The Lewis House 73 страница

"Malfoy probably got the dragons ill in the first place!" Ron said. "Just so he could do this!"

"Please," Ginny scoffed. "Would you think? He's been pretty generous about the P.A.P., if you'd give it an objective look -"

"So it's true!" Ron pointed a finger at her. "Listen to you, standing up for him!"

"So what's true?" Ginny advanced on Ron, and Hermione backed out of her way, too shocked by the sudden ferocity of their fight to do anything about it.

Ron stood his ground, arms crossed. "You, getting friendly with Malfoy."

"Oh for God's -" Ginny raised her hands as if to shove Ron, but only clenched her fingers in the air. She turned to Hermione. "I'm sorry, but I'm not hungry anymore," she said. "I'm going home." She glared at Ron. "And you can tell Harry that if he has a problem he can come to me instead of talking behind my back."

"Harry never said anything!" Ron said. "It was -"

Ginny Disapparated.

"It was Charlie," Ron finished peevishly. "Well she's in a foul mood tonight. I can't believe Dad let her get her license early - that's not fair, we should have got ours early - here, let's get the food off the fire before it burns."

But Hermione left him alone to salvage dinner. She went to the table, sat down, and tried to organize her thoughts. She knew why Ron was angry; if she was perfectly honest, then she had to admit that she too was disgusted by the thought of Malfoy so close to Ginny. But Ron's insinuations had been unfair. Hermione knew it wasn't her argument, but when Ron joined her at the table and heaped potatoes onto her plate she couldn't help saying what she felt.

"You shouldn't have accused her like that."

Ron glanced at her and ladled out the soup. "Harry's miserable," he said shortly, as if that explained everything.

"Did he say that?"

"Hermione." Ron thudded into his seat and gave her an impatient look. "When does he ever say anything? He's just miserable and I don't blame him - if I had to watch you climb in front of Malfoy every day -"

"You'd think we were having it off?"

"No!" Ron looked repulsed.

"Well that's what you suggested Ginny's doing."

"No, it was Charlie." Ron speared a potato with his fork. "Look. It's not like we think she'd ever. But I don't put anything past him, and he'd do anything to piss us off, that lying sack of -"

"Ginny's just trying to do her job," Hermione said. "She's doing an amazing job. No one else can do her job."

"Then someone else ought to do Malfoy's!" Ron's mouth was grim. "Charlie says he hangs all over Ginny on that broom."

"He's only doing it to annoy Harry, Ron."

"I don't care why he's doing it, that's my sister!" Ron snarled. "He'd better just stop it before I -"

"Punch him out and break his head on a rock?" Hermione leveled him with a gaze. "If you hurt him twice, you'll never be able to pass it off as self defense. You'll look like the antagonist. You know that."

Ron sat in stony silence.

"Ginny's job is none of your business. Harry's feelings are none of your business."

Ron snorted. "That's rich, coming from you."

Hermione drew back. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You wrote a letter of complaint to the Secretary Privy about the dragon schedules - don't deny it, Charlie told me. You're as worried about Harry as I am."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but found she couldn't. Ron was right. "That's true…" she said slowly, as an idea occurred to her. "You know, perhaps… perhaps we should both stay out of this."

Ron stared. "What, not help Harry?" he asked, as if she'd just suggested they stop breathing.

"Not exactly…" She bit her lip. "But if he's determined to keep on riding dragons, and if Ginny really wants to work up there…" She shrugged. "That's their choice."

"But - Dementors!" Ron waved his fork in frustration. "And Malfoy!"

"I know. And you work with Death Eaters, and I'm trying to lock up prisoners." She laughed. "We're none of us in the most uplifting professions, are we?"

"Seriously." Ron looked keenly at her. "You really think we should just butt out?"

"I really do," said Hermione, surprised to find that she meant it. "Of course, I'm used to worrying my head off about Harry, and I'm sure it'll be hard not to, but he and Ginny were great about Cortona, and they're so proud of you -" She nudged Ron's foot, under the table. "Let's just… I don't know. Try to support them."

Ron gazed at her, looking torn between dismay and admiration. "What did that Thinker do to you?"

"Nothing." Hermione smiled a little. "But Harry and Ginny are going to have to take care of themselves for a while, because I have enough to think about." Her eyes drifted down to her plate. She knew she'd much rather worry about Harry than deal with what was on her mind.

"To think about or to Think about?" Ron teased.

"Very funny." Hermione had a bite of soup and was unsurprised to find it excellent. She and Ron ate in silence for a while and then - "Actually, I do want to meditate tonight. I think I'll go."

"No, ftay 'ere," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of potatoes. "P'ease."

Hermione hesitated. The truth was that she didn't want to leave just yet. "I suppose I could try to do it here…"

Ron laid down his spoon. "Won't I distract you?" he asked, grinning cheekily. "With my irresistible charms?"

"I don't know, will you?"

"I'll try." He ate another bite of soup. "Did you really make this?" he asked, pointing to the bowl with his spoon.

"Just the broth."

"It's great."

"Oh." Hermione felt a bit better. "Thank you." She stood and began to clear up the plates.

"No no, I'll do that. You go and get your meditating over with so I can… distract you." He raked his eyes over her and looked back down, red-eared, at his soup.

Hermione flushed. She would have protested, but she couldn't deny that being distracted by Ron was high on her list of priorities. "I'll try to be quick about it," she said, trying and failing to be brisk and businesslike as she got up from the table. "But I really do have to concentrate for a little while. I've been perfectly worthless to Penny."

Ron looked up sharply. "Don't say that about yourself."

Hermione shrugged. "It's true," she said, and went away to Ron's room before he could protest further. She had barely settled, cross-legged, in the middle of the bed, when she heard the sound of running water, followed by the thud of footsteps.

"You're not meditating just yet."

Hermione opened her eyes. Ron stood in the doorway. "I'm not?"

"You're being too hard on yourself." He shut the door and came to sit beside her. "You can't think like that."

Hermione shrugged. "Actually, the Thinking helps."

"Sure, if you've got your head on straight. Which you don't."

"Ron, I'm not trying to be hard on myself, I'm just telling the truth. I haven't been able to -"

"You're a brilliant woman," Ron said quietly, and Hermione fell silent. Woman. She liked that. "There's nothing you can't do."

Hermione looked up at him and searched his eyes for reassurance. "Then what's wrong with me? Why does everything seem so hard lately? Why can't I help Penny?"

"Because your heart's not in it." He kissed her cheek. "Your heart's with your mum and dad, Hermione."

It was the truth. Hermione's eyes stung. She let Ron pull her with him onto the pillows, and huddled against him with her head on his chest.

"Let's think, shall we?" he asked.

She breathed in the scent of his robes. He was solid and safe. "All right."

"What did you tell me the other night? Penelope's enhanced some kind of development diagrams for the spells on the walls? Indestructible Charms or something?"

"Mmhmm."

"Right…" Ron rubbed his fingertips into the muscles of her back, and Hermione gave into the sensation of it. There was no unfinished enchantment hanging over her head; there were no parents lying cold and silent. There was only Ron.

"I love you," she mumbled.

He patted her back. "You can't combine a couple of charms, can you?"

"Yes we can." Hermione slumped completely into his chest as he continued to rub her back. He had the most wonderful hands. She remembered when they'd been too big for the rest of him, all oversized and awkward. They were still a bit clumsy, but she liked it. "But the… problem remains because… no existing containment charm, no matter how powerful is… completely foolproof."

"Containment charms that you've been casting on walls and doors, right?"

"Mmm."

"What if it wasn't a containment charm? You've been focusing on walls and locks - what about a whole border?"

Hermione lifted her head. "Border?" She frowned. "You mean like a ward? Like what's around the Ministry? Those are breakable, we know that - even the curse wards round the vaults in Gringotts are breakable."

"What about the ones that went round Hogwarts? You couldn't Apparate in or out, right? Well, what would have happened if you'd tried?"

Hermione stared at him, the wheels in her head beginning to turn for the first time in weeks. "You'd… well, it was quite complicated. Usually, if you smash into an Apparition border then you splinch, but the way Hogwarts was set up, that magic was completely defunct. You couldn't even have got far enough to splinch. You could have concentrated all you liked and you would have stayed standing right where you were."

"Couldn't you use something like that?"

"It doesn't solve the problem of being able to walk up to the wards and break them down…"

Ron chewed his lip for a moment, and then his eyebrows shot up. "So stick an Apparition border in there. You try to go through one of those and you're splinched, right? Pretty hard to escape after that. You could line it up with one of your Indestructible Charms or whatever it is you're using, layer them or something - is that possible? Wrap it all up in an Impenetrable Curse and…" Ron laughed; the vibration rumbled through Hermione's chest. "Hell, I don't know, I'm probably way off the mark."

But Hermione's heart was racing. An Apparition border. Combined with the strength of the rest of Penelope's charm diagrams and research… Hermione rolled off of Ron and sat up. "Oh my goodness," she whispered, pressing her hands to her face. "Oh yes. How could I not have thought - so simple -" She looked down at Ron, flat on his back and looking bemused.

"Don't tell me I just got it right?" he asked.

Hermione wanted to kiss him. And slap him. "How is that I spend five months working on stream of consciousness thought and you're the one who - oh, Ron!" She shook his arm, giddy with relief. "You're a genius!"

He lit up. "Yeah?" He propped himself up on his elbow. "That'll really work?"

"Not the whole idea, but the concept of an Apparition border - forced splinching - this is exactly - oh, Ron -" She dropped his arm and smacked it. "It's not fair!" she wailed, but she was too thrilled, at the moment, to be jealous that the idea was not her own.

"Hey!" Ron sat up and grabbed her hands. "Don’t hit the genius."

Hermione couldn't think straight. "You should have been the Thinker, not me - you've got the proper - your mind's just -"

"Perfect?" he suggested.

"Perfectly random and oh - Ron -" she flew at him and kissed him. "You've done it again, this is just like Voldemort, you're brilliant, I love you, I love you…"

Ron fell back onto the pillows under Hermione's sudden flurry of passionate kisses, and he wrapped his arms around her, laughing. "Well damn!" He rolled her onto her back and grinned down at her. "Need any other answers? I've got loads. Secrets of the universe are right in here." He gently bumped his forehead against hers and Hermione laughed.

"You idiot."

"Hey now. The smartest girl I know says I'm a genius."

"She must have ulterior motives."

Ron snickered softly. "Yeah, she's always buttering me up, trying to get into my robes…"

But Hermione didn't bother to retort. Her mouth was suddenly busy doing something altogether better.

~*~

Privet Drive was not aware that two wizards had just Apparated onto its manicured lawns. If it had been aware, it would have been quite offended. But Harry didn’t care about what Privet Drive and its occupants thought anymore – gone were the days when he’d been treated like an abnormality for being a wizard. This wasn’t his world, and it never had been. Standing on the walk in front of number four, he looked up at the front of the house in which he’d used to live, and grimaced.

The Dursleys’ house was terminally predictable in all its appearances. The automatic porch bulb lighted the brass number four on the outside wall. The flowerbeds Harry had used to weed, though out of use in January, were still pruned mercilessly into tortured shapes. The standard curtains hung motionless in the lighted square windows. The sight of it all made him feel physically ill.

"God, I hate this place," he muttered.

Sirius elbowed him. "Ah, there you are, Harry. All right - how do you want to do this?"

"Apparate in, just to the other side of the door. You take the left side and I'll take the right, so we don't splinch together."

"That would be awkward," Sirius agreed. "Don't know that Arthur himself can get us out of trouble if we're caught doing this."

Harry shrugged. "Mr. Weasley blew up the fireplace here, once," he said, watching through the curtains for shadows, and hoping very much that they wouldn't hit anyone. "All the same, I'd rather not splinch."

"I'll go left. See you inside."

They Apparated to the other side of the door, and Harry immediately backed against it, shocked by the noise and the overpowering odor.

Dogs. Nasty ones. They ran in from the kitchen, raced through the front hallway and bounded away up the stairs. But the Dursleys had never had pets; Aunt Petunia hated animals. "They never had dogs," Harry whispered to Sirius, whom he knew was right beside him. "I wonder if they still live here!"

"Vernon!" came a high-pitched and very whiny voice, from the direction of the kitchen.

"Never mind, they live here," whispered Harry. "That's Aunt Petunia."

The whiny voice went on: "I will not stand these beasts in my house for another day! They're destroying my carpets! My kitchen!"

Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs and Harry elbowed Sirius as a walrusy man with no neck and a purple face appeared before them. "Uncle Vernon," he whispered, and flattened himself against the front door as Uncle Vernon came much too close - was he headed outside? Harry's heart pounded; he tried to push Sirius to the left, but there was nowhere to go.

To Harry's immense relief, Uncle Vernon veered left at the last second and stomped into the kitchen. "Your ruddy sister blows up," he roared, "and we keep your blasted freak of a nephew for seventeen years, and now you won't keep Marge's dogs in the house for two weeks? I won't have it!"

From Harry's left there came a growling noise - too high from the ground to be a dog. "Blasted freak of a - and ruddy what?" Sirius hissed. "Do they mean -"

"My mum," Harry said matter-of-factly. "That's how they always talk about her."

"Can't we just kill them?"

Harry laughed. "Wait till you hear how they talk about my dad. Good-for-nothing, wastrel, scoundrel, that ridiculous Potter fellow…"

Sirius's fury was palpable; Harry felt his arm tense. "Somehow our plan just doesn't seem harsh enough," he muttered.

"Don't worry, it is. A little magic'll mess them up for months."

The plan was to go round number four, Privet Dive, and cast a Computational Hex on a few household items. It would make it impossible for the Dursleys to measure simple things, like how much milk was poured into a glass, how much toothpaste was squeezed onto a toothbrush, or just how much moustache was trimmed into the sink. Harry had entertained himself all day with visions of Aunt Petunia pulling massive, overblown cakes out of the oven, Uncle Vernon overswinging on his indoor golf-putting practice mat, and Dudley putting more food into his mouth than would fit. Although, thought Harry, that wouldn't be so different from usual. Perhaps it wasn't the nasty revenge they deserved – Sirius had seemed a bit disappointed that Harry hadn't wanted to be more brutal – but Harry knew the Dursleys. And this would drive them mad.

"All right," Sirius whispered. "Let's get started."

Harry saw the door to the front room swing open, and he followed an invisible Sirius inside.

"There's not much in here," Harry said, looking around the pristine room. Several photographs of Dudley with more chins than ever stared back at him from the mantelpiece.

"Well, there's this," Sirius said. Harry saw a jet of red sparks fly towards the fireplace.

"'What are you doing?"

"They light fires, don't they?"

"Sometimes, but that’s... that's dangerous," Harry said. "You don't want them to burn down the house."

"I don't?"

Harry shook his head violently, forgetting that Sirius couldn't see it. "You're supposed to be the godfather. You go to the back room – past the stairs, I'll show you – and hex Uncle Vernon's golf mat. If I can trust you alone."

Sirius laughed. "It's all right. I won't kill anyone."

"Shush. Good. You know what a golf mat looks like, don't you? It's the green thing on the floor. I'll go do the upstairs toilets and I'll meet you right back here, all right?"

"Yes."

"Good. All right, let's go – I want to get out of here."

Sirius gave a snort. "Harry, the whole point is to stick around and watch the fruits of your labor." But Harry heard Sirius's footsteps come closer, and together they went back into the hallway and toward the stairs.

Just as Harry put his hand on the banister, there was a muffled, rumbling noise, rather like the sound of thunder from a long way off. "Dudley," Harry hissed. "He's coming down the stairs. Back up, give him -"

"A wide berth?" Sirius snickered.

"Shush!"

"You know, your dad used to try and shush me during these things," Sirius said, not bothering to whisper. "It only made me louder."

The rumbling noise grew louder. Dudley had come into view on the stairs, and Harry gaped at him. He looked like Uncle Vernon without the moustache. What little recognizable neck he had ever had was gone; it had been replaced by one thick chin that stretched from his ripe red face to his wobbling chest, and his eyes had shrunk to the size of pinholes. He wore a dark suit, and Harry thought he looked like a sumo wrestler about to be married.

The rumbling noise stopped. Dudley paused on the bottom step and looked around, confused. "Dad?"

"Yes, son?" Sirius said, in a very bad imitation of Uncle Vernon's voice. It didn't help that the voice was coming from two feet in front of Dudley's face, instead of from the kitchen.

Dudley stood silent for a moment longer, and then shook his head and continued towards the kitchen. Harry kicked in Sirius's general direction.

"Ow!"

"Serves you right," Harry said.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said, "I thought I brought Harry Potter with me on this mission. But it seems that he sent Hermione Granger instead."

Harry made a noise of annoyance. "All right, now go in that room there and –"

"Stop bossing me about, or I'll bring Ron next time."

"Oh, nice threat - some godfather you are!"

"…heard a funny voice, right back here."

Both Harry and Sirius went silent. Dudley was back, with Uncle Vernon right behind him.

"Are you telling me you didn't say anything to me, just a minute ago? You didn't say, 'Yes son'?"

Uncle Vernon stared at Dudley as though he'd sprouted another head, and Dudley stared back at him in much the same way. Harry could tell from the looks on their faces – looks he'd endured many times – that they were thinking of him and that they were wondering if magic had something to do with all of this. It had, after all, been responsible for every interesting thing that had ever happened in this house.

"First date jitters?" Uncle Vernon answered, ignoring Dudley's question, and patting him on the back. "No need to be nervous, son. Janice is a lovely girl – her father's the best drill salesman at Grunnings, besides me, of course."

Harry's jaw dropped. Dudley. Dating? He wasn't sure whether to laugh or be sick.

"I'm telling you I heard something!" Dudley said, stomping his foot and shaking the hallway.

"Never mind, son," Uncle Vernon said nervously. "It was probably just one of Marge's dogs. We're all getting used to them and your mother's right, they are a bit noisy."

Dudley didn’t look convinced, but he straightened his bowtie and reached up to smooth a hand over his hair. "Mum said I should take her to see Shakespeare in Love. Wish The Matrix was out. I don’t want to go see some stupid sissy film."

"Yes, well you'll want to have a snack before you go," Uncle Vernon said. "And don't worry about petrol, I filled the car up this morning." He headed back towards the kitchen, and Dudley followed, casting a last, dark look over his shoulder.

"A film?" Sirius said, when the kitchen door had closed. "I've been to a film. Your mum took us to see Star Wars – it was bloody brilliant. Like Muggles with wands!"

Harry tried again to shush Sirius, but it didn't work.

"I loved that great big hairy creature – " Sirius made a terrible, groaning noise. "And everyone could understand him!"

The Dursleys all laughed very loudly in the kitchen. Harry could tell that they were only trying to ignore the supernatural noises that were ruining their supper.

"We should follow Dudley to the cinema," Sirius continued. "I want to see another one."

Following Dudley to the cinema wasn't a bad idea at all, thought Harry. He hadn't been to a film in ages – even if it did sound like a stupid one. And Dudley on a date sounded too good to miss.

"Wonder what his bird looks like," Sirius whispered. "Think she's at home having a snack, too?"

"Look, if we hurry we can finish here and jump in the car – meet me back here as fast as you can," said Harry, and sprinted up the stairs. He cast the Computational Hex on the toothbrushes, moustache scissors and bathtubs in record time – Hermione would have been proud of him – and raced back down again, slamming into Sirius at the bottom of the stairs.

"Oi, look where you're going!"

"I was!" Harry panted. "You're invisible!"

Sirius snickered. "Right then, let's get in the car."

The two of them sneaked back out of the house, and got into the back seat of Uncle Vernon's car. It still smelled like old shoes and plastic, and yesterday's doughnuts. Harry pulled the invisibility cloak off of his head for a minute and tried to breathe. "It stinks in here," he complained.

Sirius's head appeared beside him. "Get used to it, it's about to stink worse –"

And they both covered up at the sound of keys jingling in the driveway.

Dudley was wearing half a bottle of cologne, or at least that was how it smelled to Harry, who buried his face in his knees. Sirius gave an audible sniff, but the car door slammed at the same moment, and there was no need to elbow him. Dudley started the car, and Harry and Sirius waited in the back seat in silence all the way to Janice's house. Harry wasn't sure why he wanted to shriek with laughter the whole way there, but he kept his face buried in his knees just in case he should lose control of himself.

Janice's house looked just like the Dursleys' house, except that it was located on Hedge Path and faced west and had a green door. When Janice climbed into the car, Harry had to shake his head to make sure he wasn't imagining things. She was… thin. Very thin. With a very long neck that looked like it had been made for spying over neighbors' fences.

"I just can't wait to see the film!" she said, in a voice that was eerily familiar. "Mum says it's really romantic."

"Er," said Dudley. The back of his neck was the color of a Blast-Ended Skrewt's bum.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04