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“Professor Snape, Harry—and no, you will not.”
“Good,” said Harry in relief, “because they were a—”
He stopped, careful not to say what he really thought.
“I think the word ‘fiasco’ would be a good one here,” said Dumbledore, nodding.
Harry laughed.
“Well, that means I won’t see much of Professor Snape from now on,” he said, “because he won’t let me carry on Potions unless I get ‘Outstanding’ in my O.W.L., which I know I haven’t.”
“Don’t count your owls before they are delivered,” said Dumbledore gravely. “Which, now I think of it, ought to be some time later today. Now, two more things, Harry, before we part.
“Firstly, I wish you to keep your Invisibility Cloak with you at all times from this moment onward. Even within Hogwarts itself. Just in case, you understand me?”
Harry nodded.
“And lastly, while you stay here, the Burrow has been given the highest security the Ministry of Magic can provide. These measures have caused a certain amount of inconvenience to Arthur and Molly—all their post, for instance, is being searched at the Ministry before being sent on. They do not mind in the slightest, for their only concern is your safety. However, it would be poor repayment if you risked your neck while staying with them.”
“I understand,” said Harry quickly.
“Very well, then,” said Dumbledore, pushing open the broom shed door and stepping out into the yard. “I see a light in the kitchen. Let us not deprive Molly any longer of the chance to deplore how thin you are.”
5. AN EXCESS OF PHLEGM
Harry and Dumbledore approached the back door of the Burrow, which was surrounded by the familiar litter of old Wellington boots and rusty cauldrons; Harry could hear the soft clucking of sleepy chickens coming from a distant shed. Dumbledore knocked three times and Harry saw sudden movement behind the kitchen window.
“Who’s there?” said a nervous voice he recognized as Mrs. Weasley’s. “Declare yourself!”
“It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry.”
The door opened at once. There stood Mrs. Weasley, short, plump, and wearing an old green dressing gown.
“Harry, dear! Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright, you said not to expect you before morning!”
“We were lucky,” said Dumbledore, ushering Harry over the threshold. “Slughorn proved much more persuadable than I had expected. Harry’s doing, of course. Ah, hello, Nymphadora!”
Harry looked around and saw that Mrs. Weasley was not alone, despite the lateness of the hour. A young witch with a pale, heart-shaped face and mousy brown hair was sitting at the table clutching a large mug between her hands.
“Hello, Professor,” she said. “Wotcher, Harry.”
“Hi, Tonks.”
Harry thought she looked drawn, even ill, and there was something forced in her smile. Certainly her appearance was less colorful than usual without her customary shade of bubble-gum-pink hair.
“I’d better be off,” she said quickly, standing up and pulling her cloak around her shoulders. “Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly—”
“Please don’t leave on my account,” said Dumbledore courteously, “I ca
“No, no, I need to get going,” said Tonks, not meeting Dumbledore’s eyes. “’Night…”
“Dear, why not come to di
“No, really, Molly… thanks anyway… Good night, everyone.”
Tonks hurried past Dumbledore and Harry into the yard; a few paces beyond the doorstep, she turned on the spot and vanished into thin air. Harry noticed that Mrs. Weasley looked troubled.
“Well, I shall see you at Hogwarts, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “Take care of yourself. Molly, your servant.”
He made Mrs. Weasley a bow and followed Tonks, vanishing at precisely the same spot. Mrs. Weasley closed the door on the empty yard and then steered Harry by the shoulders into the full glow of the lantern on the table to examine his appearance.
“You’re like Ron,” she sighed, looking him up and down. “Both of you look as though you’ve had Stretching jinxes put on you. I swear Ron’s grown four inches since I last bought him school robes. Are you hungry, Harry?”
“Yeah, I am,” said Harry, suddenly realizing just how hungry he was.
“Sit down, dear, I’ll knock something up.”
As Harry sat down, a furry ginger cat with a squashed face lumped onto his knees and settled there, purring.
“So Hermione’s here?” he asked happily as he tickled Crookshanks behind the ears.
“Oh yes, she arrived the day before yesterday,” said Mrs. Weasley, rapping a large iron pot with her wand. It bounced onto the stove with a loud clang and began to bubble at once. “Everyone’s in bed, of course, we didn’t expect you for hours. Here you are…”
She tapped the pot again; it rose into the air, flew toward Harry, and tipped over; Mrs. Weasley slid a bowl nearly beneath it just in lime to catch the stream of thick, steaming onion soup.
“Bread, dear?”
“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley.”
She waved her wand over her shoulder; a loaf of bread and a knife soared gracefully onto the table; as the loaf sliced itself and the soup pot dropped back onto the stove, Mrs. Weasley sat down opposite him.
“So you persuaded Horace Slughorn to take the job?”
Harry nodded, his mouth so full of hot soup that he could not speak.
“He taught Arthur and me,” said Mrs. Weasley. “He was at Hogwarts for ages, started around the same time as Dumbledore, I think. Did you like him?”
His mouth now full of bread, Harry shrugged and gave a noncommittal jerk of the head.
“I know what you mean,” said Mrs. Weasley, nodding wisely. “Of course he can be charming when he wants to be, but Arthur’s never liked him much. The Ministry’s littered with Slughorn’s old favorites, he was always good at giving leg ups, but he never had much time for Arthur… didn’t seem to think he was enough of a highflier. Well, that just shows you, even Slughorn makes mistakes. I don’t know whether Ron’s told you in any of his letters… it’s only just happened… but Arthur’s been promoted!”
It could not have been clearer that Mrs. Weasley had been bursting to say this.
Harry swallowed a large amount of very hot soup and thought he could feel his throat blistering.
“That’s great!” he gasped.
“You are sweet,” beamed Mrs. Weasley, possibly taking his watering eyes for emotion at the news. “Yes, Rufus Scrimgeour has set up several new offices in response to the present situation, and Arthur’s heading the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. It’s a big job, he’s got ten people reporting to him now!”
“What exactly?”
“Well, you see, in all the panic about You-Know-Who, odd things have been cropping up for sale everywhere, things that are supposed to guard against You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. You can imagine the kind of thing… so-called protective potions that are really gravy with a bit of bubotuber pus added, or instructions for defensive jinxes that actually make your ears fall off… Well, in the main the perpetrators are just people like Mundungus Fletcher, who’ve never done an honest day’s work in their lives and are taking advantage of how frightened everybody is, but every now and then something really nasty turns up. The other day Arthur confiscated a box of cursed Sneakoscopes that were almost certainly planted by a Death Eater. So you see, it’s a very important job, and I tell him it’s just silly to miss dealing with spark plugs and toasters and all the rest of that Muggle rubbish.” Mrs. Weasley ended her speech with a stern look, as if it had been Harry suggesting that it was natural to miss spark plugs.
“Is Mr. Weasley still at work?” Harry asked.
“Yes, he is. As a matter of fact, he’s a tiny bit late… He said he’d be back around midnight…”