Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows hp-7

by J. K. Rowling

  Kreacher did not return the following day, nor the day after that. However, two cloaked men had appeared in the square outside number twelve, and they remained there into the night, gazing in the direction of the house that they could not see.

  “Death Eaters, for sure,” said Ron, as he, Harry, and Hermione watched from the drawing room windows. “Reckon they know we’re in here?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Hermione, though she looked frightened, “or they’d have sent Snape in after us, wouldn’t they?”

  “D’you reckon he’s been in here and has his tongue tied by Moody’s curse?” asked Ron.

  “Yes,” said Hermione, “otherwise he’d have been able to tell that lot how to get in, wouldn’t he? But they’re probably watching to see whether we turn up. They know that Harry owns the house, after all.”

  “How do they—?” began Harry.

  “Wizarding wills are examined by the Ministry, remember? They’ll know Sirius left you the place.”

  The presence of the Death Eaters outside increased the ominous mood inside number twelve. They had not heard a word form anyone beyond Grimmauld Place since Mr. Weasley’s Patronus, and the strain was starting to tell. Restless and irritable, Ron had developed an annoying habit of playing with the Deluminator in his pocket. This particularly infuriated Hermione, who was whiling away the wait for Kreacher by studying The Tales of Beedle the Bard and did not appreciate the way the lights kept flashing on and off.

  “Will you stop it!” she cried on the third evening of Kreacher’s absence, as all the light was sucked from the drawing room yet again.

  “Sorry, sorry!” said Ron, clicking the Deluminator and restoring the lights. “I don’t know I’m doing it!”

  “Well, can’t you find something useful to occupy yourself?”

  “What, like reading kids’ stories?”

  “Dumbledore left me this book, Ron—”

  “—and he left me the Deluminator, maybe I’m supposed to use it!”

  Unable to stand the bickering, Harry slipped out of the room unnoticed by either of them. He headed downstairs toward the kitchen, which he kept visiting because he was sure that was where Kreacher was most likely to reappear. Halfway down the flight of stairs into the hall, however, he heard a tap on the front door, then metallic clicks and the grinding of the chain.

  Every nerve in his body seemed to tauten: He pulled out his wand, moved into the shadows beside the decapitated elf heads, and waited. The door opened: He saw a glimpse of the lamplit square outside, and a cloaked figure edged into the hall and closed the door behind it. The intruder took a step forward, and Moody’s voice asked, “Severus Snape?” Then the dust figure rose from the end of the hall and rushed him, raising its dead hand.

  “It was not I who killed you, Albus,” said a quiet voice.

  The jinx broke: The dust-figure exploded again, and it was impossible to make out the newcomer through the dense gray cloud it left behind.

  Harry pointed the wand into the middle of it.

  “Don’t move!”

  He had forgotten the portrait of Mrs. Black: At the sound of his yell, the curtains hiding her flew open and she began to scream, “Mudbloods and filth dishonoring my house—”

  Ron and Hermione came crashing down the stairs behind Harry, wands pointing, like his, at the unknown man now standing with his arms raised in the hall below.

  “Hold your fire, it’s me, Remus!”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” said Hermione weakly, pointing her wand at Mrs. Black instead; with a bang, the curtains swished shut again and silence fell. Ron too lowered his wand, but Harry did not.

  “Show yourself!” he called back.

  Lupin moved forward into the lamplight, hands still held high in a gesture of surrender.

  “I am Remus John Lupin, werewolf, sometimes known as Moony, one of the four creators of the Marauder’s Map, married to Nymphadora, usually known as Tonks, and I taught you how to produce a Patronus, Harry, which takes the form of a stag.”

  “Oh, all right,” said Harry, lowering his wand, “but I had to check, didn’t I?”

  “Speaking as your ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, I quite agree that you had to check. Ron, Hermione, you shouldn’t be so quick to lower your defenses.”

  They ran down the stairs towards him. Wrapped in a thick black traveling cloak, he looked exhausted, but pleased to see them.

  “No sign of Severus, then?” he asked.

  “No,” said Harry. “What’s going on? Is everyone okay?’

  “Yes,” said Lupin, “but we’re all being watched. There are a couple of Death Eaters in the square outside—”

  “We know—”

  “I had to Apparate very precisely onto the top step outside the front door to be sure that they would not see me. They can’t know you’re in here or I’m sure they’d have more people out there; they’re staking out everywhere that’s got any connection with you, Harry. Let’s go downstairs, there’s a lot to tell you, and I want to know what happened after you left the Burrow.”

  They descended into the kitchen, where Hermione pointed her wand at the grate. A fire sprang up instantly: It gave the illusion of coziness to the stark stone walls and glistened off the long wooden table. Lupin pulled a few butterbeers from beneath his traveling cloak and they sat down.

  “I’d have been here three days ago but I needed to shake off the Death Eater tailing me,” said Lupin. “So, you came straight here after the wedding?”

  “No,” said Harry, “only after we ran into a couple of Death Eaters in a café on Tottenham Court Road.”

  Lupin slopped most of his butterbeer down his front.

  “What?”

  They explained what had happened; when they had finished, Lupin looked aghast.

  “But how did they find you so quickly? It’s impossible to track anyone who Apparates, unless you grab hold of them as they disappear.”

  “And it doesn’t seem likely they were just strolling down Tottenham Court Road at the time, does it?” said Harry.

  “We wondered,” said Hermione tentatively, “whether Harry could still have the Trace on him?”

  “Impossible,” said Lupin. Ron looked smug, and Harry felt hugely relieved. “Apart from anything else, they’d know for sure Harry was here if he still had the Trace on him, wouldn’t they? But I can’t see how they could have tracked you to Tottenham Court Road, that’s worrying, really worrying.”

  He looked disturbed, but as far as Harry was concerned, that question could wait.

  “Tell us what happened after we left, we haven’t heard a thing since Ron’s dad told us the family was safe.”

  “Well, Kingsley saved us,” said Lupin. “Thanks to his warning most of the wedding guests were able to Disapparate before they arrived.”

  “Were they Death Eaters or Ministry people?” interjected Hermione.

  “A mixture; but to all intents and purposes they’re the same thing now,” said Lupin. “There were about a dozen of them, but they didn’t know you were there, Harry. Arthur heard a rumor that they tried to torture your whereabouts out of Scrimgeour before they killed him; if it’s true, he didn’t give you away.”

  Harry looked at Ron and Hermione; their expressions reflected the mingled shock and gratitude he felt. He had never liked Scrimgeour much, but if what Lupin said was true, the man’s final act had been to try to protect Harry.

  “The Death Eaters searched the Burrow from top to bottom,” Lupin went on. “They found the ghoul, but didn’t want to get too close—and then they interrogated those of us who remained for hours. They were trying to get information on you, Harry, but of course nobody apart from the Order knew that you had been there.

  “At the same time that they were smashing up the wedding, more Death Eaters were forcing their way into every Order-connected house in the country. No deaths,” he added quickly, forestalling the question, “but they were rough. They burned down Dedalus Diggle’s house, but as you
know he wasn’t there, and they used the Cruciatus Curse on Tonks’s family. Again, trying to find out where you went after you visited them. They’re all right—shaken, obviously, but otherwise okay.”

  “The Death Eaters got through all those protective charms?” Harry asked, remembering how effective these had been on the night he had crashed in Tonks’s parents’ garden.

  “What you’ve got to realize, Harry, is that the Death Eaters have got the full might of the Ministry on their side now,” said Lupin. “They’ve got the power to perform brutal spells without fear of identification or arrest. They managed to penetrate every defensive spell we’d cast against them, and once inside, they were completely open about why they’d come.”

  “And are they bothering to give an excuse for torturing Harry’s whereabouts out of people?” asked Hermione, an edge to her voice.

  “Well,” Lupin said. He hesitated, then pulled out a folded copy of the Daily Prophet.

  “Here,” he said, pushing it across the table to Harry, “you’ll know sooner or later anyway. That’s their pretext for going after you.”

  Harry smoothed out the paper. A huge photograph of his own face filled the front page. He read the headline over it:

  WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

  Ron and Hermione gave roars of outrage, but Harry said nothing. He pushed the newspaper away; he did not want to read anymore: He knew what it would say. Nobody but those who had been on top of the tower when Dumbledore died knew who had really killed him and, as Rita Skeeter had already told the Wizarding world, Harry had been seen running from the place moments after Dumbledore had fallen.

  “I’m sorry, Harry,” Lupin said.

  “So Death Eaters have taken over the Daily Prophet too?” asked Hermione furiously.

  Lupin nodded.

  “But surely people realize what’s going on?”

  “The coup has been smooth and virtually silent,” said Lupin.

  “The official version of Scrimgeour’s murder is that he resigned; he has been replaced by Pius Thicknesse, who is under the Imperius Curse.”

  “Why didn’t Voldemort declare himself Minister of Magic?” asked Ron.

  Lupin laughed.

  “He doesn’t need to, Ron. Effectively, he is the Minister, but why should he sit behind a desk at the Ministry? His puppet, Thicknesse, is taking care of everyday business, leaving Voldemort free to extend his power beyond the Ministry.

  “Naturally many people have deduced what has happened: There has been such a dramatic change in Ministry policy in the last few days, and many are whispering that Voldemort must be behind it. However, that is the point: They whisper. They daren’t confide in each other, not knowing whom to trust; they are scared to speak out, in case their suspicions are true and their families are targeted. Yes, Voldemort is playing a very clever game. Declaring himself might have provoked open rebellion: Remaining masked has created confusion, uncertainty, and fear.”

  “And this dramatic change in Ministry policy,” said Harry, “involves warning the Wizarding world against me instead of Voldemort?”

  “That’s certainly a part of it,” said Lupin, “and it is a masterstroke. Now that Dumbledore is dead, you—the Boy Who Lived—were sure to be the symbol and rallying point for any resistance to Voldemort. But by suggesting that you had a hand in the old hero’s death, Voldemort has not only set a price upon your head, but sown doubt and fear amongst many who would have defended you.

  “Meanwhile, the Ministry has started moving against Muggle-borns.”

  Lupin pointed at the Daily Prophet.

  “Look at page two.”

  Hermione turned the pages with much the same expression of distaste she had when handling Secrets of the Darkest Art.

  “‘Muggle-born Register!’” she read aloud. “‘The Ministry of Magic is undertaking a survey of so-called “Muggle-borns” the better to understand how they came to possess magical secrets.

  “‘Recent research undertaken by the Department of Mysteries reveals that magic can only be passed from person to person when Wizards reproduce. Where no proven Wizarding ancestry exists, therefore, the so-called Muggle-born is likely to have obtained magical power by theft or force.

  “‘The Ministry is determined to root out such usurpers of magical power, and to this end has issued an invitation to every so-called Muggle-born to present themselves for interview by the newly appointed Muggle-born Registration Commission.’”

  “People won’t let this happen,” said Ron.

  “It is happening, Ron,” said Lupin. “Muggle-borns are being rounded up as we speak.”

  “But how are they supposed to have ‘stolen’ magic?” said Ron. “It’s mental, if you could steal magic there wouldn’t be any Squibs, would there?”

  “I know,” said Lupin. “Nevertheless, unless you can prove that you have at least one close Wizarding relative, you are now deemed to have obtained your magical power illegally and must suffer the punishment.”

  Ron glanced at Hermione, then said, “What if purebloods and halfbloods swear a Muggle-born’s part of their family? I’ll tell everyone Hermione’s my cousin—”

  Hermione covered Ron’s hand with hers and squeezed it.

  “Thank you, Ron, but I couldn’t let you—”

  “You won’t have a choice,” said Ron fiercely, gripping her hand back. “I’ll teach you my family tree so you can answer questions on it.”

  Hermione gave a shaky laugh.

  “Ron, as we’re on the run with Harry Potter, the most wanted person in the country, I don’t think it matters. If I was going back to school it would be different. What’s Voldemort planning for Hogwarts?” she asked Lupin.

  “Attendance is now compulsory for every young witch and wizard,” he replied. “That was announced yesterday. It’s a change, because it was never obligatory before. Of course, nearly every witch and wizard in Britain has been educated at Hogwarts, but their parents had the right to teach them at home or send them abroad if they preferred. This way, Voldemort will have the whole Wizarding population under his eye from a young age. And it’s also another way of weeding out Muggle-borns, because students must be given Blood Status—meaning that they have proven to the Ministry that they are of Wizard descent—before they are allowed to attend.”

  Harry felt sickened and angry: At this moment, excited eleven-year-olds would be poring over stacks of newly purchased spell-books, unaware that they would never see Hogwarts, perhaps never see their families again either.

  “It’s… it’s…” he muttered, struggling to find words that did justice to the horror of his thoughts, but Lupin said quietly,

  “I know.”

  Lupin hesitated.

  “I’ll understand if you can’t confirm this, Harry, but the Order is under the impression that Dumbledore left you a mission.”

  “He did,” Harry replied, “and Ron and Hermione are in on it and they’re coming with me.”

  “Can you confide in me what the mission is?”

  Harry looked into the prematurely lined face, framed in thick but graying hair, and wished that he could return a different answer.

  “I can’t, Remus, I’m sorry. If Dumbledore didn’t tell you I don’t think I can.”

  “I thought you’d say that,” said Lupin, looking disappointed. “But I might still be of some use to you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with you to provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to.”

  Harry hesitated. It was a very tempting offer, though how they would be able to keep their mission secret from Lupin if he were with them all the time he could not imagine.

  Hermione, however, looked puzzled.

  “But what about Tonks?” she asked.

  “What about her?” said Lupin.

  “Well,” said Hermione, frowning, “you’re married! How does she feel about you going away with us?”

  “Tonks will be perfectly safe,
” said Lupin, “She’ll be at her parents’ house.”

  There was something strange in Lupin’s tone, it was almost cold. There was also something odd in the idea of Tonks remaining hidden at her parents’ house; she was, after all, a member of the Order and, as far as Harry knew, was likely to want to be in the thick of the action.

  “Remus,” said Hermione tentatively, “is everything all right… you know… between you and—”

  “Everything is fine, thank you,” said Lupin pointedly.

  Hermione turned pink. There was another pause, an awkward and embarrassed one, and then Lupin said, with an air of forcing himself to admit something unpleasant, “Tonks is going to have a baby.”

  “Oh, how wonderful!” squealed Hermione.

  “Excellent!” said Ron enthusiastically.

  “Congratulations,” said Harry.

  Lupin gave an artificial smile that was more like a grimace, then said, “So… do you accept my offer? Will three become four? I cannot believe that Dumbledore would have disapproved, he appointed me your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all. And I must tell you that I believe we are facing magic many of us have never encountered or imagined.”

  Ron and Hermione both looked at Harry.

  “Just—just to be clear,” he said. “You want to leave Tonks at her parents’ house and come away with us?”

  “She’ll be perfectly safe there, they’ll look after her,” said Lupin. He spoke with a finality bordering on indifference: “Harry, I’m sure James would have wanted me to stick with you.”

  “Well,” said Harry slowly, “I’m not. I’m pretty sure my father would have wanted to know why you aren’t sticking with your own kid, actually.”

  Lupin’s face drained of color. The temperature in the kitchen might have dropped ten degrees. Ron stared around the room as though he had been bidden to memorize it, while Hermione’s eyes swiveled backward and forward from Harry to Lupin.

  “You don’t understand,” said Lupin at last.

  “Explain, then,” said Harry.