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“Certainly,” said Fudge, turning his back on Harry and Mr. Weasley. “This way, Lucius.”
They strode off together, talking in low voices. Mr. Weasley did not let go of Harry’s shoulder until they had disappeared into the lift.
“Why wasn’t he waiting outside Fudge’s office if they’ve got business to do together?” Harry burst out furiously. “What was he doing down here?”
“Trying to sneak down to the courtroom, if you ask me,” said Mr. Weasley, looking extremely agitated and glancing over his shoulder as though making sure they could not be overheard. “Trying to find out whether you’d been expelled or not. I’ll leave a note for Dumbledore when I drop you off, he ought to know Malfoy’s been talking to Fudge again.”
“What private business have they got together, anyway?”
“Gold, I expect,” said Mr. Weasley angrily. “Malfoy’s been giving generously to all sorts of things for years… gets him in with the right people… then he can ask favours… delay laws he doesn’t want passed… oh, he’s very well-co
The lift arrived; it was empty except for a flock of memos that flapped around Mr. Weasley’s head as he pressed the button for the Atrium and the doors clanged shut. He waved them away irritably.
“Mr. Weasley,” said Harry slowly, “if Fudge is meeting Death Eaters like Malfoy, if he’s seeing them alone, how do we know they haven’t put the Imperius Curse on him?”
“Don’t think it hasn’t occurred to us, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley quietly. “But Dumbledore thinks Fudge is acting of his own accord at the moment—which, as Dumbledore says, is not a lot of comfort. Best not talk about it any more just now, Harry.”
The doors slid open and they stepped out into the now almost-deserted Atrium. Eric the watchwizard was hidden behind his Daily Prophet again. They had walked straight past the golden fountain before Harry remembered.
“Wait…” he told Mr. Weasley, and, pulling his moneybag Irom his pocket, he turned back to the fountain.
He looked up into the handsome wizard’s face, but close-to Harry thought he looked rather weak and foolish. The witch was wearing a vapid smile like a beauty contestant, and from what Harry knew of goblins and centaurs, they were most unlikely to be caught staring so soppily at humans of any description. Only the house-elf’s attitude of creeping servility looked convincing. With a grin at the thought of what Hermione would say if she could see the statue of the elf, Harry turned his moneybag upside-down and emptied not just ten Galleons, but the whole contents into the pool.
“I knew it!” yelled Ron, punching the air. “You always get away with stuff!”
“They were bound to clear you,” said Hermione, who had looked positively faint with anxiety when Harry had entered the kitchen and was now holding a shaking hand over her eyes, “there was no case against you, none at all.”
“Everyone seems quite relieved, though, considering you all knew I’d get off,” said Harry, smiling.
Mrs. Weasley was wiping her face on her apron, and Fred, George and Gi
“That’s enough! Settle down!” shouted Mr. Weasley, though he too was smiling. “Listen, Sirius, Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry—”
“What?” said Sirius sharply.
“He got off, he got off, he got off…”
“Be quiet, you three! Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on Level Nine, then they went up to Fudge’s office together. Dumbledore ought to know.”
“Absolutely,” said Sirius. “We’ll tell him, don’t worry.”
“Well, I’d better get going, there’s a vomiting toilet waiting for me in Bethnal Green. Molly, I’ll be late, I’m covering for Tonks, but Kingsley might be dropping in for di
“He got off, he got off, he got off…”
“That’s enough—Fred—George—Gi
Ron and Hermione sat themselves down opposite him, looking happier than they had done since he had first arrived at Grimmauld Place, and Harry’s feeling of giddy relief, which had been somewhat dented by his encounter with Lucius Malfoy, swelled again. The gloomy house seemed warmer and more welcoming all of a sudden; even Kreacher looked less ugly as he poked his snoutlike nose into the kitchen to investigate the source of all the noise.
“Course, once Dumbledore turned up on your side, there was no way they were going to convict you,” said Ron happily, now dishing great mounds of mashed potato on to everyone’s plates.
“Yeah, he swung it for me,” said Harry. He felt it would sound highly ungrateful, not to mention childish, to say, “I wish he’d talked to me, though. Or even looked at me.”
And as he thought this, the scar on his forehead burned so badly that he clapped his hand to it.
“What’s up?” said Hermione, looking alarmed.
“Scar,” Harry mumbled. “But it’s nothing… it happens all the time now…”
None of the others had noticed a thing; all of them were now helping themselves to food while gloating over Harry’s narrow escape; Fred, George and Gi
“I don’t think he’ll be able to, Ron,” said Mrs. Weasley, setting a huge plate of roast chicken down in front of Harry. “He’s really very busy at the moment.”
“HE GOT OFF, HE GOT OFF, HE GOT OFF—”
“SHUT UP!” roared Mrs. Weasley.
Over the next few days Harry could not help noticing that there was one person within number twelve, Grimmauld Place, who did not seem wholly overjoyed that he would be returning to Hogwarts. Sirius had put up a very good show of happiness on first hearing the news, wringing Harry’s hand and beaming just like the rest of them. Soon, however, he was moodier and surlier than before, talking less to everybody, even Harry, and spending increasing amounts of time shut up in his mother’s room with Buckbeak.
“Don’t you go feeling guilty!” said Hermione sternly, after Harry had confided some of his feelings to her and Ron while they scrubbed out a mouldy cupboard on the third floor a few days later. “You belong at Hogwarts and Sirius knows it. Personally, I think he’s being selfish.”
“That’s a bit harsh, Hermione,” said Ron, frowning as he attempted to prise off a bit of mould that had attached itself firmly to his finger, “you wouldn’t want to be stuck inside this house without any company.”
“He’ll have company!” said Hermione. “It’s Headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix, isn’t it? He just got his hopes up that Harry would be coming to live here with him.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” said Harry, wringing out his cloth. “He wouldn’t give me a straight answer when I asked him if I could.”
“He just didn’t want to get his own hopes up even more,” said Hermione wisely. “And he probably felt a bit guilty himself, because I think a part of him was really hoping you’d be expelled. Then you’d both be outcasts together.”
“Come off it!” said Harry and Ron together, but Hermione merely shrugged.
“Suit yourselves. But I sometimes think Ron’s mum’s right and Sirius gets confused about whether you’re you or your father, Harry.”
“So you think he’s touched in the head?” said Harry heatedly.
“No, I just think he’s been very lonely for a long time,” said Hermione simply.
At this point, Mrs. Weasley entered the bedroom behind them.
“Still not finished?” she said, poking her head into the cupboard.
“I thought you might be here to tell us to have a break!” said Ron bitterly. “D’you know how much mould we’ve got rid of since we arrived here?”