Hearing Henry's answer, Arnold nodded approvingly. "Very good. It's true that you meet frequently in the Great Hall, which implies your relationship is public. It's also true that he cares about all students, implying he doesn't treat you differently."
He paused before continuing. "But Mr. Fudge might press further and ask: 'Has he spoken to you privately?'"
Henry thought for a moment. "Yes, he has."
"You can't say no, because it would be a lie," Arnold said. "He did speak to you. But how can you phrase it in a way that Fudge finds entirely unremarkable?" He gestured for Henry to continue.
"He mentioned it once or twice. It was all about school matters—encouraging me to participate more in intercollegiate activities," Henry answered.
Arnold nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent. 'About school matters'—that's deliberately broad. It could mean anything or nothing at all. If Mr. Fudge presses for details about what you discussed, you could say: 'Mainly some suggestions, like getting to know students from other colleges.' That's entirely true, but the information remains appropriately vague."
He leaned back on the sofa, studying Henry with a meaningful expression. "Your Highness, have you noticed what these answers have in common?"
Henry smiled slightly. "They're all true."
"Yes, they're all true," Arnold confirmed. "You didn't lie, but you didn't tell the whole truth either. You made Mr. Fudge believe you were answering his questions honestly, when in reality, you only selectively stated the facts that wouldn't compromise you."
He shifted his weight forward, his tone becoming more serious. "This requires practice, because if you resort to outright falsehood, Mr. Fudge or any experienced politician will eventually see through you. But if you tell only the truth, only the truth that won't harm you, then your answers become flawless and unassailable."
Henry seemed to grasp the principle; a phrase from his previous life surfaced in his memory.
The highest level of deception is telling the truth.
Sir Arnold guided him through each scenario multiple times. The work required little apparent effort; Henry absorbed this knowledge like a sponge, demonstrating a particular aptitude for this type of tactical reasoning. Or perhaps it was something more inherent in him, a killer instinct that surfaced naturally when circumstances demanded it.
"Your Highness, you learn very quickly," Sir Arnold observed with genuine approval. While such facility might have meant little to seasoned political veterans, for a twelve-year-old it represented an exceptional talent.
"Thank you, Sir," Henry replied.
Arnold shook his head. "No need to thank me. You've taught yourself. You know, I've worked in Whitehall for decades and observed countless young people. Some possess intelligence, others demonstrate exceptional work ethic, many harbor ambition. But few combine talent with dedication the way you do."
He stood and walked to the window, gesturing for Henry to join him. "Ten-minute break. You can get some fresh air and clear your head. We'll continue afterward."
Henry rose as well and moved to stand beside Arnold at the window. Outside, fresh snow continued its steady descent across the garden, transforming the landscape into a pristine white expanse.
"Sir," Henry said suddenly, "what you just explained, about telling the truth but not everything, isn't that also part of the art of deception?"
Arnold remained silent for a moment, considering the question carefully before turning to face Henry directly. "Your Highness, do you know what deception truly is?"
Henry reflected briefly. "Telling lies?"
"Yes, lying is deception," Arnold confirmed with a slight smile. "But nothing you've said was a lie; you simply withheld the complete truth."
"The distinction matters considerably," he continued. "Those who resort to lying will eventually be exposed because they must construct increasingly elaborate falsehoods to cover the initial deception. Those who tell only the truth, though incomplete truth, need never fear exposure, because everything they've said remains factually accurate."
He held Henry's gaze steadily. "Your Highness, the people you'll deal with in the future aren't fools. Mr. Fudge isn't foolish, and Mr. Dumbledore is far from it. If you attempt to manipulate them with outright lies, they'll see through you immediately. But if you tell only the truth—the truth that won't endanger you, they cannot touch you."
He smiled, bringing his point to its conclusion. "I prefer to call it the art of speaking."
After their brief respite, they settled back into their seats.
"The next consideration," Arnold said, opening a fresh folder, "involves Mr. Fudge's attempts to actually win you over." He placed a new sheet of paper on the coffee table and slid it toward Henry.
Henry examined it line by line, his brow deepening with concentration. "This seems considerably harder than the previous scenarios."
"Yes," Arnold agreed. "What preceded was merely testing—probing your positions. What follows is an active attempt at recruitment. With a test, you can afford vagueness; but when someone attempts to win you over, you must appear to make a choice, even if that choice is ultimately to remain uncommitted."
Henry's understanding crystallized. "So the choice itself might be illusory?"
"Precisely. Suppose Mr. Fudge invites you to a Ministry of Magic event," Arnold proposed. "How would you respond?"
Henry deliberated carefully before answering. "Thank you for the invitation, Minister, but I need to check my schedule first. Hogwarts demands considerable time, and Quidditch training keeps me quite occupied."
Arnold nodded approvingly. "Excellent. Neither refusing nor accepting, you've given him a vague promise. How do you predict he'll respond?"
"He would say something like, 'Of course, of course. Studies must come first. Do let me know when you find the time.'" Henry replied with growing confidence.
"Exactly," Arnold confirmed. "He would appear remarkably tolerant and understanding. But internally, he'd be calculating, this boy didn't accept immediately, which suggests he's still assessing the situation. This means he'll have to increase his efforts."
Arnold's smile carried weight behind it. "In the next encounter, he'll offer substantially more incentive. For instance..." He pointed to the second item on the paper. "Your mother, Princess Diana's, charitable work."
Henry's expression shifted noticeably. "You mean he'll use my mother?"
"Not use," Arnold corrected with precise language. "Rather, cooperation. He'll propose that the Department of Magical Accidents and Disasters has initiated work regarding aid for families affected by magical accidents, and perhaps this could be accomplished through cooperation with the Royal Family's charitable foundation. That's a worthwhile endeavor, isn't it?"
Henry nodded slowly. "It is a good thing."
"Precisely. It's genuinely beneficial work, and you cannot ethically refuse," Arnold explained. "But if you accept, Fudge will have successfully linked you to his initiatives. Subsequently, when people observe your involvement, they'll remember that you've cooperated with him. The association becomes established."
Understanding bloomed across Henry's face. "I see. I must accept the cooperation, but I cannot allow people to believe I've taken sides."
"Yes," Sir Arnold said, his expression becoming expectant. "So how will you accomplish that balance?"
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Early chapters: [email protected]/palevolt100