Harry's nostrils flared as he arrived in Diagon Alley once more. Faintly, he could still smell the scorched scent of war in the air.
Like Fred, George, and Ron, who had arrived at the ruins of Diagon Alley before him, he studied the fireplace they had just stepped out of.
It was like the fireplaces embedded in the two walls of the Ministry of Magic's reception hall.
The Ministry had erected a wall half a mile long and ten feet high at the entrance to the industrial district. Inside the wall, fireplaces had been built as gateways for people entering Diagon Alley.
Harry moved a few steps away from the fireplace to make room for Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley, who emerged right after him.
The ground beneath his feet was not the distinctive cobblestone pavement Harry remembered. It was not even cement or flagstone, merely ruins that had been compacted flat.
And the Ministry clearly did not have the spare capacity to level all the ground across the completely destroyed Diagon Alley in such a short time.
The compacted ground was limited to the arrival platform where they stood and a broad, straight road leading into the open wilderness. Everywhere beyond that remained a wasteland of broken walls and rubble.
Broken support pillars, each slanting toward the sky, silently told people of the ferocity and cruelty of the great battle.
"Diagon Alley..."
Ginny murmured in a choked voice, while the Weasleys and Hermione were similarly struck speechless.
The photographs in The Daily Prophet could never compare to seeing it in person.
Only Harry, who had personally been on the battlefield, stood there somewhat dazed.
"Don't just stand around, everyone! There are people behind you waiting to come out!"
A wizard wearing a green armband saw them staring blankly around