The Lewis House 78 страница

"…can't be impossible," Sirius was saying now. "Has to be a way."

Ron nodded. But deep down, he wondered if there really was a way to kill the Dementors, just like he wondered if there was a way to wake Hermione's parents. Some things just seemed indestructible. Like curse-comas, and creatures that had never really been alive to begin with.

"I'm going to go out there and try something else as soon as I get my mind around something feasible - have to give it a shot, can't sit around forever while they get into villages and try to kill people. And Harry can't ride that dragon for too much longer, I just spoke with him, and he's not himself at all. He's ill. He looks old. It's got to stop."

Ron nodded again, more vigorously. "That's the truth," he said, thinking of both Harry's situation and Ginny's. "The dragon riding's got to stop."

"Yes." Looking vaguely determined, Sirius paced across the office. He sat at his own desk and opened up a file before turning back to Ron. "Did you say you had found something interesting, before?" he said. "Sorry, I didn't hear -"

Ron couldn't help a laugh. "Yeah, I found something interesting," he said, glad that Sirius had returned to the present, to share his victory. "I found something brilliant." He waved his wand, and sent Zsuzsa Zabini's letter flying to Sirius's desk. "Zabini to Malfoy. Have a look at that."

~*~

Dear Hermione,

It was no trouble at all to write a recommendation letter for you, and I will happily write another if you should ever need one.

I am happy for your success with the Imprisonment Enchantment; and yes, it is your success. The absorption and distillation of external input is part of a Thinker's natural process. Your ability to hear the good in Ron's suggestion, and to apply it to your spell work, is a direct result of the time and effort you spent here. Do not frustrate yourself trying to divide the credit. From what you have told me of Ron, I am sure that he is happy to have influenced you in such a useful way. Breathe deeply, and allow yourself to enjoy your successes. It is not conceit to accept that you have accomplished something great. Remember, though, that there are pitfalls and obstacles to overcome in the construction of any new spell. You will surely come across these, as you and your associates work to build the Imprisonment Enchantment. Do not fool yourself into believing that the idea is faulty; the spell map you sent to me is evidence of an idea beautifully conceived. Be patient in its execution, and you will succeed yet again.

I sense another deep frustration in your letter; forgive me for naming it. I know that your parents' condition preys upon your heart, and I know that you came here to find relief for them in your own gifts. This may yet come to pass. I Think on them often, and though I have yet to make any progress of my own, I will continue to keep them in my daily thoughts. That is all we can do, Hermione. You have not failed them. You put such heavy pressure on yourself, and you must stop. Let go. Love them, but allow yourself to be free of your feelings of responsibility for their condition. I know that I am asking you to do something far more difficult than Thinking, but it is imperative that you try.

It is nothing short of amazing that your friend is a Healer, and I agree that you may be of great help to each other in waking your parents. Remember that Healing, too, is an intuitive process and that any pressure she feels will hinder her progress as well; therefore, let her work peacefully. If there is indeed a residual curse in her way then perhaps you might begin there. I understand that mediwizards have no magic capable of wiping out such shadows; it is one thing to heal active physical pain, but healing the ghost of physical pain is quite another concept. Let us both Think patiently on that, for now.

I am always glad to hear from you. Please write again, and keep me up to date on your life and work. If you should ever require a retreat, remember: you are always welcome here.

Your friend,

Delia

Hermione had kept the letter in her pocket for a week. The pale blue stationery seemed like a breath of ocean air, and Delia's words had calmed her very much. After Ginny had told her that her parents were still suffering from the Cruciatus Curse - even if it was merely a shadow - Hermione had begun having nightmares. She had only been to St. Mungo's once, and it had been a fruitless visit. The mediwizards were helpless to repeal a residual. They could not detect the remaining curse with even the most modern magic, and the Head of Cursology had demanded to know how Hermione knew it was there in the first place. Hermione had introduced him to Ginny.

Ginny had decided, in the interest of her safety, not to tell many people about her gift, but she had consented to demonstrate her abilities for the directors of St. Mungo's. It had been a wise decision. Hermione was proud that a career now awaited Ginny at such a prestigious hospital - if Ginny wanted it. She was also relieved that the hospital directors had given Ginny an identification badge and twenty-four hour access to the Grangers' room - not that access was going to do her much good. Until Hermione could think of a way to unblock her parents, Ginny couldn't even get near them.

At least the Imprisonment Enchantment was coming along, and Hermione gave it her full attention, knowing that she'd go mad otherwise. It was an excellent distraction - it even gave her a feeling of accomplishment. Each day, Fleur built a slightly bigger model of the spell on Penny's living room table, and each day, a new prisoner beetle was sacrificed. After practicing construction for nearly three weeks, Fleur could build invisible prison walls from floor to ceiling, and it was no longer safe to practice in Penny's flat. The spell was very, very powerful, and none of them was keen on getting splinched.

"We'll have to take it outside," Hermione said, one Friday afternoon. "Where should we go?"

"The Burrow," Penny said at once. "We can work in the Quidditch glen without any Muggle attention, and I can leave Leo with Molly." She grinned. "How's that for selfish?"

Hermione glanced at Fleur, and worked hard to keep the smile out of her voice. "I'll ask Bill to meet us there on Monday morning, shall I?"

Fleur nodded, but did a bad job of sounding casual when she asked for directions. And on Monday morning at nine, the three women found themselves in the glen beyond the Burrow, staring down at a fully-grown Blast-Ended Skrewt.

"I 'ate zoze things," Fleur complained, her accent coming back in full force as she pulled her wand and took several steps backward. "Why do we 'av to use it?"

Hermione shrugged. "It's bigger than a beetle, and it's not exactly cruelty to animals if it gets splinched. There are a few more penned up on the edge of the woods there, in case we can't put this one back together. I got them from Meg Castellwild - you know, Penny, the gamekeeper who stepped in for Hagrid? She was happy to give them up, too. She said she usually liked Hagrid's strange beasts, but that he must've been drunk when he came up with these ones."

Fleur snorted. "Zat would explain it, oui - keep it back, 'Ermione!"

"Hello there, ladies."

Fleur froze, wand out, and turned her head toward the voice.

"Hi, Bill," Hermione said.

He looked like he always did - dragonhide boots, the vest that made him seem like some sort of wizard pirate, and the ponytail. Hermione wasn't certain that she had ever seen his shirt quite so crisp, however, or his ponytail quite so well combed. His smile wasn't as relaxed as usual, either. "Hi. Thanks for the owl - those spell maps are amazing, I've never seen anything like them. You two did a fantastic job."

Hermione beamed. "Thanks. Let me introduce Fleur Delacour - or do you know each other from Gringotts?" She looked from one to the other of them, and neither seemed to know what to say.

"We know each other," Bill finally said. "How've you been, Miss Delacour?" He put out his hand.

Fleur took it. "I 'av been well, thank you, Mr. Weasley. And you?"

"Great, thanks." They stood looking at each other for a minute too long, and then everyone, including Hermione, jumped.

Fleur had just screamed bloody murder and leapt back.

"What happened?" Bill demanded, looking startled.

"It - it touched me!" Fleur pointed to the skrewt; it stood only feet away, its stinger end pointed at her.

Bill began to laugh. "It's ugly, all right. What the hell is that thing?"

"It's just a Blast-Ended Skrewt." Hermione giggled. "Hagrid made them."

"Get it away from me," Fleur said, still sounding panicked. "S'il te plait, zose things were in ze maze and I 'ate zem-"

You ate them? It was as if Ron was living in her head. Hermione could not help a grin, but she pointed her wand and Banished the skrewt to the center of the field. She had grown to like Fleur a lot more than she'd thought she could, but there was still something satisfying about seeing her lose her cool. "There," she said. "That ought to be far enough. Go on and Imprison it, Fleur - it deserves to splinch itself."

Looking shaken and annoyed, Fleur stalked away from Bill, who still seemed amused. She advanced on the skrewt and drew her wand.

"Captio Semscindor!" she shouted, and the air in front of her shimmered. She moved to the right. "Captio Semscindor!" She walked in a careful circle around the skrewt, taking care not to touch the spell she was building, putting it up in wall-sized sections until the skrewt was her hostage. "Captio Semscindor!" she finished, and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "There!" she called across the field. "'Ow long did that take?"

"About eight minutes," Penny called back, then spoke in a normal voice. "Is that about the size of a cell, do you think?"

Hermione shook her head. "The cells at Culparrat are twice as big as the space she just Imprisoned, aren't they? We'll have to do some exact measurements, of course, but let's say it requires about fifteen minutes per cell…" Hermione did quick calculations in her head. "She's going to be working every day for a month."

"Only if you make her work alone," Bill said. "You can't possibly expect her to charm a whole prison by herself. The Ministry will have to hire assistants for her."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. He was awfully protective.

"That's true," Penny said. "But there's no point in hiring anyone until we're ready to build it at Culparrat. First, let's make sure the spell is as solid as it can be. We may have to adjust the layers a bit. We need to know if it can be broken."

"I'll see what I can do." Bill pulled his wand and jogged out to Fleur, who held up her hands to stop him. Hermione had to strain to hear her speak.

"No, don't come closer, Bill - it begins right there." She pointed to empty space, looking very worried.

"It's all right, Fleur. I know how to reveal spells."

So they were on a first name basis. Hermione grinned to herself. She had already decided not to tell Penny what she suspected, because it didn't seem appropriate to gossip about other people's relationships at work, but she wished there were someone here to share the joke. She would have to tell Ron about it later.

"Hermione?" Penny was sitting on the ground, frowning at one of the layer maps. "If Bill can break that charm, I think we should start to adjust the spell here. This is… well, not a weak spot, exactly, but I'm not sure it's the best possible support mechanism."

Hermione dropped to her knees and studied the map until they heard a loud cry from the center of the field.

"MERDE!"

They looked up to see Fleur with her hands on her hips, looking extremely frustrated. The skrewt was scurrying off in the other direction. Bill must have broken the spell, and it hadn't taken him too long to do it.

"It's all right, Fleur!" Hermione shouted. "We're going to try and improve it a bit - come and have a look at this map -"

"Non, I will try this again," Fleur shouted back. She pulled her hair away from her face and secured it, looking determined. "Perhaps it is not the spell, perhaps my work was weak." She pointed her wand at the skrewt and brought it flying back into the center of her space. "Captio Semscindor!"

When Fleur's second attempt didn't work, she and Bill stayed out in the center of the field to keep trying. Hermione could no longer hear much of their conversation, but they seemed to be working well together, and at one point, when the skrewt had scurried off again and Fleur was looking furious, Bill reached up a hand and pushed a bit of loose hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry," Hermione heard him say. Fleur jumped. "I'm really, really sorry." Hermione wasn't sure what he was sorry about, but it seemed to make sense to Fleur, who nodded and walked away to catch the skrewt.

Hermione stopped watching. She began to rethink the magical paths of the layer in front of her, not minding at all that there was more work to do. Delia needn't have warned her to stay patient throughout the pitfalls, Hermione thought, tracing her wand over one area of the map and rearranging the lines. She needed the pitfalls to engage her mind and keep her from dwelling on other things.

Hermione was so engrossed in rearranging the structure of the weak layer that she was shocked when Bill said it was time for lunch. Had it really been hours? Hermione glanced up at the bright, overcast sky, then stood and followed the rest of them into the Burrow.

"Adam, my lad!" Bill said, and gave him a clip round the ear. "What's going on?"

"Molly says I can ask my friends to come and stay, if I like." Adam beamed. "She worked it out with the Ministry and the Children's Home, and I'm allowed to go down Knockturn Alley with Diggory and tell them about it. If they don't come on their own, they're going to get dragged here, like I was. They'll get their hair charmed and everything. They'll probably hate me for a while, but I don’t really care. And I told Molly that there's five of us, but she says that's a fine number."

Hermione had never heard Adam - whom she was still not used to calling Adam - sound so honestly happy. She was amazed that he'd recovered so well from the shocking news of his parents. Everyone always said that children were resilient, and she supposed that Harry had been, but it was still very surprising. Perhaps Adam hadn't had time to get over the shock.

"That's great news," Bill said, clapping Adam on the back. "When will all this happen, then?"

"Next month." Mrs. Weasley came in with Leo on her hip, balancing a tray of sandwiches in the air. Bill put the sandwiches on the table and fell into the armchair, and Molly handed Leo to his mother. "I need time to prepare the house, and to make sure you're all willing to give up your rooms. I'm sure Ron will want to claim all his old posters, at the very least. I almost hate to pack up your things." Molly sighed. She pulled a bottle out of her apron pocket for Leo, and tugged fondly on Bill's ponytail. "I haven't moved a single badge in your room, dear."

"Mum…" Bill glanced at Fleur, who had settled on the sofa beside Hermione. "I'm twenty-nine."

"And you're my baby." Molly bussed his head, and held out her hand to Fleur. "Have we met? I seem to remember -"

Fleur looked pink and shy as she shook Mrs. Weasley's hand. "Fleur Delacour. I was at 'Ogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament. It is very nice to meet you, Mrs. Weasley."

"It's very nice to meet you too, dear. Let's get started then, shall we, Adam?" Mrs. Weasley headed for the stairs, and Adam followed her. "All of you are welcome to stay for dinner," she called, as they disappeared.

"'E is not your brother?" Fleur asked, when it was just the four of them.

"No, Mum's sort of adopted him. He was living in a cellar down Knockturn Alley and Ron brought him over here."

Fleur kept her eyes on her sandwich. "And she is bringing other children here, as well?"

"Looks like it."

"What a wonderful woman."

Bill flushed. "Well she's only happy when there's a crowd, really." But he looked proud.

Hermione caught Penny's eye, and Penelope raised an eyebrow. "We all love Mrs. Weasley," Penelope said. She gave Hermione a knowing half-smile. "What does your mum do, Fleur?" She put Leo's bottle in his mouth, and he put his fat hands on either side of it and shut his eyes.

"She was a fashion model," Fleur said proudly. "But she does not work now. She volunteers in many places. What about your mother?"

"She's a school secretary," said Penelope. "But I don't see much of her - I'm Muggle-born, I'm not sure if you knew that."

Fleur shook her head and looked at Hermione. "And your mother?"

Hermione supposed she should have seen it coming. She saw Penelope and Bill glance at her, and knew she had to answer. She couldn’t sit here and pity herself. They had all lost people. Even Fleur. "She's a dentist. Was a dentist." She never knew which tense to use.

Fleur's face fell. "Oh, no. I am sorry." She was quiet for a moment. "In the war?"

Hermione nodded, then shook her head. "But she's not dead, she's - she and my dad are in St. Mungo's. They're not conscious anymore." The Burrow had never felt so cold. "They were attacked." It sounded so melodramatic. She had tried to think of shorter, less brutal ways to explain it. But there weren't any.

Fleur touched Hermione's hand, and Hermione worried, for a minute, that she was going to cry. She had been so careful not to think of her parents. She had tried so hard to let it go. Or perhaps she had only been avoiding it - she hadn't braved the hospital in two weeks. Hermione felt suddenly guilty and tired. "I'm so sorry," she managed. "I want to work, but would anyone mind if I went home for today? I'll make it up tomorrow."

They all encouraged her to go home and lie down, and Hermione felt worse. They had lost just as much as she had, and she was the only one being a baby about it. Feeling sad wasn't a good enough reason to shirk responsibilities. If it were, then Harry should never have taken on a single responsibility in his whole life. But she knew that her concentration was ruined, and that she would be no help to any of them for the rest of the afternoon.

"Forgive me for asking," Fleur said, as Hermione grabbed her cloak.

"Oh, Fleur, it's not your fault." Hermione wrapped herself up in her cloak. "See you all tomorrow."

She Disapparated, but she didn't go home. She didn't want to lie down, she didn't want to Think; she just wanted her mother and father. She Apparated on the steps of St. Mungo's and identified herself to the front desk, then hurried through the corridors and past the kind wards, worried that if she would burst into tears in public if she didn't get into her parents' room soon. When she smacked into someone in the hall, she didn't even stop to apologize.

"Hermione? Hermione, hi!"

She stopped and tried to focus. "Neville," she said. "H-hi. S-sorry about that."

He looked at her face, and shook his head. "It's all right," he said. "You go on, I'll talk to you later."

But it was too late. Hermione lost her composure right there, and buried her face in her hands. She was glad when Neville put an arm around her shoulders and asked her to remind him which room number it was. He steered her into her parents' room and stood quietly beside her, keeping his arm around her.

"I c-can't get used to it," she sobbed. She tried to control herself, but it was no good.

Neville patted her shoulder. "You don't get used to it," he said. "You just…" He shrugged. "I don't know. Never mind. I'm sure it's different for everyone."

Hermione looked at him through swimming eyes. "But h-how do you f-feel?" she asked. "What's it l-like after so l-long?"

Neville glanced at her, and shrugged. "It's strange. I… still think they're going to snap out of it. But then again, I know they're not."

Hermione sniffled. "Do you think you've accepted th-that?"

"Yes." Neville smiled a little. "Oh, there's a voice that tells me not to give up hope, and I haven't. But I know I don't have any control over what happens."

Hermione's shoulders heaved. "I'm s-supposed to have some control. I went to C-Cortona -"

"I heard about that!" Neville squeezed her shoulders. "You're so clever, Hermione. It must've been brilliant."

"S-sort of. Not r-really." She wiped her face with both hands. Neville dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and she took it. "Thanks. I wanted to Think up a spell to h-heal them." She gestured to her parents with the ruined handkerchief. "But I couldn't. And D-Delia said I have to let go before I can Think properly, but I c-can't d-do it…" Hermione lost herself again, and covered her eyes with the handkerchief.

"Of course you can't." Neville laughed through his nose. "Let go? Of your parents? I'd like to see anyone try."

"But you s-said you accepted -"

"That's different."

"H-how?"

Neville frowned. "Dunno. I suppose… I stopped waiting for it. I used to wait, when I was younger. I'd come here and sit for hours, and just wait. I used to think they'd get their minds back and help me with my schoolwork, and then I'd get better at school. Things like that. I used to put things on hold. And I used to fantasize all the time about the things we'd do together. Spent hours and hours. Wasted loads of time. Used to daydream about it in class every day - and you saw how great I was at school."

"But you don't do that now?"

"No. I dream about it sometimes." He gave Hermione a smile. "But that's different, isn't it?"

Hermione had never been so glad to know Neville Longbottom. She had always liked him very much, but now she felt that she could ask him anything.

"When did that change? What happened?"

Neville tilted up his chin, as if considering. "You know when I think it was? There was this one day, in fifth year - and you can't tell anyone this."

"Neville, honestly."

"Right. I came to visit them and they were walking around, oblivious to me, and... Actually, have you met my parents?"

"No."

"They're in a really different state from yours. It might help if you have a better idea - I'll take you, if you want. It's just down the hall."

Knowing that she was being granted the deepest kind of trust, Hermione let Neville take her hand, and she went with him to his parents' hospital room. It was big, and open, and his parents were wide awake at a small table, playing a game of cards.

"Hello, Mum," Neville said. "This is Hermione Granger. We went to Hogwarts together."

Mrs. Longbottom looked up at him. "Oh. Of course, Hogwarts." she said. "Nice to meet you. He's told us so much about you."

"It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Longbottom," Hermione said. "Neville has told me about you as well."

"Silly!" Mrs. Longbottom let out a polite laugh. "Neville can barely talk yet. He's only a baby!"

"He should be talking," Mr. Longbottom said, throwing some cards on the table. "He's over a year old. Mum says that I was talking at six months."

Neville snorted, and Hermione was amazed. Was he really laughing? Had he made his peace with this? They were awake, and yet they didn't know him. It was worse - much worse - than what she was dealing with.

"They can only remember up to the time they were hit with the curse," Neville whispered. "They don't know who I am, but lately I've been hearing lovely stories about how developmentally challenged I was as a baby."

"Do you work here, young man?" his father demanded.

"No. My name's Neville."

"My son's name is Neville. Let me tell you something, Neville." Mr. Longbottom looked up from his game of cards. "Never play clubs when hearts are on the table!" And as if he'd just made perfect sense of a perfectly good joke, Mr. Longbottom went into strange, inhuman shrieks of laughter. His wife joined him, and soon they were howling like a pair of hyenas. Hermione felt a terrible chill.

"You see," Neville said, "sometimes they acknowledge me. They never know me, but they'll ask who I am - this is a good day, really. They're not wandering around or anything. I was just in here a minute ago, and they were friendly then, too. Sometimes I'll stand here all day, and they won't even notice there's another person in the room. Sometimes they hate each other, or one will think the other is some sort of burglar, or they both think that I am, and you should see the fights."

"Neville…I don't know what…"

"It's all right, Hermione, I just wanted you to see what I was talking about." He squeezed her hand and took her into the corridor again. "Bye, Mum and Dad," he called, and shut the door behind him. They walked slowly back toward the Grangers' room. "So I was here one day, and it was one of the days that they didn't acknowledge me at all. It was just after Dumbledore died, and Dumbledore had been a real friend to me." Neville blinked hard. "He gave me an open invitation to his office on my first day at school, and I took him up on it several times. He really loved my parents. I used to go and talk to him when I needed to chat about… anything. Everything. He never made me feel funny about any of it. When he died, I just about lost it. I came here for help, and I needed Mum and Dad to snap out of it. I needed them more than I ever had. And I shouted at them to come back - I really lost it. I went completely mad, for about an hour. And then I cried for… I don't know how long."

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04