Chapter One Hundred and Forty-One - Christmas at the Burrow

The Hogwarts Express hurtled down the tracks, slicing its way over frozen fields and past the snow capped rooftops of small villages. Harry had just finished telling his friends what he overheard Crabbe and Goyle confess. They had listened in attentive silence, though once his recitation was complete, their response was not what he had anticipated.

"Did they actually say anything about the necklace?" asked Blaise.

"Well, no… Not in those exact words," Harry admitted, "But they talked about a package! Just like the one Katie was holding when she was cursed!"

"They could have been talking about something else," Ron suggested, "I mean, Fred and George have been mailing Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to Hogwarts all term. They use discreet packaging, so Filch can't tell the joke items from the rest. Point is, we don't know what Crabbe and Goyle were talking about."

"You really think they were talking about Skiving Snackboxes or dungbombs? Crabbe said he could have been killed if he touched it!"

"Crabbe is dramatic," advised Draco, catching an errant chocolate frog from their collective pile of treats and passing it to Ginny. "He must've been exaggerating."

Millie nodded her head in agreement. "They've already used a Weasley's product on Draco once. I wouldn't put it past them to try it again. They're too thick to think of something more clever."

Harry couldn't believe that Draco, who had been by his side when he witnessed Goyle's insidious trip to Borgin and Burkes, could remain so obtuse when it came to his former associates. Though he was unable to convince his friends, his conviction of Goyle's guilt remained the same. He tried to take comfort in the fact that Snape had been more receptive when Harry dutifully made his report. With any luck, Crabbe and Goyle would both be expelled before they returned from winter break.

The end of the term had arrived on the coattails of Slughorn's dinner party. Left unchecked, the Hogwarts Rumor Mill would surely have done its job, and word that Ginny Weasley had invited Draco Malfoy would have spread like wildfire. But as most students left the castle to spend the holidays with their parents, no whispers had yet reached Ron. Harry observed him closely during the rest of their train ride, but he still seemed blissfully unaware of the relationship blossoming right under his nose.

Blaise was dying to spill their secret, but Harry ordered him unequivocally to keep his mouth shut. It was bad enough that Ginny had taken Hermione's side in their breakup. If Ron were to discover now, through one of Harry's closest friends, that his sister was dating his best friend, Harry was sure to be blamed for the fallout. He had seen what Ginny was capable of during their many Marauder's meetings. He did not relish the idea of making her his enemy.

Once they had all arrived at the Burrow, however, another romance took center stage. Fred and George arrived early, bearing both gifts for their family and impertinent questions for Ron.

"What's this we hear about you snogging Lavender Brown?" Fred demanded the moment he walked through the kitchen door.

Draco, who had been busy crafting together paper decorations per Ginny's instruction, immediately lifted his face toward Ron with open astonishment. "You're going out with Lavender? And you didn't tell me?"

"I wasn't trying to keep it a secret," Ron mumbled. His face had turned red, though he didn't look displeased by the attention, "It just happened… kinda fast…"

"Don't worry, you'll get better with practice," said George sagely.

"Don't be vulgar," Ginny said. She had gone to her room in search of more colored paper for her decorations, and returned with her arms laden with tinsel, colored lights, and shiny glass ornaments.

To Harry's surprise, Ron directed a dirty look not toward his teasing brothers, but toward Ginny. "Did you tell them about Lavender?"

Ginny shrugged. "I didn't think you'd mind. Everyone in Gryffindor saw the two of you snogging after the quidditch match. Didn't seem like much of a secret…"

Rather than retort, Ron's gaze quickly darted between Harry and Draco, as if waiting for one of them to react. Harry could guess why he was nervous. Ginny had tactlessly brought up Gyffindor's victory while two of their vanquished rivals sat in the same room. But time had lessened the sting of defeat, and Harry decided to smooth over the awkward moment by saying, "Lavender must like Keepers. I bet she was impressed by your saves, eh?"

Ron grinned, a look of obvious relief on his face. Fred and George, on the other hand, seemed to have been waiting their whole lives for their younger brother to get his first girlfriend, if only to provoke him with further questioning. But before they could resume the inquisition once more, Mrs. Weasley bustled into the room.

"What? Fred, George, you're here already? I suppose you'll be wanting your old room back?"

"Hello to you, too, mother," Fred said sarcastically.

Mrs. Weasley took no notice of his tone. She was busy counting the heads of each young person gathered around her dining table. "Let's see… Ron and Draco already have the attic. Harry, you won't mind sharing with Percy, will you? I suppose we can put Remus with Bill for now… But that still leaves Blaise…"

No matter which way she planned it, she couldn't work out the room assignments in a way that satisfied them all. She expected all of her children to stay for the holiday, with the exception of Charlie, who was still working with dragons in Romania. With the addition of Harry, Millie, Draco, and the Zabinis, there simply wasn't enough room.

"Ah well," she sighed eventually. Her gaze drifted toward the ceiling, as if she could peer through the rafters and make sense of the tangled web of bedrooms piled over their heads. "I'm sure we can squeeze another room in somewhere. I'll ask Bill or Remus to take care of it when they arrive… Oh! Remus, I was just talking about you…"

The back door had swung open, revealing Remus in a patched jacket and faded jeans. He was more thin and ragged than Harry remembered leaving him at the start of the school year, and it looked as though he hadn't shaved in several weeks. He couldn't believe that Mrs. Zabini would allow him to become so disheveled, no matter how severe his grief, and he knew instantly that Remus had not remained at the Burrow while Harry was at school.

Despite his haggard appearance, the smile he offered Mrs. Weasley was warm as he responded to her request. "It's no trouble, Molly. We appreciate you putting us up, like this. I'll see if I can't get the room sorted before Bill gets here."

"Finished?" Ginny asked as Remus stepped back out the door. Draco had just completed the final touches on an elaborate paper poinsettia. Harry, impressed by his origami skills, wondered if Ginny had taught him how to do it, and whether Draco had any other hidden talents.

Ginny inspected his work, then gave him an approving nod as she said, "Good. You can help me decorate the sitting room, then."

Draco obediently gathered the pile of paper garlands, flowers, and snowflakes, before following Ginny out of the room. Ron watched them go with a look of suspicion, though he waited until Fred and George ventured upstairs to see what Harry and Blaise had done to their old bedroom.

"Ginny and Draco seem to be getting along," he said, more to himself than to Harry, Blaise, or Millie. "Do you think it's weird, how much time they spend together?"

"Have they? I hadn't noticed," Harry lied with feigned disinterest. Underneath the dining table, he stamped down onto Blaise's foot to keep his mouth shut. "I think I'll pop out and see if Remus needs any help…"

Blaise let out a hiss of pain and consternation, but Harry had already made his escape out the back door. He had no desire to become the repository for all of Ron's suspicions. It was too likely that he would let something slip. He trusted Millie to keep Blaise in check, during his absence. For now, he turned his attention to Remus.

He found him standing in the back garden, his wand held aloft as he waved his arms slowly through the air. There was a slight crease between his brows as he concentrated on the exterior of the house. After a moment of silence, there came an odd groaning, creaking sound, as of old wood straining against a heavy weight. Then, with a sudden pop, the wall above them seemed to expand, and the exterior of an entirely new bedroom zoomed into view, complete with a green-shuttered window and dainty lace curtains.

"That should do it," Remus pronounced, slipping his wand back into the pocket of his tattered coat. He turned toward Harry with a smile. "Good to see you, Harry. How's school?"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the side of the house. He surveyed Remus with a critical eye, ignoring his question as he said, "I've barely heard from you this year. Why haven't you been writing?"

"I'm sorry, Harry. I've been underground. Almost literally, in fact."

"Working for the Order?"

He didn't expect Remus to tell him the nature of his mission. After all this time, he was used to deflection and secrecy. It was therefore a surprise to him when Remus immediately replied, "Yes. Dumbledore has asked me to spend some time amongst my people… Werewolves," he added helpfully, seeing a look of incomprehension on Harry's face. "Almost all of them are on Voldemort's side, you see. Dumbledore needs a spy, and… Well, here I am. Ready-made."

A hint of bitterness had crept into his voice. Remus must have heard it himself, for he quickly replaced the smile that had momentarily fallen from his face. "I'm not complaining. In fact, I think I can convince a few to come over to Dumbledore's side. Of course, it isn't easy with Greyback out there…"

"Who's Greyback?" asked Harry.

Remus made a convulsive gesture with his hand. His smile faltered again, and he said, more to himself than to Harry, "I'd forgotten… We never told you about him, did we?"

Harry remained silent as Remus joined his side. His posture mirrored Harry's as he lowered his head, gathering his thoughts before explaining, "Fenrir Greyback is perhaps the most savage werewolf alive today. He has made it his mission to bite and contaminate as many people as possible. He wants to create enough werewolves that they will be able to overpower the rest of the magical community…. It was Greyback who bit me."

Harry felt a cold knot of anger in the pit of his stomach. He did his best to keep his voice neutral as he asked, "You mean when you were a kid?"

"Yes," Remus replied simply. "My father offended him, and Greyback, in retaliation, decided to come after me. That's how he operates. He targets children. Take them from their parents. Raise them to hate wizards… Like any werewolf, Greyback loses control when he transforms. But unlike most of us, who lock ourselves up or control our beastly urges with the wolfsbane potion, Greyback revels in the transformation. He lies in wait close to his intended victim until the full moon rises, then he strikes. But his methods are sloppy. He kills just as often as he manages to create more werewolves…"

"And he's decided to follow Voldemort?" Harry asked, disgusted by what he was hearing, "He's convinced others to join him?"

Remus nodded sadly. "Voldemort has offered him pay in return for his allegiance. He has threatened to unleash Greyback upon people's sons and daughters. In return, Greyback has convinced many werewolves that under Voldemort's rule, they will have a better life…"

"But how can they believe him?" pressed Harry, "Voldemort doesn't care about anyone but himself! He'll get rid of Greyback as soon as he stops being useful…"

"I know," said Remus, "But it's hard to reason with my kind when the Ministry, from fear of Greyback and his influence, imposes even harsher restrictions against werewolves. It's already nearly impossible for most of us to find work. Some are being sent to quarantined communities. And those are the lucky ones. Most of us are being forced underground. For all of this, Greyback argues that we deserve retribution. Many agree with him…"

"Because he's right!" Harry blurted, surprising himself as well as Remus with his vehemence. Seeing the stunned look on Remus's face, Harry quickly amended, "I mean, I disagree with his methods, obviously… But this is exactly how Voldemort gets people on his side, isn't it? He offers them power and protection they don't get from the Ministry, but if Scrimgeour offered werewolves equal rights, then Voldemort's offer would be less tempting, wouldn't it? Werewolves are just people, after all. It's not your fault that you have a… a problem…"

Remus burst into laughter. "You remind me so much of James!" he said, wiping a tear from his eyes, "He used to call it 'my furry little problem' in company."

This mention of Harry's father turned their conversation toward happier times. Soon after, Remus began rubbing his hand over the stubble on his chin, remarking as he did, "I'd better shave this before Edana catches sight of me. It'll be a lecture, otherwise."

Harry allowed himself to be led back inside, where he warmed himself by the fire and admired the explosion of paper decorations Ginny and Draco had festooned about the living room. He did his best to appear cheerful around Blaise and Millie, but he could not easily forget what Remus had shared with him. It seemed as though the Ministry, in their efforts to control or push aside any magical creatures who were not like themselves, was simply handing allies to Voldemort. His sleep that night was restless and uneasy, filled with creeping shadows and the cries of bitten children…

When Harry awoke the next morning, he found a pile of gifts at the foot of his bed. He reached for a brightly wrapped package at the top of the stack while Blaise stirred in his bed. He groggily peered over his blanket as Harry ripped away the paper of his gift.

"Looks like we both got Weasley sweaters again this year," he remarked, nodding to a similarly wrapped parcel near Blaise's bed. His had contained a hand-knit emerald green sweater with a large golden snitch stitched to the front. Though it served as another reminder of his abysmal Quidditch career, Harry willingly pulled the jumper over his head, hoping the sight of him wearing it would please Mrs. Weasley.

Blaise eyed his own jumper with a critical eye. It was white and appeared to have a rather whimsical serpent knitted on its front. Harry thought it resembled Blaise's pet snake, but Blaise shook his head as he set the jumper aside.

"Shame that You-Know-Who has given snakes a bad name, eh?" he said as he pulled another gift from his stack. "If I'm seen wearing that, it might give the wrong impression."
"I'm sure she means well," said Harry. He had just opened an unexpected gift from Fred and George, which contained one of their Skiving Snackboxes. He turned next to a modest parcel, wrapped in brown paper, and was shocked to see that it came from Kreacher. The words "To Master" had been struck out, and clumsily replaced with "To Mr. Potter, from Kreacher and Dobby.

As Harry had long since given up his ownership of the house-elf, he had no doubt that he owed the gift entirely to Dobby's influence. If anyone could rehabilitate the tortured and brainwashed elf of the Black family, it would be Dobby, who had once been enslaved by the Malfoys. The gift turned out to be a rustic-looking fruit tart, evidently of Kreacher's own making. Harry, feeling slightly guilty for failing to visit the Hogwarts kitchens that year, resolved to pay his respects to the elves once he returned.

Harry managed to convince Blaise to wear his sweater, at least for one day, and when they sat down to breakfast, everyone was sporting a fresh jumper. Even Remus sported a brick red sweater, free of the tears and patches of his usual wardrobe, though his lacked any of the additional designs Mrs. Weasley usually reserved for her children and their friends.

"Have you heard from Tonks lately?" Mrs. Weasley asked him as she finished setting the table. Instead of one of her jumpers, she was sporting a midnight blue witch's hat and a stunning gold necklace, both gifts from the twins.

"I haven't heard much from anyone," Remus replied, scanning the headlines of the newspaper, "You know I haven't been able to write, where I've been staying."

"I invited Tonks to dinner with us, mum," advised Bill helpfully, "She seemed keen, so I just mentioned that we would all love to see her, but maybe she thinks it'll be too crowded?"

"I'm sure Nymphadora has her own family to visit," interjected Mrs. Zabini, looking slightly annoyed.

"I suppose so…" said Mrs. Weasley, looking rather sly, "But I do enjoy her visits. You should ask her to come again some other time, Bill."

Of course, Mrs. Weasley was welcome to invite whoever she pleased to her own home, though Harry wondered, with her house nearly bursting with guests already, why she should be so keen to get Tonks to come round. The possibility that she had allied herself with Tonks darted into his mind.

Harry wished he knew what Remus thought of all this attention. He was considering how best to drop a hint of the women's machinations when Percy suddenly jumped out of his chair with a cry of alarm. Bill and Remus were on their feet in an instant, their wands drawn and ready for a fight, but Percy merely pointed out the window with a shaking finger as he gasped, "I don't believe it! It's the Minister!"

Everyone turned quickly to the window. There, sure enough, was a man Harry only recognized from The Daily Prophet. He walked with a slight limp toward the Burrow, his mane of graying hair and long black cloak flecked with snow. Percy was already out the door before his mother could say anything, eager to greet his superior.

"Mother," he announced proudly, ushering the man into the room a moment later, "Allow me to introduce Mr. Rufus Scrimgeour. Minister, my mother, Molly."

"A pleasure," said Scrimgeour. His smooth voice did not match his leonine appearance in the slightest. He leaned heavily against his walking stick smiling with warmth at Mrs. Weasley and each of her children in turn. When at last his gaze at last fell on Harry, it lingered a beat longer than usual, drifting up to the scar on his forehead. But as Harry was used to this reaction, he thought nothing of it as Mrs. Weasley said, "To what do we owe this honor, Mr. Scrimgeour?"

"Please forgive my intrusion," he replied, drawing his gaze away from Harry as he directed a beaming smile to Mrs. Weasley, "I happened to be in the vicinity… Working, you know… and I couldn't resist paying my respects to one of the Ministry's finest workers. Your son has been doing excellent work for us, Mrs. Weasley."

Percy jutted his chest out proudly, but Harry thought the excuse rather thin. Though Percy was the head of his own office, it was little more than a task force designed to combat the proliferation of counterfeit talismans and amulets that cropped up in the wake of Voldemort's return. Harry doubted whether the Minister of Magic had time to concern himself with a few phony trinkets being sold from disreputable vendors in Diagon Alley.

"Please have a seat, Minister!" Percy urged with extreme politeness, even pulling out the seat George was sitting in, as if prepared to oust his own brother in deference to Scrimgeour. "We just started breakfast. Would you like some tea or coffee?"

"No, no," Scrimgeour said with a wave of his hand, "I can't stay long. Don't want to intrude. Just thought I'd say hello… Though I did notice a rather charming garden… No, no," he said again, seeing the way Percy leaped for his cloak, "Don't want to trouble you, Percy. Not while you're with your family. But perhaps that young man wouldn't mind showing me around?"

The 'young man' in question was, of course, Harry. In an instant, the atmosphere around the table changed perceptibly. Even Percy, pompous and self-important as he was, looked from Harry to Scrimgeour with a look of perturbation. No one seemed to believe the Minister's pretense that he did not recognize Harry Potter.

"It's fine," he said quietly to Remus, who had partially risen from his chair, "I won't be long."

"Wonderful!" said Scrimgeour, standing back to let Harry pass through the door before him, "We'll just take a turn about the garden, then I'll be off. Still so much work to do. Just wanted to pay my respects. Percy, until next time…"

Harry walked across the yard, ignoring the overgrown, snow-covered garden and directing his steps toward the gate bordering the property instead. Scrimgeour made no mention of wanting to see the frozen garden, now. He merely limped along at Harry's side.

He knew that Scrimgeour had been Head of the Auror office before his appointment as Minister of Magic, and there were aspects of his appearance that reminded Harry strongly of Alastor Moody. He bore the same severe lines and battle scars on his face. But when he spoke, all similarity was at an end.

"I have wanted to meet you for a very long time, Mr. Potter."

Harry judged that they were a sufficient distance from the Burrow to not be overheard. He checked his steps at the gate, turning to face Scrimgeour directly. He waited for the man to continue, keeping his silence.

"Dumbledore has been very protective of you," continued Scrimgeour, "Only natural, of course, after everything that has happened… But after what occurred at the Ministry… I felt it my duty to speak with you ever since I gained office, Harry. I mean, these rumors that are going around! I think we both know how these stories get distorted. This whispers about the prophecy, for example. And now everyone's calling you the Chosen One…"

He waited for Harry to say something, but Harry did not oblige him. They were getting near to the real reason for his visit now, and Harry was unwilling to divulge any information without seeing what hand Scrimgeour would play first.

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

Harry deliberated. If Dumbledore had not chosen to confide in the new Minister, Harry didn't see why he should. But he didn't think he could avoid a direct question. Assuming the blank mask he had often seen Snape adopt when speaking with someone he disliked, which was almost everyone, Harry replied stiffly, "Yeah, we've discussed it."

"I see…" said Scrimgeour, squinting at Harry keenly, "And what has Dumbledore told you, Harry?"

"Sorry, but I don't see how that's any of your concern, Minister."

"Not my concern? My dear boy, how could it not concern me? Am I not the Minister of Magic? Must I not concern myself with matters that will affect the entire Wizarding community?"

"The prophecy wasn't about the entire Wizarding community," Harry replied, "It was about me and Voldemort."

Even Scrimgeour, seasoned Auror that he was, couldn't refrain from flinching at the forbidden name. But he continued to stare at Harry, and hungry look in his eye, as he asked, "Ah, so you do know what it said?"

Harry knew that he had made a mistake. He considered telling Scrimgeour that the prophecy had been smashed before Harry heard a word of it. Of course, he would conceal the fact that Dumbledore had recited the whole of it to him. But before he could say anything, Scrimgeour shook his head and continued, "No… You are right, Harry. It is not the prophecy itself that matters now. It's you… People already believe you are the Chosen One. The idea that there is someone who might be able… who might even be destined to destroy You-Know-Who… You have become a symbol of hope, Harry. And I believe, once you realize this, that you will consider standing alongside the Ministry. It could give us the boost we need to defeat this terrible foe."

They had finally come to the point, but Harry was still mystified. He stared at Scrimgeour, trying to keep up his calm façade, as he asked, "I don't understand what you're asking for. What do you mean 'standing by the Ministry'?"

"Nothing onerous, I assure you," Scrimgeour replied, "I'm well aware that you're still a student. But if you were to be seen popping into the Ministry from time to time, it could give the impression… And while you're there, I would be willing to introduce you to Gawain Robards. He is my successor as Head of the Auror office, you know. I could put in a good word for you. I spoke with Dolores Umbridge, and she tells me that you have… aspirations of joining the Ministry. The Auror office would be just the thing…"

"Umbridge?" Harry repeated. "Dolores Umbridge still works for the Ministry?"

Scrimgeour seemed to realize he had made a mistake. In fact, he could not have chosen a worse ally in his bid to gain Harry's cooperation. At the mere mention of Umbridge, all of Harry's former dislike came surging back. He could not think of Umbridge without recalling her many sneering comments about so-called half-breeds and the devastating cruelty that had been the hallmark of her brief tenure as the Hogwarts High Inquisitor.

"Forgive me, Minister," Harry continued after carefully collecting himself, "But if I'm seen at the Ministry, that would imply that I agree with what you are doing, wouldn't it?"

"Well, yes," replied Scrimgeour, frowning slightly, "Yes, that's rather the point. We would like people to see that you're cooperating with the Ministry…"

"But I don't," Harry interrupted.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't agree with what the Ministry is doing."

Scrimgeour grew very red in the face. He seemed to be struggling to control his temper as he spat, "I would have thought that you, of all people, would agree that when it comes to defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…"

"I'm not talking about him," Harry interrupted again, "We were talking about the Ministry. And I think if you're so desperate for support, you'd do better to stop listening to people like Umbridge, and start forming alliances with our magical kinsfolk."

Scrimgeour's look of consternation was marred by confusion. "Kinsfolk?"

"I mean werewolves," clarified Harry, "And giants. And house-elves. And why stop there? Centaurs, goblins, even vampires! You think wizards are the only ones affected by Voldemort's return? You think his Death Eaters aren't out there, spreading the word on how they can offer power that the Ministry would never dream of giving them?"

Scrimgeour appeared to hear only half of this impassioned speech. He was staring at Harry as if he were speaking parseltongue. As though all meaning were lost on him, and he heard only a harsh, discordant hiss.

"Goblins…" he repeated in a low murmur, "And vampires? Potter, what you suggest… It's pure madness! Upsetting the social order when we are currently under siege from possibly the most dangerous dark wizard of all time…"

"Dumbledore and I will handle Voldemort," Harry replied with more confidence than he felt. "But the Ministry needs to do better. And you need to start now."

They stood in silence for a moment, then Scrimgeour asked brusquely, "What is Dumbledore up to? Where does he go when he is absent from Hogwarts?"

"No idea," Harry replied, quite truthfully.

"And you wouldn't tell me if you knew," concluded Scrimgeour for him. "It seems you, like Dumbledore, are determined to distance yourself from the Ministry..."

"That's right," Harry replied. "Glad we sorted that out."

He pushed the gate open with force, a clear sign that Scrimgeour was more than welcome to leave. Then he turned on his heel and marched back toward the Burrow without a backward glance. The conversation should have angered him, and yet he could not suppress a smile. Luna Lovegood's previous allegation had popped into his head, and though Harry would have to disappoint her, having seen Scrimgeour by daylight, he could not deny that the thought of the Minister as a vicious, bloodsucking leech suddenly seemed very appropriate.