read.txt

I 



* 

THE DARK LORD ASCENDING 

The two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards 
apart in the narrow, moonlit lane. For a second they 
stood quite still, wands directed at each other’s 
chests; then, recognizing each other, they stowed 
their wands beneath their cloaks and started walking 
briskly in the same direction. 

“News?” asked the taller of the two. 

“The best,” replied Severus Snape. 

The lane was bordered on the left by wild, low- 
growing brambles, on the right by a high, neatly 
manicured hedge. The men’s long cloaks flapped 
around their ankles as they marched. 

“Thought I might be late,” said Yaxley, his blunt 
features sliding in and out of sight as the branches of 
overhanging trees broke the moonlight. “It was a little 
trickier than I expected. But I hope he will be 
satisfied. You sound confident that your reception will 
be good?” 

Page | 2 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




Snape nodded, but did not elaborate. They turned 
right, into a wide driveway that led off the lane. The 
high hedge curved with them, running off into the 
distance beyond the pair of impressive wrought-iron 
gates barring the men’s way. Neither of them broke 
step: In silence both raised their left arms in a kind of 
salute and passed straight through, as though the 
dark metal were smoke. 

The yew hedges muffled the sound of the men’s 
footsteps. There was a rustle somewhere to their 
right: Yaxley drew his wand again, pointing it over his 
companion’s head, but the source of the noise proved 
to be nothing more than a pure-white peacock, 
strutting majestically along the top of the hedge. 

“He always did himself well, Lucius. Peacocks ...” 
Yaxley thrust his wand back under his cloak with a 
snort. 

A handsome manor house grew out of the darkness at 
the end of the straight drive, lights glinting in the 
diamond-paned downstairs windows. Somewhere in 
the dark garden beyond the hedge a fountain was 
playing. Gravel crackled beneath their feet as Snape 
and Yaxley sped toward the front door, which swung 
inward at their approach, though nobody had visibly 
opened it. 

The hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously 
decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering most of 
the stone floor. The eyes of the pale-faced portraits on 
the walls followed Snape and Yaxley as they strode 
past. The two men halted at a heavy wooden door 
leading into the next room, hesitated for the space of 
a heartbeat, then Snape turned the bronze handle. 

The drawing room was full of silent people, sitting at a 
long and ornate table. The room’s usual furniture had 

Page | 3 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




been pushed carelessly up against the walls. 
Illumination came from a roaring fire beneath a 
handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a 
gilded mirror. Snape and Yaxley lingered for a 
moment on the threshold. As their eyes grew 
accustomed to the lack of light, they were drawn 
upward to the strangest feature of the scene: an 
apparently unconscious human figure hanging upside 
down over the table, revolving slowly as if suspended 
by an invisible rope, and reflected in the mirror and in 
the bare, polished surface of the table below. None of 
the people seated underneath this singular sight was 
looking at it except for a pale young man sitting 
almost directly below it. He seemed unable to prevent 
himself from glancing upward every minute or so. 

“Yaxley. Snape,” said a high, clear voice from the head 
of the table. “You are very nearly late.” 

The speaker was seated directly in front of the 
fireplace, so that it was difficult, at first, for the new 
arrivals to make out more than his silhouette. As they 
drew nearer, however, his face shone through the 
gloom, hairless, snakelike, with slits for nostrils and 
gleaming red eyes whose pupils were vertical. He was 
so pale that he seemed to emit a pearly glow. 

“Severus, here,” said Voldemort, indicating the seat 
on his immediate right. “Yaxley — beside Dolohov.” 

The two men took their allotted places. Most of the 
eyes around the table followed Snape, and it was to 
him that Voldemort spoke first. 

“So?” 

“My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move 
Harry Potter from his current place of safety on 
Saturday next, at nightfall.” 

Page | 4 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




The interest around the table sharpened palpably: 
Some stiffened, others fidgeted, all gazing at Snape 
and Voldemort. 

“Saturday ... at nightfall,” repeated Voldemort. His 
red eyes fastened upon Snape ’s black ones with such 
intensity that some of the watchers looked away, 
apparently fearful that they themselves would be 
scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, however, 
looked calmly back into Voldemort’s face and, after a 
moment or two, Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved into 
something like a smile. 

“Good. Very good. And this information comes — ” 

“ — from the source we discussed,” said Snape. 

“My Lord.” 

Yaxley had leaned forward to look down the long table 
at Voldemort and Snape. All faces turned to him. 

“My Lord, I have heard differently.” 

Yaxley waited, but Voldemort did not speak, so he 
went on, “Dawlish, the Auror, let slip that Potter will 
not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the 
boy turns seventeen.” 

Snape was smiling. 

“My source told me that there are plans to lay a false 
trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm 
has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the 
first time; he is known to be susceptible.” 

“I assure you, my Lord, Dawlish seemed quite 
certain,” said Yaxley. 



Page | 5 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“If he has been Confunded, naturally he is certain,” 
said Snape. “I assure you, Yaxley, the Auror Office 
will play no further part in the protection of Harry 
Potter. The Order believes that we have infiltrated the 
Ministry.” 

“The Order’s got one thing right, then, eh?” said a 
squat man sitting a short distance from Yaxley; he 
gave a wheezy giggle that was echoed here and there 
along the table. 

Voldemort did not laugh. His gaze had wandered 
upward to the body revolving slowly overhead, and he 
seemed to be lost in thought. 

“My Lord,” Yaxley went on, “Dawlish believes an 
entire party of Aurors will be used to transfer the boy 



Voldemort held up a large white hand, and Yaxley 
subsided at once, watching resentfully as Voldemort 
turned back to Snape. 

“Where are they going to hide the boy next?” 

“At the home of one of the Order,” said Snape. “The 
place, according to the source, has been given every 
protection that the Order and Ministry together could 
provide. I think that there is little chance of taking 
him once he is there, my Lord, unless, of course, the 
Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might 
give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough 
of the enchantments to break through the rest.” 

“Well, Yaxley?” Voldemort called down the table, the 
firelight glinting strangely in his red eyes. “Will the 
Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?” 



Page | 6 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




Once again, all heads turned. Yaxley squared his 
shoulders. 

“My Lord, I have good news on that score. I have — 
with difficulty, and after great effort — suceeded in 
placing an Imperius Curse upon Pius Thicknesse.” 

Many of those sitting around Yaxley looked 
impressed; his neighbor, Dolohov, a man with a long, 
twisted face, clapped him on the back. 

“It is a start,” said Voldemort. “But Thicknesse is only 
one man. Scrimgeour must be surrounded by our 
people before I act. One failed attempt on the 
Minister’s life will set me back a long way.” 

“Yes — my Lord, that is true — but you know, as 
Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, 
Thicknesse has regular contact not only with the 
Minister himself, but also with the Heads of all the 
other Ministry departments. It will, I think, be easy 
now that we have such a high-ranking official under 
our control, to subjugate the others, and then they 
can all work together to bring Scrimgeour down.” 

“As long as our friend Thicknesse is not discovered 
before he has converted the rest,” said Voldemort. “At 
any rate, it remains unlikely that the Ministry will be 
mine before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the 
boy at his destination, then it must be done while he 
travels.” 

“We are at an advantage there, my Lord,” said Yaxley, 
who seemed determined to receive some portion of 
approval. “We now have several people planted within 
the Department of Magical Transport. If Potter 
Apparates or uses the Floo Network, we shall know 
immediately.” 



Page | 7 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“He will not do either,” said Snape. “The Order is 
eschewing any form of transport that is controlled or 
regulated by the Ministry; they mistrust everything to 
do with the place.” 

“All the better,” said Voldemort. “He will have to move 
in the open. Easier to take, by far.” 

Again, Voldemort looked up at the slowly revolving 
body as he went on, “I shall attend to the boy in 
person. There have been too many mistakes where 
Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been 
my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors 
than to his triumphs.” 

The company around the table watched Voldemort 
apprehensively, each of them, by his or her 
expression, afraid that they might be blamed for 
Harry Potter’s continued existence. Voldemort, 
however, seemed to be speaking more to himself than 
to any of them, still addressing the unconscious body 
above him. 

“I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by 
luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best- 
laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those 
things that I did not understand before. I must be the 
one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be.” 

At these words, seemingly in response to them, a 
sudden wail sounded, a terrible, drawn-out cry of 
misery and pain. Many of those at the table looked 
downward, startled, for the sound had seemed to 
issue from below their feet. 

“Wormtail,” said Voldemort, with no change in his 
quiet, thoughtful tone, and without removing his eyes 
from the revolving body above, “have I not spoken to 
you about keeping our prisoner quiet?” 

Page | 8 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“Yes, m-my Lord,” gasped a small man halfway down 
the table, who had been sitting so low in his chair 
that it had appeared, at first glance, to be 
unoccupied. Now he scrambled from his seat and 
scurried from the room, leaving nothing behind him 
but a curious gleam of silver. 

“As I was saying,” continued Voldemort, looking again 
at the tense faces of his followers, “I understand 
better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a 
wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter.” 

The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; 
he might have announced that he wanted to borrow 
one of their arms. 

“No volunteers?” said Voldemort. “Let’s see ... Lucius, 
I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore.” 

Lucius Malfoy looked up. His skin appeared yellowish 
and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken 
and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. 

“My Lord?” 

“Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.” 



Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring 
straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, her long 
blonde hair hanging down her back, but beneath the 
table her slim fingers closed briefly on his wrist. At 
her touch, Malfoy put his hand into his robes, 
withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort, 
who held it up in front of his red eyes, examining it 
closely. 

“What is it?” 

Page | 9 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“Elm, my Lord,” whispered Malfoy. 



“And the core?” 

“Dragon — dragon heartstring.” 

“Good,” said Voldemort. He drew out his own wand 
and compared the lengths. Lucius Malfoy made an 
involuntary movement; for a fraction of a second, it 
seemed he expected to receive Voldemort’s wand in 
exchange for his own. The gesture was not missed by 
Voldemort, whose eyes widened maliciously. 

“Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?” 

Some of the throng sniggered. 

“I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not 
enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your 
family seem less than happy of late. ... What is it 
about my presence in your home that displeases you, 
Lucius?” 

“Nothing — nothing, my Lord!” 

“Such lies, Lucius ...” 

The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel 
mouth had stopped moving. One or two of the wizards 
barely repressed a shudder as the hissing grew 
louder; something heavy could be heard sliding 
across the floor beneath the table. 

The huge snake emerged to climb slowly up 
Voldemort’s chair. It rose, seemingly endlessly, and 
came to rest across Voldemort’s shoulders: its neck 
the thickness of a man’s thigh; its eyes, with their 
vertical slits for pupils, unblinking. Voldemort stroked 

Page | 10 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




the creature absently with long thin fingers, still 
looking at Lucius Malfoy. 

“Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? 

Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they 
professed to desire for so many years?” 

“Of course, my Lord,” said Lucius Malfoy. His hand 
shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. “We did 
desire it — we do.” 

To Malfoy’s left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her 
eyes averted from Voldemort and the snake. To his 
right, his son, Draco, who had been gazing up at the 
inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Voldemort 
and away again, terrified to make eye contact. 

“My Lord,” said a dark woman halfway down the 
table, her voice constricted with emotion, “it is an 
honor to have you here, in our family’s house. There 
can be no higher pleasure.” 

She sat beside her sister, as unlike her in looks, with 
her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in 
bearing and demeanor; where Narcissa sat rigid and 
impassive, Bellatrix leaned toward Voldemort, for 
mere words could not demonstrate her longing for 
closeness. 

“No higher pleasure,” repeated Voldemort, his head 
tilted a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. 
“That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you.” 

Her face flooded with color; her eyes welled with tears 
of delight. 

“My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!” 



Page | 11 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“No higher pleasure ... even compared with the happy 
event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this 
week?” 



She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently confused. 

“I don’t know what you mean, my Lord.” 

“I’m talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, 
Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the 
werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud.” 

There was an eruption of jeering laughter from 
around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange 
gleeful looks; a few thumped the table with their fists. 
The great snake, disliking the disturbance, opened its 
mouth wide and hissed angrily, but the Death Eaters 
did not hear it, so jubilant were they at Bellatrix and 
the Malfoys’ humiliation. Bellatrix’s face, so recently 
flushed with happiness, had turned an ugly, blotchy 
red. 

“She is no niece of ours, my Lord,” she cried over the 
outpouring of mirth. “We — Narcissa and I — have 
never set eyes on our sister since she married the 
Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of 
us, nor any beast she marries.” 

“What say you, Draco?” asked Voldemort, and though 
his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the 
catcalls and jeers. “Will you babysit the cubs?” 

The hilarity mounted; Draco Malfoy looked in terror at 
his father, who was staring down into his own lap, 
then caught his mother’s eye. She shook her head 
almost imperceptibly, then resumed her own deadpan 
stare at the opposite wall. 



Page | 12 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“Enough,” said Voldemort, stroking the angry snake. 
“Enough.” 

And the laughter died at once. 

“Many of our oldest family trees become a little 
diseased over time,” he said as Bellatrix gazed at him, 
breathless and imploring. “You must prune yours, 
must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those 
parts that threaten the health of the rest.” 

“Yes, my Lord,” whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes 
swam with tears of gratitude again. “At the first 
chance!” 

“You shall have it,” said Voldemort. “And in your 
family, so in the world . . . we shall cut away the 
canker that infects us until only those of the true 
blood remain. ...” 

Voldemort raised Lucius Malfoy’s wand, pointed it 
directly at the slowly revolving figure suspended over 
the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to 
life with a groan and began to struggle against 
invisible bonds. 

“Do you recognize our guest, Severus?” asked 
Voldemort. 

Snape raised his eyes to the upside-down face. All of 
the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, 
as though they had been given permission to show 
curiosity. As she revolved to face the firelight, the 
woman said in a cracked and terrified voice, “Severus! 
Help me!” 

“Ah, yes,” said Snape as the prisoner turned slowly 
away again. 



Page | 13 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“And you, Draco?” asked Voldemort, stroking the 
snake’s snout with his wand-free hand. Draco shook 
his head jerkily. Now that the woman had woken, he 
seemed unable to look at her anymore. 

“But you would not have taken her classes,” said 
Voldemort. “For those of you who do not know, we are 
joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until 
recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and 
Wizardry.” 

There were small noises of comprehension around the 
table. A broad, hunched woman with pointed teeth 
cackled. 

“Yes . . . Professor Burbage taught the children of 
witches and wizards all about Muggles . . . how they 
are not so different from us ...” 

One of the Death Eaters spat on the floor. Charity 
Burbage revolved to face Snape again. 

“Severus ... please ... please ...” 

“Silence,” said Voldemort, with another twitch of 
Malfoy’s wand, and Charity fell silent as if gagged. 

“Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds 
of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage 
wrote an impassioned defense of Mudbloods in the 
Daily Prophet Wizards, she says, must accept these 
thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling 
of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most 
desirable circumstance. ... She would have us all 
mate with Muggles ... or, no doubt, werewolves. ...” 

Nobody laughed this time: There was no mistaking 
the anger and contempt in Voldemort’s voice. For the 
third time, Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape. 
Tears were pouring from her eyes into her hair. Snape 

Page | 14 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows -J.K. Rowling 




looked back at her, quite impassive, as she turned 
slowly away from him again. 

“Avada Kedavra.” 

The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the 
room. Charity fell, with a resounding crash, onto the 
table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of 
the Death Eaters leapt back in their chairs. Draco fell 
out of his onto the floor. 

“Dinner, Nagini,” said Voldemort softly, and the great 
snake swayed and slithered from his shoulders onto 
the polished wood. 



Page | 15 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 






IN MEMORIAM 

Harry was bleeding. Clutching his right hand in his 
left and swearing under his breath, he shouldered 
open his bedroom door. There was a crunch of 
breaking china: He had trodden on a cup of cold tea 
that had been sitting on the floor outside his bedroom 
door. 

“What the — ?” 

He looked around; the landing of number four, Privet 
Drive, was deserted. Possibly the cup of tea was 
Dudley’s idea of a clever booby trap. Keeping his 
bleeding hand elevated, Harry scraped the fragments 
of cup together with the other hand and threw them 
into the already crammed bin just visible inside his 
bedroom door. Then he tramped across to the 
bathroom to run his finger under the tap. 

It was stupid, pointless, irritating beyond belief that 
he still had four days left of being unable to perform 
magic . . . but he had to admit to himself that this 
jagged cut in his finger would have defeated him. He 

Page | 16 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows -J.K. Rowling 



had never learned how to repair wounds, and now he 
came to think of it — particularly in light of his 
immediate plans — this seemed a serious flaw in his 
magical education. Making a mental note to ask 
Hermione how it was done, he used a large wad of 
toilet paper to mop up as much of the tea as he could, 
before returning to his bedroom and slamming the 
door behind him. 

Harry had spent the morning completely emptying his 
school trunk for the first time since he had packed it 
six years ago. At the start of the intervening school 
years, he had merely skimmed off the topmost three 
quarters of the contents and replaced or updated 
them, leaving a layer of general debris at the bottom 
— old quills, desiccated beetle eyes, single socks that 
no longer fit. Minutes previously, Harry had plunged 
his hand into this mulch, experienced a stabbing pain 
in the fourth finger of his right hand, and withdrawn 
it to see a lot of blood. 

He now proceeded a little more cautiously. Kneeling 
down beside the trunk again, he groped around in the 
bottom and, after retrieving an old badge that 
flickered feebly between Support CEDRIC DIGGORY 
and POTTER STINKS , a cracked and worn-out 
Sneakoscope, and a gold locket inside which a note 
signed R.A.B. had been hidden, he finally discovered 
the sharp edge that had done the damage. He 
recognized it at once. It was a two-inch-long fragment 
of the enchanted mirror that his dead godfather, 
Sirius, had given him. Harry laid it aside and felt 
cautiously around the trunk for the rest, but nothing 
more remained of his godfather’s last gift except 
powdered glass, which clung to the deepest layer of 
debris like glittering grit. 

Harry sat up and examined the jagged piece on which 
he had cut himself, seeing nothing but his own bright 

Page | 17 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




green eye reflected back at him. Then he placed the 
fragment on top of that morning’s Daily Prophet, 
which lay unread on the bed, and attempted to stem 
the sudden upsurge of bitter memories, the stabs of 
regret and of longing the discovery of the broken 
mirror had occasioned, by attacking the rest of the 
rubbish in the trunk. 

It took another hour to empty it completely, throw 
away the useless items, and sort the remainder in 
piles according to whether or not he would need them 
from now on. His school and Quidditch robes, 
cauldron, parchment, quills, and most of his 
textbooks were piled in a corner, to be left behind. He 
wondered what his aunt and uncle would do with 
them; burn them in the dead of night, probably, as if 
they were the evidence of some dreadful crime. His 
Muggle clothing, Invisibility Cloak, potion-making kit, 
certain books, the photograph album Hagrid had once 
given him, a stack of letters, and his wand had been 
repacked into an old rucksack. In a front pocket were 
the Marauder’s Map and the locket with the note 
signed R.A.B. inside it. The locket was accorded this 
place of honor not because it was valuable — in all 
usual senses it was worthless — but because of what 
it had cost to attain it. 

This left a sizable stack of newspapers sitting on his 
desk beside his snowy owl, Hedwig: one for each of 
the days Harry had spent at Privet Drive this 
summer. 

He got up off the floor, stretched, and moved across to 
his desk. Hedwig made no movement as he began to 
flick through the newspapers, throwing them onto the 
rubbish pile one by one. The owl was asleep, or else 
faking; she was angry with Harry about the limited 
amount of time she was allowed out of her cage at the 
moment. 

Page | 18 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




As he neared the bottom of the pile of newspapers, 
Harry slowed down, searching for one particular issue 
that he knew had arrived shortly after he had 
returned to Privet Drive for the summer; he 
remembered that there had been a small mention on 
the front about the resignation of Charity Burbage, 
the Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts. At last he 
found it. Turning to page ten, he sank into his desk 
chair and reread the article he had been looking for. 

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE REMEMBERED 

by Elphias Doge 

I met Albus Dumbledore at the age of eleven, on our 
first day at Hogwarts. Our mutual attraction was 
undoubtedly due to the fact that we both felt 
ourselves to be outsiders. I had contracted dragon 
pox shortly before arriving at school, and while I was 
no longer contagious, my pockmarked visage and 
greenish hue did not encourage many to approach 
me. For his part, Albus had arrived at Hogwarts 
under the burden of unwanted notoriety. Scarcely a 
year previously, his father, Percival, had been 
convicted of a savage and well-publicized attack upon 
three young Muggles. 

Albus never attempted to deny that his father (who 
was to die in Azkaban) had committed this crime; on 
the contrary, when I plucked up courage to ask him, he 
assured me that he knew his father to be guilty. 
Beyond that, Dumbledore refused to speak of the sad 
business, though many attempted to make him do so. 
Some, indeed, were disposed to praise his father’s 
action and assumed that Albus too was a Muggle- 
hater. They could not have been more mistaken: As 
anybody who knew Albus would attest, he never 
revealed the remotest anti-Muggle tendency. Indeed, 



Page | 19 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




his determined support for Muggle rights gained him 
many enemies in subsequent years. 

In a matter of months, however, Albus’s own fame 
had begun to eclipse that of his father. By the end of 
his first year he would never again be known as the 
son of a Muggle-hater, but as nothing more or less 
than the most brilliant student ever seen at the 
school. Those of us who were privileged to be his 
friends benefited from his example, not to mention his 
help and encouragement, with which he was always 
generous. He confessed to me in later life that he 
knew even then that his greatest pleasure lay in 
teaching. 

He not only won every prize of note that the school 
offered, he was soon in regular correspondence with 
the most notable magical names of the day, including 
Nicolas Flamel, the celebrated alchemist ; Bathilda 
Bagshot, the noted historian; and Adalbert Waffling, 
the magical theoretician. Several of his papers found 
their way into learned publications such as 
Transfiguration Today, Challenges in Charming, and 
The Practical Potioneer. Dumbledore’s future career 
seemed likely to be meteoric, and the only question 
that remained was when he would become Minister of 
Magic. Though it was often predicted in later years that 
he was on the point of taking the job, however, he 
never had Ministerial ambitions. 

Three years after we had started at Hogwarts, Albus’s 
brother, Aberforth, arrived at school. They were not 
alike; Aberforth was never bookish and, unlike Albus, 
preferred to settle arguments by dueling rather than 
through reasoned discussion. However, it is quite 
wrong to suggest, as some have, that the brothers 
were not friends. They rubbed along as comfortably as 
two such different boys could do. In fairness to 
Aberforth, it must be admitted that living in Albus’s 
Page | 20 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




shadow cannot have been an altogether comfortable 
experience. Being continually outshone was an 
occupational hazard of being his friend and cannot 
have been any more pleasurable as a brother. 

When Albus and I left Hogwarts we intended to take 
the then- traditional tour of the world together, visiting 
and observing foreign wizards, before pursuing our 
separate careers. However, tragedy intervened. On the 
very eve of our trip, Albus’s mother, Kendra, died, 
leaving Albus the head, and sole breadwinner, of the 
family. I postponed my departure long enough to pay 
my respects at Kendra’s funeral, then left for what 
was now to be a solitary journey. With a younger 
brother and sister to care for, and little gold left to 
them, there could no longer be any question of Albus 
accompanying me. 

That was the period of our lives when we had least 
contact. I wrote to Albus, describing, perhaps 
insensitively, the wonders of my journey, from narrow 
escapes from chimaeras in Greece to the experiments 
of the Egyptian alchemists. His letters told me little of 
his day-to-day life, which I guessed to be frustratingly 
dull for such a brilliant wizard. Immersed in my own 
experiences, it was with horror that I heard, toward 
the end of my year’s travels, that yet another tragedy 
had struck the Dumbledores: the death of his sister, 
Ariana. 

Though Ariana had been in poor health for a long 
time, the blow, coming so soon after the loss of their 
mother, had a profound effect on both of her 
brothers. All those closest to Albus — and I count 
myself one of that lucky number — agree that 
Ariana ’s death, and Albus’s feeling of personal 
responsibility for it (though, of course, he was 
guiltless), left their mark upon him forevermore. 



Page | 21 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




I returned home to find a young man who had 
experienced a much older person’s suffering. Albus 
was more reserved than before, and much less light- 
hearted. To add to his misery, the loss of Ariana had 
led, not to a renewed closeness between Albus and 
Aberforth, but to an estrangement. (In time this would 
lift — in later years they reestablished, if not a close 
relationship, then certainly a cordial one.) However, 
he rarely spoke of his parents or of Ariana from then 
on, and his friends learned not to mention them. 

Other quills will describe the triumphs of the following 
years. Dumbledore’s innumerable contributions to the 
store of Wizarding knowledge, including his discovery 
of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, will benefit 
generations to come, as will the wisdom he displayed 
in the many judgments he made while Chief Warlock of 
the Wizengamot. They say, still, that no Wizarding duel 
ever matched that between Dumbledore and 
Grindelwald in 1 945. Those who witnessed it have 
written of the terror and the awe they felt as they 
watched these two extraordinary wizards do battle. 
Dumbledore’s triumph, and its consequences for the 
Wizarding world, are considered a turning point in 
magical history to match the introduction of the 
International Statute of Secrecy or the downfall of He- 
Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. 

Albus Dumbledore was never proud or vain; he could 
find something to value in anyone, however 
apparently insignificant or wretched, and I believe 
that his early losses endowed him with great 
humanity and sympathy. I shall miss his friendship 
more than I can say, but my loss is as nothing 
compared to the Wizarding world’s. That he was the 
most inspiring and the best loved of all Hogwarts 
headmasters cannot be in question. He died as he 
lived: working always for the greater good and, to his 
last hour, as willing to stretch out a hand to a small 
Page | 22 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




boy with dragon pox as he was on the day that I met 
him. 

Harry finished reading but continued to gaze at the 
picture accompanying the obituary. Dumbledore was 
wearing his familiar, kindly smile, but as he peered 
over the top of his half-moon spectacles, he gave the 
impression, even in newsprint, of X-raying Harry, 
whose sadness mingled with a sense of humiliation. 

He had thought he knew Dumbledore quite well, but 
ever since reading this obituary he had been forced to 
recognize that he had barely known him at all. Never 
once had he imagined Dumbledore ’s childhood or 
youth; it was as though he had sprung into being as 
Harry had known him, venerable and silver-haired 
and old. The idea of a teenage Dumbledore was 
simply odd, like trying to imagine a stupid Hermione 
or a friendly Blast-Ended Skrewt. 

He had never thought to ask Dumbledore about his 
past. No doubt it would have felt strange, impertinent 
even, but after all, it had been common knowledge 
that Dumbledore had taken part in that legendary 
duel with Grindelwald, and Harry had not thought to 
ask Dumbledore what that had been like, nor about 
any of his other famous achievements. No, they had 
always discussed Harry, Harry’s past, Harry’s future, 
Harry’s plans ... and it seemed to Harry now, despite 
the fact that his future was so dangerous and so 
uncertain, that he had missed irreplaceable 
opportunities when he had failed to ask Dumbledore 
more about himself, even though the only personal 
question he had ever asked his headmaster was also 
the only one he suspected that Dumbledore had not 
answered honestly: 

“ What do you see when you look in the mirror?” 



Page | 23 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“/? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks.” 

After several minutes’ thought, Harry tore the 
obituary out of the Prophet, folded it carefully, and 
tucked it inside the first volume of Practical Defensive 
Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts. Then he 
threw the rest of the newspaper onto the rubbish pile 
and turned to face the room. It was much tidier. The 
only things left out of place were today’s Daily 
Prophet, still lying on the bed, and on top of it, the 
piece of broken mirror. 

Harry moved across the room, slid the mirror 
fragment off today’s Prophet, and unfolded the 
newspaper. He had merely glanced at the headline 
when he had taken the rolled-up paper from the 
delivery owl early that morning and thrown it aside, 
after noting that it said nothing about Voldemort. 
Harry was sure that the Ministry was leaning on the 
Prophet to suppress news about Voldemort. It was 
only now, therefore, that he saw what he had missed. 

Across the bottom half of the front page a smaller 
headline was set over a picture of Dumbledore 
striding along looking harried: 

DUMBLEDORE — THE TRUTH AT LAST? 

Coming next week, the shocking story of the flawed 
genius considered by many to be the greatest wizard 
of his generation. Stripping away the popular image of 
serene, silver-bearded wisdom, Rita Skeeter reveals 
the disturbed childhood, the lawless youth, the 
lifelong feuds, and the guilty secrets that Dumbledore 
carried to his grave. WHY was the man tipped to be 
Minister of Magic content to remain a mere 
headmaster? WHAT was the real purpose of the secret 
organization known as the Order of the Phoenix? 

HOW did Dumbledore really meet his end? 

Page | 24 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




The answers to these and many more questions are 
explored in the explosive new biography, The Life and 
Lies of Albus Dumbledore, by Rita Skeeter, exclusively 
interviewed by Betty Braithwaite, page 13, inside. 

Harry ripped open the paper and found page thirteen. 
The article was topped with a picture showing 
another familiar face: a woman wearing jeweled 
glasses with elaborately curled blonde hair, her teeth 
bared in what was clearly supposed to be a winning 
smile, wiggling her fingers up at him. Doing his best 
to ignore this nauseating image, Harry read on. 

In person, Rita Skeeter is much warmer and softer 
than her famously ferocious quill-portraits might 
suggest. Greeting me in the hallway of her cozy home, 
she leads me straight into the kitchen for a cup of tea, 
a slice of pound cake and, it goes without saying, a 
steaming vat of freshest gossip. 

“Well, of course, Dumbledore is a biographer’s dream,” 
says Skeeter. “Such a long, full life. I’m sure my book 
will be the first of very, very many.” 

Skeeter was certainly quick off the mark. Her nine- 
hundred-page book was completed a mere four weeks 
after Dumbledore ’s mysterious death in June. I ask 
her how she managed this superfast feat. 

“Oh, when you’ve been a journalist as long as I have, 
working to a deadline is second nature. I knew that 
the Wizarding world was clamoring for the full story 
and I wanted to be the first to meet that need.” 

I mention the recent, widely publicized remarks of 
Elphias Doge, Special Advisor to the Wizengamot and 
longstanding friend of Albus Dumbledore’s, that 
“Skeeter’s book contains less fact than a Chocolate 
Frog card. ” 

Page | 25 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




Skeeter throws back her head and laughs. 



“Darling Dodgy! I remember interviewing him a few 
years back about merpeople rights, bless him. 
Completely gaga, seemed to think we were sitting at 
the bottom of Lake Windermere, kept telling me to 
watch out for trout.” 

And yet Elphias Doge’s accusations of inaccuracy 
have been echoed in many places. Does Skeeter really 
feel that four short weeks have been enough to gain a 
full picture of Dumbledore’s long and extraordinary 
life? 

“Oh, my dear,” beams Skeeter, rapping me 
affectionately across the knuckles, “you know as well 
as I do how much information can be generated by a 
fat bag of Galleons, a refusal to hear the word ‘no,’ 
and a nice sharp Quick-Quotes Quill! People were 
queuing to dish the dirt on Dumbledore anyway. Not 
everyone thought he was so wonderful, you know — 
he trod on an awful lot of important toes. But old 
Dodgy Doge can get off his high hippogriff, because 
I’ve had access to a source most journalists would 
swap their wands for, one who has never spoken in 
public before and who was close to Dumbledore 
during the most turbulent and disturbing phase of 
his youth.” 

The advance publicity for Skeeter’ s biography has 
certainly suggested that there will be shocks in store 
for those who believe Dumbledore to have led a 
blameless life. What were the biggest surprises she 
uncovered, I ask? 

“Now, come off it, Betty, I’m not giving away all the 
highlights before anybody’s bought the book!” laughs 
Skeeter. “But I can promise that anybody who still 
thinks Dumbledore was white as his beard is in for a 

Page | 26 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




rude awakening! Let’s just say that nobody hearing 
him rage against You-Know-Who would have dreamed 
that he dabbled in the Dark Arts himself in his youth! 
And for a wizard who spent his later years pleading 
for tolerance, he wasn’t exactly broad-minded when 
he was younger! Yes, Albus Dumbledore had an 
extremely murky past, not to mention that very fishy 
family, which he worked so hard to keep hushed up.” 

I ask whether Skeeter is referring to Dumbledore ’s 
brother, Aberforth, whose conviction by the 
Wizengamot for misuse of magic caused a minor 
scandal fifteen years ago. 

“Oh, Aberforth is just the tip of the dung heap, ” laughs 
Skeeter. “No, no, I’m talking about much worse than a 
brother with a fondness for fiddling about with goats, 
worse even than the Muggle-maiming father — 
Dumbledore couldn’t keep either of them quiet anyway, 
they were both charged by the Wizengamot. No, it’s the 
mother and the sister that intrigued me, and a little 
digging uncovered a positive nest of nastiness — but, 
as I say, you’ll have to wait for chapters nine to twelve 
for full details. All I can say now is, it’s no wonder 
Dumbledore never talked about how his nose got 
broken. ” 

Family skeletons notwithstanding, does Skeeter deny 
the brilliance that led to Dumbledore ’s many magical 
discoveries? 

“He had brains,” she concedes, “although many now 
question whether he could really take full credit for all 
of his supposed achievements. As I reveal in chapter 
sixteen, Ivor Dillonsby claims he had already 
discovered eight uses of dragon’s blood when 
Dumbledore ‘borrowed’ his papers.” 



Page | 27 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




But the importance of some of Dumbledore’s 
achievements cannot, I venture, be denied. What of 
his famous defeat of Grindelwald? 

“Oh, now, I’m glad you mentioned Grindelwald,” says 
Skeeter with a tantalizing smile. “I’m afraid those who 
go dewy-eyed over Dumbledore’s spectacular victory 
must brace themselves for a bombshell — or perhaps 
a Dungbomb. Very dirty business indeed. All I’ll say 
is, don’t be so sure that there really was the 
spectacular duel of legend. After they’ve read my 
book, people may be forced to conclude that 
Grindelwald simply conjured a white handkerchief 
from the end of his wand and came quietly!” 

Skeeter refuses to give any more away on this 
intriguing subject, so we turn instead to the 
relationship that will undoubtedly fascinate her 
readers more than any other. 

“Oh yes,” says Skeeter, nodding briskly, “I devote an 
entire chapter to the whole Potter-Dumbledore 
relationship. It’s been called unhealthy, even sinister. 
Again, your readers will have to buy my book for the 
whole story, but there is no question that 
Dumbledore took an unnatural interest in Potter from 
the word go. Whether that was really in the boy’s best 
interests — well, we’ll see. It’s certainly an open secret 
that Potter has had a most troubled adolescence.” 

I ask whether Skeeter is still in touch with Harry 
Potter, whom she so famously interviewed last year: a 
breakthrough piece in which Potter spoke exclusively 
of his conviction that You-Know-Who had returned. 

“Oh, yes, we’ve developed a close bond,” says Skeeter. 
“Poor Potter has few real friends, and we met at one of 
the most testing moments of his life — the Triwizard 
Tournament. I am probably one of the only people 

Page | 28 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




alive who can say that they know the real Harry 
Potter.” 

Which leads us neatly to the many rumors still 
circulating about Dumbledore’s final hours. Does 
Skeeter believe that Potter was there when 
Dumbledore died? 

“Well, I don’t want to say too much — it’s all in the 
book — but eyewitnesses inside Hogwarts castle saw 
Potter running away from the scene moments after 
Dumbledore fell, jumped, or was pushed. Potter later 
gave evidence against Severus Snape, a man against 
whom he has a notorious grudge. Is everything as it 
seems? That is for the Wizarding community to decide 
— once they’ve read my book.” 

On that intriguing note, I take my leave. There can be 
no doubt that Skeeter has quilled an instant 
bestseller. Dumbledore’s legions of admirers, 
meanwhile, may well be trembling at what is soon to 
emerge about their hero. 

Harry reached the bottom of the article, but 
continued to stare blankly at the page. Revulsion and 
fury rose in him like vomit; he balled up the 
newspaper and threw it, with all his force, at the wall, 
where it joined the rest of the rubbish heaped around 
his overflowing bin. 

He began to stride blindly around the room, opening 
empty drawers and picking up books only to replace 
them on the same piles, barely conscious of what he 
was doing, as random phrases from Rita’s article 
echoed in his head: An entire chapter to the whole 
Potter-Dumbledore relationship . . . It’s been called 
unhealthy, even sinister. . . . He dabbled in the Dark 
Arts himself in his youth . . . I’ve had access to a source 
most journalists would swap their wands for ... 

Page | 29 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“Lies!” Harry bellowed, and through the window he 
saw the next-door neighbor, who had paused to 
restart his lawn mower, look up nervously. 

Harry sat down hard on the bed. The broken bit of 
mirror danced away from him; he picked it up and 
turned it over in his fingers, thinking, thinking of 
Dumbledore and the lies with which Rita Skeeter was 
defaming him. ... 

A flash of brightest blue. Harry froze, his cut finger 
slipping on the jagged edge of the mirror again. He 
had imagined it, he must have done. He glanced over 
his shoulder, but the wall was a sickly peach color of 
Aunt Petunia’s choosing: There was nothing blue 
there for the mirror to reflect. He peered into the 
mirror fragment again, and saw nothing but his own 
bright green eye looking back at him. 

He had imagined it, there was no other explanation; 
imagined it, because he had been thinking of his dead 
headmaster. If anything was certain, it was that the 
bright blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore would never 
pierce him again. 



Page | 30 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




3 




THE DURSLEYS DEPARTING 

The sound of the front door slamming echoed up the 
stairs and a voice yelled, “Oi! You!” 

Sixteen years of being addressed thus left Harry in no 
doubt whom his uncle was calling; nevertheless, he 
did not immediately respond. He was still gazing at 
the mirror fragment in which, for a split second, he 
had thought he saw Dumbledore’s eye. It was not 
until his uncle bellowed, “BOY!” that Harry got slowly 
to his feet and headed for the bedroom door, pausing 
to add the piece of broken mirror to the rucksack 
filled with things he would be taking with him. 

“You took your time!” roared Vernon Dursley when 
Harry appeared at the top of the stairs. “Get down 
here, I want a word!” 

Harry strolled downstairs, his hands deep in his jeans 
pockets. When he reached the living room he found 
all three Dursleys. They were dressed for traveling: 
Uncle Vernon in a fawn zip-up jacket, Aunt Petunia in 



Page | 31 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 



a neat salmon-colored coat, and Dudley, Harry’s 
large, blond, muscular cousin, in his leather jacket. 



“Yes?” asked Harry. 

“Sit down!” said Uncle Vernon. Harry raised his 
eyebrows. “Please!” added Uncle Vernon, wincing 
slightly as though the word was sharp in his throat. 

Harry sat. He thought he knew what was coming. His 
uncle began to pace up and down, Aunt Petunia and 
Dudley following his movements with anxious 
expressions. Finally, his large purple face crumpled 
with concentration, Uncle Vernon stopped in front of 
Harry and spoke. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said. 

“What a surprise,” said Harry. 

“Don’t you take that tone — ” began Aunt Petunia in a 
shrill voice, but Vernon Dursley waved her down. 

“It’s all a lot of claptrap,” said Uncle Vernon, glaring 
at Harry with piggy little eyes. “I’ve decided I don’t 
believe a word of it. We’re staying put, we’re not going 
anywhere.” 

Harry looked up at his uncle and felt a mixture of 
exasperation and amusement. Vernon Dursley had 
been changing his mind every twenty-four hours for 
the past four weeks, packing and unpacking and 
repacking the car with every change of heart. Harry’s 
favorite moment had been the one when Uncle 
Vernon, unaware that Dudley had added his 
dumbbells to his case since the last time it had been 
unpacked, had attempted to hoist it back into the 
boot and collapsed with roars of pain and much 
swearing. 

Page | 32 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“According to you,” Vernon Dursley said now, 
resuming his pacing up and down the living room, 
“we — Petunia, Dudley, and I — are in danger. From 



— from — ” 



“Some of ‘my lot,’ right,” said Harry. 

“Well, I don’t believe it,” repeated Uncle Vernon, 
coming to a halt in front of Harry again. “I was awake 
half the night thinking it all over, and I believe it’s a 
plot to get the house.” 

“The house?” repeated Harry. “What house?” 

“ This house!” shrieked Uncle Vernon, the vein in his 
forehead starting to pulse. “Our house! House prices 
are skyrocketing around here! You want us out of the 
way and then you’re going to do a bit of hocus-pocus 
and before we know it the deeds will be in your name 
and — ” 

“Are you out of your mind?” demanded Harry. “A plot 
to get this house? Are you actually as stupid as you 
look?” 

“Don’t you dare — !” squealed Aunt Petunia, but 
again, Vernon waved her down: Slights on his 
personal appearance were, it seemed, as nothing to 
the danger he had spotted. 

“Just in case you’ve forgotten,” said Harry, “I’ve 
already got a house, my godfather left me one. So why 
would I want this one? All the happy memories?” 

There was silence. Harry thought he had rather 
impressed his uncle with this argument. 

“You claim,” said Uncle Vernon, starting to pace yet 
again, “that this Lord Thing — ” 

Page | 33 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“ — Voldemort,” said Harry impatiently, “and we’ve 
been through this about a hundred times already. 

This isn’t a claim, it’s fact, Dumbledore told you last 
year, and Kingsley and Mr. Weasley — ” 

Vernon Dursley hunched his shoulders angrily, and 
Harry guessed that his uncle was attempting to ward 
off recollections of the unannounced visit, a few days 
into Harry’s summer holidays, of two fully grown 
wizards. The arrival on the doorstep of Kingsley 
Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley had come as a most 
unpleasant shock to the Dursleys. Harry had to 
admit, however, that as Mr. Weasley had once 
demolished half of the living room, his reappearance 
could not have been expected to delight Uncle 
Vernon. 

“ — Kingsley and Mr. Weasley explained it all as well,” 
Harry pressed on remorselessly. “Once I’m seventeen, 
the protective charm that keeps me safe will break, 
and that exposes you as well as me. The Order is sure 
Voldemort will target you, whether to torture you to 
try and find out where I am, or because he thinks by 
holding you hostage I’d come and try to rescue you.” 

Uncle Vernon’s and Harry’s eyes met. Harry was sure 
that in that instant they were both wondering the 
same thing. Then Uncle Vernon walked on and Harry 
resumed, “You’ve got to go into hiding and the Order 
wants to help. You’re being offered serious protection, 
the best there is.” 

Uncle Vernon said nothing, but continued to pace up 
and down. Outside the sun hung low over the privet 
hedges. The next-door neighbor’s lawn mower stalled 
again. 

“I thought there was a Ministry of Magic?” asked 
Vernon Dursley abruptly. 

Page | 34 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“There is,” said Harry, surprised. 



“Well, then, why can’t they protect us? It seems to me 
that, as innocent victims, guilty of nothing more than 
harboring a marked man, we ought to qualify for 
government protection!” 

Harry laughed; he could not help himself. It was so 
very typical of his uncle to put his hopes in the 
establishment, even within this world that he 
despised and mistrusted. 

“You heard what Mr. Weasley and Kingsley said,” 
Harry replied. “We think the Ministry has been 
infiltrated.” 

Uncle Vernon strode to the fireplace and back, 
breathing so heavily that his great black mustache 
rippled, his face still purple with concentration. 

“All right,” he said, stopping in front of Harry yet 
again. “All right, let’s say, for the sake of argument, 
we accept this protection. I still don’t see why we can’t 
have that Kingsley bloke.” 

Harry managed not to roll his eyes, but with difficulty. 
This question had also been addressed half a dozen 
times. 

“As I’ve told you,” he said through gritted teeth, 
“Kingsley is protecting the Mug — I mean, your Prime 
Minister.” 

“Exactly — he’s the best!” said Uncle Vernon, pointing 
at the blank television screen. The Dursleys had 
spotted Kingsley on the news, walking along 
discreetly behind the Muggle Prime Minister as he 
visited a hospital. This, and the fact that Kingsley had 
mastered the knack of dressing like a Muggle, not to 
Page | 35 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




mention a certain reassuring something in his slow, 
deep voice, had caused the Dursleys to take to 
Kingsley in a way that they had certainly not done 
with any other wizard, although it was true that they 
had never seen him with his earring in. 

“Well, he’s taken,” said Harry. “But Hestia Jones and 
Dedalus Diggle are more than up to the job — ” 

“If we’d even seen CVs ...” began Uncle Vernon, but 
Harry lost patience. Getting to his feet, he advanced 
on his uncle, now pointing at the TV set himself. 

“These accidents aren’t accidents — the crashes and 
explosions and derailments and whatever else has 
happened since we last watched the news. People are 
disappearing and dying and he’s behind it — 
Voldemort. I’ve told you this over and over again, he 
kills Muggles for fun. Even the fogs — they’re caused 
by dementors, and if you can’t remember what they 
are, ask your son!” 

Dudley’s hands jerked upward to cover his mouth. 
With his parents’ and Harry’s eyes upon him, he 
slowly lowered them again and asked, “There are . . . 
more of them?” 

“More?” laughed Harry. “More than the two that 
attacked us, you mean? Of course there are, there are 
hundreds, maybe thousands by this time, seeing as 
they feed off fear and despair — ” 

“All right, all right,” blustered Vernon Dursley. 

“You’ve made your point — ” 

“I hope so,” said Harry, “because once I’m seventeen, 
all of them — Death Eaters, dementors, maybe even 
Inferi — which means dead bodies enchanted by a 
Dark wizard — will be able to find you and will 

Page | 36 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




certainly attack you. And if you remember the last 
time you tried to outrun wizards, I think you 11 agree 
you need help.” 

There was a brief silence in which the distant echo of 
Hagrid smashing down a wooden front door seemed 
to reverberate through the intervening years. Aunt 
Petunia was looking at Uncle Vernon; Dudley was 
staring at Harry. Finally Uncle Vernon blurted out, 
“But what about my work? What about Dudley’s 
school? I don’t suppose those things matter to a 
bunch of layabout wizards — ” 

“Don’t you understand?” shouted Harry. “They will 
torture and kill you like they did my parents !” 

“Dad,” said Dudley in a loud voice, “Dad — I’m going 
with these Order people.” 

“Dudley,” said Harry, “for the first time in your life, 
you’re talking sense.” 

He knew that the battle was won. If Dudley was 
frightened enough to accept the Order’s help, his 
parents would accompany him: There could be no 
question of being separated from their Diddykins. 
Harry glanced at the carriage clock on the 
mantelpiece. 

“They’ll be here in about five minutes,” he said, and 
when none of the Dursleys replied, he left the room. 
The prospect of parting — probably forever — from 
his aunt, uncle, and cousin was one that he was able 
to contemplate quite cheerfully, but there was 
nevertheless a certain awkwardness in the air. What 
did you say to one another at the end of sixteen years’ 
solid dislike? 



Page | 37 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




Back in his bedroom, Harry fiddled aimlessly with his 
rucksack, then poked a couple of owl nuts through 
the bars of Hedwig’s cage. They fell with dull thuds to 
the bottom, where she ignored them. 

“We’re leaving soon, really soon,” Harry told her. “And 
then you’ll be able to fly again.” 

The doorbell rang. Harry hesitated, then headed back 
out of his room and downstairs. It was too much to 
expect Hestia and Dedalus to cope with the Dursleys 
on their own. 

“Harry Potter!” squeaked an excited voice, the 
moment Harry had opened the door; a small man in a 
mauve top hat was sweeping him a deep bow. “An 
honor, as ever!” 

“Thanks, Dedalus,” said Harry, bestowing a small and 
embarrassed smile upon the dark-haired Hestia. “It’s 
really good of you to do this. ... They’re through here, 
my aunt and uncle and cousin. ...” 

“Good day to you, Harry Potter’s relatives!” said 
Dedalus happily, striding into the living room. The 
Dursleys did not look at all happy to be addressed 
thus; Harry half expected another change of mind. 
Dudley shrank nearer to his mother at the sight of 
the witch and wizard. 

“I see you are packed and ready. Excellent! The plan, 
as Harry has told you, is a simple one,” said Dedalus, 
pulling an immense pocket watch out of his waistcoat 
and examining it. “We shall be leaving before Harry 
does. Due to the danger of using magic in your house 
— Harry being still underage, it could provide the 
Ministry with an excuse to arrest him — we shall be 
driving, say, ten miles or so, before Disapparating to 
the safe location we have picked out for you. You 
Page | 38 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




know how to drive, I take it?” he asked Uncle Vernon 
politely. 

“Know how to — ? Of course I ruddy well know how to 
drive!” spluttered Uncle Vernon. 

“Very clever of you, sir, very clever, I personally would 
be utterly bamboozled by all those buttons and 
knobs,” said Dedalus. He was clearly under the 
impression that he was flattering Vernon Dursley, 
who was visibly losing confidence in the plan with 
every word Dedalus spoke. 

“Can’t even drive,” he muttered under his breath, his 
mustache rippling indignantly, but fortunately neither 
Dedalus nor Hestia seemed to hear him. 

“You, Harry,” Dedalus continued, “will wait here for 
your guard. There has been a little change in the 
arrangements — ” 

“What d’you mean?” said Harry at once. “I thought 
Mad-Eye was going to come and take me by Side- 
Along- Apparition?” 

“Can’t do it,” said Hestia tersely. “Mad-Eye will 
explain.” 

The Dursleys, who had listened to all of this with 
looks of utter incomprehension on their faces, jumped 
as a loud voice screeched, “Hurry up\” Harry looked 
all around the room before realizing that the voice 
had issued from Dedalus’s pocket watch. 

“Quite right, we’re operating to a very tight schedule,” 
said Dedalus, nodding at his watch and tucking it 
back into his waistcoat. “We are attempting to time 
your departure from the house with your family’s 
Disapparition, Harry; thus, the charm breaks at the 
Page | 39 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




moment you all head for safety.” He turned to the 
Dursleys. “Well, are we all packed and ready to go?” 

None of them answered him. Uncle Vernon was still 
staring, appalled, at the bulge in Dedalus’s waistcoat 
pocket. 

“Perhaps we should wait outside in the hall, 

Dedalus,” murmured Hestia. She clearly felt that it 
would be tactless for them to remain in the room 
while Harry and the Dursleys exchanged loving, 
possibly tearful farewells. 

“There’s no need,” Harry muttered, but Uncle Vernon 
made any further explanation unnecessary by saying 
loudly, 

“Well, this is good-bye, then, boy.” 

He swung his right arm upward to shake Harry’s 
hand, but at the last moment seemed unable to face 
it, and merely closed his fist and began swinging it 
backward and forward like a metronome. 

“Ready, Diddy?” asked Aunt Petunia, fussily checking 
the clasp of her handbag so as to avoid looking at 
Harry altogether. 

Dudley did not answer, but stood there with his 
mouth slightly ajar, reminding Harry a little of the 
giant, Grawp. 

“Come along, then,” said Uncle Vernon. 

He had already reached the living room door when 
Dudley mumbled, “I don’t understand.” 

“What don’t you understand, popkin?” asked Aunt 
Petunia, looking up at her son. 

Page | 40 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




Dudley raised a large, hamlike hand to point at 
Harry. 

“Why isn’t he coming with us?” 

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia froze where they 
stood, staring at Dudley as though he had just 
expressed a desire to become a ballerina. 

“What?” said Uncle Vernon loudly. 

“Why isn’t he coming too?” asked Dudley. 

“Well, he — he doesn’t want to,” said Uncle Vernon, 
turning to glare at Harry and adding, “You don’t want 
to, do you?” 

“Not in the slightest,” said Harry. 

“There you are,” Uncle Vernon told Dudley. “Now 
come on, we’re off.” 

He marched out of the room. They heard the front 
door open, but Dudley did not move and after a few 
faltering steps Aunt Petunia stopped too. 

“What now?” barked Uncle Vernon, reappearing in the 
doorway. 

It seemed that Dudley was struggling with concepts 
too difficult to put into words. After several moments 
of apparently painful internal struggle he said, “But 
where’s he going to go?” 

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at each other. 
It was clear that Dudley was frightening them. Hestia 
Jones broke the silence. 



Page | 41 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“But . . . surely you know where your nephew is 
going?” she asked, looking bewildered. 

“Certainly we know,” said Vernon Dursley. “He’s off 
with some of your lot, isn’t he? Right, Dudley, let’s get 
in the car, you heard the man, we’re in a hurry.” 

Again, Vernon Dursley marched as far as the front 
door, but Dudley did not follow. 

“Off with some of our lot?” 

Hestia looked outraged. Harry had met this attitude 
before: Witches and wizards seemed stunned that his 
closest living relatives took so little interest in the 
famous Harry Potter. 

“It’s fine,” Harry assured her. “It doesn’t matter, 
honestly.” 

“Doesn’t matter?” repeated Hestia, her voice rising 
ominously. “Don’t these people realize what you’ve 
been through? What danger you are in? The unique 
position you hold in the hearts of the anti-Voldemort 
movement?” 

“Er — no, they don’t,” said Harry. “They think I’m a 
waste of space, actually, but I’m used to — ” 

“I don’t think you’re a waste of space.” 

If Harry had not seen Dudley’s lips move, he might 
not have believed it. As it was, he stared at Dudley for 
several seconds before accepting that it must have 
been his cousin who had spoken; for one thing, 

Dudley had turned red. Harry was embarrassed and 
astonished himself. 

“Well ... er ... thanks, Dudley.” 

Page | 42 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




Again, Dudley appeared to grapple with thoughts too 
unwieldy for expression before mumbling, “You saved 
my life.” 

“Not really,” said Harry. “It was your soul the 
dementor would have taken. ...” 

He looked curiously at his cousin. They had had 
virtually no contact during this summer or last, as 
Harry had come back to Privet Drive so briefly and 
kept to his room so much. It now dawned on Harry, 
however, that the cup of cold tea on which he had 
trodden that morning might not have been a booby 
trap at all. Although rather touched, he was 
nevertheless quite relieved that Dudley appeared to 
have exhausted his ability to express his feelings. 
After opening his mouth once or twice more, Dudley 
subsided into scarlet-faced silence. 

Aunt Petunia burst into tears. Hestia Jones gave her 
an approving look that changed to outrage as Aunt 
Petunia ran forward and embraced Dudley rather 
than Harry. 

“S-so sweet, Dudders ...” she sobbed into his massive 
chest. “S-such a lovely b-boy ... s-saying thank you 



“But he hasn’t said thank you at all!” said Hestia 
indignantly. “He only said he didn’t think Harry was a 
waste of space!” 

“Yeah, but coming from Dudley that’s like ‘I love you,’ 
” said Harry, torn between annoyance and a desire to 
laugh as Aunt Petunia continued to clutch at Dudley 
as if he had just saved Harry from a burning building. 



Page | 43 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“Are we going or not?” roared Uncle Vernon, 
reappearing yet again at the living room door. “I 
thought we were on a tight schedule!” 

“Yes — yes, we are,” said Dedalus Diggle, who had 
been watching these exchanges with an air of 
bemusement and now seemed to pull himself 
together. “We really must be off. Harry — ” 

He tripped forward and wrung Harry’s hand with both 
of his own. 

“ — good luck. I hope we meet again. The hopes of the 
Wizarding world rest upon your shoulders.” 

“Oh,” said Harry, “right. Thanks.” 

“Farewell, Harry,” said Hestia, also clasping his hand. 
“Our thoughts go with you.” 

“I hope everything’s okay,” said Harry with a glance 
toward Aunt Petunia and Dudley. 

“Oh, I’m sure we shall end up the best of chums,” 
said Diggle brightly, waving his hat as he left the 
room. Hestia followed him. 

Dudley gently released himself from his mother’s 
clutches and walked toward Harry, who had to 
repress an urge to threaten him with magic. Then 
Dudley held out his large, pink hand. 

“Blimey, Dudley,” said Harry over Aunt Petunia’s 
renewed sobs, “did the dementors blow a different 
personality into you?” 

“Dunno,” muttered Dudley. “See you, Harry.” 



Page | 44 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“Yeah ...” said Harry, taking Dudley’s hand and 
shaking it. “Maybe. Take care, Big D.” 

Dudley nearly smiled, then lumbered from the room. 
Harry heard his heavy footfalls on the graveled drive, 
and then a car door slammed. 

Aunt Petunia, whose face had been buried in her 
handkerchief, looked around at the sound. She did 
not seem to have expected to find herself alone with 
Harry. Hastily stowing her wet handkerchief into her 
pocket, she said, “Well — good-bye,” and marched 
toward the door without looking at him. 

“Good-bye,” said Harry. 

She stopped and looked back. For a moment Harry 
had the strangest feeling that she wanted to say 
something to him: She gave him an odd, tremulous 
look and seemed to teeter on the edge of speech, but 
then, with a little jerk of her head, she bustled out of 
the room after her husband and son. 



Page | 45 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 






THE SEVEN POTTERS 

Harry ran back upstairs to his bedroom, arriving at 
the window just in time to see the Dursleys’ car 
swinging out of the drive and off up the road. 
Dedalus’s top hat was visible between Aunt Petunia 
and Dudley in the backseat. The car turned right at 
the end of Privet Drive, its windows burned scarlet for 
a moment in the now setting sun, and then it was 
gone. 

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 now, 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 

Page | 46 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 



computer, or put on the television and flicked through 
the channels to his heart’s content. It gave him an 
odd, empty feeling to remember 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 puked 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 . . . 

Page | 47 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




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- 
P a g e | 48 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




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, black, 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 basset 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 glittered 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 
Page | 49 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




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.” 



Page | 50 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




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 just 
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. 



Page | 51 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“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.” 



Page | 52 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




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 that 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 glare 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 hell 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 

Page | 53 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




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 looked 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. 

Page | 54 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“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’ve toldjer, 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. 



Page | 55 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




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 his privacy as they all began 
stripping off with impunity, clearly much 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. 

“Harry, your eyesight really is awful,” said Hermione, 
as she put on glasses. 

Once dressed, the fake Harrys took rucksacks and 
owl cages, each containing a stuffed snowy owl, from 
the second sack. 

“Good,” said Moody, as at last seven dressed, 
bespectacled, and luggage-laden Harrys faced him. 



Page | 56 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“The pairs will be as follows: Mundungus will be 
traveling with me, by broom — ” 

“Why’m I with you?” grunted the Harry nearest the 
back door. 

“Because you’re the one that needs watching,” 
growled Moody, and sure enough, his magical eye did 
not waver from Mundungus as he continued, “Arthur 
and Fred — ” 

“I’m George,” said the twin at whom Moody was 
pointing. “Can’t you even tell us apart when we’re 
Harry?” 

“Sorry, George — ” 

“I’m only yanking your wand, I’m Fred really — ” 

“Enough messing around!” snarled Moody. “The other 
one — George or Fred or whoever you are — you’re 
with Remus. Miss Delacour — ” 

“I’m taking Fleur on a thestral,” said Bill. “She’s not 
that fond of brooms.” 

Fleur walked over to stand beside him, giving him a 
soppy, slavish look that Harry hoped with all his 
heart would never appear on his face again. 

“Miss Granger with Kingsley, again by thestral — ” 

Hermione looked reassured as she answered 
Kingsley’s smile; Harry knew that Hermione too 
lacked confidence on a broomstick. 

“Which leaves you and me, Ron!” said Tonks brightly, 
knocking over a mug tree as she waved at him. 



Page | 57 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




Ron did not look quite as pleased as Hermione. 



“An’ you’re with me, Harry. That all righ’?” said 
Hagrid, looking a little anxious. “We’ll be on the bike, 
brooms an’ thestrals can’t take me weight, see. Not a 
lot o’ room on the seat with me on it, though, so you’ll 
be in the sidecar.” 

“That’s great,” said Harry, not altogether truthfully. 

“We think the Death Eaters will expect you to be on a 
broom,” said Moody, who seemed to guess how Harry 
was feeling. “Snape’s had plenty of time to tell them 
everything about you he’s never mentioned before, so 
if we do run into any Death Eaters, we’re betting 
they’ll choose one of the Potters who look at home on 
a broomstick. All right then,” he went on, tying up the 
sack with the fake Potters’ clothes in it and leading 
the way back to the door, “I make it three minutes 
until we’re supposed to leave. No point locking the 
back door, it won’t keep the Death Eaters out when 
they come looking. ... Come on. ...” 

Harry hurried into the hall to fetch his rucksack, 
Firebolt, and Hedwig’s cage before joining the others 
in the dark back garden. On every side broomsticks 
were leaping into hands; Hermione had already been 
helped up onto a great black thestral by Kingsley, 
Fleur onto the other by Bill. Hagrid was standing 
ready beside the motorbike, goggles on. 

“Is this it? Is this Sirius’s bike?” 

“The very same,” said Hagrid, beaming down at Harry. 
“An’ the last time yeh was on it, Harry, I could fit yeh 
in one hand!” 

Harry could not help but feel a little humiliated as he 
got into the sidecar. It placed him several feet below 

Page | 58 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




everybody else: Ron smirked at the sight of him 
sitting there like a child in a bumper car. Harry 
stuffed his rucksack and broomstick down by his feet 
and rammed Hedwig’s cage between his knees. It was 
extremely uncomfortable. 

“Arthur’s done a bit o’ tinkerin’,” said Hagrid, quite 
oblivious to Harry’s discomfort. He settled himself 
astride the motorcycle, which creaked slightly and 
sank inches into the ground. “It’s got a few tricks up 
its handlebars now. Tha’ one was my idea.” 

He pointed a thick finger at a purple button near the 
speedometer. 

“Please be careful, Hagrid,” said Mr. Weasley, who 
was standing beside them, holding his broomstick. 
“I’m still not sure that was advisable and it’s certainly 
only to be used in emergencies.” 

“All right then,” said Moody. “Everyone ready, please; 

I want us all to leave at exactly the same time or the 
whole point of the diversion’s lost.” 

Everybody mounted their brooms. 

“Hold tight now, Ron,” said Tonks, and Harry saw 
Ron throw a furtive, guilty look at Lupin before 
placing his hands on either side of her waist. Hagrid 
kicked the motorbike into life: It roared like a dragon, 
and the sidecar began to vibrate. 

“Good luck, everyone,” shouted Moody. “See you all in 
about an hour at the Burrow. On the count of three. 
One ... two ... THREE.” 

There was a great roar from the motorbike, and Harry 
felt the sidecar give a nasty lurch: He was rising 
through the air fast, his eyes watering slightly, hair 

Page | 59 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




whipped back off his face. Around him brooms were 
soaring upward too; the long black tail of a thestral 
flicked past. His legs, jammed into the sidecar by 
Hedwig’s cage and his rucksack, were already sore 
and starting to go numb. So great was his discomfort 
that he almost forgot to take a last glimpse of number 
four, Privet Drive; by the time he looked over the edge 
of the sidecar he could no longer tell which one it 
was. Higher and higher they climbed into the sky — 

And then, out of nowhere, out of nothing, they were 
surrounded. At least thirty hooded figures, suspended 
in midair, formed a vast circle in the midst of which 
the Order members had risen, oblivious — 

Screams, a blaze of green light on every side: Hagrid 
gave a yell and the motorbike rolled over. Harry lost 
any sense of where they were: Streetlights above him, 
yells around him, he was clinging to the sidecar for 
dear life. Hedwig’s cage, the Firebolt, and his 
rucksack slipped from beneath his knees — 

“No — HEDWIG!” 

The broomstick spun to earth, but he just managed 
to seize the strap of his rucksack and the top of the 
cage as the motorbike swung the right way up again. 
A second’s relief, and then another burst of green 
light. The owl screeched and fell to the floor of the 
cage. 

“No — NO!” 

The motorbike zoomed forward; Harry glimpsed 
hooded Death Eaters scattering as Hagrid blasted 
through their circle. 

“Hedwig — Hedwig — ” 



Page | 60 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




But the owl lay motionless and pathetic as a toy on 
the floor of her cage. He could not take it in, and his 
terror for the others was paramount. He glanced over 
his shoulder and saw a mass of people moving, flares 
of green light, two pairs of people on brooms soaring 
off into the distance, but he could not tell who they 
were — 

“Hagrid, we’ve got to go back, we’ve got to go back!” he 
yelled over the thunderous roar of the engine, pulling 
out his wand, ramming Hedwig’s cage onto the floor, 
refusing to believe that she was dead. “Hagrid, TURN 
AROUND!” 

“My job’s ter get you there safe, Harry!” bellowed 
Hagrid, and he opened the throttle. 

“Stop — STOP!” Harry shouted, but as he looked back 
again two jets of green light flew past his left ear: Four 
Death Eaters had broken away from the circle and 
were pursuing them, aiming for Hagrid ’s broad back. 
Hagrid swerved, but the Death Eaters were keeping 
up with the bike; more curses shot after them, and 
Harry had to sink low into the sidecar to avoid them. 
Wriggling around he cried, “Stupefy\” and a red bolt of 
light shot from his own wand, cleaving a gap between 
the four pursuing Death Eaters as they scattered to 
avoid it. 

“Hold on, Harry, this’ll do for ’em!” roared Hagrid, and 
Harry looked up just in time to see Hagrid slamming 
a thick finger into a green button near the fuel gauge. 

A wall, a solid brick wall, erupted out of the exhaust 
pipe. Craning his neck, Harry saw it expand into 
being in midair. Three of the Death Eaters swerved 
and avoided it, but the fourth was not so lucky: He 
vanished from view and then dropped like a boulder 
from behind it, his broomstick broken into pieces. 
Page | 61 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




One of his fellows slowed up to save him, but they 
and the airborne wall were swallowed by darkness as 
Hagrid leaned low over the handlebars and sped up. 

More Killing Curses flew past Harry’s head from the 
two remaining Death Eaters’ wands; they were aiming 
for Hagrid. Harry responded with further Stunning 
Spells: Red and green collided in midair in a shower 
of multicolored sparks, and Harry thought wildly of 
fireworks, and the Muggles below who would have no 
idea what was happening — 

“Here we go again, Harry, hold on!” yelled Hagrid, and 
he jabbed at a second button. This time a great net 
burst from the bike’s exhaust, but the Death Eaters 
were ready for it. Not only did they swerve to avoid it, 
but the companion who had slowed to save their 
unconscious friend had caught up. He bloomed 
suddenly out of the darkness and now three of them 
were pursuing the motorbike, all shooting curses after 
it. 

“This’ll do it, Harry, hold on tight!” yelled Hagrid, and 
Harry saw him slam his whole hand onto the purple 
button beside the speedometer. 

With an unmistakable bellowing roar, dragon fire 
burst from the exhaust, white-hot and blue, and the 
motorbike shot forward like a bullet with a sound of 
wrenching metal. Harry saw the Death Eaters swerve 
out of sight to avoid the deadly trail of flame, and at 
the same time felt the sidecar sway ominously: Its 
metal connections to the bike had splintered with the 
force of acceleration. 

“It’s all righ’, Harry!” bellowed Hagrid, now thrown flat 
onto his back by the surge of speed; nobody was 
steering now, and the sidecar was starting to twist 
violently in the bike’s slipstream. 

Page | 62 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




‘Tm on it, Harry, don’ worry!” Hagrid yelled, and from 
inside his jacket pocket he pulled his flowery pink 
umbrella. 

“Hagrid! No! Let me!” 

“REPAROl” 

There was a deafening bang and the sidecar broke 
away from the bike completely: Harry sped forward, 
propelled by the impetus of the bike’s flight, then the 
sidecar began to lose height — 

In desperation Harry pointed his wand at the sidecar 
and shouted, “Wingardium Leviosal” 

The sidecar rose like a cork, unsteerable but at least 
still airborne: He had but a split second’s relief, 
however, as more curses streaked past him: The three 
Death Eaters were closing in. 

“I’m cornin’, Harry!” Hagrid yelled from out of the 
darkness, but Harry could feel the sidecar beginning 
to sink again: Crouching as low as he could, he 
pointed at the middle of the oncoming figures and 
yelled, “Impedimental” 

The jinx hit the middle Death Eater in the chest: For 
a moment the man was absurdly spread-eagled in 
midair as though he had hit an invisible barrier: One 
of his fellows almost collided with him — 

Then the sidecar began to fall in earnest, and the 
remaining Death Eater shot a curse so close to Harry 
that he had to duck below the rim of the car, 
knocking out a tooth on the edge of his seat — 

“I’m cornin’, Harry, I’m cornin’!” 



Page | 63 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




A huge hand seized the back of Harry’s robes and 
hoisted him out of the plummeting sidecar; Harry 
pulled his rucksack with him as he dragged himself 
onto the motorbike’s seat and found himself back-to- 
back with Hagrid. As they soared upward, away from 
the two remaining Death Eaters, Harry spat blood out 
of his mouth, pointed his wand at the falling sidecar, 
and yelled, “Confringo\” 

He knew a dreadful, gut-wrenching pang for Hedwig 
as it exploded; the Death Eater nearest it was blasted 
off his broom and fell from sight; his companion fell 
back and vanished. 

“Harry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” moaned Hagrid, “I 
shouldn’ta tried ter repair it meself — yeh’ve got no 
room — ” 

“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 — 

“ ExpelliarmusV’ 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 

Page | 64 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




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 backward 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. 

Page | 65 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




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 snakelike 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\” 



Page | 66 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




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 Hagridl” 

The motorbike sped up, sucked toward 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. 



Page | 67 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




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!” 



Page | 68 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 



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 — ” 

Page | 69 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




“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.” 

“Yeah, me too. I can’t believe — ” 



Page | 70 



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling 




Harry broke off. He had just noticed the woman who 
had entered the room behind Hagrid. 

“You!” he shoute