The Lewis House 45 страница

But Ginny was real. Real things didn't deserve to get splayed across tabloids. Harry couldn't believe that the wizarding world demanded access to his private life simply because he was famous - he couldn't believe they even wanted his intimate information. He had never quite grown into the idea of being a celebrity, and it still shocked him that anyone cared what he did all day long. But they did - they cared about all of it; that article had detailed what he had eaten, what he had been wearing, and obviously whom he had been kissing, as if he weren't a person at all, but some sort of entertaining push-button display. His only consolation was that he hadn't been touching Ginny anywhere indecent; his photo-image hands had stayed firmly planted on her waist - or at least, he thought they had. But even that didn't give him much comfort - every time Harry imagined Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looking at that picture, he felt a little bit sicker.

Worst of all, he couldn't even go and talk to Ginny about it. He had tried to go to Lupin Lodge, but Remus had caught him at the door and turned him kindly - but firmly - away, with the promise of news later on in the evening. Harry didn't want to wait - he wanted to see Ginny's face and hear her voice and know what she thought of everything. He knew that he could stick his head in the fire, but he didn't want to do it with Ron watching. It was the first time in his life he'd wished for five minutes at the Dursleys' house, with access to the telephone.

Avoiding his thoughts as best as he could, Harry pointed his wand at his king and concentrated.

"Hullo - we've got an owl." Ron sprang to his feet and went to the window; Pig tumbled through it like a tiny, feathered cannonball and Ron caught him in both hands. "Stupid git," he said. "Haven't worked out how to fly properly after all this time? It's for you, Harry."

Harry looked up from the chessboard to see Ron untying a pretty-looking, white bit of parchment from Pig's leg. "Me?" he said stupidly.

"Yeah - no return address... but it's Ginny's handwriting." Ron looked at him. "Writing letters now, are you?"

Reddening, Harry held his hand out. "Here."

But Ron didn't seem inclined to give it over; he turned the letter over in his hands a few times, smirking just a little bit. "It's not very long..." he mused. "That could be either very bad or very good -"

"Hand it over."

"Why? Going to run to your room and read it?" Ron asked, and Harry shifted uncomfortably. He had never been teased about anything like this before, and he wasn't quite sure how to deflect Ron's remarks.

"No," he said, flustered.

"Here you are, then." As formally as if he were a butler, Ron handed the letter to Harry, and took his seat once more. He hunched over the chessboard with his elbows on his knees and his hands dangling forward, making the space between them very small.

Harry bowed his head in order to let Ron see as little of his face as possible. His glasses slipped down his nose but he pushed them up as well as he could and slid his finger under the envelope's closure, snapping the wax seal. He wasn't sure if he imagined it, but he thought he caught a whiff of the sweet, pine sort of scent that Ginny always seemed to have around her. Was she putting perfume on her stuff? Did everything she had just smell like that?

"Interesting envelope?" Ron asked innocently.

"Go and make tea, would you?" Harry snapped. "Be useful or something."

"In a minute." But Ron obviously had no intention of going anywhere.

Ignoring him, Harry pulled the white paper, folded in quarters, out of the envelope, and unfolded it in his fingers, not sure what to expect. He didn't have any letters from Ginny. They had never written to each other. He noticed right away that her handwriting was just like her - pretty and simple, and just a bit rumpled. A smile tugged at half his mouth and, forgetting that Ron watched him, Harry focused on Ginny's words.

Dear Harry,

After you left the Halloween party, I had a thought (Remus would be so proud). Tell me what you think of this - if my abilities really are a sort of obstacle to us being in the same room together, why not send letters instead, until I can learn how to control myself a bit better?

Right. I'm sorry to tell you that you missed an excellent Quidditch match. First, Ron released the Snitch (also known as a letter from Hermione, which had fallen from his pocket), and I caught it. Then George, displaying excellent Beating skills, kept Ron away while I read the letter in a very loud voice. I won't frighten you with the details, because Hermione is your good friend. At any rate, I promise that I will never start a letter with "I get into bed at night…"

We gave the letter back, but it serves Ron right for being such a prat. I put up with him because he's my brother - I'm not sure why you do. I reckon he's annoying you even now, and if he is, then you have my permission as his relative to smack him around a bit.

I am doing homework as usual, and I have to go. I don't want to turn it in late; I'm in enough trouble with Professor Lupin, as it is. But I'd like to hear more about your day with the dragons, if you feel like sending Hedwig my way this evening. Was Norbert all right? Are you?

If you send a note tonight, I will read it "when I get into bed". (I never said I wouldn't end a letter that way).

Love,

Ginny

p.s. About that article. I never wanted to be in the news, but now that I am, you'll have to teach me how to sign autographs properly. Just teasing. I hope you aren't being bothered about it, over there. No one here has dared to bother me. Goodnight.

Harry got to the end of the page and started the letter over again at once, his heart beating fast. He couldn't believe how nice it was to have a note like this in his hands. It was the perfect solution for now - nowhere near as good as touching her, but there was something permanent about the letter that Harry liked. He could keep this. He could take it with him to Azkaban, and read it until he knew it.

He finished reading it again and started over for the third time.

"Good letter?" Ron asked pointedly.

Harry jumped, hastily folded the paper, and blushed. "No. That is - yes. It's nothing."

"I'll just bet it's nothing." Ron got up, not meeting Harry's eyes. He looked as if he wasn't quite comfortable with any further teasing. "I'll fix that tea now," he said, and left the room

Harry slumped in relief, and opened the letter again the second Ron was safely in the kitchen. Ginny's writing, Ginny's paper - the most he was going to have of Ginny for awhile. He suddenly felt terrible for Ron and Hermione, and wondered why he'd never thought, before, about how hard it must have been for them since September, just writing letters back and forth. Ginny was just up the road and that was bad enough; he wasn't sure he could handle her being halfway around the world, even if they might as well have been that far apart.

He read the letter again, and found himself composing an answer in his head as he went along, though he wasn't sure he'd ever get himself to write it down on paper. He wondered if he ought to answer - would she expect him to? Would she even want him to? Harry wondered if what he wanted to say would come across, in a letter, and he realized that he had no idea what he should really say. He thought, for a moment, of asking Ron for help, but knowing he'd be met by a wide, freckled smirk stopped him from proceeding towards the kitchen.

There was one person he could ask for advice - Harry found himself getting up and heading quickly to his room; he shut himself in, lit the room, and went to his desk, where he removed a quill and parchment and sat down - then leapt up again with a muffled yell. The copy of Charmed Life, which he had Banished earlier, now stared up at him from his desk.

He and Ginny were kissing. It was only a photograph, but as he stared down at it, Harry felt terrific pressure in his blood. He watched, against his will, as his mouth touched Ginny's again and again, and he found that he could not look away. He hadn't given himself a chance to really study the picture, before. It was… strange and fascinating, to watch himself kissing. Being kissed. Not entirely unpleasant.

He might have settled in his chair to study it for awhile longer, but, to his horror, his photo hand began to grope: up Ginny's waist, along the side of her torso, and around to the front of her dress robes. Harry blanched - he knew he had done no such thing - and in a sickening flash, he remembered that half the wizarding world had the same picture on their dinner tables. The Weasleys would have seen this. With an unnecessarily violent flick of his wand, Harry sent the whole tabloid into the waste bin, where it landed with a metallic thud. He picked up his quill, shaking with anger.

"Dear Hermione," he scrawled roughly. "How are you? Things here are fine." He stopped, remembering what Ginny had said about his feeling "fine." It was true that he wasn't fine at all, at the moment, but then, he wasn't about to tell Hermione that he felt like tracking down the editors of Charmed Life and feeding them to the Acromantula. He could practically see her getting alarmed, and decided not to elaborate. "Halloween was good, at Hogwarts," he wrote. "Wish you could have been there, Nearly Headless Nick was there and Dobby asked all about you."

Harry stopped, gathered his nerve, and kept writing.

"Ginny wrote me a letter. Perhaps you could tell me what to say back to her.

Hope things are good with the Thinker.

Write back,

-Harry"

He rolled up the parchment, tied it tightly shut, and stood up to give it to Hedwig, who seemed to sense her necessity. She gave her feathers an important ruffle and stared unblinkingly at Harry.

Halfway across the room, however, Harry had a panic attack. The letter was ridiculous. He wasn't going to ask Hermione anything. He pivoted, tossed the parchment in the bin, and pointed his wand at it. "Obliterate," he said, for good measure, and the contents of the bin went up in a flash of fire, making Hedwig hoot indignantly. He didn't need Hermione's help, or Ron's permission. If the whole world could watch him kiss Ginny in the papers, then he could damn well write her a tiny little note.

The only question was what to say... Harry returned to his desk, thumped into his seat, and sat hunched over a new piece of parchment with his fingers in his hair, scratching his head and making his hair stick up even more than usual.

"Dear Ginny," he finally wrote, when he had pulled himself together enough to pick up his quill, "Thanks for the letter. I'm sorry about the picture. I came over earlier to see you, but Remus stopped me from coming up."

He read over that bit several times and was finally satisfied with it, though he was baffled about what to write next. Everything he wanted to say sounded so stupid in his head that he knew he'd never get it right on paper. Frustrated, he pulled Ginny's letter open again and smoothed it out on the desk beside his nearly empty page. Perhaps he could take his cues from her.

"I'm glad we talked the other night," he wrote slowly. "I miss you." Harry clenched his fingers a little. He couldn't leave that. That sentence had to go. He put down the quill and fumbled for his wand to do an Erasing Charm, but before he got his hand to it there was a rap at the door.

"I'll have tea in a minute," he called hastily, not wanting to explain to Ron that he was writing back to Ginny. "Just putting something away."

"There's no rush," someone called back - but it wasn't Ron.

Harry looked over his shoulder and stared at his bedroom door. That had been Sirius's voice. Sirius was out there, in the hallway. Harry couldn't remember if Sirius had ever been over to the Notch before, and though part of him was immediately irritated that Sirius had taken his time about it, another part of him was instantly glad to hear his godfather's voice. He wasn't sure which side of himself to agree with.

"I'll just bother Ron till you have a minute," Sirius said, "all right?"

Harry sat still, wishing he didn't have to say anything back - but now that he had already answered he couldn't pretend to be asleep. Unable to

think of another good excuse not to come out, he was finally forced to reply. "Fine," he said shortly.

He waited until he heard Sirius step away from the door and walk back out to the front of the house, then turned determinedly back to his letter. He had to reply to Ginny before doing anything else.

"You must be all right, if you ended up playing Seeker - too bad you couldn't keep what you caught," he wrote, right beside "I miss you." He supposed that part could stay. It wasn't so bad. It was true, anyway. He tapped the quill on his desk and wracked his brain for something else. Again, he scanned Ginny's letter for help. "As for dragons, Norbert did all right when I was out at Azkaban," he put, after a minute. "He was sick the other day, but he's been fine since then. It was probably just the rain.

Sirius just dropped by, so I need to go. But I'm glad you wrote. Write back soon.

Love,

Harry."

He stared at his signature for a long time, not certain if he ought to be so obvious. Ginny had written "Love" before her name, but then, some people always did, and perhaps she was one of them. Hermione had signed her letters "Love from" for seven years, and Harry had never thought twice about that. Now, however, the word glared up at him in his own handwriting, and he felt quite naked. He wondered if Ginny would know what he meant. He wondered if he'd written too much.

A burst of raucous laughter from the kitchen interrupted Harry's train of thought; he tried to concentrate further but couldn't. He folded his letter and tightly sealed it, and before he could second-guess himself, Hedwig stood on the edge of his desk, holding out her foot and looking as though she wouldn't take to it very well if he cheated her out of another opportunity. Harry attached the letter to her leg and fondly stroked her wing, then watched her fly off through the darkness towards Lupin Lodge. When she had disappeared from view, he got up from his desk and went towards the kitchen.

Ron and Sirius were in the middle of a whispered conversation now, and Harry strained to hear what he could.

"…no idea?" Ron asked.

"Mick O'Malley seems to think that the rain was responsible - that Norbert was sick and his energy was low."

"And that's why the Dementors got so close?"

"In theory."

Ron gave a low, angry laugh. "I don’t believe it."

"Why not?" Sirius sounded intrigued. Harry was, too; he stopped outside the door of the kitchen and listened.

"It was Malfoy," Ron said quietly. "I know it."

"But it wasn't," Sirius said. "I told you what I saw. Malfoy brought his dragon in to drive the Dementors back. It surprised the hell out of me, but it's the truth."

"It was him," Ron insisted. "He's up there working, isn't he? And why? Everyone knows he doesn't have to - my dad told me the Malfoy fortune was heavily fined over the summer, but it's still a fortune - and Malfoy's never done a lick of work in his life before this. He could've been playing Quidditch -"

"So could Harry," Sirius pointed out.

"But Malfoy's not up there riding dragons for the same reasons Harry is. Harry took the job because he feels responsible. Malfoy's just up there to cause problems, the way he's been causing problems ever since we've known him. Don't you wonder why he dropped the charges against me? I do - I wonder if he's concentrating his efforts on Harry, trying to do as much damage as he can. Best he'd've got out of a trial is a couple of months in jail for me, or maybe a fine. But up there at Azkaban, he could - he could push Harry off or - I don't know - I don't know what he's up to, I just know he's up to it. " Ron stopped his rant, breathing heavily.

"It's… not that I haven't suspected him," Sirius said, after a pause. "Everyone's got an eye on him, your brother included. But Ron, he hasn't done anything except… help."

"It's true," Harry said suddenly, stepping into the doorway. The kitchen of the Notch was functional but quite tiny; Ron and Sirius filled it to capacity and Harry was forced to stand just outside the door.

Ron leaned against the stove and looked warily at him. "How long were you listening?"

Harry shrugged and looked at Sirius, who stood against the wall between the waste bin and the counter, the top of his head touching the bottom of the clock.

"Harry." Sirius grinned. "Done writing?"

Harry nodded, but offered no further information, and after awhile, Sirius's grin looked rather awkward, stretching hopefully in the silence.

"Did you need something?" Harry finally asked. He knew it was abrupt - even rude - but he stood with his arms folded and waited for Sirius to answer.

Sirius did answer, eventually, stepping away from the wall and gesturing to the door. "No, not really. Just stopped by. Thought we might have a walk - it's a nice night, if you're not too busy."

Now it was Harry who felt awkward. He could feel Ron's eyes on him. He thought about saying no to Sirius - he could say that he was tired, or not feeling up to it - he could say that he and Ron hadn't finished their chess match. Those things were all true. But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to say them. "Okay," he agreed, and backed out of the doorway. Ignoring the look of happy surprise on Sirius's face, he went to the hook by the door and grabbed his cloak. "Mind if we go now? It's late."

"That's fine." Sirius followed him out into the road and shut the door. The sudden quiet was overwhelming and Harry didn't know what to say; he walked along, slightly faster than usual, and waited for Sirius to start.

It had grown quite dark. Owls hooted from several of the small cottages that lined the street, and Harry could see candlelight in many of the windows. On the roof of one house, a woman in a fuchsia cloak sat with one leg hooked around the chimney, peering through a handheld telescope. She waved down at them, and Harry and Sirius waved back.

"There are Muggles around here," Harry said, very quietly. "I wonder what they think of her."

"I'm sure they find her very eccentric," Sirius replied. "That's what we're generally called, when we act like that in public. Eccentric."

They walked along in silence for awhile, and Harry listened to his shoes crunch against the tiny rocks that fell across the cobblestones. It was a very clear night, and Harry had studied the stars for so long that he found himself doing it as they walked, naming the constellations in his head and smiling a little when he remembered how Professor Trelawney had turned nearly every one of them into a death omen.

"You seem to be all right about the tabloids," Sirius said suddenly. His voice was loud and unexpected in the silence, and Harry jumped.

"Tab -? Oh. Right." He kept his eyes on the stars. "Well, it's nothing new."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

Sirius nodded. "Ginny's handling it well, too."

That got Harry's attention; he looked sideways at Sirius before returning his eyes to the sky. "What'd she say?" he asked casually.

Sirius laughed. "Well, she didn't say anything when I first handed it to her. I thought she might burst into tears. Then she burnt the whole paper to a crisp and announced that if anyone had anything to say about it, she'd do the same to them."

Harry grinned and forgot himself, picturing it in his head. "She's great," he sighed.

"Yes, she is."

Harry flushed, realizing that he had spoken aloud. He cleared his throat. "So, er - you and Ron were talking about Norbert," he said quickly. "He was fine today, in case you were wondering. He was just sick from the rain, before."

"Good." Sirius pointed down a small path that led away from the main road and toward the woods, and he and Harry ventured down it. "Of course, Ron seems convinced that Draco Malfoy had something to do with it -"

"Ron's always blamed Malfoy for everything," Harry interrupted. "Not that he doesn't have reasons, but - you know."

"I know." Sirius snickered. "I was like that about Snape. Right after we got out of school, when the Dark army was first rising - everything that happened, no matter how cataclysmic, I was convinced it could be traced back to Snape. Your dad used to humor me, though Remus never did."

Harry kicked a stone out of the way as they approached the forested area and came to the path that wound along the outside of the woods, behind all of their houses. They hadn't walked far; from here, Harry could see the jack-o-lanterns that he and Ron had scattered around the back yard of the Notch, glowing like tiny pinpricks in the darkness. He hoped that Sirius would keep talking about his father. Harry felt strangely as if all the tension between himself and his godfather had disappeared into the darkness, leaving them room to talk.

"Speaking of Remus…" Sirius looked both ways along the path. "Which way?" he asked.

"Home," said Harry. "Have to get up early."

Sirius nodded, and they began to walk up the gently sloping path along the woods, towards the jack-o-lantern lights.

"What about Remus?" Harry asked, after a moment.

"Oh." Sirius smiled, but Harry got the feeling he was nervous. "Well, he suggested… Look, Harry, don't feel you have to say yes, but I thought he had a point, and it might be… interesting. I wouldn't mind giving it a try. Though it has been awhile, and I'm sure I'm a bit rusty."

Harry glanced at him. "What?"

Sirius took a deep breath. "After we left Hogwarts," he said, "your mum and dad spent a lot of time together, being in love and all that. And the five of us - that's including Peter - spent a lot of time together, either working on the war effort, or trying to forget about it. But there wasn't much time for Black and Potter, if you know what I mean."

Harry did. He had lately felt the same way about his friendship with Ron, for even though they lived in the same house, they spent little time together. "And?" he said.

"Well… every few weekends, or so, James and I would simply… disappear." Sirius smiled again, and this time, the effect was dazzling. He looked younger, and desperately mischievous, as if he had already put some terrible plan into action.

"Where would you go?" Harry asked. He slowed his footsteps, wanting to hear the whole story before they made it home.

Sirius shook his head. "That was always a secret from everyone - even Remus and your mother. We'd get back and pretend we had never been gone. If anyone interrogated us, we'd simply say that something had come up."

"Is it still a secret?" Harry asked, hoping that it wasn't.

Sirius looked at him. "Well, from Remus it is. And it would have to be a secret from Ron and Hermione - Ginny, too."

Harry considered these conditions, then nodded. "Fine."

"Where to begin?" Sirius rubbed his hands together. "First of all, we never went to the same place twice. There was the time we entered Padfoot in a dog show -"

"A Muggle dog show?" Harry interrupted, shocked.

"Right." Sirius cackled. "We won, too. You should've seen the looks on the judges' faces when I did an Irish jig and knew advanced mathematics."

"But that's illegal -" Harry began.

Sirius ignored him. "Another time, we went to one of those enormous old country houses - the kind they claim are haunted, then charge a fortune to tour. We took the invisibility cloak, and haunted it properly for the first time in its existence. The people on the tour got their money's worth, I'll tell you that."

"Hermione'd turn you in," Harry muttered, but he was smiling.

"We didn't always wreak havoc, though," Sirius continued, looking as though he'd been sent back in time. Harry watched his face as they kept walking, and his eyes seemed to see something in front of him that wasn't there. "We were out to have a good time together, just the two of us. We knew how to have fun better than anyone on the planet, I'm telling you. Have you ever heard of Disney World?"

"Sure," said Harry. "The one in America?"

"That's the one. Great place. So's the Bermuda Triangle. Same thing for Mount Everest - I should tell you how we got a whole hiking party to think they'd found a Yeti. We - but no - the best was running from the bulls -"

Harry stopped walking. "You and my dad did all that," he said flatly.

"Sure." Sirius stopped, too. "We had money, and magic, and things weren't too bad in the world yet." He sighed. "When we joined the Order of the Phoenix, and began to fight against the Death Eaters in earnest, our lives were no longer our own. You know what that's like."

Harry gave a half-shrug, and nodded.

"We knew it was coming. Everyone did - it was the same for us as it was for you. James and I wanted to do everything we could possibly do together before we lost all our time. Black and Potter." Sirius ran a hand through his hair and gave Harry an apologetic look. "You might not want to hear about him - I don't know how you feel about it."

"It's all right," Harry said slowly. "I want to hear. But why did you say that Remus had suggested something? I thought he didn't know."

"Oh, he doesn't." Sirius snorted. "Remus would hand-deliver me to the Ministry of Magic if he knew about half of what I'd done. He just remembers that your dad and I used to go off on our own every so often, and he thought that perhaps…"

Sirius went quiet, and Harry felt a little thrill. "Perhaps what?" he demanded.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04