Snow was swirling against the icy windows once more; Christmas was approaching fast. Hagrid had already single-handedly delivered the usual twelve Christmas trees for the Great Hall; garlands of holly and tinsel had been twisted around the banisters of the stairs; everlasting candles glowed from inside the helmets of suits of armour and great bunches of mistletoe had been hung at intervals along the corridors. Large groups of girls tended to converge underneath the mistletoe bunches every time Harry went past, which caused blockages in the corridors; fortunately, however, Harry’s frequent night-time wanderings had given him an unusually good knowledge of the castle’s secret passageways, so that he was able, without too much difficulty, to navigate mistletoe-free routes between classes.
Ron, who might once have found the necessity of these detours a cause for jealousy rather than hilarity, simply roared with laughter about it all. Although Harry much preferred this new laughing, joking Ron to the moody, aggressive model he had been enduring for the last few weeks, the improved Ron came at a heavy price. Firstly, Harry had to put up with the frequent presence of Lavender Brown, who seemed to regard any moment that she was not kissing Ron as a moment wasted; and secondly, Harry found himself, once more, the best friend of two people who seemed unlikely ever to speak to each other again.
Ron, whose hands and forearms still bore scratches and cuts from Hermione’s bird attack, was taking a defensive and resentful tone.
‘She can’t complain,’ he told Harry. ‘She snogged Krum. So she’s found out someone wants to snog me, too. Well, it’s a free country. I haven’t done anything wrong.’
Harry did not answer, but pretended to be absorbed in the book they were supposed to have read before Charms the following morning (Quintessence: A Quest). Determined as he was to remain friends with both Ron and Hermione, he was spending a lot of time with his mouth shut tight.
‘I never promised Hermione anything,’ Ron mumbled. ‘I mean, all right, I
was going to go to Slughorn’s Christmas party with her, but she never said … just as friends … I’m a free agent …’
Harry turned a page of Quintessence, aware that Ron was watching him. Ron’s voice tailed away in mutters, barely audible over the loud crackling of the fire, though Harry thought he caught the words ‘Krum’ and ‘can’t complain’ again.
Hermione’s timetable was so full that Harry could only talk to her properly in the evenings, when Ron was in any case so tightly wrapped around Lavender that he did not notice what Harry was doing. Hermione refused to sit in the common room while Ron was there, so Harry generally joined her in the library, which meant that their conversations were held in whispers.
‘He’s at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes,’ said Hermione, while the librarian, Madam Pince, prowled the shelves behind them. ‘I really couldn’t care less.’
She raised her quill and dotted an ‘i’ so ferociously that she punctured a hole in her parchment. Harry said nothing. He thought his voice might soon vanish from lack of use. He bent a little lower over Advanced Potion-Making and continued to make notes on Everlasting Elixirs, occasionally pausing to decipher the Prince’s useful additions to Libatius Borage’s text.
‘And incidentally,’ said Hermione, after a few moments, ‘you need to be careful.’
‘For the last time,’ said Harry, speaking in a slightly hoarse whisper after three-quarters of an hour of silence, ‘I am not giving back this book, I’ve learned more from the Half-Blood Prince than Snape or Slughorn have taught me in –’
‘I’m not talking about your stupid so-called Prince,’ said Hermione, giving his book a nasty look as though it had been rude to her, ‘I’m talking about earlier. I went into the girls’ bathroom just before I came in here and there were about a dozen girls in there, including that Romilda Vane, trying to decide how to slip you a love potion. They’re all hoping they’re going to get you to take them to Slughorn’s party and they all seem to have bought Fred and George’s love potions, which I’m afraid to say probably work –’
‘Why didn’t you confiscate them, then?’ demanded Harry. It seemed extraordinary that Hermione’s mania for upholding rules could have abandoned her at this crucial juncture.
‘They didn’t have the potions with them in the bathroom,’ said Hermione scornfully. ‘They were just discussing tactics. As I doubt whether even the Half-Blood Prince,’ she gave the book another nasty look, ‘could dream up an
antidote for a dozen different love potions at once, I’d just invite someone to go with you – that’ll stop all the others thinking they’ve still got a chance. It’s tomorrow night, they’re getting desperate.’
‘There isn’t anyone I want to invite,’ mumbled Harry, who was still trying not to think about Ginny any more than he could help, despite the fact that she kept cropping up in his dreams in ways that made him devoutly thankful that Ron could not perform Legilimency.
‘Well, just be careful what you drink, because Romilda Vane looked like she meant business,’ said Hermione grimly.
She hitched up the long roll of parchment on which she was writing her Arithmancy essay and continued to scratch away with her quill. Harry watched her with his mind a long way away.
‘Hang on a moment,’ he said slowly. ‘I thought Filch had banned anything bought at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes?’
‘And when has anyone ever paid attention to what Filch has banned?’ asked Hermione, still concentrating on her essay.
‘But I thought all the owls were being searched? So how come these girls are able to bring love potions into school?’
‘Fred and George send them disguised as perfumes and cough potions,’ said Hermione. ‘It’s part of their Owl Order Service.’
‘You know a lot about it.’
Hermione gave him the kind of nasty look she had just given his copy of
Advanced Potion-Making.
‘It was all on the back of the bottles they showed Ginny and me in the summer,’ she said coldly. ‘I don’t go around putting potions in people’s drinks
… or pretending to, either, which is just as bad …’
‘Yeah, well, never mind that,’ said Harry quickly. ‘The point is, Filch is being fooled, isn’t he? These girls are getting stuff into the school disguised as something else! So why couldn’t Malfoy have brought the necklace into the school –?’
‘Oh, Harry … not that again …’ ‘Come on, why not?’ demanded Harry.
‘Look,’ sighed Hermione, ‘Secrecy Sensors detect jinxes, curses and concealment charms, don’t they? They’re used to find Dark magic and Dark objects. They’d have picked up a powerful curse, like the one on that necklace, within seconds. But something that’s just been put in the wrong bottle wouldn’t register – and anyway, love potions aren’t Dark or dangerous –’
‘Easy for you to say,’ muttered Harry, thinking of Romilda Vane.
‘– so it would be down to Filch to realise it wasn’t a cough potion, and he’s not a very good wizard, I doubt he can tell one potion from –’
Hermione stopped dead; Harry had heard it too. Somebody had moved close behind them among the dark bookshelves. They waited and a moment later the vulture-like countenance of Madam Pince appeared round the corner, her sunken cheeks, her skin like parchment and her long hooked nose illuminated unflatteringly by the lamp she was carrying.
‘The library is now closed,’ she said. ‘Mind you return anything you have borrowed to the correct – what have you been doing to that book, you depraved boy?’
‘It isn’t the library’s, it’s mine!’ said Harry hastily, snatching his copy of Advanced Potion-Making off the table as she lunged at it with a clawlike hand.
‘Despoiled!’ she hissed. ‘Desecrated! Befouled!’
‘It’s just a book that’s been written in!’ said Harry, tugging it out of her grip.
She looked as though she might have a seizure; Hermione, who had hastily packed her things, grabbed Harry by the arm and frogmarched him away.
‘She’ll ban you from the library if you’re not careful. Why did you have to bring that stupid book?’
‘It’s not my fault she’s barking mad, Hermione. Or d’you think she overheard you being rude about Filch? I’ve always thought there might be something going on between them …’
‘Oh, ha, ha …’
Enjoying the fact that they could speak normally again, they made their way along the deserted, lamp-lit corridors back to the common room, arguing about whether or not Filch and Madam Pince were secretly in love with each other.
‘Baubles,’ said Harry to the Fat Lady, this being the new, festive password. ‘Same to you,’ said the Fat Lady with a roguish grin, and she swung
forwards to admit them.
‘Hi, Harry!’ said Romilda Vane, the moment he had climbed through the portrait hole. ‘Fancy a Gillywater?’
Hermione gave him a ‘What-did-I-tell-you?’ look over her shoulder. ‘No thanks,’ said Harry quickly. ‘I don’t like it much.’
‘Well, take these anyway,’ said Romilda, thrusting a box into his hands.
‘Chocolate Cauldrons, they’ve got Firewhisky in them. My gran sent them to me, but I don’t like them.’
‘Oh – right – thanks a lot,’ said Harry, who could not think what else to say. ‘Er – I’m just going over here with …’
He hurried off behind Hermione, his voice tailing away feebly.
‘Told you,’ said Hermione succinctly. ‘Sooner you ask someone, sooner they’ll all leave you alone and you can –’
But her face suddenly turned blank; she had just spotted Ron and Lavender who were entwined in the same armchair.
‘Well, goodnight, Harry,’ said Hermione, though it was only seven o’clock in the evening, and she left for the girls’ dormitory without another word.
Harry went to bed comforting himself that there was only one more day of lessons to struggle through, plus Slughorn’s party, after which he and Ron would depart together for The Burrow. It now seemed impossible that Ron and Hermione would make up with each other before the holidays began, but perhaps, somehow, the break would give them time to calm down, think better of their behaviour …
But his hopes were not high, and they sank still lower after enduring a Transfiguration lesson with them both next day. They had just embarked upon the immensely difficult topic of human transfiguration; working in front of mirrors, they were supposed to be changing the colour of their own eyebrows. Hermione laughed unkindly at Ron’s disastrous first attempt, during which he somehow managed to give himself a spectacular handlebar moustache; Ron retaliated by doing a cruel but accurate impression of Hermione jumping up and down in her seat every time Professor McGonagall asked a question, which Lavender and Parvati found deeply amusing and which reduced Hermione to the verge of tears again. She raced out of the classroom on the bell, leaving half her things behind; Harry, deciding that her need was greater than Ron’s just then, scooped up her remaining possessions and followed her.
He finally tracked her down as she emerged from a girls’ bathroom on the floor below. She was accompanied by Luna Lovegood, who was patting her vaguely on the back.
‘Oh, hello, Harry,’ said Luna. ‘Did you know one of your eyebrows is bright yellow?’
‘Hi, Luna. Hermione, you left your stuff …’ He held out her books.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Hermione in a choked voice, taking her things and turning away quickly to hide the fact that she was wiping her eyes on her pencil case.
‘Thank you, Harry. Well, I’d better get going …’
And she hurried off, without giving Harry any time to offer words of comfort, though admittedly he could not think of any.
‘She’s a bit upset,’ said Luna. ‘I thought at first it was Moaning Myrtle in there, but it turned out to be Hermione. She said something about that Ron Weasley …’
‘Yeah, they’ve had a row,’ said Harry.
‘He says very funny things sometimes, doesn’t he?’ said Luna, as they set off down the corridor together. ‘But he can be a bit unkind. I noticed that last year.’
‘I s’pose,’ said Harry. Luna was demonstrating her usual knack of speaking uncomfortable truths; he had never met anyone quite like her. ‘So have you had a good term?’
‘Oh, it’s been all right,’ said Luna. ‘A bit lonely without the DA. Ginny’s been nice, though. She stopped two boys in our Transfiguration class calling me “Loony” the other day –’
‘How would you like to come to Slughorn’s party with me tonight?’
The words were out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop them; he heard himself say them as though it were a stranger speaking.
Luna turned her protuberant eyes upon him in surprise. ‘Slughorn’s party? With you?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘We’re supposed to bring guests, so I thought you might like … I mean …’ He was keen to make his intentions perfectly clear. ‘I mean, just as friends, you know. But if you don’t want to …’
He was already half-hoping that she didn’t want to.
‘Oh, no, I’d love to go with you as friends!’ said Luna, beaming as he had never seen her beam before. ‘Nobody’s ever asked me to a party before, as a friend! Is that why you dyed your eyebrow, for the party? Should I do mine, too?’
‘No,’ said Harry firmly, ‘that was a mistake, I’ll get Hermione to put it right for me. So, I’ll meet you in the Entrance Hall at eight o’clock, then.’
‘AHA!’ screamed a voice from overhead and both of them jumped; unnoticed by either of them, they had just passed right underneath Peeves, who was hanging upside-down from a chandelier and grinning maliciously at them.
‘Potty asked Loony to go to the party! Potty lurves Loony! Potty luuuuurves Looooooony!’
And he zoomed away, cackling and shrieking, ‘Potty loves Loony!’
‘Nice to keep these things private,’ said Harry. And sure enough, in no time at all the whole school seemed to know that Harry Potter was taking Luna Lovegood to Slughorn’s party.
‘You could’ve taken anyone!’ said Ron in disbelief over dinner. ‘Anyone!
And you chose Loony Lovegood?’
‘Don’t call her that, Ron,’ snapped Ginny, pausing behind Harry on her way to join friends. ‘I’m really glad you’re taking her, Harry, she’s so excited.’
And she moved on down the table to sit with Dean. Harry tried to feel pleased that Ginny was glad he was taking Luna to the party, but could not quite manage it. A long way along the table, Hermione was sitting alone, playing with her stew. Harry noticed Ron looking at her furtively.
‘You could say sorry,’ suggested Harry bluntly.
‘What, and get attacked by another flock of canaries?’ muttered Ron. ‘What did you have to imitate her for?’
‘She laughed at my moustache!’
‘So did I, it was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.’
But Ron did not seem to have heard; Lavender had just arrived with Parvati. Squeezing herself in between Harry and Ron, Lavender flung her arms around Ron’s neck.
‘Hi, Harry,’ said Parvati who, like him, looked faintly embarrassed and bored by the behaviour of their two friends.
‘Hi,’ said Harry. ‘How’re you? You’re staying at Hogwarts, then? I heard your parents wanted you to leave.’
‘I managed to talk them out of it for the time being,’ said Parvati. ‘That Katie thing really freaked them out, but as there hasn’t been anything since … oh, hi, Hermione!’
Parvati positively beamed. Harry could tell that she was feeling guilty for having laughed at Hermione in Transfiguration. He looked around and saw that Hermione was beaming back, if possible even more brightly. Girls were very strange sometimes.
‘Hi, Parvati!’ said Hermione, ignoring Ron and Lavender completely. ‘Are you going to Slughorn’s party tonight?’
‘No invite,’ said Parvati gloomily. ‘I’d love to go, though, it sounds like it’s going to be really good … you’re going, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I’m meeting Cormac at eight and we’re –’
There was a noise like a plunger being withdrawn from a blocked sink and Ron surfaced. Hermione acted as though she had not seen or heard anything.
‘– we’re going up to the party together.’
‘Cormac?’ said Parvati. ‘Cormac McLaggen, you mean?’
‘That’s right,’ said Hermione sweetly. ‘The one who almost,’ she put a great deal of emphasis on the word, ‘became Gryffindor Keeper.’
‘Are you going out with him, then?’ asked Parvati, wide-eyed.
‘Oh – yes – didn’t you know?’ said Hermione, with a most un-Hermione- ish giggle.
‘No!’ said Parvati, looking positively agog at this piece of gossip. ‘Wow, you like your Quidditch players, don’t you? First Krum, then McLaggen …’
‘I like really good Quidditch players,’ Hermione corrected her, still smiling. ‘Well, see you … got to go and get ready for the party …’
She left. At once Lavender and Parvati put their heads together to discuss this new development, with everything they had ever heard about McLaggen, and all they had ever guessed about Hermione. Ron looked strangely blank and said nothing. Harry was left to ponder in silence the depths to which girls would sink to get revenge.
When he arrived in the Entrance Hall at eight o’clock that night, he found an unusually large number of girls lurking there, all of whom seemed to be staring at him resentfully as he approached Luna. She was wearing a set of spangled silver robes that was attracting a certain amount of giggling from the onlookers, but otherwise she looked quite nice. Harry was glad, in any case, that she had left off her radish earrings, her Butterbeer-cork necklace and her Spectrespecs.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Shall we get going, then?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said happily. ‘Where is the party?’
‘Slughorn’s office,’ said Harry, leading her up the marble staircase away from all the staring and muttering. ‘Did you hear, there’s supposed to be a vampire coming?’
‘Rufus Scrimgeour?’ asked Luna.
‘I – what?’ said Harry, disconcerted. ‘You mean the Minister for Magic?’ ‘Yes, he’s a vampire,’ said Luna matter-of-factly. ‘Father wrote a very long
article about it when Scrimgeour first took over from Cornelius Fudge, but he
was forced not to publish by somebody from the Ministry. Obviously, they didn’t want the truth to get out!’
Harry, who thought it most unlikely that Rufus Scrimgeour was a vampire,
but who was used to Luna repeating her father’s bizarre views as though they were fact, did not reply; they were already approaching Slughorn’s office and the sounds of laughter, music and loud conversation were growing louder with every step they took.
Whether it had been built that way, or because he had used magical trickery to make it so, Slughorn’s office was much larger than the usual teacher’s study. The ceiling and walls had been draped with emerald, crimson and gold hangings, so that it looked as though they were all inside a vast tent. The room was crowded and stuffy and bathed in the red light cast by an ornate golden lamp dangling from the centre of the ceiling in which real fairies were fluttering, each a brilliant speck of light. Loud singing accompanied by what sounded like mandolins issued from a distant corner; a haze of pipe smoke hung over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation, and a number of house-elves were negotiating their way squeakily through the forest of knees, obscured by the heavy silver platters of food they were bearing, so that they looked like little roving tables.
‘Harry, m’boy!’ boomed Slughorn, almost as soon as Harry and Luna had squeezed in through the door. ‘Come in, come in, so many people I’d like you to meet!’
Slughorn was wearing a tasselled velvet hat to match his smoking jacket. Gripping Harry’s arm so tightly he might have been hoping to Disapparate with him, Slughorn led him purposefully into the party; Harry seized Luna’s hand and dragged her along with him.
‘Harry, I’d like you to meet Eldred Worple, an old student of mine, author of Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires – and, of course, his friend Sanguini.’
Worple, who was a small, bespectacled man, grabbed Harry’s hand and shook it enthusiastically; the vampire Sanguini, who was tall and emaciated with dark shadows under his eyes, merely nodded. He looked rather bored. A gaggle of girls was standing close to him, looking curious and excited.
‘Harry Potter, I am simply delighted!’ said Worple, peering short-sightedly up into Harry’s face. ‘I was saying to Professor Slughorn only the other day, Where is the biography of Harry Potter for which we have all been waiting?’
‘Er,’ said Harry, ‘were you?’
‘Just as modest as Horace described!’ said Worple. ‘But seriously –’ his manner changed; it became suddenly businesslike, ‘I would be delighted to write it myself – people are craving to know more about you, dear boy, craving! If you were prepared to grant me a few interviews, say in four- or five-hour sessions, why, we could have the book finished within months. And
all with very little effort on your part, I assure you – ask Sanguini here if it isn’t quite – Sanguini, stay here!’ added Worple, suddenly stern, for the vampire had been edging towards the nearby group of girls, a rather hungry look in his eye. ‘Here, have a pasty,’ said Worple, seizing one from a passing elf and stuffing it into Sanguini’s hand before turning his attention back to Harry.
‘My dear boy, the gold you could make, you have no idea –’
‘I’m definitely not interested,’ said Harry firmly, ‘and I’ve just seen a friend of mine, sorry.’
He pulled Luna after him into the crowd; he had indeed just seen a long mane of brown hair disappear between what looked like two members of the Weird Sisters.
‘Hermione! Hermione!’
‘Harry! There you are, thank goodness! Hi, Luna!’
‘What’s happened to you?’ asked Harry, for Hermione looked distinctly dishevelled, rather as though she had just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil’s Snare.
‘Oh, I’ve just escaped – I mean, I’ve just left Cormac,’ she said. ‘Under the mistletoe,’ she added in explanation, as Harry continued to look questioningly at her.
‘Serves you right for coming with him,’ he told her severely.
‘I thought he’d annoy Ron most,’ said Hermione dispassionately. ‘I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole –’
‘You considered Smith?’ said Harry, revolted.
‘Yes, I did, and I’m starting to wish I’d chosen him, McLaggen makes Grawp look a gentleman. Let’s go this way, we’ll be able to see him coming, he’s so tall …’
The three of them made their way over to the other side of the room, scooping up goblets of mead on the way, realising too late that Professor Trelawney was standing there alone.
‘Hello,’ said Luna politely to Professor Trelawney.
‘Good evening, my dear,’ said Professor Trelawney, focusing upon Luna with some difficulty. Harry could smell cooking sherry again. ‘I haven’t seen you in my classes lately …’
‘No, I’ve got Firenze this year,’ said Luna.
‘Oh, of course,’ said Professor Trelawney with an angry, drunken titter. ‘Or Dobbin, as I prefer to think of him. You would have thought, would you not,
that now I am returned to the school Professor Dumbledore might have got rid of the horse? But no … we share classes … it’s an insult, frankly, an insult. Do you know …’
Professor Trelawney seemed too tipsy to have recognised Harry. Under cover of her furious criticisms of Firenze, Harry drew closer to Hermione and said, ‘Let’s get something straight. Are you planning to tell Ron that you interfered at Keeper tryouts?’
Hermione raised her eyebrows.
‘Do you really think I’d stoop that low?’ Harry looked at her shrewdly.
‘Hermione, if you can ask out McLaggen –’
‘There’s a difference,’ said Hermione with dignity. ‘I’ve got no plans to tell Ron anything about what might, or might not, have happened at Keeper tryouts.’
‘Good,’ said Harry fervently. ‘Because he’ll just fall apart again and we’ll lose the next match –’
‘Quidditch!’ said Hermione angrily. ‘Is that all boys care about? Cormac hasn’t asked me one single question about myself, no, I’ve just been treated to A Hundred Great Saves Made by Cormac McLaggen non-stop, ever since – oh no, here he comes!’
She moved so fast it was as though she had Disapparated; one moment she was there, the next she had squeezed between two guffawing witches and vanished.
‘Seen Hermione?’ asked McLaggen, forcing his way through the throng a minute later.
‘No, sorry,’ said Harry, and he turned quickly to join in Luna’s conversation, forgetting for a split second to whom she was talking.
‘Harry Potter!’ said Professor Trelawney in deep, vibrant tones, noticing him for the first time.
‘Oh, hello,’ said Harry unenthusiastically.
‘My dear boy!’ she said in a very carrying whisper. ‘The rumours! The stories! The Chosen One! Of course, I have known for a very long time … the omens were never good, Harry … but why have you not returned to Divination? For you, of all people, the subject is of the utmost importance!’
‘Ah, Sybill, we all think our subject’s most important!’ said a loud voice, and Slughorn appeared at Professor Trelawney’s other side, his face very red, his velvet hat a little askew, a glass of mead in one hand and an enormous
mince pie in the other. ‘But I don’t think I’ve ever known such a natural at Potions!’ said Slughorn, regarding Harry with a fond, if bloodshot, eye. ‘Instinctive, you know – like his mother! I’ve only ever taught a few with this kind of ability, I can tell you that, Sybill – why, even Severus –’
And to Harry’s horror, Slughorn threw out an arm and seemed to scoop Snape out of thin air towards them.
‘Stop skulking and come and join us, Severus!’ hiccoughed Slughorn happily. ‘I was just talking about Harry’s exceptional potion-making! Some credit must go to you, of course, you taught him for five years!’
Trapped, with Slughorn’s arm around his shoulders, Snape looked down his hooked nose at Harry, his black eyes narrowed.
‘Funny, I never had the impression that I managed to teach Potter anything at all.’
‘Well, then, it’s natural ability!’ shouted Slughorn. ‘You should have seen what he gave me, first lesson, the Draught of Living Death – never had a student produce finer on a first attempt, I don’t think even you, Severus –’
‘Really?’ said Snape quietly, his eyes still boring into Harry, who felt a certain disquiet. The last thing he wanted was for Snape to start investigating the source of his new-found brilliance at Potions.
‘Remind me what other subjects you’re taking, Harry?’ asked Slughorn. ‘Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology …’ ‘All the subjects required, in short, for an Auror,’ said Snape, with the
faintest sneer.
‘Yeah, well, that’s what I’d like to be,’ said Harry defiantly. ‘And a great one you’ll make, too!’ boomed Slughorn.
‘I don’t think you should be an Auror, Harry,’ said Luna unexpectedly. Everybody looked at her. ‘The Aurors are part of the Rotfang Conspiracy, I thought everyone knew that. They’re working from within to bring down the Ministry of Magic using a combination of Dark magic and gum disease.’
Harry inhaled half his mead up his nose as he started to laugh. Really, it had been worth bringing Luna just for this. Emerging from his goblet, coughing, sopping wet but still grinning, he saw something calculated to raise his spirits even higher: Draco Malfoy being dragged by the ear towards them by Argus Filch.
‘Professor Slughorn,’ wheezed Filch, his jowls aquiver and the maniacal light of mischief-detection in his bulging eyes, ‘I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?’
Malfoy pulled himself free of Filch’s grip, looking furious.
‘All right, I wasn’t invited!’ he said angrily. ‘I was trying to gatecrash, happy?’
‘No, I’m not!’ said Filch, a statement at complete odds with the glee on his face. ‘You’re in trouble, you are! Didn’t the Headmaster say that night-time prowling’s out, unless you’ve got permission, didn’t he, eh?’
‘That’s all right, Argus, that’s all right,’ said Slughorn, waving a hand. ‘It’s Christmas, and it’s not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we’ll forget any punishment; you may stay, Draco.’
Filch’s expression of outraged disappointment was perfectly predictable; but why, Harry wondered, watching him, did Malfoy look almost equally unhappy? And why was Snape looking at Malfoy as though both angry and
… was it possible? … a little afraid?
But almost before Harry had registered what he had seen, Filch had turned and shuffled away, muttering under his breath; Malfoy had composed his face into a smile and was thanking Slughorn for his generosity, and Snape’s face was smoothly inscrutable again.
‘It’s nothing, nothing,’ said Slughorn, waving away Malfoy’s thanks. ‘I did know your grandfather, after all …’
‘He always spoke very highly of you, sir,’ said Malfoy quickly. ‘Said you were the best potion-maker he’d ever known …’
Harry stared at Malfoy. It was not the sucking up that intrigued him; he had watched Malfoy do that to Snape for a long time. It was the fact that Malfoy did, after all, look a little ill. This was the first time he had seen Malfoy close up for ages; he now saw that Malfoy had dark shadows under his eyes and a distinctly greyish tinge to his skin.
‘I’d like a word with you, Draco,’ said Snape suddenly.
‘Oh, now, Severus,’ said Slughorn, hiccoughing again, ‘it’s Christmas, don’t be too hard –’
‘I’m his Head of House, and I shall decide how hard, or otherwise, to be,’ said Snape curtly. ‘Follow me, Draco.’
They left, Snape leading the way, Malfoy looking resentful. Harry stood there for a moment, irresolute, then said, ‘I’ll be back in a bit, Luna – er – bathroom.’
‘All right,’ she said cheerfully, and he thought he heard her, as he hurried off into the crowd, resume the subject of the Rotfang Conspiracy with Professor Trelawney, who seemed sincerely interested.
It was easy, once out of the party, to pull his Invisibility Cloak out of his
pocket and throw it over himself, for the corridor was quite deserted. What was more difficult was finding Snape and Malfoy. Harry ran down the corridor, the noise of his feet masked by the music and loud talk still issuing from Slughorn’s office behind him. Perhaps Snape had taken Malfoy to his office in the dungeons … or perhaps he was escorting him back to the Slytherin common room … but Harry pressed his ear against door after door as he dashed down the corridor until, with a great jolt of excitement, he crouched down to the keyhole of the last classroom in the corridor and heard voices.
‘… cannot afford mistakes, Draco, because if you are expelled –’ ‘I didn’t have anything to do with it, all right?’
‘I hope you are telling the truth, because it was both clumsy and foolish.
Already you are suspected of having a hand in it.’
‘Who suspects me?’ said Malfoy angrily. ‘For the last time, I didn’t do it, OK? That Bell girl must’ve had an enemy no one knows about – don’t look at me like that! I know what you’re doing, I’m not stupid, but it won’t work – I can stop you!’
There was a pause and then Snape said quietly, ‘Ah … Aunt Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency, I see. What thoughts are you trying to conceal from your master, Draco?’
‘I’m not trying to conceal anything from him, I just don’t want you butting in!’
Harry pressed his ear still more closely against the keyhole … what had happened to make Malfoy speak to Snape like this, Snape, towards whom he had always shown respect, even liking?
‘So that is why you have been avoiding me this term? You have feared my interference? You realise that, had anybody else failed to come to my office when I had told them repeatedly to be there, Draco –’
‘So put me in detention! Report me to Dumbledore!’ jeered Malfoy.
There was another pause. Then Snape said, ‘You know perfectly well that I do not wish to do either of those things.’
‘You’d better stop telling me to come to your office, then!’
‘Listen to me,’ said Snape, his voice so low now that Harry had to push his ear very hard against the keyhole to hear. ‘I am trying to help you. I swore to your mother I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco –’
‘Looks like you’ll have to break it, then, because I don’t need your protection! It’s my job, he gave it to me and I’m doing it. I’ve got a plan and it’s going to work, it’s just taking a bit longer than I thought it would!’
‘What is your plan?’
‘It’s none of your business!’
‘If you tell me what you are trying to do, I can assist you –’ ‘I’ve got all the assistance I need, thanks, I’m not alone!’
‘You were certainly alone tonight, which was foolish in the extreme, wandering the corridors without lookouts or backup. These are elementary mistakes –’
‘I would’ve had Crabbe and Goyle with me if you hadn’t put them in detention!’
‘Keep your voice down!’ spat Snape, for Malfoy’s voice had risen excitedly. ‘If your friends Crabbe and Goyle intend to pass their Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. this time around, they will need to work a little harder than they are doing at pres—’
‘What does it matter?’ said Malfoy. ‘Defence Against the Dark Arts – it’s all just a joke, isn’t it, an act? Like any of us need protecting against the Dark Arts –’
‘It is an act that is crucial to success, Draco!’ said Snape. ‘Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act? Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if you are placing your reliance on assistants like Crabbe and Goyle –’
‘They’re not the only ones, I’ve got other people on my side, better people!’
‘Then why not confide in me, and I can –’
‘I know what you’re up to! You want to steal my glory!’
There was another pause, then Snape said coldly, ‘You are speaking like a child. I quite understand that your father’s capture and imprisonment has upset you, but –’
Harry had barely a second’s warning; he heard Malfoy’s footsteps on the other side of the door and flung himself out of the way just as it burst open; Malfoy was striding away down the corridor, past the open door of Slughorn’s office, round the distant corner and out of sight.
Hardly daring to breathe, Harry remained crouched down as Snape emerged slowly from the classroom. His expression unfathomable, he returned to the party. Harry remained on the floor, hidden beneath the Cloak, his mind racing.
A Very Frosty 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 Unbreakable 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 buttock 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 demonstrate 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? Careful, now!’
Mrs Weasley entered the room just in time to see Ron throw the sprouts knife at Fred, who turned it into a paper aeroplane with one lazy flick of his wand.
‘Ron!’ she said furiously. ‘Don’t you ever let me see you throwing knives again!’
‘I won’t,’ 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. ‘Can’t 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 aeroplane 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 something marvellous … 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 opportunity 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 non-verbal goodbye just behind him at the time.
Still, even Hermione would not be able to deny one thing: Malfoy was definitely up to something, and Snape knew it, so Harry felt fully justified in saying ‘I told you so’, which he had done several 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 he pulled up carrots for Christmas dinner. Stupefied, painted gold, stuffed into a miniature tutu and with small wings glued to its 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 Weasley’s favourite singer, Celestina Warbeck, whose voice was warbling out of the large wooden wireless. 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 control, so that Celestina grew louder and louder. Under cover of a particularly 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 Celestina’s 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 … marvellous tune …’
With an effort he sat up a little straighter and looked round at Harry, who was sitting next to him.
‘Sorry about this,’ he said, jerking his head towards 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 marshalled 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 little towards 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 Dumbledore’s wrong about Snape –’ ‘People have said it, many times. It comes down to whether or not you trust
Dumbledore’s judgement. 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 sceptical expression. ‘We shall never be bosom friends, perhaps; after all that happened 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 usually 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 Sirius 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 egg-nog?’
‘What have you been up to lately?’ Harry asked Lupin, as Mr Weasley bustled off to fetch the egg-nog 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 give-away.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve been living among my fellows, my equals,’ said Lupin. ‘Werewolves,’ he added, at Harry’s 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 realised 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 unmistakeable 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 contaminate as many people as possible; he wants to create enough werewolves to overcome the wizards. Voldemort has promised him prey in return for his services. Greyback
specialises 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, knowing 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 egg-nog 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 asking 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 recognition.
‘There are no wizarding princes,’ said Lupin, now smiling. ‘Is this a title you’re thinking of adopting? I should have thought being 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 comment of no real importance, but he was not sure he had achieved the right effect; Lupin’s 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 pure-blood, Harry, and I promise you, he never asked us to call him “Prince”.’
Abandoning pretence, 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 published. 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 appeared to be a thick gold chain.
‘What’s that?’ asked Harry.
‘It’s from Lavender,’ said Ron, sounding revolted. ‘She can’t honestly think I’d wear …’
Harry looked more closely and let out a shout of laughter. Dangling from the chain in large gold letters were the words ‘My Sweetheart’.
‘Nice,’ he said. ‘Classy. You should definitely wear it in front of 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.
Harry’s presents included a sweater with a large Golden Snitch worked on to the front, hand-knitted by Mrs Weasley, a large box of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products from the twins and a slightly damp, mouldy-smelling package which came with a label reading: ‘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 spectacular 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 goosebumps 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 upheaval …’
‘It looked big, and it had four legs,’ said Harry, struck by a sudden 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 round. Everybody looked quickly at the window; Ginny stood up for a better view. 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 greying 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 walking stick and smiling as he observed this affecting scene.
‘You must forgive this intrusion,’ he said, when Mrs Weasley looked round at him, beaming and wiping her eyes. ‘Percy and I were in the vicinity – working, you know – and he couldn’t resist 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 … I mean –’
‘No, no, my dear Molly,’ said Scrimgeour. Harry guessed that he had checked on 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. Everybody looked
from Scrimgeour to Harry. Nobody seemed to find Scrimgeour’s pretence 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 then Percy and I’ll be off. Carry on, everyone!’
Harry walked across the yard towards 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 understandably, as I say – prevented this.’
Still Harry said nothing, waiting.
‘The rumours 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 Scrimgeour 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 flower-beds, and 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 eyes, Scrimgeour squinting at him, so pretended 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 responding. ‘I don’t really know what you mean, Minister.’
‘Well, of course, to you it will matter enormously,’ said Scrimgeour 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 Scrimgeour. ‘They think you quite the hero – which, of course, you are, 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 for 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 realise 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 Scrimgeour. ‘If you were to be seen popping in and out of the Ministry from time to time, for instance, that would give the right impression. 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 cottoned on so quickly. ‘The “Chosen One”, you know … it’s all about giving people hope, the feeling that exciting things are happening …’
‘But if I keep running in and out of the Ministry,’ said Harry, still endeavouring 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 hardened 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 pretence 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 it’s your duty to check 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 working for you!’
‘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 defence 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 its 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, I 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 mistakes. He tried interfering
at Hogwarts. You might have noticed he’s not Minister any more, 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 for Magic, he strode back towards the house.
