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.
He snatched up his wand from the bedside table and stood lacing his bedroom door, listening with all his might. Next moment, he jumped as the lock gave a loud click and his door swung open.
Aunt Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Uncle Vernon in fearful apology, then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsy teeth.
'I'll come and help you,' said Tonks brightly.
Ministry of Magic
They altered their course every now and then according to Mad-Eye's instructions. Harry's eyes were screwed up against the rush of icy wind that was starting to make his ears ache; he could remember being this cold on a broom only once before, during the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff in his third year, which had taken place in a storm. The guard around him was circling continuously like giant birds of prey. Harry lost track of time. He wondered how long they had been flying, it felt like an hour at least.
'Here we go!' called Tonks, and a few seconds later she had landed.
'What sort of things did you hear, Popkin?' breathed Aunt Petunia, very white-faced and with tears in her eyes.
'I heard - that awful boy - telling her about them - years ago,' she said jerkily.
If only his head would stop hurting, if only he could just leave the kitchen and get to his dark bedroom and think . . .
Aunt Petunia said nothing. Dudley was staring stupidly at his mother, his mouth hanging open. The silence spiralled horribly. Harry was watching his aunt, utterly bewildered, his head throbbing fit to burst.
'We're not going through clouds!' shouted Tonks angrily, 'we'll get soaked, Mad-Eye!'
It felt very strange to be standing here in Aunt Petunia's surgically clean kitchen, beside the top'-of-the-range fridge and the wide-screen television, talking calmly of Lord Voldemort to Uncle Vernon. The arrival of the Dementors in Little Whinging seemed to have breached the great, invisible wall that divided the relentlessly non-magical world of Privet Drive and the world beyond. Harry's two lives had somehow become fused and everything had been turned upside-down; the Dursleys were asking for details about the magical world, and Mrs Figg knew Albus Dumbledore; Dementors were soaring around Little Whinging, and he might never return to Hogwarts. Harry's head throbbed more painfully.
'What?' said Harry.
'How are you?' he asked, looking closely at Harry.
'But what were Dementoids doing in Little Whinging?' said Uncle Vernon in an outraged tone.
'They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban,' said Aunt Petunia.