its socket as he glared at Harry. “Everyone here’s overage, Potter, and
they’re all prepared to take the risk.”

 Mundungus shrugged and grimaced; the magical eye swerved sideways to glance
at him out of the side of Moody’s head.

 “Let’s have no more arguments. Time’s wearing on. I want a few of your hairs,
boy, now.”

 “But this is mad, there’s no need –“

 “No need!” snarled Moody. “With You-Know-Who out there and half the
Ministry on his side? Potter, if we’re lucky he’ll have swallowed the fake bait and he’ll

be planning to ambush you on the thirtieth, but he’d be mad not to have a Death Eater or
two keeping an eye out, it’s what I’d do. They might not be able to get at you or this
house while your mother’s charm holds, but it’s about to break and they know the rough
position of the place. Our only chance is to use decoys. Even You-Know-Who can’t split
himself into seven.”

 Harry caught Hermione’s eye and looked away at once.

 “So, Potter – some of your hair, if you please.”

 Harry glanced at Ron, who grimaced at him in a just-do-it sort of way.

 “Now!” barked Moody.

 With all of their eyes upon him, Harry reached up to the top of his head, grabbed
a hank of hair, and pulled.

 “Good,” said Moody, limping forward as he pulled the stopper out of the flask of
potion. “Straight in here, if you please.”

 Harry dropped the hair into the mudlike liquid. The moment it made contact with
its surface, the potion began to froth and smoke, then, all at once, it turned a clear, bright
gold.

 “Ooh, you look much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry,” said Hermione,
before catching sight of Ron’s raised eyebrows, blushing slightly, and saying, “Oh, you
know what I mean – Goyle’s potion tasted like bogies.”

 “Right then, fake Potters line up over here, please,” said Moody.

 Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Fleur lined up in front of Aunt Petunia’s
gleaming sink.

 “We’re one short,” said Lupin.

 “Here,” said Hagrid gruffly, and he lifted Mundungus by the scruff of the neck
and dropped him down beside Fleur, who wrinkled her nose pointedly and moved along
to stand between Fred and George instead.

 “I’m a soldier, I’d sooner be a protector,” said Mundungus.

 “Shut it,” growled Moody. “As I’ve already told you, you spineless worm, any
Death Eaters we run into will be aiming to capture Potter, not kill him. Dumbledore
always said You-Know-Who would want to finish Potter in person. It’ll be the protectors
who have got the most to worry about, the Death Eaters’ll want to kill them.”

 Mundungus did not look particularly reassured, but Moody was already pulling
half a dozen eggcup-sized glasses from inside his cloak, which he handed out, before
pouring a little Polyjuice Potion into each one.

 “Altogether, then … “

 Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Fleur, and Mundungus drank. All of them gasped
and grimaced as the potion hit their throats; At once, their features began to bubble and
distort like hot wax. Hermione and Mundungus were shooting upward; Ron, Fred, and
George were shrinking; their hair was darkening, Hermione’s and Fleur’s appearing to
shoot backward into their skulls.

 Moody, quite unconcerned, was now loosening the ties of the large sacks he had
brought with him. When he straightened up again, there were six Harry Potters gasping
and panting in front of him.

 Fred and George turned to each other and said together, “Wow – we’re identical!”

 “I dunno, though, I think I’m still better-looking,” said Fred, examining his
reflection in the kettle.

 “Bah,” said Fleur, checking herself in the microwave door, “Bill, don’t look at me
– I’m ‘ideous.”

 “Those whose clothes are a bit roomy, I’ve got smaller here,” said Moody,
indicating the first sack, “and vice versa. Don’t forget the glasses, there’s six pairs in the
side pocket. And when you’re dressed, there’s luggage in the other sack.”

 The real Harry thought that this might just be the most bizarre thing he had ever
seen, and he had seen some extremely odd things. He watched as his six doppelgangers
rummaged in the sacks, pulling out sets of clothes, putting on glasses, stuffing their own
things away. He felt like asking them to show a little more respect for privacy as they all
began stripping off with impunity, clearly more at ease with displaying his body than
they would have been with their own.

 “I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo,” said Ron, looking down at his bare
chest.