The Lewis House 89 страница

"H-he told me to give up some of m-my activities but I wouldn't listen." Ginny's voice was so muffled by the sofa that she was barely intelligible; Sirius knelt beside her and leaned closer to her hidden face. "He said I had to stop, he said at least I shouldn't be working on people privately, like - like Malfoy. I told Remus that I only worked on him once, but then I went and did it again -"

"You lied to him."

Ginny lifted her head and showed him her tearstained face. "No. But I didn't tell him the whole truth."

Sirius knew how that went. He also knew, from recent research with Ron, that Draco Malfoy was not the entirely useless brat that they had all assumed him to be, and he felt a stab of concern for Ginny. "You worked on Malfoy by yourself?" he demanded. "Again? Where? The same pub?"

She looked right into his eyes with her bloodshot ones. "At his house," she whispered. "I know it was stupid. I wish I'd never gone. Don't shout at me. And don't tell Harry."

Sirius gave a short, shocked laugh. He stood and began to pace back and forth in front of the couch. "Don't tell Harry?" he asked sarcastically. "Because that's the main concern here, is it? What your boyfriend thinks of you?"

"No -" Ginny sat up. "No, Sirius -"

"Shut up and stop crying for just one minute and consider what you're saying." Sirius fixed her with a wrathful glare. "Who cares what the hell Harry thinks of where you were? What the hell were you doing at Malfoy Manor alone? Without telling anyone? If Harry finds out about it and he wants to give you a good kick in the arse for it, I'll be right behind him."

Ginny mouthed soundlessly.

"Harry's ego - and lying to your professor - is nothing in comparison with the kind of grief you might have caused your family and friends, do you understand that? Did you fight a war? Do you remember nothing? What will it take to drill sense into your head?"

Ginny seemed incapable of an answer.

"You love to tell everyone what an adult you are, and perhaps you've done many things that no child should ever have to do. But you're no adult. Real adults know their limits. They take precautions. Real adults make priorities - they do not make serious commitments and then fail to uphold them. What good are your talents if you're going to abuse them like this?"

She stifled another miserable noise.

"Can you hear him out there?" Sirius demanded. "There's nothing he can do about that, and you left him to it because you weren't paying attention. How does that feel?"

Ginny drew up her knees and buried her face in them.

"He's taught you, and stood up for you, and given you incredible opportunities. He realized what you are. This wasn't what was owed him."

The wolf gave another disgusting, pain-riddled howl, and Sirius shoved his hands through his hair in despair.

"This is going to take him forever to recover from, you have to realize that."

Ginny lifted her face again and her eyes pleaded with him. "I'm sorry," she managed. "I'm so sorry -"

"Don't apologize to me, I'm not in any discomfort. It's him you'll have to face. And believe me, it's going to hurt you worse than you know. Because he's going to be a hell of a lot kinder than I am, and you're not going to have the relief of feeling angry and wronged."

Ginny wiped her face. There was another sickening scrape from outside, and she winced and clutched at her knees. "Do you… want me to leave?" she asked shakily. "Do you want me to go?"

"Can't you bear to stay?"

She got some of her color back and put her feet on the floor. She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them. "I'll stay," she said. "I'll… I'll help him in the morning. I'll do everything I can. I won't work on the dragons anymore after this, or on anyone else, I'll just study like he's been asking me to and -"

"Save the promises for him," Sirius said shortly. "Sit here and do your thinking on your own. I'm going to go and keep him company, since that's all either of us can do."

Sirius was about to leave when something possessed him to lay his hand on the crown of Ginny's bowed head. Perhaps it was the color of her hair, and someone it reminded him of. Or perhaps it was just that he knew what she was suffering. He wasn't sure.

"You'll be more use to him if you get some sleep," he said, as gently as he could. "So don't bother sitting up and torturing yourself. Goodnight."

Sirius dropped his hand and went outside, where he immediately transformed and bounded to the door of the wolf's tiny jail, to whine with him and make him know that there were some things, some people, who would never let him down if they could help it. Never again, anyway.

It was a very long night.

~*~

Until he had come to work for the Ministry, Ron had never paid much attention to the news. Except for the odd personal article about Harry or Hermione - or both - the world of politics and social issues hadn't held much interest for him; he had preferred to stick to the sports page and forget that the rest of it mattered. News from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office had seemed a bore, and even his father's abrupt promotion to the Minister's office had seemed more a personal triumph than a newsworthy one.

Ron wasn't sure when he had started to read the paper so eagerly, and it still seemed strange to him that he understood half of what was going on in it. But he had sat hunched over it all morning, fascinated and absorbed, trying to predict what would happen in the world next.

The Daily Prophet had published a list of the newly elected Privy Counselors. Rose K. Brown, Ron was not surprised to see, had been re-elected and remained the Secretary Privy to Magical Matters. He'd voted for her. She might have been a Slytherin, but she got the job done, and his dad really depended on her. The rest of the list was an amalgam of names - some re-elected, some new to the Ministry, some Ron even recognized from school - all of whom would bear the responsibility of selecting the new Magical Advisory and the next Minister of Magic. Ron scanned the list again and again and tried to remember everything he knew about every recognizable name on it. These people would decide whether his father stayed in office, and Ron wished he could predict what their decision would be. He wondered what Hermione would do if he dragged Mr. Archibald's orb up from his secret basement, and tried to unfog a bit of the future.

"Ron?" Sirius's head appeared in the small fireplace on the far end of the office; he looked pale and somewhat haggard. "I won't be in until this afternoon. There was some… trouble with Remus's transformation last night."

"Is he all right?" Ron asked at once. "What happened? I thought the Wolfsbane -"

"You'll have to ask Ginny." Sirius narrowed his eyes. "I know it's a bad day for me to be out - can you handle it all on your own?"

"Yes," Ron said at once, sure that he could. He'd organized most of it, after all. Today's agenda - if it all happened as planned - would be, on some levels, the most satisfying day of Ron's life. He was only sorry that Sirius wouldn't be around to appreciate it. "Don't worry about it, do what you need to do. If there's any real problem, I'll let you know."

"Thanks." And Sirius's tired face disappeared from the flames.

"Well that was some raid."

Ron's head snapped towards the door. Seamus Finnigan stood just inside the office, looking the way he'd used to after pulling all-nighters before exams. He had a sheet of parchment curled in his fist, and a box of files floated in the air beside him.

Ron put the paper aside, and forgot about Sirius's problems and the impending elections. Bad transformations aside, and new Ministry or not, he'd been anticipating this all morning. He'd been dreaming about it for months - years, even - and now it was finally here. "What happened? Did you get anything?" He could hardly stay in his seat. "Come in, sit down, tell me everything."

Seamus sat across from him, let the file box drop to the floor, and cracked a grin. "You've got your man, Ron, I'm sure of it. His mother's been taken to Culparrat and Stunned, and Malfoy's being collected from the dragon camp as we speak."

"YES." Ron slammed his fist into his palm. "Wish I could be there!"

"As for what we found -" Seamus held out the parchment and Ron unrolled it with manic fingers. "Creepy stuff. If there's anything on that list you don't recognize, just ask." Seamus sat back and gave a satisfied sigh. "I like doing raids. Especially when they're productive."

"What time did you go in? Were you up all night?"

"We were up too early, preparing. But we waited for Malfoy to leave for work before we stormed in - you should've seen his mother's face when we pulled up her floor." Seamus whistled. "You should see the whole manor, really. Enormous place. Fireplaces bigger than my flat. Smart looking, but -" He gave an exaggerated shiver. "No thanks."

"Where was the trapdoor?"

"Under the carpet, right in front of a big family portrait. It was so well charmed that we'd never have found it if we hadn't known it was there to begin with - thanks for that. How'd you know it was there, anyway?"

"Oh, well, you know." Ron waved the parchment about. "I keep my ears open."

Seamus quirked an eyebrow. "I believe that," he said. "Dodgy answer, Weasley. Seems I'll be having to raid your house next."

"Do my washing while you're in there, would you?"

Seamus laughed. "No chance of that - I've seen your washing. Go on, read the list."

Ron studied the parchment. "Whispering Soot," he said. "Of course - how much was there?"

"Enough to listen in on every fireplace in the country."

"And if they were using it, that means someone had to be putting it in every fireplace in the country."

"Illegal Floo stops can be tracked, to some extent. I'll see what we can find."

Ron nodded. "No good trying to track it from Malfoy's house, though," he said. "They'd've had some underling do that kind of dirty work. Right… what's this? China dolls?"

"China dolls. Just like it says. About two dozen of them. I've got no idea what they're for, I just put them on the list because I don't need another lecture from Diggory about being thorough."

But to Ron, it rang a bell. "Hermione told me a story once," he said slowly. "About the witch who made the Goblet of Fire. Nitka Nemesy, I think it was. She was crazy, they said. Used to get back at her enemies by trapping them in dolls, and selling them out of her shop."

"Christ!" Seamus looked revolted.

"Handing those over to the Aurors is your best bet - or Curse Breakers. Give them to the Curse Breakers."

Seamus shook his head. "Hermione's read some… interesting books."

Ron glanced up and grinned a bit. "Yes." He looked back at the parchment and continued to read. Dead men's wands… Veritaserum… potions ingredients that pointed to Dark draughts…A silver hand with working joints… "He kept Pettigrew's hand," he breathed. "That's just sick. What's 'The Chair'?"

Seamus shrugged. "We're not sure. Some kind of metal throne. They probably used it for strapping down victims of torture. It has binding cords at the wrists and ankles."

Ron felt the blood drain out of him. "Oh." He rubbed at his wrists under the desk. "All right." He stared at the list, but it was a long while before he could really read anything. "Heads in jars," he finally managed. "What's that all about?"

"We asked Mrs. Malfoy the same question. Three big, green glass jars sitting on three-legged tables, and each one had a head floating in it."

"And what'd she say?"

"She tried telling us it was art." Seamus snorted. "I asked her why she didn't have them on display in her nice front room if they were so artistic. I thought she was going to scratch my eyes out."

"I'll bet." Ron scanned down the remaining list of illegal possessions until he came to something that turned his stomach.

No. 33 - Polyjuice Potion (contained in 173 labeled jars)

Albus Dumbledore

Severus Snape

Cornelius Fudge

Minerva McGonagall

Rubeus Hagrid

Arthur Weasley

Ronald Weasley

Virginia Weasley

Hermione Granger

"Disgusting, isn't it."

Ron realized his mouth was hanging open in horror. The list went on and on. "You don't mean to say -"

"Turn the paper over."

Ron did. The list of names continued, and there were students, teachers, Ministry employees and Death Eaters alike. "But he didn't - he couldn't. Polyjuice Potion doesn't keep. Does it?"

"I think it can be flash frozen."

"Flash -?"

"Sorry. I don't know a wizard term for it… Petrified? No no, that's something else. Amazing I got any N.E.W.T.s isn't it? The point is, the Malfoys could have turned themselves into some pretty influential people."

"My dad… Ginny…" Something cold washed through Ron's heart. "Hermione," he said faintly. "I wonder if… when her parents… if Malfoy used… if her parents thought that she…"

"Stop." Seamus put a hand out. "Her jar was full. Never touched. But… just so you're not shocked when you see it, it seems someone must've paraded as you, at least once."

Ron's skin crawled.

"Dozens of others were used, too. We think it's how they managed that massive break in, at Gringotts - the goblins would've noticed a lot of big men and scary looking women going in there to do damage all at once, but Hogwarts students and Ministry officials?"

"Makes sense."

Seamus nodded. "But you know what surprised me? He didn't have a batch of Harry down there."

It didn't surprise Ron in the least. "Well, who'd want to be Harry? Half the wizarding world had orders to kill him on sight," Ron muttered as he filed the parchment away. "Thanks for this. It's a great help."

"My pleasure." Seamus stood up and stretched. "I'll leave you with the files, shall I? I need a bath. And a beer. See you, Ron."

"See you." Ron was already dragging the file box closer to the desk. He withdrew the first file, marked Cosmetics, and opened it. "Organized about it, weren't you?" he whispered. The papers were meticulously arranged, alphabetized and sorted by date. Every receipt, every letter was in its proper place. Ron read them in order, not sure what cosmetics had to do with Death Eating.

Ten minutes into the file, he was beginning to get the idea. And the idea made him nauseated. He said a couple of foul words to the file, and smacked it onto his desk.

"Are those new legal terms?"

Ron looked up, feeling sick. "Hermione," he said. "Hi. What are you doing here? I thought you were working at the Burrow."

"I thought I'd see what you were doing for lunch," she said. "You don't look pleased."

"No, I am." Ron put a hand out. "Come here."

Hermione shut the door. She came around his desk, took his hand, and let him pull her into his lap.

Ron wrapped his arms around her and shut his eyes. "Every time I think I've read about the worst possible crime, something tops it," he said. "I can't believe what people are capable of."

Hermione put her arms around his neck and kissed his hair. "What's got you bothered?"

"I don't even want to tell you."

"Well now you have to tell me." She laughed a little, and played her fingers through the short hairs on the back of his neck. "Go on, I can handle it."

"The Death Eaters were doing business in the Muggle world. Selling products to Muggles. Did you know that?"

"No." Hermione shifted a little. "But it makes sense. What were they selling?"

"Is La Rouge familiar to you?"

"The cosmetics company?" Hermione shrugged. "I've heard of it."

"What do you know about it?"

"Not much… it's not a department store line, or anything, it's dirt cheap. Girls at school probably used it. Why?"

"It's full of powdered Maidenhair root."

Hermione was still for a moment, and then she pulled away and looked at Ron in horror. "But that causes infertility."

"The La Rouge eyeshadows are nothing but Maidenhair, mixed with colored powder. It's in the lipstick, too. And the shaving cream, and the body lotion."

"How could they?" she whispered. "How could they?"

Ron didn't know. "There must be twenty files. I haven't had a chance to look at the others, but I think they're all cheap, everyday products geared towards thinning out the Muggle population."

Hermione said a few choice words of her own.

"Agreed." Ron brushed the back of one hand down her cheek, and ran his thumb across her determined chin. Perhaps it wasn't exactly the best moment, but she was always most beautiful when she was in a righteous passion. "Going to go destroy some Muggle merchandise now, are you?"

"Of course I am. You tell me what else you find. It's all coming off the shelves if I have to curse it off myself."

"You won't have to do it yourself." Ron kissed her chin. "I'll help. I'll even wear a button, if you like."

"Whose files are they? Where did you find this?"

"They were Lucius Malfoy's."

Hermione's mouth curled as if she'd tasted sour milk. "I hate them," she said quietly. "I really do."

Ron slipped his arm around her again and ran his hands up and down her back. "Well listen. Malfoy Manor's just been raided -"

"What?!"

"Shh. Narcissa's already in Culparrat, and Malfoy's on his way there right now. An Auror should be by any minute to tell me when it's finished - Moody said he'd make sure I knew exactly what was happening at all times."

"Ron!"

He laughed. "I couldn't tell you until it was official. And I can't tell you much else, honestly, until they've been tried."

She gaped at him. "You're telling me you've been collecting evidence to put Malfoy in prison, and you never said a word?"

He tried to look modest. "I couldn't."

"But Ron!" She sat back, on the edge of his knees, and looked round-eyed at him. "How long have you been working on this?"

"Two months." Ron hadn't thought it was possible for her eyes to open wider.

"Is this what you were doing that day, when you couldn't tell me where you were?" she demanded.

"Er - yes," Ron lied quickly. "Yes it is."

"And do you think - is he going to - is there enough evidence -" She stopped. "I know you're supposed to be giving everyone a fair trial, and looking at both sides," she said, more calmly, but he could still hear the flutter in her tone. "And I'm glad that you and Sirius have been so moral - it's tremendous." She leaned forward, kissed Ron softly on the mouth, and pulled away. "But I hope Malfoy rots."

A loud knock on the door sent Hermione out of Ron's lap and back around the desk, straightening her robes.

"Mr. Ronald Weasley?" called an unfamiliar voice. "Are you in there, please?"

"Come in."

A young woman pushed open the door. "Elizabeth Duzen," she said, and held up her identification. "Auror." She glanced at Hermione. "Would you rather speak in private, sir?"

Ron shook his head.

"I've been sent to tell you that Draco Malfoy has been arrested and transported by force to Culparrat. He was replaced by a newly trained dragon rider at eleven-thirty this morning."

"Has he been stunned?"

"When I left Culparrat, sir, he was still awake." The Auror gave a curt nod. "That's all," she said, and left the room.

Ron stood. He knew it was petty, juvenile, shallow and unprofessional, but he didn't care. He wanted to see Draco Malfoy struggle and cry and get stunned like the criminal he was. "I'm going over to the prison," he said to Hermione. "I… there are questions. It's part of giving them fair trials - I have to ask every new prisoner some rudimentary questions -" It was the truth. He snatched a blank form and a quill from his desk, and pulled his wand.

Hermione grabbed his arm. "You be careful," she said. "I wouldn't put anything past him."

"Don’t worry about putting things past him," Ron said, giving her forehead a swift kiss. "Just put a nice big Imprisonment charm up around him, and I'll be satisfied."

Hermione nodded and let go of his arm.

Ron was at Culparrat and through prison security in a matter of minutes; they were used to his abrupt arrivals now, and he was led quickly to the dank chamber Moody liked to use for interrogations. He knew before going in what he was going to see - the prisoners were all treated alike. Malfoy would be strapped to his seat, sitting across the table from Moody or one of the other top-notch Aurors, looking strangely small and helpless. They always did.

The actual sight of it, however, was so satisfying that Ron stood in the doorway for a moment and drank it in before he spoke. Malfoy sat up perfectly straight with his face turned away. He was still in his dragon riding gear. Ron could only make out a bit of his profile but he could see that Malfoy's expression was aloof. Distant. He'd probably been completely silent, and he was within his rights to be so - he had no obligation to speak to the Aurors without a defender present.

Moody sat hunched towards Malfoy, one gnarled fist curled on the small table that separated them, shaking his head. "Your turn, Weasley," he barked, and Ron jumped. The eye in the back of his head was as unsettling as it had ever been.

Malfoy's head snapped around and he looked at Ron with mingled disbelief and hatred.

"April Fool's," Ron said, and worked to control the victorious smirk that threatened to take over his face. Moody didn't help; he stood, turned from the table and gave Ron a wink before scraping out of the chamber. Ron badly wanted to snicker.

"Weasley." Malfoy's nostrils flared. "I thought I smelled a rat."

But Malfoy's nasty words were ineffectual now. As long as they were directed at him through prison walls, Ron imagined he could handle all the petty insults in the world. "I reckon you're still smelling that trap room of yours, Malfoy," he said easily. "I understand your family kept hold of Pettigrew's hand. Fascinating. Shall we go over a few -"

"I'm not speaking to anyone until I can see what you've done to my mother. Not that I intend to answer any of your questions, in any case." Malfoy's voice, like his posture, was stiff and regal.

Ron had to give him credit for maintaining composure; under the circumstances, he would have expected Malfoy to act like a whinging baby. Then again, he was asking for his mummy. "You're not going to see her," Ron said, and sat in the chair where Moody had been. "She'll be perfectly safe here until she's tried, and so will you." Ron lifted his quill and parchment, slightly. "Of course, your trials will take a year to arrange if you won't answer any of my questions, but that's up to you."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed into slits. "You are not keeping my mother in this place, Weasley, you small-minded idiot. Or me. You will take me to my mother now." He strained at his bonds, but the chair, which had been magically secured to the ground, did not move an inch.

Ron watched him struggle until the pale skin beneath the binding cords had grown an angry red. He then spread his parchment on the table and consulted it as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. "Is your full name Draco Ptolemy Malfoy?" he asked, and poised his quill.

Malfoy's furious growl was most unlike him. "It's a name you're not even worthy of speaking, Weasley. I have no intention of answering any of your questions, or Alastor Moody's, or any of the so-called Aurors you've roped into serving your pathetic family." His breath came hard and fast. "This is all a sham, Weasley, don't think the world doesn't know it. Any wizard with any self-respect knows you'll pander any sort of tripe to suit your own ambitions, because you weren't born to anything of substance. Now let me see my mother before I bring your parody of a Ministry down around your ears for this outrage."

Ron glanced up at him, stung. Malfoy was wrong. Wrong. It wasn't a parody, it wasn't a sham - perhaps it was a shell of the Ministry it had once been, but its leaders were uncorrupted and good. Perhaps it was time that it all got back on its feet - perhaps the Minister required an official appointment now that people were ready to concentrate on such issues again - but that didn't make him worthless. And now that the new Privy Council had been elected, everything was underway.

Still, the grain of truth in Malfoy's speech was difficult to hear and Ron wished, not for the first time, that Malfoy were as mute and stupid as Crabbe and Goyle had always been. But from the look on his face to the words from his mouth Draco Malfoy was stepping into the role his father had always played in the wizarding world; and though Lucius had been a contemptible man he had not been stupid, and his threats had never been empty.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04