on, nodding through the 
mullioned windows at the thick, swirling snow. "Come on, Hermione, it's 
Christmas. Harry deserves a break." 

Hermione bit her lip, looking extremely worried. 

"Are you going to report me?" Harry asked her, grinning. 

"Oh -- of course not -- but honestly, Harry --" 

"Seen the Fizzing Whizbees, Harry?" said Ron, grabbing him and leading 
him over to their barrel. "And the Jelly Slugs? And the Acid Pops? Fred 
gave me one of those when I was seven -- it burnt a hole right through 
my tongue. I remember Mum walloping him with her broomstick." Ron stared 
broodingly into the Acid Pop box. "Reckon Fred'd take a bit of Cockroach 
Cluster if I told him they were peanuts?" 

When Ron and Hermione had paid for all their sweets, the three of them 
left Honeydukes for the blizzard outside. 

Hogsmeade looked like a Christmas card; the little thatched cottages and 
shops were all covered in a layer of crisp snow; there were holly 
wreaths on the doors and strings of enchanted candles hanging in the 
trees. 

Harry shivered; unlike the other two, he didn't have his cloak. They 
headed up the street, heads bowed against the wind, Ron and Hermione 
shouting through their scarves. 

"That's the post office 

"Zonko's is up there --" 

"We could go up to the Shrieking Shack 

166 



"Tell you what," said Ron, his teeth chattering, "shall we go for a 
butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks?" 

Harry was more than willing; the wind was fierce and his hands were 
freezing, so they crossed the road, and in a few minutes were entering 
the tiny inn. 

It was extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. A curvy sort of woman 
with a pretty face was serving a bunch of rowdy warlock' up at the bar. 

"That's Madam Rosmerta," said Ron. "I'll get the drinks, shall I?" he 
added, going slightly red. 

Harry and Hermione made their way to the back of the room, ,,her, there 
was a small, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas 
tree, which stood next to the fireplace. Ron came back five minutes 
later, carrying three foaming tankards of hot butterbeer. 

"Merry Christmas!" he said happily, raising his tankard. 

Harry drank deeply. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted and 
seemed to heat every bit of him from the inside. 

A sudden breeze ruffled his hair. The door of the Three Broomsticks had 
opened again. Harry looked over the rim of his tankard and choked. 

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub with a 
flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in 
conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a 
pinstriped cloak -- Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic. 

In an instant, Ron and Hermione had both placed hands on the top of 
Harry's head and forced him off his stool and under the table. Dripping 
with butterbeer and crouching out of sight, Harry clutched his empty 
tankard and watched the teachers' and Fudge's feet move toward the bar, 
pause, then turn and walk right toward him. 

Somewhere above him, Hermione whispered, Mobiliarbus!" 

167 



The Christmas tree beside their table rose a few inches off the ground, 
drifted sideways, and landed with a soft thump right in front of their 
table, hiding them from view. Staring through the dense lower branches, 
Harry saw four sets of chair legs move back from the table right beside 
theirs, then heard the grunts and sighs If the teachers and minister as 
they sat down. 

Next he saw another pair of feet, wearing sparkly turquoise high heels, 
and heard a woman's voice. "A small gillywater --" 

"Mine," said Professor McGonagall's voice. 

"Four pints of mulled mead --" 

"Ta, Rosmerta," said Hagrid. 

"A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella --" 

"Mmm!" said Professor Flitwick, smacking his lips. 

"So you'll be the red currant rum, Minister." 

"Thank you, Rosmerta, m'dear," said Fudge's voice. "Lovely to see you 
again, I must say. Have one yourself, won't you? Come and join us...." 

"Well, thank you very much, Minister." 

Harry watched the glittering heels march away and back again. His heart 
was pounding uncomfortably in his throat. Why hadn't it occurred to him 
that this was the last weekend of term for the teachers to& And how long 
were they going to sit there? He needed time to sneak back into 
Honeydukes if he wanted to return to school tonight.... Hermione's leg 
gave a nervous twitch next to him. 

"So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?" came Madam 
Rosmerta's voice. 

Harry saw the lower part of Fudge's thick body twist in his chair as 
though he were checking for eavesdroppers. Then he said in a quiet 
voice, "What else, m'dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what 

168 



happened up at the school at Halloween?" 

I did hear a rumor," admitted Madam Rosmerta. 

"Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?" said Professor McGonagall 
exasperatedly. 

"Do you think Blacks still in the area, Minister?" whispered Madam 
Rosmerta. 

"I'm sure of it," said Fudge shortly. 

"You know that the dementors have searched the whole village twjce?" 
said Madam Rosmerta, a slight edge to her voice. "Scared all my 
customers away... It's very bad for business, Minister." 

"Rosmerta, dear, I don't like them any more than you do," said Fudge 
uncomfortably. "Necessary precaution... unfortunate, but there YOU 
are.... I've just met some of them. They're in a fury against Dumbledore 
-- he won't let them inside the castle grounds." 

"I should think not," said Professor McGonagall sharply. "How are we 
supposed to teach with those horrors floating around?" 

"Hear, hear!" squeaked tiny Professor Flitwick, whose feet were dangling 
a foot from the ground. 

"All the same," demurred Fudge, "they are here to protect you all from 
something much worse.... We all know what Black's capable of..." 

"Do you know, I still have trouble believing it," said Madam Rosmerta 
thoughtfully. "Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius 
Black was the last I'd have thought... I mean, I remember him when he 
was a boy at Hogwarts. If you'd told me then what he was going to 
become, I'd have said you'd had too much mead." 

"You don't know the half of it, Rosmerta," said Fudge gruffly. "The 
worst he did isn't widely known." 

"The worst?" said Madam Rosmerta, her voice alive with curiosity, "Worse 

169 



than murdering all those poor people, you mean?" 

"I certainly do," said Fudge. 

"I ca'A believe that. What could possibly be worse?" "You say you 
remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta," mur- mured Professor McGonagall. 
"Do you remember who his-best friend was?" 

"Naturally," said Madam Rosmerta, with a small laugh. "Never saw one 
without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here -ooh, 
they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and 
James Potter!" 

Harry dropped his tankard with a loud clunk. Ron kicked him. 

"Precisely," said Professor McGonagall. "Black and Potter. Ringleaders 
of their little gang. Both very bright, of course -- exceptionally 
bright, in fact -- but I don't think we've ever had such a pair of 
troublemakers --" 

"I dunno," chuckled Hagrid. "Fred and George Weasley could give 'em a 
run fer their money." 

"You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers!" chimed in Professor 
Flitwick. "Inseparable!" 

"Of course they were," said Fudge. "Potter trusted Black beyond all his 
other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man 
when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry 
has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him." 

"Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?" whispered 
Madam Rosmerta. 

"Worse even than that, rn'dear...." Fudge dropped his voice and 
proceeded in a sort of low rumble. "Not many people are aware that the 
Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was of course 
working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. 
One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He 
advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who wasn't an 

170 



easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance 
was the Fidelius Charm." 

"How does that work?" said Madam Rosmerta, breathless with interest. 
Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. 

"An immensely complex spell," he said squeakily, "involving the magical 
concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is 
hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth 
impossible to find -- unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to 
divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who 
could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and 
never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their 
sitting room window!" 

"So Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper?" whispered Madam Rosmerta. 

"Naturally," said Professor McGonagall. "James Potter told Dumbledore 
that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was 
planning to go into hiding himself... and yet, Dumbledore remained 
worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters' Secret-Keeper 
himself." 

"He suspected Black?" gasped Madam Rosmerta. 

"He was sure that somebody close to the Potters had been keeping 
You-Know-Who informed of their movements," said Professor McGonagall 
darkly. "Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side 
had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to 
You-Know-Who." 

"But James Potter insisted on using Black?" 

"He did," said Fudge heavily. "And then, barely a week after the 
Fidelius Charm had been pe