them as they were introduced. He wished they would look at something other than him; it was as though he had suddenly been ushered on-stage. He also wondered why so many of them were there.
‘A surprising number of people volunteered to come and get you,’ said Lupin, as though he had read Harry's mind; the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.
‘Yeah, well, the more the better,’ said Moody darkly. ‘We're your guard, Potter.’
‘We're just waiting for the signal to tell us it's safe to set off,’ said Lupin, glancing out of the kitchen window. ‘We've got about fifteen minutes.’
‘Very clean, aren't they, these Muggles?’ said the witch called Tonks, who was looking around the kitchen with great interest. ‘My dad's Muggle-born and he's a right old slob. I suppose it varies, just as it does with wizards?’
‘Er—yeah,’ said Harry. ‘Look'—he turned back to Lupin—'what's going on, I haven't heard anything from anyone, what's Vol—?’
Several of the witches and wizards made odd hissing noises; Dedalus Diggle dropped his hat again, and Moody growled, ‘Shut up!’
‘What?’ said Harry.
‘We're not discussing anything here, it's too risky,’ said Moody, turning his normal eye on Harry. His magical eye remained focused on the ceiling. ‘Damn it,’ he added angrily, putting a hand up to the magical eye, ‘it keeps getting stuck—ever since that scum wore it—’
And with a nasty squelching sound much like a plunger being pulled from a sink, he popped out his eye.
‘Mad-Eye, you do know that's disgusting, don't you?’ said Tonks conversationally.
‘Get me a glass of water, would you, Harry,’ requested Moody.
Harry crossed to the dishwasher, took out a clean glass and filled it with water at the sink, still watched eagerly by the band of wizards. Their relentless staring was starting to annoy him.
‘Cheers,’ said Moody, when Harry handed him the glass. He dropped the magical eyeball into the water and prodded it up and down; the eye whizzed around, staring at them all in turn. ‘I want three hundred and sixty degrees visibility on the return journey.’
‘How're we getting—wherever we're going?’ Harry asked.
‘Brooms,’ said Lupin. ‘Only way. You're too young to Apparate, they'll be watching the Floo Network and it's more than our life's worth to set up an unauthorised Portkey.’
‘Remus says you're a good flier,’ said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice.
‘He's excellent,’ said Lupin, who was checking his watch. ‘Anyway, you'd better go and get packed, Harry, we want to be ready to go when the signal comes.’
‘I'll come and help you,’ said Tonks brightly.
She followed Harry back into the hall and up the stairs, looking around with much curiosity and interest.
‘Funny place,’ she said. ‘It's a bit too clean, d'you know what I mean? Bit unnatural. Oh, this is better,’ she added, as they entered Harry's bedroom and he turned on the light.
His room was certainly much messier than the rest of the house. Confined to it for four days in a very bad mood, Harry had not bothered tidying up after himself. Most of the books he owned were strewn over the floor where he'd tried to distract himself with each in turn and thrown it aside; Hedwig's cage needed cleaning out and was starting to smell; and his trunk lay open, revealing a jumbled mixture of Muggle clothes and wizards’ robes that had spilled on to the floor around it.
Harry started picking up books and throwing them hastily into his trunk. Tonks paused at his open wardrobe to look critically at her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door.
‘You know, I don't think violet's really my colour,’ she said pensively, tugging at a lock of spiky hair. ‘D'you think it makes me look a bit peaky?’
‘Er—’ said Harry, looking up at her over the top of Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland.
‘Yeah, it does,’ said Tonks decisively. She screwed up her eyes in a strained expression as though she was struggling to remember something. A second later, her hair had turned bubble-gum pink.
‘How did you do that?’ said Harry, gaping at her as she opened her eyes again.
‘I'm a Metamorphmagus,’ she said, looking back at her reflection and turning her head so that she could see her hair from all directions. ‘It means I can change my appearance at will,’ she added, spotting Harry's puzzled expression in the mirror behind her. ‘I was born one. I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training without any study at all, it was great.’
‘You're an Auror?’ said Harry, impressed. Being a Dark-wizard-catcher was the only career he'd ever considered after Hogwarts.
‘Yeah,’ said Tonks, looking proud. ‘Kingsley is as well; he's a bit higher up than me, though. I only qualified a year ago. Nearly failed on Stealth and Tracking. I'm dead clumsy, did you hear me break that plate when we arrived downstairs?’
‘Can you learn how to be a Metamorphmagus?’ Harry asked her, straightening up, completely forgetting about packing.
Tonks chuckled.
‘Bet you wouldn't mind hiding that scar sometimes, eh?’
Her eyes found the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead.
‘No, I wouldn't mind,’ Harry mumbled, turning away. He did not like people staring at his scar.
‘Well, you'll have to learn the hard way, I'm afraid,’ said Tonks. ‘Metamorphmagi are really rare, they're born, not made. Most wizards need to use a wand, or potions, to change their appearance. But we've got to get going, Harry, we're supposed to be packing,’ she added guiltily, looking around at all the mess on the floor.
‘Oh—yeah,’ said Harry, grabbing a few more books.
‘Don't be stupid, it'll be much quicker if I—pack!’ cried Tonks, waving her wand in a long, sweeping movement over the floor.
Books, clothes, telescope, and scales all soared into the air and flew pell-mell into the trunk.
‘It's not very neat,’ said Tonks, walking over to the trunk and looking down at the jumble inside. ‘My mum's got this knack of getting stuff to fit itself in neatly—she even gets the socks to fold themselves—but I've never mastered how she does it—it's a kind of flick—’ She flicked her wand hopefully.
One of Harry's socks gave a feeble sort of wiggle and flopped back on top of the mess in the trunk.
‘Ah, well,’ said Tonks, slamming the trunk's lid shut, ‘at least it's all in. That could do with a bit of cleaning, too.’ She pointed her wand at Hedwig's cage. ‘Scourgify.’ A few feathers and droppings vanished. ‘Well, that's a bit better— I've never quite got the hang of these householdy sort of spells. Right—got everything? Cauldron? Broom? Wow! A Firebolt!’
Her eyes widened as they fell on the broomstick in Harry's right hand. It was his pride and joy, a gift from Sirius, an international-standard broomstick.
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