The Lewis House 6 страница

"Are you all right, Ginny?" Remus asked, his voice low.

Ginny nodded, feeling strangely dizzy and wondering if she was very pale. Harry was walking away from Draco as though he didn’t exist and coming toward her, but for some odd reason she could only watch Draco. He still hadn’t raised his wand – not even when Harry had turned his back – and there was something so strangely lonely about his face that Ginny’s heart went out to it instinctively. She gripped Remus’s arm tighter, not sure what to make of her unwelcome feelings.

"What’s wrong?" Harry had come quite close. "You look sick."

Ginny didn’t answer. She felt sick. She was watching Draco turn around and go silently back across the street, up the great lawn of the Lewis Manor. She watched him until he’d disappeared inside, then shook her head, trying to clear it. What was wrong with her today? She looked at Harry, whose green eyes were fixed worriedly on her face.

"I’m okay," she heard herself say. Slowly, she made herself let go of Remus’s arm. "What happened at the exam?"

Harry didn’t look convinced. "We all passed," he said shortly. "Are you sure you don’t need to come in and lie down?"

Ginny felt herself blush. Harry had been so much friendlier to her in the past several days that it was really astounding. "I’m really fine, Harry," she assured him quietly.

"I’m glad to hear that you all passed your tests," Remus said carefully, after a moment. "But I’d like to know what just happened here, with Draco." He paused. "Or should I be asking Ron?"

Harry sighed, and met Remus’s gaze. He looked terribly tired, all of a sudden. "He and Ron must have taken their tests at the same time. I don’t really know. I Apparated back into the D.A.L. and they were already..." he trailed off, looking as if he didn’t want to rat Ron out, even if it was just to explain the situation to Remus.

Ginny nodded, and spared him having to finish. "Malfoy said something nasty, and Ron went at him," she said, as sure of her answer as if she’d been there to see the scene herself.

Harry nodded in confirmation.

Ginny turned to Remus. "Ron thinks it’s Malfoy’s fault that the Death Eaters went after Hermione’s parents," she explained.

Harry looked at Ginny seriously. "Yeah. And Malfoy thinks it’s your dad’s fault that his father is dead."

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up. "Did he say that?"

"Pretty loudly."

Ginny looked to Remus, who was standing and absorbing the information, looking even wearier than Harry. "Well, that’s all to be expected, I suppose, though it’s too bad that any of you have to deal with it just now. Perhaps I should try to have a talk with Ron –"

Harry held up a hand. "I wouldn’t right now," he advised, looking toward the door of Lupin Lodge as if he had no desire at all to go inside. "They‘ll be fighting in there."

"Well don’t go in, then," Ginny said quickly. "Leave them to it and come with us. We’re going to get a few things in the village, for the garden."

"They’ll kill each other," Harry protested, still watching the door dubiously.

"Good, let them." Ginny urged. "Spares us the trouble."

Remus laughed. "Funny," he said absently, grinning into space. "But Lily used to say those words exactly, whenever Sirius and I –" but here he stopped, and looked at Harry as if to gain permission to continue.

"Go on," Harry said swiftly.

Ginny looked at him. Harry seemed to have forgotten Ron and Hermione – and even the confrontation with Draco. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, his focus now totally on whatever Remus had been about to say.

Remus nodded. "Well... why don’t you come with us, then, Harry. I’ll tell you how your father used to try to smooth out minor disagreements between Sirius and myself."

They started walking down the road, towards where Malfoy had been standing moments earlier, and Remus continued, "Let’s just say that Sirius was not always the well-balanced, even-tempered adult that you’ve grown used to." Harry raised an eyebrow, Remus shot Ginny an amused glance, and she smiled back at him. She knew that this was his way of answering her earlier question. He hadn’t forgotten.

"James and Sirius were, of course, as close as brothers, and often thought with one brain, although your father was a bit more cautious than Sirius - not by much, but a enough to prevent them from causing serious damage most of the time." Remus stopped and laughed, slightly. "That's serious with an e."

Ginny and Harry grinned at each other, and Remus continued. "In school, I usually joined in, of course, generally after I’d given them several disapproving glances and warnings. And even when I didn’t participate in their latest prank, it was always amusing to watch."

"Sounds familiar," said Harry, shrugging his robe off of one shoulder as they walked, revealing a T-shirt underneath. The sun was quite warm, although Ginny wasn’t sure if the warmth on the back of her neck was from the sun or from something else.

"Yes," answered Remus. "Well, all that was fine until your parents got married, Harry. Sirius and I were left sharing a flat alone, and James was no longer constantly around to maintain an even atmosphere. We had some rows - both of us kept expecting to have James walk in any minute and break it up, but he didn’t, and I think both of us were rather shocked in the beginning."

Harry craned his neck to peer backward down the road towards Lupin Lodge. "You don’t think I should go back and see...."

"No," Ginny said firmly, grabbing the robes slung over his arm and pulling him along. Harry resisted for a moment; Ginny turned back and pulled harder. After a moment, he laughed.

"All right. This is more interesting anyway," he conceded, and gave Remus his attention once more.

Ginny wanted to smile - Harry had given in to her, after all. But the Lewis Manor had caught her eye the moment she'd turned back, and now her mind had returned to its previous, unsettled state. Her memories of the war were so clear -too clear. And why had Remus looked at her so strangely when she'd given him back those seeds? It was all so odd.

However hard she tried to concentrate on Harry and the things he was learning about his parents, Ginny found herself walking alongside Remus with a mind far more confused than attentive. Maybe she just wasn't feeling well. Too many hours out in the sun today. Ginny shook her head, glanced from Remus to Harry, and worked to forget her uneasiness as the three of them continued into the village together.

~*~

Hermione was not surprised when Ron headed directly through the house and toward the back garden. She knew that he found it difficult to contain himself indoors when he was angry; he banged his way through the front room, cursed loudly all the way down the corridor and slammed open the back door without much regard for the hinges. Hermione followed more quietly, doing her best to sort out her thoughts, which were spinning even more quickly than usual. Watching Ron a moment ago, she’d seen something terribly frightening happen in his face. He’d looked as if he wanted to kill Malfoy. Really kill him.

"Ron, stop, I can’t keep up," she panted, pushing through the hedge at the end of the planted garden and running to catch up with Ron, who had nearly reached the forest. He stopped at her request, however, and turned to wait for her, a dark look on his face. Hermione caught up, and worked to catch her breath, unsure of what she wanted to say to him about what had happened at the D.A.L.

"He needs to go the hell home," Ron said abruptly, his eyes fierce. "And I don’t need a lecture from you right now."

Hermione felt irritation rise up instantly in her blood. She hadn’t intended to fight, but Ron always knew exactly what to say to get her started. "I just came out here to talk to you, Ron."

"Right. I know that look."

"What look?"

"That one." Ron pointed to her face. "The one you get when you’re about to tell me off."

Hermione opened her mouth to do just that, but Ron shook his head and cut her off.

"I didn’t do anything to him, did I? And I don’t want to talk about him now. I just want him to leave."

"But if he stays, you’re going to threaten him in the middle of the street every time he does something you don’t like?" Hermione snapped. "He hasn’t provoked us; he hasn’t tried to interfere at all in our summer until today, and then only because we were forced into using the same exam center. He probably doesn’t want to be here any more than you want him here!"

Ron eyed her silently for a moment. "Nice of you to stand up for Malfoy," he said finally, then pivoted and began to stride away, nearly twice as fast as he had been going previously.

"That is RIDICULOUS!" Hermione yelled, lunging after him and grabbing him by the wrist. "That doesn’t even make sense and you know it! Stay here and talk to me!"

Ron turned sharply and yanked his hand out of her grip. "You want me to let Malfoy make ugly comments about you, is that it?" he said heatedly. "You think he should be allowed to keep that Death Eater attitude after everything we fought for? No!"

"There’s nothing you can do about his attitude!"

Ron put a hand to his wand. "Oh yes there is."

Hermione shuddered involuntarily. "You don’t mean that. Stop it. Stop acting like you want to hurt him."

"I do want to hurt him."

"No," Hermione said quickly, choosing to ignore the fact that Ron was clearly telling the truth. "No you don’t. It’s a word, Ron. Mudblood is just a word. It’s not worth fighting over."

"Then what was that war about, Hermione?" Ron hollered, slamming his fist into his palm. "I’m not letting him get away with it."

"So you’re going to curse him, next time he calls me a name? Is that what you’re telling me?"

"I’m saying he’d deserve it if I did!"

"You’d be put in prison if you did."

Ron didn’t reply. He looked very much as if he would have liked to hit something. Instead, he bent down suddenly, picked up a rock, and hurled it into the forest with incredible force. Hermione watched him, wondering what to make of it. She often didn’t know what to make of Ron’s temper; it wasn’t entirely under his control and though she hated to admit it, it sometimes frightened her a little.

After a long, silent moment, Ron dropped down to sit in the grass, and ran a hand through his hair. "I told you I didn’t want to talk about this," he said.

Hermione knelt down beside him and sat on her heels. "But I want to."

Ron looked at her. "Really? I hadn’t noticed."

"You’re scaring me," she continued, choosing to ignore his sarcasm, "I don’t want Malfoy here, either. But there’s nothing we can do about it and when you had your wand on him in the street like that, I thought for a second…" Hermione trailed off and clasped her hands in her lap. "I mean, I know you wouldn’t really kill anybody -"

"I would."

Ron said it so firmly and so unhesitatingly that Hermione flinched.

"Please don’t ever say that," she whispered, feeling her heart beat faster. She loved Ron, there was no way not to love him, but it made her sick to think that he could want to hurt someone that badly.

"But it’s the truth," he answered. "I would. I’d kill anything that tried to hurt you."

The sick feeling in Hermione’s stomach disappeared and was replaced with the familiar rush of heat that only Ron could bring on. He had always been so passionate about defending her; she’d lost track of the number of times that she and Harry had had to hold Ron back by his robes because Malfoy had said something particularly nasty to her. And every time he’d gone to battle for her, she had only learned to love him more. His protective instinct toward her had always made her feel safe and special - even before she had understood the reasons for her feelings.

Without a word, she reached for one of Ron’s big hands, which was resting on his knee, and slipped her hand into it. His fingers tightened immediately around hers.

"I don’t mean to scare you," he mumbled, after a moment.

She nodded.

"Ginny told me you cried, the day you saw Malfoy," Ron continued. "She told me you were worried I’d hurt him and get carted off to Azkaban."

"Culparrat," Hermione corrected unthinkingly. "Not Azkaban anymore - and Ginny wasn’t supposed to tell you any of that!"

Ron shrugged. "Yeah, that's what she said. I'm glad she did, though. Did you really say..." Ron stopped, and the ear that Hermione could see turned a definite shade of pink.

"Did I really say what?" she prodded.

"That, er... that you could stand anything but me getting taken away?" Ron blushed entirely now, and Hermione smiled. She reached up and gently kissed his very red ear.

"Yes. And I meant it."

Ron squeezed her hand, then let it go and put his arm around her. "Well it's not like I want to get put away," he said, and laughed. "I’ll ignore Malfoy if I have to. I don't want us separated, either."

He leaned his head against hers, and Hermione thought guiltily of her intention to leave England to seek out the Thinker. She pushed the thought away. That was entirely different than being arrested for an Unforgivable Curse. "Just promise me that you won't fight with Malfoy again," she asked.

Ron groaned. "Hermione, I just said -"

"Just please. Promise me."

Hermione felt Ron’s ribs rise and fall as gave an inaudible sigh beside her. "Fine," he agreed quietly. "I’ll promise. Even though he makes me want to -"

"I know."

Ron turned and looked at her, and she felt a thrill run through her at the intensity of his expression. She shut her eyes, knowing that he would kiss her, and a moment later she felt his mouth cover hers.

"So we can Apparate," he murmured, several minutes later.

"I know. I was so nervous, I thought I’d fail."

Ron laughed. "No comment."

"Oh, shut up." She kissed him. "I was thinking I ought to visit my parents, now that we have our licenses. Can we go on Monday?"

"Fine with me. I‘ll tell Goldie I need Monday off - can I tell him why, if he asks?"

"Yes, all right. And, Ron? Have you ever heard of Thinkers?" The abruptness of her own question startled Hermione. She hadn’t realized she wanted to ask him the question until the words were out, and once they were out, she wished she could put them back in.

Ron looked at her curiously, clearly intrigued by this sudden change of conversation. "Sure. Harnessing magic and all that. There’s this one down in Greece, or something. Someplace Unplottable. She works with the Ministry every once in awhile - develops spells, I think. My dad knows. Why?"

"Oh, no reason."

It was a lie, and Hermione wished that she could take that back, as well - especially since Ron didn’t look as though he believed her at all.

"Okay..." he began, clearly unconvinced.

Hermione shook her head to stop him, and decided to tell part of the truth. "I’ve just been thinking lately about my parents, and how a Thinker might be able to develop the magic to restore their minds."

Ron looked surprised. "I never thought of that," he said. "You should write to her."

"I have." Hermione looked down and started picking at the grass, still unsure of how much she wanted to reveal.

"Really?" Ron sat up straighter. "Did you tell her about your parents?"

"No."

"No?" Ron paused, as if waiting for an answer. When Hermione gave none, he nudged her with his shoulder. "Well why not?"

"Because it wasn’t that kind of letter." She looked up at Ron quickly, and saw that he was frowning.

"Are you being mysterious on purpose, or something? What kind of letter was it?" he demanded, looking at her intently.

Hermione sighed. She’d gotten herself this far into it. "It was a letter seeking employment," she said quietly. "I asked her if she wanted an apprentice."

Ron seemed to freeze, for a split second. "An -"

"Apprentice."

"Oh." Ron shifted. "In Greece."

"Off Cyprus, I think. I mean, I can’t be sure because it’s Unplottable, but if you look at it logically, then from the reading I’ve done it seems to be -"

"So you’re going there." His voice was abrupt. Short. He dropped his arm from her shoulders and sat back to look at her.

"I didn’t say that."

"But you got the job."

"I didn’t say that either."

"You got every other job you applied for, Hermione, and you’re going to tell me you didn’t get this one?"

"Yes."

Ron blinked. Obviously he hadn’t been expecting that answer. "Yes?" he asked, tentatively. "Yes, you didn’t get it?" He couldn’t quite hide the hope in his voice, and Hermione fought down a sudden surge of anger. She’d known that Ron wouldn’t be keen on the idea of her leaving England, but she had also expected his support.

"Yes. I didn’t get it."

Ron nodded. "That’s too bad," he offered, a little too cheerfully.

Hermione snorted, not quite under her breath. "And we have a winner for most encouraging boyfriend of the century."

"Now come on," Ron began, working his face into a position of supportive interest, which irritated Hermione even further. "If it was what you really wanted, then I’m sorry you didn’t -"

Hermione waved her hands to stop him. "Don’t even try it. You’re better off not saying anything else, honestly."

Ron sighed. "So now I’m in trouble."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Please." She stood up and brushed the dirt from her robes, unwilling to talk to Ron any further about her real plans for the end of the summer. Since speaking to Ginny, she’d decided that if no letter of acceptance came from the Thinker, she would attempt to find the woman anyway. And if Ron didn’t want to be helpful about it, then she just wouldn’t tell him anything else right now. "Let’s just go in." She began to walk quickly toward the back of the house.

Ron scrambled to his feet and caught up with her. "It’s Harry’s birthday next Friday," he said, obviously hoping for a change of subject.

Hermione nodded, and kept walking.

"We ought to do something for him, since we get to be with him this year," Ron continued earnestly, as if a show of friendship toward Harry would earn him forgiveness. "Don’t you think?"

"Sure, why not." Hermione thought that her tone was noticeably nonplussed, but Ron only grinned, apparently forgetting all about Thinkers for the time being as they approached the back door. He continued to talk about Harry

"We ought to surprise him. Really get him good. I’ll bet Fred and George would come up from Hogsmeade, and we could get Sirius to stay home for once - I‘ll tell Dad to make him take the day off."

"Great idea," Hermione said briefly. It was amazing, the way Ron could completely ignore the fact that she was angry, and continue a conversation all by himself.

"We can plan the entire thing behind his back," Ron finished happily, looking very pleased with himself.

"You mean we can plan it in front of his face," Hermione corrected tersely, walking up the back steps. "Don’t you think he might guess?"

Ron guffawed. "Who, Harry? When he’s got Cannons tryouts starting on Monday? We could talk about it all night at dinner and he wouldn’t even hear us. He’s oblivious half the time, and it’s even worse when Quidditch is involved, trust me. Dean, Seamus, Neville and I used to joke about transfiguring his Firebolt into a girl and slipping it into bed with him one night. We thought he might push it away if he didn’t recognize it as his broomstick. He did sleep with it in the bed once before a match you know."

Hermione’s hand went to her mouth and she instinctively tried to stifle her giggle. She realized again why it was so difficult to stay angry with Ron for more than five seconds at a time. "Ron!" She tried to sound shocked and angry, but she knew that her eyes were betraying her. "You never actually did that, did you?"

He shook his head, but raised one eyebrow suggestively.

"You won’t do that now! Don’t go getting any ideas in your head!"

Ron looked back at her for a long moment. "Yeah," he answered. "I know." He smiled.

They stood still until the moment had passed. Hermione’s annoyance passed along with it, although she knew that she and Ron still had a lot to work out. She'd told him a bit of what she was thinking, and she'd seen his response. For now, she'd keep the Thinker to herself. She had until the end of the summer to make him understand.

She headed into Lupin Lodge with Ron at her side, laughing openly when he suggested that they give Harry a framed copy of his first Daily Prophet interview as a birthday present.

Chapter Nine

The Kinolia

The Authors Notes: Thanks very much to Erin, who gave us the idea for one of Harry's gifts, and once again to Honeychurch and Lallybroch for wonderful background ideas. Happy Birthday to everyone!

~*~

On the first day of the Chudley Cannons’ Quidditch trials, Harry woke earlier than everyone else, a familiar fluttering sensation in his stomach. He smiled slightly at the idea that Oliver Wood still inspired a sort of panic in him, after all he’d been through. But this panic didn’t bring terror with it - this was a welcome sort of anxiety. Harry had missed his Quidditch nerves.

He jumped out of bed and dressed with more energy than he’d had in quite some time. Taking care not to wake Ron, he sped downstairs. Lupin Lodge was quiet and the sky outside was barely getting light; there was a smell of grass and dew seeping through the kitchen windows. The familiar scent and the sense of too-earliness reminded Harry of many Hogwarts mornings when he had been out of bed well before his classmates and down on the pitch with the Gryffindor team in half-darkness. Oliver had never minded dragging them from sleep at maddening hours. Harry remembered Fred and George’s complaints, Angelina’s heavy-lidded eyes, his own sense of a drowsiness so strong that he knew he’d fall off his broom. And then he would be up in the air, the wind in his face, wide awake in seconds - flying. He felt a brief pang as he made himself breakfast and sat down. Those had been wonderful times.

Hastily, he shoveled spoonful after spoonful of cereal into his mouth. His eyes were fixed intently on his Firebolt, which he had just leaned against the wall, and as he chewed, Harry went over his concerns in his mind. Was he too young to try out for a real team? No - of course not. Viktor Krum had done it. Was he good enough to fly next to professionals? Yes - of course he was - he’d played with Oliver, hadn’t he, and Oliver was a professional. But still... Harry’s stomach churned, much as it had before many important matches at school. Would he make an idiot out of himself? He hadn’t practiced enough for this - he wasn’t ready - hadn’t played a real match in months.

But, nerves or not, he was going. He Banished his bowl and spoon into the kitchen sink and set water running. A minute later, he had grasped his Firebolt by the handle and was ready to go. Quickly, his heart thumping now, Harry strode to the front room to check the local map - being new at Apparition made him want to take care that he was exact.

He had just put his finger on the town in which the Cannons’ practice pitch was located and screwed up his courage to Disapparate when he stopped. There were footsteps on the stairs. Looking up, he saw that Ginny was standing halfway down them, her hair rumpled and her dressing gown pulled shut with one hand. She looked half-asleep, but, upon spotting Harry, lifted her other hand to give him a small wave.

"Good luck today," she said, sleepiness making her voice crack a bit. She blinked even though the light was still dim, and stood in the middle of the stairs as if not quite sure what to do with herself.

Harry wondered if Ginny had woken up on purpose, just to wish him well. The idea made his cheeks warm, though he worked not to show it.

"Thanks," he replied casually, though he was gripping the Firebolt and searching his brain for something bright to say. "Let’s just hope I can keep up with the professionals," was all that came to mind.

Ginny yawned a little, covering her mouth and finishing on a sigh. "Oh, go on, don’t be modest, you know you’ll be Seeker," she mumbled, throwing him a sleepy smile. "Just cross your fingers and hope for the best." Then she grinned at her own joke, giggled, and turned up the stairs. Harry watched her until all he could see was the hem of her nightdress and the heels of her bare feet. And then, feeling bolstered by her confidence in him, he straightened his shoulders, cleared his mind of everything but where he was going, and Disapparated.

This sensation was unlike all other modes of instantaneous wizarding travel, and Harry liked it by far the best. There was neither the spinning nausea that one felt using Floo powder, nor the jerk behind the navel and tendency to stumble on impact that a Portkey always seemed to cause. Apparition was actually enjoyable by comparison – just a simple, momentary blankness – then a new place. It was such a fast process that Harry had hardly blinked in the dead space between locations, before there was light and noise and the sound of a far off whistle carrying along the summer breeze.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04