Chapter 16: AVeryFrosty Christmas



"So Snape was offering to help him? He was definitely offering to help

him?"


"If you ask. that once more," said Harry, "I'm going to stick this sprout --

"


"I'm only checking!" said Ron. They were standing alone at the Burrow's

kitchen sink, peeling a mountain of sprouts for Mrs. Weasley. Snow was

drifting past the window in front of them.




"Yes, Snape was offering to help him!" said Harry. "He said he'd

promised Malfoy's mother to protect him, that he'd made an Un-breakable

Oath or something --"

"An Unbreakable Vow?" said Ron, looking stunned. "Nah, he can't have. .

. . Are you sure?"


"Yes, I'm sure," said Harry. "Why, what does it mean?"


"Well, you can't break an Unbreakable Vow. . . ."


"I'd worked that much out for myself, funnily enough. What happens if

you break it, then?"


"You die," said Ron simply. "Fred and George tried to get me to make

one when I was about five. I nearly did too, I was holding hands with Fred

and everything when Dad found us. He went mental," said Ron, with a

reminiscent gleam in his eyes. "Only time I've ever seen Dad as angry as

Mum, Fred reckons his left but-tock has never been the same since."


"Yeah, well, passing over Fred's left buttock --"


"I beg your pardon?" said Fred's voice as the twins entered the kitchen.


"Aaah, George, look at this. They're using knives and everything. Bless

them."


"I'll be seventeen in two and a bit months' time," said Ron grumpily, "and

then I'll be able to do it by magic!"

"But meanwhile," said George, sitting down at the kitchen table and

putting his feet up on it, "we can enjoy watching you demon-strate the

correct use of a -- whoops-a-daisy!"


"You made me do that!" said Ron angrily, sucking his cut thumb. "You

wait, when I'm seventeen --"


"I'm sure you'll dazzle us all with hitherto unsuspected magical skills,"

yawned Fred.


"And speaking of hitherto unsuspected skills, Ronald," said George,

"what is this we hear from Ginny about you and a young lady called --

unless our information is faulty -- Lavender Brown?"


Ron turned a little pink, but did not look displeased as he turned back to

the sprouts. "Mind your own business."


"What a snappy retort," said Fred. "I really don't know how you think of

them. No, what we wanted to know was... how did it happen?"


"What d'you mean?"


"Did she have an accident or something?"


"What?" ..¦;


"Well, how did she sustain such extensive brain damage? Care-ful, now!"

Mrs. Weasley entered the room just in time to see Ron throw the sprout

knife at Fred, who had turned it into a paper airplane with one lazy flick of

his wand,


"Ron!" she said furiously. "Don't you ever let me see you throw-ing

knives again!"


"I wont," said Ron, "let you see," he added under his breath, as he turned

back to the sprout mountain.


"Fred, George, I'm sorry, dears, but Remus is arriving tonight, so Bill will

have to squeeze in with you two." ;


"No problem," said George.


- "Then, as Charlie isn't coming home, that just leaves Harry and ;¦/ Ron

in the attic, and if Fleur shares with Ginny --" "-- that'll make Ginny's

Christmas --" muttered Fred. "-- everyone should be comfortable. Well,

they'll have a bed, anyway," said Mrs. Weasley, sounding slightly harassed.


"Percy definitely not showing his ugly face, then?" asked Fred. Mrs.

Weasley turned away before she answered. "No, he's busy, I expect, at the

Ministry."


"Or he's the world's biggest prat," said Fred, as Mrs. Weasley left the

kitchen. "One of the two. "Well, let's get going, then, George."

"What are you two up to?" asked Ron. "Cant you help us with these

sprouts? You could just use your wand and then we'll be free


too!"


"No, I don't think we can do that," said Fred seriously. "It's very

character-building stuff, learning to peel sprouts without magic, makes you

appreciate how difficult it is for Muggles and Squibs --" "-- and if you

want people to help you, Ron," added George, throwing the paper airplane at

him, "I wouldn't chuck knives at them. Just a little hint. We're off to the

village, there's a very pretty girl working in the paper shop who thinks my

card tricks are some-thing marvelous . . , almost like real magic. ..."


"Gits," said Ron darkly, watching Fred and George setting off across the

snowy yard. "Would've only taken them ten seconds and then we could've

gone too."


"I couldn't," said Harry. "I promised Dumbledore I wouldn't wander off

while I'm staying here."


"Oh yeah," said Ron. He peeled a few more sprouts and then said, "Are

you going to tell Dumbledore what you heard Snape and Malfoy saying to

each other?"


"Yep," said Harry. "I'm going to tell anyone who can put a stop to it, and

Dumbledore's top of the list. I might have another word with your dad too."

"Pity you didn't hear what Malfoy's actually doing, though." "I couldn't

have done, could I? That was the whole point, he was refusing to tell

Snape."


There was silence for a moment or two, then Ron said, " 'Course, you

know what they'll all say? Dad and Dumbledore and all of them? They'll say

Snape isn't really trying to help Malfoy, he was just trying to find out what

Malfoy's up to."


"They didn't hear him," said Harry flatly. "No one's that good an actor, not

even Snape."


"Yeah . . . I'm just saying, though/' said Ron.


Harry turned to face him, frowning. "You think I'm right, though?" ,


"Yeah, I do!" said Ron hastily. "Seriously, I do! But they're all convinced

Snape's in the Order, aren't they?"


Harry said nothing. It had already occurred to him that this would be the

most likely objection to his new evidence; he could hear Hermione now:

Obviously, Harry, he was pretending to offer help so he could trick Malfoy

into telling him what he's doing. . . .


This was pure imagination, however, as he had had no opportu-nity to tell

Hermione what he had overheard. She had disappeared from Slughorn's

party before he returned to it, or so he had been informed by an irate

McLaggen, and she had already gone to bed by the time he returned to the

common room. As he and Ron had left for the Burrow early the next day, he

had barely had time to wish her a happy Christmas and to tell her that he had

some very important news when they got back from the holidays. He was

not entirely sure that she had heard him, though; Ron and Lavender had been

saying a thoroughly nonverbal good-bye just behind him at the time.


Still, even Hermione would not be able to deny one thing: Mal-foy was

definitely up to something, and Snape knew it, so Harry felt fully justified in

saying "I told you so," which he had done sev-eral times to Ron already.


Harry did not get the chance to speak to Mr. Weasley, who was working

very long hours at the Ministry, until Christmas Eve night. The Weasleys

and their guests were sitting in the living room, which Ginny had decorated

so lavishly that it was rather like sitting in a paper-chain explosion. Fred,

George, Harry, and Ron were the only ones who knew that the angel on top

of the tree was actually a garden gnome that had bitten Fred on the ankle as

hr pulled up carrots for Christmas dinner. Stupefied, painted gold, stuffed

into a miniature tutu and with small wings glued to il.s back, it glowered

down at them all, the ugliest angel Harry had ever seen, with a large bald

head like a potato and rather hairy feet.


They were all supposed to be listening to a Christmas broadcast by Mrs.

Weasleys favorite singer, Celestina Warbeck, whose voice was warbling out

of the large wooden wireless set. Fleur, who seemed to find Celestina very

dull, was talking so loudly in the corner that a scowling Mrs. Weasley kept

pointing her wand at the volume con-trol, so that Celestina grew louder and

louder. Under cover of a par-ticularly jazzy number called "A Cauldron Full

of Hot, Strong Love," Fred and George started a game of Exploding Snap

with Ginny. Ron kept shooting Bill and Fleur covert looks, as though hoping

to pick up tips. Meanwhile, Remus Lupin, who was thinner and more

ragged-looking than ever, was sitting beside the fire, staring into its depths

as though he could not hear Celestinas voice.


Oh, come and stir my cauldron,


And if you do it right,


I'll boil you up some hot strong love


To keep you warm tonight.


"We danced to this when we were eighteen!" said Mrs. Weasley, wiping

her eyes on her knitting. "Do you remember, Arthur?"


"Mphf?" said Mr. Weasley, whose head had been nodding over the

satsuma he was peeling. "Oh yes ... marvelous tune . . ."


With an effort, he sat up a little straighter and looked around at Harry,

who was sitting next to him.


"Sorry about this," he said, jerking his head toward the wireless as

Celestina broke into the chorus. "Be over soon."

"No problem," said Harry, grinning. "Has it been busy at the Ministry?"


"Very," said Mr. Weasley. "I wouldn't mind if we were getting anywhere,

but of the three arrests we've made in the last couple of months, I doubt that

one of them is a genuine Death Eater -- only don't repeat that, Harry," he

added quickly, looking much more awake all of a sudden.


"They're not still holding Stan Shunpike, are they?" asked Harry.


"I'm afraid so," said Mr. Weasley. "I know Dumbledore's tried appealing

directly to Scrimgeour about Stan. ... I mean, anybody who has actually

interviewed him agrees that he's about as much a Death Eater as this satsuma

. . . but the top levels want to look as though they're making some progress,

and 'three arrests' sounds better than 'three mistaken arrests and releases'. . .

but again, this is


all top secret. . . ."


"I won't say anything," said Harry. He hesitated for a moment, wondering

how best to embark on what he wanted to say; as he marshaled his thoughts,

Celestina Warbeck began a ballad called "You Charmed the Heart Right Out

of Me."


"Mr. Weasley, you know what I told you at the station when we were

setting off for school?"

"I checked, Harry," said Mr. Weasley at once. "I went and searched the

Malfoys' house. There was nothing, either broken or whole, that shouldn't

have been there."


"Yeah, I know, I saw in the Prophet that you'd looked . . . but this is

something different. . . . Well, something more ..."


And he told Mr. Weasley everything he had overheard between


Malfoy and Snape, As Harry spoke, he saw Lupin's head turn a lit-tle

toward him, taking in every word. When he had finished, there was silence,

except for Celestina's crooning.


Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone? It's left me for a spell...


"Has it occurred to you, Harry," said Mr. Weasley, "that Snape was

simply pretending -- ?"


"Pretending to offer help, so that he could find out what Malfoy's up to?"

said Harry quickly. "Yeah, I thought you'd say that. But how do we know?"


"It isn't our business to know," said Lupin unexpectedly. He had turned

his back on the fire now and faced Harry across Mr. Weasley. "It's

Dumbledore's business. Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought to be

good enough for all of us."

"But," said Harry, "just say -- just say Dumbledores wrong about Snape

--"


"People have said it, many times. It comes down to whether or not you

trust Dumbledore's judgment. I do; therefore, I trust Severus."


"But Dumbledore can make mistakes," argued Harry. "He says it himself.

And you" -- he looked Lupin straight in the eye -- "do you honestly like

Snape?"


"I neither like nor dislike Severus," said Lupin. "No, Harry, I am speaking

the truth," he added, as Harry pulled a skeptical expres-sion. "We shall never

be bosom friends, perhaps; after all that hap-pened between James and Sirius

and Severus, there is too much bitterness there. But I do not forget that

during the year I taught at Hogwarts, Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion

for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I

usu-ally do at the full moon."


"But he 'accidentally' let it slip that you're a werewolf, so you had to

leave!" said Harry angrily.


Lupin shrugged. "The news would have leaked out anyway. We both

know he wanted my job, but he could have wreaked much worse damage on

me by tampering with the potion. He kept me healthy. I must be grateful."


"Maybe he didn't dare mess with the potion with Dumbledore watching

him!" said Harry.

"You are determined to hate him, Harry," said Lupin with a faint smile.

"And I understand; with James as your father, with Sir-ius as your godfather,

you have inherited an old prejudice. By all means tell Dumbledore what you

have told Arthur and me, but do not expect him to share your view of the

matter; do not even expect him to be surprised by what you tell him. It might

have been on Dumbledore's orders that Severus questioned Draco." ;


. . . and now you've torn it quite apart I'll thank you to give back my heart!


Celestina ended her song on a very long, high-pitched note and loud

applause issued out of the wireless, which Mrs. Weasley joined in with

enthusiastically.


"Eez eet over?" said Fleur loudly. "Thank goodness, what an 'orrible --"


"Shall we have a nightcap, then?" asked Mr. Weasley loudly, leaping to

his feet. "Who wants eggnog?"


"What have you been up to lately?" Harry asked Lupin, as Mr, Weasley

bustled off to fetch the eggnog, and everybody else stretched and broke into

conversation.


"Oh, I've been underground," said Lupin. "Almost literally. That's why I

haven't been able to write, Harry; sending letters to you would have been

something of a giveaway." -:

"What do you mean?" '


"I've been living among my fellows, my equals," said Lupin.

"Werewolves," he added, at Harrys look of incomprehension. "Nearly all of

them are on Voldemort's side. Dumbledore wanted a spy and here I was . . .

ready-made."


He sounded a little bitter, and perhaps realized it, for he smiled more

warmly as he went on, "I am not complaining; it is necessary work and who

can do it better than I? However, it has been difficult gaining their trust. I

bear the unmistakable signs of having tried to live among wizards, you see,

whereas they have shunned normal society and live on the margins, stealing

-- and sometimes killing -- to eat."


"How come they like Voldemort?"


"They think that, under his rule, they will have a better life," said Lupin.

"And it is hard to argue with Greyback out there. . . ."


"Who's Greyback?"


"You haven't heard of him?" Lupin's hands closed convulsively in his lap.

"Fenrir Greyback is, perhaps, the most savage werewolf alive today. He

regards it as his mission in life to bite and to conta-minate as many people as

possible; he wants to create enough were-wolves to overcome the wizards.

Voldemort has promised him prey in return for his services. Greyback

specializes in children. . . . Bite them young, he says, and raise them away

from their parents, raise them to hate normal wizards. Voldemort has

threatened to unleash him upon people's sons and daughters; it is a threat

that usually produces good results."


Lupin paused and then said, "It was Greyback who bit me." "What?" said

Harry, astonished. "When -- when you were a kid, you mean?"


"Yes. My father had offended him. I did not know, for a very long time,

the identity of the werewolf who had attacked me; I even felt pity for him,

thinking that he had had no control, know-ing by then how it felt to

transform. But Greyback is not like that. At the full moon, he positions

himself close to victims, ensuring that he is near enough to strike. He plans it

all. And this is the man Voldemort is using to marshal the werewolves. I

cannot pretend that my particular brand of reasoned argument is making

much headway against Greyback's insistence that we werewolves deserve

blood, that we ought to revenge ourselves on normal people." "But you are

normal!" said Harry fiercely. "You've just got a -- a


problem --"


Lupin burst out laughing. "Sometimes you remind me a lot of James. He

called it my 'furry little problem in company. Many people were under the

impression that I owned a badly behaved


rabbit."

He accepted a glass of eggnog from Mr. Weasley with a word of thanks,

looking slightly more cheerful, Harry, meanwhile, felt a rush of excitement:

This last mention of his father had reminded him that there was something

he had been looking forward to ask-ing Lupin.


"Have you ever heard of someone called the Half-Blood Prince?"


"The Half-Blood what?"


"Prince," said Harry, watching him closely for signs of recogni-tion.


"There are no Wizarding princes," said Lupin, now smiling. "Is this a title

you re thinking of adopting? I should have thought be-ing 'the Chosen One'

would be enough."


"It's nothing to do with me!" said Harry indignantly. "The Half-Blood

Prince is someone who used to go to Hogwarts, I've got his old Potions

book. He wrote spells all over it, spells he invented. One of them was

Levicorpus --"


"Oh, that one had a great vogue during my time at Hogwarts," said Lupin

reminiscently. "There were a few months in my fifth year when you couldn't

move for being hoisted into the air by your ankle."


"My dad used it," said Harry. "I saw him in the Pensieve, he used it on

Snape."

He tried to sound casual, as though this was a throwaway com-ment of no

real importance, but he was not sure he had achieved the right effect; Lupins

smile was a little too understanding.


"Yes," he said, "but he wasn't the only one. As I say, it was very popular. .

. . You know how these spells come and go. , . ."


"But it sounds like it was invented while you were at school," Harry

persisted.


"Not necessarily," said Lupin. "Jinxes go in and out of fashion like

everything else."


He looked into Harry's face and then said quietly, "James was a

pureblood, Harry, and I promise you, he never asked us to call him 'Prince.'"


Abandoning pretense, Harry said, "And it wasn't Sirius? Or you?"


"Definitely not."


"Oh." Harry stared into the fire. "I just thought -- well, he's helped me out

a lot in Potions classes, the Prince has."


"How old is this book, Harry?"


"I dunno, I've never checked."

"Well, perhaps that will give you some clue as to when the Prince was at

Hogwarts," said Lupin.


Shortly after this, Fleur decided to imitate Celestina singing "A Cauldron

Full of Hot, Strong Love," which was taken by everyone, once they had

glimpsed Mrs. Weasley's expression, to be the cue to go to bed. Harry and

Ron climbed all the way up to Ron's attic bedroom, where a camp bed had

been added for Harry.


Ron fell asleep almost immediately, but Harry delved into his trunk and

pulled out his copy of Advanced Potion-Making before getting into bed.

There he turned its pages, searching, until he finally found, at the front of the

book, the date that it had been pub-lished. It was nearly fifty years old.

Neither his father, nor his father's friends, had been at Hogwarts fifty years

ago. Feeling disappointed, Harry threw the book back into his trunk, turned

off the lamp, and rolled over, thinking of werewolves and Snape, Stan

Shunpike and the Half-Blood Prince, and finally falling into an uneasy sleep

full of creeping shadows and the cries of bitten children. . . .


"She's got to be joking. . . ."


Harry woke with a start to find a bulging stocking lying over the end of

his bed. He put on his glasses and looked around; the tiny window was

almost completely obscured with snow and, in front of it, Ron was sitting

bolt upright in bed and examining what ap-peared to be a thick gold chain.


"What's chat?" asked Harry. '

"Its from Lavender," said Ron, sounding revolted^ "She earn


honestly think I'd wear ..."


Harry looked more closely and let out a shout of laughter, Dan


gling from the chain in large gold letters were the words:




"My sweetheart"




"Nice," he said. "Classy. You should definitely wear it in front ol Fred

and George."


"If you tell them," said Ron, shoving the necklace out of sight under his

pillow, "I -- I -- I'll --"


"Stutter at me?" said Harry, grinning. "Come on, would I?"


"How could she think I'd like something like that, though?" Ron

demanded of thin air, looking rather shocked.

"Well, think back," said Harry. "Have you ever let it slip that you'd like to

go out in public with the words 'My Sweetheart' round your neck?"


"Well... we don't really talk much," said Ron. "It's mainly . . ."


"Snogging," said Harry.


"Well, yeah," said Ron. He hesitated a moment, then said, "Is Hermione

really going out with McLaggen?"


"I dunno," said Harry. "They were at Slughorn's party together, but I don't

think it went that well."


Ron looked slightly more cheerful as he delved deeper into his stocking.


Harrys presents included a sweater with a large Golden Snitch worked

onto the front, hand-knitted by Mrs. Weasley, a large box of Weasleys'

Wizard Wheezes products from the twins, and a slightly damp, moldy-

smelling package that came with a label read-ing To Master, From Kreacher,


Harry stared at it. "D'you reckon this is safe to open?" he asked. "Can't be

anything dangerous, all our mail's still being searched at the Ministry,"

replied Ron, though he was eyeing the parcel suspiciously.


"I didn't think of giving Kreacher anything. Do people usually give their

house-elves Christmas presents?" asked Harry, prodding the parcel

cautiously.

"Hermione would," said Ron. "But let's wait and see what it is before you

start feeling guilty."


A moment later, Harry had given a loud yell and leapt out of his camp

bed; the package contained a large number of maggots. "Nice," said Ron,

roaring with laughter. "Very thoughtful." "I'd rather have them than that

necklace," said Harry, which sobered Ron up at once.


Everybody was wearing new sweaters when they all sat down for

Christmas lunch, everyone except Fleur (on whom, it appeared, Mrs.

Weasley had not wanted to waste one) and Mrs. Weasley herself, who was

sporting a brand-new midnight blue witch's hat glittering with what looked

like tiny starlike diamonds, and a spec-tacular golden necklace.


"Fred and George gave them to me! Aren't they beautiful?" .: "Well, we

find we appreciate you more and more, Mum, now we're washing our own

socks," said George, waving an airy hand. "Parsnips, Remus?"


"Harry, you've got a maggot in your hair," said Ginny cheerfully, leaning

across the table to pick it out; Harry felt goose bumps erupt up his neck that

had nothing to do with the maggot.


"'Ow 'orrible," said Fleur, with an affected little shudder.


"Yes, isn't it?" said Ron. "Gravy, Fleur?"

. In his eagerness to help her, he knocked the gravy boat flying; Bill

waved his wand and the gravy soared up in the air and returned meekly to

the boat.


"You are as bad as zat Tonks," said Fleur to Ron, when she had finished

kissing Bill in thanks. "She is always knocking --"


"I invited dear Tonks to come along today," said Mrs. Weasley, setting

down the carrots with unnecessary force and glaring at Fleur. "But she

wouldn't come. Have you spoken to her lately, Remus?"


"No, I haven't been in contact with anybody very much," said Lupin. "But

Tonks has got her own family to go to, hasn't she?"


"Hmmm," said Mrs. Weasley. "Maybe. I got the impression she was

planning to spend Christmas alone, actually."


She gave Lupin an annoyed look, as though it was all his fault she was

getting Fleur for a daughter-in-law instead of Tonks, but Harry, glancing

across at Fleur, who was now feeding Bill bits of turkey off her own fork,

thought that Mrs. Weasley was fighting a long-lost battle. He was, however,

reminded of a question he had with regard to Tonks, and who better to ask

than Lupin, the man who knew all about Patronuses?


"Tonks's Patronus has changed its form," he told him. "Snape said so

anyway. I didn't know that could happen. Why would your Patronus

change?"

Lupin took his time chewing his turkey and swallowing before saying

slowly, "Sometimes ... a great shock ... an emotional up-heaval ..."


"It looked big, and it had four legs," said Harry, struck by a sud-den

thought and lowering his voice. "Hey ... it couldn't be -- ?"


"Arthur!" said Mrs. Weasley suddenly. She had risen from her chair; her

hand was pressed over her heart and she was staring out of the kitchen

window. "Arthur -- it's Percy!"


"What?"


Mr. Weasley looked around. Everybody looked quickly at the window;

Ginny stood up for a better look. There, sure enough, was Percy Weasley,

striding across the snowy yard, his horn-rimmed glasses glinting in the

sunlight. He was not, however, alone.


"Arthur, he's -- he's with the Minister!"


And sure enough, the man Harry had seen in the Daily Prophet was

following along in Percy's wake, limping slightly, his mane of graying hair

and his black cloak flecked with snow. Before any of , them could say

anything, before Mr. and Mrs. Weasley could do : more than exchange

stunned looks, the back door opened and there stood Percy.

There was a moment's painful silence. Then Percy said rather stiffly,

"Merry Christmas, Mother."


"Oh, Percy!" said Mrs. Weasley, and she threw herself into his arms.


Rufus Scrimgeour paused in the doorway, leaning on his walk-ing stick

and smiling as he observed this affecting scene.


"You must forgive this intrusion," he said, when Mrs. Weasley looked

around at him, beaming and wiping her eyes. "Percy and I were in the

vicinity -- working, you know -- and he couldn't re-sist dropping in and

seeing you all."


But Percy showed no sign of wanting to greet any of the rest of the

family. He stood, poker-straight and awkward-looking, and stared over

everybody else's heads. Mr. Weasley, Fred, and George were all observing

him, stony-faced.


"Please, come in, sit down, Minister!" fluttered Mrs. Weasley,

straightening her hat. Have a little purkey, or some tooding. ... 1 '. mean --"


"No, no, my dear Molly," said Scrimgeour. Harry guessed that he had

checked her name with Percy before they entered the house. "I don't want to

intrude, wouldn't be here at all if Percy hadn't wanted to see you all so badly.

. . ."


"Oh, Perce!" said Mrs. Weasley tearfully, reaching up to kiss him.

". , . We've only looked in for five minutes, so I'll have a stroll around the

yard while you catch up with Percy. No, no, I assure you I don't want to butt

in! Well, if anybody cared to show me your charming garden . . . Ah, that

young man's finished, why doesn't he take a stroll with me?"


The atmosphere around the table changed perceptibly. Every-body looked

from Scrimgeour to Harry. Nobody seemed to find Scrimgeour's pretense

that he did not know Harry's name convincing, or find it natural that he

should be chosen to accompany the Minister around the garden when Ginny,

Fleur, and George also had clean plates.


"Yeah, all right," said Harry into the silence.


He was not fooled; for all Scrimgeour's talk that they had just been in the

area, that Percy wanted to look up his family, this must be the real reason

that they had come, so that Scrimgeour could speak to Harry alone.


"It's fine," he said quietly, as he passed Lupin, who had half risen from his

chair. "Fine," he added, as Mr. Weasley opened his mouth to speak.


"Wonderful!" said Scrimgeour, standing back to let Harry pass


through the door ahead of him. "We'll just take a turn around the garden,

and Percy and I'll be off. Carry on, everyone!"

Harry walked across the yard toward the Weasleys' overgrown, snow-

covered garden, Scrimgeour limping slightly at his side. He had, Harry

knew, been Head of the Auror office; he looked tough and battle-scarred,

very different from portly Fudge in his bowler hat.


"Charming," said Scrimgeour, stopping at the garden fence and looking

out over the snowy lawn and the indistinguishable plants. "Charming."


Harry said nothing. He could tell that Scrimgeour was watching him.


"I've wanted to meet you for a very long time," said Scrimgeour, after a

few moments. "Did you know that?"


"No," said Harry truthfully. ¦!.


"Oh yes, for a very long time. But Dumbledore has been very protective

of you," said Scrimgeour. "Natural, of course, natural, after what you've

been through. . . . Especially what happened at : the Ministry ...":


He waited for Harry to say something, but Harry did not oblige, : so he

went on, "I have been hoping for an occasion to talk to you ever since I

gained office, but Dumbledore has -- most under-standably, as I say --

prevented this."


Still, Harry said nothing, waiting.

"The rumors that have flown around!" said Scrimgeour. "Well, of course,

we both know how these stories get distorted ... all these whispers of a

prophecy . . . of you being 'the Chosen One'. . ."


They were getting near it now, Harry thought, the reason Scrim-geour was

here.


"I assume that Dumbledore has discussed these matters with you?",


Harry deliberated, wondering whether he ought to lie or not. He looked at

the little gnome prints all around the flowerbeds, ami the scuffed-up patch

that marked the spot where Fred had caught the gnome now wearing the tutu

at the top of the Christmas tree. Finally, he decided on the truth ... or a bit of

it.


"Yeah, we've discussed it."


"Have you, have you . . ." said Scrimgeour. Harry could see, out of the

corner of his eye, Scrimgeour squinting at him, so he pre-tended to be very

interested in a gnome that had just poked its head out from underneath a

frozen rhododendron. "And what has Dumbledore told you, Harry?"


"Sorry, but that's between us," said Harry. He kept his voice as pleasant as

he could, and Scrimgeour's tone, too, was light and friendly as he said, "Oh,

of course, if it's a question of confidences, I wouldn't want you to divulge . .

. no, no ... and in any case, does it really matter whether you are 'the Chosen

One' or not?"

Harry had to mull that one over for a few seconds before re-sponding. "I

don't really know what you mean, Minister."


"Well, of course, to you it will matter enormously," said Scrim-geour with

a laugh. "But to the Wizarding community at large . . . it's all perception,

isn't it? It's what people believe that's important."


Harry said nothing. He thought he saw, dimly, where they were heading,

but he was not going to help Scrimgeour get there. The gnome under the

rhododendron was now digging for worms at its roots, and Harry kept his

eyes fixed upon it.


"People believe you are 'the Chosen One,' you see," said Scrim-geour.

"They think you quite the hero -- which, of course, you arc, Harry, chosen

or not! How many times have you faced He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

now? Well, anyway," he pressed on, without waiting for a reply, "the point

is, you are a symbol of hope lor many, Harry. The idea that there is

somebody out there who might be able, who might even be destined, to

destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named -- well, naturally, it gives people a

lift. And I can't help but feel that, once you realize this, you might consider

it, well, almost a duty, to stand alongside the Ministry, and give everyone a

boost."


The gnome had just managed to get hold of a worm. It was now tugging

very hard on it, trying to get it out of the frozen ground. Harry was silent so

long that Scrimgeour said, looking from Harry to the gnome, "Funny little

chaps, aren't they? But what say you, Harry?"


"I don't exactly understand what you want," said Harry slowly. '"Stand

alongside the Ministry' . . . What does that mean?"


"Oh, well, nothing at all onerous, I assure you," said Scrim-geour. "If you

were to be seen popping in and out of the Ministry from time to time, for

instance, that would give the right impres-sion. And of course, while you

were there, you would have ample : opportunity to speak to Gawain

Robards, my successor as Head of the Auror office. Dolores Umbridge has

told me that you cherish an ambition to become an Auror. Well, that could

be arranged very easily. ..."


Harry felt anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach: So Dolores Umbridge

was still at the Ministry, was she?


"So basically," he said, as though he just wanted to clarify a few points,

"you'd like to give the impression that I'm working for the Ministry?"


"It would give everyone a lift to think you were more involved, Harry,"

said Scrimgeour, sounding relieved that Harry had cot-toned on so quickly.

"'The Chosen One,' you know. . . It's all about giving people hope, the

feeling that exciting things are hap-pening. ..."

"But if I keep running in and out of the Ministry," said Harry, still

endeavoring to keep his voice friendly, "won't that seem as though I approve

of what the Ministry's up to?"


"Well," said Scrimgeour, frowning slightly, "well, yes, that's partly why

we'd like --"


"No, I don't think that'll work," said Harry pleasantly. "You see, I don't

like some of the things the Ministry's doing. Locking up Stan Shunpike, for

instance."


Scrimgeour did not speak for a moment but his expression hard-ened

instantly. "I would not expect you to understand," he said, and he was not as

successful at keeping anger out of his voice as Harry had been. "These are

dangerous times, and certain measures need to be taken. You are sixteen

years old --"


"Dumbledore's a lot older than sixteen, and he doesn't think Stan should

be in Azkaban either," said Harry. "You're making Stan a scapegoat, just like

you want to make me a mascot."


They looked at each other, long and hard. Finally Scrimgeour said, with

no pretense at warmth, "I see. You prefer -- like your hero, Dumbledore --

to disassociate yourself from the Ministry?" "I don't want to be used," said

Harry.

"Some would say it's your duty to be used by the Ministry!" "Yeah, and

others might say its your duty to check that people really are Death Eaters

before you chuck them in prison," said Harry, his temper rising now. "You're

doing what Barty Crouch


did. You never get it right, you people, do you? Either we've got Fudge,

pretending everything's lovely while people get murdered right under his

nose, or we've got you, chucking the wrong people into jail and trying to

pretend you've got 'the Chosen One' work-ing for you!" ' i


"So you're not 'the Chosen One'?" said Scrimgeour. '


"I thought you said it didn't matter either way?" said Harry, with a bitter

laugh. "Not to you anyway."


"I shouldn't have said that," said Scrimgeour quickly. "It was tactless --"


"No, it was honest," said Harry. "One of the only honest things you've

said to me. You don't care whether I live or die, but you do care that I help

you convince everyone you're winning the war against Voldemort. I haven't

forgotten, Minister...."


He raised his right fist. There, shining white on the back of his cold hand,

were the scars which Dolores Umbridge had forced him to carve into his

own flesh: I must not tell lies.

"I don't remember you rushing to my defense when I was trying to tell

everyone Voldemort was back. The Ministry wasn't so keen to be pals last

year."


They stood in silence as icy as the ground beneath their feet. The gnome

had finally managed to extricate his worm and was now sucking on it

happily, leaning against the bottommost branches of the rhododendron bush.


"What is Dumbledore up to?" said Scrimgeour brusquely. "Where does he

go when he is absent from Hogwarts?"


"No idea," said Harry.


"And you wouldn't tell me if you knew," said Scrimgeour, "would you?"


"No, 1 wouldn't," said Harry.


"Well, then, I shall have to see whether I can't find out by other means."


"You can try," said Harry indifferently. "But you seem cleverer than

Fudge, so I'd have thought you'd have learned from his mis-takes. He tried

interfering at Hogwarts. You might have noticed he's not Minister anymore,

but Dumbledore's still headmaster. I'd leave Dumbledore alone, if I were

you."


There was a long pause.

"Well, it is clear to me that he has done a very good job on you," said

Scrimgeour, his eyes cold and hard behind his wire-rimmed glasses,

"Dumbledore's man through and through, aren't you, Potter?"


"Yeah, I am," said Harry. "Glad we straightened that out."


And turning his back on the Minister of Magic, he strode back toward the

house.