"If Snape's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again, I'm skiving off," said Ron as they headed toward Lupin's classroom after lunch. "Check who's in there, Hermione."

Hermione peered around the classroom door.

"It's okay!"

Professor Lupin was back at work. It certainly looked as though he had been ill. His old robes were hanging more loosely on him and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes; nevertheless, he smiled at the class as they took their seats, and they burst at once into an explosion of complaints about Snape's behavior while Lupin had been ill.

"It's not fair, he was only filling in, why should he give us homework?"

"We don't know anything about werewolves --"

"-- two rolls of parchment!"

"Did you tell Professor Snape we haven't covered them yet?" Lupin asked, frowning slightly.

The babble broke out again.

"Yes, but he said we were really behind --"

"-- he wouldn't listen --"

"-- two rolls of parchment!"

Professor Lupin smiled at the look of indignation on every face.

"Don't worry. I'll speak to Professor Snape. You don't have to do the essay."

"Oh no," said Hermione, looking very disappointed. "I've already finished it!"

"Pass it here," Johnny said. Hermione furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, but obliged. Johnny quickly scanned through it, before drawing an O at the top of the parchment abs passing it back. "Congratulations, Ms. Granger, you've passed."

Hermione giggled at Johnny's cheesiness and kissed his cheek.

They had a very enjoyable lesson. Professor Lupin had brought along a glass box containing a Hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who looked as though he were made of wisps of smoke, rather frail and harmless looking.

"Lures travelers into bogs," said Professor Lupin as they took notes. "You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead -- people follow the light -- then--"

The Hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise against the glass.

When the bell rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the door, Harry among them, but --

"Wait a moment, Harry," Lupin called. "I'd like a word."

Two weeks before the end of the term, the sky lightened suddenly to a dazzling, opaline white and the muddy grounds were revealed one morning covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick had already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering fairies. The students were all happily discussing their plans for the holidays. Both Ron and Hermione had decided to remain at Hogwarts, and though Ron said it was because he couldn't stand two weeks with Percy, and Hermione insisted she needed to use the library, Harry and Johnny wasn't fooled; they were doing it to keep them company, and they were very grateful, Johnny even more so when he found out Evelyn was travelling for her Auror work and wouldn't be home for Christmas.

To everyone's delight except Harry and Johnny's, there was to be another Hogsmeade trip on the very last weekend of the term.

"We can do all our Christmas shopping there!" said Hermione. "Mum and Dad would really love those Toothflossing Stringmints from Honeydukes!"

Resigned to the fact that they would be the only third years staying behind again, Harry borrowed a copy of Which Broomstick from Wood, and decided to spend the day reading up on the different makes with Johnny. Harry had been riding one of the school brooms at team practice, an ancient Shooting Star, which was very slow and jerky; he definitely needed a new broom of his own.

"Mate, how about matching Firebolts?" Johnny suggested, pointing at the fastest broom in the world. "Flint and Wood would cry if we got them."

On the Saturday morning of the Hogsmeade trip, Harry and Johnny bid goodbye to Ron and Hermione, who were wrapped in cloaks and scarves, then turned up the marble staircase, and headed back toward Gryffindor Tower. Snow had started to fall outside the windows, and the castle was very still and quiet.

"Psst -- Harry, Johnny!"

They turned, halfway along the third-floor corridor, to see Fred and George peering out at them from behind a statue of a humpbacked, one-eyed witch.

"What are you doing?" said Harry curiously. "How come you're not going to Hogsmeade?"

"We've come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go," said Fred, with a mysterious wink. "Come in here..."

He nodded toward an empty classroom to the left of the one-eyed statue. Harry and Johnny followed Fred and George inside. George closed the door quietly and then turned, beaming, to look at Harry and Johnny.

"Early Christmas presents for you both," George said.

"Just don't ask us how we managed to duplicate the original," said Fred.

"Cos' we don't know either."

Fred pulled two things from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid both on one of the desks. They were large, square, very worn piece of parchments with nothing written on it. Johnny, suspecting one of Fred and George's jokes, stared at it.

"What's this rubbish?" Johnny asked, crossing his arms.

"What's this rubbish, he says," said Fred, nudging George in the ribs.

"This, boys, is the secret of our success," said George, patting both parchments fondly.

"It's a wrench, giving them to you," said Fred, "but we decided last night, both your need's greater than ours."

"Anyway, we know it by heart," said George. "We bequeath it to you. We don't really need it anymore."

"And what do we need with bits of old parchment?" said Harry.

"Bits of old parchment!" said Fred, closing his eyes with a grimace as though Harry had mortally offended him. "Explain, George."

"Well...when we were in our first year, boys -- young, carefree, and innocent --"

Harry and Johnny snorted. They doubted whether Fred and George had ever been innocent.

"-well, more innocent than we are now -- we got into a spot of bother with Filch."

"We let off a Dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason --"

"So he hauled us off to his office and started threatening us with the usual --"

"-- detention --"

"-- disembowelment --"

"-- and we couldn't help noticing a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked Confiscated and Highly Dangerous."

"Don't tell me --" said Johnny, starting to grin.

"Well, what would you've done?" said Fred. "George caused a diversion by dropping another Dungbomb, I whipped the drawer open, and grabbed -- this."

"It's not as bad as it sounds, you know," said George, patting what was the original. "We don't reckon Filch ever found out how to work the original. He probably suspected what it was, though, or he wouldn't have confiscated it."

"And you know how to work them?"

"Oh yes," said Fred, smirking. "The little beauty's taught us more than all the teachers in this school."

"You're winding us up," said Harry, looking at the ragged old bit of parchment.

"Oh, are we?" said George.

He took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly, and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Then he did the same to the other.

And at once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider's web from the point that George's wand had touched. They joined each other, they crisscrossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment; then words began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed:

Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, the Talons, and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present

THE MARAUDER'S MAP

They were maps, showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing were the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labeled with a name in minuscule writing. Astounded, Johnny bent over it. A labeled dot in the top left corner showed that Professor Dumbledore was pacing his study; the caretaker's cat, Mrs. Norris, was prowling the second floor; and Peeves the Poltergeist was currently bouncing around the trophy room. And as Johnny's eyes traveled up and down the familiar corridors, he noticed something else.

This map showed a set of passages he had never entered. And many of them seemed to lead --

"Right into Hogsmeade," said Fred, tracing one of them with his finger. "There are seven in all. Now, Filch knows about these four" -- he pointed them out -- "but we're sure we're the only ones who know about these. Don't bother with the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. We used it until last winter, but it's caved in -- completely blocked. And we don't reckon anyone's ever used this one, because the Whomping Willow's planted right over the entrance. But this one here, this one leads right into the cellar of Honeydukes. We've used it loads of times. And as you might've noticed, the entrance is right outside this room, through that one-eyed old crone's hump."

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs," sighed George, patting the heading of the map. "We owe them so much."

"Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of lawbreakers," said Fred solemnly.

"Right," said George briskly. "Don't forget to wipe them after you've used it --"

"-- or anyone can read it," Fred said warningly.

"Just tap them again and say, "Mischief managed!" And it'll go blank."

"So, young Harry and Johnny," said Fred, in an uncanny impersonation of Percy, "mind you behave yourself."

"See you in Honeydukes," said George, winking.

They left the room, both smirking in a satisfied sort of way.

Harry and Johnny stood there, gazing at the two miraculous maps. Johnny watched the tiny ink Mrs. Norris turn left and pause to sniff at something on the floor. If Filch really didn't know... he wouldn't have to pass the Dementors at all....

But even as he stood there, flooded with excitement, something Johnny had once heard Mr. Weasley say came floating out of his memory.

Never trust anything that can think for itself, if you can't see where it keeps its brain.

These maps were those dangerous magical objects Mr. Weasley had been warning against... Aids for Magical Mischief Makers... but then, Harry and Johnny only wanted to use them to get into Hogsmeade, it wasn't as though they wanted to steal anything or attack anyone... and Fred and George had been using it for years without anything horrible happening...

"Mischief managed," Johnny said, pointing his wand at his map. When it was completely clear, he stuffed it in his pocket.

"What?" Johnny asked,noticing the look Harry gave him. "We're using yours."

Harry sighed and nodded. He traced the secret passage to Honeydukes with his finger.

Then, quite suddenly, as though following orders, Harry rolled up the map, stuffed it inside his robes, and hurried to the door of the classroom. Harry and Johnny opened it a couple of inches. There was no one outside. Very carefully, they edged out of the room and behind the statue of the one-eyed witch.

"Dissendium!" Johnny whispered, tapping the stone witch again.

At once, the statue's hump opened wide enough to admit a fairly thin person. Harry and Johnny glanced quickly up and down the corridor, then Harry tucked his map away again, hoisted himself into the hole headfirst, and pushed himself forward.

"Why go head first?" Johnny asked, coming though the hole feet first.

"Dunno," Harry muttered.

Johnny slid a considerable way down what felt like a stone slide, then landed on cold, damp earth. He stood up, looking around. It was pitch dark. Johnny held up his wand, muttered, "Lumos!" and saw that he was in a very narrow, low, earthy passageway. Harry raised the map, tapped it with the tip of his wand, and muttered, "Mischief managed!" The map went blank at once.

The passage twisted and turned, more like the burrow of a giant rabbit than anything else. They hurried along it, stumbling now and then on the uneven floor, holding his wand out in front of him.

It took ages, but Harry and Johnny had the thought of Honeydukes to sustain them. After what felt like an hour, the passage began to rise. Panting, they sped up, their faces hot, their feet very cold. Ten minutes later, they came to the foot of some worn stone steps, which rose out of sight above them. Careful not to make any noise, Johnny began to climb, Harry following. A hundred steps, two hundred steps, they lost count as they climbed, watching their feet...then, without warning, Johnny's head hit something hard.

"Mother trucker dude, that hurt like a butt cheek on a stick," Johnny whispered, rubbing his head while Harry gave him a funny look.

It seemed to be a trapdoor. Johnny stood there, massaging the top of his head, listening. He couldn't hear any sounds above him. Very slowly, he pushed the trapdoor open and peered over the edge.

They were in a cellar, which was full of wooden crates and boxes. Johnny climbed out of the trapdoor, helped Harry, and replaced it -- it blended so perfectly with the dusty floor that it was impossible to tell it was there. Harry and Johnny crept slowly toward the wooden staircase that led upstairs. Now he could definitely hear voices, not to mention the tinkle of a bell and the opening and shutting of a door.

Wondering what they ought to do, they suddenly heard a door open much closer at hand; somebody was about to come downstairs.

"And get another box of Jelly Slugs, dear, they've nearly cleaned us out --" said a woman's voice.

A pair of feet was coming down the staircase. Harry and Johnny leapt behind an enormous crate and waited for the footsteps to pass. They heard the man shifting boxes against the opposite wall. They might not get another chance --

Quickly and silently, Harry and Johnny dodged out from their hiding place and climbed the stairs; looking back, Johnny saw an enormous backside and shiny bald head, buried in a box. Harry reached the door at the top of the stairs first, slipped through it, held the door open for Johnny, and found they found themselves behind the counter of Honeydukes -- they ducked, crept sideways, and then straightened up.

Honeydukes was so crowded with Hogwarts students that no one looked twice at Harry and Johnny.

There were shelves upon shelves of the most succulent-looking sweets imaginable. Creamy chunks of nougat, shimmering pink squares of coconut ice, fat, honey-colored toffees; hundreds of different kinds of chocolate in neat rows; there was a large barrel of Every Flavor Beans, and another of Fizzing Whizbees, the levitating sherbet balls that Ron had mentioned; along yet another wall were 'Special Effects' -- sweets: Droobles Best Blowing Gum (which filled a room with bluebell-colored bubbles that refused to pop for days), the strange, splintery Toothflossing Stringmints, tiny black Pepper Imps ('breathe fire for your friends!'), Ice Mice ('hear your teeth chatter and squeak!'), peppermint creams shaped like toads ('hop realistically in the stomach!'), fragile sugar-spun quills, and exploding bonbons.

They squeezed themselves through a crowd of sixth years and saw a sign hanging in the farthest corner of the shop (UNUSUAL TASTES). Ron and Hermione were standing underneath it, examining a tray of blood-flavored lollipops. They sneaked up behind them.

"Ugh, no, Johnny won't want one of those, they're for vampires," Hermione was saying.

"How about these for Harry?" said Ron, shoving a jar of Cockroach Clusters under Hermione's nose.

"Definitely not," said Harry.

Ron nearly dropped the jar.

"Harry! Johnny!" squealed Hermione. "What are you doing here? How -- how did you --?"

"Wow!" said Ron, looking very impressed, "you've learned to Apparate!"

"'Course we haven't," said Harry. He dropped his voice so that none of the sixth years could hear him and told them all about the Marauder's Map Fred and George duplicated.

"How come Fred and George never gave one of them to me!" said Ron, outraged. "I'm their brother!"

"But they're not going to keep it!" said Hermione, as though the idea were ludicrous. "They're going to hand it in to either Professor McGonagall or Professor Snape, aren't you?"

"No, we're not!" said Harry.

"Hermione, sweetheart, darling, love of my life," Johnny began listing off the sweet names he called her, placing his hand on both her shoulders. "I love you so much, that'd I'd do anything you say, but this one time, I'm not going to."

"But what about your Dad?" Hermione hissed, placing her hands over his and rubbing his knuckles. "He could be using one of the passages on that map to get into the castle! The teachers have got to know!"

"He can't be getting in through a passage," said Harry quickly. "There are seven secret tunnels on the map, right? Fred and George reckon Filch already knows about four of them. And of the other three -- one of them's caved in, so no one can get through it. One of them's got the Whomping Willow planted over the entrance, so you can't get out of it. And the one I just came through -- well -- it's really hard to see the entrance to it down in the cellar -- so unless he knew it was there --"

Harry hesitated. Ron, however, cleared his throat significantly, and pointed to a notice pasted on the inside of the sweetshop door.

BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

Customers are reminded that until further notice, Dementors will be patrolling the streets of Hogsmeade every night after sundown. This measure has been put in place for the safety of Hogsmeade residents and will be lifted upon the recapture of Jakob Grindelwald. It is therefore advisable that you complete your shopping well before nightfall.

Merry Christmas!

"See?" said Ron quietly. "I'd like to see Grindelwald try and break into Honeydukes with Dementors swarming all over the village. Anyway, Hermione, the Honeydukes owners would hear a break-in, wouldn't they? They live over the shop!"

"Yes, but -- but --" Heroine seemed to be struggling to find another problem. "Look, Harry and Johnny still shouldn't be coming into Hogsmeade. They haven't got a signed form! If anyone finds out, they'll be in so much trouble! And it's not nightfall yet -- what if Johnny's Dad turns up today? Now?"

"He'd have a job spotting them in this," said Ron, nodding through the mullioned windows at the thick, swirling snow. "Come on, Hermione, it's Christmas. Harry and Johnny deserves a break."

Hermione bit her lip, looking extremely worried.

"Are you going to report us?" Johnny asked her, grinning.

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

"Sweetheart, we'll be fine," Johnny reassured her, kissing her quickly but passionately.

"Seen the Fizzing Whizbees, boys?" said Ron, grabbing them and leading them over to the 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 bite of Cockroach Cluster if I told him they were peanuts?"

When Ron and Hermione had paid for all their sweets, the four 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.

Johnny shivered; unlike the other three, he didn't have his cloak or anything to keep him warm.

"Here you go," said Hermione, unwrapping her scarf from her neck and wrapping it around Johnny's. She tied for him and pulled him forward by the scarf to kiss him deeply. Hearing two clicks, the two turned to see Colin, Ron and Harry grinning widely at them. Colin gave Johnny and Hermione two identical pictures.

The picture moved, showing Hermione just as she pulled Johnny into the kiss.

They headed up the street, heads bowed against the wind, Ron shouting through his scarf, Hermione shouting normally.

"That's the post office --"

"Zonko's is up there --"

"We could go up to the Shrieking Shack --"

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

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

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

Johnny, Harry and Hermione made their way to the back of the room, where 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 four foaming tankards of hot butterbeer.

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

Johnny 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. Johnny 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 and Johnny's heads and forced them off their stool and under the table. Dripping with butterbeer and crouching out of sight, Johnny clutched his empty tankard and watched the teachers' and Fudge's feet move toward the bar, pause, then turn and walk right towards them.

Somewhere above him, Hermione whispered, "Mobiliarbus!"

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, Johnny saw four sets of chair legs move back from the table right beside theirs, then heard the grunts and sighs of 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."

Johnny watched the glittering heels march away and back again. His heart was pounding uncomfortably in his throat. Why hadn't it occurred to him and Harry that this was the last weekend of term for the teachers too? And how long were they going to sit there? They needed time to sneak back into Honeydukes if they 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.

Johnny 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 Jakob Grindelwald? I daresay you heard what 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 Grindelwald's 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 twice?" 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 Grindelwald'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, Jakob Grindelwald 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 than murdering all those poor people, you mean?"

"I certainly do," said Fudge.

"I can't believe that. What could possibly be worse?"

"You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta," murmured 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, Jakob Grindelwald and James Potter!"

Harry dropped his tankard with a loud clunk. Johnny paled, remembering what Lupin had said the previous summer.

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

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

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

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

"Because Grindelwald turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?" whispered Madam Rosmerta. "What about Evelyn?"

"She was interrogated under Veritaserum," Fudge said dismissively. "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 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 Grindelwald was the Potters' Secret-Keeper?" whispered Madam Rosmerta.

"Naturally," said Professor McGonagall. "James Potter told Dumbledore that Grindelwald would die rather than tell where they were, that Grindelwald and Evelyn were planning to go into hiding themselves after they gave their Johnny to the Italian family... and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters' Secret-Keeper himself."

"He suspected Grindelwald? His own godson?" 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 Grindelwald?"

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

"Grindelwald betrayed them?" breathed Madam Rosmerta.

"He did indeed. Grindelwald was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters' death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Grindelwald in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Grindelwald, had shown his true colors as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it --"

"Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" Hagrid said, so loudly that half the bar went quiet.

"Shh!" said Professor McGonagall.

"I met him!" growled Hagrid. "I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily an' James's house after they was killed! Jus' got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with a great slash across his forehead, an' his parents dead...an' Jakob Grindelwald turns up. Never occurred ter me what he was doin' there. I didn' know he'd bin Lily an' James's Secret-Keeper. Thought he'd jus' heard the news o' You-Know-Who's attack an' come ter see what he could do. White an' shakin', he was. An' yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN' TRAITOR!" Hagrid roared.

"Hagrid, please!" said Professor McGonagall. "Keep your voice down!"

"How was I ter know he wasn' upset abou' Lily an' James? It was You-Know-Who he cared abou'! An' then he says, "Give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll look after him --" Ha! But I'd had me orders from Dumbledore, an' I told Grindelwald no, Dumbledore said Harry was ter go ter his aunt an' uncle's. Grindelwald argued, but in the end he gave in."

"I shoulda known there was somethin' fishy goin' on then. Dumbledore knew he'd bin the Potters' Secret-Keeper. Grindelwald knew he was goin' ter have ter run fer it that night, knew it was a matter o' hours before the Ministry was after him.

"But what if I'd given Harry to him, eh? I bet he'd've pitched him off halfway out ter sea. His own nephew! But when a wizard goes over ter the Dark Side, there's nothin' and no one that matters to em anymore..."

A long silence followed Hagrid's story. Then Madam Rosmerta said with some satisfaction, "But he didn't manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him next day!"

"Alas, if only we had," said Fudge bitterly. "It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew -- another of the Potters' friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Grindelwald had been the Potters' Secret-Keeper, he went after Grindelwald himself."

"Pettigrew... that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?" said Madam Rosmerta.

"Hero-worshipped Grindelwald, Black and Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I -- how I regret that now..." She sounded as though she had a sudden head cold.

"There, now, Minerva," said Fudge kindly, "Pettigrew died a hero's death. Eyewitnesses -- Muggles, of course, we wiped their memories later -- told us how Pettigrew cornered Grindelwald. They say he was sobbing, 'Lily and James, Jakob! How could you?' And then he went for his wand. Well, of course, Grindelwald was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens...."

Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly, "Stupid boy...foolish boy...he was always hopeless at dueling...should have left it to the Ministry..."

"I tell yeh, if I'd got ter Grindelwald before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn't've messed around with wands -- I'd 've ripped him limb -- from -- limb," Hagrid growled.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Hagrid," said Fudge sharply. "Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Grindelwald once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Grindelwald murdered all those people. I -- I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Grindelwald standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him...a heap of bloodstained robes and a few -- a few fragments --"

Fudge's voice stopped abruptly. There was the sound of five noses being blown.

"Well, there you have it, Rosmerta," said Fudge thickly. "Grindelwald was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Grindelwald's been in Azkaban ever since."

Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh.

"Is it true he's mad, Minister?"

"I wish I could say that he was," said Fudge slowly. "I certainly believe his master's defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man -- cruel... pointless. Yet I met Grindelwald on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark; there's no sense in them...but I was shocked at how normal Grindelwald seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You'd have thought he was merely bored -- asked if I'd finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the Dementors seemed to be having on him -- and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night."

"But what do you think he's broken out to do?" said Madam Rosmerta. "Good gracious, Minister, he isn't trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?"

"I daresay that is his -- er -- eventual plan," said Fudge evasively. "But we hope to catch Grindelwald long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing...but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he'll rise again..."

There was a small chink of glass on wood. Someone had set down their glass.

"You know, Cornelius, if you're dining with the headmaster, we'd better head back up to the castle," said Professor McGonagall.

One by one, the pairs of feet in front of Johnny took the weight of their owners once more; hems of cloaks swung into sight, and Madam Rosmerta's glittering heels disappeared behind the bar. The door of the Three Broomsticks opened again, there was another flurry of snow, and the teachers had disappeared.