The Missing Mirror

Harry’sfeettouchedtheroad.HesawtheachinglyfamiliarHogsmeadeHighStreet:darkshopfronts,andthemistlineofblackmountainsbeyondthevillageandthecurveintheroadaheadthatledofftowardHogwarts,andlightspillingfromthewindowsoftheThreeBroomsticks,andwithalurchofthehear,herememberedwithpiercingaccuracy,howhehadlandedherenearlyayearbefore,supportingadesperatelyweakDumbledore,allthisinasecond,uponlanding—andthen,evenasherelaxedhisgripuponRon’sandHermione’sarms,ithappened.

TheairwasrentbyascreamthatsoundedlikeVoldemort’swhenhehadrealizedthecuphadbeenstolen:IttoreateverynerveinHarry’sbody,andheknewthattheirappearancehadcausedit.

EvenashelookedattheothertwobeneaththeCloak,thedooroftheThreeBroomsticksburstopenandadozencloakedandhoodedDeathEatersdashedintothestreets,theirwandsaloft.

HarryseizedRon’swristasheraisedhiswand;thereweretoomanyofthemtorun.Evenattemptingitwouldhavegiveawaytheirposition.OneoftheDeathEatersraisedhiswand,andthescreamstopped,stillechoingaroundthedistantmountains.

“AccioCloak!”roaredoneoftheDeathEaters.

Harryseizedhisfolds,butitmadenoattempttoescape.TheSummoningCharmhadnotworkedonit.

“Notunderyourwrapper,then,Potter?”yelledtheDeathEaterwhohadtriedthecharmandthentohisfellows.“Spreadnow.He’shere.”

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