The Lewis House 10 страница

"But they - they killed the others," Hermione had said, her voice sounding feeble, "at least most of the time. They used Avada Kedavra and those people died instantly. Why would they want to torture my parents? Why not come after me? My parents never did anything to anyone." Tears had started to fall from her eyes and down her cheeks. "They're dentists." The last statement had sounded almost silly and she had almost wanted to laugh as she said it. Death Eaters versus Dentists. It sounded like the title to a bad novel.

"I should have gone home early," she had muttered to herself more than to anyone else. "I could have been there. I would have known what was going on. I would have had my wand at least."

"You would have been no match for seven Death Eaters, my dear, and you would have been tortured as well."

Hermione had shot up out of the chair, feeling suddenly very angry.

"They were tortured because of me!" she had shouted. "Because of what I am! That's the only reason!" She hadn't known who she was shouting at - certainly not Professor McGonagall, or Mrs. Weasley, or Harry, Ron, or Ginny.

It had been Harry who had come up to her and pulled her into an embrace. Harry - who rarely showed any emotion anymore. Harry was the one who understood what it was like to feel responsible for someone else's pain and suffering and, finally, Hermione had understood for a brief moment, what it must really be like to be Harry Potter.

She had started to cry in earnest at that point. Ron had soon joined in the embrace, as had Ginny, and she clung to all of them, crying until the tears wouldn't come anymore. Professor McGonagall sat down on one of the armchairs and waited for her to finish. Hermione straightened, and addressed Professor McGonagall in a strained, but even voice, "Are they going to die? Can I see them?"

Professor McGonagall and Mrs. Weasley had exchanged worried glances. Mrs. Weasley said gently, "They will live, and you can see them as soon as you'd like. That's why I'm here - to take you if you want. But - oh, Hermione, dear, I'm not sure - that is, I don't think that they'll be very responsive."

Hermione nodded slowly, comprehension dawning on her and Professor McGonagall continued. "You are familiar with the situation of the Longbottoms?"

Head snapping upwards, Hermione felt a flood of sorrow wash over her body. Hermione had known about the Longbottoms - their son Neville had revealed the story to them earlier in the year. The Longbottoms had been tortured by Death Eaters fourteen years earlier - and they were still in St. Mungo's, still unresponsive, and still unable to recognize their own son.

"Your parents appear to be in a similar condition. They are alive and physically, appear to be well. Their minds, however..."

"Take me to them," Hermione had said. With that, she'd departed with Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Harry, and Ginny at her side.

The sound of a cat squealing and a rustle of feathers jolted Hermione back into the reality of the Burrow. Looking up, she saw Ron's small owl, Pigwidgeon, fluttering above the kitchen table. Crookshanks, her cat, who had joined them for their overnight visit, had his back arched and was growling noisily at the bird, who twittered and hooted as if he were the happiest creature on the planet. Ron groaned, reached out a long arm, and caught the tiny owl firmly in his grasp. Pigwidgeon cooed.

"He's right to growl at you, you silly owl," Ron scolded, not hiding his fondness for his pet very well. "You're very annoying." Turning to Hermione, he said, "I'm going to put Pig in his cage. When I get back downstairs, we can go, all right?"

She nodded, pulling Crookshanks onto her lap and stroking his orange hair absentmindedly.

~*~

Ron sat in a not-very-comfortable chair outside of the Grangers' room in St. Mungo's, trying not to think angry thoughts. It wasn't easy. Every time he came here, he felt anger and frustration, and he knew that Hermione knew it and that it upset her.

He'd come here with her every time since the beginning. During the final semester of their sixth year, they'd come every Sunday. Initially, Harry and Ginny came as well, but it seemed to upset Harry as much as it did Hermione, and, in a private consultation with his sister, Ron had worked out a way to keep Harry from accompanying them. That summer, Hermione had stayed with them at the Burrow, and they'd continued their Sunday visits, and in the evenings, he'd held Hermione as she cried - which she did every time.

"Hello Ron!" said a familiar voice. Ron looked up and saw Barton, one of the orderlies, ambling down the hallway towards him. His light blue and white striped uniform robes were so crisply cleaned and starched that the sleeves stood out at angles, making him resemble some sort of roly-poly human star. Ron was well known to the staff in this ward of St. Mungo's. He rarely went inside the room to visit with the Grangers - Hermione thought it might be confusing for them to see anyone but herself and she usually had some sort of new plan or treatment that she'd looked up to try to experiment with. They both knew that the trained medi-wizards at the hospital had tried just about everything already, and knew from their experience with the Longbottoms that nothing was working, but Hermione felt useless if she didn't at least try, and all Ron could do was to sit back patiently and let her do it.

Ron waved to Barton, "Hi," he said. "Anything new and exciting happening in these parts?"

"Nope," answered Barton cheerfully. "You just missed your friend Longbottom. He was down the hall visiting his parents about an hour ago. Says he's going to be working at Hogwarts - learning how to teach before they open up next year. That's great news, isn't it? He wanted to tell his parents."

Ron nodded, although he knew, as Barton did, that the Longbottoms most likely had no idea that Neville visited them, or, if they did, they had no way of acknowledging it. As he watched Barton amble down the hallway, pushing his trolley of supplies, Ron clenched his fists together. The first time he'd seen Barton had been the evening that they'd all accompanied Hermione to see her parents. Professor McGonagall and Barton had escorted Hermione into the room, while he, Harry, and Ginny waited outside in the hallway with Mrs. Weasley. It had been then that Ron had turned to his mother and demanded, "Who was it, Mum?"

Mrs. Weasley had looked almost frightened as she looked up at her son. In her most soothing voice, she had reached out to put a hand on his arm and said, "Ron, there was a group of them - they always work together, don't they?"

But he wasn't having any of it. He could tell from the way that his mother was acting that she was hiding something. Feeling his face grow very red, he had repeated, very firmly, "Who. Was. It? Tell me now, because I'll just find out from Bill or Dad later."

"We don't know!" Mrs. Weasley had cried, wringing her hands. "But we think - your father thinks - that is, there's evidence that Lucius Malfoy was the ringleader."

Malfoy. Ron hated that name more than anything else. The Malfoys had caused him and those that he loved nothing but trouble, suffering and annoyance. At the news of Malfoy's involvement, Harry had instinctively pulled out his wand, muttering, "I'll kill him, I'll kill him," over and over again.

As for himself, well, his mother's statement had only confirmed what he had already suspected - that Lucius Malfoy had led the attack and that his son Draco had probably made the suggestion. He had only been surprised that the Death Eaters hadn't waited until the next day, when Hermione would have been at home. He had shivered and then turned to Harry and they had both exchanged significant glances at each other. Ron drew out his wand as well and both of them made as if to head for the nearest fireplace. Mrs. Weasley reached out to grab her son's robes, and Ginny had repeated the action towards Harry. But Ron had been ready to fight and he pulled away. Just as he did so, he heard a small voice behind him.

"Ron? Where are you going? What's going on? Don't go - " and he'd turned to see Hermione standing in the doorway being supported by the orderly. He had stopped, and a moment later, taken two long strides towards Hermione and pulled her into a tight embrace. Ginny had quietly led Harry to a nearby seat and somehow coerced him to sit down.

Later, when he'd told Hermione about Malfoy's involvement, she'd been very, very calm. Ron had admired her restraint, but knew that he could never forgive that family. And now Malfoy had dared to show up right across the street from them and tried to ruin their summer. Although he had promised Hermione that he would not take any action against Draco, despite his great desire to send a fist flying right towards his thin, stuck up nose, Ron had a strange, sick feeling that something would happen between himself and Draco before the summer was over.

Agitated, he stood up to stretch his legs and decided to take a stroll down the hall and perhaps look in on Neville's parents.

"Ron? Where are you going?" Hermione was once again asking him from the doorway. He swiveled on his heel and turned to face her. She looked, as usual during such visits, worn out.

"I was just stretching my legs. Do you want to go home?"

She shook her head, "I'd like to stay here for a few minutes and just sit before we go back."

Ron nodded, and then, an idea, silly perhaps, but worth a try, entered his head.

"Hermione - do you think - would you mind if I went in to see them for a few minutes?" he asked tentatively. He had never visited the Granger's room by himself and only rarely did he enter with Hermione, usually because she had devised some sort of charm or spell that required two people to execute. She looked at him curiously for a moment, and then fell into a nearby chair and gave him a small smile. "If you like."

"Right," answered Ron, leaning forward to give her a kiss on the forehead, and then, bracing himself, turned and entered the Granger's suite.

The room was disconcertingly quiet and clean. Mr. and Mrs. Granger lay side by side in a large four-poster bed, their arms neatly resting on top of the crisp bedding. Both looked as though they had experienced the biggest shock of their lives. Their faces were passive and unreadable, as though asleep, but their eyes were wide open and fearful. This was the only indication in two years that they were awake. They did, apparently sleep, and when the room grew dark, their eyes would close.

Hermione had filled the room with items of significance from their home. Fresh flowers stood on the night tables on either side of the bed and a neat tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush in a cup were sitting next to them. Hermione had been almost irrationally worried that her parent's teeth might fall into decay while in St. Mungo's. Ron had helped her cast a Bacteria-repelling Charm on their mouths early on, but she wanted them to be comforted by the toothbrushes when they were awake. Muggle photos of the Grangers were sprinkled throughout the room, and even to the canopy of the bed, so that they were right in the Grangers' line of vision. Ron paused to admire a picture of Hermione, aged five, with two bushy pigtails sticking out unevenly on either side of her head and a box of Scrabble clutched in her hand and reflected that, in some ways, she hadn't changed much since childhood.

Finally, he pulled up a chair next to Mr. Granger and sat there a moment, not sure why he had wanted to come in here. Finally, he cleared his throat and began, "Hullo Mr. Granger - Mrs. Granger - " Ron leaned forward across Mr. Granger and waved a hand in front of Mrs. Granger's face. "I expect you've just had a nice visit with Hermione, have you?"

No response. Ron felt disappointed, but then again, what had he expected? This was one of the reasons that it took Hermione days to recover from her visits. There was a heavy sense of defeat that overtook a person upon entering this room. Taking a deep breath, Ron continued, "I expect you both know that she's very concerned about you, but you needn't worry. She's smart - the smartest person that I know, and she's trying to work out a way to wake you up. She'll do it too, I know she will. She just hasn't found the right book yet, ha ha." Ron laughed at his own ridiculous joke and nudged Mr. Granger in the ribs with his elbow.

Ignoring the silence, Ron stumbled on. "And I just want you to know that I'm, er, I'm there for her and she's got loads of people who care about her and are looking out for her - not that she needs it, because she's strong, but still - we all love her - I love her especially, and well, I just thought you should know that...." Ron's voice trailed off and he looked exasperatedly at his companions, who were showing no signs of response whatsoever.

"Bugger," he muttered to himself and stood up heavily. Before he opened the door to join Hermione in the hallway, he said to himself, "I will get Malfoy." Immediately, he felt ashamed. He had promised Hermione that he would stay away from Malfoy and he knew the promise was important to her. Wiping away all signs of anger from his face, therefore, he stepped out into the hallway to collect Hermione and to take her home.

She looked up at him expectantly.

"We had a nice conversation," he said softly. "Rather one-sided, you know, but..."

Hermione stood up and cut him off with a brief kiss. "Thank you," she said.

"Do you want to go home?" he asked, trying to calm his mind enough to Apparate.

"Yes. Let's go to the Burrow and collect Crookshanks and Pig. Then we can go home. Maybe Harry will be back from Quidditch tryouts. I'd love to hear how they're going."

"Quidditch? You? Really?" Ron didn't try to hide the astonishment in his voice.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "I'd rather talk about anything other than my parents right now."

"Quidditch it is, then," said Ron, giving her another kiss. "Harry'll die of shock. And then you're coming to the Snout's Fair to keep me company. All right?"

Hermione smiled a little, and nodded. "All right."

And with that, they left the hospital.

~*~

Harry's heart was lighter than it had been in months - years, even, he reflected, as a Bludger whizzed dangerously close to his ear. He dove quickly out of reach, pivoted the Firebolt to his left, and shot off toward the edge of the field, grinning. There was nothing in the world like a good Quidditch scrimmage - except maybe telling his friends every detail of it, afterwards.

Harry felt his stomach drop slightly and it had nothing to do with the dive he'd just taken through the air. The thought of going home from practice tonight gave him a very pleasant case of nerves. Ever since his birthday, Ginny had happened to be at home quite often after the tryouts, and she still wasn't tired of listening to him go on about Quidditch drills. She'd also been up rather early for breakfast a few times this week - she wasn't much of a talker at six in the morning, but Harry didn't mind. This morning, she'd fallen asleep at the table and knocked over her cup of coffee, and Harry smiled to himself now, at the memory of her freckled face, squashed against the place-mat. He had got rid of the spill and woken her; she'd mumbled vaguely at him to catch the Snitch and then gone back to sleep right where she was.

He couldn't deny it anymore. Something about the way she did things was really making him -

"Potter, you're out of bounds!" hissed someone directly behind him.

Harry felt a lurch of panic. He had to get his head in the game. He flew forward slightly and checked over his shoulder to see who had given him the warning, realizing as he did so that he hadn't been out of bounds at all. Maureen Knight hovered at his tail, an enormous grin on her face.

"Got you," she chortled, and sped off, her eyes scanning the grass for a flicker of silver and gold. Harry watched dumbly for a moment, then laughed, shook his head, and concentrated hard on the field. The two of them were neck and neck now for the position of Seeker for the Chudley Cannons. Knight was giving him a run for his money, no question - but he could damn well give her one right back. She seemed to share his sixth sense where the Snitch was concerned, and Harry had learned early not to wait until it was spotted to race with her. The thing to do, really, was distract her until he'd slowed down her reaction time.

He flew toward his team's end of the pitch very slowly, veering sharply twice to avoid obstructing his own Chasers and flying rapidly infield once to confuse an opposing Chaser before the man could make a decent shot on the goal hoops. As the action headed down to the other end, Harry rose upward and hovered. He searched the grass, the players' broomtails, the sleeves of their practice robes, the bases of the goal hoops - all places where a Golden Snitch was apt to hide in an attempt to camouflage itself. Snitches were so tricky that it was hard to believe they didn't have brains; Harry knew that the little golden orbs were controlled by very specific, tamper-proof Sporting Spells, yet he had never quite been able to get rid of the suspicion that every Snitch had a mind of its own.

But wherever the Snitch was hiding at the moment, it had no intention of showing itself. Harry shrugged. That didn't necessarily matter. He peered across at Knight, who had one eye on the field and one on him, and knew that she was too clever to follow him if he feinted right now. It would take a bit more strategy than that. Luckily, Ron had given him an excellent tactical idea at the pub last night, using two shot glasses and a dancing peanut as his props. Harry had promised to try it out as soon as possible, and now seemed the perfect time to test if it worked.

He flew up behind one of his team's Beaters, Marty Gudgeon, who had been a Seeker all his life until Oliver had taken a look at him on the first day of tryouts. Harry had to agree with Oliver's assessment, too - Marty had massive arms, was a naturally gifted Beater, and seemed to be having the time of his life in his new position. He was following close behind Chaser Firoza Newland at present, batting the Bludgers away from her with incredible ease, not missing a single one.

"Marty," Harry said, in as low a voice as could still be heard over the wind, "Do me a favor - every time you get a chance, aim those things at Knight."

"Why, hasn't the Snitch come out yet?" Marty grunted, smacking another Bludger off into the sky.

Harry ducked the follow through of Marty's swing. "No, but she's not easily distracted and I want to make sure I have a head start. Help me keep her busy."

Marty glanced at Knight and nodded, and Harry swerved away toward Knight's end of the field. Keeping his distance by about ten meters, he came to a hover parallel with hers.

"Going to sit there watching, and let me do the work?" Knight bantered, not taking her eyes off the field.

"That's right," Harry answered evenly, glancing quickly at Marty. A Bludger was headed toward Firoza, and Harry knew that in a moment, it would be aimed toward Knight, who, Harry was happy to observe, was deeply concentrated on the other end of the field. Harry pulled back another meter, flexed his gloved hands, and gripped the Firebolt once more, tilting its nose down just a fraction in preparation.

He heard a crack! from the center of the pitch. A moment later, a Bludger hurtled past, just inches from Knight's ear, catching her off-guard and sending her spiraling. Harry waited for her to recover, every muscle at the ready, and just as it seemed she'd begun to regain her balance, he dove.

He cut steeply through space, the wind sleeking his hair and stinging his eyes, even behind his glasses. He feinted as though the World Cup depended on it, aiming for a perfectly innocent spot on the ground. He knew that if Knight had been undistracted, she never would have followed him, but as it was, he knew she wouldn't dare take a chance. For all she knew, the Snitch had appeared while she'd been busy with the Bludger, and sure enough, Harry heard the familiar noise of a Nimbus Two Thousand and One close behind him. He knew the sound of that broom by heart; years of playing against a Slytherin team full of them had trained his ear. As mercilessly as if it were Malfoy flying behind him now, Harry came within an inch of the pitch and pulled sharply upward on the Firebolt's handle, sparing himself a painful collision with the dirt.

Not a second later he heard a frantic, "Damn it!" from Knight as she struggled not to hit the ground herself. Harry climbed into the air, satisfied that she'd been thrown off her game, and nodded at Marty, who grinned. "Another one," Harry mouthed, jerking his head in Knight's direction. Marty nodded and turned back to guarding Firoza. Harry glanced downward to see his opponent shooting away from him in the air toward the other edge of the field, her face determined.

Harry followed. When he'd come within twenty feet of her, she dove out of his way. He followed again, and Knight made a sound of frustration - this was precisely what Ron had predicted. She was too paranoid of him now to concentrate entirely on finding the Snitch.

"Sorry," Harry called out cheerfully. "Thought I saw it for a second there. Guess not."

"Oh, shut your pie hole, Potter," Knight retorted, zooming away from him as fast as she could and heading for her team's goal hoops. Harry trailed behind her, feeling a surge of excitement as he watched Marty's bat come into contact with another Bludger, which sailed straight toward Knight's broom. She swore, pivoted, and dropped out of the way, at which moment, Harry feinted for the second time.

He dove at high speed, with real purpose - his feinting had improved unbelievably in the past two weeks. This time, however, he heard no telltale Nimbus noise behind him, and so, before he could go too far and lose the advantage of spotting the Snitch himself, he pulled out of the dive and circled back up into the sky.

"Nice try," Knight hollered, smirking. "I'm not a total idiot, you know."

"I never said you were a total idiot," Harry yelled back, and laughed when she responded with a very rude hand gesture.

"KNIGHT!" The voice was Oliver Wood's. Both Seekers' heads whipped downward, and Harry saw Oliver standing below them with his whistle in his hand and a furious look on his face. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE PLAYING AT?"

Harry cringed and glanced at Knight, who had gone pale. She didn't answer. Down the field, Firoza had just scored, and Harry was glad for his fellow Seeker's sake that the rest of the players weren't listening to Oliver just now, as he began to rail. "IT IS EVERY PLAYER'S RESPONSIBILITY TO TREAT THIS GAME AS A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH!" he shouted, going red in the face. "ARE YOU A PROFESSIONAL OR NOT?"

Knight opened her mouth as if to say something sarcastic, then shut it, clenched her jaw angrily, and nodded.

"THEN BEHAVE LIKE ONE!" Oliver shook his head in disgust, turned on his heel, and headed toward the far end of the pitch.

Knight muttered a few choice words under her breath as she sailed off in the opposite direction, but Harry also heard a noise from her that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle. He sighed. Knight was great fun to compete with and it was never comfortable to hear a teammate get shouted at like that. It was with a strong feeling of guilt, therefore, that he suddenly dove.

He had spotted the Snitch.

It was the barest glint of light next to Oliver's head, but Oliver didn't even seem to hear its silver wings fluttering in his ear. He stood there, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, staring up into the sky, apparently unaware that Harry was tearing towards him at breakneck speed. Harry concentrated his vision entirely on the tiny gold ball, but it wasn't until he heard Knight's broom streaking close behind him that he felt the competitive thrill that made Quidditch so enjoyable. He was half-tempted to slow down and let her catch it, but Oliver's long ago words about gentlemanly behavior on the field had never left him. And getting to play Seeker on the Chudley Cannons was far too important to him to sabotage his chance in any way.

He swooped so close to Oliver that his captain was sent sprawling to the ground in surprise. Harry stretched out his fingers, and had barely touched one shining wing when the Snitch fluttered rapidly upward, behind his head. He whirled to follow it, lunged up to catch it, and closed his fist around it just as Knight caught up with him.

"Oh, bloody -"

"Oof!"

He had forgotten that she was right behind him. The Firebolt and the Nimbus Two Thousand and One collided in midair with a crash and Harry was thrown from his broom. He dropped into the muddy grass with a painful thud, and, seconds later, heard a thump right beside him.

"Are you alive?" Knight croaked.

"No," Harry answered, squinting up into the weak sun and feeling no desire whatsoever to get to his feet and find out that he'd broken some bone or another. "You?"

"I doubt it."

A face came into view above them, blocking the sun. When Harry's eyes had adjusted he saw Oliver, his hair askew and his robes covered with mud on one side, looking down at him approvingly. Harry released the Snitch and saw it flicker its wings near Oliver's nose for a brief moment, before it disappeared again.

"That's the kind of dedication I'm talking about," Oliver said gruffly.

Harry was glad for the notice, but felt it wasn't quite fair that he should get the nod entirely to himself, when Knight had taken an equal fall. However, he wasn't quite sure what to say.

"Well, we both -" he began, but Oliver cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Seekers dismissed." He stalked off, and Harry pushed himself onto his elbows, looking around dazedly. His eyes fell on Knight, who was watching Oliver walk away with an unreadable look on her face.

"Hey," Harry said after a moment, "I'm sorry he... you know. But I played with him in school and it doesn't really mean anything. He's just -"

"Yeah." Knight sighed and got to her feet, wincing with pain. "He's just a -" she stopped short, seeming to think better of her comment. "Well," she concluded, "at least you knocked him over." She grinned. "Hey, didn't you say you have a friend that runs a pub or something?"

Harry got to his feet gingerly, feeling for broken bones. He was relieved not to find any.

"Ron Weasley. He works at the Snout's Fair. Why?"

Knight's eyes widened slightly when Harry said Ron's full name, and he was pleased to realize that his friends must be publicly recognizable now, too.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04