The Lewis House 72 страница

"Oh yes. Got out my old Invisibility Cloak, and I'm ready whenever you are."

"You've got an -"

"Well, once we were fully grown, we could hardly fit under the same one, could we? And we were hardly finished playing pranks. Go on, get your things. And remember - not a word, Harry. Not a word. I'll meet you at the Notch."

Harry nodded and Apparated again - into his own bedroom, this time. He tore off his work clothes and put on unobtrusive Muggle outfit, like the one Sirius was wearing. He couldn't stop grinning. This was how his dad had used to be. This was how they'd all used to be. Normal. He stuck his wand under his coat, into the belt of his jeans, and tried to think if he needed anything else in order to torment the Dursleys.

No, not torment, Harry reminded himself sternly. Not torment. Just annoy. He didn't want to do anything that smacked of Muggle torture - not even to the Dursleys. But they'd had it coming for quite some time, and Harry was going to give them a taste - just a little taste - of what it felt like to live in a house where they didn't belong. He'd lived seventeen years in that house and had often wished that he could talk back just a little, annoy them just once, play a really good trick on them and feel vindicated. Just his being there, of course, had been enough to annoy them, and every once in awhile, he had lost his temper and his magical control, and he supposed that those few incidents could count as his revenge. But he'd never really had a chance to get them back. And it had been a while since he'd seen Privet Drive. Harry wondered if even a shingle had changed in the entire neighborhood, and laughed; he knew it hadn't. He lifted the Invisibility Cloak from his school trunk, where all his best possessions were still kept, and went into the front room to wait for Sirius.

The room was dim and still; the kitchen clock ticked too loudly, and Harry had the immediate, uncomfortable awareness that he was not alone. The hair stood up on the back of his neck, and, on instinct, he rested his hand on his wand. Slowly, he scanned the fireplace. The windows. The shadowy corners. His eyes lingered on the trick bookcase, which he and Ron had recently discovered led to a passage in the wall and an underground safety chamber - old Mr. Archibald had probably been suspicious of Martin Lewis, they'd decided, and rightfully so. But the bookcase didn't move, and there was not a sound in the room. Harry turned to look behind him.

"HAH!"

Not two inches from Harry's face, Sirius tore off his own Invisibility Cloak and appeared with such suddenness and noise that Harry yelped. He stumbled away and whirled to face Sirius, wand at the ready.

Sirius's eyes crinkled and he bellowed with laughter. "Your - face -" he gasped.

Harry breathed hard and his heart raced. "Psychopath!" he shot, shoving his wand back into his belt. He didn't know whether to laugh that he'd been tricked, or to punch Sirius for terrifying him.

"Many have said so," Sirius said, still laughing. He waggled his eyebrows. "Are you ready?"

"When I can breathe again, I will be."

"Ah, Harry." Sirius breathed a deep, satisfied sigh. "You're too much." He shook his cloak out, and prepared to swing it back over his shoulders. "Your woman says hello, by the way."

Harry grew very warm. "My what?"

Sirius grinned. "She said you left her quite rudely, and you're in a world of trouble."

Harry's heart gave a frantic knock. "I am?"

"Mmm. You've got yourself a demanding girl, wanted to know exactly what was going on." Sirius swirled the cloak over his head and disappeared again. "I told her," said his disembodied and rather dramatic voice, "that there are some mysteries too awesome to comprehend."

Harry snorted.

"That's exactly what she said, Harry, and then she went banging round the room with her silver ladle, splashing Wolfsbane Potion all about…" Sirius's head appeared in midair and his expression grew earnest. "It's wonderful, what she does for Remus. I don't think she really comprehends - you know it's a blue moon, on Sunday? A double month. And Moony's completely at ease, I've never seen…" Sirius smiled a bit, keeping his eyes on Harry. "Ginny's great."

Harry grew hotter and had an urge to pull his own cloak over his face. "Well don't tell me," he mumbled. "Tell her."

"I often do." Sirius smiled wider, and his eyes glinted. "Going to work must be a bit nicer lately, eh, Harry?"

Harry wasn't sure that he could stand much more teasing; he unfolded the cloak in his hands and, this time, he got under it. "Yeah, right," he said, sarcasm getting the better of him now that he knew he was invisible. "I'm so glad she's up there getting fire shot in her face. It's fantastic. The best part's seeing Malfoy put his filthy hands all over her." Harry's chest burned with irrational jealousy. "That's a real treat, let me tell you."

Sirius studied the area where Harry stood. "Come out from under there, if you want to talk about it."

"No thanks," Harry muttered. "I don't even want to think about it."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Well… we could always mess with Malfoy tonight… I know I said we shouldn't, and it would be dangerous, but under the circumstances -"

"No," Harry said flatly. "If I go near him, I'll kill him."

Sirius barked a laugh. "Between you and Ron, it's a wonder Malfoy made it through school alive."

"I could say the same about you and Snape," Harry returned.

Sirius looked pleased. "Why, yes you could, Harry." He pulled his cloak up over his head and disappeared. "Yes you could. And if he were alive, by Merlin, our next Black and Potter mission would be to his house." Sirius paused. "He turned out all right in the end, the greasy git," said his bodiless voice, almost fondly. "Right - shall we go?"

Harry hesitated as guilt crept into the back of his mind. "Are you sure we should do this?" he asked for the hundredth time. "It's against wizard law. We're not supposed to enter Muggle homes using magic, it's -"

"Harry, believe me. This is nothing."

"Nothing?" Harry frowned, paranoid. "This isn't a good enough operation, is it?"

"It's good," Sirius assured him. "But it's nothing to worry about."

Harry wasn't sure he believed Sirius on either count, but it was time to go and he wanted to see it through. "You know how to get there?" he asked.

"Number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey - know it like the back of my hand, Harry. I've been there before, not that you'd remember. I was rather shorter and much shaggier, whenever I went."

The Grim. Third year. Harry laughed out loud. "You visited me at the Dursleys'!" he said, delighted. He had completely forgotten.

"More times than was safe," said Sirius, and something in his voice made Harry's chest swell. This was good. This was… cool. He had a godfather.

"All right then," said Harry, and concentrated hard on a house that he couldn't believe he was going to visit on purpose. "See you there."

~*~

"Hello?" Hermione stood in the front room at the Notch, hoping that Ron would be there. Ron and Harry, really. She needed both of them. "Hello," she called, "are you two home? Are you decent?"

But the house was silent except for a muffled hoot from Hedwig and the manic flutterings of Pig, who zoomed into the room to greet her. He perched on her shoulder and rubbed his head against her temple.

"Hi," Hermione said softly, and stroked his fluffy wing. "Where's your dad?"

Pig hooted.

"Unfortunately, I don't speak Owlish. But I'll work on it." Hermione walked back to Harry's room and knocked. "Harry?" She pushed the door open a little, but the room was dark. Pig left her shoulder and flew in to hassle Hedwig, and Hermione went to Ron's room and peeked in. The room was spotless, the bed made and the lamp low - she had to smile. He'd been keeping things tidy and ready, ever since the first night. He seemed to think it made her visits more likely. She supposed she ought to keep letting him think that; it wouldn't do to have him know that she'd sleep here with him even if it were a horrendous wreck.

She went in, closed the door behind her, and lay down on Ron's bed to wait for him. He should have been finished with work an hour ago, and she needed him to come home now and tell her that everything would sort itself out. He was so good at convincing her that things would be all right, even at moments like this when she knew they really wouldn't.

Hermione stretched out on her stomach and shut her eyes. She was tired. Frustrated. In four weeks, she had made next to no progress on the Imprisonment Enchantment. She'd been more of a help to Penny as an organizer of notes and recorder of new plans than as a Thinker, and she could tell, though Penny was terribly nice, that she was also a bit disappointed. Thinkers were supposed to take painstaking research like Penelope's and to distill it so that it could be channeled for magical use. But Hermione's only bright idea so far had been to look for a professional Charmer, and though they expected the Charmer on Monday, Hermione feared there wouldn't be anything to Charm. All the sitting cross-legged in the world hadn't brought her any closer to a solution.

She hadn't even tried to meditate about her parents, though she visited them nearly every day, in an effort to finally accept their condition. Acceptance of the truth, Delia had told her, will lead to clarity of thought. Hermione didn't know what stopped her from accepting the truth. It didn't make sense not to accept it - it wasn't as if her parents had responded at all, in two years. It wasn't as if she couldn't see them lying there, getting thinner and grayer and less human all the time. She tried to quell the irrational bit of her mind that expected them to wake, but it reared its head on every visit. Even after all this time, that hope hadn't died.

A soft knock at the door relieved Hermione's thoughts. Ron was home. Ron would make it all seem a little further away. "I'm in here," she said.

"Oh!" said a voice that wasn't Ron's at all. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt -"

"Ginny!" Hermione rolled over and sat up. "No, I'm in here by myself, come in."

Ginny pushed the door open, looking rather sheepish. "Sorry, I just assumed." She looked at the door. "Harry let the charm wear off," she said, and tutted her tongue. "I shouldn't've been able to hear you. I told him he'd have to refresh it every two weeks. Serves him right if he starts having nightmares."

Hermione flushed. "Ginny!"

"Well?" She laughed. "Where is Harry, anyway? Do you know what he's up to?"

"Up to? No." Hermione got off the bed, feeling rather strange about lounging around in Ron's room, in front of his sister, even if it was just Ginny. "Is he up to something?"

"Yes, with Sirius. But they won't tell me what, so I came over to spy. Did he say where he was going?"

"He was gone before I got here - do you know where Ron is?"

"He's not back from work?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Then perhaps he's in on it, whatever it is." Ginny pursed her lips. "Let's just make tea here, and wait for them."

"All right," said Hermione, liking the idea of hanging about the boys' house while they were away. Together, she and Ginny went into the little kitchen. By the time Hermione had got the water going, Ginny had started soup in the cauldron that sat in the cramped fireplace; it stirred itself while she poured broth onto it, straight from her wand. Hermione stared. "That's elaborate," she said, wishing again that she knew how to cook.

Ginny shrugged. "It's just soup - here, do you want to learn it? I'll show you."

Hermione made several attempts before the broth was edible, but eventually she got the hang of it, and stirred away as Ginny got the vegetables sorted. She glanced over when Ginny made a sound of disgust, and saw her throw an onion into the bin.

"What?" Hermione leaned over the bin and looked at it. It looked fine to her.

"It's gone rotten on the inside, it must be months old."

"It doesn't look rotten."

Ginny shrugged again. "I can just tell, with plants," she said.

Hermione glanced at Ginny and wondered if it was fair to bring up what she'd been wondering about for four weeks, ever since she had discovered that her friend was a Healer. She knew that Ginny was occupied with school, and doubly busy with the dragons, and that she'd been brewing the Wolfsbane Potion all week for the second time in a month. She looked a bit tired, really - perhaps it would be best to put things off until the summer. Although, by the summer, her parents' condition would be so horrible that Hermione didn't even want to think about it. She had to say something now.

"What is it?" Ginny asked, and Hermione jumped, making broth splash into the fire.

"Wh - what?"

"Do you want to ask me something?"

"Well - yes - but don't do that!" Hermione had to catch her breath. "It's very startling."

Ginny smiled wanly. "Sorry." She dumped the rest of the vegetables into the kettle. "Put about two more cups of broth in that, if you don’t mind," she said, and peered into a small brown sack. "You know, I'm shocked that they buy vegetables," she muttered, and dumped potatoes into the sink.

Hermione watched her scrub them. "But erm… since you asked," she began hesitantly. "I don't want to put any pressure on you, but…"

Ginny glanced at her, and went back to the potatoes. "Just ask me," she said quietly, and Hermione got the feeling that Ginny already knew what was coming.

"It's my parents."

Ginny nodded. "Did you visit them today?"

"Yes." Hermione stopped the broth and put her wand back in her belt. She watched the soup churn itself. "I'm not going to be able to help them in time," she said. "I don't mean to be a pessimist, but they look worse every day, and I can't do anything - and I don't know if you can, but…"

Ginny set the potatoes on the worktop and waved her wand over them; they fell into perfect slices. She dumped them into a big pan with a good bit of oil, then sent the whole thing to hover in the fire beside the cauldron. "I don't know either," she said, and met Hermione's eyes. "I can't promise anything, but I want to try - I've always wanted to try. I just wasn't ready."

Hermione's heart beat painfully. "But you… are now?"

"I don't know." Ginny rubbed her head. "The dragons are really giving me a workout."

"I'm sure." Hermione tried to think about something other than her parents. "I think it's fascinating, what you're discovering."

And it was. Ginny had suggested, after several days working over the dragons' backs, that it was the riders themselves who were having an effect on the beasts' behavior. The riders, when affected by the Dementors, seemed capable of affecting their dragons by proxy, and the worse the riders were affected, the harder they were on their dragons. The theory certainly accounted for Norbert's terrible behavior, though it didn't quite explain why Mick O'Malley, who seemed such an optimist, would have caused his dragon to throw him off. Perhaps he had dark secrets in his soul. Hermione said as much to Ginny.

She laughed a little. "Somehow I doubt it. But it really is interesting. Their eyes are easy enough to explain -"

"That's a dragon's weakest point."

"Right, and the exposure to so much defensive magic, not to mention the Dementors and the weather conditions, just takes a natural toll. The emotional side of it is what's so strange. They're so impressionable, dragons - fragile, really - and yet they're so big. I love their energy, I wish you could feel it. It's like sea. A big sea of warm tingles or something, when it's all good and healthy. I don't know, I can't explain it." Ginny flicked her wand, and the fire lowered slightly. "But it's great practice, and I'm lucky to be getting it so soon. I can't help but get stronger when I work on them every day. And I've got Malfoy sitting right behind me, so I've got all his emotion to manage - and all his comments - he's such a nasty bastard, honestly, I should have let Harry break him in half, don't know why I stopped him." Ginny blew out an angry breath and leaned against the worktop.

"Malfoy?" It chilled Hermione to realize what Ginny must have to endure when she was near him. She hadn't even thought about it. "You can feel him?"

"Can I." Ginny flicked her wand at the fireplace. The potatoes rose into the air, rotated, and fell back into the pan with a sizzle. "It's fine, though," she said mechanically. "It's good for me."

"How?"

"Well, I'm building up a tolerance. It's all good practice, even if it feels like someone's got my insides in a vise and -" She stopped and shook her head. "Never mind - can't complain, can I?" She sighed impatiently. "Harry's with Dementors every day and he never does. I wish he would. Then I could feel like less of a whinger when I want to do it."

Hermione had to laugh. "Complain all you like," she said. "Harry's not here."

"No, he's off being secretive." Ginny flicked her wand again and the fire lowered to a simmering flame. "And do you want to know something really stupid? He's jealous of Malfoy."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Why?"

"Because he's an idiot." But Ginny looked guilty at once. "I didn't mean that." She put down her wand, put her hands over her face, and rubbed her eyes. "I'm just tired. I'm really glad he's out with Sirius, I think it's good if they have secrets, I just wanted to be around Harry tonight." She sighed. "Not that it's been easy lately. I've been so open, after working with the dragons, and he's always so…"

Hermione didn't need an explanation. "He never did well with Dementors."

"No. That's the whole problem. I know he doesn't think anything of me and Malfoy - it's just those Dementors, they get to his mind, and he can't help that. But he refuses to say what's on his mind, and I can't help him." Ginny kept her hands over her face. "Why couldn't he have played Quidditch?" she said morosely, through her fingers.

Hermione smiled. "Well… he's Harry."

"I know." Ginny took her hands down. "He always takes the high road, and I really do love that, but sometimes I wish…" She trailed off. "How can I love the same things that drive me mad?"

"You're asking the wrong person," Hermione replied. She and Ginny studied each other for a moment, and then they laughed.

"I'm being an idiot," Ginny said, and reached out. "Tell me to shut up."

Hermione hugged her, spoon in hand. "No."

"I'll visit your parents tomorrow," soothed Ginny, hugging Hermione tighter. "All right?"

Hermione shut her eyes and nodded. She couldn't allow herself to hope - not yet. She knew that. But hope had already crept in, unbidden, and it was so strong that her whole body ached with it.

"Aw - would you look at that, Pig?"

Hermione's eyes snapped open and she looked over Ginny's shoulder at Ron, who stood in the doorway with Pig on his head, regarding the two of them.

"My two favorite girls, cooking me dinner. Just what a bloke wants to see after a long day at work."

"Oh, shut your face," said Hermione, but she had already let go of Ginny to get a hug from Ron. He looked stupid and cute, with Pig on his head, and he smelled wonderful and warm. She buried herself in his arms for a long moment. "Where were you?"

"Working late."

"No you weren't," Ginny said briskly. "Sirius was home an hour and a half ago, and he said you'd both called it an early night. You're up to something, just like Harry."

Hermione pulled back and looked up at Ron's face. Pig's round eyes blinked down at her from atop his head, making it hard to think serious thoughts, but if Ron had lied... "Is that true?" she asked slowly.

Ron gave Ginny a dirty look. He swiped Pig off his head, then caught Hermione's eyes and shifted a little. "I was just…" He stalled. "I was… working. No, I really was. I swear."

"On what, then?"

But he wouldn't answer. He kissed the top of her head. "Just trust me."

"Oooh, don't fall for it, Hermione," Ginny warned, whipping up a bowl of chocolate cake mixture. "In the Witch Weekly serial stories, whenever the man says trust me, it always means he's having an affair."

"Now look here, you little brat," Ron began, but stopped and grinned at something behind Hermione. "That looks good - here, let me help you test it." He kissed Hermione's head again, let her go, and moved past her to the worktop, where he tried to eat cake mixture with his fingers.

"Don't you dare stick your fingers in it - " Ginny slapped his hand. "That's disgusting! You haven't washed!"

"I'm clean," Ron protested, but Ginny slapped his hand again. "Just let me lick the spoon then," he whined.

"Apologize for calling me a little brat."

Ron put a hand over his heart. "I'm so sorry, Ginny. It was rude of me. I'll never do it again."

She sniffed, and handed him the spoon.

"Thanks, brat," said Ron, and stuck it in his mouth, jumping back to avoid being elbowed by Ginny. "So," he said, when he'd licked it clean and tossed it into the sink. "What were you two lovely ladies hugging about?"

Hermione watched him carefully. He still hadn't answered her question… but she did trust him. If he said he'd been working, then he probably had, even if he was acting dodgy. "We were just sorting something out," she said. "I've asked Ginny to have a look at my parents, on Saturday."

Ron's expression went serious at once. "That's great," he said. "What, do you think you can do anything for them, Ginny?"

"I don't know yet - look, would you stop crowding the kitchen and do something useful? Set the table."

"Hermione's not doing anything useful," Ron pointed out. "Why doesn't she have to set the table?"

"Hermione helped cook."

Ron glanced at the soup, and then at Hermione's spoon. "You cooked?"

Hermione put a hand on her hip. "Well just don't eat it then!"

"No no, I didn't say that." Ron gave her shoulder a pat. "I'm sure it's great…"

Hermione pushed him through the kitchen door and handed him napkins and silverware. "Go away." She turned back to Ginny. "Can I help with anything else?"

Ginny shook her head. She poured the mixture into pans, stopping halfway through to rub her temples. She really did look tired.

"You know," Hermione said, "You don't have to go to St. Mungo's this weekend, if you're not feeling well."

Ginny dropped her fingers from her head. "No, I want to."

"Well… but you have school, and the dragons, and the N.E.W.T.s to think about, so perhaps when you're less busy it would be better."

"That's true, Ginny," called Ron, from the next room. "You'll never balance two jobs with school. You'll have to stop working with the dragons."

Ginny breathed hard through her nose, and pushed her hair behind her ears. "I'm sure I'll be fine," she called back, too lightly.

"You'll tire yourself out." Ron stuck his head into the kitchen. "And you're killing Harry. Hand me that ladle, would you, Hermione?"

Hermione did so, glancing at Ginny. She looked furious.

"I'm doing," Ginny said through gritted teeth, "the opposite of killing Harry, if you please. The dragons are -"

"Look, I'm just telling you what I see." Ron took the ladle and disappeared again. "You shouldn't be up there with Malfoy like that, getting all friendly. It's sick."

Ginny gripped the edge of the worktop. "Is that what Harry says?" she called sharply.

"He doesn't have to say it. Accio, placemats!" They flew from the cupboard and past Hermione's face, nearly hitting her nose. "It's just the truth."

"That I'm getting friendly with Malfoy?" Ginny asked in a strangled voice.

"On the same broom, aren't you?" Ron's voice grew more heated as he spoke. "Holds you round the middle, doesn't he?"

"Do you see?" Ginny hissed, turning to Hermione. "Harry must have told him that - this is what he really thinks -" Ginny sent the cake pans flying into the brick oven with such a clatter that Hermione knew half the mixture must have spilled.

"What're you muttering in there?" Ron called.

"Nothing. And I don't want to talk about this."

"Well no one wants to see you on Malfoy's broom, but we don't get a choice, do we?" Ron appeared in the doorway, red in the face. "Someone's got to tell you. Dad doesn't want you up there either, but he has to be impartial and you know Harry can't stand to watch it, and I can't believe you're trusting Malfoy not to push you to your death -"

"Despite what you and Harry might think," Ginny said savagely, rounding on Ron, "Malfoy's doing everyone a favor by helping me."

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04