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Asked Ginny vaguely. WHAT. shouted Ron, upending the chessboard. Crookshanks went plunging after the pieces and Hedwig and Pigwidgeon twittered and hooted angrily from overhead. As the train slowed down in the approach to Kings Cross, Harry thought he had never wanted to leave it less. He even wondered fleetingly what would happen if he simply refused to get off, but remained stubbornly sitting there until the first of September, when it would take him back to Hogwarts. When it finally puffed to a standstill, however, he lifted down Hedwigs cage and prepared to drag his trunk from the train as usual. When the ticket inspector signaled to him, Ron, and Hermione that it was safe to walk through the magical barrier between platforms nine and ten, however, he found a surprise awaiting him on the other side: a group of people standing there to greet him whom he had not expected at all. There was Mad-Eye Moody, looking quite as sinister with his bowler hat pulled low over his magical eye as he would have done without it, his gnarled hands clutching a long staff, his body wrapped in a voluminous traveling cloak. Tonks stood just behind him, her bright bubble-gum-pink hair gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the dirty glass station ceiling, wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend THE WEIRD SISTERS. Next to Tonks was Lupin, his face pale, his hair graying, a long and threadbare overcoat covering a shabby jumper and trousers. At the front of the group stood Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, dressed in their Muggle best, and Fred and George, who were both wearing brand-new jackets in some lurid green, scaly material. Ron, Ginny. called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying forward and hugging her children tightly. Oh, and Harry dear - how are you. Fine, lied Harry, as she pulled him into a tight embrace. Over her shoulder he saw Ron goggling at the twins new clothes. What are they supposed to be. he asked, pointing at the jackets. Finest dragon skin, little bro, said Fred, giving his zip a little tweak. Business is booming and we thought wed treat ourselves. Hello, Harry, said Lupin, as Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry and turned to greet Hermione. Hi, said Harry. I didnt expect. what are you all doing here. Well, said Lupin with a slight smile, we thought we might have a little chat with your aunt and uncle before letting them take you home. I dunno if thats a good idea, said Harry at once. Oh, I think it is, growled Moody, who had limped a little closer. Thatll be them, will it, Potter. He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder; his magical eye was evidently peering through the back of his head and his bowler hat. Harry leaned an inch or so to the left to see where Mad-Eye was pointing and there, sure enough, were the three Dursleys, who looked positively appalled to see Harrys reception committee. Ah, Harry. said Mr. Weasley, turning from Hermiones parents, whom he had been greeting enthusiastically, and who were taking it in turns to hug Hermione. Well - shall we do it, then. Yeah, I reckon so, Arthur, said Moody. He and Mr. Weasley took the lead across the station toward the place where the Dursleys stood, apparently rooted to the floor. Hermione disengaged herself gently from her mother to join the group. Good afternoon, said Mr. Weasley pleasantly to Uncle Vernon, coming to a halt right in front of him. You might remember me, my names Arthur Weasley. As Mr. Weasley had singlehandedly Pubg unique names youth most of the Dursleys living room two years previously, Harry would have been very surprised if Uncle Vernon had forgotten him. Sure enough, Uncle Vernon turned a deeper shade of puce and glared at Mr. Weasley, but chose not to say anything, partly, perhaps, because the Dursleys were outnumbered two to one. Aunt Petunia looked both frightened and embarrassed. She kept glancing around, as though terrified somebody she knew would see her in such company. Dudley, meanwhile, seemed to be trying to look small and insignificant, a feat at which he was failing extravagantly. We thought wed just have a few words with you about Harry, said Mr. Weasley, still smiling. Yeah, growled Moody. About how hes treated when hes at your place. Uncle Vernons mustache seemed to bristle with indignation. Possibly because the bowler Pubg unique names youth gave him the entirely mistaken impression that he was dealing with a kindred spirit, link addressed himself to Moody. I am not aware that it is any of your business what goes on in my house - I expect what youre not aware of would fill several books, Dursley, growled Moody. Anyway, thats not the point, interjected Tonks, whose pink hair seemed to offend Aunt Petunia more than all the rest put together, for she closed her eyes rather than look at her. The point is, if we find out youve been horrible to Harry - - and make no mistake, well hear about it, added Lupin pleasantly. Yes, said Mr. Weasley, even if you wont let Harry use the fellytone - Telephone, whispered Hermione. Yeah, if we get any hint that Potters been mistreated in any way, youll have us to answer to, said Moody. Uncle Vernon swelled ominously. His sense of outrage seemed to outweigh even his fear of this bunch of oddballs. Are you threatening me, sir. he said, so loudly that passersby actually turned to stare. Yes, I am, said Mad-Eye, who seemed rather pleased that Uncle Vernon had grasped this fact so quickly. And do I look like the kind of man who can be intimidated. barked Uncle Vernon. Well. said Moody, pushing back his bowler hat to reveal his sinisterly revolving magical eye. Uncle Vernon leapt backward in horror and collided painfully with a luggage trolley. Yes, Id have to say you do, Dursley. He turned from Uncle Vernon to Harry. So, Potter. give us a shout if you need us. If we dont hear from you for three days in a row, well send someone along. Aunt Petunia whimpered piteously. It could not have been plainer that she was thinking of what the neighbors would say if they caught sight of these people marching up the garden path. Bye, then, Potter, said Moody, grasping Harrys shoulder for a moment with a gnarled hand. Take care, Harry, said Lupin quietly. Keep in touch. Harry, well have you away from there as soon as we can, Mrs. Weasley whispered, hugging him again. Well see you soon, mate, said Ron anxiously, shaking Harrys hand. Really soon, Harry, said Hermione earnestly. We promise. Harry nodded. He somehow could not find words to tell them what it meant to him, to see them all ranged there, on his side. Instead he smiled, raised a hand in farewell, turned around, and led the way out of the station toward the sunlit street, with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley hurrying along in his wake. Text copyright © 2003 by J. Rowling. Cover illustration by Olly Moss © Pottermore Limited 2015. Interior illustrations by Mary GrandPré © 2003 by Warner Bros. Harry Potter characters, pubg game download key on computer and related indicia are trademarks of and © Warner Bros. Ent. Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J. Rowling. This digital edition first published by Pottermore Limited in 2015 Published in print in the U. by Arthur A. Levine Books, an imprint of Scholastic Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. ISBN 978-1-78110-647-1 TO MACKENZIE, MY BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER, I DEDICATE HER INK-AND-PAPER TWIN. CONTENTS ONE The Other Minister TWO Spinners End THREE Will and Wont FOUR Horace Slughorn FIVE An Excess of Phlegm SIX Dracos Detour SEVEN The Slug Club EIGHT Snape Victorious NINE The Half-Blood Prince TEN The House of Gaunt ELEVEN Hermiones Helping Hand TWELVE Silver and Opals THIRTEEN The Secret Riddle FOURTEEN Felix Felicis FIFTEEN The Unbreakable Vow SIXTEEN A Very Frosty Christmas SEVENTEEN A Sluggish Memory EIGHTEEN Birthday Surprises NINETEEN Elf Tails TWENTY Lord Voldemorts Request TWENTY-ONE The Unknowable Room TWENTY-TWO After the Burial TWENTY-THREE Horcruxes TWENTY-FOUR Sectumsempra TWENTY-FIVE The Seer Overheard TWENTY-SIX The Cave TWENTY-SEVEN The Lightning-Struck Tower TWENTY-EIGHT Flight of the Prince TWENTY-NINE The Phoenix Lament THIRTY The White Tomb I CHAPTER ONE THE OTHER MINISTER t was nearing midnight and the Prime Minister was sitting alone in his office, reading a long memo that was slipping through his brain without leaving the slightest trace of meaning behind. He apex weed store waiting for a call from the President of a far distant country, and between wondering when the wretched man would telephone, and trying to suppress unpleasant memories of what had been a very long, tiring, and difficult week, there was not much space in his head for anything else. The more he attempted to focus on the print on the page before him, the more clearly the Prime Minister could see the gloating face of one of his political opponents. This particular opponent had appeared on the news that very day, not only to enumerate all the terrible things that had happened in the last week (as though anyone needed reminding) but also to explain why each and every one of them was the governments fault. The Prime Ministers pulse quickened at the very thought of these accusations, for they were neither fair nor true. How on earth was his government supposed to have stopped that bridge collapsing. It was outrageous for anybody to suggest that they were not spending enough on bridges. The bridge was fewer than ten years old, and the best experts were at a loss to explain why it had snapped cleanly in two, sending a dozen cars into the watery depths of the river below. And how dare anyone suggest that it was lack of policemen that had resulted in those two very nasty and wellpublicized murders. Or that the government should have somehow foreseen the freak hurricane in the West Country that had caused so much damage to both people and property. And was it his fault that one of his Junior Ministers, Herbert Chorley, had chosen this week to act so peculiarly that he was now going to be spending a lot more time with his family. A grim mood has gripped the country, the opponent had concluded, barely concealing his own broad grin. And unfortunately, this was perfectly true. The Prime Minister felt it himself; people really did seem more miserable than usual. Even the weather was dismal; all this chilly mist in the middle of July. It wasnt right, it wasnt normal. He turned over the second page of the memo, saw how much longer it went on, and gave it up as a bad job. Stretching his arms above his head he duty ghost black box repack around his office mournfully. It was a handsome room, with a fine marble fireplace facing the long sash windows, firmly closed against the unseasonable chill. With a slight shiver, the Prime Minister got up and moved over to the window, looking out at the thin mist that was pressing itself against the glass. It was then, as he stood with his back to the room, that he heard a soft cough behind him. He froze, nose to nose with his own scared-looking reflection in the dark glass. He knew that cough. He had heard it before. He turned very slowly to face the empty room. Hello. he said, trying to sound braver than he felt. For a brief moment he allowed himself the impossible hope that nobody would answer him. However, a voice responded at once, a crisp, decisive voice that sounded as though it were reading a prepared statement. It was coming - as the Prime Minister had known at the first cough - from the froglike little man wearing a long silver wig who was depicted in a small, dirty oil painting in the far corner of the room. To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Urgent we meet. Kindly respond immediately. Sincerely, Fudge. The man in the painting looked inquiringly at the Prime Minister. Er, said the Prime Minister, listen. Its not a very good time for me. Im waiting for a telephone call, you see. from the President of - That can be rearranged, said the portrait at once. The Prime Ministers heart sank. He had been afraid of that. But I really was rather hoping to speak - We shall arrange for the President to forget to call. He will telephone tomorrow night instead, said the little man. Kindly respond immediately to Mr. Fudge. oh. very well, said the Prime Minister weakly. Yes, Ill see Fudge. He hurried back to his desk, straightening his tie as he went. He had barely resumed his seat, and arranged his face into what he hoped was a relaxed and unfazed expression, when bright green flames burst into life in the empty grate beneath his marble mantelpiece. He watched, trying not to betray a flicker of surprise or alarm, as a portly man appeared within the flames, spinning as fast as a top. Seconds later, he had climbed out onto a rather fine antique rug, brushing ash from the sleeves of his long pin-striped cloak, a lime-green bowler hat in his hand. Ah learn more here. Prime Minister, said Cornelius Fudge, striding forward with his hand outstretched. Good to see you again. The Prime Minister could not honestly return this compliment, so said nothing at all. He was not remotely pleased to see Fudge, whose occasional appearances, apart from being downright alarming in themselves, generally meant that he was about to hear some very bad news. Furthermore, Fudge was looking distinctly careworn. He was thinner, balder, and grayer, and his face had a crumpled look. The Prime Minister had seen that kind of look in politicians before, and it never boded well. How can I help you. he said, fallout fusion core infinite Fudges hand very briefly and gesturing toward the hardest of the chairs in front of the desk. Difficult to know where to begin, muttered Fudge, pulling up the chair, sitting down, and placing his green bowler upon his knees. What a week, what a week. Had a bad one too, have you. asked the Prime Minister stiffly, hoping to convey by this that he had quite enough on his plate already without any extra helpings from Fudge. Yes, of course, said Fudge, rubbing his eyes wearily and looking morosely at the Prime Minister. Ive been having the same week you have, Prime Minister. The Brockdale Bridge. the Bones and Vance murders. not to mention the ruckus in the West Country. You - er - your - I mean to say, some of your people were - were involved in those - those things, were they. Fudge fixed the Prime Minister with a rather stern look. Of course they were, he said. Surely youve realized whats going on. hesitated the Prime Minister. It was precisely this sort of behavior that made him dislike Fudges visits so much. He was, after all, the Prime Minister and did not appreciate being made to feel like an ignorant schoolboy. But of course, it had been like this from his very first meeting with Fudge on his very first evening as Prime Minister. He remembered it as though it were yesterday and knew it would haunt him until his dying day. He had been standing alone in this very office, savoring the triumph that was his after so many years of dreaming and scheming, when he had heard a cough behind him, just like tonight, and turned to find that ugly little portrait talking to him, announcing that the Minister of Magic was about to arrive and introduce himself. Naturally, he had thought that the long campaign and the strain of the election had caused him to go mad. He had been utterly terrified to find a portrait talking to him, though this had been nothing to how he felt when a self-proclaimed wizard had bounced out of the fireplace and shaken his hand. He had remained speechless throughout Fudges kindly explanation that there were witches and wizards still living in secret all over the world and his reassurances that he was not to bother his head about them as the Ministry of Magic took responsibility for the whole Wizarding community and prevented the non-magical population from getting wind of them. It was, said Fudge, a difficult job that encompassed everything from regulations on responsible use of broomsticks to keeping the dragon population under control (the Prime Minister remembered clutching the desk for support at this point). Fudge had then patted the shoulder of the still-dumbstruck Prime Minister in a fatherly sort of way. Not to worry, he had said, its odds-on youll never see me again. Ill only bother you if theres something really serious going on our end, something thats likely to affect the Muggles - the non-magical population, I should say. Otherwise, its live and let live. And I must say, youre taking it a lot better than your predecessor. He tried to throw me out the window, thought I was a hoax planned by the opposition. At this, the Prime Link had found his voice at last. Youre - youre not a hoax, then. It had been his last, desperate hope. No, said Fudge gently. No, Im afraid Im not. Look. And he had turned the Prime Ministers teacup into a gerbil. But, said the Prime Minister breathlessly, watching his teacup chewing on the corner of his next speech, but why - why has nobody told me -. The Minister of Magic only reveals him- or herself to the Muggle Prime Minister of the day, said Fudge, poking his wand back inside his jacket. We find it the best way to maintain secrecy. But then, bleated the Prime Minister, why hasnt a former Prime Minister warned me -. At this, Fudge had actually laughed.

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