Golden lanterns, the revelry became more and more uncontained. Fred and George had

long since disappeared into the darkness with a pair of Fleur’s cousins; Charlie, Hagrid,

and a squat wizard in a purple porkpie hat were singing “Odo the Hero” in the corner.

Wandering through the crowd so as to escape a drunken uncle of Ron’s who

Seemed unsure whether or not Harry was his son, Harry spotted an old wizard sitting

Alone at a table. His cloud of white hair made him look rather like an aged dandelion

clock and was topped by a moth-eaten fez. He was vaguely familiar: Racking his brains,

Harry suddenly realized that this was Elphias Doge, member of the Order of the Phoenix

and the writer of Dumbledore’s obituary.

Harry approached him.

“May I sit down?”

“Of course, of course,” said Doge; he had a rather high-pitched, wheezy voice.

Harry leaned in.

“Mr. Doge, I’m Harry Potter.”

Doge gasped.

“My dear boy! Arthur told me you were here, disguised…. I am so glad, so

honored!”

In a flutter of nervous pleasure Doge poured Harry a goblet of champagne.

“I thought of writing to you,” he whispered, “after Dumbledore… the shock…

and for you, I am sure…”

Doge’s tiny eyes filled with sudden tears.

“I saw the obituary you wrote for the Daily Prophet,” said Harry. “I didn’t realize

you knew Professor Dumbledore so well.”

“As well as anyone,” said Doge, dabbing his eyes with a napkin. “Certainly I

knew him longest, if you don’t count Aberforth – and somehow, people never do seem to

count Aberforth.”

“Speaking of the Daily Prophet… I don’t know whether you saw, Mr. Doge -?”

“Oh, please call me Elphias, dear boy.”

“Elphias, I don’t know whether you saw the interview Rita Skeeter gave about

Dumbledore?”

Doge’s face flooded with angry color.

“Oh yes, Harry, I saw it. That woman, or vulture might be a more accurate term,

Positively pestered me to talk to her, I am ashamed to say that I became rather rude,

Called her an interfering trout, which resulted, as you my have seen, in aspersions cast

upon my sanity.”

“Well, in that interview,” Harry went on, “Rita Skeeter hinted that Professor

Dumbledore was involved in the Dark Arts when he was young.”

“Don’t believe a word of it!” said Doge at once. “Not a word, Harry! Let nothing

tarnish your memories of Albus Dumbledore!”

Harry looked into Doge’s earnest, pained face, and felt, not reassured, but

Frustrated. Did Doge really think it was that easy, that Harry could simply choose not to

believe? Didn’t Doge understand Harry’s need to be sure, to know everything?”

Perhaps Doge suspected Harry’s feelings, for he looked concerned and hurried on,

“Harry, Rita Skeeter is a dreadful –“

But he was interrupted by a shrill cackle.

“Rita Skeeter? Oh, I love her, always read her!”

Harry and Doge looked up to see Auntie Muriel standing there, the plumes

dancing on her hair, a goblet of champagne in her hand. “She’s written a book about

Dumbledore, you know!”

“Hello, Muriel,” said Doge, “Yes, we were just discussing –“

“You there! Give me your chair, I’m a hundred and seven!”

Another redheaded Weasley cousin jumped off his seat, looking alarmed, and

Auntie Muriel swung it around with surprising strength and plopped herself down upon it

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 696