Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince - J. K. Rowling [238]
“Harry!”
He turned. Rufus Scrimgeour was limping rapidly toward him around the bank, leaning on his walking stick.
“I’ve been hoping to have a word … do you mind if I walk a little way with you?”
“No,” said Harry indifferently, and set off again.
“Harry, this was a dreadful tragedy,” said Scrimgeour quietly. “I cannot tell you how appalled I was to hear of it. Dumbledore was a very great wizard. We had our disagreements, as you know, but no one knows better than I —”
“What do you want?” asked Harry flatly.
Scrimgeour looked annoyed, but as before, hastily modified his expression to one of sorrowful understanding.
“You are, of course, devastated,” he said. “I know that you were very close to Dumbledore. I think you may have been his favorite pupil ever. The bond between the two of you —”
“What do you want?” Harry repeated, coming to a halt.
Scrimgeour stopped too, leaned on his stick, and stared at Harry, his expression shrewd now.
“The word is that you were with him when he left the school the night that he died.”
“Whose word?” said Harry.
“Somebody Stupefied a Death Eater on top of the tower after Dumbledore died. There were also two broomsticks up there. The Ministry can add two and two, Harry.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Harry. “Well, where I went with Dumbledore and what we did is my business. He didn’t want people to know.”
“Such loyalty is admirable, of course,” said Scrimgeour, who seemed to be restraining his irritation with difficulty, “but Dumbledore is gone, Harry. He’s gone.”
“He will only be gone from the school when none here are loyal to him,” said Harry, smiling in spite of himself.
“My dear boy … even Dumbledore cannot return from the —”
“I am not saying he can. You wouldn’t understand. But I’ve got nothing to tell you.”
Scrimgeour hesitated, then said, in what was evidently supposed to be a tone of delicacy, “The Ministry can offer you all sorts of protection, you know, Harry. I would be delighted to place a couple of my Aurors at your service —”
Harry laughed. “Voldemort wants to kill me himself, and Aurors won’t stop him. So thanks for the offer, but no thanks.”
“So,” said Scrimgeour, his voice cold now, “the request I made of you at Christmas —”
“What request? Oh yeah … the one where I tell the world what a great job you’re doing in exchange for —”
“— for raising everyone’s morale!” snapped Scrimgeour.
Harry considered him for a moment.
“Released Stan Shunpike yet?”
Scrimgeour turned a nasty purple color highly reminiscent of Uncle Vernon.
“I see you are —”
“Dumbledore’s man through and through,” said Harry. “That’s right.”
Scrimgeour glared at him for another moment, then turned and limped away without another word. Harry could see Percy and the rest of the Ministry delegation waiting for him, casting nervous glances at the sobbing Hagrid and Grawp, who were still in their seats. Ron and Hermione were hurrying toward Harry, passing Scrimgeour going in the opposite direction. Harry turned and walked slowly on, waiting for them to catch up, which they finally did in the shade of a beech tree under which they had sat in happier times.
“What did Scrimgeour want?” Hermione whispered.
“Same as he wanted at Christmas,” shrugged Harry. “Wanted me to give him inside information on Dumbledore and be the Ministry’s new poster boy.”
Ron seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then he said loudly to Hermione, “Look, let me go back and hit Percy!”
“No,” she said firmly, grabbing his arm.
“It’ll make me feel better!”
Harry laughed. Even Hermione grinned a little, though her smile faded as she looked up at the castle.
“I can’t bear the idea that we might never come back,” she said softly. “How can Hogwarts close?”
“Maybe it won’t,” said Ron. “We’re not in any more danger here than we are at home, are we? Everywhere’s the same now. I’d even say Hogwarts is safer, there are more wizards inside