The Lewis House 28 страница

Fred was crimson. He opened his mouth, shut it, and looked to Angelina, whose lips twisted in a mischievous grin.

"I think George is busy, Molly," she answered merrily, glancing at Fred again. "You know," she whispered, "Ron’s been tending that bar for an awfully long time." The two of them burst out laughing, and Fred danced Angelina quickly out of earshot.

"Well, we’ll get him later," Molly muttered, squeezing Ginny’s shoulders. She hummed along with the music for a moment, and then made a sound of approval. "Harry’s got so handsome," she murmured, in exactly the same voice she used to muse about all of her own children. She laughed softly. "And he’s looking at you, dear."

Ginny’s gaze fluttered to Harry at once, and her heart jumped. He was looking at her, and with the same sort of expression he’d had on earlier, just outside the door of the pub.

She found she was sitting up straight, no longer needing her mother for support. It was enough to look wordlessly at Harry, from across the room. Her mother’s arm fell away. Harry did not break eye contact.

"I’ll find George on my own," Molly said quietly. She patted Ginny’s knee again, then stood up and walked away.

As soon as her mother’s eyes were off them, Ginny let herself smile. Harry smiled back – with just his eyes and the corners of his mouth. He jerked his head in the direction of Ron, who had just been relieved by Madam Rosmerta at the bar and was lifting the counter to get back to the other side, and shrugged apologetically. Ginny shrugged back, then lifted her hands and tilted her head onto them as if they were a pillow, gesturing that she was tired, and wanted to go home. Harry raised his eyebrows at the door, silently asking if she wanted him to leave with her. She smiled, and shook her head, pointing discretely to Ron and Hermione, who were turning their attention back to him again. He sighed a little, and waved without lifting his hand very high. She mouthed ‘goodnight’. His eyes lingered on her for a moment before he turned away.

Ginny sat unmoving, thrilled to discover that she had a language with Harry that could be used across a room, and amazed that he’d make a silent offer to leave with her, if she wanted him to, when he was talking to Ron and Hermione. She didn’t want him to have to leave them. But he had offered.

Feeling warm and content, Ginny said her goodbyes to her mother and the bride. Without a word to anyone else, she slipped out of the Three Broomsticks, went to the twins’ joke shop, and used their fireplace to go home.

Chapter Eighteen

Morning After, Night Before

~*~

A/N: Leaning a little more toward our rated "R" disclaimer in this chapter, so if you’re going to be squeamish about it, better to skip this one.

What, you still want to read?

Well, don’t say we didn’t warn you.

~*~

Lips softly touched Harry’s, and slim hands moved in his hair. He stretched out totally and let her have access to him – he wanted her to have access to everything. Her fingers were on his neck; her mouth met his in a kind of sweet fusion he didn’t recognize; she was warm and bright and real, and he wanted to keep her there so badly that he could barely breathe. When she pulled away, he mumbled for her to come back, but she continued to move backwards, swiftly, disappearing into the darkness around them as if she were being pulled. She stretched her hands toward him and he grabbed for hers, but missed – he had no power to reach her. His scar began to burn.

"Harry —" she called, frightened.

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead —" begged another voice, behind him.

Harry turned his head, frantically searching for his mother, but she was nowhere to be seen. Panicked, he turned back to look for Ginny, but she had disappeared entirely – he could hear her sobbing, just beyond the edge of darkness. Weak with fear, he tried to move his feet and found he couldn’t.

"Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy..." There was a sickening scream, and Harry pulled at his legs so hard that he finally made them move, but to no purpose. His knees gave way and he stumbled to the ground, striking his head on the floor. Shaking the pain away, he groped for balance, pushing himself to his knees on the carpet, trying to disentangle himself from the sheet that had somehow got wrapped around both his legs and most of his middle. He fell against the side of something solid, realizing even in darkness that his glasses were gone. His surroundings were a blur. He groped around with his fingers and found himself vulnerable.

A loud voice cut into his fear and sent him awkwardly to his feet, where he fumbled uselessly for a wand that wasn’t there. Panting, he tried to make sense of the world around him.

"Oi, Potter! Get your lazy arse out of that bed! Oi, Potter! Get your lazy arse out of that bed! Oi, Potter! Get your lazy arse –"

"C’m’nharry –" Ron groaned sleepily. "Shutitoff."

Harry drew a shaking breath as the world began to make sense. He was awake. It had all been a dream. His legs buckled in relief and he found himself seated on his own bed, in his own room. He reached to the nightstand and blindly shut off the alarm clock that Remus had given him for his birthday, then snatched up his glasses and fixed them on his face to see that Ron had fallen back into a shallow, scowling sleep. He reached up two fingers and touched them to his scar; it was painless now. There could be no danger coming. It had truly been a dream.

It had been months since a dream like that had ruined his sleep, and Harry wondered if he shouldn’t have gone to that wedding. Seeing Hogwarts had brought everything back in a terrible rush – there were good memories there, but the most recent ones had the power to drown them out. Hogwarts was still broken. Not to mention that Ron was in serious trouble and Malfoy was the cause of it. Harry flinched at the thought. And now the old terrors were showing up in his dreams, as if Voldemort hadn’t been defeated at all, but had only disappeared for another year.

Slowly, Harry managed to pull himself free of the bed sheet that had been restraining him. Silently he dressed in practice robes, put out Hedwig’s food, and picked up his Firebolt. In the kitchen he poured himself cereal, but stared at it and couldn’t eat a bite. His stomach was tight. Placing his elbows on the table, he propped his face in his hands and moaned.

Ginny’s body, in his arms. He could still feel her shift against him – that much hadn’t been a dream. His fingers remembered the cool skin of her arms and the way faint bumps had raised up at his touch. Her hair had smelled faintly of pine, of being outdoors, and against his mouth, the nape of her neck had been unexpectedly warm and soft --

He had to go to practice.

Harry pushed back his chair and grabbed his Firebolt, ready to Disapparate, but somehow he found himself on the stairs instead, climbing them two at a time. He hadn’t forgotten anything in his own room and he didn’t try to pretend he was headed there; following the same gnawing inner directive that had taken him to the Gryffindor common room the night before, he went to the girls’ room door, and pushed at it.

It squeaked horribly. Harry yanked back his hand, flattened himself against the wall and drew his wand, casting a quick and effective Silencing Spell on the hinges. Satisfied, he pushed again and opened the door just the necessary inches.

Dawn was breaking outside; the sky beyond the curtains grew dark pink with dim light. It spilled into the room in slivers, one crossing the girls’ desks in a thin beam, lighting books and papers and a ridge of Crookshanks’s fur. Another passed along the beds. Harry could see Hermione quite clearly; she slept nearest the door, curled on her side, hair obscuring half her face. And beyond her, flat on her back with her covers shoved off, was Ginny.

Ginny slept with one arm thrown above her head; the other was draped across her stomach. Her mouth was open, and light fell directly across it. Harry stared at it for a long moment, and jumped when her lips moved.

"No..." she mumbled suddenly, and Harry wondered if all the Weasleys talked in their sleep, like Ron. He listened close. "No... Tom..."

Tom. Harry shivered, and anger made a fist in his gut. She had nightmares, too. He remembered Ron having said something about that once.

"Please not Harry...not Harry..."

The words were too familiar, and Harry felt a wave of nausea so strong that he had to grip his Firebolt for balance.

"You’re not him..." Ginny began to cry, very quietly, in her sleep, and Harry felt a rage for the thing that had made her – and all of them – this way. He nearly went toward her.

But Hermione’s eyes had already snapped open – she rolled toward Ginny and her feet gently hit the floor. Harry moved back into shadow, knowing he shouldn’t watch, but unable to take his eyes away as Hermione stumbled to Ginny’s bed and sat sleepily on the edge of it. She softly smoothed Ginny’s hair and then took Ginny’s hand down from above her head and held it in both of her own. "He’s not here," she said groggily, stroking the freckled fingers. "That’s all over now. Shhh."

To Harry, it seemed that this scene must have played itself out many times. Hermione seemed completely prepared for the nightmare, and Ginny didn’t wake, but the mothering seemed to do her good. Her breathing regulated and her mouth fell slack once more. Harry wondered if she had been just as affected as he, by visiting Hogwarts. She’d certainly seemed lost, the way she’d stopped in the middle of the grounds and stood there – he’d watched her from the bottom of the hill. And the way she’d pled to be let into the common room… he understood that.

Hermione replaced Ginny’s hand on her covers and got up to go back to bed, but stopped short at a loud, hissing noise from her desk. Harry froze. Crookshanks was glaring right at him, his back arched, and Hermione peered curiously at the crack in the door.

"Who’s there?" she whispered. "Ron, is that you?"

Harry Disapparated.

The next sound he heard was a shrill whistle, and the same voice he’d heard from his alarm clock.

"About time, Potter – it’s nearly six in the morning." Oliver Wood strode toward him, looking as though six in the morning was a fairly lazy hour to show up on the Quidditch pitch.

Harry pulled gloves from his pockets and tugged the hide over his fingers, then mounted his broom with a muttered, "Sorry," and shot into the air.

"No – get back here." Oliver waved up at him. "No practice today, or have you forgotten? We’re here to discuss positions and reserves. I’ve made my choices."

The Firebolt shot back to the ground, and Harry made a rocky landing, staring at Oliver. He had forgotten. The events of the wedding had driven the most important day of his life right out of his mind. Though, he dimly reflected, he was going to have to reevaluate what he’d consider as the most important day of his life. He stood in front of Oliver, but hardly saw his captain at all. There was a smell of grass and mud and practice robes, and Harry’s mind traveled back to the Hogwarts grounds, where Ginny stood on the hill, staring at nothing, her pale blue dress robes whipping around her ankles.

"Potter?" Oliver demanded sharply. "Did you want to join us?" He pointed to the huddle of players that stood on the far side of the field, all looking quite nervous and excited.

"Huh?" Harry said, snapping out of it as well as he could. "Oh. Yeah."

"Unless you’re not interested in the announcements?" Oliver challenged, crossing his arms.

"No, no – I am." Harry quickly followed Oliver toward his fellow players and joined them, glancing briefly at Maureen Knight. She stood to his left, face pale with worry, but her hands were clasped decidedly behind her back and her chin was bravely up, waiting for the outcome. Harry wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, or if Oliver looked at her for an extra-long moment before opening his mouth.

"The Chudley Cannons," he announced, "will be making a comeback this year. You know it. I know it. Pretty soon England’s going to know it, and won’t it be priceless to see the crowd cheering when we walk away with that League Championship?"

There was a general muttering of assent, but the sharp "Yes, Sir!" that Oliver usually inspired seemed to be dampened by nerves. Harry wondered why he wasn’t nervous at all. At least, not about Quidditch.

He was going to see Ginny again, when he got home, and he’d have to think of something... to say to her. Because there were still those things she’d said, about outliving him - Harry flushed with remembered embarrassment, though he found he didn’t mind - and then her eyes, outside the door of the Three Broomsticks...

Damn George.

"Potter!"

Two sharp claps shattered Harry’s reverie and his eyes flew open. Oliver was glaring at him.

"Tired, you?" Oliver barked.

"Nervous," Harry lied, his voice cracking.

Oliver raised an eyebrow, but appeared to be fighting a smile. "Ah. Well, let’s get right to it, then." He withdrew a scroll of parchment from his pocket, and snapped it open in his hands. "Chasers!" he called. The group of players to Harry’s right stepped forward slightly, as a group. Harry could feel their tension as Oliver read the list of names. "First string: Firoza Newland, Paul Wyeth, Cole Kerry –" Harry heard sighs of relief and saw Firoza slam a victorious fist into her palm as Oliver read out the names of first and second reserves. She shared a grin with Cole Kerry, while Paul Wyeth looked to be quite in shock.

"Beaters!" Oliver surveyed the group to Harry’s left. "First string: Marty Gudgeon, Medusa Francis –" Marty turned deep purple with pride and looked down at his bat as Oliver listed the rest. Harry watched him and his heart began to pound, realizing that his own name might also be called at any moment. Maybe he was nervous.

"The Keeper – that’s me," Oliver said cheekily, grinning up at all of them. "First reserve, Darren Wolfe, second reserve, Michaela Pummelfront." The two reserves shook hands, smiling. "And finally, the Seeker."

Oliver cleared his throat in the sudden silence. Next to Harry, Maureen Knight went very still.

"First string: Harry Potter."

Harry’s jaw dropped. Numb shock overtook him and a rush of cold butterflies flooded his stomach. He was Seeker. For the Chudley Cannons. It wasn’t just a school dream – it had happened – he was playing professional Quidditch. His heart, which had already sped up, began to beat wildly against his ribs as his mind spun in dizzy disbelief. He hardly noticed Knight slump a little beside him, her proud chin coming down just barely.

"First reserve: Maureen Knight," Oliver briskly went on. His eyes darted up toward her, then back down to his parchment. "And there we are. Everyone else..." Oliver let go of the parchment with one hand, letting it curl into his other palm as he looked across the group with a satisfied nod. "Thanks for a good, hard workout, this summer. See you next round. Team, come with me."

The disappointed few who’d been left out of the lineup gathered their things and Disapparated. Harry walked, with his teammates behind him, toward a table that Oliver must have magicked into place. It was covered with scrolls, and his eyes fell on the one that bore his name.

"Season contracts," Oliver explained briefly. "Take these home, look over the terms, and bring them back signed in the morning. Be sure this is what you want for a year."

"Who wouldn’t want it?" Marty Gudgeon snorted softly, still red in the face with happiness. He grinned at Harry

Harry found himself grinning back, though he could hardly believe it was happening - it still hadn’t really hit him. Seeker. For the Cannons. Ron was going to lose his mind.

"Congratulations." Knight had gripped his hand and was shaking it firmly. Harry jumped – the last hand in his had been Ginny’s and though this was nothing like it, his mind went there immediately. Their fingers had fit together so easily, on the walk back into Hogsmeade; when she’d turned to him outside the pub door, her eyes had fallen half shut. Harry had felt his heart flip over; it repeated itself now, at the memory.

"Really, Potter, well done."

Harry jumped, trying to remember where he was. This was Quidditch. Ginny wasn’t here. Maureen Knight was trying to be polite to him, and he was supposed to congratulate her in return. "You, too," he attempted, knowing it was a stupid thing to say.

"You deserve it," Knight insisted, and her voice was so well controlled that Harry could hardly hear the crushing disappointment in it.

Oliver slapped a scroll into Harry’s other hand and grinned at him. "Yes you do, Potter," he agreed, reaching out to clap Harry on the shoulder. "Yes you do. You earned this down to the ground. Best Seeking I’ve ever seen from you, or anyone else, for that matter. Damned glad you came out for this team."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Maureen Knight grip her contract with unnecessary ferocity, and heard the parchment crumple.

"Thanks," he mumbled quickly. "I can’t believe... so... we’re done?"

"Until six sharp, tomorrow. Real practice, in the morning." Oliver’s eyes narrowed happily. "Here’s where the serious training begins. You ready, Potter?"

Harry nodded, incredulous. He could not remember a time when two such good days had come to him; he had no practice expressing the kind of happiness he felt. Oliver continued to beam at him until, being unable to think of anything coherent to say, Harry lifted his contract into the air in silent farewell, and Disapparated.

He Apparated within the safe confines of his bedroom, where no one but Ron would be lurking. Ron was there – still fast asleep on his back, his arms flung wide. He was mumbling to himself, and after Harry caught the word ‘Hermione,’ he was grateful that he couldn’t make out anything else. Quickly he shed his practice robes and placed his Firebolt in the corner. He looked from the Chudley Cannons contract to Ron, and tried to figure out what was the best way to tell his friend that he was going to be playing Seeker for his childhood dream team. He grinned, just thinking about it, and was about to fall back into bed and get a little extra sleep, when an unusually loud rustling of feathers drew his eyes to the corner where the owl perches stood.

Pig flew in circles around Hedwig’s head, but she ignored him; her attention was entirely focused on a sleek, dark brown visitor, whose beak was in her bowl.

"Hey," Harry whispered, and Hedwig immediately flew to him, perching possessively on his arm. Harry stroked her wing as he walked to the perch, then quickly detached a letter from the visiting owl’s leg, noting as he did so that its other ankle bore a tiny silver ring, inscribed with the letters CC~MoM. The Classified Confidential tag of the Ministry. Hedwig hooted quietly at the stranger as if to say his job was done, and when he had departed she returned to her perch with a huff, unceremoniously displacing Pig.

Harry looked down at the letter in his hands. It looked identical to the one that Charlie Weasley had sent him, a week ago. He glanced at Ron, who had not stirred.

As silently as possible, Harry unrolled the letter and skimmed it.

Dear Harry Potter,

We apologize for addressing you again on the matter of the P.A.P., which has now become a matter of some urgency. In order to contain the Dementors at Azkaban, we will require nine flight-trained professionals to staff our dragons; we have not received as many affirmative responses.

Please reconsider your answer. The Ministry needs you.

Sincerely,

Charles Weasley

Chairman of the Permanent Azkaban Patrol

p.s. – Harry, mate, ignore this. I’m serious. The Secretary Privy’s making me send them back to everyone who declined, otherwise I’d never bother you twice. Say hi to Ron and Ginny for me. ~Charlie

Harry wasn’t quite sure what possessed him. Perhaps it was that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for the Weasley family, and the Ministry seemed lately to be as much Weasley Headquarters as the Burrow itself. Perhaps it was simply that there was no one there to stop him. He sat at his desk, dipped a quill in ink, and scratched out a reply.

To Charlie Weasley and the P.A.P.

I’ll be there September 7th. Count me in.

~Harry Potter

Before he’d thought about it further, Harry attached the note to Hedwig, who rubbed her smooth head in the crook of his arm appreciatively, and took off toward the Ministry after her fellow. Harry watched her until she was out of sight, then picked up the unopened Chudley Cannons contract, walked blindly to his bed and lay down, trying to work out what he’d just done, and why.

He was an idiot. He was insane. There was no call for him to go to Azkaban – Charlie had told him not to bother. Hermione would be anxious to the point of illness. Ron would be crushed when he knew that Harry had turned down the position of Seeker on his favorite team. Oliver would be disgusted to find that Harry had led him on all summer. Sirius would be enraged, when he discovered that Harry had signed on to face the Dementors on a daily basis.

Ginny would just look at him.

He could already see her expression, and he screwed up his eyes against it. He’d seen the look on her face before, in school, whenever she’d been worried about him - but it had never made him feel so sick to his stomach; he turned on his side, clutching the useless contract in his hand, and tried not to think about what he’d just given up. Seeking. Professionally. Flying against another team, ignorant to the real troubles of the world for the first time in seven years, taking just one season to enjoy what made him truly happy - he’d just tossed it away because of a letter from the Ministry that Charlie had all but ordered him not to answer.

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, a voice told him that his father would have done the same thing, and Harry clung to it, hoping it was right. His mother and father had both done everything in their power to fight the Dark forces in the world, and those forces were still at work. The Dementors had killed that woman, in front of her son. They could escape. And if somebody needed to get on a dragon and stop them, then...

Ginny would understand. She could hardly be upset with his choice - it was for her father and brother, as much as anything else, that he had chosen to gear up not for Quidditch, but for dragon riding.

Dragon riding.

Harry’s stomach knotted in several places. He remembered, all too clearly, what it had felt like to step out of the tent and face the Hungarian Horntail during the Triwizard Tournament. He’d stood at its feet and felt like a morsel of food. He’d been a morsel of food, and very lucky to escape. He and Ron – and everyone else – had always considered Charlie to be partially mentally ill for dealing with dragons as closely as he did. This was the sort of thing that Hagrid might be able to handle, Harry thought frantically, but he certainly couldn’t. He didn’t even want to try. Harry rolled over and looked uneasily at Pig, wondering if he shouldn’t try to get the tiny owl to overtake Hedwig and bring back his idiotic reply before it reached the Ministry.

Ron sniffed loudly. His bedsprings creaked, and he yawned widely. He’d be fully awake soon; it was light out now.

Harry looked dismally at the contract in his hands, knowing what Ron’s first question of the morning would be. Not even the fact that Ron was facing a trial against Malfoy could make him forget that the Cannons’ season roster was being announced today, and Harry knew it. He also knew that he couldn’t face the inevitable disappointment in Ron’s face, when he told him the truth. Maybe... maybe he’d just wait until Hermione was awake, to cushion the blow.

Without a sound, he rolled determinedly out of bed; there was no point in putting off telling Oliver about his decision. Oliver deserved to know as soon as possible – and at least one person would be happy about this. Maureen Knight would get to play Seeker. Feeling only a little less nauseated about the idea of facing his team captain, Harry grabbed Charlie’s second letter from his desk, as evidence.

He slipped out of his bedroom and into the corridor before Ron could wake up, then stood in indecision, wishing that there were some way out of relating his decision right to Oliver’s face, and wondering where he’d even find Oliver now that practice was done for the day. Maybe he should just contact him at home, by fire, Harry reasoned, twisting Charlie’s letter in his hands. That way, if Oliver had an attack, he wouldn’t really have to be in the room for it. But a sinking feeling in his gut told Harry that not only did he have to tell Oliver in person, but that it was more than likely that his old captain was still out on the pitch, practicing, where he’d be quite easy to find. He’d used to stay and practice long after the Gryffindor team had been dismissed, and Harry couldn’t imagine that his habits had got any less obsessive.

Harry steeled himself for what would surely be a wretched conversation, and was about to Disapparate when the door to the girls’ room opened.

He wasn’t sure why he stayed there, waiting. All his instincts told him to get out of the line of fire. But, just as if he were dreaming again, Harry found that his feet were stuck to the floor.

Ginny appeared in the doorway, still yawning; her hair retained some of yesterday’s dress-up curl, but she must have brushed most of it out – maybe because it had got so tousled in Gryffindor tower, against his shoulder. Harry’s face grew warm as he recalled the way she’d reached up to fix it, failed, and smiled winningly at him.

She turned toward the stairs now, caught sight of him, and gave him the same sort of smile. It made Harry’s heart pound twice as hard as it had when he’d been made Seeker.

"Good morning," she said shyly, but she didn’t look away, and Harry knew that it was necessary that he reply.

"Hi." It had taken an Olympian effort. He congratulated himself for it. The greeting was followed by a pressurized silence; Harry felt as if he were underwater.

"So, tell me..." Ginny attempted, almost evenly, but, perhaps because neither of them had broken eye contact yet, her voice broke and trailed away.

Harry felt a flutter of nerves in his gut. She was going to bring up last night. She was going to ask him what he’d meant by it – she’d demand to know why he’d followed her and taken her by surprise and held onto her like that. He braced himself for it.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04