experiences in common. He stared ahead of him, barely noticing what was going on
around him, and did not realize that Hermione had appeared out of the crowd until she
drew up a chair beside him.
“I simply can’t dance anymore,” she panted, slipping of one of her shoes and
rubbing the sole of her foot. “Ron’s gone looking to find more butterbeers. It’s a bit odd.
I’ve just seen Viktor storming away from Luna’s father, it looked like they’d been
arguing –“ She dropped her voice, staring at him. “Harry, are you okay?”
Harry did not know where to begin, but it did not matter, at that moment,
something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dance floor.
Graceful and gleaming, the lynx landed lightly in the middle of the astonished dancers.
Heads turned, as those nearest it froze absurdly in mid-dance. Then the Patronus’s mouth
opened wide and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”
Chapter Nine
A Place to Hide
Everything seemed fuzzy, slow. Harry and Hermione jumped to their feet and
drew their wands. Many people were only just realizing that something strange had
happened; heads were still turning toward the silver cat as it vanished. Silence spread
outward in cold ripples from the place where the Patronus had landed. Then somebody
screamed.
Harry and Hermione threw themselves into the panicking crowd. Guests were
sprinting in all directions; many were Disapparating; the protective enchantments around
the Burrow had broken.
“Ron!” Hermione cried. “Ron, where are you?”
As they pushed their way across the dance floor, Harry saw cloaked and masked
figures appearing in the crowd; then he saw Lupin and Tonks, their wands raised, and
heard both of them shout, “Protego!”, a cry that was echoed on all sides –
“Ron! Ron!” Hermione called, half sobbing as she and Harry were buffered by
terrified guests: Harry seized her hand to make sure they weren’t separated as a streak of
light whizzed over their heads, whether a protective charm or something more sinister he
did not know –
And then Ron was there. He caught hold of Hermione’s free arm, and Harry felt
her turn on the spot; sight and sound were extinguished as darkness pressed in upon him;
all he could feel was Hermione’s hand as he was squeezed through space and time, away
from the Burrow, away from the descending Death Eaters, away, perhaps, from
Voldemort himself. . . .
“Where are we?” said Ron’s voice.
Harry opened his eyes. For a moment he thought they had not left the wedding
after all; They still seemed to be surrounded by people.
“Tottenham Court Road,” panted Hermione. “Walk, just walk, we need to find
somewhere for you to change.”
Harry did as she asked. They half walked, half ran up the wide dark street
thronged with late-night revelers and lined with closed shops, stars twinkling above them.
A double-decker bus rumbled by and a group of merry pub-goers ogled them as they