The Lewis House 7 страница

Harry immediately felt his shoes grow damp and looked down to find that he was standing in wet, muddied grass. When his eyes traveled upward, he saw that he was at the edge of a wide field dotted with men and women, most of them as young as himself, though some were clearly Quidditch players gone to seed. Harry didn’t recognize any of the players; there were no famous names here. Only hopefuls and has-beens, he thought, without meaning to think it. Well, that’s the Cannons... But he shook the thought out of his head, imagining Ron’s reaction to such a statement. And then he grinned to himself, because the imagined reaction was actually pretty funny.

Harry had expected to be early, but these players seemed to have been warming up for quite some time. He watched them flying this way and that, dodging and diving – Harry thought he spotted a Wronski Feint somewhere across the way and couldn’t help a flash of satisfaction. He feinted better than that.

A shrill whistle distracted Harry from his view and he turned to see a young man of good height and strong build striding purposefully down the pitch with an almost fanatical gleam in his eye. Harry found himself grinning as though he were eleven years old all over again.

"Men!" cried Oliver Wood, raising a hand in the air to gesture the players toward him.

"And women!" cried a girl from down the field, rather indignantly. Harry snorted. Something about that was awfully familiar.

Oliver did not even have the decency to look chastised. "And women!" he added, impatiently. "Over here – NOW!"

This was something Harry understood. This was home. He hustled, Firebolt in hand, into the gathering group of players, wondering all the time whether Oliver would catch sight of him, or whether he was too focused on Quidditch at the moment to see the faces of his players. Harry would not have been surprised if the latter were the case.

And indeed it was - without noting Harry in the slightest, Oliver sorted the players quickly into positions and Harry found himself in a group with six other Seekers. Out of the corner of his eye, he sized up his competition, feeling all the time more confident. One woman looked slight and nimble enough to be a possible rival, and one of the men held a Nimbus Two Thousand in his hand - Good taste, anyway, Harry granted inwardly. But as for the rest of them... Harry squared his shoulders. He was going to be fine.

"Listen up!" came Oliver’s battle cry from the center of the pitch. He began to pace back and forth before the players, who now stood lined up by position. "Some of you might have come out today thinking this would be an easy job - thinking as the Cannons haven’t won a League in a hundred and six years, you’d be able to make this team even if you couldn’t make any other."

Two of the men behind Harry shifted uncomfortably. Oliver peered in their direction.

"Thought that, did you?" he demanded. "Well, you’ve all got another think coming. You’re not going to get soft treatment here and you can forget about getting on this team if you’re anything less than brilliant. There’s a reason that the Cannons have been down so long. Bad attitudes. Lack of dedication. Pathetic captaining. Unskilled players. Poor equipment." Oliver stopped, and looked into the sky for a moment, his arms crossed. "All right, there are a lot of reasons why the Cannons have been down so long."

Harry bit back a snort.

"But that’s all about to change," Oliver continued, beginning to pace once more. "It’s going to change starting today. I didn’t leave the Puddlemere United to captain a losing team. I didn’t come to the Cannons to cross my fingers and hope for the best."

There were a few snickers from the assembled players. Oliver stopped walking and glared hard at all of them.

"Think that’s funny?" he intoned darkly.

The laughter came to an immediate halt and Harry shook his head slightly in amazement. Oliver had a way about him; that was for sure. Harry was beginning to feel that this wasn’t going to be as simple as he’d imagined, and felt himself standing straighter, under his captain’s scrutinizing gaze.

Oliver gave a snort of disgust. "Let’s all cross our fingers and hope for the best? Sorriest motto I’ve ever heard. I don’t know who approved that miserable change but that’s the kind of defeatist attitude I won’t put up with. So while you’re up there today, Beating, and Chasing, and Keeping, and Seeking, you just keep this in the front of your minds - We. Shall. Conquer. That’s our motto, and if you can’t hack it, then you’ll want to get out now."

There was dead silence on the pitch.

"Everyone staying then?" Oliver looked across them once more and then nodded, satisfied. "Mount your brooms. Let’s see who gets to stay for good."

Harry was on his broom before anyone else could blink an eye, and when Oliver called out, "Seekers up - DID YOU HEAR ME? MOVE!" he was the first one into the air. Below him he could hear Oliver’s manic shouts. "I want to see diving! I want to see feinting! I want to see you willing to break your necks for that Snitch!"

And he’s not joking, Harry thought with a grimace as Oliver began to put them through their paces. Oliver would happily die for a Quidditch victory and it became clear - as he pulled the Seekers out of one feint only half an inch from collision with the grass - that he expected the same reckless abandon from the rest of them. The other players seemed to find such a demand daunting, and there was more than one mutter of "Is he insane?" in the air around Harry. But, having had a lot of experience in the neck-risking department, Harry couldn’t be bothered to worry much about a little hard diving. Especially as the Golden Snitch was one thing that he really didn’t mind risking life and limb for. He dove at full speed for an hour, thinking of nothing, remembering nothing, having no focus but the tiny ball of gold, which flickered its silver wings against the pitch.

And at the end of an hour, a whistle signaled the Seekers’ break, and Harry watched the group of Chasers shoot into the air to await their instructions. He landed, breathing hard, and made his way toward Oliver, who was motioning for the Seekers to come his way. On all sides of him, Harry could feel the other Seekers sagging - they were winded from the exertion. He was exhilarated. The only one apart from him who seemed to be in shape enough for this was the slight woman whom he had noticed earlier. But even she was regarding Oliver with something very like terror in her eyes, and Harry guessed that she probably wasn’t willing to lose her life over a Quidditch match. He hid a grin.

"I hope you men realize that this was just a warm up -" Oliver barked, as they drew nearer "- and that you plan to show up with a little more fire under your bums tomorrow. You-" he pointed sharply to one of the men behind Harry. "Good arms on you, but you’re in the wrong position here."

"But I’ve always played Seek-"

"Things change. Get over there with the Beaters, I want to see what you can do that end." The man hurried off. "You-" Oliver continued, pointing at the man on Harry’s other side. "Worried about falling?"

"I - no."

"Then what are you on about, pulling out of dives two feet before everyone else? Do that again and you’re out of here. You there-" he nodded to the woman among them.

"Not bad. Not bad at all. Keep that up, you hear me?"

Harry saw the woman her duck her head, beaming. But instead of feeling glad for her, he felt a slight queasiness in his gut. He’d always considered himself to be a pretty damned good Seeker, but Oliver hadn’t even noticed him yet. I must have lost my touch, or something... Harry found himself gripping the handle of the Firebolt with more than his usual intensity, and for the first time he realized just how much it meant to him to make the team. Cannons or not - he wanted this.

"And you." Oliver was looking straight at him. Harry snapped out of his reverie and jumped.

"Yeah?"

"Back for more, are you?" Oliver’s eyes narrowed.

Harry felt a wave of relief. He had been recognized. This was going to be great. Perhaps especially because behind Oliver’s steely Quidditch glare, Harry suddenly detected the fifth year boy he had met in Professor McGonagall’s office. His chest filled with a strange, homecoming kind of warmth as he looked at his old captain and teammate for a moment in silence. Smiles tugged hard at the corners of both their mouths, though both struggled to maintain professional distance. But it didn’t last - on irresistible impulse, Harry stuck out his hand.

"Oliver."

"Harry."

Oliver grasped his hand, pumped it up and down once, and nodded. "You can do better than that feint you just gave me, Potter."

Harry felt the other Seekers staring at him at the mention of his name, but he nodded back at Oliver. "I know it."

"Then do it. Tomorrow morning, six-thirty sharp, on this pitch. Got that, all of you?"

"Six-thir-" Harry began to protest, as if this was Hogwarts and he were being dragged from his Gryffindor four-poster yet again.

But Oliver cut him off at once with a growl. "Hold back on me again tomorrow and it’ll be five-thirty. Seekers dismissed."

With that, Oliver strode off toward the Chasers, blowing his whistle and waving his arms in the air - and only when he was safely out of earshot did Harry allow himself to groan. "Six-thirty," he muttered, shaking his head. "That lunatic. That total -"

"Harry Potter - did I hear that properly?"

It was the female Seeker, and her voice was curious. Harry turned to look at her, feeling his defenses go up at once.

"Yes."

"Oh. That is - well I..." She seemed at a loss, and Harry didn’t feel much like helping her. He hated being recognized, when it was like this. Self-consciously he flattened his hair over his scar.

But the woman didn’t seem to notice. She just shrugged. "Well, you probably get this all the time - hope you don’t mind - but I just wanted to say thanks."

Harry started. "Th- thanks?" he repeated, not sure what she meant.

The woman frowned slightly. "For what you’ve done, of course. Against the Dark Lord. I don’t mean to bother you about it - just to say thanks." She smiled. "Nice flying, too," she added, and then walked away, leaving Harry with his mouth half-open in shock. No one had ever randomly thanked him for his fight against Voldemort, and he didn’t quite know what to make of it. It.... well, it didn’t bother him, he realized. It was really sort of... nice? He shrugged. At least it wasn’t the same as having someone gape openly at his scar.

Across the field, up in the air, the Chasers were doing impossible loops around the goalposts, tossing the Quaffle back and forth in accordance with Oliver’s commands. Harry sighed a little. He wished the Seekers’ bit of it had gone on a little longer - he’d missed being up on a broomstick for a real purpose. Six-thirty in the morning was actually too far away, he reflected wryly, pulling his wand from his T-shirt and Disapparating.

The Quidditch pitch disappeared, the world went blank, and then he was stumbling – stumbling over something very solid, which was squealing indignantly.

"Ow, Harry, are you mad?!"

Harry had Apparated without any trouble into the front room of Lupin Lodge, but he hadn’t taken the other occupants of the house into account. He’d Apparated directly into Ginny, and she’d gone crashing to the ground. She lay sprawled in front of the big fireplace, rubbing her elbow where it appeared she’d slammed it. She looked a bit vexed, but after a moment she began to laugh uncontrollably.

"I could get you fined for that, you know!" she managed, between gasps. "That’s Reckless Apparition, that’s what it is – I’m calling the D.A.L.!"

Harry knew he was crimson. "I’m so sorry..." he attempted, reaching out a hand to help her up. It was too late; she’d already pushed herself to her feet, still laughing, and to Harry’s surprise he heard another, lower laugh coming from the direction of the fireplace. He spun toward the voice, praying that no one else had seen his fumbled attempt at Apparition, and his face burned even hotter when he recognized the plump face that was chuckling in the flames.

"Good to see you, Harry," said Neville Longbottom happily. "I guess you’ve got your Apparition License."

Harry glanced at Ginny, who had smothered her giggles but was still eyeing him mirthfully, and he shrugged. "Yeah," he agreed. "I probably won’t get to keep it for long, though. Hey, Neville." He made himself grin back at his fellow Gryffindor, whom he hadn’t seen since their last day at Hogwarts. "What’ve you been doing lately?" he asked quickly, hoping to distract everyone from the ridiculous entrance he’d just made.

"Well, I’ve just been talking to Ginny, here –" Neville smiled at Ginny, who smiled back "– and now I have to go to the greenhouses. I’m actually a little late."

Harry looked from Neville to Ginny and back again. "The greenhouses?" he repeated. "Why?"

Neville opened his mouth to answer, but Ginny held up a hand. "I’ll explain, Neville," she said kindly. "You go on and don’t be late – you know how Professor Sprout can be about that. Thanks for everything."

"Sure." Neville grinned again and looked at Harry. "Hope I’ll see you soon, Harry. Pop in anytime you want. Only, don’t knock me over, okay?"

Neville’s head was gone with a ‘pop’ before Harry could even reply, and Ginny was sent into a second hysterical fit of laughter. But when she’d calmed down enough, she seemed to remember something important, because she opened her eyes wide and held out her hands palms up, as if waiting for information.

"Well?" she asked excitedly.

"Well what?" Harry asked, feeling irritable.

"Well the Cannons," Ginny replied. "Tuh, honestly. How was it? Did you see Oliver? Was anybody any good? How did the Firebolt behave?"

"Oh. Right." Harry felt himself beginning to grin. "Yeah, I saw Oliver."

Ginny clapped her hands together. "What did he say? I’ll bet he was surprised to see you there."

"He didn’t even recognize me."

"No!" Ginny looked scandalized. "But he flew with you for three whole years!"

Harry laughed. "I know. But that’s Oliver – he’s so intense about Quidditch, he didn’t even notice I was there until the end."

Ginny shook her head. "Weird. And the other Seekers? Anybody with any real training or talent?"

"A couple were all right," Harry answered, warming to the conversation. "There was one with a Nimbus Two Thousand –"

"Oh," Ginny interrupted, "Good broom. I remember when you had one of those. Poor old thing."

"Yeah." Harry laughed, surprised at how easy it was to talk to Ginny about Quidditch. "Yeah, I miss that thing. Anyway, I expected him to be all right, but he couldn’t fly at all, really. Kept pulling out of dives two feet too early. There was a woman there, though – she was really good. I’ve never heard of her, but even Oliver said she was good, and he never gives anyone a break. She seems all right, too – once she figured out who I was, she –" Harry stopped. He’d been about to tell Ginny about what the woman had said to him after practice. He wondered how he could possibly have rambled on so far.

Ginny tilted her head expectantly. "What did she say?"

"Oh, she just..." Harry shook his head. "Nothing, you know." He searched his mind for some other subject while the look on Ginny’s face became decidedly curious. "Hey," Harry said suddenly, remembering what had happened earlier. "What was Neville doing here?"

Ginny seemed to forget her curiosity at once – she avoided Harry’s eyes and turned slightly pink. "Nothing," she said quickly. "We were just talking."

Harry felt his brows pull together. "What about?" he asked, not sure why he felt entitled to an answer.

"Oh, you know. Things." Ginny looked extremely uncomfortable, and began to tuck something deeper into the pocket of her jeans. For the first time, Harry realized that she had a quill sticking out of one pocket and a bit of parchment peeking over top of the other. It was the parchment that she was attempting to hide. "Did you know," she said, too brightly, "that Neville’s taken a position at Hogwarts?"

"No," said Harry shortly, staring at the pocket where the parchment was hidden and wanting very much to know what was on it. More than that, he wanted to know why Ginny was blushing about Neville. It bothered him more than he wanted to think about.

"Well, he has. Professor Sprout’s decided she’s going to retire from teaching and raise medicinal herbs for apothecary wholesale, and Neville’s going to take her place!"

"What, you mean, he’s going to teach Herbology?" Harry couldn’t help but pay attention to that – it was a shock to think of Neville teaching anything. Though, Harry reflected fairly, Neville had always been just as good as Hermione, when it came to Herbology.

"Yes, he’s going to apprentice with Professor Sprout this year while Hogwarts is closed, and learn all he can – and if he’s ready by the fall, he says that Professor McGonagall’s going to let him have the position. Isn’t that wonderful?" Ginny exclaimed, looking truly happy for Neville’s sake.

"Yeah," Harry offered, feeling slightly ungenerous toward Neville at the moment. "Sounds great."

Ginny nodded, then pulled her quill from her pocket and began to tap it self-consciously against her leg, still looking mildly uncomfortable. "Well, anyway," she said vaguely. After a moment, she gestured to Harry’s broom. "I’m glad you had such a good practice. Do you go back out tomorrow, then?"

Somewhat relieved that the conversation was steering back to Quidditch, Harry nodded and sighed heavily. "Back to the pitch at six-thirty," he muttered darkly, though deep down he didn’t really mind. He’d have gone back at midnight, if that was what Oliver wanted.

"In the morning?" Ginny stuck out her tongue. "That’s inhumane."

"I know," Harry answered with a laugh. "But then, Oliver’s not exactly human."

~*~

The first week of practices seemed to pass in a blur of wind-chapped skin, aching muscles, and early-morning fatigue, but Harry loved it. Especially since, by the end of Friday afternoon’s post-practice drills, Oliver had weeded down the number of potential team members by about half. Harry’s only remaining competition for the Seeker position was Maureen Knight, the slight woman who had earned Oliver’s praise at the first day of tryouts, and that meant that one of them would definitely make the team and the other would be a reserve player. At the moment, Harry felt as though being a reserve player for the Chudley Cannons would be the most amazing job in the world. He Apparated back to Lupin Lodge after enduring a strict lecture from Oliver that he was "not to treat the weekend as some sort of pub-going holiday," staggered upstairs, and headed straight for the shower.

The water felt cool and refreshing and Harry stood under the spray until his skin was wrinkled. Then he stepped out, wrapped a towel around his waist, and shook out his hair, which almost looked respectable when it was wet. Realizing that he hadn't bothered to bring any clean clothes with him into the bathroom, he stood at the door for a moment, contemplating. Should he Summon a pair of trousers from his room, or just risk dashing down the hall? Feeling revived and clean, he opted for the latter option, and, opening the door just a slit, peered out into the hallway. Seeing no one about, he stepped out and began padding his way down the hall to the room that he shared with Ron. His hand was on the doorknob when he heard a gasp. He froze, and then, turning his head to the side, saw Ginny standing at the top of the stairs, staring at him wide-eyed.

"Er – hi, there," he managed, clutching at his towel and making a mental note to keep a spare set of trousers in the bathroom from now on. He wondered if his face was red. She was wearing some sort of pale green shirt and her hair was down around her shoulders, rather than in her every-day ponytail. But Harry was in no position to dwell on how pretty she looked, and he immediately concentrated very hard on the door in front of him.

Ginny opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again and, grinning slightly, looked past him down the hallway. Then she said, "I was just sent up here to see if you were home. Ron and Sirius have been getting creative in the kitchen and were wondering when you'd want to come downstairs to eat."

"Oh," said Harry, grasping his towel more tightly. "I'll... I’ll be right down, shall I?"

"Right," answered Ginny, not moving from her spot on the stairs. Harry hastily turned the doorknob and slipped into his room.

When he came downstairs a few minutes later, it was only to find no evidence of cooking and no sign of people. Curious, he called out, "Ron?!" No answer. "Hermione? Sirius? Anyone?" He thought he heard a muffled giggle coming from the direction of the open window. Slowly, he made his way toward the back door and stepped out into the garden.

"SURPRISE!"

Harry jumped back in alarm. Filibuster Fireworks started going off all over the place and as Harry looked around, he saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, Angelina, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Sirius and Remus.

Harry blinked, not sure what to say. In all the excitement of the past week, he had completely forgotten that today was July 31st - and that meant that it was his eighteenth birthday. Every year since he was eleven, he had faithfully marked off a calendar that showed the days left until he could return to school. This year, there had been no need, and not having a calendar had made him lose track of the time. Feeling a bit dim for forgetting his own birthday, Harry muttered "Thanks" with a sheepish grin, and stepped off of the patio into the garden proper.

A long table had been conjured from somewhere and it was full to the brim with so much food that Harry knew that Mrs. Weasley must have been around all day cooking it. He would have recognized her distinctive Yorkshire puddings anywhere. There had been little need to decorate the garden itself, for it was in full bloom with beautiful flowers and herbs, many of which were only visible to a wizard's eye.

The meal was delicious. Harry found out that Mrs. Weasley had indeed Apparated to Lupin Lodge early, just after he had left for Quidditch practice, and spent most of the day preparing for the party. Having spent most of the day in drills, Harry found that he was ravenous, and contented himself with eating second and third portions while he listened to the conversation around him.

Ginny was sitting across the table from him and listening attentively to her brother George, who was telling her all of the latest gossip from Hogsmeade, where he lived with Fred above their joke shop, Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

"Now that the war's over," he was saying excitedly, "we can dispense with all of that surveillance rubbish and start getting back to what we originally planned to do. Everything's selling like hotcakes - people just want to laugh, you know?"

Hermione was talking to Mr. Weasley about her job prospects, while Ron listened next to Harry, looking moody.

"You know that both of you are more than welcome to come and work at the Ministry at any time," Mr. Weasley was saying. Ron seemed to perk up at this news. "Yeah, Hermione," he enthused, "Dad's right. The Ministry needs you."

Hermione shot Ron a quick, pained look, and Mr. Weasley looked over at his son, as if to make a comment that perhaps Ron might consider applying for a job at the Ministry as well, but Harry was relieved to see that Mr. Weasley had the good sense not to say anything. Ron was fiercely proud of his job at the Snout's Fair.

Sirius was between Remus and Harry and not saying much. He looked a bit tired and Harry felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that Sirius was working himself too hard at Azkaban and Culparrat. Harry thought briefly of offering to go and help Sirius in his work with the prisoners, but then he remembered Quidditch and pushed the thought as far back of his mind as it would go.

Remus, on the other hand, looked perfectly at peace as he spread butter onto a roll and surveyed the table around him. Harry realized that his old professor had grown a little younger-looking since the beginning of summer – or maybe it was just the boyish grin on his face, as he leaned forward and said something inaudible to Sirius. Sirius immediately brightened as well, raised an eyebrow, and quietly said something back. Remus snickered, Sirius laughed, and Harry felt oddly content, watching them.

Mrs. Weasley was sitting on the other side of Ginny and next to her sat Fred, who was uncharacteristically subdued. Mrs. Weasley kept trying to engage him and Angelina into conversation, but they both said little and looked a bit nervous.

"How's Penelope?" Harry asked Mrs. Weasley, and she turned her attention to him.

"Oh! Wonderful dear, thank you for asking! She was feeling a bit under the weather today, you know - a witch in her condition has to be very careful - so she decided to stay home, although she sends her regards."

Fred and Angelina, Harry noticed, were now whispering rather heatedly to each other. Mrs. Weasley had just asked Harry about Quidditch tryouts and Harry was just about to answer her, when Fred uttered in exasperation, "Oh, all right then!" and stood up at the table.

Everyone stopped talking to stare at him, although, from the smirk he caught on George's face out of the corner of his eye, Harry had a feeling that George knew exactly what was coming next. Fred stepped a few steps away from his mother, closer to Angelina, and Harry reflected that it was quite funny that he should still be frightened of his mother after fighting in a war. Fred reached into his pocket and pulled something out of it, and Angelina did the same. Harry saw something glint in the sunlight and he realized that it was a ring. Fred cleared his throat and said very shortly, "Mum, Dad, everyone - er, well, the thing is, Angelina and I got married two weeks ago."

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04