The Lewis House 21 страница

Ron had looked on, shaking and stricken, never having seen a person killed. He had seen Cedric’s body, already dead. But just moments ago, he had seen Dennis Creevey slip below the waves. And he had been unable to stop it. A feeling of guilt unlike any he’d ever experienced had overtaken him, as he’d watched Colin struggle with his sobs.

"It’s him."

Harry’s voice was barely audible, his breathing was ragged, and his eyes had fixed on something other than the sickening sight of Colin, weeping at the water’s edge. Harry had stared for a moment, then started toward Dumbledore, his wand out.

Professor McGonagall had leapt forward and grabbed Harry. With a move that proved her much stronger than she looked, she had forced him behind her.

High, cruel, unnatural laughter had filled the air.

Ron had turned to see what Harry was watching, and for the first time in his life, he had seen Lord Voldemort. His blood had run cold and he’d shivered violently, unable to believe it. Harry had never described Voldemort to him – not really – but it had seemed to Ron that Voldemort was exactly as he had pictured him. Pale skin stretched flat over a snake-like skull, slitted eyes as red as blood, and long, narrow, frightening fingers, playing idly on a wand that had indeed looked identical to Harry’s. When he had spoken, his voice had been a hiss.

"Dumbledore. Esteemed Headmaster..." Voldemort had bowed. "It seems that you were unable to secure your domain as well as you would have wished..."

Ron had instinctively moved beside Harry, who had continued struggling to be let loose from Professor McGonagall's grasp. Hermione had moved to his other side. Harry's teeth had been clenched, and he'd only been fighting McGonagall with one hand, because the other had been clutching at the red scar on his forehead.

For the first time, Ron had remembered that Ginny was still outside with them. He saw her in his peripheral vision, standing a little ways behind Harry, a look of terrified determination on her face.

Voldemort, however, had for once not seemed interested in Harry. A sinister smile had flitted across his face, and he had concentrated totally on Dumbledore.

Ron had not been able to see Dumbledore's face. But he had been able to envision the Headmaster's expression when he’d heard him say in a calm, clear tone; "Welcome back, Tom."

The Dark Lord had grimaced. "Tom does not exist – he has been dead for many years. But I thank you for the greeting." His eyes had flickered briefly to Harry, and he had given his wand a lazy flick. "Crucio!"

Harry had fallen to the ground between Hermione and Ron, curling up into a ball, his face contorted with pain. Professor McGonagall had dropped to her knees to repel the curse, and Ginny had rushed forward, all while Voldemort had lifted his wand once more and let out a chilling laugh.

"Harry Potter," he had hissed. "How like your father’s screams yours sound..."

Dumbledore had raised his wand and Voldemort had done the same.

"...but I will spare you. Yes... You may live until I have dealt with your protector."

"I see you have finally found your way in?" Dumbledore had asked, his voice deadly calm. He had seemed unaware that anyone was present except for himself and Voldemort.

"It was surprisingly simple to extract the basic information from Igor Karkaroff. Foolish man. He thought if he told me then I would welcome him back - just as you thought that sealing your lake after Durmstrang's departure would keep your school safe. Had you forgotten how much more potent my power is than your simple *magic* tricks? Your nobility - your refusal of true power - has been your downfall."

Ron had taken that to mean that Karkaroff was now dead. He couldn't say that he had been sorry to hear it.

Dumbledore had gestured slightly with his wand. "Has it indeed, Tom? Are you here to challenge me to a duel?"

Ron had been amazed at Dumbledore’s even tone. There had been no trace of fear or anger. The headmaster had sounded as though he had been starting up another Sorting Feast, instructing them all not to wander around the hallways in between lessons. His voice had been almost... amused.

"Do you think," Voldemort had spat, "that I stopped studying and paying attention when I left Hogwarts? I remember with utmost clarity the day that you defeated Grindelwald. A sad day indeed. I had just joined his followers. In a way, I suppose that you did me a favor – his death left a convenient gap for me to fill. I have become greater than he ever was. I have found the entrance to Hogwarts." His eyes had gleamed with a terrible power. "And I have not come alone."

As if summoned by his words, the army of Dementors, hundreds-strong, had glided from their places around the lake’s shore, gathering hungrily behind Voldemort in a dark mass, focusing their hooded, faceless bodies toward the Hogwarts castle.

"They’ll storm it," Hermione had whispered, beside him. "They’ll Kiss everyone."

Ron had known she was right. If they had been able to bypass Dumbledore, then the Dementors would have infested the castle in seconds, to feed on the joy of every student there. To feast on all their souls. The students and teachers would never have been able to drive back so many.

Voldemort had held up a long, white hand, stopping the Dementors just behind him. His shining red eyes had fallen on Dumbledore again, and narrowed. "I remember the duel. I remember how you defeated Grindelwald. I will not make myself vulnerable, as he was. Fight me, old man, and my army will have your school. Your pupils." He had laughed softly. Horribly.

"Then why don't you just kill me now, Tom?" Dumbledore had asked quietly, tucking his wand away into his belt and waiting.

Professor McGonagall had drawn a sharp breath and got to her feet. Ron’s own breathing had gone harsh and ragged. Harry had crawled to his knees, and stood up unsteadily.

The smile that had crossed Voldemort's lips had been perhaps the most awful thing that Ron had witnessed all day.

"I shall," Voldemort had breathed. A moment later, he had pointed his wand directly at Dumbledore's heart. "Avada Kedavra!"

There had been the flash of terrible green light that Ron had always heard about. A pang of sick dread had thudded in his gut. Hermione had cried out, and a loud yell of disbelief had erupted from Harry. In an instant that had seemed to encompass hours, Dumbledore had fallen, blank-eyed, onto the grassy slope that lined the lake, the corners of his mouth upturned, slightly. Ron remembered thinking that he had looked victorious, even in death.

But victory had been Voldemort’s. He had followed the collapse of the Headmaster’s body with gleeful eyes, before looking up at Professor McGonagall and smiling coldly. "Stand aside..." he had whispered, shifting his gaze behind her, to Harry, who had been staring with fixed horror at Dumbledore’s dead body. "Come forward, Potter."

Harry had stood dumbly for a moment, seemingly unable to process what had happened. But he had finally raised his head and stepped forward, wand out, ducking away from Ron and Hermione – from Ginny and Professor McGonagall – as if determined to take the blow alone.

Voldemort had raised his wand.

And he and his Dementors had disappeared as if the ground itself had been a Portkey.

Ron had blinked, confused, and looked to Hermione, who was looking hopefully from side to side. "Is it a trick?" she had whispered.

"WHERE ARE YOU?" Harry had demanded, shouting into thin air as if convinced that Voldemort still stood there, before him. "SHOW YOURSELF!"

"He... Mr. Potter...." Professor McGonagall had been unable to speak clearly, at first. Slowly, she had walked the few necessary steps to Dumbledore’s body, where she had dropped to her knees, placing both hands on the sleeve of his purple and silver robes. "You-Know-Who is gone."

"How do you know he is?" Harry had whirled. "Where has he gone?"

"Your Headmaster...had anticipated an attack. We had no idea of knowing how, but he prepared the school for... the eventuality..." Professor McGonagall’s voice had been thick and uneven. She’d continued to choke out an explanation, her fingers tightening on Dumbledore’s sleeve until that her knuckles went white. "In the event of his... death..."

Beside Ron, Hermione gave a small sob.

"...Professor Dumbledore had cast a very powerful spell... on himself."

"Himself." Hermione had grabbed Ron’s hand. "Expuli Inimicus," she’d murmured. "The Expulsion Curse... A person can cast it on himself and a specific area so that if he comes to harm, all his enemies will be driven instantly to the other end of the earth. Wizards and witches used to use it on themselves and their homes during the great persecutions, to prevent harm to the rest of their families, should they have been killed in their beds. It’s very dangerous and generally backfires, but I suppose..." She had drawn breath and gripped Ron’s hand tighter. "I suppose Dumbledore could have used it on himself and Hogwarts, in case something like this..."

Harry had looked at Professor McGonagall, his face pale, his mouth set. "So his death expelled his enemies, and he knew that it was going to. He asked to die so that the Dementors wouldn’t have the school. So that Voldemort wouldn’t have me. That’s why he died, and that’s where they’ve gone. Isn’t it."

It hadn’t been a question.

Professor McGonagall’s breath had caught – so sharply that, this time, Ron had expected her to burst into tears. But instead she had turned and given the three of them a sober look. "Yes, Miss Granger. Expuli Inimicus. In death, he has protected this school more fully than he could have done, alive. He has sacrificed himself, Mr. Potter. You... are quite right." The professor had shut her mouth tightly, clearly struggling with her emotions, and then had somehow managed to speak in her usual, authoritative tone. "Prefects, please take your students to their houses."

Ron and Hermione had turned numbly, but immediately, to begin doing whatever they could, to help. Harry had stood stock-still.

"Miss Johnson, please attend to Mr. Creevey. Take him to the hospital wing. Be respectful of his brother’s body."

Angelina had gone to Colin at once. Colin’s chin had trembled violently, but he had risen to his feet, and together they had begun the work of floating Dennis’s body toward the school.

"Arabella, if you would... help me." Professor McGonagall’s steady voice had begun to fail. "I must... get him inside. I must seal the entrance, in the lake and this time we will use whatever means necessary. Please find Severus...ask him to come here..."

But before taking her instructions, Professor Figg had gone to Professor McGonagall and put a hand on her comrade’s shoulder, tears shining in her eyes. "We have lost him, Minerva," she had said softly. "We have lost him."

Professor McGonagall had crumpled.

It had been unreal. Unbelievable. Dumbledore had seemed invincible. Ron could hardly remember anything about the rest of that night. There were flashes of Colin Creevey, returning to the dormitories to pack his things and leave Hogwarts forever. Hazy memories of Ginny, sitting in the chair beside Harry’s, both of them staring dully into the fire.

Ron came to his senses and looked at his feet, away from the lake. He felt unpleasantly warm, and extremely dizzy – the mere memory of that day was still a trauma for him. So much death in one place. They’d gone home for the summer, and it had been months before he’d had another normal moment with Hermione, and that was just before her parents had been attacked. And then, the following Christmas, he himself had been kidnapped. And now she was going to run off and study where he couldn’t follow. It never ended. He bent down, grabbed another stone, and hurled it angrily into the water.

"You need to stay here with me," he muttered fiercely, saying to the empty air what he had wanted to say, earlier. "All that shit is over, Hermione. We’ve been through enough. I want it over, and I want you here, and you don't have to leave, so you ought to stay."

"I’m not staying."

Ron wheeled around, heart hammering. Hermione stood right behind him, her eyes bloodshot but her expression calm. Ron’s first instinct was to take her into his arms and comfort her, then destroy whatever had made her cry. Just as quickly, he remembered that she had most likely been crying because of him. Or rather, because of her own decision. She was the one who wanted to leave. If she was crying, she only had herself to blame for it.

"I’m not staying," she repeated, taking another step towards him, "but I’ll be back. It’s only for four months. It’s just like summer holidays."

"We haven’t been apart for the last two summer holidays."

"Even more reason why this shouldn’t be a problem."

Ron didn’t care if that was true. They had done almost everything together for years, along with Harry. Ron thought it might help to mention that.

"What about Harry?"

Hermione looked taken aback. "What about him?"

"He’s not doing too well right now, if you haven’t noticed. It’s not exactly the best time for you to go gallivanting all over the world!" Ron cringed inwardly as the words came out of his mouth. His mother had said the same thing to Bill, he remembered, when Bill had left for Egypt.

The look on Hermione’s face was a good indication to Ron that he’d probably said the wrong thing. She threw up her arms in exasperation. "Harry is doing just fine. Maybe you haven’t noticed. Anyway, he already knows that I want to do this, and he’s glad for me."

"You told Harry before you told me?" Ron felt an irrational stab of jealousy. "Brilliant. Bloody brilliant. Why don’t you make him your boyfriend instead, since he’s so understanding?"

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand and let out a small laugh. This infuriated Ron even more – he couldn’t find anything funny about this situation.

"It's not like I'm leaving forever, Ron," she finally managed. "It's not even a very long time."

"Four months isn't a long time? Well thanks a lot. Now I know what you think of me."

They stared at each other intensely for a few moments, and then Hermione whispered in a voice that sounded unusually high-pitched and quiet; "Ron - you do know how I feel about you, don't you?"

He shrugged.

Hermione took a step forward so that she was standing a foot away from him. She reached up and uncrossed his arms, grabbing one of his hands in each of hers. He didn’t resist, but he looked stubbornly off to the right, trying to appear very interested in the foliage of a nearby oak.

"Ron, look at me."

He turned his head slowly until their eyes locked, and his breath caught in his throat as her eyes connected with his. This was all he wanted – her, standing here with him, looking up at him like this, her hands in his. And he wasn’t going to have it.

"I love you," she blurted out. Several tears escaped her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. "Why can't that be enough? Why can't you just let me do this? I’m here until the day after Lavender’s wedding, so we have a week together, and then I'll be back in December. I'll come back, and we’ll be fine."

Ron felt his ears turn red at her words. They didn’t say they loved each other very often – although it was understood every time they looked at each other. He wanted to say that he loved her too, but that wasn’t what came out of his mouth. "I'm sure that's what Percy thought when he decided to come home and it didn't exactly turn out fine for him, did it?"

Hermione glared at him through her tears. "I can't change who I am, or what I want, or what my parents are going through. You know me. You know I'd be miserable if I didn't do this. Don’t you care about any of that?"

"Yeah," said Ron vaguely.

"Listen," said Hermione, firmly, "Do you want to spend this last week fighting? I'm going to go, but I'm going to feel terrible the whole time if I know that you're unhappy. Is that what you want for me?"

Ron shrugged again. Part of him did want her to spend those four months being miserable. A corner of his mind, however, was already filling with admiration for Hermione and what she wanted to do. It was pretty brave, really, leaving England in search of some woman hidden away on an island. Hermione was very determined, and, he realized, very loyal. She hadn't given up hope of curing her parents, even when the staff at St. Mungo's told her that it was hopeless. He was already starting to feel like a prat for not being more supportive. Still, he wasn’t quite finished.

"You should have told me first. You should have told me more than a week before you’re leaving," he said in a rush. She opened her mouth to reply. "No – I’ve got to go get ready for work," he finished, cutting off whatever she’d been about to say.

Hermione swallowed, and her bottom lip disappeared into her mouth as if she would start to cry again. But she didn’t. "Fine," she whispered. "Go on."

Ron walked past her, back toward the house, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave without another, kinder word. "Stop by later?" he asked hopefully, turning back. "I’m closing up early tonight."

Hermione remained with her back to him, looking out at the lake. "I don’t think so," she answered quietly. "I’ve got some reading to do and some maps to study."

"Right." Ron knew that he was supposed to say something here, something warm and encouraging. He couldn’t think of anything. Briefly, he wondered if Hermione knew where to find that Time-Turner that she’d used in her third year. Then again, he didn’t know what he’d change if he could go back a few hours.

"Coming back to the house, at least?" he asked, holding out his hand.

Hermione didn’t turn. "No," she said. "I’ll be up a bit later. I think I want to be alone."

Ron stood watching her for a few more moments. She wanted to be alone and she wanted to go away. In a week. Feeling entirely helpless, Ron finally turned and began to slowly walk toward Lupin Lodge.

Chapter Fifteen

The Bar Brawl

~*~

A/N: Thanks to Vapid, for counseling us on the physical truths about brawling. Everybody go and read Vapid’s "Broken Bottles, Broken Hearts".

~*~

It was the first time since Goldie had employed him that Ron really hadn’t felt like going to work. Usually, Ron looked forward to his shifts – he enjoyed the rowdy, sometimes terribly rude customers. He liked having free rein to crack at them once they were lit. And he loved the sense of freedom it gave him to have a payslip at the end of every week. Sometimes Hermione visited and watched him work, which made him nervous and happy at once. Sometimes Harry showed up after Quidditch practices and kept him company. Even Ginny came down for a butterbeer, once in awhile. In any case, Ron’s shifts at the pub usually flew.

But tonight he was just plain tired. He wanted to get back to Hermione and try to clear things up – their earlier fight about the Thinker had him badly rattled, and he needed to see her face. Not to mention that the whole house had been up all night with Remus, on edge about Ginny’s attempt at the Wolfsbane Potion. Ron was still in shock that she had really pulled it off. Everybody said it was the most complex potion on record, and Ginny had made it work. That was definitely incredible, and Ron was more than a little bit proud. But his natural brotherly pride was mixed with deep personal annoyance, and Ron couldn’t get rid of it however he tried. His little sister was making complicated potions, while he worked in a pub. There was something dead wrong about that.

"Hey, Red – two more this end."

"Got it."

Ron shook off the haze in his brain and sent two shots of fizzing purple liquor to the end of the bar with an expert flick of his wand. He then craned his head over the buzzing crowd of the Snout’s Fair to check that Lipsett wasn’t getting in over his head. There were a few customers whom he’d grown accustomed to keeping an eye on, and Lipsett was one of them; his wife had hauled him out of the bar on Ron’s first night at work, whacking Lipsett over the head with his own broom when he’d claimed to be sober enough to ride it home. Thankfully, at the moment, Lipsett seemed to be in high spirits, and Ron went back to filling the shouted orders that were coming from all sides of him.

"Two pints of stout –"

"Double gillywater –"

"Tankard of mulled mead, here."

Ron worked to keep up, not too tired to remember that mead had been Hagrid’s drink of choice. He always wanted to give the mead drinkers a tankard on the house, and sometimes, when Goldie wasn’t watching, he did. But not tonight. He wasn’t in a great mood. Ginny had been successful with the Wolfsbane Potion. Not that it was a bad thing, but now Ginny was one more person with something to do. She had her lessons coming up, and Remus needed her for something important – he even wanted to keep Ginny at Lupin Lodge for the school year, and teach her himself.

"Six butterbeers."

The voice broke into Ron’s thoughts. He looked up. It was Lipsett, and he was swaying precariously from left to right. "Nothing doing," Ron returned flatly. "Here’s one. If you can make it back to the bar after that, we’ll go for two."

"Ruddy pain in the arse you are, Red. Bet you were a pain in the arse prefect, too. Bet you were a right buggering pain in the arse Head Boy as well."

Ron groaned. He took a lot of flack, in this crowd, for having held those particular titles. It had been pretty great of Hermione to brag all about it to Goldie, but Ron had a feeling that Goldie had then deliberately leaked the information to a few of the Snout’s more loudmouthed patrons. It was now a joke among the regulars, and Goldie laughed as well, watching Ron from his seat at the far end of the bar. Goldie had quite a sense of humor – fortunately, so did Ron, though he was feeling snappish about it tonight.

"Yeah I was," he told Lipsett evenly, waving him off the bar. "Sit down or I’ll owl your wife. Next order –"

"A butterbeer, two shots of Liquid Curse, and a Lucky Lady."

Ron sent the butterbeer on its way, set up two shots of the green liquor that had given him his own first taste of drunkenness, and pulled a bottle of ruby red liquid from the shelves behind him, grinning for the first time all evening.

"If she’s with you, MacMillan, how lucky can she be?" he cracked. The crowd guffawed good-naturedly as the subject of the joke turned a bit red.

Jimmy MacMillan had been in Ginny’s class; he lived in the next town over and was constantly at the Snout’s Fair with his friends. They seemed to be attempting to have a summer much like Ron’s own; everyone was trying to forget the war and move on. It had to be doubly hard for Jimmy, Ron knew, because his older brother Ernie had been working for the Owl Office in Diagon Alley and had lost his life in the blast last year. Ron knew with unfortunate precision just how difficult it was to weather a loss like that, but he pushed the memory of Percy away before he could begin to think about it.

Jimmy grinned. "Just give me the drinks and shut it, Weasley. I’ve got a friend to get back to."

Ron plunked the shot glass onto the wooden bar, and followed Jimmy’s gesture across the pub. At the large, round table in the back, he saw another of Ginny’s old classmates, Andrew Quinn, who had his wand stuck out the window and was listening intently to whatever was outside. Two pretty girls that Ron didn’t know sat watching Andrew and whispering. The blonde laughed and the brunette shook her head at Andrew in what looked like exasperation, though she was smiling.

"Which one’s yours, then?"

"Blonde," Jimmy replied happily. "Nice looking, right?"

Ron opened his mouth to agree, and then thought of Hermione. His mouth fell shut. "No opinion, mate. What’s Quinn doing with his wand?"

"Some kind of recording thing, he’s into experimental music..." Jimmy trailed off, a stupid smile taking over his face as he gazed toward his friends. Ron noted that the blonde girl at the back table was smiling rather stupidly back at Jimmy. He knew that sort of smile pretty well, and usually it would have put him in good spirits - it reminded him of the way he and Hermione looked at each other. Tonight, however, it unsettled him. Hermione wouldn’t be looking at him like that for a long time coming. She was taking off to live with some stranger. She’d made her big decision. She was going to be a Thinker.

And he was going to be here, working at the ruddy pub.

The last thought irritated Ron more than any of the others, somehow, but he did his best to shake it off. Expertly, he magicked the drinks into the air, then swatted Jimmy’s shoulder with his wand. "Get back to your girlfriend, you sap," he ordered, with false cheerfulness.

Jimmy flushed a bit. "Sod off," he muttered. But he wasted no time following Ron’s direction – he flew the drinks back to the corner table and settled quickly next to the blonde girl.

"Next?" Ron called into the noise of customers. He hoped nobody would answer. He was quickly slipping from tired to exhausted and had hoped to close up early, though it didn’t look likely to happen. The crowd wasn’t thinning at all.

There was a loud, throat-clearing noise from the far end of the bar. "Give me two butterbeers, six shots of Liquid Curse, twelve Lucky Ladies and a bottle of Madman. And hurry it up, you. I’m damned thirsty."

Ron raised his eyebrows incredulously, wondering what crazed lunatic would order so much liquor at once. At the same time he felt a stab of serious irritation. It got his back up when customers told him to hurry, and it only made it worse that he couldn’t do anything about it because they were customers. That had been one of Goldie’s first lessons to him. Never fight with the customers.

"Going as fast as I can," Ron said mildly, turning toward the other end of the bar with a forced smile, and searching out the demanding patron among the crowd.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04