"Oh," Ginny said cheerfully, stepping off the train in Hogsmeade, "look at the snow!" It was falling from the sky like feather-light crystals, covering all of the village with an iridescent dust.
"It is pretty," Hermione agreed, following her out.
Harry and Ron loaded their bags into one of the thestral-drawn carriages. "C'mon," Harry said to Ginny, putting an arm around her.
Pausing to catch a snowflake on her tongue, Ginny let Harry lead her away. The four of them climbed into a carriage.
"Aren't you coming?" said Hermione to Draco, but he didn't seem to hear her. "Draco?" She stepped out onto the snow-covered ground, pulling her scarf around her neck.
"So this is what they look like," he said softly, reaching up to touch its leathery skin.
To Hermione, it looked like he was touching thin air, but she knew what was there. "The thestrals," she whispered, realizing. "You can see them now."
Tears welled in Draco's eyes. Hermione moved closer to him and he turned away, trying to hide any emotion. "Come on," she prodded gently.
He shook his head. "I'm not going with them," he said.
"You're right." Hermione nodded. "We can take our own carriage."
"No," Draco said, "you go on. I just-- I just want to be alone for a bit."
"Are you sure?" An expression of concern softened her face.
He nodded.
"Alright," she conceded, and squeezed his hand. "I'll see you back at the castle." She climbed in with Harry, Ron, and Ginny, and watched him fade into the distance as they made their way down the path.
"What's your problem?" Hermione snapped, glaring at Ron, whose face was cemented into a permanent scowl.
"Making a big show of being sad with the thestrals," Ron scoffed, "stupid git..."
"He watched his mother die, you insensitive louse--"
"It was Dumbledore dying that made him able to see them!" he shot back.
Harry thought back. "No," he said slowly, "Malfoy never saw Snape kill him. His head was turned."
"You're defending him?" Ron said incredulously.
"Ronald," Ginny scorned, "you are acting like a child."
They sat in unhappy silence until they arrived at Hogwarts, where Ron and Hermione both announced that they were going straight off to their dormitories and not emerging for the rest of the night.
"Wonderful night for a walk," Harry said aside to Ginny, and she giggled.
But Harry's winter stroll with Ginny was postponed, as Professor McGonagall was waiting for him at the doors.
"Potter," she greeted him, "would you come with me, please?"
His eyes round, he turned to Ginny. "I'll let you know when I'm finished," he said.
"I'll wait in the commonroom," she told him, and he set off with the Headmistress.
"Professor," he said, running to keep up with her quick stride, "what's this all about?"
"Hm?" she said absently. "Oh; you're not in trouble, I assure you," she replied, judging that to be a good enough answer. "You have a visitor."
"A visitor? Who--"
"Well, you'll see, won't you?" She smiled down at him.
His heart leapt. His first thought was of Sirius-- somehow, he'd come back from behind the veil. Or perhaps it was Hagrid, who had only been on some secret mission from the Order before, and his death had been faked? Or perhaps, just perhaps-- but as he felt the card of Dumbledore in his pocket, he knew that wasn't going to happen.
But when they entered the room behind the gargoyle, Harry found himself staring at Rufus Scrimgeour.
"Harry!" he exclaimed, rising to his feet. In his hands he clutched a bowler hat. "Good to see you."
He exchanged a sidelong glance with Professor McGonagall, who gave him a half-apologetic look.
"What do you want?" said Harry crisply.
Nervously, he twisted his hat. "To apologize."
Harry had not expected this; he sat down hard in a chair. "Apologize?"
"You were right," Scrimgeour said, "Dumbledore was right." He sighed. "I-- I'm in a difficult position, Harry, trying to clean up Fudge's mistakes, dealing with Voldemort-- and with the Death Eaters who escaped from Azkaban over the holidays--"
"And again, you want me to be your poster--"
"No," Scrimgeour said. "No. If you want to support the Ministry, that would be wonderful, but I'm not going to push it any more. I've come because I'm beginning to realize that the only way to stop him is through you. So I've come to-- to ask what I can do to help." He squared his shoulders.
Professor McGonagall looked from Harry to Scrimgeour and back again.
"Minister," he began slowly, "do you remember a witch by the name of Hepzibah Smith?"
"Smith," he mused, "Smith. I don't know."
"She was a case of yours once. You would have been quite young," Harry told him, "just starting out in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
"Ah," Scrimgeour said, apparently unabashed by the details of his life that Harry knew. "Older woman with a big treasure collection. Killed by her house-elf."
"What was the poison used to kill her?" asked Harry.
"How is this important?" Scrimgeour wanted to know.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "It is essential."
"I just don't see how accidental murder by a house-elf fits into the grand scheme of things--"
"Look, do you want to help or don't you?"
"I don't know what it was," Scrimgeour said truthfully. "But I can find out."
"Do that," Harry said, "and then we'll talk about how we may be able to help each other."
Scrimgeour, taking the hint that the conversation was over, got to his feet. "Thank you," he said politely, extending his hand.
Harry shook it.
"Professor," Harry began, as soon as Scrimgeour was out the door, "I wonder if you might be able to do me a favor?"
"Yes?" She adjusted her glasses.
"Could you get Melody Salpeter to come down here?"
She cleared her throat. "I am not here to do your bidding," she said curtly. "Just because the Minister--"
"I think her wand has a piece of Voldemort's soul concealed inside it," Harry said flatly.
She looked quite taken aback, but sent for Melody at once.
"I'll be right back," Harry said, and dashed off down the hall to retrieve his jar of river water.
"What did McGonagall want?" Ginny asked as he dashed into the commonroom.
"It was Scrimgeour," he called, lumbering up the stairs and grabbing the jar. "And I'm about to take out a seventh of Voldemort's soul."
"Then can we take our walk?" she asked petulantly, giving him a pouty smile.
He grinned. "Of course. See you in a bit." He planted a kiss on her copper-colored head and ran out the door.
When he arrived back at the Headmistress' office, Melody was sitting on one of the chairs, her feet barely touching the floor.
"Hi, Harry," she said congenially.
"Hi, Melody."
"What's the jar of water for?"
"Do you have your wand?" he asked.
She nodded and produced it from the folds of her robes.
"Brilliant," Harry said, and twisted the top off the jar.
She leaned forward, concerned. "What are you going to do?"
How exactly do I explain Horcruxes to an eleven-year old? thought Harry. "I'm testing it," he told her. "I just wanted to see if it was really Ravenclaw's wand."
"Ravenclaw? Rowena Ravenclaw?" she said excitedly, handing it over. "How do we test it?"
"Well, we're going to drop it in this jar of water, and--" Harry tapped his wand on the side of the glass. "Animus abolesco, mortalitas exsisto!"
The crackling little fire went out immediately, and the windows clattered in their frames. Melody gripped the arms of her chair. "Professor? Harry? What's going--" She cut herself off with a yelp as the floor beneath her shook. A jet of green light shot out from the tip of Melody's wand, burning a small hole in the ceiling. And almost as soon as it had happened, it was over.
"Yes," Harry confirmed, his pulse racing, "that certainly is Rowena Ravenclaw's wand."
Professor McGonagall glanced at Harry. "Why don't you re-light the fire, Melody?" She pulled the girl's wand out of the jar of water. "You do know how?"
"Oh yes." Melody dried her wand on her robes, and pointed it at the grate. "Incendio!"
Flames shot out of the tip of her wand and enfolded the logs in fire.
"Well done," approved the Headmistress, glancing at Harry as if to say Well, at least the wand still works.
"Quite a piece of history," Harry said to Melody again, and looked to the Headmistress. "I think I'm going to go for a walk now."
"Very well," said Professor McGonagall. "Have a nice night, Potter."
"You too, Professor."