Harry Potter 06 - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

she was getting Fleur for a daughter-in-law instead of Tonks, but Harry, glancing across at Fleur, who was now feeding Bill bits of turkey off her own fork, thought that Mrs Weasley was fighting a long-lost battle. He was, however, reminded of a question he had with regard to Tonks, and who better to ask than Lupin, the man who knew all about Patronuses?
    ‘Tonks’s Patronus has changed its form,’ he told him. ‘Snape said so, anyway. I didn’t know that could happen. Why would your Patronus change?’
    Lupin took his time chewing his turkey and swallowing before saying slowly, ‘Sometimes … a great shock … an emotional upheaval …’
    ‘It looked big, and it had four legs,’ said Harry, struck by a sudden thought and lowering his voice. ‘Hey … it couldn’t be –?’
    ‘Arthur!’ said Mrs Weasley suddenly. She had risen from her chair; her hand was pressed over her heart and she was staring out of the kitchen window. ‘Arthur – it’s Percy!’
    ‘What?’
    Mr Weasley looked round. Everybody looked quickly at the window; Ginny stood up for a better view. There, sure enough, was Percy Weasley, striding across the snowy yard, his horn-rimmed glasses glinting in the sunlight. He was not, however, alone.
    ‘Arthur, he’s – he’s with the Minister!’
    And sure enough, the man Harry had seen in the Daily Prophet was following along in Percy’s wake, limping slightly, his mane of greying hair and his black cloak flecked with snow. Before any of them could say anything, before Mr and Mrs Weasley could do more than exchange stunned looks, the back door opened and there stood Percy.
    There was a moment’s painful silence. Then Percy said rather stiffly, ‘Merry Christmas, Mother.’
    ‘Oh, Percy !’ said Mrs Weasley, and she threw herself into his arms.
    Rufus Scrimgeour paused in the doorway, leaning on his walking stick and smiling as he observed this affecting scene.
    ‘You must forgive this intrusion,’ he said, when Mrs Weasley looked round at him, beaming and wiping her eyes. ‘Percy and I were in the vicinity – working, you know – and he couldn’t resist dropping in and seeing you all.’
    But Percy showed no sign of wanting to greet any of the rest of the family. He stood, poker-straight and awkward-looking, and stared over everybody else’s heads. Mr Weasley, Fred and George were all observing him, stony-faced.
    ‘Please, come in, sit down, Minister!’ fluttered Mrs Weasley, straightening her hat. ‘Have a little purkey, or some tooding … I mean –’
    ‘No, no, my dear Molly,’ said Scrimgeour. Harry guessed that he had checked on her name with Percy before they entered the house. ‘I don’t want to intrude, wouldn’t be here at all if Percy hadn’t wanted to see you all so badly …’
    ‘Oh, Perce!’ said Mrs Weasley tearfully, reaching up to kiss him.
    ‘… we’ve only looked in for five minutes, so I’ll have a stroll around the yard while you catch up with Percy. No, no, I assure you I don’t want to butt in! Well, if anybody cared to show me your charming garden … ah, that young man’s finished, why doesn’t he take a stroll with me?’
    The atmosphere around the table changed perceptibly. Everybody looked from Scrimgeour to Harry. Nobody seemed to find Scrimgeour’s pretence that he did not know Harry’s name convincing, or find it natural that he should be chosen to accompany the Minister around the garden when Ginny, Fleur and George also had clean plates.
    ‘Yeah, all right,’ said Harry into the silence.
    He was not fooled; for all Scrimgeour’s talk that they had just been in the area, that Percy wanted to look up his family, this must be the real reason that they had come, so that Scrimgeour could speak to Harry alone.
    ‘It’s fine,’ he said quietly, as he passed Lupin, who had half-risen from his chair. ‘Fine,’ he added, as Mr Weasley opened his mouth to speak.
    ‘Wonderful!’ said Scrimgeour, standing back to let Harry pass through the door ahead of him. ‘We’ll just take a turn around the garden and then Percy and I’ll be off. Carry on, everyone!’
    Harry walked across the yard towards the Weasleys’ overgrown, snow-covered garden, Scrimgeour limping slightly at his side. He had, Harry knew, been Head of the Auror Office; he looked tough and battle-scarred, very different from portly Fudge in his bowler hat.
    ‘Charming,’ said Scrimgeour, stopping at the garden fence and looking out over the snowy lawn and