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It happened in a fraction of a second: in the infinitesimal pause before Dumbledore said 'three', Harry looked up at him - they were very close together - and Dumbledore's clear blue gaze moved from the Portkey to Harry's face.
'Fine,' he said coolly, rummaging in his pockets, 'be like that. Don't tell us anything.'
A sallow-faced wizard with a short black fringe and an elderly witch with long silver ringlets in the frame beside him, both of whom seemed to have been in the deepest of sleeps, opened their eyes immediately.
Harry was only drinking to have something to do with his hands. His stomach was full of horrible hot, bubbling guilt. They would not be here if it were not for him; they would all still be asleep in bed. And it was no good telling himself that by raising the alarm he had ensured that Mr Weasley was found, because there was also the inescapable business of it being he who had attacked Mr Weasley in the first place.。