Henry considered Arnold's question carefully, his silence stretching as he gathered his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured and thoughtful.
"Make this cooperation public and transparent," he suggested slowly. "Let everyone know that this is simply a normal public cooperation, not a private arrangement."
Arnold's eyes lit with approval as he leaned forward. "Alright. How exactly would you execute that?"
"For example," Henry said carefully, working through the logic as he spoke, "we could mention this collaboration in the official charitable report of the Royal Family, invite representatives from the Ministry of Magic to participate in public charitable events, and ensure the media reports on it—but not in a way that suggests private dealings between the Royal Family and the Ministry. Instead, we frame it as positive news about the Royal Family's charitable foundation collaborating with the Ministry of Magic to aid accident victims. This way, the interpretation remains firmly in our control."
Arnold nodded with clear satisfaction. "Excellent. Mr. Fudge gets what he wants: your collaborative relationship with him. But you also protect yourself because everything is public, transparent, and entirely normal. If anyone questions your stance, those news reports become your shield. You can simply say you were doing charitable work, nothing more."
What followed was an intensive simulation exercise. Sir Arnold cycled through scenario after scenario, inviting events, collaborative charity work, subtle hints designed to demean Dumbledore, direct probing questions.
Each time, Arnold offered new approaches to tempt Henry, guiding him systematically toward the path of acceptance without commitment. His dedication to the instruction was evident in every correction, every refinement, as though he were determined to break down and dissect each concept until Henry had fully internalized it.
"That answer was too direct. Try a different approach."
"That's an excellent line. Remember it exactly."
"When he denigrates Dumbledore, neither defend him nor agree with the criticism. State the facts, but demonstrate your distance from his agenda."
"...Good. That works well. You didn't side with Dumbledore to defend him, nor did you side with Fudge to validate his claims. You stated only the facts themselves."
After the session concluded, Arnold closed his folder and settled back against the sofa. "Your Highness, that's sufficient for today."
Henry hesitated, clearly reluctant to stop. "But Sir, there's still more material—"
"There is more," Arnold interrupted gently, "but you've absorbed enough for one day. These skills can't be learned all at once. You need time to absorb what you've learned, to think through it thoroughly, and gradually make it truly your own."
He stood and gathered his briefcase. "Your Highness, you grasped things remarkably quickly today, faster than I anticipated." He paused, his expression becoming more serious. "But you must remember: these are merely techniques. The true foundation is your own judgment. When to be ambiguous, when to be direct, when to accept, when to refuse—there are no standard formulas for these decisions."
He looked directly at Henry. "You can only rely on yourself."
Henry stood and extended his hand. "Sir, thank you."
Arnold smiled and shook his head. "No need. You're naturally talented at this sort of learning. And frankly, teaching you has proven far more interesting than instructing most of the cabinet ministers I've encountered."
Henry chuckled, genuinely amused. This was the first time he'd heard anyone from the civil service voice such candid criticism of their superiors.
"Why is that?" he asked.
"Because they invariably believe they already know everything," Arnold replied with a slight smile. "You're different. You understand what you don't know, and that awareness is more valuable than almost anything else."
After Sir Arnold's departure, Henry stood alone in the study, staring absently at the wall before him. Arnold had proven himself a qualified instructor, offering far more than Henry had expected. The road ahead, he reflected, would be long and demanding.
At dinner, William and Harry were still absorbed in discussion about the snowman, their voices animated with plans.
"Let's build another one tomorrow!" William declared. "Bigger than this one!"
"Yes!" Harry agreed enthusiastically, then hesitated. "This time, use your scarf!"
William frowned in protest. "Why mine?"
"Because Henry said we can't use his," Harry replied matter-of-factly, hands on his hips with righteous certainty.
"But I still can't use mine!" William remained adamantly opposed to the suggestion.
Seeing William wouldn't budge, Harry quickly changed tactics. "Then we'll use Mother's!"
Diana coughed pointedly beside them. "Use mine? Then I won't knit any more sweaters for either of you."
William and Harry exchanged a swift glance, coming to an immediate consensus in their silent communication.
"...Then let's use Father's," they said in unison.
Charles looked up from his newspaper, fixing them with an unreadable stare. "Are you serious?"
William and Harry nodded vigorously in affirmation.
Charles fell silent for a moment, his gaze traveling from Diana to Henry, who had suddenly become very interested in examining the room's furnishings. Finally, he sighed, the first genuine display of paternal indulgence Henry could recall from him, and conceded. "My scarf is in the closet. Retrieve it yourselves."
William and Harry erupted in cheers and bolted up the stairs. Diana watched their departing figures, shaking with laughter.
The holiday drew to a close far too quickly. On the morning of Henry's return to school, Sandringham House lay quiet in the pale morning light.
Henry stood in the doorway with his dark leather suitcase in hand, Diana beside him with visible reluctance at his departure. Charles occupied the opposite side of the entrance, newspaper in hand, though his attention remained fixed on his son rather than the newsprint.
William and Harry crowded into the doorway, their eyes bright with barely contained emotion.
"Henry," William asked, "when will you come back?"
"Summer vacation," Henry replied. "I'll return then."
"How long is summer vacation?"
"About five months."
William's brow furrowed as he began counting on his fingers, his efforts clearly unsuccessful after a prolonged attempt. Mathematics had never been his strong suit, despite his otherwise bookish nature.
Harry tugged at his sleeve. "How many days is five months?"
"I don't know," William admitted honestly.
"How will we know when you'll arrive?" Harry pressed.
"We'll know when Henry gets back," William said with simple logic.
Harry considered this and apparently found the reasoning sound, for he nodded in acceptance.
Diana smiled and reached out to gently pat Henry's head. "Be careful on your journey," she said softly.
"I will, Mother," Henry replied.
"Eat well at school," she continued, the gentle concern evident in her voice.
"I will."
"Don't overexert yourself."
"I will."
Charles approached and placed a hand on Henry's shoulder, a gesture both farewell and blessing. "Write to us."
"Yes, Father."
Henry turned toward the waiting car. The driver stood ready beside it; upon seeing Henry, he bowed slightly and opened the door with practiced courtesy.
Before entering, Henry glanced back one final time.
Diana stood in the doorway, smiling with genuine warmth; Charles stood beside her, the newspaper in his hand fluttering gently in the morning breeze; William and Harry remained huddled in the doorway, their eyes bright with unshed tears and affection.
Henry raised his hand in farewell, and William and Harry waved back with unbridled enthusiasm.
Then he stepped into the car and closed the door quietly behind him.
The vehicle pulled smoothly away from the manor gates, bearing him back toward London and, ultimately, toward Hogwarts.
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Early chapters: [email protected]/palevolt100