The Lewis House 63 страница

She climbed her fingers into his hair and stood on her one available tiptoe, to kiss him. "Merry Christmas, Ron," she said softly, near his ear. He shuddered. "When we’ve all done with dinner and if Harry decides to sleep here, then if you and I are still awake -"

"We can go to my house."

Hermione paused. A yes now was a promise. She knew, of course, that she could stop Ron at any time, and that he would honor her wishes. But she would die before teasing him toward something that she wasn’t ready to give – not that she hadn’t teased a bit too far, already. Still, she searched herself, making sure that she was truly ready to give it. She reached for the hand that was on her leg and took it in her own, then stood on her two feet again and looked up at him. His mouth was a bit slack as he watched hers intently, as if he’d catch it up again in a kiss at any second. She knew what he was thinking. She knew all the freckles on his nose and neck. She knew the ones beneath his shirt. She knew his mind and his heart – knew the depths of his loyalty, and the strength of his soul.

She wanted to know the rest of him.

"Yes," she said quietly. "We can go to your house."

Ron’s arms were around her at once and she sank into the warmth of him; he lay his cheek on her hair in silent gratitude, and they held on to each other in the falling dusk, preparing themselves. Anticipating.

"Your arms are cold," he murmured, running his hands up and down the length of them. "I didn’t even realize you were out here without a cloak. I’m sorry."

Hermione snuggled into him. "I don’t feel cold."

"Yeah, you do." He put his warm hands on either side of her neck. "You’re freezing. And I can’t have you getting sick now," he joked quietly. "Come on, let’s go inside." He ran his hands up and down her arms again, took her hands in his, and laced his fingers into hers. For a long moment, he studied her face.

"What?" she whispered, a little unnerved by the intensity of his eyes as they traveled over every feature.

He shrugged, and dropped his eyes to their joined hands. "You."

She reached up a hand and smoothed his tousled hair, feeling it between her fingers. It was thick and a little wavy. A bit coarse. Beautiful red. She trailed her fingertips down his face and smiled a little, when he shivered.

"Cold?" she asked. She traced his jaw, and then the very Ron lines of his lips. She’d missed his face, every day. She’d gone over and over it in her mind, lying there alone in Cortona. She lightly scraped her fingernails back and forth over his mouth.

"No," he replied, clasping her wrist almost painfully tight, and shooting her a look so unmistakable that Hermione was hit by a rush of adrenaline, deep in the pit of her, "but if we don’t go inside right now, I’m going to lose it, and you’re not going to get to wait until after dinner."

Hermione dropped her hand, and let Ron lead the way back to the house.

~*~

Harry lifted the Omnioculars that hung around his neck and used them to scan the skyline while Norbert glided around Azkaban's foreboding perimeter. Cold wind whipped at his cheeks, which were about the only part of him not covered with special gear. Off in the distance he could see Mick atop Viking, covering lower ground, and the unmistakable pale-blond head of Draco Malfoy, who swooped along on the back of Mordor.

Harry checked his watch. Only one more hour to go before his shift ended. He'd make it to the Weasleys in time for Christmas dinner. Harry knew that Mrs. Weasley would have held dinner for him no matter what time he had to arrive, and that knowledge made him feel both awkward and comfortable at the same time. He was staying at the Burrow tonight, most likely doubled up in Ron's old room. This would be the first time that he'd slept under the same roof with Ginny since he and Ron had moved into the Notch in September - a thrill of anticipation shot through Harry, and he sat back on Norbert, allowing his eyes to close for a moment. He wanted to be there. He wanted to see Sirius's face when Mr. Weasley brought out his Christmas present. And the prospect of being near Ginny and kissing her again, like they had the other night, was enough to keep his Patronus good and strong. It would have been difficult today, without that thought to cling to.

Today, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about last Christmas. A year ago today, Ron had been in the hands of Death Eaters and Hagrid… they had lost Hagrid. Harry never allowed himself to remember those incidents, during his off hours, but up here he was forced to relive them every day, and today was worse than usual. A part of him was frightened that he might arrive at the Burrow to find someone dead, or missing, or something he couldn't even have predicted - after all, the world had gone peaceful like this many times before, only to explode suddenly with some horrible new twist. Why not now?

He couldn't think like this. Using the same mental trick that he used to conjure a Patronus, Harry pushed the morbid thoughts to the back of his mind and searched for a happy memory. It was no surprise when an image of Ginny appeared in his head.

He wondered how Ginny would react to the gift that he had chosen for her and his stomach squirmed. Would she be happy about it? The shopkeeper had assured him that it was an essential tool for anyone involved in the Healing Arts, but when Harry pictured giving Ginny the simple-looking, white Healing cloth, it somehow didn't seem special enough. She'd put together a whole book for him on his birthday; he should have found her something better. He thought that the tasseled fringe and the embroidered "G" were a nice touch, but really, what did he know about it?

A sense of dizziness overtook Harry and he suddenly felt extremely light-headed. He sat forward, thinking that Norbert had taken a steep dive, but he soon realized that they were just very close to a small group of Dementors, who were trying to glide off the island. He pulled on Norbert's reins to urge the dragon downwards, and Norbert dove, apparently not affected by the Dementors' powers. It always amazed Harry how impervious the dragons were to the depression that filled the air. He always left each shift feeling hopeless and black, as though there were no point to any of it. But at least the Dementors didn't affect him as badly as they'd used to; he still heard the horrors of the past, but he could bear up under them now. Most of the time, he just felt numb.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Harry watched with grim satisfaction as a brilliant silver stag drove the Dementors back into the prison. Norbert shot flames at their retreating backs and Harry smiled a little - Norbert had no regard for rules. The dragons weren't supposed to breathe fire at the Dementors. Fire had little effect on them, and often the flames flew backwards towards the rider, but Harry didn't mind. He put up a shield to deflect the rush of burning air, then urged Norbert upward to their assigned altitude. Norbert balked a bit. It seemed he wanted to play in the sea - perhaps find another giant sea monster to roar at, like the Nesstor he'd befriended the other day. Sometimes Harry could swear that Hagrid somehow inhabited the body of his old dragon friend.

The familiar warning bell sounded, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. His shift was nearly over. Using his Omnioculars again, he saw the reserve riders mounting for their shift and lining up in preparation for flight. Mick began to circle the prison boundaries a final time, and Harry followed, glancing over his shoulder and expecting to see Malfoy directing Mordor in a similar fashion.

But the sky to his east was empty. No one was patrolling Malfoy's third of the island. Annoyance pricked at Harry. He didn’t want to miss any of the Weasley Christmas dinner; Malfoy had been whinging that morning about having a day off once in a while - if he’d landed early without waiting for his replacement… Harry looked in towards the shore and frowned. Where was that idiot? There was no sign of Mordor’s familiar brilliant red anywhere along the shoreline, and Harry returned his eyes to the prison. Perhaps Malfoy had just flown temporarily behind a turret, or was flying low behind the walls, but as Harry rounded the east side of the island, he still saw nothing but vacant sky. A bad feeling overcame Harry and he tapped his wand to his ear – he hated talking to Malfoy, but he could see no other choice.

"Malfoy?" he said aloud, feeling idiotic, as always, at talking out loud when no one was in front of him to hear. "Malfoy?" There was no answer. He’d try one more time before he tried to contact Mick. "Malfoy, seeing as it’s Christmas, I’d appreciate – "

But he never finished his sentence. A loud noise overhead caused him to dive on instinct, and he barely got out of the way in time. Mordor was plummeting, giving a miserable, ear-splitting whine that Harry had never heard from a dragon before. Smoke trailed from Mordor's nostrils, thick and black, and though he opened his massive jaw he seemed incapable of producing fire. He gave another whine and spiraled lower towards the sea. Atop him, Draco Malfoy waved his wand to no effect, looking terrified and confused as he and his dragon dropped past Harry, lurching to the surface of the water.

Harry watched for a moment, amused, and wished that Ron could be there to witness Malfoy lose his cool, when he remembered that it was his job to try to help his fellow dragon-riders, even if they happened to be old school enemies. And Malfoy had helped to save his life a few weeks earlier… Harry grudgingly pushed Norbert into a dive and tapped his wand to his ear again. "Mick, give me a hand, Malfoy's having trouble."

No reply came, and soon Harry understood why. Just beyond Mordor, Viking's wings had suddenly begun to pound with such force that Harry sharply veered Norbert toward Azkaban, certain that they must be under attack by a swarm of Dementors - but he saw nothing. Still, Viking roared and bucked, rearing back so that Mick was forced to cling to his harness with both hands. But the harness wouldn't help for long - it looked as though Mick's entire saddle was about to fall off, and no amount of Binding charms would be able to keep him in the air if that happened.

Norbert gave an ugly snort and pounded his wings once - too hard. Harry tapped his ear again in panic - if all the dragons went mad at once, there would be no holding back the Dementors. "EVERYONE OUT HERE NOW!" he shouted.

In seconds, a team of dragon keepers on broomsticks sped out to the island, with the reserve Greens right behind them. As the dragons riders took up their patrol stations, the keepers surrounded Mick, whose saddle was hanging at an odd angle off of Viking's side. Mick began to fumble with his harness buckles but he couldn't get out of them fast enough - he tried to grab his broom -

The sun, which was in the final stages of setting, chose that moment to shine its brightest and a shaft of light forced Harry's eyes shut. When he reopened them, the bright white dots cleared to a vision of Mick and his entire saddle falling from Viking, who was thrashing and turning somersaults in the air. As Mick fell, several of the keepers pointed their wands at him and released him from his bindings. Mick’s gear fell with a loud thud into the water, and from above, Viking raised his head and let out a piercing shriek. Harry dove steeply, and attempted a Levitation Charm to prevent Mick from hitting the water, but a large jet of fire from Viking intercepted the spell, and he could see nothing but smoke.

"We’ve got him!" One of the dragon-keepers sent the announcement to Harry. "I’m taking him in. He's breathing but he's knocked out." Harry only had a moment to be relieved that Mick had survived the fall before another keeper's voice sounded in his ear. "Where the hell is the Fireball?"

"This side!" came Lisa's voice. Harry saw green sparks shoot up beyond the east wall of Azkaban and he urged Norbert towards them. Norbert resisted and gave his wings another fierce flap, but Harry pulled hard on his reins and finally the Ridgeback gave in and rounded the wall.

Mordor was falling like a stone towards the water and Malfoy, who had already removed his bindings, made a lunge for his broomstick. As Harry watched in only part-horror, Malfoy's hand missed. He tumbled from the side of his dragon and plunged into the sea. Mordor seemed to be about to fall in with him, but just as Harry thought he was going to hit the water, he lifted his long scarlet neck and pulled himself out of his dive. His wings and feet skimmed the surface and he blew a jet of beautiful fire, lighting the sky around him.

And lighting the water. Malfoy was in the water - Harry narrowed his eyes. Malfoy's head seemed to be disappearing under the waves. Couldn't he…

Harry didn't wait to work it out. He was unwilling to leave Norbert flying freely, but there was little choice. He unbuckled his straps and grabbed his Firebolt. It was just in time, too, because Norbert chose that precise moment to let out his own wrathful roar, and made such a sharp turn that had Harry not had the Firebolt in his hand, he would have fallen as well.

"Oi! Potter, you idiot! Over -" Malfoy glubbed. "Here! Over here!" His voice was faint over the rush of water and waves, but his hair made such a stark contrast to the dark water that Harry was able to pinpoint his location at once. Feeling only slightly relieved that Malfoy was alive, Harry sped towards him, and helped heave him onto the back of the Firebolt. Malfoy's enormous ring dug into the palm of Harry's hand as he pulled - "Have a care, Potter -" he spat, and shook Harry's grip from his hand. He slid far back on the broom, panting. "Took you long enough," he snapped.

Harry had a not-unfamiliar desire to throw Malfoy back into the water, but, knowing he couldn't do that, he took a deep breath. "Hold on!" he shouted, hoping that Malfoy would grab onto the broom and not to him. He sped off towards the camp, noting with relief that a few of the dragon keepers seemed to have calmed Norbert, and that the others were guiding Viking inland without too much trouble.

When they hit the ground outside the dragon-hangers, several assistants rushed towards them, dragging Malfoy off of the back of the Firebolt and attempting to assess if he was in one piece. Malfoy stood with his nose in the air, dripping wet and sniping about whiplash and incapable species specialists, but Harry tuned him out, choosing instead to make sure that the other dragons were accounted for. He watched as Norbert and Viking were returned to their enclosures, and as Mordor, who was usually nasty to everyone except Malfoy, had allowed Lisa to fly him in. She dismounted, grabbed a broom, and headed back out to her own Welsh Green, for her reserve shift.

Everything seemed to be well taken care of. Harry sagged as exhaustion hit him like a tidal wave. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to Disapparate to where it was warm and people were waiting for him - but first he headed to the hospital tent.

He was relieved to see Mick's eyes open.

"I don’t know what happened," Mick exclaimed, wincing. "He’s never thrown me before, and I’ve raised him from a baby." He wore the expression of a father whose son had just betrayed him. "There were Dementors down there, weren’t there?" he asked hopefully.

Harry shook his head. "I didn’t see any," he admitted, feeling terrible as Mick’s face fell.

"There were no Dementors," said a cold voice. Malfoy stood in the tent flap; he was wearing an enormous fur coat and he had a bandage wrapped around his head. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes - the only problem with Malfoy's head was his brain. "Dragons are simply dangerous creatures, and when improperly cared for, they will act like murderous beasts."

"You know they’re checked on every day," said Harry, not in the mood to let Malfoy bully anyone, let alone Mick.

But Mick didn't seem to notice either of them. "Rose is going to kill me," he muttered, wincing again. "Shortest marriage on record…and our parents don't even know yet… I'm going to be late for Christmas dinner…bloody dragon…"

"I see," said Draco, his voice haughty. "Well. Perhaps if the Secretary Privy had spent more time concentrating on her job, and less time getting into your trousers, we would have healthy dragons."

Mick's head snapped toward the tent flap; he looked horrified, as if he'd only just noticed Malfoy standing there. He swore and tried to get out of bed, but the mediwizard attending him held him down.

"Go home, Malfoy," Harry said wearily, and then, mechanically - "Happy Christmas."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be," hissed Malfoy, his eyes glinting, "as it’s our first Christmas without my father."

Harry couldn't bring himself to feel sorry. He remembered too clearly how Lucius Malfoy had tried to hurt Ginny. How he had hurt Ginny, and the Grangers, and how he and his pawns had systematically destroyed so many decent people.

"Tell that murdering Weasley who thinks he's the Minister that I’ll bring a written complaint in with me tomorrow."

It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to say that it wasn't murder to get rid of monsters, but Mick cut him off.

"Look, why not just quit?" he shouted. "We've got three new riders in training, Malfoy, were you aware of that, or are you too busy being a spoiled little prig to see anything else? You're not as invaluable as you'd like to think. So if you're just going to be miserable - quit."

A pink tinge rose in Malfoy's pale cheeks and he did not answer. He pulled his wand with such intent that Harry pulled his own in defense, thinking that curses were coming - but Malfoy only Disapparated.

Harry and Mick stared in silence at the empty tent flap. "D’you want me to go get Charlie?" Harry asked, after a minute. "I’m going to the Burrow right now. I can have him here in a minute."

"Well," said Mick, pushing the mediwizard away and getting out of bed, "if you're going over there anyway, then you might as well fill him in on what's just happened. I'm going to go talk to Viking. And then I'm going to go and look like a royal arse." He limped out of the tent.

Harry prepared to Disapparate but it took him some moments to gather sufficient concentration. He felt terrible. He probably looked terrible. There had been bags under his eyes this morning; they had probably doubled, and he knew his hair wasn't anything to be proud of on the best of occasions. Still, no one was going to care. Mrs. Weasley would only fuss over him more than ever, and Ginny… well, if she was in it for looks, then she'd already seen all his worst ones. He had them to look forward to. And Ron, and Hermione - Sirius and Remus, the twins, Mr. Weasley… everyone.

For a brief, brief moment, and very accidentally, Harry felt sorry for Draco Malfoy.

At the Burrow, he found the Weasleys just sitting down to dinner, and they looked so happy to see him, and so pleased to be together, that he hoped that Charlie would eat something before asking him what was the matter.

He had no such luck. Charlie noted at once that Harry looked worse than usual and demanded to know if anything had gone wrong. At the mention of Draco being thrown, Ron sniggered in delight, but when Harry mentioned that Mick O'Malley had also been tossed into the sea and knocked out, the outcry was deafening. Charlie looked absolutely panicked. He and Cho wasted no time gathering their things and departing to investigate the mess, and Harry felt, looking at their empty chairs, as though he'd ruined something just by showing up.

He showered upstairs, changed quickly, and returned to the kitchen much cleaner but just as exhausted, hardly noticing the cheerful holly-decked banister or the fairy lights that twinkled merrily in the front room. He still felt cold and detached from the hard day's ride, but the kitchen was warm and bright, and the smell of roast dinner made it difficult to dwell on dragon accidents. Mrs. Weasley bustled him straight into Charlie's empty chair, heaped Christmas dinner in front of him, and returned to the worktop, where the gravy was sieving itself. The long table was crowded even without Charlie and Cho, but it was far too quiet. Harry glanced at Mr. Weasley, who was frowning at the turkey.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, and his voice sounded very loud in the quiet room. "I really didn't want to shake everyone up, or make Charlie miss dinner or anything."

Someone's foot touched Harry's under the table. "It's all right, Harry. Happy Christmas."

Harry looked up to see that Mrs. Weasley had seated him right across from Ginny. He wondered if that meant she didn't mind about the article in Charmed Life, and winced at the memory of that picture. He hoped that no one else remembered, and made a mental note to himself not to look at Mr. Weasley again unless it was absolutely necessary. Ginny gave him a bracing smile, though she looked strangely pale, and nudged his knee with hers.

"Tuck in, go on."

Harry peered at her. Her smile didn't fool him; her voice was scratchy and she sounded sad and tired. He opened his mouth to ask her what the problem was, but was cut off.

"That's right, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley said, as she returned to the table with a giant gravy boat and floated it down the table to Fred, who already had his hands out. "Eat up. What on earth is everyone waiting for? It's going to get cold!"

"I'm not waiting, Mum!" said George cheerfully. He nicked the gravy boat from Fred and drowned his plate. Within a few minutes, the table was alive with chatter. Fred and George launched into a detailed description of their latest line of candies, Singing Sweets - "Each one's enchanted with a different song, and if you eat one, you'll sing a few bars whether you like it or not - here, Bill, you pop this one in your mouth, and Sirius, you take this one…" Angelina grinned at Mrs. Weasley's almost timid suggestion of a belated wedding reception. "You're sure you wouldn't mind the trouble, Molly? Because that would be wonderful…" Hermione and Ron seemed lost in a world of their own at the other end of the table; Harry couldn't hear their conversation, but he could hardly miss the look Ron was giving Hermione, or the fact that Ron, in an unprecedented display of lovesickness, had not even touched his dinner. Even Penelope seemed to be enjoying herself - she must have put Leo to bed already, and was now smiling as she helped Mrs. Weasley and Angelina with their plans.

Ginny, on the other hand, was silent. She lifted the same bite of food to her mouth several times, but never managed to take it.

"What's wrong?" Harry whispered, tapping her shoe with his.

Ginny started. She shook her head quickly, and glanced at her mother. "Don't," she said shortly, but her reaction only doubled Harry's concern.

"Ginny, is it -"

She gave him a warning look, and he knew she didn't want to be questioned. But he could tell that something was troubling her, and he knew that it was probably his presence. His day at Azkaban had been particularly bad, and yet he felt almost fine again, which meant that she had probably absorbed his troubles and made herself ill. She was very white, and there were bags under her eyes.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, as quietly as he could.

Ginny gave him a pained sort of glare, and Harry realized that Bill Weasley, who was sitting right beside him, was suddenly giving him a curious and distrustful look. He must have been louder than he'd realized.

Bill opened his mouth. "What does that -" he began slowly.

"I know!" Ginny said loudly, causing everyone at the table to hush up and look at her. "Let's have a game. We're never together like this - let's play…" She floundered.

"I Spy!" Fred finished for her.

"Oh, good'n," George chimed in, through a mouthful of potatoes. "I fpy a col'r and the col'r is…'Ellow."

"The curtains!" shouted a young boy who Harry realized must be Max.

"Mum's sleeves!" put in Bill.

And Ginny's diversion succeeded. By the time Mrs. Weasley had brought out the pudding, I Spy had led into a game of Cities, Countries and Constellations, in which Hermione and Bill were competing so fiercely that the rest of the family had given up playing and taken sides to cheer them on. The Burrow kitchen shook with happy noise, and when Ginny murmured that she wanted to boil water for tea, Harry barely heard her. But he didn't miss the way her hands shook when she pushed in her chair, and when she went straight past the kettle and into the living room, Harry felt a stab of anxiety. She looked terrible, and he knew that he was probably the worst person in the world to go near her and help her, but he couldn't bring himself to sit still. And he didn't want to worry anyone else - even Remus was laughing and engrossed in the game, and had not seen Ginny's exit.

"Africa!"

"America!"

"Andromeda!"

Bill growled. "We've used all the other A's!" he said in despair. "Why do they all have to end in A?"

"Afghanistan doesn't," Max said smugly.

"Afghanistan!" Bill cried.

"Cheating!" Hermione shouted. "But I don't care - Nigeria! Ha! Another A!"

No one noticed Harry leave the table. He slipped out of the kitchen and into the twinkling front room, where Ginny was huddled in one corner of the sofa with her eyes squeezed shut, hugging her legs close to her body. She winced each time more laughter erupted from the kitchen, and her breath hitched. It looked to Harry as if she were about to cry, or be sick.

"Oh, Harry," she choked.

Harry jumped.

"I know you're there," she went on without opening her eyes. "You can go back and play. I'll be f-fine."

Harry took a step closer to her, but hesitated. "Is it me?" he asked. "Just tell me, and I'll go home. I'd rather go home than sit here and make you ill, honestly."

"It's not y-you." Ginny gave a great sob and buried her face in her knees.

Harry looked over his shoulder. No other Weasleys were in sight. He hurried to Ginny and sat close enough to touch her, but held back. "Would you like… water, or something?" he offered, not sure of what to do.

She opened her eyes and tears flooded down her cheeks, shining in the fairy lights. "P-Percy's not h-here," she blurted on a sob. "He's really d-dead."

Harry stared. That was the last thing he had expected her to say.

The laughter in the kitchen stopped so abruptly that it seemed to have been switched off, and Harry knew that they had all heard her. The Burrow went eerily silent, except for the ticking of the clock and the choking sound of Ginny's voice as she tried to speak again.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04