The Lewis House 32 страница

Harry took the picture as carefully as if it were Leo himself and Ginny giggled in spite of her irritation with dragons and Azkaban and Harry's general stubbornness. "You can hold the picture normally, Harry, it's not the baby. You can even drop it, if you like," she teased, remembering how awkward he'd been with the tiny, breathing bundle.

"That's not funny - I really almost dropped him!"

"Oh, please. When have you ever dropped anything?" She held out her hand for the picture, and Harry turned it over. "I have to go to class," she said importantly. "See you at lunch."

"What's first?"

"Oh, I don't know. Potions?" Ginny shrugged. "I haven't got my schedule yet."

"You won't have any classes with Slytherin," Harry said, sounding jealous.

Ginny laughed at his tone. "True, but then again, I don't really get to be a Gryffindor."

Harry looked up at her. "Oh, go on. You're the entire Gryffindor seventh year class."

"And the prefect, and the Head Girl, and the Quidditch Team Captain."

"Not for long. You're late. Professor Lupin'll revoke all your titles and have you scrubbing the Owlery. Hedwig's cage could use it, I'm telling you."

Realizing that she was, in fact, late for her first class, Ginny hurried from the room, lightly swatting Harry's shoulder as she went. As if he'd anticipated this reaction, he reached for her hand as she touched him, and she felt his fingers pull slightly against hers. With the tingle of contact still running up her arm, Ginny disappeared into the study that was to be her castle for the rest of the year.

~*~

Remus stood behind the wide desk in his study, looking at the clock and smirking. Ginny was late. He remembered her at age twelve - always a very attentive student, always bright and alert and cooperative, but very nearly always the last straggler to come through the door - and apparently things had not changed. While he waited for her, he checked things over once more; he had the teacher's guide spellbooks, several extra rolls of parchment, and objects for demonstrations laid out before him. A chalkboard was now hanging on the wall at his back, next to a portrait of Remus's great-grandfather, which shimmered as the old man's breathing fluttered his moustache. Near the window, Remus had hung a lunar chart, and his eyes flickered across its white crescents and orbs. It was a little over two weeks until the next full moon. Ginny would have to begin the potion again quite soon - he hoped that she would not come to regret her decision to give him so much assistance. It would eat up quite a lot of her life, until she got the hang of it. Snape had been able to do it in his sleep, but then, he'd been a genius.

The door banged open and Ginny stood in it, her face flushed as she fought not to smile. "Sorry!" she said breathlessly. "Harry wouldn't shut up!"

"Oh, that's right, blame me," Harry yelled from down the hall. Ginny grew a bit redder, and her smile got the better of her.

"We were talking about Leo," she apologized, holding up a snapshot of her new nephew. "I got overexcited. Really, I won't be late again." A smaller desk had been set up to face Remus's, and Ginny slid into the chair, letting her book bag clatter to the ground beside her. "Right," she said, tucking away the baby's picture, and pulling out parchment and ink. "What's first?"

Remus looked at her before answering, taking in her blush, her grin, the way her eyes kept darting towards the door, and the oddly askew appearance of her rather tidy ensemble. Her Hogwarts work robes bore a faded Gryffindor crest, and Remus's eyes lingered on it. She was the whole of Hogwarts, this year, and she was most certainly a Gryffindor.

"Without house points," he said, meeting her eyes, "I can't think of how to reprimand you for making me wait. But let's just say that there are plenty of detentions to do around this house, and I won't hesitate to dole them out if I have to." He smiled. "I know it's not exactly formal, with just the two of us, but we ought to respect each other's time as much as we can. We have a lot to get through. All right?"

Ginny nodded, looking less like she'd just come from flirting with Harry, and more like a properly abashed seventh year. Remus strained not to laugh. How odd it was to treat Ginny like a student, when she already knew more than he ever would about her most important talents. "Here," he said, holding out a scroll, "I've drawn up a schedule - have a look and see if it's agreeable. We can change it around as we go, but I thought it would be a good idea to keep with what you've been used to."

Ginny's eyes scanned the timetable, and she gave a squeal of delight. "Astronomy at midnight on Tuesdays!" she cried, looking up at Remus. "Thank you." Her eyes clouded briefly. "But it's... going to be so weird, without Emily. We were partners in that class. And Andrew always needed help with... but never mind." She shook herself and looked back down at her schedule.

Remus watched her, his heart heavy for her sake. He tried to imagine what it would have been like to have missed his seventh year at Hogwarts. Seventh year had come for them during terribly dark times, but all he remembered now were the joys he'd felt. After he had finally forgiven Sirius for having told Snape how to get underneath the Whomping Willow, the rest of that year had been amazing. James and Lily had become engaged. They, and Sirius, had begun their applications for the Department of Mysteries. Peter had started trying to get apprenticeships lower in the Ministry. Remus had been barred from all of that by his lycanthropy, but Sirius and James, and even Peter, had spent the whole year making that up to him with more excitement than it was legal to experience - the Marauders had caused more damage to the school in that year than in the other six combined. They'd had their best romps in the Forbidden Forest, James had played his best Quidditch, and though they had got the map confiscated, it hadn't been long after when they'd received news that had wiped their childish concerns away completely. Albus Dumbledore had approached them, and Lily, separately, and asked them to join a resistance movement that had led them to the Order of the Phoenix. Seventh year had changed their lives.

"Herbology," Ginny muttered, "Charms, Ancient Runes - oh, I never signed up for that on my own, do I have to? - Transfiguration, Arithmancy, History of Magic... well, you won't bore me to sleep, anyway... Care of Magical Creatures - oh, thanks for not putting Divination on here - and Defense Against the Dark Arts." She looked up. "Do I really need Defense class, at this point?" she asked quietly.

Remus nodded, and remembered what Alastor Moody had once told him. It had turned out to be all too true. "Evil doesn't leave, Ginny. It just gets weaker for awhile. In your lifetime, you may experience the defeat of another Dark -"

"Fine," she interrupted, and looked back down at her schedule. "Why does it say that Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at two o'clock are to be announced?"

"Because I'm about to announce a new class."

"New!" Ginny gaped at him. "But there are already a million classes here! What did you do, ask Hermione what the seventh year schedules are like? She takes extra classes for fun, you can't trust her."

Remus just smiled. "You might change your mind when I tell you what it is."

Ginny looked unconvinced, but curious. "Well then?" she prodded, when Remus did not continue.

He picked up a thick textbook and turned it over in his hands. "Ginny, have you ever heard of Empathic Magic?"

She frowned, as if trying to remember. "I... don't think so."

"All right. But you know what empathy is."

"Sure." She shrugged. "To feel what someone else is feeling, right? Or like, to identify with someone. Should I get a dictionary?"

"No, that's fine." He watched her carefully, feeling rather excited. It was wonderful, teaching- it gave him a kind of high to watch a face light up with sudden understanding, as he knew Ginny's was about to. "Do you remember the first day that you helped me in the garden this summer? We were planting the pumpkin seeds and you were able to tell automatically that the last three wouldn't grow. You told me they were dead, and I asked you how you knew."

"I didn't know," Ginny said. "I still don't. Is that Empathic Magic? I can tell if plants are dead?"

A small smile formed around Remus's mouth, and he looked at her warmly and shook his head. "That's a tiny fraction of what I believe you are able to do." He set the book on her desk, perched on the edge of his own, and continued. "I think you naturally sense plant auras. It's one of the many indicators of Empathic Magic."

Ginny stared down at the book: dark, frayed leather with the words Empathy in Sorcery, A Complete History and Guide stamped in gold on its cover. "Oh," she said. Her voice was quite small. "So... why don't we learn this at Hogwarts? Is it just not terribly important, or..."

"The reason that Empathic Magic isn't taught at Hogwarts is that there is no reason to train a person who does not carry the ability. It would be like training a Muggle in witchcraft - all the knowledge in the world can't make up for lack of natural power."

"Oh." Her voice was even smaller. "So... not everyone can sense plant auras."

"There's more to it than plants," began Remus, assuming his professorial voice and finding that it came effortlessly back to him. "You've heard of mental health mediwizards, of course. There are several at St. Mungo's - highly trained specialists who do all they can to help those whose minds and emotions have been addled. General mediwizards, as you know, concentrate on healing the physical body. Madam Pomfrey, for example, is an excellent nurse, and I imagine she can heal nearly everything."

"Not madness or death," Ginny said under her breath.

"No one can turn back death, and no one has been able to cure madness, that's true. But for everything else, there are intelligent witches and wizards in our medical community, trying to keep everyone sane and healthy. Yes?"

Ginny nodded and ran her fingers across the gold lettering of her book. "Yes."

"They must be trained. They work through potions and salves and charms and counseling. They work to find out where the invisible problems of the mind and body lie, and from the outsides of these problems, they work to remedy them. Still with me?"

"Mm-hmm. But Remus- and I don't mean to cut you off," Ginny said, taking her fingers from the book and looking apologetic. "But I should tell you that I don't think I'd make much of a mediwizard. I'm just not the type. I couldn't study that long, and it's not quite me, you know? Cutting people open, or regrowing bones, or whatever... no."

Remus held up a hand. "Let me finish. There are some things that medicine can't heal. Students of Empathic Magic do not become mediwizards - they become what are called Healers. They require no training of the sort you're worrying about - all of the ability is natural. It's in you, Ginny. You are a Healer, right now. I'm almost positive. Do you remember what we talked about that day in the garden? Before the seeds?"

"Erm..." Ginny screwed her eyes shut tightly for a moment, then jumped slightly in her seat, gripped the desk with her hands and opened her eyes. "We were talking about your... transformations," she said, almost inaudibly. "I'm dizzy."

"Why? What just happened?" Remus asked, crouching down in front of her.

"Nothing."

"Come on, Ginny. I saw you jump. What did you feel?"

She looked at him warily. "I don't know," she said. "I think it's just that I have to make the potion again soon."

"Why do you have to? Explain it to me again."

"Because..." she avoided his eyes. "You're in a lot of pain. Mostly it's in your mind, but it's physical, too."

"What happens if you don't make the potion?"

"I feel sick."

"Turn to page twenty-four and read aloud from the second paragraph."

Looking glad to have something to concentrate on, Ginny flipped the book open and found her page. "Healers often discover their abilities by accident, always after having been through a traumatic experience, and usually after having spent a length of time in close proximity to a plant, animal or person who requires Empathic assistance. The novice Healer will find him or herself working steadily to prevent the plant, animal or person in question from feeling pain. Especially if the Healer's subject is human, he or she is likely to become physically ill whenever not engaged in some form of healing process, makeshift as it may be. Novice Healers may find themselves suddenly capable of levels of magic that were previously far beyond their skills. If no one present recognizes the phenomenon, the novice Healer will often spend his or her entire life devoted to a person whose pain is so intense that it requires constant attention, unaware that this devotion is a product of Empathic Magic."

Ginny stopped reading. She looked pale and drawn.

"Sound familiar?" Remus asked gently.

She nodded, but did not look up.

"Read just a little further, if you can."

Ginny drew a shaking breath. "Healers are born, not made," she read unsteadily, "but the study of Empathic Magic requires a level of maturity that is not usually found in anyone younger than thirty-five or forty, and most students do not realize their gifts before that time. There have been younger Healers, but they are the rarest of rare. The reason for this is simple: in order to awaken sufficiently to the vibrations of pain in those around them, Healers must have experienced a good deal of pain themselves - both physical and emotional. More often than not, a person born with the Empathic gift will live a relatively happy life, and never awaken to his or her ability to Heal. Traumatic experiences are necessary awakenings for those who are gifted with Empathic Magic. However, if a traumatic experience is strong enough, it will create a powerful chain reaction in the dormant Healer, allowing his or her gifts to rise to the surface. Painful experiences in early adolescence are the most successful in awakening Empathic gifts. The youngest Healer on record had the terrifying experience of being possessed -" Ginny broke off, sounding very close to tears.

"That's enough." Remus had been crouched in front of her desk all the time she had been reading; now he stood and went to his own seat. "That's quite enough." He waited through a long pause, organizing his own thoughts and papers, giving her a chance to speak first.

"So I'm a Healer." It was no longer a question. "Whatever that means."

"It means that you have the ability to sense or intuit a person's ailment or condition, either physical or mental."

"Great. So I can feel a lot of pain."

"Yes," Remus said, hoping he could make her see past that burden to appreciate what a gift her talent really was. "You can feel it - tangibly, in the air. Can't you? And sometimes you might be able to see it - it might have colors, or shapes. It might feel like knots in the air that need untying." He studied Ginny as he spoke; her face grew more and more bewildered as he put words to the things he knew she must have been very confused about for a long time. "You might be moved to touch someone, just to lay your hands on their head or heart. You might feel weights around people, or see dark places, and feel that you have the ability to create a kind of light."

"How... do you know?" she finally said. "That's exactly... Can you do it, too?"

"No. Everything I just said came from that book."

Ginny glanced down at the book as if it were going to bite her, then looked away from its open pages and gazed out the window.

"After the experience in the garden, I started watching you more closely. I noticed that when people were feeling unhappy, or unsettled, that you often became pensive, sometimes even trance-like. It's most evident - well. Can I be perfectly honest? I don't mean to be too personal."

Ginny gave a rather sarcastic laugh. "I think it's too late for that."

Remus met her eyes. "All right. What I've noticed is that your Empathy is most evident around Harry. It makes sense, you see. He's been through quite a lot, you may feel naturally drawn to help him."

It was a long time before Ginny spoke, and when she did, she changed the subject entirely. "I've never heard of a Healer," she said flatly. "If it's such a bizarre study, you'd think we'd at least be taught what they are. Mum or Dad would've mentioned something about it."

"There hasn't been a Healer since before Grindelwald's defeat. There is usually one mature, trained Healer in the world at a time. There were two, in 1938, which was very interesting. But they were both casualties of Grindelwald's army, and we lost them."

"What happened to them?"

"They were abducted for their ability to Heal naturally, without a mediwizard's facilities or tools. Very useful in restoring Dark wizards to the ranks."

"Then why were they killed?"

Remus sighed. She certainly asked all the difficult questions right away. "It is believed," he admitted, "that they took their own lives, rather than contribute to Grindelwald's continued rise."

To his surprise, Ginny merely nodded. "Well, that makes sense." She looked at her book again, this time with the ghost of determination. "Am... I the only one?"

"I think so. I wish there were someone to train you who knew better than I do."

She waved him off. "Will I be able to help people like - people who were hurt in the war? People who've suffered?"

"You do it all the time, without realizing it. You do it with Harry. And look how you've helped me already - and with study and practice, your abilities will get stronger. You'll become able to control them, use them freely, experiment with what can be done."

"Hermione's parents?" Ginny demanded suddenly. "Will I be able to wake them?"

Remus's eyebrows shot up. He hadn't thought of that. "I... don't want to get your hopes up on that score. We've discussed the finality of death and madness. But short of those two extremes, I think you might experiment with all kinds of things that have never been done."

"Could I stop you being a werewolf?"

Remus had to work not to show his shock at the question, and yet, even as he knew that his condition was irrevocable, he pushed down an incredible desire. There would be no harm in letting her try... and perhaps when she was older, and had more experience... But that was all a long, long way in the future, and he had to accept that, even if she made such efforts, they would fail. There had been werewolves for thousands of years, and Healers for the same length of time. Some things simply were.

"I think it's probably fitting," he answered lightly, "to class lycanthropy with madness and death." He laughed a little. "Oh, don't frown like that, come on. I can joke about it, you know."

But Ginny didn't smile. "When I've studied, and I know what I'm doing, then what... I mean, will I just go about, helping people?" she asked. "Wander all over?"

"You want to know if you'll be gainfully employed?" Remus grinned at her. "Oh, you'll have more to do than you'll be able to handle. You'll join Sirius in the world of those who never sleep. From page sixty-four, I believe - 'The witch or wizard who is known to be Empathic is often sought after and admired to help find cures, counter-spells, and solutions to problems ranging from marital woes to the running of governments.'"

"Governments! I could help Dad."

"You could do a lot of things. To start with, however, you can read through page seventy tonight as your homework assignment. It's time to move on to our first lesson of the year, which is Charms."

"What?" Ginny sounded flabbergasted. "How can I study Charms, when I've got this?" She picked up the book and shook it. "I have questions!"

"Then the second part of your homework assignment will be to write out any questions that are not answered by your reading assignment. We will discuss all of it tomorrow at - " Remus looked down at the timetable. "Two o'clock, when you have your first lesson in that subject. Now, pull your wand. We'll spend the morning going over some sixth year Charms as a warm-up."

Ginny pulled her wand, but very slowly, her eyes skimming ravenously back and forth the pages of the book on her desk.

"Ginny. Put the book away."

With a plaintive sigh and a grudging thunk!, Ginny set the book on the floor and rolled up her sleeves. "Yes, Professor Lupin," she said, her tone mimicking what it had been in second year.

"You know, I've missed that title." Remus smiled serenely at his pupil. "I like it. From now on, in the classroom, I'm Professor Lupin to you."

Ginny rolled her eyes, and Remus laughed. The school year had finally begun.

~*~

Ron was very busy procrastinating when his sister and Remus entered the kitchen at lunchtime. He was now fully awake and dressed and had spent the late morning looking at his snapshot of Leo, thinking about Percy, and deciding that the Weasleys were universally good looking. After that, he'd decided to clean his room and cook a stew rather than look for a flat, as he'd decided to do earlier. More than anything else, however, he was avoiding thoughts of his upcoming trial. He'd acted a lot braver than he really felt, when Hermione had still been in the room. But now she was gone to some rock in the middle of the sea, and he was feeling nauseated at the idea of defending himself in court.

"Here," he said, distracting himself by doling out servings of stew for Remus and Ginny. Remus thanked Ron, and then excused himself to go and eat in the "staff room" so that the students could "say all sorts of nasty things about the teacher behind his back." He took his stew upstairs.

Ginny, however, refused lunch. She sat down at the dining table with an enormous book, which she proceeded to open and read as if her life depended on it.

"Here," Ron tried again, offering Ginny's untouched bowl to Harry, who had wandered into the kitchen.

"Thanks," said Harry, and settled in the chair beside Ginny's. "What class is this for?" he asked her quietly, tapping the page with his finger.

"A new one," Ginny answered curtly, but Ron noticed that she took Harry's fingers and moved them off of the book with one hand in order to turn the page with the other, and that afterward, Harry didn't bother to move his hand out of hers. Their fingers remained touching, and Ron stared for just a second before getting a grip on himself. It was weird, seeing the two of them so comfortable, but it was all right. He'd get used to it... eventually.

"Another one done," came a victorious shout from the hallway. "Thomas Ixion - guilty. His wife Celeste - innocent of the Unforgiveables, but she's going to be fined heavily and they've placed her accounts under observation until further notice." Sirius strode into the kitchen, his eyes unnaturally bright, his face looking very thin. Ron hadn't noticed it before, but the lines around his eyes were growing deeper, and he looked sallow and unhealthy. He also looked exhausted. "I'm hungry," Sirius said, sniffing the air. "What is that?"

"Stew." Ron handed him a bowl, which he took with barely a mutter of thanks before he dug in.

"You don't usually get home for lunch," Harry said, turning in his chair.

"Forgot my money pouch," Sirius mumbled through a mouthful of stew. "Would've stayed, but I was getting lightheaded. Hell of a trial. Outrageous."

At the mention of trial, Ron felt his stomach turn. He'd been hungry just a moment ago, but now he felt he might be sick if he tried to eat. He put the lid on the stew pot and sat down with the rest of them. "Oh yeah?" he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Why? What was it like?"

"Ixion didn't have a chance. Evidence was stacked against him - real evidence, too, none of this 'Oh, I was working under the Imperius' loophole crap. No- this waste of life had tried to set a family's house on fire - Muggle parents, wizard children - and he tried to start the fire in the Muggle way. Figured he could never get indicted for it if it didn't involve magic. He filled two milk cartons with papers and kerosene. Must've thought it would be a perfect firestarter. And it might've been - trouble was, the Muggles had rigged some kind of system in case of an emergency -"

"A fire alarm," Harry put in.

"Right. So they got down there, put the fire out, the kids were smart enough to be suspicious that it was Death Eater activity, and they turned in the milk cartons as evidence." Sirius grinned. "They were full of papers, like I said, along with gasoline-soaked photographs. You'll never believe who the photos were of."

Ron shook his head. "You can't mean they were of himself," he said.

"Thomas Ixion the third, in full and moving color. A lovely one of him and his wife. Several of him getting different sorts of awards. One of him in trunks."

"But that's - that's just ludicrous!"

"So's setting someone's house on fire," said Ginny sagely, still not looking up from her book.

"True." Sirius finished his stew with a decided slurp, and stood.

"Leaving?" Harry asked quickly, and Ron glanced at him. He hadn't thought about it much, but the whole point of moving in with Sirius for the summer was so that Harry could spend a bit of time with his godfather. That hadn't really happened, what with all the trials. It was sad, really.

"Have to," Sirius said. "Another one this afternoon, and it's got the better of me, I'm telling you. I know the woman's guilty. I know it. But I can't prove it. I swear I'd use illegal means to prove it if I didn't know what it was like to be in her shoes. Just in case. I keep telling myself, just in case, I have to be fair." He sounded almost manic. "If I were anybody else, I'd've had her Stunned and thrown straight back in Culparrat," he muttered. "The Council are ready to throw her back in, they all think I'm crazy." He rubbed his temples. "Can't trust anybody else to do this. And then I've got that money grubbing Malfoy Advocate shooting me looks when he passes me in the street -"

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04