The Lewis House 59 страница

Hermione stood still, her eyes focused on nothing, her mind a blur. She had never asked after Delia's losses. And now it was too late - but they would see each other again.

"Travel safely," Delia murmured. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye." Hermione turned and walked slowly through the great villa for the last time, taking the twists and turns of the long, cool corridors without seeing them at all. It was not until she reached the Portkey to the world outside Cortona that she began, in spite of her best intentions, to cry.

~*~

Ron rubbed his eyes and squinted at the scratchy handwriting in the ledger on the desk in front of him. Twilight filtered through the skylight in the center of the ceiling of the Ministry Archives, casting a dull grey light over everything in the room. The only brightness came from Ron’s wand, which was suspended in mid-air above the table, illuminating the pages.

A shadow creeping across the table made him jump, and he looked up to see the Ministry archivist standing a few feet away, his face highlighted by the light coming from his own wand, which he was holding up like a lantern. The archivist refused to allow torches or candles inside the reading room, and because of this, everyone else had left with the sun.

"We’re closing in fifteen minutes," said Mr. Doyle. "Do you want copies of anything?"

Breathing an inner sigh of relief, and determined not to stay a moment longer than necessary, Ron closed the ledger, still careful so as not to make Mr. Doyle twitch, and shook his head. "I’ve finished with this year. I’m glad I wasn’t around in 1478 –" he let out a low whistle – "You wouldn’t believe some of the things that are listed in here." He tapped the cover of the book, which read Inventory of Dark Objects Confiscated by the Ministry of Magic, 1478. Appended 1512 to Include Objects in Possession of Known Dark Wizards. A cloud of red dust flew up in his face, and Mr. Doyle sighed before reaching to place the heavy volume on the trolley next to him. Ron moved his hand quickly – he still wasn’t quite sure what he was allowed to touch and what he wasn’t.

"Did you manage to get those books from the German Ministry yet?" Ron asked, standing, and reaching for his wand. Mr. Doyle shook his head. "They say you’ve got to go there to look at them. But that you’re perfectly welcome whenever you want to go."

"Right," said Ron, frowning. He wouldn’t be able to make the trip until after Christmas, and he hoped that would be good enough for Sirius. He didn’t want to exhaust himself in the next few days with long Apparition journeys – he needed all of his energy for Hermione, who would be home… soon. He closed his eyes for a moment and smiled. Hermione would be home in an hour, if all went well with her travels. And all he had to do was drop his notes off with Sirius, retrieve the present he had finally purchased earlier that day in Diagon Alley, and head for Lupin Lodge. His stomach growled and he wondered if Hermione would want to have some tea after all of that traveling. That would be fine. Everyone could do their catching up over tea, and then they could just leave the room so that he and Hermione could finally have some time… alone.

"Mr. Weasley? Mr. Weasley?" Mr. Doyle’s voice brought him back to reality, and he opened his eyes to find that his wand was still lit and shining directly at the archivist.

"Sorry," he said. "Nox. I don’t know if I’ll be back before Christmas. But if you can think of anywhere else that might have listings of Dark objects, families with histories of interest in the Dark Arts, or anything, will you let me know?"

"Actually, I was doing some research on your research this afternoon, and I came up with a few ideas, but they’re a bit roundabout."

"Really?" asked Ron. "What are they?"

Mr. Doyle motioned for Ron to follow him to the main desk, and when they reached it, he pulled a roll of parchment from his robes and spread it across the surface of the table. It was covered in notes.

"We’ve pulled the obvious records – the ledgers from the earlier Ministry law agencies and the more recent records from the M.L.E.S. – you haven’t finished looking through all of those yet. Then there are the items from outside Britain. Really, to do a thorough job, you shouldn’t limit yourself to the German records – you should go to France, Switzerland, and definitely Eastern Europe and Russia. My friend Pavol is an archivist for the Czech Ministry Archives and he owled a list over today of places where you might find information. Now, bear in mind, the documents will be in Czech, but you can probably hire a translator or use a translation charm to do the research there. The chances are slim that you’ll find much account of items of British origin, but you can’t rule it out, and I don’t want to feel I’ve let you down. Now…"

Ron tried to look interested, and crossed his fingers in hope that Mr. Doyle would hand over his notes at the end of his speech, which, once he got going, could take a while. "Er, yes," he said, shifting to stand straighter. "We’re mainly interested in objects that may have been in possession of British wizards and witches. And that book from 1478 was really informative, but I don’t think we need to look at anything that old from other countries. We’re more interested in more recent records, like from the last three hundred years or so." Actually, Ron thought Sirius would probably be interested in everything, but he'd only just started to realize that sometimes it was better to provide Sirius with a summary, rather than too much detailed information. Sirius had a tendency to...fixate.

"Yes, I realized that, and I realize the importance of connecting the objects to the families. So I was thinking, we do have quite a few manuscript collections here, although you may find more at the Library of Magic. Really, they should all be there – it’s our job to maintain the official records of the Ministry of Magic, and not the personal papers of individuals. But, nonetheless, we do have several collections that contain correspondence and diaries, and you never know when someone just might allude to a Dark object in their possession, or Dark magic in general. And sometimes they kept their own family ledgers, especially if they owned a large manor house. Of course, more often than not, they’re quite boring. A lot of people were more interested in recording how many pounds of Floo powder they went through in a month, or how much food their house-elves consumed. But it would be worth a look…"

The sound of the clock chiming four drowned Mr. Doyle’s voice. Ron wanted nothing more than to be out of the room and on his way home. He was starting to fidget, and although Mr. Doyle was only being helpful, Ron felt a sudden urge to hit him with a silencing charm and make a break for it. He willed himself to be patient, although he did walk back to his table and begin to gather his pieces of parchment together. Mr. Doyle followed, and continued talking.

"It might not be a bad idea to look at Muggle records. There are ways to get you into the British Library, or the Public Records Office at Kew, and you can always check the legislation books in Parliament. Of course, that would be a last-ditch effort, but sometimes you find valuable information in those Muggle documents. I was reading a diary of a nineteenth century woman in Bath who reported that she’d dreamt that she’d seen the ghost of a man in ‘bright tights and an oiled beard’ do a dance in front of her bed one night. She nearly drove herself crazy trying to figure out who could be haunting her house. Well, I knew who it was. Old Benjamin Carroll went a bit crazy near the end. Thought it was fun to parade around as a ghost, but he never bothered to actually get the costume correct. It’s a bit of a famous case. He was eventually captured by the folks in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department, well, it was the ‘Mistreatment of Muggle Relics’ department back then, and a large part of the records in that fond use him as an example of what can happen when we start to lose our minds. Mediresearchers at St. Mungo’s use those records. You wouldn’t think, would you, that the records from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department would be useful to mediresearchers, but they are! You see, you never know…"

Ron had lost track of Mr. Doyle’s monologue several sentences back, but he snapped to attention at the mention of his father’s old department. Despite the time, Ron had to ask, "Really? So you think that information in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts records might be of use? That’s a brilliant idea!"

Mr. Doyle looked taken aback. "I… er… I wasn’t saying that, actually." He hit his head with his hand and gave an exasperated sigh. "Although I can’t believe I didn’t think of that." He picked up a quill from the desk, and began to scribble a few more notes on the little bit of white space left on his parchment. "But you know, those records, although very complete, are very difficult to read. That’s one of the challenges, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, with this type of research – you never know when you’ll be at the mercy of some clerk who never bothered to study penmanship. And in recent years, especially, the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department was scaled down in terms of staffing – never had an official clerk, and whoever was keeping the records had the worst handwriting I’d ever seen."

"I’m sure I wouldn’t have a problem with the handwriting, Mr. Doyle," said Ron, with a snort. His mum hadn’t spoken to his father for a week once when she thought he’d written her a note that said Bye hag! I’ll send someone to kill the kids before bedtime, when, in fact, he’d written Love you! I’ll be home to kiss the kids before bedtime.

"And you’re right," continued Mr. Doyle, getting excited, "sometimes the people from Muggle Artifacts would raid houses suspected of containing Dark objects much the same as the M.L.E.S. Lines were a little blurred, I’d say…"

A thought was creeping its way into Ron’s head, and despite all attempts to suppress it, especially on Hermione’s homecoming day, he had a revelation. This was work-related, he told himself. Sirius had wanted to try to account for the locations of all known Dark objects and their owners, and who was a more well-known owner of Dark items than the Malfoys?

"Mr. Doyle – I think there might have been several Ministry raids in recent years – probably within the last five or six. Can you add the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts records to my list? I’ll look through them next week." And then, before the archivist could waylay him further (it was already almost a quarter past) he made for the door.

Mr. Doyle looked very disappointed, but the moment passed and he smiled. "Of course! I’ll just put these with the other items you’ve got on hold. There are a few catalogs from the turn of the century that might interest you as well, I’ve put those on your trolley, and we can talk about the other things when you come back. If I think of anything else in the meantime, I’ll let you know."

Ron thanked Mr. Doyle, grabbed his own notes, and headed for his office. He really liked the archivist, who had always been helpful, and as he walked down the brightly-decorated Ministry halls, he wondered if Hermione might want to come with him one day and help him do some of the research. Might give her the shock of her life if he suggested going to the library.

"Whatever are you doing in our end of the Ministry, Ron Weasley?" said a familiar female voice. Parvati Patil was standing in the doorway of the Foreign Diplomatic Service, stunning in deep purple robes. Ron whipped his head around to look behind him and realized that he’d been so preoccupied in thinking about Hermione that he’d ended up at the opposite end of the Ministry.

"Er, took a wrong turn," said Ron, feeling flustered. "I’d stay and talk, but I’ve got to drop these off and head home – Hermione’s back today."

Parvati laughed and waved him off. "Go on," she said, and Ron caught a glimpse of something sparkling on her wrist. "Don’t want you to miss your girlfriend. And when you’re done snogging, tell her I said hello."

"Wait a second," said Ron, stepping closer. "Where did you get those … things on your wrist?"

"Ron," said Parvati, rolling her eyes. "Hermione would never, in a million years, wear these. Best off to get her a book from Flourish and Blotts."

"What? How did you…" but Parvati didn’t wait to hear him out, she just laughed again and retreated into her office, muttering something about "boys" and "clueless" under her breath.

"URGH." Ron clenched his fists in frustration and headed back the way he’d come. He had less than an hour to get back to his office and get home to Hermione, and now he began to worry that his gift just wasn’t… right. Mr. Gladrags had been so excited at the Chudley Cannons victory, that he’d immediately arranged an appointment with Ron to put together a set of robes for Hermione. They were lovely, as far as Ron could tell – at least, they’d seemed to fit the model in the Gladrags shop. Gladrags had thrown in a scarf and some bracelets, but seeing several pieces of similar jewelry on Parvati made Ron wonder if he’d made the right choice.

He checked his watch. Maybe he still had time to stop by The Write Answer. He’d spent one lunch break looking at overpriced quills and fancy ink there, but couldn’t make up his mind on a color, and finally remembered that Hermione had scoffed at the brightly-colored green and red inks when they’d shopped in there second year. Or maybe he should just go to Flourish and Blotts. He knew, after all, that Hermione would always welcome a new book, and…

"Get off of me! Get off!" A familiar voice carried from the hallway he had just walked past, and Ron skidded to a halt. Checking his watch again, he cursed, and turned around to investigate the matter.

~*~

"Hurry up! She's going to be here any minute!" Ginny shook her wand at Remus, who was meticulously, and maddeningly slowly, magicking fir branches to hang above the doorway of the sunroom.

"Patience," he said as he levitated and charmed another branch into perfect position. "Or perhaps you'd like to help me."

Ginny pulled a face, and Remus pulled a face in return, which sent her into a fit of giggles. It wasn't like him to be blatantly silly, but the chill in the air seemed to have affected everyone for good. This was nearly as nice as being at Hogwarts for the Christmas holiday, Ginny thought, and she had tried to explain as much to her mother, whose last owl had been plaintive and morose. "You haven't been home to see me in months, dear. I can only assume that you're having a wonderful time, but it would be nice to see my only daughter every once in awhile. Please do try to carve five minutes out of your busy schedule to send an owl." Ginny had sent an owl right away, explaining as patiently as she could that she would be home for Christmas, and that she wouldn't have been coming home for the holiday if she were away at school, so why should she have to come home early now? She didn't want to be at home. She didn't tell her mother that, of course, because her mother owned a disappointed sigh more lethal than most hexes, but it was true. She wanted to be here, where she could study with a teacher who was also a friend. She wanted to live nearly on her own, just up the road from her brother - and from Harry, whose owls were more than daily now; he'd taken to writing them on dragon back, and she'd kept every one. She wanted to be here when Hermione walked in.

It was only the Winter Solstice, but it felt more like Christmas Eve than any Christmas Eve in recent years. Ginny felt just as she had used to when she was little, and the promise of Bill or Charlie was on the horizon. It was always so exciting when an older brother came back from abroad all laden with exotic things, looking like a stranger. And Hermione… well, she was almost an older sister. Ginny smiled to herself. She would be a sister, one day.

Especially if Ron had anything to say about it. He had spent the last two days going fitfully from place to place, unable to concentrate unless shouted at, taking Hermione's final letter from his pocket and looking at it with a hungry expression. "She says she thinks she'll get to Lupin Lodge by the end of the day. What does she mean by 'the day', though - the workday? Is that five, or six? It depends on the job, doesn't it? Or does she mean even later - she's been abroad, who knows what they do over there? Or does she mean the actual day, at sunset or something? When should I be home to meet her? She's a bloody unspecific tease, I swear -"

It surprised Ginny that Ron wasn’t home yet. She glanced at the clock. It was nearly five, and he had been in such a state this morning that Sirius had told him not to go to work. But Ron had insisted that if Sirius didn't give him a stack of hideous research to pore over he'd go mad with anticipation, and so the two of them had gone to Diagon Alley, leaving the other three to do the decorating.

The other three. Harry was in the house, for the first time in months, and Ginny was so aware of it that her skin hadn't stopped tingling all afternoon. He had done an insane double shift at Azkaban, and had arrived at Lupin Lodge at lunchtime with a look on his face that Ginny knew very well: he wasn't going anywhere without a fight. She'd known he would come. She had written to him yesterday and promised that she was ready to be near him without getting ill, and that was all it had taken to bring him to the door. Remus had explained to Harry that he was not allowed inside, but Harry hadn't budged. "I'm staying," he'd said, his eyes on Ginny. "I'm really in the mood to decorate."

Ginny checked over her shoulder now and caught his eye again. He was just beyond the door, standing in the corridor with a basket of holly in his hands and watching her, and the way he was watching her made her heart fly into her throat. But Remus's rule for the afternoon had been that if the two of them were suddenly so hell bent on helping him decorate, they'd have to stay in separate rooms or face the consequences. "Oh no," Harry had said. "Detention in the Forbidden Forest?" But they had obeyed. They knew what the consequences were.

Although… Ginny thought, if the benefits outweigh the consequences…

"All right, Ginny?" Harry's cheeks were ruddy and the toes of his boots were shiny wet. He must have gone outside for the holly; the first snow had fallen the night before, and it had stuck beautifully.

"All right, Harry."

The warmth of Lupin Lodge was making his glasses fog up. He set down the basket, removed the glasses and wiped the lenses on his shirt. Ginny caught her breath. Harry had looked so tired all afternoon - his time at Azkaban was taking a physical toll and Ginny had noticed the lines around his eyes and the thin strands of white hair that were almost, but not quite, buried in among the black. The job was aging him. But without his glasses he looked vulnerable and young, and Ginny turned away before her will started to fail.

"Ron's not here yet," Harry noted, and whistled under his breath. "He'd better hope he's on time."

"I know!" said Ginny, looking back at him. His glasses were in place but it hardly helped; he had leaned against the wall and fixed his eyes on her again. She found she couldn't look away this time, consequences or not.

Just then, there was a soft pop! from the front room, and the clatter of things being dropped to the floor. But it wasn't Hermione - the change in the air was too familiar for that.

Remus seemed to sense the same thing. "Sirius," he called out from his spot near the ceiling, "Could you bring me the wreath greens, they're right --"

There was the sound of something smacking against a wall, and then it came into view. Ginny shrieked and pointed past Harry, who whirled around just in time to see, and duck, a huge amount of flying foliage. The wreath greens shot into the room at high speed, hitting Remus in the stomach.

"Oof!" Remus stumbled from his invisible perch in the air and barely landed on his feet, fists clenched, eyes afire.

From the end of the corridor there erupted a spasm of laughter. "Sorry!" Sirius called cheerfully. "Hope I didn't hit you!"

But Remus was brushing pine needles from his robes and heading for the door. "RUN, if you know what's good for you --" He sprinted past Harry and disappeared into the front room. There was a crash, followed by a string of shouted hexes through which Sirius continued to laugh as merrily as if he were being tickled.

"Is that normal?" Harry asked, squinting down the hall.

"Sort of." Ginny got to her feet. Reason told her to stay where she was, pull her wand and clean up the scattered firs on the carpet. She followed a deeper impulse. With her eyes on the back of Harry's neck, she stepped over the mess and crossed the threshold that separated her from him.

"Hi."

He jumped slightly and turned, and the ruddy patches on his cheeks got brighter. "Hi."

It was closer than they'd been in several weeks, and Ginny's heart began to thump. Even beneath the Cannons stadium in the mediwizarding wing, when she had ached to put her hands on him - help him - she hadn't done it for more than a second, and it hadn't been satisfying. She took a step closer, and lifted her hand to touch him now. "How are you?"

Harry didn't answer. He looked torn. She grazed her fingertips across the top of his healed shoulder and down his arm, and Harry shook his head but he didn't stop her.

"It's all right," she said quietly, bringing her hand to his and taking it. "I'm all right. I promise." She could hear his breath coming faster; she took another small step and felt his chest rise and fall against her own, felt his heart hammer like hers did. She waited for the cold to envelop her, for her sensitivity to make the next step impossible, but the air stayed still and warm. Her head didn't ache and her stomach didn't lurch.

The rest of her body was pounding.

"If Remus --" Harry began, his voice dry.

"I don't care." She could still hear Remus lecturing Sirius on the importance of manners, and she could hear a muffled struggle in reply that meant Sirius was probably body bound and itching to retaliate; they'd be occupied for half an hour. Or at least five minutes. That was all she needed.

Harry pushed his fingers between hers and grasped her hand. His eyes darkened as they focused on her mouth. "Are you sure-"

"Yes -" She knew she was being forward, but it had been too long. Letters were wonderful, but she craved him. She pushed closer to him, reached behind his head and pulled his face to hers. Harry made a noise of surprise; he stumbled forward and Ginny fell back against the wall, loving the crush of his weight against her. He braced himself and laughed so close to her mouth that she felt the soft explosion of air on her lips.

"Sorry." He put his forehead to hers and leaned.

She shut her eyes and grinned. "My fault," she murmured, sliding her fingers into the unruly hair at the nape of his neck. An audible breath escaped him and his hand clenched hers.

This time, she didn't have to pull him to her. He bent his head and searched out her mouth; she felt his free hand brush her waist and shivered when he trailed his fingers up her side and down again.

"Oh, Harry…" She hadn't meant to say it quite like that. She blushed at herself, but apparently he didn't mind; he kissed her with sudden, painful intensity and Ginny slumped against the wall, giving in. This was what she wanted, had always wanted, from Harry. To be claimed. It made sense. She brought her fingers to his temple and dragged them down his jaw, feeling it move. He was tired. Exhausted. She could feel that now. He was also exhilarated and, to her relief, the two emotions seemed to be keeping their balance - she was unreasonably cold and felt herself growing weak, but there was also a soaring sense of joy --

A strange pop! in Ginny's mind made her freeze.

"What is it?" Harry muttered, pulling back. "Are you all right?"

"I don't know." Ginny waited, searching herself for the truth. She had promised Harry in more than one letter that she would never again hide pain from him, where Healing was concerned, and it was a promise she intended to keep.

"Do you hurt?" He touched the side of her face, looking guilty.

"Not really, but -"

Thud! Something had fallen to the floor and the air… Ginny concentrated. The currents in the air were all different. She felt the house grow warmer and cooler all at once with new excitement, new happiness - with a strange new serenity.

Someone was laughing in the sunroom.

Someone was standing in the doorway of the sunroom. Ginny gasped as her peripheral vision grew embarrassingly clear.

"Hermione -" Harry exclaimed. He dropped his hand, straightened up, shot a flustered glance to his left, and pushed up his glasses. "She's, er - back -"

"Hermione!" Ginny extricated herself from her spot between Harry and the wall, her face so hot she feared it would burn right off. She couldn't even look into the sunroom and it appeared that Harry couldn't either; he was gazing at her in a kind of fixed horror.

"Hi! Oh, I'm so glad to see - well -" Hermione burst out laughing again and, after exchanging a rather painful look, Ginny and Harry finally turned their heads. What Ginny saw made her forget her embarrassment and she could tell by the drop of Harry's jaw that he had forgotten too.

Hermione looked wonderful. She was slim and tan and her hair was much lighter - and she wasn't exactly dressed for the current winter weather. A loose, white, sleeveless garment skimmed her figure and she giggled through her fingers, brown eyes bright over the tops of her hands.

"Look at you," Ginny gasped, and went towards her friend. "You look… fantastic."

"Oh stop."

"No, I mean -" Ginny groped for the right words. "Wow. Ron'll have a heart attack."

Hermione's hands came down and her eyes darted over Ginny's shoulder as if she was looking for something, but she didn't dwell on it for long. She grinned and opened her arms, and Ginny hurried to hug her.

Harry hung back until they were done, and Hermione fixed shining eyes on him. Suddenly she looked the way Ginny remembered her in Diagon Alley, after long summers. She shivered with excitement, and looked like she might come right out of her skin.

"Hullo, Harry," she said. "Look at you! I really missed you - oh, it's good to see you - it's been - it's never been this long! You look taller. And that Cannons match! Oh my goodness, Ron sent me the Omnioculars and I watched the whole thing three times - you're just brilliant and it was so sweet of you to say you wished I was - is your arm all right? And is that white in your - oh, Harry, what am I talking about, quick give me a hug -"

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04