The Lewis House 48 страница

Fleur stopped where the corridor ended and peered left, her profile curious. She leaned close to what looked to be a perfectly innocent opening in the wall, but they both knew very well that it was a curse shield - the map had been clear in its warning.

“Don't touch it,” Bill said curtly, stepping closer to her. “It'll suck you to the other side, and I don't know what they've got back there, but they generally do serpents in the medium-security wards.”

Ignoring him entirely, Fleur continued to study the dangerously empty space. She raised her hand towards it.

“I'm not kidding,” Bill said, his voice taking on a panicked note he could not quite hide. “Get back from there.” He wondered if he could grab her and successfully pull her back, but didn't try it. He feared he would startle her into tripping forward.

Fleur looked over at him. When she caught his eye, she threw back her head and, apparently for no reason at all, shot him a dazzling smile. “Worried about me?” she cooed.

Bill immediately felt sick to his stomach. “Get back from there,” he repeated sharply - then rashly added, “And quit it with that crap, it doesn't work.”

Fleur finally dropped her hand. She stepped away from the curse shield and faced him fully, her eyes oddly bright. “What doesn't work?” she asked quietly.

Bill swallowed. She was so close. And it was a damn private spot down here, really. And when she wasn't giving him flashy looks, her face was so... sad. For a moment, he thought he actually could detect bags under her eyes. “The smiling thing,” he managed.

Fleur did smile, at that, but it wasn't the same thing at all. The corners of her mouth barely turned up and her blue eyes crinkled a little. Bill's heart lurched. “It doesn't work?” she repeated. “Are you quite sure?” She gazed up at him and her expression changed entirely; she gave him another smile that showed all her teeth, and she tossed her head.

Bill winced and stepped back. Whatever repellent Charlie had put on him, it was certainly haphazard. It failed about half the time but succeeded the other half, and it was working well at the moment. “I'm sure,” he answered irritably, gesturing at the door in the right hand wall and hoping she'd turn around, do her work, and leave him alone.

The brittle smile left Fleur's lips and the high-polish vanished from her eyes, which sank back into their strange, sad depths. She studied his face for a long moment. “Good,” she finally said, and turned away.

Bill leaned back against the wall - he hardly had a choice; that last, long look had left him oddly weak in the knees - and watched her work. The darkness, the proximity, his position with his back against rough stone - all of it reminded him of the night in the dragon camp. He thought of Percy for a moment, going back through several memories of his brother and reliving them in his mind. He also thought of Gabrielle, though he couldn't picture her exactly. He imagined a miniature version of Fleur, and wondered if Percy had an eye on her, wherever they were. He hoped so. He was so lost in thought that, when another long strand of hair escaped from the knot at the back of Fleur's head and uncurled until it lay flat along her back, Bill moved forward, took up the strand in his fingers, and began to twist it up with all the rest.

Fleur spun at him so quickly that he nearly lost his footing. Not wanting to fall backwards into the curse, he dropped her hair and grabbed hold of her arm for balance. She stared from his face to his hand, her expression a mixture of alarm and - something else. Her breathing sped up. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

Bill got his balance and let her go at once. “Sorry,” he said, lifting his hand as if to show her it was harmless. “Didn't want to fall.” He jabbed his thumb at the curse shield.

“But why was your 'and on my 'air?” She threw back her shoulders, and her voice was as French as it had been the first time they'd met.

Bill didn't have an answer. He couldn't remember deciding to step up to her, or making the choice to touch her hair. He must have been... compelled, somehow. “Guess it works after all,” he mused, hardly realizing he was talking out loud.

Fleur started. Her eyes widened slightly and, when she comprehended his meaning, she let out a very bitter laugh. “I am finished 'ere,” she muttered, turning back to the door - which Bill realized was no longer a door at all, but a smooth expanse of enchanted wall - and lifting her wand again. “Concludere,” she said crisply, then tucked her wand into her belt and went quickly past Bill. She was far away from him in seconds, rounding the corner before he could think clearly to stop her. “Go on and test it,” she called back at him. “It will not come down.”

“You'll get lost,” Bill called back, snapping to attention when he realized his mistake. “Wait up.” He'd just made another comment about her veela heritage without even meaning to do it. For the first time, however, and for some reason he couldn't quite place, he thought that perhaps she had a right to her indignation. He was struck by a desire to apologize, but Fleur had disappeared without bothering to answer. Ignoring the instructions emanating from his map, Bill took off down the corridor until he caught up with Fleur around the corner.

“Fleur,” he said, stopping a few feet behind her. She turned, and crossed her arms, but did not speak.

“Look,” Bill continued, not sure what it was exactly that he wanted to say, “Where’re you going, when you leave here?”

“I will be returning… to my flat in Diagon Alley,” she answered, looking a little pleased with herself.

“So, you’re staying in London? You’re not going back to France?”

“I am not returning to France,” she answered. She looked unwilling to give any more information, although her eyes seemed to be studying him intently. But when he caught her gaze, she looked away. And suddenly, it was very, very important to Bill to know where she was headed. But he was having a difficult time saying it.

“Can’t we be friends?” he asked, although, as soon as he said the words, he knew that wasn’t what he wanted. “We could have dinner this evening, to celebrate your last day.”

But Fleur only shook her magnificent head. “I would not want to injure you in any way, Mr. Weasley, with my excessive powers. It is better for your digestion to eat without me.”

And with that, she seemed to vanish.

Bill stood rooted to the spot for a few moments, wondering how in the world she’d managed to Disapparate from the depths of the Gringotts vaults. But a moment later, he caught a glimpse of golden hair disappear around a corner at the far end of the hall. For a long while he was unable to gather his thoughts, and finally, with a frustrated Damn!, he turned back down the hall to the hidden door and tried to make it show itself. It remained hidden on his first attempt, but Bill wasn't satisfied with that - this time, he would truly test her. Beginning with the simplest and working up to the most dangerous, Bill used every Breaking, Fracturing, and Splitting Charm in his arsenal. He conjured every Dividing spell he knew, and called on every destructive curse that he thought he could get away with in such a small space. He would feel better if he could only find a flaw in her work - there had to be a flaw - and he spent nearly as long trying to obliterate the charm as Fleur had spent building it up.

Nearly an hour later, the seal was still perfect. Bill gave up, panting and cursing, and this time the curses had nothing to do with magic. He stormed back to his office in a fury and, after hastily completing the day's paperwork, blew angrily out of the bank and into Diagon Alley. The sun had just set and the sky was purple - stars were beginning to appear, though very few were visible with the city lights so near - and there was a wonderful, taut November wind rushing down the narrow wizarding street. Bill barely noticed any of it. He didn't even stop for the groceries that he, Charlie and Mick desperately needed. He usually took the necessities upon himself, but he wasn't in the mood tonight. Briefly he considered stopping into the pub and taking out his anger on a pint, but Flourish and Blotts was closer, and Bill charged into the bookshop, quite on a mission. He had put this off long enough, pretending that it didn't matter, but the situation was entirely out of hand. He had never had so little ability to manage his emotions - even his actions - she was driving him out of his mind. He found the section on magical creatures and came to a halt.

Veela ~ The Definitive Guide to the Undefinable Goddess. Bill pulled it from the shelf, read the back, and began piling other books into his arms. Women with Wings (And Beaks and Claws, so Watch It) went into the stack, along with Siren or Sweetheart? A Study of the Natural Enchantress and How to Tell if You're Under Her Spell. It wasn't until he reached the counter and the salesgirl behind it gave him a funny, half-smiling look that he realized how obviously his purchases revealed his problem. Bill's face burned.

“Doing research?” the girl asked tactfully, putting all his books into a bag. “Looks interesting. That's going to be ten Galleons.”

Bill nodded. “Research,” he agreed, thankful for the excuse. And it was true, really.

“Are you a Weasley, by any chance?” the girl asked, handing him his change. “You have the same hair as Ron Weasley. And you both clear out whole sections,” she added with a grin. “He bought a copy of every single Quidditch tabloid we had, after the opening match.”

“Ron's my brother - why, do you know him?” Bill asked, taking his bag.

“Oh no, not really.” The girl blushed. “But I was at school with him, a year older, and I just heard of him, you know - everyone has - all those things he did with Harry Potter. And going about with Sirius Black. And being, you know, related to the Minister - like you are - that sort of thing - anyway, it was rather exciting to meet him...” The girl trailed off and blushed darker, as if suddenly sensible of having babbled.

Bill nearly gaped at her. He knew Ron had a girlfriend, knew he'd somehow invited Fleur on a date at one point, and knew, ultimately, that his brother was well and grown up. Still it was odd, seeing girls blush after him. His eyes darted to the salesgirl's name tag. Laurel. He'd have to remember to needle Ron about it later - he owed him at least that much of a jab. “Well, I hope he didn't clear you out entirely,” Bill said lightly, trying to be tactful for her in return. “Though you'd better stock up - if the Cannons keep winning, then he'll definitely be back for more.”

“Oh, okay,” Laurel said, looking pleased at the prospect.

Bill left the shop, forgetting Ron, feeling well and truly armed. He would figure Fleur out, with or without her help, in the way he had always figured things out in school. Thorough reading, intense study - and if that failed, he'd ask a professional.

“Long day?” Mick asked with a grin, when Bill pushed his way into the flat and dumped his cloak on the hall table.

“No longer than yours, I'm sure.” Bill glanced around the flat and raised his eyebrows. “It's clean in here,” he pointed out. “Is everything all right?”

Mick laughed and straightened the collar of his dress robes.

Bill's jaw dropped. “You're wearing dress robes,” he said.

“Charlie always said you were observant.” Mick strode across the front room to a small mirror that hung above the wireless. He ran both hands through his hair, and worked a little bit on his part.

“Why... wait, who's all this for?” Bill asked, shrewdly changing the question as he realized half the answer.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” Mick answered, turning around from the mirror and heading for the door. But he stopped in mid-stride and shook his head. “No no,” he said to himself. “Not done, you prat.” He spun round and walked out, disappearing into his bedroom.

“Try me,” Bill called after him.

“Nah,” Mick called back. “She's worried about her reputation.”

Bill snorted. “No offense, but she can't be too worried, can she?”

“What, going out with me?” Mick reappeared, smelling distinctly - but not overwhelmingly - of cologne. “She's damn well worried.” He grinned again. “Because she's damn well smart.”

Bill was intrigued, but not enough to pursue his line of questioning; Charlie had been secretive about Cho Chang, and now Mick was being secretive about whatever tart he'd lined up for the evening. It hardly mattered to Bill, who had research to do. He sat down on the sofa and pulled the most technically informational of the books from his shopping bag.

“The definitive guide to veela - what? - Weasley, you're not honestly going to sit there and read that?” Mick asked, pointing at the spine of Bill's book.

Bill glanced warily up at him. “Why?”

“Don't tell me you spent money on it - oh, blimey, Flourish and Blotts?” Mick shook his head at the shopping bag.

Bill shot him an aggravated look. “I need it,” he said shortly, and returned his attention to the table of contents.

“What for, when I know all about it?” Mick laughed. “Ask me a question about veela, and see if I can't answer better than that book.”

Bill looked back up at him, shocked at his own stupidity. He had entirely forgotten that he lived with a species specialist. “What's the difference between a full-blood veela,” he asked immediately, “and one that's one-quarter?”

Mick whistled low. “Huge, gaping, cavernous differences,” he answered cheerfully, reaching for his cloak. He threw it on and grabbed his muffler and gloves from hooks near the door.

“How huge? What differences?”

“Can't get into it now. Got to go.”

“But -”

“It's Fleur, isn't it?” Mick looked over his shoulder and gave Bill an appraising glance. “Charlie and me were wondering when it'd start getting to you. I'll tell you everything you need to know later on - read all you like, but I wouldn't waste my time. There's a game on in an hour, listen to that and forget the books.”

“You're willing enough to miss the game,” Bill grumbled. He had an opportunity to get some straight answers, and he hated waiting.

“Yeah, I'm willing,” Mick said, opening the door and letting in a blast of cold air. “But I don't have to miss it. We're trading off. I take her out, and then she takes me in.” He gave Bill a wicked look. “Come to think of it, I bet I do miss the game.” He pulled the door shut against the wind with a slam, and was gone.

~*~

Remus absently drummed his fingers on the arm of his late father's favorite chair, watching Ginny brew the Wolfsbane Potion in the study fireplace. Her hair was snapped tightly into a barrette at the back of her neck, and her sleeves had been pushed up past her elbows. She hummed to herself as she stirred, but Remus only half-listened to the tune. The Daily Prophet lay abandoned in his lap; he was now thinking about tonight, and the sort of transformation it would be. Simple. Gentle. Remus wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but Ginny seemed to make the potion better than anyone ever had. It was more than effective - it almost seemed to put him in good spirits, while the wolf inhabited his body, and he had been waking up much less exhausted after full moons. He even thought that his hair looked a little browner than usual. He certainly felt younger.

Sirius had looked younger, too, ever since Ron had begun to give the Ministry his full attention. Perhaps the Weasley presence had natural restorative effects, Remus reflected with a smile, listening to Sirius and Ron discuss law in the front room. Or perhaps it was the fact that Sirius had successfully spoken with Harry; he had come home from their walk with incredible energy, and his happiness on that subject had now lasted for nearly two weeks.

But most likely, Remus thought, it was simply becoming obvious to all of them that life was beginning again. Voldemort wasn't coming back, and though the injuries he had left were far from healed, Remus had high hopes that none of them would see another Dark Lord in their lifetime. His mind unmercifully suggested that if evil like Grindelwald and Voldemort had appeared within a space of sixty years, then the rest of them were likely to see another uprising of evil before they died, but he pushed the thought as far down as it would go.

“Next one,” Sirius said, and his voice traveled clearly into the study. “Bedimere Bradley.”

There was a rustling of papers and then Ron cleared his throat. “Right. Blackmail and money laundering - and he's also the one that tried to bribe Moody, just before he got Stunned. It says in his file that he's willing to trade information for his freedom.”

“That's not the way I work,” Sirius said grimly.

“But let's put him on trial next,” Ron suggested. “He might slip up, we might get something useful out of him - evidence against someone else.”

“True. Put him at the top of the pile. Next one.”

Remus half-smiled at the door, amazed at how much things could change in a short time. Sirius had hardly noticed that tonight would be the full moon. He hadn't hovered or worried, and the afternoon sun continued to mellow as the clock crept towards moonrise.

“Next one's Turika Hudu. Accused of harboring Death Eaters, and of providing her home as a prison for war captives.” Ron gave a loud snort of a laugh.

“What?” Sirius asked.

“She played for Africa in the World Cup, when I was a kid. Incredible Beater. Her bat probably came in handy when she was torturing people.”

“We don't know that she tortured -”

“I know.” Ron was quiet for a moment and so was Sirius. There was another loud rustling of paper. “But they're not all bad,” Ron said, after a while. “Marty Gudgeon's a real surprise - he's been a reserve Seeker for the Cannons for about seven years, and no one knew he could hit a Bludger 'til Oliver came along and stuck a bat in his hand. Harry and I had a great time watching him kick arse last night.”

“It's good that Harry went with you,” Sirius said at once. “How did he seem?”

Ginny looked up from the cauldron and turned her face to the door, and Remus watched her.

“Really good,” Ron said, sounding as if he were surprised about it. “Really good. Normal - for Harry, you know. Quiet and all, but it's like he's got his sense of humor back. He only seemed upset towards the end of the match.”

“Why?” Sirius's voice was anxious.

“Oh, it was nothing.” Ron laughed. “Just Seeker rivalry. Knight missed the Snitch twice, and Harry kept tearing at his hair. He finally left his seat, and when he came back, he had a Butterbeer Extra in each hand. I tried to grab one, but he said they were both for him, and I'd have to go and get my own.”

Ginny snickered and turned back to her cauldron, looking satisfied.

“Knight caught the Snitch in the end, of course,” Ron continued. “Bloody great Seeker. Oliver did his usual routine - tried to throw his arms around her as soon as they'd won, but she just kicked him off and told him to go to hell.” He laughed. “Saved it on my Omnioculars, if you want to see. Saved her catch, too - it was brilliant. Oliver's lucky he found someone to replace what he lost in Harry -”

“RePLACE?” Ginny yelled out so loudly that Remus jumped. She yanked her stirring rod out of the cauldron. “Replace? I hardly think so.”

“Oh, SORRY,” Ron yelled back. “Far be it from me to criticize him in front of his fan club -”

“Shut UP,” Ginny warned, pushing a stray bit of hair out of her eyes.

“Shut u-up,” Ron mocked in a high voice.

Remus laughed. He had got used to Ron and Ginny being around, behaving like siblings. It was somehow a comfort to hear their playful bickering. “Is that ready?” he asked Ginny, and pointed to the cauldron.

She nodded, and ladled a perfect serving into a goblet. It steamed and frothed as she carefully carried it to Remus's desk. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Remus took a deep breath, pinched his nose, and swallowed the dose in one gulp. It was disgusting. He fought his gag reflex, clapped the goblet onto the desk and moved his hand to his pocket for a Peppermint Imp, but Ginny was ahead of him. She held out an imp and dropped it into his palm. “Thanks again,” he said, and popped it into his mouth.

“That's you taken care of,” Ginny muttered to herself, and returned to her cauldron with a confident swirl of her work robes, to put out the fire and clean up the tools. Remus watched her work, still listening to Ron.

“And then Cole Kerry got the Quaffle and took off for the far end of the pitch - she's something else, the other teams do nothing but foul her - Burt Fuller flew straight at her, but he just pitched the ball to Newland and CLANG - another ten points! And then Oliver -”

“Ron,” Sirius impatiently cut in. “Quidditch later. We have to finish this.”

Ron heaved a sigh. “Next is Francis Coldwater.”

“Male or female?” Sirius asked, and Remus could hear the furious scratching of a quill against parchment. He shivered a little at the enhanced sound. The wolf was coming.

“Female,” Ron replied. “Geoffrey Coldwater's wife. Their files should go together, they're accused of the same thing.”

“Which is?”

“Setting curse traps. There's evidence that they set traps outside of Hogwarts, and in Hogsmeade… and around individual homes. Apparently, they targeted the homes of Muggle-borns.” Ron laughed harshly. “I take it back. Let's put them on trial next.”

“They're being so morbid out there,” Ginny said softly. She had put out the fire and was standing beside Remus, scanning the bookshelves which stood against the wall at his left.

Remus looked up at her, but her face was turned away. “Not deliberately,” he answered. “What book are you looking for?”

Ginny shrugged. “Just looking.” She kept her back to him and ran a finger across a row of spines.

“If you're that bored, you might want to get a head start on your N.E.W.T.s,” Remus advised. “Home-schooled students will still have to take them. Start studying early or you'll be in a world of trouble - just ask Sirius.”

“I'll be fine.” Ginny didn't turn around, but she dropped her hand to her side.

Remus wasn't certain, but he thought he felt something strange in the air around Ginny. He was no Healer, but his senses were heightened as moonrise approached, and he felt as if his space were being… invaded. As if someone were tampering with his energy. He frowned at Ginny's back.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

Ginny didn't answer.

Remus scanned her posture, and his eyes came to rest on her hands; they were turned towards him, palms facing his chair. “Ginny? What is it?”

“Looking for a book,” she attempted, but she moved her hands a little, and Remus felt a definite charge in the air between them.

“Stop it,” he ordered. “Turn your hands around, Ginny. You're not practicing on me.”

Ginny turned around and met his gaze, making no attempt to deny what she was doing. “Please?” she asked. “I need to work on someone, and -”

“No. Absolutely not. You'll hurt yourself.” Remus shook his head. “You're still working on animals,” he reminded her. “You promised not to rush -”

“Please.” Ginny held out her hands in appeal. “You have to let me practice. I have to build up a tolerance or I'll never...” She colored, but didn't look away. “It's not fair,” she added quietly. “You know it's not.”

Remus knew. It wasn't fair that she was barred from the person she cared for most. It wasn't fair that she had been gifted and burdened with a talent she could not control. But there was nothing to be done about it. “Practicing on me isn't going to help you,” he answered truthfully. “I've got - issues. And I don't say that lightly.”

Ginny looked gravely at his face. “I know that, but -”

“No, listen.” Remus laughed a little. “You don't know. You would certainly injure yourself, on my… energies.”

“What, because it's a full moon? Too much wolf to get past?” She smiled a little, and Remus smiled back. She had been making the potion for so long now that he didn't mind her questions about the werewolf.

“No,” he answered. “Under any circumstances, I would be difficult to work on. You'll have to wait. And don't even think of trying to work on Sirius. It would kill you.”

Ginny made an impatient, whining noise. “What am I supposed to do?” she pleaded, and Remus knew that she was thinking of Harry. “I can't even stand near him,” she said hotly. “He can't even come over - it's ridiculous.” She marched over to her cauldron, snatching up her tools and wrapping them haphazardly in their various soft cloths. “I can't get next to him,” she muttered, obviously too worked up to be embarrassed about what she was saying. “You just don't know what that's like.”

Remus cocked an eyebrow, wondering how old he must look to her. “Don't I?”

“If you did,” Ginny returned, cleaning her cauldron with a snap of her wand and yanking it out of the fireplace, “then you'd let me practice.” She put her tools into the cauldron and gave Remus a meaningful look. “I'm ready to practice. I have to. I wanted to clear it with you, but if you're going to hold me back, then -”

“Ginny.” Remus looked steadily at her, and the wind seemed to go out of her sails.

“What?” she sighed.

“Do you honestly think I'm trying to hold you back?”

She looked at the floor. “No.”

“I understand what you're feeling,” he told her, and he couldn't help a smile when she looked skeptically up at him. “I do,” he repeated. “But the fact remains that if you open yourself up to me, or to Sirius, then you'll get badly hurt.” Remus paused, and carefully considered his next words. “We're off limits. And so is Harry.”

Ginny's eyes clouded for a moment, and then realization dawned in them. “Are you saying…” she began slowly, “…that I can work with someone else, if I want to?”

Remus narrowed his eyes at her. “Someone very simple, Ginny - someone with little depth. No real complexity of nature - perhaps a child, or a childish person -”

Ginny was ahead of him again. “RON!” she yelled. “RON! I have to talk to you!”

“No, not Ron,” Remus whispered. “I was thinking that you might want to work with your new nephew, or -”

“You said someone childish and simple,” Ginny replied quickly, her eyes alight with excitement. “That's Ron. And I've so wanted to tell him that I'm a Healer - I just didn't want to say anything before I could really do something. RON!”

“I'M WORKING,” he shouted back. “No respect for my professional life,” he muttered to Sirius.

“Actually, we're finished for now.” Sirius sounded amused. “Go and see what your sister wants. I'll see you at the office in the morning.”

There was a long silence, an enormous shuffling of paper, and then the sound of heavy, reluctant footsteps. Ron appeared in the doorway of the study, looking put-upon.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04