are with me,’ said Dumbledore simply. ‘This will do, Harry.’
He came to an abrupt halt at the end of Privet Drive.
‘You have not, of course, passed your Apparition test?’ he said.
‘No,’ said Harry. ‘I thought you had to be seventeen?’
‘You do,’ said Dumbledore. ‘So you will need to hold on to my arm very tightly. My left, if you don’t mind – as you have noticed, my wand arm is a little fragile at the moment.’
Harry gripped Dumbledore’s proffered forearm.
‘Very good,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Well, here we go.’
Harry felt Dumbledore’s arm twist away from him and redoubled his grip: the next thing he knew, everything went black; he was being pressed very hard from all directions; he could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull, and then –
He gulped great lungfuls of cold night air and opened his streaming eyes. He felt as though he had just been forced through a very tight rubber tube. It was a few seconds before he realised that Privet Drive had vanished. He and Dumbledore were now standing in what appeared to be a deserted village square, in the centre of which stood an old war memorial and a few benches. His comprehension catching up with his senses, Harry realised that he had just Apparated for the first time in his life.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Dumbledore, looking down at him solicitously. ‘The sensation does take some getting used to.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Harry, rubbing his ears, which felt as though they had left Privet Drive rather reluctantly. ‘But I think I might prefer brooms.’
Dumbledore smiled, drew his travelling cloak a little more tightly around his neck and said, ‘This way.’
He set off at a brisk pace, past an empty inn and a few houses. According to a clock on a nearby church, it was almost midnight.
‘So tell me, Harry,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Your scar … has it been hurting at all?’
Harry raised a hand unconsciously to his forehead and rubbed the lightning-shaped mark.
‘No,’ he said, ‘and I’ve been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Voldemort’s getting so powerful again.’
He glanced up at Dumbledore and saw that he was wearing a satisfied expression.
‘I, on the other hand, thought otherwise,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Lord Voldemort has finally realised the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you.’
‘Well, I’m not complaining,’ said Harry, who missed neither the disturbing dreams nor the startling flashes of insight into Voldemort’s mind.
They turned a corner, passing a telephone box and a bus shelter. Harry looked sideways at Dumbledore again.
‘Professor?’
‘Harry?’
‘Er – where exactly are we?’
‘This, Harry, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton.’
‘And what are we doing here?’
‘Ah, yes, of course, I haven’t told you,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Well, I have lost count of the number of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one member of staff short. We are here to persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts.’
‘How can I help with that, sir?’
‘Oh, I think we’ll find a use for you,’ said Dumbledore vaguely. ‘Left here, Harry.’
They proceeded up a steep, narrow street lined with houses. All the windows were dark. The odd chill that had lain over Privet Drive for two weeks persisted here, too. Thinking of Dementors, Harry cast a look over his shoulder and grasped his wand reassuringly in his pocket.
‘Professor, why couldn’t we just Apparate directly into your old colleague’s house?’
‘Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted Apparators. At Hogwarts, for instance —’
‘– you can’t Apparate anywhere inside the buildings or grounds,’ said Harry quickly. ‘Hermione Granger told me.’
‘And she is quite right. We turn left again.’
The church clock chimed midnight behind them. Harry wondered why Dumbledore did not consider it rude to call on his old colleague so late, but now that conversation had been established, he had more pressing questions to ask.
‘Sir, I saw in the Daily Prophet that Fudge has been sacked …’
‘Correct,’ said Dumbledore, now turning up a steep side-street. ‘He has been replaced, as I am sure you also saw, by Rufus Scrimgeour, who used to be Head of the Auror Office.’
‘Is he … do you think he’s good?’ asked Harry.
‘An interesting question,’ said Dumbledore. ‘He is able, certainly. A more decisive and forceful personality than Cornelius.’
‘Yes, but I meant —’
‘I know what you meant. Rufus is a man of action and, having fought Dark wizards for most of his working life, does not underestimate Lord Voldemort.’
Harry waited, but Dumbledore did not say anything about the disagreement with Scrimgeour that the Daily Prophet had reported, and he did not have the nerve to pursue the subject, so he changed it.
‘And … sir … I saw about Madam Bones.’
‘Yes,’ said Dumbledore quietly. ‘A terrible loss. She was a great witch. Just up here, I think – ouch.’
He had pointed with his injured hand.
‘Professor, what happened to your —?’
‘I have no time to explain now,’ said Dumbledore. ‘It is a thrilling tale, I wish to do it justice.’
He smiled at Harry, who understood that he was not being snubbed, and that he had permission to keep asking questions.
‘Sir – I got a Ministry of Magic leaflet by owl, about security measures we should all take against the Death Eaters …’
‘Yes, I received one myself,’ said Dumbledore, still smiling. ‘Did you find it useful?’
‘Not really.’
‘No, I thought not. You have not asked me, for instance, what is my favourite flavour of jam, to check that I am indeed Professor Dumbledore, and not an impostor.’
‘I didn’t …’ Harry began, not entirely
