Harry Potter and the Sixth Year

Later, they asked Professor McGonagall’s advice on what they should wear to the funeral.

“Well, some wizards have Mourning Robes, but I hardly think it appropriate in your case. You’re there as Neville’s friends from Hogwarts. If I were you, I would wear plain school robes. Tidily,” she added, looking closely at Ron, who shuffled his feet and straightened his tie. Harry thought of trying to smooth his hair down, but didn’t think it worth the effort.

“You may use my fireplace for travelling to the Longbottoms, and go with Neville. His grandmother will be expecting you.”

Harry had never been to a funeral before. He had been too young to remember his parents’ funeral – he wasn’t even sure whether he’d been there or not – and Sirius, of course, hadn’t had a funeral. Ron hadn’t been to any funerals either. Hermione’s grandfather had died a few years back, but, as she said, she’d really been too young to remember much about it. And what sort of thing went on at a witch’s funeral, anyway?

“All we can do,” said Hermione firmly, “is look after Neville and do what everyone else does.”

And even Ron couldn’t argue with that.

Even for September, the weather was surpassing itself. The sun dawned in a cloudless sky, with only a little mist in the meadows. The four of them rose fairly early, and went down to an empty Hall for breakfast. It was too early to chatter, and besides, given the nature of the day, there wasn’t much to chatter about. The Hall slowly began to fill as people drifted in, and then Professor McGonagall came down to collect them.

Before she allowed them into the fireplace, she inspected them carefully, straightening Ron’s tie, and trying to brush Harry’s hair down and failing, to his annoyance and embarrassment.

“Right then. I need hardly remind you that you are also representing Hogwarts and Gryffindor.” She sniffed and turned to Neville. “Give your father and your Gran my regards, Neville.”

Neville nodded silently. She ushered them towards the fireplace, and one by one they disappeared.

They emerged into a large sitting room. Harry could see fields through a big picture window opposite. Big heavy chairs, which normally would have been in a circle round the fireplace, had been pushed against the walls. There were already people there, milling around. Neville’s Gran bore down on them, gave Neville an unexpected hug, and then hugged each of the rest of them in turn. Ron went red, and Harry did his best to take it in his stride.

Then: “Come and met Neville’s father.”

Sitting in an armchair, looking very frail, was Frank Longbottom. His gaze was vacant, half focussed at some invisible point a few feet in front of him, but a spark came into his faded eyes when he saw his son.

“Neville.”

It was only a whisper, but the others could see the expression on Neville’s face. He crouched in front of his father.

“Dad?”

The faintest of smiles appeared on Frank’s face, and he tried to lift up his arms. Neville took his hands and squeezed them. Then he turned round.

“Dad,” he said, loudly and clearly, “these are three friends of mine from Hogwarts. Harry Potter” – Harry smiled and nodded, not sure whether there was a flicker of recognition in those pale blue eyes at the sound of his name - “Ron Weasley – Arthur Weasley’s son” - the blue eyes tracked across – “and Hermione Granger.”

Slowly Mr Longbottom nodded, and opened his mouth, but nothing came out, and gradually he sank back into his seat.

Neville stood up.

“I’ve never heard him talk before.”

They could hear the catch in his voice. His Gran came up and took his arm. “Your father is getting better, Neville. But he gets tired very easily. And it’s going to be a long and difficult day for him.”

Neville nodded. “Yeah.”

“Come on, there are some other people I want you to met.”

Ron, Harry and Hermione stood back, feeling rather helpless – and then they saw Mr Weasley emerge from the fireplace.

“Dad!” Ron cried.

He saw them across the room and came over. “Here with Neville?”

“That’s right.”

Mr Weasley looked round the room and sighed. “There’ll be a lot of people here today. Particularly in view of recent events.”

“Fudge?” asked Ron.

Mr Weasley raised his eyebrows. “That would be interesting. No, I think the Ministry is sending Aurors who worked with Frank and Alice. Best thing to do, really.”

By ten o’clock the house seemed full to overflowing, and Gran clapped her hands loudly to catch everyone’s attention.

“Most of you know the Apparation point for the cemetery, and those who don’t can get details from me. For those who do not wish to Apparate, there are Ministry cars outside. The service will begin at half past ten.”

“We might as well Apparate,” said Ron. “Neville’s father will be going by car, and I imagine Neville and his Gran will be going too.”

Hermione nodded. “I’ll get the instructions.”

Already the room was emptying, as people Apparated to the cemetery or made their way out to the cars. Hermione came back with three slips of paper.

“Here you are.”

They scanned the instructions on the sheet – Harry could see Ron’s lips moving as he mentally rehearsed his moves. Hermione was the first to go, followed closely by Harry and Ron. They found themselves behind some bushes on a grassy slope.

“We’d better clear the area,” said Hermione practically.

The cemetery itself was a few hundred yards away, and they could see where the grave was by the knot of people already there. They walked towards the line of those who had just arrived. They slowed their pace as they approached the grave. Standing to one side was an instantly recognisable figure: Mad Eye Moody.

“Shall we ...?” said Ron, with a jerk of his head.

Harry nodded, and they made their way over. Moody nodded as they drew close.

“Sad business, this,” he said gruffly. “You here with Neville?”

“That’s right,” Harry told him.

“More deaths.” Moody shook his head. “Let’s hope it’ll be the last.” Harry couldn’t think of a reply to this. “Except for him, of course,” he added in another growl. There was no need to ask who the ‘him’ was.

Harry could see they were attracting glances from the other mourners. A combination of three Hogwarts students plus Mad Eye Moody must have seemed an odd sight.

“Come on,” growled Moody. “The cars will be here soon.”

He limped toward the open grave, and the others followed him. The crowd parted to allow them through, and people began muttering greetings to Moody. Harry felt the usual surreptitious glances as people began to realise who he was.

Soon the cars could be seen winding their way up the hill to the cemetery. The hearse was first. It pulled up to a halt, and the mourners climbed out. The back was opened up and the coffin unloaded. Neville, his father, and Gran took up station behind the coffin. Slowly they made their way up the slope, Neville supporting his father, who was also leaning on a stick. They stopped by the graveside.

The ceremony was moving; too much so for Harry, who almost had to leave the crowd of mourners more than once. He could see Neville was in tears. Wizard after wizard delivered short eulogies, before the coffin was finally lowered into the grave. Members of the family threw in handfuls of dirt, until finally men with spades began filling it in, and then the crowd began to disperse, some up the hillside, others back to the cars.

It was a very subdued trio making their way back up the hillside.

“For the first time,” said Ron, finally breaking the silence, “I’ve begun to realise what all this is about. I remember Dad telling me I was too young to know what it was like when the Death Eaters were on the loose, and I didn’t believe him.. Well, now I think I’ve finally begun to find out.”

They walked on a little further in silence again.

“What I want to know,” Ron burst out, “is where he … you know …”

“Voldemort,” Hermione supplied helpfully.

Ron winced. “Yeah – him – where is he now?”

“Well,” Harry told them, “your portable Voldemort detector here registers nothing. Which means one of three things: either he’s lost most of his powers, or he’s lying low, or he’s a long way away.”

“Yeah,” said Ron, “but which?”

Harry shrugged. “Your portable detector can’t tell you that.”

“What’s it like … I mean …” Ron began floundering.

“You don’t want to know,” said Harry briefly.

They reached the bushes in silence. “See you at the Longbottoms,” said Ron before disappearing.

The house was filling up, though the Longbottom’s car hadn’t come back yet. There was to be some kind of buffet lunch before everyone dispersed.

The three of them wandered out into the garden, but as they stood in the sunshine, they were accosted by one of the wizards who had been among the crowd at the graveside, a tall, smooth man.

“Paul Arbuthnot,” he said to Harry, holding out his hand. As Harry shook it, he added: “I’m from the Ministry.”

Harry looked at him more sharply. He saw a middle aged man, a touch of silver to his black hair, which somehow gave him an air of authority. He was dressed neatly but not too smartly: the cloak certainly looked well tailored. The man returned Harry’s gaze with eyes that were level, assessing. Harry knew that he was being sized up. He didn’t like that feeling.

“How are things at Hogwarts?” Arbuthnot went on to enquire, as if asking about the weather.

It might have been an innocent enquiry, but Harry was on his guard when it came to anyone from the Ministry.

“Fine,” he said. “Term’s going very well.”

“You’ve a couple of new teachers from the Ministry.” It was a statement, not a question.

“That’s right.”

“Settling in all right, are they?”

Again, Harry was on his guard.

“Very well, as far as I know.”

“Good, good. And the revised curriculum. Going well?”

“Very well indeed,” Hermione chipped in.

“Good. Ah – Miss Granger?” Arbuthnot’s assessing gaze swung round to take in Hermione.

“That’s right.”

“Indeed.” Then he looked at Ron. “And you must be another of Arthur Weasley’s sons – Ron?”

“Yeah,” said Ron. He sounded more than a touch surly, but that didn’t dent Arbuthnot’s smooth veneer.

“The Ministry has always taken a keen interest in Hogwarts.”

“So we noticed,” said Harry dryly.

“And it really does have the best interests of the school at heart,” Arbuthnot went on.

“Really? In that case, all I can say is that some of the people at the Ministry are not very good judges of character.”

Arbuthnot returned his gaze, his eyes giving nothing away. “Dolores Umbridge? Perhaps that was a little unfortunate. But we felt at the time something needed doing.”

Harry’s patience snapped. “Other than rigging trials and letting Dementors loose, you mean?” He heard the intake of breath from Hermione, but didn’t regret saying what he did.

Arbuthnot’s smiled suddenly disappeared. “Rather unfair, that, surely?”

Harry chose deliberately to misinterpret the comment. “Unfair? The trial? Yeah, I thought so at the time too.”

“The Ministry was acting for what it thought was for the best.” The smooth façade was being eroded.

“And in so doing called me a liar,” said Harry evenly.

Arbuthnot waved a hand. “It was a lot to hang on the word of one boy.”

Harry was about to lose his temper, but he knew that would be a mistake. He’d lost his temper too often last year, and it hadn’t got him anywhere. He paused, took a deep breath, then: “The Ministry was entitled not to believe me – but not to try to discredit me.”

Arbuthnot too had recovered himself. He bowed his head in some form of apology – but whether real or feigned Harry couldn’t tell. “Mistakes were made, we admit that. But we hope that we can co-operate with you and your friends.”

Was this an olive branch? And what did Arbuthnot mean by ‘your friends’? But then their attention was diverted by the arrival of the car containing the Longbottoms. Arbuthnot turned back to them, all urbanity again.

“I’m going to present my respects to the family.” He paused. “I once worked with Frank and Alice, you know,” he said quietly. “They were indeed dark times, and they weren’t so long ago. We thought they’d gone for good. That’s why a lot of people didn’t believe you – we didn’t want to believe you.” Again he held Harry’s gaze steadily.

Harry found himself nodding. “Fair enough.”

Arbuthnot assessed that answer, then smiled. “Until later.” He shook hands with the three of them in turn and strode off.

“Git,” muttered Ron to Arbuthnot’s receding back.

“No,” said Harry slowly.

“What do you mean?” asked Ron, obviously surprised by Harry’s response. But Harry looked across to Hermione and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“I thought you’d lost it at the beginning,” she said. “But you kept your cool - and made your points well. That was a very interesting encounter.”

“What?” asked Ron, his face screwed up.

Hermione began ticking points off on her fingers.

“One: was the meeting planned? Yes, I think it was. He wanted to sound you out.

“Two: they admitted they were in the wrong.”

“When did he say that?” asked Ron, his face screwed up further in concentration.

“He didn’t. It’s what he didn’t say that was more interesting. He didn’t deny Harry’s remarks about the trial. And trying to discredit him. They’ll never admit that. But not denying it is a backhanded way of acknowledging it.

“And three: they want to co-operate. They can’t be seen to be co-operating too obviously, because again that means they’re in the wrong.

“But most importantly: was he talking for Fudge, or just a group within the Ministry?”

Ron shrugged.

“Good point, Hermione,” said Harry. “It might be worth getting Ron’s dad to have a chat with him. See what he thinks.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully.

And they cornered Mr Weasley after lunch, steering him out to a quiet spot in the garden. Hermione described their conversation, and when she’d finished, Mr Weasley was nodding thoughtfully.

“Arbuthnot,” he said slowly. “I know him – but not well. He’s one of those people who keeps in the background, but has a lot of influence. Fudge – he’s a good politician. Knows how to present a good public face. Now he’ll never admit the Ministry makes mistakes – not publicly anyway, and not to your face. What I really need to know is whether, as you say, Arbuthnot’s acting for himself, for a group in the Ministry or for Fudge. I can sound him out on Monday.” He looked at the three of them. “This could be very useful. I’m glad you didn’t fly off the handle this time, Harry” – who gave a small shamefaced grin – “because this could well be an olive branch of some sort. But,” – and he wagged a finger at them – “don’t tell anyone else. Anyone at all. Got that?”

Harry had enough respect for Mr Weasley to nod and to mean it. “It’ll stay between us four,” he said.

Mr Weasley nodded in return. “You three are beginning to grow up. Being stroppy teenagers is all very well, but it doesn’t win you friends. And we need friends. You’ve had a rough time, Harry, and things are going to get rougher, if I’m not mistaken. You might think it unfair, but you’ve been marked out, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Harry had never heard Mr Weasley talk like this before. “I know.” He had the grace to look a little ashamed. “I know I was very rude to Dumbledore in the summer.”

Mr Weasley sighed. “You’d been through things that people twice your age would not have survived. Luck or skill? I don’t know. But don’t go pushing your luck.”

Harry nodded. “I’m beginning to get the message. I get it often enough.”

“Then, for once, heed it.”

“So who is this Arbuthnot?” asked Ron. “Another Percy?”

Mr Weasley looked squarely at Ron. “Arbuthnot and his kind are not like Percy,” he said, with a wry smile. “They weigh the odds very carefully before committing themselves to something. If they back Fudge, it’s because they think he’ll win out. If they’re backing us – it’s because they think we’ll win out. Perhaps they’re backing both horses.” He shrugged. “Who knows? Anyway, there’re a few more people inside I still have to catch up with, so I’ll leave you to it.”

After the lunch, they could see people beginning to leave. Neville came up to them: “Another half hour all right with you?” They nodded. “Dad’s gone upstairs. He’d had enough.” He stopped, hesitant, and some of the old Neville showed through. “Can I ask you a favour?”, his manner once again unsure.

“Of course,” said Hermione at once.

“It’s Dad. He’s allowed home from St Mungo’s from time to time, and it seems to help him. Apparently he said something to Gran – he would like to meet you all again sometime. Would that be OK by you?”

“Anytime,” said Hermione. Harry and Ron nodded in agreement.

“Are you sure?”

“Look, Neville,” said Ron, “just tell us when and we’ll be here.”

Neville blinked. “That would be really good.”

Hermione took his elbow. “If you want to go round saying goodbye to everyone now, then we can be off when you’ve finished.”

“Sure.”

As Neville was returning, they saw Arbuthnot from a distance, and he gave them a nod. Harry acknowledged him with a return nod before they moved to the fireplace for their return to Hogwarts.