“‘Harry is the best hope we have. Trust him,’” said Lupin calmly.
Kingsley turned his wand on Harry, but Lupin said, “It’s him, I’ve checked!”
“All right, all right!” said Kingsley, stowing his wand back beneath his cloak. “But somebody betrayed us! They knew, they knew it was tonight!”
“So it seems,” replied Lupin, “but apparently they did not realize that there would be seven Harrys.”
“Small comfort!” snarled Kingsley. “Who else is back?”
“Only Harry, Hagrid, George, and me.”
Hermione stifled a little moan behind her hand.
“What happened to you?” Lupin asked Kingsley.
“Followed by five, injured two, might’ve killed one,” Kingsley reeled off, “and we saw You-Know-Who as well, he joined the chase halfway through but vanished pretty quickly. Remus, he can —”
“Fly,” supplied Harry. “I saw him too, he came after Hagrid and me.”
“So that’s why he left, to follow you!” said Kingsley. “I couldn’t understand why he’d vanished. But what made him change targets?”
“Harry behaved a little too kindly to Stan Shunpike,” said Lupin.
“Stan?” repeated Hermione. “But I thought he was in Azkaban?”
Kingsley let out a mirthless laugh.
“Hermione, there’s obviously been a mass breakout which the Ministry has hushed up. Travers’s hood fell off when I cursed him, he’s supposed to be inside too. But what happened to you, Remus? Where’s George?”
“He lost an ear,” said Lupin.
“Lost an — ?” repeated Hermione in a high voice.
“Snape’s work,” said Lupin.
“Snape?” shouted Harry. “You didn’t say —”
“He lost his hood during the chase. Sectumsempra was always a speciality of Snape’s. I wish I could say I’d paid him back in kind, but it was all I could do to keep George on the broom after he was injured, he was losing so much blood.”
Silence fell between the four of them as they looked up at the sky. There was no sign of movement; the stars stared back, unblinking, indifferent, unobscured by flying friends. Where was Ron? Where were Fred and Mr. Weasley? Where were Bill, Fleur, Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus?
“Harry, give us a hand!” called Hagrid hoarsely from the door, in which he was stuck again. Glad of something to do, Harry pulled him free, then headed through the empty kitchen and back into the sitting room, where Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were still tending to George. Mrs. Weasley had staunched his bleeding now, and by the lamplight Harry saw a clean, gaping hole where George’s ear had been.
“How is he?”
Mrs. Weasley looked around and said, “I can’t make it grow back, not when it’s been removed by Dark Magic. But it could have been so much worse. . . . He’s alive.”
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Thank God.”
“Did I hear someone else in the yard?” Ginny asked.
“Hermione and Kingsley,” said Harry.
“Thank goodness,” Ginny whispered. They looked at each other; Harry wanted to hug her, hold on to her; he did not even care much that Mrs. Weasley was there, but before he could act on the impulse there was a great crash from the kitchen.
“I’ll prove who I am, Kingsley, after I’ve seen my son, now back off if you know what’s good for you!”
Harry had never heard Mr. Weasley shout like that before. He burst into the living room, his bald patch gleaming with sweat, his spectacles askew, Fred right behind him, both pale but uninjured.
“Arthur!” sobbed Mrs. Weasley. “Oh thank goodness!”
“How is he?”
Mr. Weasley dropped to his knees beside George. For the first time since Harry had known him, Fred seemed to be lost for words. He gaped over the back of the sofa at his twin’s wound as if he could not believe what he was seeing.
Perhaps roused by the sound of Fred and their father’s arrival, George stirred.
“How do you feel, Georgie?” whispered Mrs. Weasley.
George’s fingers groped for the side of his head.
“Saintlike,” he murmured.
“What’s wrong with him?” croaked Fred, looking terrified. “Is his mind affected?”
“Saintlike,” repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. “You see . . . I’m holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?”
Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever. Color flooded Fred’s pale face.
“Pathetic,” he told George. “Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humor before you, you go for holey?”
“Ah well,” said George, grinning at his tear-soaked mother. “You’ll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum.”
He looked around.
“Hi, Harry — you are Harry, right?”
“Yeah, I am,” said Harry, moving closer to the sofa.
“Well, at least we got you back okay,” said George. “Why aren’t Ron and Bill huddled round my sickbed?”
“They’re not back yet, George,” said Mrs. Weasley. George’s grin faded. Harry glanced at Ginny and motioned to her to accompany him back outside. As they walked through the kitchen she said in a low voice,
“Ron and Tonks should be back by now. They didn’t have a long journey; Auntie Muriel’s not that far from here.”
Harry said nothing. He had been trying to keep fear at bay ever since reaching the Burrow, but now it enveloped him, seeming to crawl over his skin, throbbing in his chest, clogging his throat. As they walked down the back steps into the dark yard, Ginny took his hand.
Kingsley was striding backward and forward, glancing up at the sky every time he turned. Harry was reminded of Uncle Vernon pacing the living room a million years ago. Hagrid, Hermione, and Lupin stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing upward in silence. None of them looked around when Harry and Ginny joined their silent vigil.
The minutes stretched into what might as well have been years. The slightest breath of wind made them all jump and turn toward the whispering bush or tree in the hope that one of the missing Order members might leap unscathed from its leaves —
And then a broom materialized directly above them and streaked toward the ground —