J. K. Rowling
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First published in Great Britain in 2005
Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 38 Soho Square, London, W1D 3HB
Copyright © 2005 J. K. Rowling
Harry Potter, names, characters and related indicia are copyright and trademark Warner Bros., 2000™
J. K. Rowling has asserted her moral rights
A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 0 7475 8110 X
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BLOOMSBURY
To Mackenzie,
my beautiful daughter,
I dedicate
her ink and paper twin
— CHAPTER ONE —
The Other Minister
It 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 mean¬ing behind. He was 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 any¬thing 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 remind¬ing) but also to explain why each and every one of them was the government’s fault.
The Prime Minister’s 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 less 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 dared anyone suggest that it was lack of policemen that had resulted in those two very nasty and well-publicised 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 spend¬ing 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 miser¬able than usual. Even the weather was dismal; all this chilly mist in the middle of July ... it wasn’t right, it wasn’t 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. Stretch¬ing his arms above his head he looked around his office mournfully. It was a handsome room, with a fine marble fire¬place 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 windows, 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 fro
