The Lewis House 1 страница

Harry woke with a blinding headache. It gave him a second of panic; the harsh throbbing in his forehead was so reminiscent of his scar. But for once it had nothing to do with his scar, he remembered with a groan. It had to do with whatever Goldie had given them to drink at the pub last night.

"Blimey." Apparently Ron was awake as well, and groaned much as Harry had just done. "Bloody hell... not a great idea. Fun, though, wasn’t it?" Ron let out a monstrous yawn. "You awake, Harry?"

"Yeah -" Harry winced at the sound of his own voice in his head. It was far too loud. "I’m never doing that again."

"Yeah, right."

"I mean it," Harry mumbled, giving a wide yawn of his own. "I’ll never keep up with Oliver, if I do."

"Oliver what - Wood?"

Harry nodded, and immediately wished he hadn’t. It hurt to move his head. "I’m glad the Quidditch tryouts haven’t started yet," he muttered, more to himself than to Ron. "Oliver would’ve had me out of bed and flying two hours ago, no matter what kind of pain I was in. He’s insane."

He heard Ron’s bedsprings bounce, followed by the thud of his friend’s feet hitting the floor. A moment later, Ron was leaning over him, freckled and grinning.

"Are you saying you’re definitely going to go out for the Cannons?"

Harry blinked. He hadn’t realized it, but somewhere during the course of the previous evening, he must have come to a decision.

"Yeah..." he replied slowly, feeling himself smile a bit. "I guess I am."

Ron whooped. Harry put his hands to his head and tried to block out the noise of Ron, dressing in a fury.

"Come on, Harry, get up - that’s great news. I’m really glad you’re going to try for it; Hermione’ll want to know and Sirius too - let’s go downstairs."

"My head," was Harry’s vague answer.

"Oh, stop blubbering and get up. We’ll have a coffee and it’ll be fine. Then we can go outside and you can practice for tryouts by showing me those moves you promised."

Ten minutes later, still wincing painfully, Harry managed to follow Ron down to the dining room with his broomstick gripped in his hand. Morning light was very bright in the front window. The glare made Harry’s headache worse than it had been already, though he hardly knew how that was possible. When the sun disappeared behind clouds a moment later, the shadow it left was much more tolerable, and Harry could actually make out the other occupant of the room.

Remus was already sitting at the table, sipping tea and reading the Daily Prophet. He looked up at the two of them, and though his eyes were tired, he was obviously amused. "Late night?" he asked.

Ron dropped with exaggerated weariness into a chair. "Very. You were right about that pub, though - Goldie’s a load of fun. Gave us a welcome-to-town drink, on the house."

"Only just the one?" Remus mused, lifting an eyebrow. "Are you sure it was Goldie?"

Harry leaned his broom on the wall and dropped into a seat at the end of the table. "It was him," he answered shortly.

"Yeah, he handed us the bottle and let us go," Ron said, sounding satisfied with himself. "We must've had four or five shots apiece."

Remus chuckled. "Which was it, Harry? Four or five?"

Harry shrugged, feeling a bit sheepish, and rubbed his head. His memories of the previous night seemed to be part-real, part-dream, and he found that it was difficult to sort them properly. The sound of laughter from beyond the kitchen door made his temples throb, and the smell of breakfast wafting towards the table made him nauseous. He wondered if eating would make him feel better or worse.

"Who’s cooking?" Ron asked, lifting his nose into the air.

"Ginny," replied Remus, returning to his paper.

"Oh, good," Ron rejoined - too loudly. Harry looked askance at him as he continued to half-holler toward the kitchen door. "I was worried it might be Hermione, giving that cooking spellbook another try."

Hermione appeared in the door as if on cue, balancing a stack of plates in the air with her wand. She regarded Ron with her chin in the air, even though a smile tugged at her lips. "Why would I cook anything for you?'' she asked tartly, then flashed a grin at Harry. "Morning!" she said, in an unusually singsong voice. She landed the settings safely on the table and turned away to the kitchen. "Anyway Ron, you might try and be a bit nicer; I was just out here telling Remus that you have some really good news. Although I imagine you may have forgotten it entirely by now. The two of you look a terrible wreck."

The door shut behind her and Ron watched it, a grin lighting up his face. "Well, I do have a bit of news, at that."

Harry, who had been distributing plates and forks with his wand during this exchange, now looked at Ron with interest. "What news?" he asked.

"What news?" Ron repeated, looking at Harry in disbelief.

"Yeah."

"You really don’t remember?"

Harry searched his brain, but drew a blank. "I... bet I would, if you told me."

Ron laughed. "You should have seen him last night," he told Remus, who was laughing as well. "I’m not surprised you can’t remember anything, Harry - you were in a state."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, feeling vaguely wary. He had a sudden vision of himself drooling stupidly down the bar. "What did I do?"

"Oh, just fell down a bit, talked loudly, laughed yourself sick. It was great."

Harry felt irritated at this description. "Glad I was entertaining," he said curtly. "Well, what’s your news, come on."

Ron gave a nod, and turned to Remus. "Goldie gave me a job bartending down at the pub - I start at seven tonight."

"Yeah – I knew that," said Harry at once, suddenly remembering at least that much of the evening. Ron had landed a job. Harry felt his earlier irritation disappear and he smiled at his friend’s good luck.

"Excellent, Ron!" was Remus’s reply.

"Ron, that's so great!" Ginny was in the door. She and Hermione carried breakfast to the table and sat down. "Does this mean I get free butterbeer whenever I want?" Ginny shot Harry a grin.

But he couldn’t smile back. The sight of Ginny brought the previous evening into sharp and unwelcome focus. Harry had a strong memory of her having been there at some point, though he couldn’t remember speaking to her at all. In fact - his stomach writhed slightly - if he was remembering things correctly, then he’d stood there and stared her down, for quite some time. Something about her hair...

Ginny didn’t seem to remember it, or if she did, she wasn’t allowing it to affect her. But Harry saw that her hair looked as though it had been done up for a party, then slept upon directly. It was piled up high on the back of her head, and tendrils were coming loose all over. That, coupled with the fact that she was still in her dressing gown, made her a very endearing picture at the moment.

"I dunno, Gin." Ron shook his head, with an air that reminded Harry distinctly of Percy. "I shouldn't give stuff away while I'm working."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Bighead Boy," she muttered under her breath. Harry snorted and tried to catch her eye to share the joke. But she had fallen to looking a bit wistfully at her plate, and he knew that she must be thinking of Percy, too. Harry kicked her foot lightly under the table to catch her attention and, when he had it, he grinned and shot a deliberate, sideways look at Ron.

But instead of playing back, Ginny looked up at Harry with such unconcealed surprise that he faltered. He realized that it had been a long time since he had openly joked with her, and he felt himself begin to blush. Just before he felt truly awkward, however, she kicked him back under the table and shot a grin at Ron as well.

Apparently, Ron had witnessed none of this exchange. He gave a satisfied sigh. "So then, that’s me taken care of for awhile. And now that we're all together, Harry here -" Ron clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder as if preparing him for some momentous event - "has some news for everyone as well. Some unbelievable news." Ron turned to Harry expectantly, a gleam in his eyes.

"Really?" Hermione asked, frowning first at Ron and then at him, as if a bit put out that she wasn't in on the secret. "What is it, Harry?

Ginny leaned forward, chin propped on her hands. "Have you got a job as well?" she demanded.

For a moment, Harry had no idea what any of them were talking about - and then it hit him. The Cannons. He was going to go out for a professional Quidditch team. He grinned at the thought, surprised by how excited he was to tell everyone about his decision, and looked from Ginny’s expectant face to Hermione’s curious frown, enjoying their anticipation.

"Out with it, Harry," Remus finally said.

Harry turned to face him, drew a breath to say it - and stopped. One seat at the table was still empty, and he felt a pang of unmistakable disappointment. "Where’s Sirius?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"He's working," Remus answered, his tone controlled.

"With Dad?" Ginny asked at once. "Have they gone back out to Azkaban?" She sounded as worried as Remus looked.

"No, no. Today he's gone to Wales. He thinks he's found a possible location for a new wizard prison."

Ginny frowned. "But they don't even know how they're going to contain the prisoners, so what’s the point of that?"

"Excellent question. I suggest you ask Sirius," Remus replied dryly, then shook his head and returned his attention to Harry. "You’ll have to tell your news twice, if you don’t mind, because now I’m rather curious." He smiled.

Harry shrugged. "It’s fine," he said, though he felt slightly less enthusiastic about telling the news without his godfather present. "It’s really not a big deal. I just thought I might go out for the Chudley Cannons, that’s all."

"Oh, Harry – really?" Ginny gasped.

"Harry, that’s wonderful!" Hermione cried.

"NOT A BIG DEAL?!" Ron bellowed. "IT’S THE CANNONS!"

Harry cringed as pain shot through his head, directly behind his eyes. Hermione covered her ears. "Honestly, Ron. We are not deaf." But she was beaming at Harry and so was Ginny – both were very clearly pleased about his decision.

Remus, however, looked unruffled by the news. "An admirable plan. But I have to say, Harry, it’s not quite news to me – I had a warning on this."

Harry looked at him in surprise. "How’s that?"

Remus lifted the newspaper a fraction. "Eloise Midgen’s report on you mentioned something about it being a ‘possibility’."

"That’s out?" Ginny asked at once. "Can we read it, please?" She held out her hand, and Remus handed her the paper. She skimmed the article quickly, with Hermione leaning over her shoulder, then blew out a breath of relief and smiled at Harry.

"It’s all right, then?" he asked warily.

"It’s fine. It says that you’re doing well and enjoying your summer, living with friends and godfather, thinking about what you’d like to do with your life – and then it uses all the things Ron said, to tidy it up. It’s really the best article about you I’ve ever seen. At least it’s true." She looked down at the paper again. "Colin’s such a good photographer," she mused, and Harry watched her, feeling a blush creep back into his face as Ginny studied his image in the paper. She tucked a curl of red hair behind her ear and bit her lip – then seemed to realize all at once whose picture she was staring at. She folded the paper hastily, handing it across to Ron as quickly as she could, accidentally catching Harry’s eyes in the process. For a split-second they looked at each other, and then Ginny looked away, quite pink. Harry hadn’t seen her flustered like this in a long time and it was somehow reassuring. He watched her for another moment as she busied herself with folding her napkin unnecessarily, and wondered what she would do if he touched her foot again, under the table.

Ron slapped the newspaper open. Startled, Harry blinked at the noise, then craned his neck over Ron’s shoulder to see just what Ginny had been looking at. Colin’s picture was indeed very good – a black and white image of himself, smiling slightly. Every so often, his photo-self would run a hand through his hair, tossing it up off his forehead. He’d never thought of himself as a handsome person because it hadn’t crossed his mind much. He’d always been a bit skinny and untidy, really. But according to this photograph, Harry reflected, he wasn’t so bad. He looked older than he was accustomed to thinking of himself, and even his expression surprised him – the smile in the photo was pensive and guarded. He hadn’t realized that everything showed up so easily on his face.

"So when are the tryouts, Harry?"

Hermione’s voice brought him back to the table. He shrugged. "Soon, I expect. I think there was something in the paper about it yesterday."

Ron flipped it to the sports section. He read aloud. "Oliver Wood, previously Keeper for the Puddlemere Reserve team and newly-named Captain of the Chudley Cannons, has announced that trials for his team will begin on Monday, July the twenty-seventh. ‘Of course I realize this is a month earlier than most teams plan to begin," says Wood, "but most teams won’t be winning the League Championship, now, will they?’"

Harry laughed out loud, and so did the rest of them. "Wood’s still out of his mind – I’m going to get run into the ground."

"Well, good," said Hermione seriously, turning to him. "I’m really very glad you’re going to do this, Harry. You need it," she added, looking a bit as though she expected him to yell at her for saying so. When he smiled instead, she looked extremely relieved.

Ginny propped her chin on her hands again. "Oh, I don’t know about that," she said airily. "Harry, I don’t think you need to go out for the Cannons – why not wait for a decent team and then try out?" she asked, too innocently.

Harry had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from spitting out his tea at the look on Ron’s face.

"Take it back," Ron said warningly.

"Name me a game they’ve won and I will," Ginny retorted.

"Planning to practice a bit today, Harry?" Remus interjected smoothly, glancing at the Firebolt against the wall.

"That’s right," Ron said, still glaring at Ginny as he got to his feet. "And they’ve won games, you know. They just haven’t won the league in awhile."

"True," Ginny replied easily. "A hundred and six years definitely qualifies as awhile."

"You little –" Ron began.

"We’re off," said Harry, hastily, cutting off the conversation so that he wouldn’t feel obliged to take Ginny’s side of it. She was right, after all. "We’re going to that low field for a bit of flying."

"Not yet, you’re not," Ginny said, smiling up at her brother with the air of one who was enjoying inflicting torture. "You’re washing up – we cooked. That’s always the rule."

Ron scowled. "Ginny, first off, you know nothing about Quidditch. Second, you’re not Mum, and if you think you can set chores on us –"

"We’ll do it," interrupted Harry once more, more interested in getting it done so that they could go out flying, than in having an argument they were sure to lose. He started stacking plates in the air and sending them into the kitchen.

"Thanks, Harry." Ginny stood up and went past him, pausing to lightly touch his arm. "Have a nice practice."

Not meaning to do it, Harry reached up to cover her hand with his own briefly and said, "I will. Thanks for breakfast."

Ginny withdrew her hand after a short pause and went out of the kitchen, leaving Harry quite startled. His heart began to race. How was it that she could affect him so much with such a small gesture? And why did Ron and Hermione have to give each other a look about it? Not that they were the only ones who had noticed – Remus caught Harry’s eyes for a moment before shifting his gaze back again to his tea.

Avoiding looking at everyone, Harry got up from the table and went to the kitchen, determined to get the washing finished and get outside. Ron’s assistance made it a quick job, and before he knew it they were in the road, broomsticks in hand. Harry’s headache had almost evaporated, even as he squinted in the sunlight. He and Ron walked away from Lupin Lodge and were passing the large house on the opposite side of the road, when Ron stopped abruptly.

"Absolutely not."

Harry turned at once – the tone in Ron’s voice was unexpectedly furious and his friend’s face was taut with anger.

"What is it?" he asked hurriedly.

"Look up there, look, quick –" Ron pointed to the third floor balcony on which Harry had seen the man sunning, a few days before. There was no one on it.

"No one’s there," he began, but Ron cut him off.

"Through that glass door on the deck. I swear I thought I saw..."

Harry strained his eyes through the glass, but the house was set far back on an impressive lawn and there was a sharp glare on all its windows. It was difficult to make anything out.

"Still not seeing anything – who was it?"

"Malfoy." Ron gave a snort of disgust.

"Malfoy?" Harry repeated in disbelief, feeling his heart sink. He couldn’t think of anything more unwanted than having Draco Malfoy cut into the first peaceful summer of his life. "Are you sure?"

But Ron shook his head at once, and resumed walking. "Nah – it couldn’t have been him – I know he lives off in that manor of his." He ran a hand through his hair, roughly. "But I’m telling you - it really looked like that bastard, for a second. I must be going batty."

Harry considered a moment, then said, "I saw a man on that deck the other day. It might’ve been him that you just saw – he had blond hair."

"Maybe that’s all it was, then." Ron smacked his fist into his hand and exhaled. "I must have Malfoy on the brain, disgusting as that is. Maybe I just want to run into him, or something."

"What?" Harry asked, taken aback. "Why?"

Ron looked suddenly murderous. "There are a few things that never got quite taken care of," he muttered. "That bloody son of a bitch. I’ll never forgive him for siccing his dad on Hermione’s parents like that. Not much I could do about it while we were in school, but I’ll tell you if he ever –"

"Ron." Harry felt sick to his stomach and it had nothing to do with his hangover. His voice was very low. "Cut it out."

Ron looked at him, quickly snapping out of his rant, and he shook his head – perhaps in silent apology for having brought any of it up. The two of them walked along quietly after that and didn’t speak again until they were up in the air, tossing small rocks past each other in lieu of Golden Snitches, and hollering as they dove to catch them.

* * *

Bill regarded his father in frustration. He’d come to troubleshoot with Arthur at the Ministry after another long and incredibly tedious day at Gringotts, during which his wand had been weighed twice and he’d been half-stripped once, for purposes of identification. The London Gringotts guards were no longer taking chances – even now that the Death Eaters had been defeated, high security was still in full effect. And since not all of the goblins in the London branch were accustomed to Bill’s presence, they stopped him at every turn. He wondered if it had something to do with his hair – he knew he stuck out a mile. After just a few weeks back at work, he was already sick of protesting that he was a legitimate employee – that he was from the Egyptian branch – that if they’d just check his papers... Bill sighed. He couldn’t think of a worse way to end a workday than by having his birthmark verified by very unceremonious goblins.

And it didn’t help that he wasn’t getting anything accomplished now. It felt that he was prolonging the day to no real purpose – they were no closer to a solution for keeping the Dementors at Azkaban than they had been at first. Arthur had now been sitting with his balding head gripped in his hands for ten minutes, glaring at his desk and muttering somewhat nonsensically.

"Blaming me for this... as if I’m the one who set the Dementors out there in the first place... starting to feel for Fudge, I really am... best way to do it really would be to get rid of the Dementors altogether... especially if we could get that Imprisonment Charm together – then we wouldn’t need another guard system... no way to kill those creatures, though..."

"That we know of," Bill interjected. "They’re not Immortals."

Arthur raised his weary head and gave a half-smile. "Then why do they live forever? Just because they’re not categorized in a certain way doesn’t mean we can really kill them. They’re resistant to everything, including Avada Kedavra. They’re like walking death themselves."

"There’s got to be a way to get rid of them," Bill urged. "I’ll keep working on it."

Arthur nodded, and sat up straight. "Until then, the thing to do is find another way to keep them at Azkaban. I just can’t ask Moody and the rest to stay out there any longer. It’s ludicrous, asking them to perform Patronus Charms twenty-four hours a day. Ludicrous. Not to mention that there’s no guarantee they can’t escape – we lost one once, didn’t we?"

Bill felt his stomach lurch slightly. "Not your fault, Dad."

"Then whose?" Arthur asked flatly. "It’s just too damned difficult to keep count of them; they keep back in the shadows and blend together. Good thing Moody’s got a sixth sense on him when it comes to Dark creatures –" Arthur was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. "Come in," he called.

Mundungus Fletcher, whom Bill knew to have been heading up the M.L.E.S. since the end of the war, stuck his head around the door and addressed Arthur.

"Another one of these kids," he said, shaking his head. "Young girl. Pretty little thing. What do you want me to do?"

Arthur sighed. "St. Mungo’s Children’s Home," he replied wearily, sounding as though that answer cost him something. "It’s the only place right now, and at least it’s got beds and baths and food for them, until we have time to investigate missing persons and locate the parents."

Behind his beard, Fletcher’s face was a deep-set frown. "Y’know that they’re probably all dead or Death Eaters, Arthur."

"Maybe not all. We’ll take the time to check when we have the manpower."

Fletcher looked as though he would have liked to reply, but held his tongue and nodded. "Right. I’ll draw up some papers for her, if she’ll sit still long enough. Every time I open the door she tries to bolt." He shook his head once more, pulled it back around the door, and shut it behind him.

"Dad?" Bill looked at his father for a better explanation of what had just transpired.

"Orphans. Seems to be a gang of them hiding down Knockurn Alley. More keep turning up. Some because their parents were murdered. Some probably are children of the Death Eaters we have in custody." Arthur looked wearier than Bill had seen him since Percy’s funeral, though he slapped one hand determinedly on his desk. "One thing at a time. There’s an idea Charlie said he wanted to discuss with me about the Dementors. Who knows, maybe he’s got something."

"When’s he supposed to be here?"

"Half-an-hour ago."

Bill rolled his eyes. Of course. Charlie was notoriously late for everything. "Nice of him to keep his appointments with the Minister."

Arthur laughed, a little. "Now, don’t get –"

"Big ideas. I know, Dad." Bill grinned. "I guess it’s just throwing me off, how everybody keeps coming to you for permission to do everything. I keep thinking it means you’re in charge around here."

There was a small ‘pop’ behind him, and Charlie’s voice came over his shoulder.

"Damn, Dad – that’s one gymnasium you Ministry types have got for yourselves. I’ll have to watch it or I’ll get spoiled. ‘Course it’s not as fun as riding dragons."

Charlie had Apparated, Bill noted with amusement, straight from the locker room showers. His brother had obviously spent the day hard at play and now he stood in the office of the Minister of Magic with his knapsack over his shoulder and a towel around his waist, his red hair sopping wet. He wore nothing else, save the High-Security Apparition Admissions badge that hung around his neck, and the red and gold scaled dragon tattoo that climbed his right side.

"Charlie," began Arthur dubiously, his eyebrows raised high.

Charlie looked around, then down at himself. He shrugged. "What? I was running late." He stretched from side to side, making the dragon tattoo breathe magic fire across his chest as his muscles flexed, then stuck his wand sideways in his mouth and bent down to grab his robes. "S’riously, Dad," he muttered through the wand, "you should take ‘dvant’ge of that stuff down there. ‘S’great."

Arthur exchanged a look with Bill as Charlie pulled his robes over his head right there in the middle of the office.

"Too much time in the company of wild animals," their father muttered across the desk. Bill chuckled. Charlie was certainly the least tame among them, and in a family that wasn’t exactly low-key to begin with, that was saying something.

"What’s that?" Charlie asked good-naturedly, settling himself next to Bill with a satisfied exhale. "Right. Ready for a meeting."

"So glad you could join us," Bill remarked.

"What’s this plan, then, Charlie?" Arthur leaned forward on his desk attentively and Bill watched his father’s face with some concern. All the Ministry’s current struggles were really wearing on Arthur Weasley – but this one was particularly crucial and Bill knew that his father was taking personal responsibility for seeing that that Azkaban was set to rights.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04