There was a bang, and Harry felt his hands fly off Mundungus's throat

There was a bang, and Harry felt his hands fly off Mundungus's throat. Gasping and spluttering, Mundungus seized his fallen case, then—CRACK— he Disapparated.

Harry swore at the top of his voice, spinning on the spot to see where Mundungus had gone.

“COME BACK, YOU THIEVING — !”

“There's no point, Harry.” Tonks had appeared out of nowhere, her mousy hair wet with sleet.

“Mundungus will probably be in London by now. There's no point yelling.”

“He's nicked Sirius's stuff! Nicked it!”

“Yes, but still,” said Tonks, who seemed perfectly untroubled by this piece of information. “You should get out of the cold.”

She watched them go through the door of the Three Broomsticks. The moment he was inside, Harry burst out, “He was nicking Sirius's stuff!”

“I know, Harry, but please don't shout, people are staring,” whispered Hermione. “Go and sit down, I'll get you a drink.”

Harry was still fuming when Hermione returned to their table a few minutes later holding three bottles of Butterbeer.

“Can't the Order control Mundungus?” Harry demanded of the other two in a furious whisper. “Can't they at least stop him stealing everything that's not fixed down

when he's at headquarters?”

“Shh!” said Hermione desperately, looking around to make sure nobody was listening; there were a couple of warlocks sitting close by who were staring at Harry with

great interest, and Zabini was lolling against a pillar not far away. “Harry, I'd be annoyed too, I know it's your things he's stealing—”

Harry gagged on his Butterbeer; he had momentarily forgotten that he owned number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

“Yeah, it's my stuff!” he said. “No wonder he wasn't pleased to see me! Well, I'm going to tell Dumbledore what's going on, he's the only one who scares Mundungus.”

“Good idea,” whispered Hermione, clearly pleased that Harry was calming down. “Ron, what are you staring at?”

“Nothing,” said Ron, hastily looking away from the bar, but Harry knew he was trying to catch the eye of the curvy and attractive barmaid, Madam Rosmerta, for whom he

had long nursed a soft spot.

“I expect ‘nothing's’ in the back getting more firewhisky,” said Hermione waspishly.