The Lewis House 46 страница

"Well…" Sirius shoved his hands in the pockets of his robes and started walking again, so quickly that Harry had to hurry to catch up to him. "Well, you'll think it's daft, but I thought perhaps you and I could sort of - pick up where James and I left off. That way it could still be Black and Potter," Sirius added in a mutter, sounding almost embarrassed.

Harry didn't answer. His mind raced along with his feet as he and Sirius approached the back garden of the Notch. His father and Sirius had used to go adventuring, and now it was his turn… if he wanted it. "Where did you leave off, exactly?" he asked.

Sirius glanced at him. "It was James's turn," he said. "We took turns planning where to go next, and what to do. Running from the bulls - that was my idea. But that's the last thing we did before - and we'd always planned to start it up again after - but there was never a chance." He looked away. "Don't feel you have to, Harry," he said. "It was just an idea -"

"Then it's my turn," Harry cut in. "Is that it? I'd have to - come up with something?"

Sirius slowed his pace. "Yes," he said faintly. "If you wanted to."

"What sort of thing? Does it have to be illegal?"

Sirius choked out a laugh. "Not technically," he managed. "Although it helps. It can be anything you think we'd enjoy. Anything at all. We've got - well, we've got money, and magic, and… time. We've got all the time in the world."

"Not with the dragon schedules," Harry muttered. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that they were passing the Notch, but he kept walking. He wanted to think of something that he and Sirius could do together, and he was drawing a complete blank.

Sirius made a noise of disgust. "What we ought to do is go up there and obliterate a couple of Dementors. I know I'd enjoy that."

"Me too," Harry said quietly, and Sirius looked narrowly at him. "Look," Harry said, before Sirius could start lecturing him to quit his job and leave it to somebody else, "I want to do this. How soon do I have to think of something?"

Sirius's face cleared as if a storm had passed safely over it; his eyes lit up and he grinned. "As soon as you want," he answered. "Take your time - though perhaps a hint from your dad would help."

Harry's heart clapped against his ribs. "From - my dad?" he repeated.

Sirius nodded and the moon glinted off his dark hair. "Whenever we were stuck for ideas, we'd do what he called Retaliation Operations - James would hate me for telling you this, by the way." Sirius smirked, and looked not at all sorry. "When you were a baby, I used to warn him that one day, after you'd grown up thinking him perfect - because he always did a remarkable job of appearing to be perfect - I'd expose all his dirty secrets and tell you what he was really like."

"What was he really like?" Harry asked at once, nearly tripping over a fallen branch in his eagerness. This was the information he'd wanted from Sirius, ever since they'd met.

"He was -" Sirius cleared his throat and looked around, almost as if Harry's dad were about to appear from the bushes "- a miscreant, Harry. Worse than I was, by far. Oh, he was brave, of course, and clever - and fairly conscientious about the important things, like remembering your mum's birthday and fighting Voldemort -"

It was Harry's turn to snort. "Like those two things are on the same level."

"Oh they are, Harry. They are. Remind me to tell you how scary your mother could be, if one of us crossed her." Sirius gave a shudder, which was obviously false; but it made Harry laugh anyway.

"Okay - then what were the, er - Retaliation Operations?"

"Exactly what they sound like," Sirius answered, and stopped walking.

They had reached the bit of forest that lay just beyond the back garden of Lupin Lodge, and they both lingered at the edge of the property. Sirius made no move to go in. Harry was also unwilling to leave, no matter what time he had to get up and go to Azkaban. "Did you go after Snape, or what?" he asked, wondering if Snape had plagued his dad, after Hogwarts, in the way that Draco Malfoy was plaguing him.

"Never Snape." Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Wanted to. Couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Too dangerous, by that time. Snape was very deeply one of them, and the world had become… well. I hardly have to describe it to you."

Harry laughed softly, through his nose. "No, you don't."

"So we just went after the pettier criminals," Sirius said, looking misty again, as if he were seeing things that had happened long ago. A slow smile crept across his face, and for a second he looked entirely satisfied. "We exacted smaller justices."

"Like?"

"Like…" Sirius put his hand on the back gate, and leaned. "You know your Aunt Petunia, obviously."

Harry felt a thrill of wicked joy. "What'd you do to her?" he demanded.

Sirius gave a happy sigh. "Ah, Harry. What didn't we do to her? James had wanted to string her up in a dungeon for years, but Lily'd never let him do it. Protective of her sister, you see."

"And what did her sister ever do for her?" Harry asked darkly. He still couldn't quite think of his mother and his aunt as sisters. Even though he had only had the privilege of his mother's company for one, horrible instant, he knew in his bones that she had been good, and honest, and beautiful in the important ways. Not at all like Aunt Petunia. "My mum was too nice."

"Precisely what your father and I thought." Sirius nodded his approval. "But there was no budging your mum. 'James, don't you dare! She hates me enough already!'" Sirius said in a high voice. "And your dad listened to her. Until one day… It was just after your mum and dad's wedding. Lily had invited Petunia to the ceremony, of course, and Petunia had declined - harshly. She had written a letter to your mother, which detailed, in no uncertain terms, her reasons for not attending." Sirius made a noise of contempt. "She said some of the most cruel - I won't repeat them."

"Believe me," said Harry, with a tiny sigh, "I've heard them."

Sirius looked piercingly at Harry, and seemed to be arrested by what he saw. "It really is intense, you know," he murmured after awhile. "The way your eyes match hers. And it's not just the color, either - it's a look you both get."

He continued to stare, and Harry stood unblinking, not sure why his chest was so tight and his eyes stung so badly. "What happened after the letter?" he asked, carefully controlling his voice.

Sirius jumped. "Right. Sorry. After Lily got the letter, she cried like a baby. It was two days before the wedding, and we all heard her sobbing. She locked her door and told us she'd get over it, and she probably did. But James didn't. And about two weeks after they got back from their honeymoon, your dad came to me and said he'd decided to go against your mum's wishes and pay a little visit to Petunia."

"Good," said Harry, feeling for the thousandth time that he would have liked his father very much. "What happened?"

"Well, what happened is something you'll probably never forgive me for, come to think of it," Sirius said, and scratched his head. "We slipped a bit of something into that lovely woman's milk bottles, one fine morning. Something for her and that overgrown arse she had called a - what was it? A proper, normal, hardworking husband with a real job and a personality that wouldn't embarrass the family in public? Does that sound like your uncle?"

Harry laughed out loud. "No, but it sounds like my aunt. Why wouldn't I forgive you for that?"

"Wait." Sirius waggled his eyebrows, and continued. "That night, your aunt and uncle were anything but normal, proper, hardworking, and publicly acceptable. We know, because we followed them. They'd planned a night out at the opera - Die Fledermause, I think, or something else that sounded pretentious enough to make them happy, but which I'm sure they didn't understand."

Harry laughed again, and leaned against the gate beside Sirius. "Right."

"I don't remember, because I wasn't watching the opera. The real performance was in the second balcony, center." Sirius snickered. "The potion worked right on schedule. Your proper aunt and uncle leaped from their seats in the middle of the performance and started shouting about pink elephants - which they were seeing all around them, of course. Perfectly natural thing to see."

"Perfectly," Harry agreed, wishing he'd done something like that, rather than just blowing up his Aunt Marge and getting himself into trouble. "Did they stop the performance?"

"They did - and better yet, they were carted off by a couple of Bobbies -"

"They weren't arrested -" Harry began, but Sirius's grin was enough to convince him, and he began to laugh so hard that he nearly choked. "I never knew that!" he finally gasped. "I wish I could've seen that."

"In a way, you have," Sirius said, and apologetically quirked one side of his mouth. "You see, we have every reason to believe that your charming cousin Dudley was conceived that evening. In any case, nine months later, he was in the world, and I do apologize for that, Harry. I do."

Harry stopped laughing. "That evening?" he asked slowly. "Do you mean… in jail?"

"Well, either there or in the police car - we were never really sure. We left just after the arrest - I wanted to stay, at the time, but later I was dead glad I'd gone with James. That's a sight I might never have recovered from."

Harry winced, and put the image as far out of his mind as it would go. "Thanks for bringing it up," he muttered.

"What? You're not glad to know the dirty truth?" Sirius lightly punched Harry's arm. "Admit you knew it, somewhere deep. Dudley's a prison baby."

Harry couldn't help it; he sniggered. "It does make sense," he conceded. "Okay - Retaliation Operation. I'll think about it." He paused, and the answer came to him. "There's always Malfoy."

But to Harry's surprise, Sirius shook his head. "Don't. Not just now. Not while you have to work with him."

His first instinct was to retort that he could handle anything Malfoy threw at him, but Harry realized very quickly that he agreed with Sirius. He didn't want to make life

worse for himself, on purpose. He nodded. "All right. I'll think of someone else."

Sirius seemed surprised that Harry had agreed so easily, but he said nothing. The two of them stood there in the quiet darkness, strangely comfortable with each other now that the ice had been broken - or at least, Harry thought it had. Something had changed, somehow.

"You probably need to be in bed," Sirius said eventually. "Sorry to keep you out so late -"

"No, it's okay." Harry turned to the gate and peered across the garden at Lupin Lodge, trying to see the side of the house. If Ginny's light was on, he told himself, then he would go up to the house and see if he could get her attention. He just wanted to look at her for a minute. Maybe talk a bit. He suddenly felt like talking all night - something he hadn't felt like doing in... Harry frowned. Had he ever felt like this?

To his disappointment, her light was off. But he couldn't leave. He had spent several minutes, silently deciding how to proceed, when Sirius's voice jerked him out of his hesitation.

"Higher up," Sirius said quietly, and pointed to the roof. "Goodnight, Harry." He smiled slightly, and looked as though he wanted to say something else, but apparently thought better of it. Harry blinked and his godfather was gone; seconds later, an enormous black dog had bounded across the garden and up the steps, and then Sirius was there again, letting himself in the back door as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

When Sirius was gone, Harry followed his directions and looked up at the housetop. His gaze touched the roof's apex, and his brain froze. His heart got trapped in his throat. And though he had just felt like talking forever, now he couldn't open his mouth.

Ginny sat against the chimney, facing the back of the house, one long leg dangling down either side of the peaked roof. With her left hand, she kept a sheet of parchment pressed to her thigh so that it couldn't blow away. In her right hand, she had a little telescope. But she wasn't looking at the stars.

"Hi, Harry," she said, and her voice floated gently down and across the garden to him. "Did you have a nice walk?"

Harry still couldn't speak. She looked so pretty and relaxed - and comfortable. He wanted to climb the side of the house and lay his head down where the parchment was, and feel her fingers in his hair. It would have been so natural - not at all "eccentric". Harry thought of what Sirius had said, about what Muggles thought of people on rooftops. For a bizarre moment, he wondered what Dudley Dursley would think of a girl like Ginny Weasley, perched on top of a house. For another, even more bizarre second, Harry pitied his cousin. Dudley would never know anyone like Ginny. He wondered what sort of girlfriend Dudley did have. Certainly not one with red hair and white hands and eyes that seemed to know what he was going to say before he said it. Certainly not one who'd saved his life.

"Harry?" Ginny sounded concerned. "What is it?"

Harry realized that he was just staring at her, and tried to snap himself to attention. "I wrote back," he said, but his voice was nothing but a rasp. "I wrote back," he tried again, and this time it was loud enough. He walked closer to the side of the house, so that he wouldn't have to yell.

Ginny smiled down at him. "I know," she said, and drummed her fingers against the parchment on her thigh. "I came out to study for Astronomy, since it's so clear, and Hedwig found me."

Harry felt suddenly very flustered. She had read what he had written. It was open on her leg. "I'm not -" he began, and stopped. "I never got high marks on my writing," he finished rapidly, not sure why he felt compelled to tell her. "So if - that is, I hope it isn't -"

"No, it's really nice," Ginny cut in softly, and Harry fell silent. She watched him for awhile, still smiling, then stuffed her things into the pockets of her robe and reached for her broomstick.

"Sirius told me what you said about Charmed Life," Harry called up, thinking he might as well get it out in the open between them. "He said you threatened them with fire."

Ginny laid the broomstick across her lap, and laughed. "Well, it's bad enough without getting teased, isn't it?" she said, and rolled her eyes. "What a picture they managed to get. Horrid. Oh - not that it was horrid, but - you know."

"I know," Harry assured her.

"My mum's going to have kittens." Ginny rubbed her head. "Can't wait for that owl. Bet it's a Howler – I’m surprised it hasn’t come already."

Harry winced. "I'm so sorry."

"Why?" Ginny laughed again. "You didn’t do it."

"Reporters… they… follow me around," Harry explained feebly. "I should've been watching. I mean, I knew they were there, and I'm sorry you have to -"

"Oh, stop." Ginny cocked her head to the side. "Harry, if people want to be stupid, let them. It doesn't matter to me," she said, and the moonlight touched her face, making her look almost ghostly. It made a strange contrast with the warmth of her voice. Using the chimney for support, she got to her feet on the spine of the roof, holding the broom in one hand.

"Careful," Harry said, putting his hands out as if to break her fall, but she was on the broom before he had any cause for alarm. She flew to the side of the house and hovered by her window, watching him. Harry walked around and stood below her.

"I wish I could come down there…" she began wistfully, looking as if she might ignore her better judgment and do it.

"Don't," Harry said firmly. He didn't think he could stand to see her face get ashen again, or to feel her go limp in his arms, even if it meant that he would get to kiss her. "Go and - and write another letter." His face got hot, and he cleared his throat. "If you want to," he added faintly.

Ginny didn't seem to notice his discomfort. She flew to her window and climbed in, then leaned out and looked down at him for a long, quiet moment. Harry kept his face turned up to hers, feeling quite transfixed. There was no point in talking after all, he thought - not when a person's face said everything.

"Goodnight," she whispered, and quickly blew him a kiss. Harry shut his eyes and tried to feel it. And then her window was closed, and her blinds were shut, and she was out of view.

~*~

6 November

Dear Hermione,

COME HOME. I've got season tickets - season TICKETS, you understand - to the Chudley Cannons, and I know I've told you that before, but that IDIOT best mate of ours won't go with me to see the matches. It's driving me mad. So it's up to you to come back and make the most of a beautiful thing. I went with Bill to this last one - it was Monday night at seven, and Hermione, I know you don't know a Snitch from a Bludger, but even you would have loved this game, and I'll tell you why. It was an historical event. That's right, memorize it. First off, it was against Puddlemere, which means that, in terms of team histories alone, the Cannons should have been smashed flat. SHOULD have been.

I always knew this would happen, didn't I. Didn't I say it? Haven't I said it for years? First they beat the Bats, and now Puddlemere - and it took them three bloody wonderful days to do it. THREE DAYS. My voice is completely gone and Sirius does nothing but mock me, but oh, wasn't it worth every screaming second. I bought this stationery from a witch at the fan stand - isn't it fantastic? Stands out a mile. You're shaking your head, but secretly you love it and you want some, don't you? Too bad, because I didn't get you any. I got you a giant orange sparkler instead, and you WILL wave it about at the matches when you come back. I had to learn ruddy History of Magic whether I liked it or not, and you're going to learn to love my team. How can you not love it when it's Oliver Wood, anyway? You know him. You should've seen him at the end of this last match - I think he's got it bad for his Seeker, Maureen Knight. She's nearly as good as Harry - and you know I wouldn't say that lightly. Every time she catches the Snitch, Oliver flings himself at her right on the field, like he's trying to snog her or something. I wouldn't be surprised. He's insane about Quidditch, as all decent people are.

Sirius is doing loads better. I don't know if it's having my help that's doing it, or if it's the fact that he and Harry are acting friendly. Harry's not well, in my opinion, but he and Ginny are speaking again and that's something. Remus is fine. He looks a lot healthier than he used to. I guess it's the lack of war, and the Wolfsbane Potion, and having Sirius around again. Sometimes, when Sirius and I work late, he gets these black circles under his eyes and he looks a bit like he did that night in the Shrieking Shack. You remember. And I find myself wondering what it was like for him, all those years. I suppose we can't know, and I'm thankful for that.

Mum wants you at our house for Christmas, and of course you're coming, but this is your official invitation. Hermione Granger, please come to the Burrow for Christmas and get your socks bored off (along with a few other things, but not by anyone but me.)

On that note, I'll stop. Sorry. I don't have time to write a really good letter at the moment, because Sirius needs me to go up to Diagon Alley with him and research Hanks Hodges, who, as you are well aware, is in for Muggle torture. I promise you that he and all the rest like him will be punished, if I have anything to say about it.

I visited your parents for you. Hope you don't mind. They look good, actually. They're being really well taken care of. They miss you.

I miss you. No words big enough. But let me put it to you this way - if I had to trade in my season tickets to have you home tomorrow, I'd actually consider making the trade.

Ha.

Love,

Ron

*

8 November

Dear Ron,

I shall answer your letter point by point.

1. A Snitch is a small, golden ball with silver wings, which flies out randomly during Quidditch games. The Seeker who catches the Snitch earns his or her team one hundred fifty points, and ends the game. A Bludger, on the other hand, is a larger, heavier, black ball, which flies about in an attempt to distract (and possibly injure) players during Quidditch games. Bludgers are generally controlled by Beaters (usually people of questionable sanity) who bat them about in a strategic (or so I am told) manner. So you see, I do know the difference between them. Let me know if you need further clarification.

2. I will enthusiastically attend Cannons matches and wave an orange sparkler about when you admit, in writing, that you secretly liked Hogwarts, a History.

3. I'm sure that Sirius is better because of all the things you mentioned: you, and Harry, and Remus, and just having a normal life again. I know I'm better for it. Not that this is really normal, but it's far better than being in hiding and having horrible nightmares every time someone disappears for an hour. I'm sure that Harry will get better too, in time. I'm glad that he and Ginny are talking. Is it strange to see them together? I've wondered for years if it would happen, but I never really knew. Harry's so hard to read, that way. I imagine it's rather funny to see him actually with a girl, even if it is Ginny. Don't tell him I said that.

I don't feel like numbering anything else. I'm so proud of you for what you're doing. I'm so happy that you feel passionate about it. I know that, with you there, no one who deserves to be in prison will go anywhere else, ever again, and that gives me a very grim sense of satisfaction. I don't necessarily like myself for feeling so satisfied, but what with my parents in St. Mungo's, I don't know how else to feel. Thank you for visiting them, Ron. You're everything to me, you know.

Of course I'll come to the Burrow for Christmas. Ask your mother if she wants help.

And yes, that means I'll be home by Christmas - but not because I'm completing my apprenticeship early. I'll never complete this. I'm not a Thinker at all. I haven't told Delia, but I'm still terribly frustrated here. Most of the time, I just want to leave. But I told myself that I'd try it until Christmas, and I will. After that, I don't know what I'll do, or who I'll be. I suppose I'll just come home and be nothing for awhile. Perhaps I'll take a job at the Ministry after all. Or perhaps they need teachers at Hogwarts. I don't know what I am. I don't know how I'll help my parents. It's all so -"

"Hermione?" Delia's deep, cool voice floated into Hermione's thoughts, and made her pause. "Breakfast hour is nearly over… You must come out now, and eat, before we begin."

Hermione turned over her letter, set her quill on top of it, and tried to quell a surge of deep frustration. She had risen at five, and meditated for an hour. It was now nearly seven, and though the best part of the day - advanced Arithmantic problem-solving, followed by the History of Magical Theory - was just ahead of her, she knew that at eleven o'clock there would be another hour of meditation before lunch, and she already dreaded it. After lunch, they would spend the afternoon in Abstract Thinking, which Hermione thought she hated more than meditation; and that would only be punctuated by light tea. An hour of meditation would come before dinner, and, after dinner, any simple spell that Hermione had managed to create during Abstract Thinking would be tested for its effectiveness.

Her simple spells very rarely made it into her letters home, however, as they were very rarely effective. Building them was simple - all theory and Arithmancy. But all the theory and calculation in the world could not make up for a faulty idea. When her concepts were unsound, her spells fell through - as eighty percent of them had done. She had never felt such a profound sense of failure.

"Hermione? Are you in there?"

It isn't Delia's fault, Hermione reminded herself, checking her tone before she answered. She didn't ask you to come here. "I'll eat," she called. "I'm coming now."

Breakfast was far too short and meditation, though it had become a much simpler routine, felt painfully long. Hermione's performance during Arithmancy was perfect, but listless, and though her knowledge of Magical Theory was by now quite vast, this morning she found little pleasure in discussing her reading with Delia. Delia's large, patient eyes lingered questioningly on her several times, inviting Hermione to share what bothered her, but Hermione did not take up the invitation.

It wasn't until Abstract Thinking that she finally snapped.

"But you must allow yourself to think less strictly," Delia was telling her for what felt like the millionth time. "Your meditation has trained your mind - do not roll your eyes. It will help neither of us. The meditation has trained your mind, though you will not trust it. You must trust it. Open your mind right now, just as you do in meditation. Allow that space. Close your eyes - there. Yes. And now, allow the space to tell you what to think, rather than the other way around. The answers will come, but not in the way that you have come to recognize answers. They may be colors. Snatches of conversation. Music. A strong urge. Listen inwardly."

They were working on the development of a human homing device. It had been requested of Delia by the M.L.E.S., who had written a report of several missing children. The children, Hermione and Delia were to understand, were the wards of the Ministry who had lost their parents in the war. St. Mungo's Children's Home had been unable to keep them from running away repeatedly, and the M.L.E.S. wanted a magical device with which to track them. Delia had read the letter, smiled, and said that it would make an excellent project for the two of them. Hermione, however, had rarely smiled since the letter had come. She felt perfectly useless as a helper, and to make matters worse, she had a feeling that Delia had solved the problem instantly, and was only waiting for Hermione to come to the conclusion on her own.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04