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Author’s Note: This massive chapter got done sooner than I thought and it’s just gotten back from my fantastic beta RAfan2421. I didn’t want to make you wait for it a moment longer because you lot are the best group of readers I’ve ever come across! I can’t thank you enough for that and I really hope you enjoy this chapter!

Also, Happy slightly-belated Birthday to my amazing boyfriend, who had a part in inspiring this fic and some aspects of a few of the characters.

Important Note: All that is quoted and paraphrased from the Half Blood Prince is marked with a subscript (example: ₁). The proper citation is below.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.


Duality: The Augury

OoO


They’d pulled it off.

Harry almost couldn’t believe it. With a giant intake of breath, he stepped off the train with his luggage and Hermione at his side, feeling massively disoriented. A slightly-less hung over Ron met him on the platform with Kingsley and Tonks, who had just apparated to Kings Cross from Hogsmeade after trying to find Draco Malfoy at Hogwarts.

He wondered how Hermione dealt with this time travel business during her third year. Then again, she only went back an hour or three at the most. Trying to reconstruct exactly what was happening two weeks ago was a little trickier.

Ron and Kingsley were chatting about the recent Quidditch match between the Falcons and Harpies while Hermione went to go find her parents. Ginny skipped by them and Harry averted his eyes away from her bouncing form, focusing on Tonks when she spoke.

“I tried my best. I couldn’t find him – slippery little bugger,” she muttered, pulling him aside as they approached the Weasley family, who were standing near the entrance to Platform 9 ¾ .

“Damn,” Harry said quietly, hoping he sounded dismayed enough. “I swear I saw him go in there. There’s been talk that he’s working on something big in the Room of Requirement – for Voldemort – and Crabbe got expelled for using Polyjuice potion. I think Malfoy’s been using Crabbe and Goyle as look-outs since they’ve been polyjuicing into first years and stationing themselves outside of the room.”

Tonks’ bright orange brows rose. “Sounds serious. How do you know all this?”

“I’ve been following him, and Hermione and I have made a few friends in different houses who are sympathetic to the Order’s cause. They’ve been helping us gather information about the other side,” Harry whispered, leaning close to her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a minimally duplicated version of his list of suspected Ministry moles. Surreptitiously, he slid it into Tonks’ pocket.

“Here. That’s a list of Ministry moles that we’ve compiled. Don’t look at it until we get off the platform,” he said carefully, making sure they weren’t overheard. “I believe that it’s reliable – it’s a good start, at least. And I think we should call for an Order meeting soon, when Hermione gets to the Burrow. There’s a lot we have to go over.”

Tonks threw him a sly grin. “Y’know, you might make a fine Auror one day, Harry.” She patted her pocket. “I’ll definitely check this out.”

“Thanks, Tonks.” Harry grinned in response and hurried ahead to catch up with Hermione, Ron, and Kingsley, breathing an imperceptible sigh of relief.

She took the bait. Now he only had to lie just as smoothly to the rest of them when the time came. He nearly snorted doubtfully at the thought; it wasn’t going to be easy.

OoO

“So how was last night with Looney?” Ron asked as they briefly unpacked their clothes and presents for other people that they ordered through the post or bought at Hogsmeade.

Oh, yeah. Slughorn’s party was last night for Ron.

Harry paused from lifting a t-shirt out of his trunk, revealing Aunt Marge’s keys underneath them, and he wanted to laugh hopelessly at the situation. Biting the inside of his cheek, he shoved the keys deeper into his trunk as he debated over what to tell Ron. They didn’t even think about him the whole time at the warehouse – it was simply, ‘How are we going to fool the Order?’

Merlin.

“Erm – it was fine. We ran into Trelawney and that was unpleasant as always. You know how she gets once she’s into the sherry.” Harry paused, noticing a bulky envelope addressed to him in the corner of his trunk that he didn’t remember packing. It looked like Daphne’s writing.

Clearing his throat, he continued, “But I followed Malfoy after Snape dragged him out of the party for gatecrashing and listened in on the conversation. Apparently Snape’s made an Unbreakable Vow to protect Malfoy and Malfoy’s definitely fixing something for Voldemort in the Room of Requirement. I think Snape was offering to help him.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “Bloody hell. What do you think they’re up to? Are they working together or something?”

“I’m not sure – Snape couldn’t get anything out of Malfoy so I don’t know if they’re working together. I don’t think so,” Harry lied with a shrug, trying to think fast. “And, erm – you know how I’ve been disappearing for the past couple weeks after dinner? And Hermione has been studying alone and stuff?”

In reality, that was just him taking manipulation lessons from Nott and Hermione often studied alone, but it suited him well for a decent lie.

“Yeah.” The redhead nodded, hanging up one of his infamous Weasley sweaters in his wardrobe.

“Well… we’ve been consulting people and building a network of informants and spies, you could say. It’s like the DA, but more separate and it’s only for gathering information. Except that one of our informants got Crabbe expelled for using polyjuice, which was helpful. But they haven’t gotten much information on Malfoy just yet – we’re all working on it. And we’ve been making a list of suspected Ministry moles as well. We’ve ears in every house now.”

Ron stared at him blankly from across the room and Harry felt guilt pull at his chest as he went on, “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. We started it when you and I were fighting about Daphne and I wanted to tell you but… I just never found the right time. And Hermione and you haven’t been getting on, which is probably why she hasn’t told you.”

“S’alright. I get it. I was being a git,” Ron muttered sullenly, shrugging his shoulders. “I haven’t exactly been that truthful with you lately either.”

Dropping Hermione’s present – two books recommended to him by Daphne about secrecy and mind spells, which he had to order from a rather shady catalogue – into the gift pile, Harry stared at Ron questioningly.

“I, uh…” Ron started reluctantly, paying entirely too much attention to the contents of his rucksack, “slipped you some of Fred and George’s love potion a couple weeks ago.”

“What?” Harry hissed, his brows furrowing. “For who? Why the bloody hell would you do that?” His hand roughly grasped Ron’s shoulder and he forced Ron to look up at him.

The redheaded Gryffindor shrugged him off, looking like a skittishly outraged rabbit. “You were messing about with Daphne Greengrass!” He shrugged again, averting his eyes and backing away. “I was… jealous or something. Y’know – and my sister has been in love with you for ages and I really don’t like her with Dean, so I thought that if I… made you look at her differently, you might… change your mind,” he explained awkwardly, sighing before he continued at similarly stilted pace, “And her mind. About Dean. Because Dean’s a fucking git with girls – all those bloody stories he shares with Seamus…”

The guilt over lying to Ron evaporated away from Harry so quickly it was surprising that there wasn’t a cloud of steam left behind.

“You drugged me. Brilliant,” he muttered snarkily through gritted teeth. It was, however, nice to know why Ginny was suddenly very interesting to him every time he saw her since that fight between her and Ron about snogging. He thought it was just hormones; after all, she was rather pretty. Ron must’ve put the love potion into his water while he was busy with his Quidditch captain duties during practice.

No wonder Ron was apologizing for being a right idiot after that practice. He must’ve thought that it all was going to end soon…

“Is there an antidote to this fucking potion?”

“Er – yeah,” Ron replied carefully, sidestepping slowly to his rucksack. “I was going to put it in Mum’s biscuits. You know the ones you like? But um. I’m sorry, mate.” He pulled a deep red vial of potion out of his bag that had the Weasley twin’s signature WWW emblem printed on it. “I didn’t think you were that affected by it since you... erm-”

“Since I, what?” Harry snatched the vial out of Ron’s hand and downed it in one gulp, wincing at the super sweet taste of it. “I definitely was affected. It’s just common courtesy not to cheat on your… ‘girlfriend’ with your best friend’s sister, who also happens to be dating another one of your friends!” he seethed, angrily narrowing his eyes toward the redhead. “You’re thick to think that would ever happen.”

“Merlin - I said I was sorry!” Ron exclaimed quietly, throwing his hands up.

Harry glared at him, stalking over to the window and pulling out his red leather case as he opened it. He desperately needed a fag.

“I’m not sure if I believe you,” he said stubbornly, glancing over at Ron, who was still standing by his rucksack. He used Daphne’s gold lighter, which he’d borrowed, to light up, blowing a long breath of smoke out the window.

“Better not let mum catch you doing that. She’d have kittens.”

“Then you better not tell her that I’m doing it. She’d probably have kittens if I told her that you slipped me a love potion spiked with Ginny,” Harry countered, sitting on the window ledge and keeping his cigarette hand positioned outside of the window.

Ron’s jaw hardened. “Well, it isn’t as if you haven’t been lying to me for weeks as well! What with this secret group you and Hermione have together. Maybe you two belong with each other.”

“I’m sleeping with Daphne, Ron. I’m not interested in Hermione. We’re just gathering information from people – I thought that I’d be nice and let you in is all,” Harry responded, secretly pleased by the look of guilt that crossed over Ron’s face.

Ron sullenly crossed the room. “Yeah, well, I’m gonna go see what Fred and George are up to. Have fun burning your lungs out with that thing,” he mumbled, opening his door and angrily shutting behind him.

Harry rolled his eyes, rather thankful for the thing that was ‘burning his lungs out’ at the moment. It eased every bit of stress he was feeling and if it wasn’t for it, he probably would have thrown something by now. Leaning back against the window frame, he sighed, exhaling a short puff of smoke.

His eyes then trailed over to his trunk that held the envelope from Daphne and he reached for it, grasping it between his fingers and pulling it toward him, shifting his gaze to the door before opening it.

Good. Ron definitely wasn’t coming back.

A short note slid out of the envelope with a giant square metal case that was the size of his fist.

Feel free to keep watch.
-D

Harry quickly opened it, revealing two scrying mirrors on each side of the case – one empty and one depicting Draco Malfoy, bound and tied to a chair with a Lucius Malfoy-esque Nott standing over him. Scrying mirrors didn’t offer any sound without the help of a second potion, but he knew that this happened two weeks ago (in his timeframe anyway). It was while he was unconscious after Nott and Zabini kidnapped him. Nott apparently questioned Malfoy a lot while Harry was out cold. His guess was that the sister of the scrying mirror on the other side didn’t exist yet and that it was meant for Goyle, which was probably why it didn’t depict anything.

Did Daphne give all of them scrying mirror cases? Or was this just a special present for him?

Whichever it was, it was too dangerous to have out in the open for too long. Sticking his cigarette between his lips, he buried the metal case deep inside his trunk underneath some old Transfiguration homework and leaned back against the window.

He wished Hermione would get to the Burrow sooner. If Daphne had any sense, she would have given Hermione one of these mirror cases as well. He also needed to discuss the issue of Ron with her – the sooner they decided on what to do with him, the better. He didn’t like lying to him, but he wasn’t sure if Ron could reliably keep his mouth shut after being left out, love potion blackmail withstanding.

Harry could only imagine how bitter Ron would be if they told him and bitterness was a very strong emotion to deal with. Ron wouldn’t take it lightly if they decided to tell him.


OoO

“‘arry! Eet ez so wonderful to see you!” Fleur exclaimed on her way up the stairs, with Ginny in tow, helping Fleur carry her luggage. Harry felt himself bombarded with hugs and kisses from the French woman as she stopped on the landing and he looked over at Ginny for help, knowing he wouldn’t get any. The Weasley girl could barely contain her mirthful grin.

Without the effect of the love potion, the attraction had disappeared and he was at the point where he was before, which was a relief. Ginny was Ron’s little sister, and nearly like his own little sister. In retrospect, it was amazing how powerful Fred and George’s love potions were. He almost couldn’t believe that they were legal…

“Sorry,” Harry muttered to Fleur, blinking out of his reverie. “You surprised me. It’s nice to see you too. How’ve you been?”

“Fantastic as always! Bill and I ‘ave been planning a marvelous wedding for zis summer – I was ‘oping you could come. Of course, we are not sure on where eet will be, but eet will be lovely to ‘ave you there!”

This summer?

Harry’s brows rose. “Erm – sure, I’ll try my best. Sounds great,” he replied with a nod, glancing over at Ginny again, who rolled her eyes.

“Excellent! I’ll put you on ze invitation list!” Fleur’s smile grew and she pecked him on the cheek as she passed, going toward Ginny’s room, where she was probably staying. Poor Ginny.

Harry tossed the redheaded girl an empathetic look on his way down the stairs and headed to the kitchen for some breakfast. He left Ron sleeping upstairs after not talking to him all night. Harry had turned in early after dinner and it was some of the best sleep that he had gotten over the past two weeks, even though he woke up at 4 AM due to the extremely irregular sleep schedule that he had been keeping at the warehouse. He spent most of the morning trying to analyze the Ron situation and coming up with possible outcomes. Most of them were not promising, so he desperately needed to talk it over with Hermione.

Two minds were better than one when it came to stuff like this.

Mrs. Weasley had breakfast laid out on the table already, under a stasis charm, and he took a seat next to Mr. Weasley. He could hear Bill and Fred and George talking animatedly in the lounge over one of Fred and George’s new inventions for their shop.

“It’s terrible what they’re doing to Stan Shunpike,” Mr. Weasley muttered from behind the Daily Prophet. “To all of the people they’re arresting lately. Don’t tell anyone I’ve told you this, Harry, but they’ve no evidence for at least three of the people arrested – and yet they’re sending them to Azkaban regardless. The Ministry would rather condemn them than look foolish in the public eye. And even Dumbledore can’t get them to change their minds. It’s ridiculous.” He paused, adding again, “And very top secret, of course.”₁

“Yes, I know. I can keep a secret. But it’s really because of the moles in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement anyway,” Harry replied quietly, leaning closer to him and grabbing a piece of toast while he poured himself a cup of tea.

“Mm. I imagine so as well,” Mr. Weasley said, glancing over at him with somber eyes. “The problem is that we know that they’re there, it’s simply difficult to pinpoint who is working for whom, and how to tie them to who they’re working for. The atmosphere around the Ministry is very hush-hush and everyone is being exceedingly careful.”

“But there has to be a way to implicate them somehow.” Spreading jam over his toast, Harry sighed. “No one is so careful as to not leave a trail tying them back to something nefarious somewhere. Has Tonks showed you the list I’ve gathered?”

“She has – it’s very bold.” Mr. Weasley shook his head doubtfully. “I’ve worked closely with some of these people for years; they can’t be moles.”

“They might be though,” Harry whispered, “that’s the thing. Moles are supposed to be unsuspecting – unassuming. Maybe they’re under the Imperious or… they aren’t who you thought they were. The most surprising people can be absolutely devious and I’m very sure that most of that list is accurate. The group I’ve formed at Hogwarts is good at getting their hands on information – and they’ve risked their necks trying to get it. I wouldn’t have given it to Tonks if I wasn’t certain about it.”

Mr. Weasley’s mouth flattened to a thin line. “We’ll have to see. I’ve called an Order meeting for this weekend, after Remus arrives. We’ll discuss it more then,” he muttered quickly before Mrs. Weasley bustled through the door with Bill, Fred, and George in tow, proclaiming that they absolutely needed breakfast.

Harry felt infinitely more satisfied as he ate. It sounded as if he was actually going to get to attend this Order meeting and Hermione was going to be around by then too, which made him breathe an internal sigh of relief. He desperately needed her to back him up because he wasn’t sure if he was enough to convince them, judging by the way Mr. Weasley reacted.

OoO

“That’s a really odd habit to have if you’re a wizard, you know,” Ginny commented quietly as she came around the shed.

He’d just had another row with Ron up in Ron’s room and he went outside to the back of Mr. Weasley’s shed for a fag while the rest of the family was distracted by their separate holiday or wedding planning duties, which was a godsend. Obviously he wasn’t sneaky enough to slip by Ginny though. He’d thought she was too busy making paper chain decorations in the lounge.

“Is it?” he rhetorically replied, flicking ashes off onto the lightly snow-dusted ground.

“Extremely distinctive,” Ginny said, her lips quirking. “In fact, the only people at Hogwarts who do that sort of thing are Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass. And that seventh year Muggleborn, but I forget his name…”

“Maybe I picked it up over the summer at the Dursleys,” Harry lied casually. He only had three cigarettes in the past four days at the Burrow – usually after a terse moment with Ron. The youngest Weasley boy didn’t seem to want to speak to him and spent an inordinate amount of time with Fred and George. That suited him just fine, until they eventually started talking, which eventually lead to an argument and then a fag.

“I know Blaise Zabini, Harry.” Ginny leaned against the shed next to him. “And those look like the same cigarettes he smokes half the time – apparently the same as Greengrass – so cut the bullshit. Is Ron not talking to you because he found out you’re dating Greengrass?”

Harry’s brow arched. “How do you know Blaise Zabini?”

“I fooled around with him a little last year. He’s a narcissistic, arrogant twat, but he’s fit and he liked my bat bogey hexes,” Ginny answered, shrugging.

Was there a girl in the world who didn’t find Zabini appealing? Harry wanted to roll his eyes.

“So you’re going out with Greengrass? It would explain a lot. Especially the rumours.”

He let out a long sigh, weighing the consequences. He knew that Ginny was trustworthy enough. “Maybe I am.”

“Huh. Good to know,” she said lightly, her mouth twisting in contemplation. “I mean, you definitely could do worse than her. Romilda Vane has been frothing at the mouth for weeks.”

“Yeah… Lots of love potion chocolates.” Sensing an opportunity, Harry asked, “So, what do you know about Daphne?”

“Oh, not much.” Ginny tucked her hair behind her ear and shrugged a shoulder. “She keeps to herself and Zabini only mentioned that it’s a horrible idea to get on her bad side – but that’s any girl, really. Witches are brutal if you piss them off. Boys don’t seem to get that.”

He doubted that Ginny would ever kidnap and psychologically interrogate someone if they pissed her off, but he figured he’d take her word for it. After all, Hermione permanently scarred someone for betraying Dumbledore’s Army.

“Yeah, I get it,” Harry responded. “You lot really know how to pack a punch.”

“And a nasty bat bogey hex,” Ginny added with a sinister grin. “Better beware. I can’t imagine what Greengrass’ specialty is – she’s a Slytherin.”

Deceit and manipulation.

Harry snorted out a laugh at the thought. “It’s definitely not magical.”

“Really?” Ginny’s body language shifted and she stared at him intently. “What is it?”

“That would be telling,” he muttered with a smirk.

“Spoil sport,” she replied, smiling wryly and batting him on the shoulder. Then she sobered, looking him up and down. “You’ve changed a lot, I’ve noticed. Especially over the past few weeks. You’ve been a lot quieter, if that’s possible.”

“We all have to change sometime. And I’ve… The war’s getting closer.” He exhaled a breath full of smoke. “It’s not exactly a comforting thought.”

“Well I’m always here to help if you need me to be. The whole DA is – you could start up proper meetings again. I’ve stayed in touch with them and some of us have even been practicing. The Creevey brothers finally got their full patronuses to form just last month. They’re gerbils.”

Harry smiled fondly, picturing the Creevey brothers practicing in his head. “That’s great. But… I don’t know. I’ve been a bit busy with things – Order type of stuff. It’d be nice, but I don’t know how often I’d be able to attend DA meetings.”

“Just think about it. We have your back. You’re not alone in this fight – we hate that snakeface just as much as you do.”

“I know,” Harry said with a nod, stubbing his cigarette out on the ground and stowing the filter in a spare bit of paper to stuff in his pocket to discreetly throw away. “Keep your coin on you. We might need to use it in the future.”

“Always. Constant vigilance.”

They started walking back to the Burrow and, as he turned the corner onto the path, he spotted Hermione bounding down the steps of the Burrow toward them, her bushy hair bouncing in her wake.

Finally, she was here.

“Merlin, I thought the past few days would never end,” Hermione muttered once they got inside and she pulled him up the stairs to help her carry her things while Fleur distracted Ginny about invitation choices and wedding locations. Crookshanks’ kittens were running around everyone’s feet.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” Harry said under his breath. “I’ve no idea what to do with Ron and I haven’t decided if we should tell him about the whole thing. We’ve been arguing a bit. I told him our fabricated story and he told me he slipped me a love potion when he was angry about me being with Daphne, which caused the whole… arguing.”

Hermione scoffed. “Honestly? I can’t believe he’d do that to you. Who was it targeted at? Did he have an antidote?”

“Ginny. Yes – I drank the antidote right after he told me.”

“He’s probably the only big brother in the world who would want his sister to date his best friend,” she sardonically intoned, opening the door to Ginny’s room, which had three camp beds laid out in the cramped space. “Bloody prat.”

Harry let out a breathy laugh. “I’m over it, really, but he’s definitely not over us lying to him about our… group that we’ve came up with and left him out of. It makes me want to hold the love potion thing over his head every time he brings it up. I’d tell him what really happened, but I don’t see anything good coming from it.”

Hermione hummed thoughtfully, pursing her lips. “Ron can keep a secret, but you know how he hates being left out of things. I’ve no idea how he’d react if we told him all of it.”

“He’d be bitter about it like he usually is with stuff like this.” Harry sighed, sinking down onto one of the camp beds. “But we’re his friends and, even if he can be difficult, it’s hard to lie to him so much…”

“It’s not like the story we made up is that far from the truth,” Hermione reasoned, sitting next to him.

Glancing over at her, Harry felt himself deflate a little. “So you suggest that we should lie.”

“Don’t you think?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his mind whirling to the possibilities he’d thought up over the last few days. “We definitely can’t tell him while we’re around anyone in the Order. Maybe when we’re at Hogwarts we can tell him so he doesn’t ruin everything. He’ll be far enough away from everyone and would have to send an owl, which I doubt he’d do. It’s too much effort for him and he likes instant gratification.”

“I agree. We should lie until it’s safe enough to not,” Hermione said, nodding once, and then her expression darkened. “Even if he’s a git who fed you a love potion. He deserves a whack upside the head for being so thick.”

Harry’s lips curved into a crooked smile. “Thanks, Hermione.”

“For what?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Being here. Sticking with me and dealing with Nott and Zabini and Daphne. I couldn’t have asked for a better best friend.”

Hermione’s arm wrapped around him and she half-hugged him tightly. “I could say the same to you.”

“I doubt that. I seem to drag you into everything,” he replied, pulling away from her.

“Are you kidding?” Hermione’s grin widened. “You make my life more interesting. What would I do otherwise? Sit at home and knit? I’d be bored out of my mind.” Then, her eyes widened slightly and she reached for one of her bags. “That reminds me – muffliato – did you get one of these?”

She pulled up a very familiar-looking metal case after waving her wand around them and Harry nodded. “Yeah, Daph gave me one too. It’s at the bottom of my trunk.”

“Did you notice the enchantment on it?” Hermione asked, flipping it over and running her wand over it, revealing a glowing line of arithmancy across the edge of it. “It has an alert sequence – Blaise’s work. I’m guessing that it’s tied to the wards on the doors to the interrogation rooms. It’ll go off if they try to escape.”

“Like that does me any good,” Harry replied sarcastically. “It’s not as if I can do magic outside of Hogwarts yet.”

“I know, but it makes sense. With all of us having one of these, at least one of us might be able to get there in time to intervene and stop them from escaping if it happens. It’s actually not a bad idea.”

“It’ll also give us front row seats to watching Astoria and Johnson try to turn Malfoy and Goyle into double agents,” Harry dryly remarked, flipping it open.

“So that’s what they’re doing.” Hermione paused, staring down at it. “I knew there had to be something else.”

“Yeah… and Daphne’s going to capture Malfoy’s mum to help out with the whole scheme. It’s mental.”

Hermione’s brows rose and, through the barrier of the muffliato spell, he heard Mrs. Weasley call up that it was time for dinner, cutting their conversation short. Harry let out a frustrated sigh. It was bloody difficult to get enough time to speak to anyone uninterrupted these days.

OoO


Christmas at the Weasleys was a long drawn-out affair that seemed to last for days, and it wasn’t even Christmas yet. Mrs. Weasley made an inordinate amount of food for everyone; decorations were splattered everywhere, culminating at the epicentre in the lounge, where a giant Christmas tree stood.

The sound of Ron chewing pastries got on Harry’s nerves and he retreated to a small corner of the house with the Half Blood Prince and the metal mirror case, which he would occasionally peek glances at when no one was looking.

Watching himself as Tom Riddle interrogate Malfoy was like staring into another life. The foreign expressions on his glamoured face and the downright ruthlessness with which he handled Malfoy made him feel as if he were looking at another person doing those things. But it was him and it wasn’t even that difficult for him either.

While the slight moral dilemma surfaced, he buried himself into his Potions text and the Half Blood Prince’s words, distracting himself. He hid the metal case in his pocket while he did so, only pulling it out to check what day it was for his other self and occasionally watch.

Instead of learning interrogation techniques, he did his holiday homework. Instead of interrogating Malfoy, he helped Ron peel sprouts for dinner and snuck away to discuss everything with Hermione – including the plans over what exactly to tell, and withhold from, the Order in the upcoming meeting.

Ron was finally being less git-like, at least. They could talk without arguing and he was extremely interested in the conversation between Malfoy and Snape, which was just the bloody tip of the iceberg compared to what Harry actually knew. Not that he could tell Ron that just yet.

On Christmas Eve, instead of planning the kidnapping of Goyle and stealing Uncle Vernon’s car, he sat at the dining room table while people trickled through the fireplace and stood round the room, waiting for the Order meeting to start. It had gotten delayed because Remus was stuck somewhere and couldn’t arrive till now. Hermione was anxiously tapping her fingers on the table, which made Harry feel slightly anxious by proxy. The buzzing atmosphere in the room wasn’t helping any as well.

“I heard that Lucius Malfoy’s boy’s done a runner,” someone whispered behind him and Harry turned his head, catching a glimpse of Mundungus Fletcher speaking to Mad-Eye Moody.

“Has he, now?” Moody’s gruff voice sounded, his magical eye spinning and searching the room. “Where’ve you heard that?”

“It’s all ‘round Knockturn,” Mundungus proclaimed. “The Malfoy woman put a notice out to all the shopkeepers to keep a lookout for ‘im and I’ve an in with Borgin. He buys me best stuff.”

Harry’s pulse picked up and he was thankful that he left the scrying mirror case up in his trunk, buried. He hoped that Hermione had done the same with hers – who knew what Moody’s eye could see. That mirror case was a danger to his plans. If any of the Order members were going to stay the night, he’d have to be extremely careful with it.

“No wonder I couldn’t find him or get him to come out of that blasted room,” Tonks said, joining the conversation. “He probably wasn’t even in there. Merlin, I feel so stupid…”

“No need to feel bad about it, Tonks – at least you tried,” Hermione said quietly toward the group, biting her lip in contemplation. “He could have used the distraction of the students getting on the Hogwarts Express to run off. Perhaps he polyjuiced himself – we’ve some evidence that he’s been using it because of Crabbe’s expulsion.”

“Makes sense,” Tonks said. Then she turned to Harry. “Didn’t you say that he was working on something for You-Know-Who in that room?”

“Yes. We’ve reason to believe that he was,” Harry lied, letting his nerves settle with a false dismayed sigh. “But if he’s run away… We’ll have to figure it out when we get back to Hogwarts – try to get in there. Maybe get someone to spy on Goyle – Goyle might know something about it or maybe even take over for him.”

“The Goyle kid?” Moody questioned doubtfully. “You-Know-Who wouldn’t trust anyone in that family with anything important. They’re all five feathers short of a whole Hippogriff.”

Tonk’s brows furrowed. “If he was working on something serious though, don’t you think that Malfoy’d take it with him?”

The image of Draco Malfoy hauling around a giant Vanishing Cabinet on his back made Harry’s stomach clench as he held back an amused snort.

Keeping his face neutral, Harry shrugged, absently shaking his head. “I dunno. He might have done.”

“Then we’ll keep on the lookout for him. Track his movements if we get word of his whereabouts,” Mad-Eye Moody decided. “Might be beneficial to put out a small reward for his capture to encourage cooperation.”

Their conversation was cut short by the doors to the dining room shutting and locking, after Ron stepped in with Remus Lupin. Harry could tell from the smudgy flush on Ron’s cheeks that he had to put up a fight with Mrs. Weasley in order to attend the meeting – she couldn’t keep him and Hermione from attending.

They’d had a small row with Mrs. Weasley about it earlier, but he and Hermione stood their ground. Their list was important to the Order and they were old enough to decide what to do with their lives. She also wasn’t their mother, which hit a sore spot when Ginny stepped in and pointed it out to her.

He wondered how Ron convinced her to let him attend.

Ron took a seat next to them and nodded in support, while Remus started the meeting, going over the various movements of Death Eaters that they’ve tracked. It wasn’t anything Harry hadn’t figured out from the things he’d overheard Mr. Weasley talking about to Fred, George, and Bill. The Death Eaters seemed to be lying low for the most part in the last two weeks, with only a few isolated attacks here and there. No recent Muggle terrorism – mostly just suspected kidnappings of various witches and wizards: a potion’s master who worked for Bobbin’s Apothecary, a person who worked at the Ministry’s library, and an old historian who wrote about the Goblin Rebellions for a living.

It was strange. Harry couldn’t figure out anything that connected these people. Why would Voldemort want them?

“Has anyone seen the news this morning?” Bill held up the Daily Prophet, folded to an article entitled, ‘FLOREAN FORTESCUE: CAPTURED OR WORKING FOR THEM?’

“Codswallop,” Mr. Weasley interjected. “It has to be someone posing as Florean.”

“Are you talking about the bloke who owned the ice cream shop?” Harry asked, his brows furrowing. He glanced over at Hermione, who looked surprised.

“He was a friend of the Order of the Phoenix. An outlier – like Aberforth. He kept watch on certain people and gave us information,” Tonks explained. Harry didn’t even know that Aberforth Dumbledore did that, but it made sense – the Hog’s Head was a great place to stick someone to gather information. “Death Eaters found out about it and cut that information off at the knees this past summer. We haven’t heard from him since.”

“But this article indicates that he might be working for them, which is a problem, because all of the information that he’s given us over the past two years could have been faulty if he’s really working for them,” Bill said, throwing the Prophet down on the table.

“The only evidence they have is based on a very coincidental ancient magical ritual near the last Death Eater sighting,” Remus reasoned, letting out a sigh as he stared at the article. “Florean may have been a notable practitioner of the craft, but he isn’t the only one out there who practices ancient magic. You can’t think that he’d betray us.”

“Constant vigilance, Remus,” Mad-Eye spoke up. “This may not be enough evidence for betrayal, but if anyone receives any further transmissions from Florean, it should be handled with strict caution.”

“We don’t even know if he’s still alive!” Tonks said heatedly. “Let us receive evidence of that first before we go passing judgments about a possible dead man.”

“Fair enough,” Bill interjected. “We’ll wait for word from Florean before we make a decision. But what about his past information?”

“Are we doing anything with that at the moment?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“The whereabouts of Bellatrix Lestrange was useful – she got away, o’course – but we haven’t had much luck on the Nott and Avery hideout,” Moody said, taking a drink from his hipflask. “Seems they’ve made it unplottable. Everything else we’ve gotten from him hasn’t panned out all that well.”

“At least it’s something though,” Tonks muttered. “And, if you haven’t noticed, Alastor, we haven’t been having much luck with anything lately. The Auror office is against us.”

“Enemies in the ranks, yes,” Mad-Eye gruffly responded, his eye spinning round to Harry. “That list was your doing, wasn’t it, Potter?”

Harry nodded. “Hermione and I compiled it, actually.” He glanced over at his bushy haired cohort and continued, “We’ve placed informants and spies into every house at Hogwarts and you’d be surprised by how much kids talk. Sometimes they don’t even realize what they’re letting slip in front of people.”

“Every house, eh?” George questioned. “Even Slytherin? How’d you pull that off?”

“Blackmail and bribing, mostly,” Harry lied, thinking quickly to things he had learned over the past month. “The hook and pull scheme. Hook them with blackmail or a bribe. Then, the deeper that they are as an informant, the more they’re pulled and the harder it is for them to get out of it. They’d be seen as a serious traitor to the other side if they ever wanted to switch. It’s how you lot cultivate assets, isn’t it?”

Tonk frowned, staring at him from across the table. “Well, officially, asset cultivation is mostly Unspeakable work – and high level Aurors.” The centre of her forehead creased. “It’s not exactly public knowledge.”

“It may not be public knowledge, but it’s not that hard to figure out those tactics if you know what books to look at and what footnotes to follow,” Hermione explained, lying through her teeth with such an ease that Harry had to hide the impressed look that nearly spilled out onto his face. “I’ve done a lot of research on this. It’s been very useful.”

“It’s not that hard if you happen to be dating a Slytherin as well,” Ron butted in offhandedly.

Mrs. Weasley should have put up a better fight.

“Ickle Ronnie dating a Slytherin girl?” Fred dramatically covered his heart. “But the Weasley brother pact!” Fainting theatrically, he landed in George’s lap. “It’s broken, Gred!”

Trying to reign in his emotions, Harry clenched his fist under the table as he surveyed the varied expressions on the faces of nearly everyone in the room. Ron babbled out denial, his ears turning bright red in embarrassment, and Harry sighed.

“It’s not Ron,” he said evenly, cutting Ron off and causing everyone to glance at him warily. “I’ve formed a… relationship with Daphne Greengrass. She’s been a great source for blackmail on people. And she’s a halfblood. Grew up in the Muggle world, so she’s on our side.”

Merlin, why didn’t anything ever go smoothly for him?

“It’s not important who Harry goes out with anyway,” Hermione said before anyone could comment, redirecting their focus. “He hasn’t told her anything he shouldn’t and the important thing is that list. We’ve gotten plenty of those names from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff; Slytherin isn’t the only house from where it’s spawned.”

“We were hoping that you’d be able to put the list to use and maybe find a way to incriminate any of them,” Harry explained.

“It’s a long list,” Tonks said, leaning back in her chair with an exhausted sigh. “It makes sense that that many people would be moles, from the way things are going at the Ministry in certain departments, but the people that are on that list are… surprising.”

“Like Gibbon,” Mr. Weasley muttered, shaking his head. “He just can’t be. Molly and I’ve been over to his house for tea on numerous occasions – there’s nothing suspicious about him.”

The corners of Harry’s lips tightened as he held himself back. He desperately wanted to cry out that Gibbon was one of the Death Eaters who was instructed by Voldemort to siege Hogwarts and kill one of the teachers, but he couldn’t. He had to be patient.

“Just look into it,” Harry urged. “Maybe some of these people are very careful, but they’re bound to mess up. And maybe they’re unmarked or hiding their mark if they have one – I’ve heard that there might be a potion for it. Draco Malfoy has been rumoured to have the Dark Mark and he got by the secrecy sensors at school.” He paused, letting out a breath. “Regardless, even if they are unmarked, there has to be some way to prove that the people on that list are moles. It wasn’t easy information to come by.”

“Good lead, Potter. I know about that potion,” Moody said, nodding. “It was used sparingly during the First War. The Ministry has a monitoring list for anyone who purchases the key ingredients, but it hasn’t alerted me – the moles might be stopping it. I’ll go down to the records office and retrieve it personally to check for tampering. Dung, think you can ask around your little peddling friends for help on this?”

“Dunno. If yeh give me a list of ingredients, I migh’ be able to.” Mundungus shrugged. “It’ll cost, o’course.”

Mad-Eye’s gaze darkened, which caused Mundungus to pale a little. “Budget’s tight – better be convincing.”

“Righ’. Will do, Mad-Eye.”

“We need to get someone in the Department of Mysteries,” Tonks said, looking over the list she had pulled out when they started talking about it. “Three of the people on here work there and none of us can get in without former clearance.”

“Are you open to recruiting someone?” Hermione asked and Harry glanced over at her, suspicious of where she was going with this.

If she was going where he thought she was…

“I s’pose,” Tonks replied, tilting her head reluctantly. “The spooks aren’t the most sociable lot and Bode was our last outlier.”

Hermione bit the corner of her lip. “You might want to look into recruiting Tavion Nott.”

The room erupted in scoffs and noises of protest.

“You can’t be serious,” Tonks articulated, staring at her in horror. “His elder son’s a Death Eater. He wouldn’t help us in a million years.”

“Just because his elder son is a Death Eater does not mean that he wouldn’t help you,” Hermione argued. “We all have black sheep in our family.”

“Tavion Nott used to be best friends with Lucius Malfoy, girl,” Mad-Eye Moody proclaimed. “We’d be setting ourselves up for a knife in our back if we asked him.”

“Oh, you always think someone’s going to stick a knife in your back,” Tonks commented wryly.

Mad-Eye turned toward her. “And I’ve yet to be proved wrong!”

“How about Croaker?” Harry suggested, wondering if he was a part of the Order at all, considering Bode was.

“Yeah. Good luck finding him,” Bill said in a miserable tone, crossing his arms over his chest. “He quit his job and completely disappeared after Bode was murdered.”

Harry made a mental note to ask Daphne how she contacted Croaker for the Sortilege Manual.

“It’s fine – I’ll spend some time around there – poke at the spook nest and see what flies out,” Tonks volunteered, not looking pleased. “I’ve a few people to get out of the seventh level anyway.”

“What are we going to do with the rest of this list?” Remus asked, holding it up and gazing around the room.

“We pick our targets and stay close,” Moody instructed indomitably. “If anyone makes a mistake, we need to be the first to see it happen.”

The meeting ended shortly after and Harry felt himself deflate as he walked out of the room with Ron and Hermione in tow. Ron seemed to be torn between looking at them accusingly and being wary for some reason that Harry couldn’t figure out.

“That could have gone better,” Hermione said once they were up in Ron’s room, alone and under a muffliato spell.

Taking a seat at the window, Harry stared over at Ron. “Yeah, I thought we were done for when you mentioned I was with Daphne.” He pulled out his red leather case, opened the window, and lit up. He was in desperate need for a cigarette after all that. “Thanks for saving me in there, Hermione.”

She threw him both a grin and a disapproving glance toward his fag.

“Well I didn’t know that you wanted to keep that a secret from the Order,” Ron said with an animated shrug, his expression slightly cowed. “I mean, I figured that Greengrass helped you with that list, didn’t she?”

Understatement of the year.

Harry couldn’t hold back the breathy laugh that escaped him. “Yeah, she definitely helped.”

“I figured as much,” Ron said, taking a seat on his bed and staring at them both. “You know, you two need to stop keeping things from me. If you don’t want me to say something, or if you don’t want me to mention something, then tell me.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve noticed you sneaking around and all of those private conversations. What is it that you talk about that I can’t know?”

He and Hermione hadn’t been having that many private conversations, had they? Maybe two or four; after all, they had to keep their story straight about what they were going to reveal to the Order.

“What do you mean, Ron?” Hermione asked, regarding the redheaded Gryffindor warily.

Harry felt a bubble of worry build up in his stomach as he took a drag off his cigarette.

“I can tell that you’ve been keeping stuff from me. You’re not that good at hiding it,” Ron said, his eyes roving between them. “I know you too much to not see it. So what is it?”

Sinking down onto Harry’s camp bed, Hermione let out a withered sigh. “If we tell you, do you promise that you won’t speak a word of it? Not one peep to the Order or anyone else?”

“Yes,” Ron insisted with a nod. “You can trust me. Merlin, s’not like I’m your enemy or anything.”

“But you’ve developed a really bad habit of saying things you shouldn’t – and at the worst possible times,” Harry remonstrated, not certain about letting him in on the big secret already. “You can’t do that with this if we tell you. It would endanger all of us.”

Ron shook his head, holding up his hands as if in surrender. “I won’t. I promise. Really. I didn’t say anything about Snape’s Unbreakable Vow in there, did I? Because you didn’t seem willing to mention that.”

“For good reason,” Harry spoke around his cigarette.

“And I want to know that reason!” Ron exclaimed and then he lowered his voice, “I just want my best friends back.”

“If we tell you,” Hermione interjected sternly, pointing at him with her McGonagall finger of severity. “Not only can you not breathe a word, but also – no more being an absolute git and forcing love potion on anyone ever again. You want to be friends? That street goes both ways.”

“I know, I’m sorry. It was stupid,” Ron said with a sheepish duck of his head. “I won’t ever do it again.”

“Good.” Hermione nodded stiffly. “Then we’ll tell you once we get back to Hogwarts.”

Ron’s brows furrowed. “Why then? Why can’t you tell me now?”

Harry vaguely wondered if Daphne felt like this the entire time he was prying her for information about what she was planning. Because it was bloody nerve wracking and Ron was his best mate, who he could trust with his life. No wonder she was tetchy about it.

“It’s only five days, Ron,” Hermione patiently intoned. “What we have to tell you requires the upmost discretion and we need to make sure we’re away from prying ears. The Room of Requirement should suffice.”

Seeming pleased with Hermione’s excuse, Ron gave a nod, settling back into his bed, and Harry let out a nearly inaudible sigh of relief. He shared a glance with Hermione and he could tell that she was thinking exactly what he was thinking: They had six days to figure out precisely what they were going to let him in on.

OoO

“Thank you for the books,” Hermione said to him as she sat next to him at Christmas brunch, pulling the teapot toward herself. Everyone was chattering and happily showing off their Christmas presents around the table.

Hermione lowered her voice, leaning toward him, “Did Blaise tell you to get them for me? I know they have to be… specially requested.”

“Erm, no. Daphne mentioned you’d probably like them while we were revising,” Harry whispered. Any form of the word ‘revision’ was code for ‘at the warehouse’. “I was having a hard time figuring out what to get you and I had parchment and quills on standby, but I get you stuff like that almost every year.”

“Thanks,” she said again.

“No problem. Thanks for the kilo of treacle toffee,” Harry responded. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were deliberately trying to rot the teeth out of my head.”

They shared a small laugh, which turned into even more laughter as one of Fred and George’s new inventions was unleashed on Bill and Mr. Weasley – a shaped marzipan type of candy that they aptly named Quacky Quaffles. Harry wondered if they had gotten the idea from watching children’s telly. The two Weasley men sounded almost exactly like a pair of aggravated Donald Ducks, especially when they broke into laughter over each other’s voices.

“You know you’ve got a maggot in your hair, mate,” Bill quacked when he noticed it, plucking it out of Harry’s messy locks. Fleur made a disgusted face at it and Bill tossed it at George, who made it explode into sparkling duck-shaped confetti that landed all over the place.

“It was a gift from Kreacher,” Harry explained, rubbing his cheeks, which were starting to hurt from smiling too much, too widely.

Ginny’s head perked up as she stared over Harry’s shoulder out the window. “Oi, is that Percy?”₁ she chirped out, her voice high and chattery like a chipmunk, which made everyone turn toward the window and look out. But Ginny seemed more concerned over her voice, accusingly squeaking, “Hey! What’d you twats give me – I didn’t even touch anything!”

Mrs. Weasley was far too distracted by the sudden appearance of her estranged son walking toward the Burrow to even scold her for her language.

“We put some Chipmunk Chicory into your tea,” Fred explained quickly, moving toward the window, his eyes widening as Percy and an older bloke that Harry recognized to be Rufus Scrimgeour drew closer up the snow-covered path.₁

“Arthur! It is him!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, her hand pressed over her heart as she got up from her chair and moved closer for a better look. “And it looks like he’s with the Minister!”₁

She bustled around, waving her wand and tidying up the confetti and some of the random Christmas mess that was spread about the table to make it look more presentable.

The door to the kitchen swung open and Percy stood there awkwardly with Scrimgeour at his side. “Merry Christmas, mother,” he said finally, after a moment of silence where everyone was staring at him.₁

Mrs. Weasley burst into tears, throwing herself toward him for a hug. “Oh, Percy!”₁ she gushed, dabbing at her eyes with her new shawl from Bill. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

The Minister of Magic stood in the doorway, leaning against his cane and overlooking the scene with a faint smile. “You must forgive this intrusion,” he said, when Mrs. Weasley looked toward him. “Percy and I were in the area – working, you know – he couldn’t re¬sist dropping in and seeing you all.”

Harry’s brows rose at Scrimgeour’s words; Percy looked as if that was the last thing he wanted to do. His entire body was as stiff as a board and he kept avoiding everyone’s reproachful stares by half-hiding himself behind his mum.₁

“Oh, yes – please, come in and join us!” Mrs. Weasley invited, straightening her sparkly new hat, given to her by Fred and George. “Have some tea, or a little–”₁

“No, no, my dear Molly,” Scrimgeour declined, raising an idle hand. “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!” Mrs. Weasley said happily, reaching up to kiss him.₁ “Come sit down, you must’ve had a long journey in this snow. Are you sure you don’t want any tea to warm you up, Minister?”

Scrimgeour shook his head. “No, I assure you, I don’t want to impose. I’ll just have a stroll while you catch up with Percy. If anybody would care to show me your charming garden…” His dark eyes trailed along everyone sitting at the Weasley’s kitchen table, finally landing on Harry. “Ah, that young man’s finished, why doesn’t he take a stroll with me?”₁

The atmosphere around the table changed in an instant. Every¬body went from staring at Percy, to Scrimgeour, and then to Harry.₁ Ginny let out a derisive chipmunk-esque snort, glaring at her brother, but before she could say anything brash, Harry spoke up.

“If you wanted to discuss something with me alone, Minister, you could just ask, you know. I don’t bite,” he said with a crooked grin, trying to be pleasant and pushing away from the table.

Scrimgeour couldn’t have made his pretence of this visit more obvious. From the looks of things, the entire table could see it.₁

Hermione and Ron both started to get up from their places to follow and he stopped them with a gesture of his hand. “It’s alright,” Harry said quietly. “This probably won’t take that long.”₁

“Yes, of course not!” Scrimgeour said enthusiastically, stepping aside to let Harry pass through the door. “We’ll just take a stroll around the garden – have a chat – and Percy and I’ll be off in no time at all. Carry on, everyone.”₁

Pulling his thick jumper around him tighter, Harry walked across the yard toward the Weasleys’ increasingly snow-covered garden with Scrimgeour limping at his side. On their way, Harry took even breaths, clearing his emotions and slipping closer to his interrogation role. He couldn’t imagine what Scrimgeour had to discuss with him, but he knew that Scrimgeour was the Head of the Auror office before he became Minister, which made it a good idea to put up his guard.₁

Especially if it had to do with the war. He had to think clearly, precisely, and analytically if that was the case.

“Charming,” Scrimgeour complimented, stopping at the garden fence and looking out over the landscape. “Very charming. I can see why you spend your vacations here.”₁

Harry said nothing, knowing full well that Scrimgeour was staring at him from the corner of his eye.₁ Probably evaluating him. He let his shoulders relax and tried to appear to be at ease.

“You know, I’ve wanted to meet you for a very long time,” Scrimgeour said, after his surreptitious assessment.₁

“Is that so?”

“Oh yes, for a very long time. But Dumbledore has been very protective of you.” Scrimgeour fiddled with his wire rimmed glasses, dusting the tiny flakes of snow off of them. “Which is natural, of course, after what you’ve been through… Especially after what happened at the Ministry.”₁

He was waiting for Harry to say something, which was natural when it came to developing a rapport, but Harry remained silent, treating it like a Sortilege Manual case.₁ He needed to figure out why Scrimgeour wanted to talk to him and Scrimgeour seemed extremely eager. According to the Sortilege Manual, when approached by a seemingly eager, friendly, and talkative prospect, silence could be a great revealer.

Scrimgeour continued after he sensed that Harry wasn’t going to reply, “I’ve been hoping for an occasion to talk to you ever since I gained office, but Dumbledore has – most under¬standably, as I say – prevented this.” ₁

Staring at him blankly, Harry let his eyes shift over the uncertain wrinkles lining Scrimgeour’s otherwise good-natured expression.

“But the rumors that have flown around,” Scrimgeour prattled on amicably, waving his arm in a sweeping motion. “Well, of course, we both know how these stories get distorted – all these whispers of a prophecy – of you being ‘the Chosen One’.” He paused, leaning a bit closer. “I assume that Dumbledore has discussed these matters with you?”₁

“Perhaps,” Harry answered neutrally.

“So he has, has he?” Scrimgeour muttered rhetorically, putting on a camera-ready smile that could have passed for friendly. “And what has Dumbledore told you, Harry?”₁

“I think that’s between me and him, isn’t it, Minister?” Harry asked, placing a small bit of innocence into his voice and raising his brows.₁ Scrimgeour was definitely here to get some information on Dumbledore – likely him as well.

“Oh, of course,” the Minister stated with a dismissive wave of his hand. “If it’s a question of confidences, I wouldn’t want you to divulge. And, in any case, does it really matter whether you are ‘the Chosen One’ or not?”₁

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, deliberating and trying to figure out where this was going – what the Minister was trying to find out exactly. But Harry needed more intel.

“I’m not sure,” he lightly replied. “Does it?”

“Well, of course, to you it will matter enormously,” Scrim¬geour said, his eyes gazing at him affably but Harry noticed that there was a hint of greed in there somewhere. “But to the Wizarding community at large… it’s all perception, isn’t it? It’s what people believe that’s important.”₁

All perception… What people believe that’s important…

Ugh. There it was.

Merlin, this was an image-saving, information gathering visit, wasn’t it? Harry held back from rolling his eyes.

“And people believe that you are ‘the Chosen One,’ you see,” the Minister proclaimed after Harry didn’t say anything. “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? Four? Five times?”₁

He had to admit that Scrimgeour wasn’t bad at trying to develop a rapport, but that was no surprise considering who he was.

Scrimgeour continued on after a pause, “The point is, you are a symbol of hope for many. 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… it gives people a lift. And I can’t help but feel that, once you realize this, you might consider it a duty to stand alongside the Ministry, and give everyone a boost.”₁

“Right. You want me to stand by the Ministry,” Harry said slowly, as if considering it, purely for Scrimgeour’s benefit.₁ He’d never go along with it – there were too many consequences of standing by the Ministry. Too many ways to be shoved into the role of a puppet, which he loathed. “And what does that entail?”

He vaguely wondered how Scrimgeour was going to spin this whole thing to persuade him. What benefits would he offer to meet the prospect’s needs?

“Oh, well, it’s nothing at all tedious,” Scrim¬geour assured. “If you were to be seen popping in and out of the Ministry from time to time, for instance – that would give the right impres¬sion. And of course, while you were there, you would have ample opportunity to speak to Gawain Robards, my successor as Head of the Auror office. Dolores Umbridge has told me that you cherish an ambition to become an Auror. Well, that could be arranged very easily.”₁

Harry’s scar tingled on the back of his hand at the mention of Umbridge and he let out a tiny breath to calm himself. It was a bad persuasion approach, especially if Scrimgeour knew anything about what happened at Hogwarts last year, which he likely did. Harry almost couldn’t believe that the Ministry rehired that tyrannical toad woman after that.₁

“I get it,” Harry interrupted, trying to keep his expression neutral. “You want to give the impression that I’m working for the Ministry in order to improve your image in the public eye.”₁

Scrimgeour’s hand rose and he shook his head. “You misunderstand. I’m here to ask you this because it would give everyone a lift to think you were more involved,” he stated diplomatically. “‘The Chosen One,’ you know… It’s all about giving people hope – the feeling that exciting and good things are happening.”₁

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve heard from you yet, Minister,” Harry said evenly, remaining as pleasant as he could muster. “I understand perfectly that your main goal is improving your image to the public because it’s suffering, and you only want to recruit me for this task because the public believes that I may be the ‘Chosen One’. You shouldn’t be afraid to admit that. It is the truth, after all.”₁

“Well,” Scrimgeour said, a slight frown pulling at his lips, “…yes, that may be partly why we’d like–”₁

“And that’s why I don’t think a partnership between us would work,” Harry asserted plainly, which made Scrimgeour stiffen as he cut him off. “You come here on false pretenses, peddling a pack of lies to try and manipulate me into filling your personal agenda. But I’m not that easy to fool. And, to be completely honest, I don’t like a lot of the things that the Ministry’s doing. Like locking up Stan Shunpike, for instance.”₁ He then added, offhandedly, “You also have one hell of a mole problem.”

The Minister did not speak for a long moment, his eyes hardening and jaw clenching. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” he said, his tone carrying an angered edge that he couldn’t hide. “These are dangerous times, and certain measures need to be taken. You’re still young–”₁

“The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot is a lot older than me, and he doesn’t think Stan should be in Azkaban either,” Harry countered. “I told you: I understand completely, Minister. You’re forcing him to be a scapegoat to cover up the mole issue – just like you want to make me a Ministry poster boy to cover up your unwillingness to act.”₁

The silence that drifted between them was so thick you could choke on it, but Harry stood his ground, waiting for Scrimgeour to break it first.

“I see,” he bitterly intoned. “You would prefer — like our dear Chief Warlock — to disassociate yourself from the Ministry?”₁

“Can’t blame me for not wanting to be used,” Harry remarked, which caused Scrimgeour’s face to take on a slightly outraged flush.₁

“Some would say it’s your duty to be used by the Ministry!”₁

“Yeah, and others might say it’s your duty to check that people really are Death Eaters before you allow them to be chucked into prison,” Harry bitingly replied. “You’re doing the same thing Crouch did during the First War. Why can’t you people ever get it right? Fudge pretended that everything was all hunky dory while people got murdered right under his nose, and now you’re allowing the wrong people to be chucked into jail and going along with it to cover up your mistakes while trying to pretend you’ve got ‘the Chosen One’ work¬ing for you to make you look good.”₁

Scrimgeour’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re not ‘the Chosen One’?”₁

Harry let out a short bitter laugh, unable to hold it back. “I thought you said it didn’t matter either way?”₁

“No, it doesn’t. I shouldn’t have said that,” Scrimgeour muttered quickly, shaking his head. “It was tactless–”₁

“Yeah,” Harry responded, “and one of the only honest things you’ve said to me thus far.₁ You might want to try more of the truth sometime, Minister.”

He lifted his right hand, pointing out the scars that were indirectly given to him by the Ministry last year: I must not tell lies.₁

“Dolores Umbridge seems to sorely believe in it,” he muttered, his voice dripping in irony. “Yet, I was the only one telling the truth last year and I don’t remember you rushing to my defense when I was trying to convince everyone that Voldemort was back. The head of the Auror office has a lot of clout in that area but, unlike you, I’m never going to sit back and play puppet because I know the truth.”₁

Scrimgeour stood silently, gazing at him fiercely.₁ For a minute, he seemed to be at a loss for words and Harry paid close attention to his body language, noticing every shift.

It was only slightly surprising when Scrimgeour changed the subject, all pretenses flying out the window.

“What is Dumbledore up to?” the Minister probed, his head tilting microscopically as he looked at him. “Where does he go when he is absent from Hogwarts?”₁

“I’ve no idea,” he said, a bit impressed by the gall that Scrimgeour had to continue with this.₁

“And you wouldn’t tell me if you knew,” Scrimgeour deduced, “would you?”₁

Harry’s brow arched. “What do you think?”

“Well, then, I shall have to see whether I can’t find out by other means.”₁

“You can try,” Harry said, his lips twisting into a bitter smirk. “However, you’d just be repeating even more mistakes of the past. Fudge thought of interfering at Hogwarts and meddling in Dumbledore’s affairs too. And, you might have noticed that he’s not Minister anymore, but Dumbledore’s still headmaster; so I’d leave Dumbledore alone, if I were you.”₁

They’d reached a standstill, staring at other impassively, secretly sizing each other up and trying to get a clear read.

“Well, it is certainly evident that he’s done a very good job on you,” Scrimgeour commented, his eyes cold and glittering. “Dumbledore’s man through and through, aren’t you, Potter?”₁

“I’m not much of anyone’s man,” Harry corrected, holding back his discomfort at being called that because he wasn’t even sure if he was himself. “As I said, I don’t like to be used.”

Pivoting on his feet, he strode back toward the house, not letting his demeanor fall away until he was out of the Minister’s sight.

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₁ Rowling, J.K. (2005). Chapter 16: A Very Frosty Christmas. Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince (US edition) (pp. 331-348). New York, NY: Scholastic Inc.

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Author’s Note: Thank you for reading and please review!