The air went awkward at once.
After Rufus Scrimgeour's long-suffering remarks, Jon Hart didn't echo him as he had before. He picked up his Butterbeer and drank. Three steady swallows. He set the glass down only when he was done.
"What was that you just said, Mr Scrimgeour?" Jon asked, all curiosity. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."
Scrimgeour's face darkened. In a rough, clipped voice he repeated himself, patiently, word for word.
"I don't quite follow," Jon said after a beat, as if puzzled. "Those witches and wizards interviewed by the Daily Prophet are people who made major contributions and sacrifices fighting the Dark Lord. You don't mean to suggest someone like Albus Dumbledore or Edgar Bones ought not to have their deeds told to the public. That would be a betrayal of history."
At the name Edgar Bones, Scrimgeour felt the familiar throb behind his eyes. He forced himself to answer with restraint.
"Of course not. You misunderstand me, Mr Hart. I've no wish to belittle them. But those interviews have seriously disrupted the Ministry's order, if you take my meaning… Readers of the Daily Prophet, when they see them, will one-sidedly conclude the Ministry hasn't done its duty… whereas in fact the opposite is true. The Ministry has done everything we could. You must see that…"
The further he went, the more his logic tangled. He was not a man for speeches; else he wouldn't have spent decades in the Auror Office. To explain himself to Hogwarts' Headmaster, he was dragging the words out by force.
"Oh, I see now," Jon said, as if the penny had dropped. "You mean the interviews have given the Ministry a bad look, even hurt its standing."
"Yes." Scrimgeour let out a breath and nodded.
"Then I'm terribly sorry." Jon pulled an apologetic face. "Sorry to have caused you trouble."
The half-polite, half-needling tone made Scrimgeour's temper stir. If he hadn't been mindful of his office, he'd have drawn his wand and taught the boy something about respect. He did not. He swallowed it and pressed on.
"So, Headmaster Hart… your meaning is…"
"I swear this won't happen again," Jon said, earnest as a vow. "Once this feature concludes—six or seven more instalments, perhaps… The groundwork is done, the copy prepared. I can't very well go to Rita Skeeter and chop the rest. The optics would be dreadful."
His voice stayed unhurried. Scrimgeour was near to exploding. Feeling him right on the edge, Jon went on at once.
"Of course, in the middle we can interleave some pieces about the Ministry and its staff, and what they've done against You-Know-Who."
"Ah?" Scrimgeour's odd little bark came out before he could help it, and with it a measure of calm.
"After all, over the past two years, in fighting You-Know-Who and his followers, a number of brave Aurors and Ministry officials have stood on the front line," Jon said, still even. "You, for instance. In these two years you've taken down more than a few Death Eaters, and more than once come close to death."
He added, steady and firm, "The reason I asked Barnabas Cuffe to open that column in the Daily Prophet was to ensure the wizarding world remembers those who made great sacrifices in the war against the dark. That of course includes Aurors and some Ministry staff."
Compared with his earlier deflections, this was an offer in earnest. It moved Scrimgeour. If it played out that way—if one or two Aurors were "made" before the public—and the wizarding world saw the Ministry had been working to protect them, the pressure would ease. Perhaps this was the Headmaster's concession.
After a moment's deliberate thought, Scrimgeour nodded, grave. "I must admit, you make a fair point, Mr Hart. The proposal is workable."
"Naturally, the number of Aurors and Ministry personnel who appear in the column cannot be fewer than members of the Order of the Phoenix and Hogwarts," he added quickly, as the condition occurred to him.
"Mister," Jon said, his tone weightier, "there may be some misunderstandings within the Ministry about the Order of the Phoenix. It isn't an illegal militia. It exists to oppose the Dark Lord. From the first Dark Lord fifty years ago, to the second twenty years ago, to You-Know-Who's return two years back… It isn't an interest-driven body. In fact, not even Albus Dumbledore, while he lived, could command it at will for anything but resisting the Dark Lord. If you have extra worries on that score, you needn't."
"What I'm doing is simply to keep those who made great contributions—and those who fell—from being forgotten."
Plain words. Scrimgeour could hear the sincerity in them.
"Quite right, Headmaster Hart," he said, nodding. "Quite right."
"Then…" Jon said suddenly. "You mentioned Mrs. Greengrass just now…"
"That, you needn't worry about." Scrimgeour smiled and patted Jon's shoulder. "I'll take my leave, Mr. Hart. The Butterbeer in this place is, I must say, rather good."