The Lewis House 114 страница

She held his gaze for a minute. "You have the best eyes."

The buzzing started up again in Harry's head, hotter and louder this time. He couldn't believe she was saying all this. He didn't know how she just… said this stuff.

"And I really do think you're brilliant. You were brilliant yesterday."

"So were you." Harry paused. "And I wasn't any better than anyone else - it was Adam who really took the risk, in the end."

Ginny sighed inaudibly; he only felt the swell of breath beneath his hands. "What does that matter?" she asked. "Do you think I'm looking for you to be better than everyone?" She turned a little and looked at him. "You're finished with all that, Harry - you've proved yourself - you're the most amazing man -" She stopped. She looked a little embarrassed, as though she thought she'd got too carried away again.

But Harry wanted her to go on. He wrapped his arms tighter around her.

"And you're so modest," she blurted. "It only makes you greater. You could be such a git - you could brag and strut about, and you'd be well within your rights, but you don't - and you don't have to, because it's so clear what you are, it speaks for itself - you have no idea what that does to me -" She stopped again, and blushed, and turned away.

Harry knew his face was red too, but he had to hear the rest of this ramble. It was too good. He remembered Ron once telling him that Ginny hadn't shut up about him all summer, but Harry had never known exactly what kinds of things she'd said. He wanted to hear it all, uncensored. "What… does it… do to you?" he managed.

Ginny laughed a little. "I don't know - it's just the way you…"

"What?" he asked again, in a very quiet voice.

"I don't know." She shifted uncomfortably in his arms, and rocked forward a little, away from him.

She was upset. He wasn't sure why. "What's wrong?" he asked.

She jumped, and turned to give him a very wary look. "How did you know something was?" she demanded.

Harry couldn't stop a grin. "I just know you," he said, happy to have got it right. "Go on - tell me what's wrong."

She looked deeply unsettled. "I'm worried you're going to think I'm stupid if I keep this up," she said. "I don't want to go on gushing like this and have you think I'm some silly little girl."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "I could never think you're stupid," he said honestly. "And I want you to tell me all this stuff."

Ginny didn't look convinced. She turned away again and looked out at the lake. The sun had set, and the sky had gone purple; Harry looked up and followed the pattern of the evening's first stars. It was a beautiful night.

"When I was little," Ginny said, so faintly that Harry had to lean forward to hear her, "everyone teased me about you. Except you. You were kind."

Harry was very grateful to his younger self for not making any stupid moves on that score.

"I thought you were…" She shook her head. "Perfect. I remember sitting in corners, watching you do things."

What things? Harry wanted to ask.

"Anything," Ginny answered. "It didn't matter. You'd unfold your napkin or open a book and I'd think, no one could look more wonderful doing that, no one could look more brave."

Harry tried to picture himself bravely opening a book. It wasn't much of an image.

"And you didn't seem to realize how brilliant you were. You were so quiet and polite. Like you weren't a hero at all, which only made you more of one. You were Harry Potter, but you weren't at all - you were just this handsome boy who came to my house one summer in clothes worse than mine, and ran round with my brothers, and flew my dad's car into a tree…" Ginny's voice trailed away. "See?" she said, shaking her head. "Listen to me, I'm so childish -"

"No, you're not," Harry cut in quickly, feeling dazed. "Did you… did you really think I was handsome when we were that young?"

Ginny glanced back at him, still looking uncertain. "I've always thought you were gorgeous," she said.

Harry knew he was no such thing. "No I'm not," he said slowly. "Especially not then - I was skinny and I… I still have these glasses -"

"I love your glasses," Ginny burst out vehemently, and even in the moonlight, she turned quite red.

Now Harry was completely lost. "Why?" he asked.

"I don't know!" Ginny sounded just as lost. But she was turning to face him now, and he tucked one of his legs back to give her more room. "I can't explain it - they're just - they're yours. And I like the way they make you look, they're - they're really - they're -" She seemed to be struggling. "Sexy," she finally mumbled, and now she was so scarlet that she radiated heat.

Harry was floored. "Really?" His voice cracked on the word.

Ginny could only nod. She sat back on her heels and looked down at her knees.

"Well so -" Harry stammered. "So are you. I mean - your hair and - your - everything."

She looked up at him, clearly shocked. "Am I?" she whispered.

"Oh yeah."

They gazed at each other, both flushed and self-conscious, Ginny's hair slipping forward along her cheek and her eyes following a path to his mouth until Harry couldn't stand it for another second. It was like watching a Snitch flutter past and not reaching out to grab it.

He dove.

Ginny made a high-pitched noise that was somewhere between pain and pleasure, and Harry wasn't sure what he'd done until they both thudded into the soft grass and she fell on her back beneath him with a gasp. He'd practically attacked her. He wondered if he should stop. But she didn't seem to care - she wrapped her arms around him and threw back her head as he kissed her feverishly all over her face. He didn't know what he was doing. He had lost his mind.

"Harry -" she managed, in a voice that made him love the sound of his name. He wanted to hear it again. "Yes -"

Harry could hear the unstable breaths she was taking, and he didn't miss the sniffle that followed them.

"Is this happening?" she mumbled, so faintly that he almost couldn't understand her.

"Yes," he gasped, though he could hardly believe it. He slammed his mouth to hers and she shouted into him. It felt like victory. It felt like triumph. Was this happening? Was this going to happen? She'd said, at Christmas, that she wanted to wait. Had they waited?

And could they really do this here?

Harry paused, panting, and tried to pull back.

"No," Ginny said breathlessly, taking his face in her hands and reaching up her chin to kiss him again. "Please, Harry -"

He kissed her back, long and hard, and then he pulled away again and held himself up on his hands, staring down at her and trying to talk himself out of what he wanted. They couldn't possibly do this here. Even though the night was cool and comfortable, and she was beautiful in it, staring up at him from her bed of grass, her mouth wet, her eyes glazed and full of starlight. Even though he knew he'd go insane if he ignored the thudding in his body for one more second. She was amazing. She wouldn't want this - not here, like this. She was too good for him. She deserved romance. And furniture.

"Should we go inside?" he rasped.

She shook her head.

"Are you sure?" his voice cracked again. "You really want to stay out here? You're not cold, you wouldn't rather -"

"I'm fine," she said, her voice strangely soft. "But we could go back to the Notch or Lupin Lodge, and charm the walls if you'd rather. "

Harry tried to imagine touching her and knowing that Remus was somewhere in the house. Or Ron. He shook his head.

Ginny pulled her wand. Without even sitting up, she held her arm out to the side, swished and flicked.

"Appara Vestis!"

Harry watched in a kind of half-shock as a dark green quilt appeared on the ground beside them. He recognized it from the linen cupboard at Lupin Lodge. He looked slowly back down at Ginny, who tossed her wand into the grass and looked up at him, breathing hard.

"Is that all right?" she said. But her voice was shaking. "Can we stay here? I want to stay here."

Harry nodded. He got to his knees and helped her move over to the blanket. And when he laid her down this time, he did it… gently. She was trembling all over.

Or perhaps it was him.

"I'm nervous," she whispered, when he stretched out beside her. "Are you?"

Harry wasn't sure he was supposed to admit it. But he nodded.

"Kiss me?" she whispered.

Harry did, with all the love he felt. He murmured her name and she sniffled again and brushed the backs of her fingers down the side of his face.

For a long time, there was no talking between them. And then there was nothing between them at all, and Harry paused, unable to believe that she could really look at all of him and still agree to take him as he was, pale and skinny and flawed, and be with him like this.

"You're sure?" he asked, very quietly.

Ginny said nothing. Instead, she slowly reached up her hand - hesitated for a moment - then did something he couldn't have anticipated. She twined her fingers into his hair, pulled his forehead to her mouth, and gently - gently - kissed his scar.

“You are the only man,” she whispered, “that I am ever, ever going to love.”

It wasn't long before the world as Harry knew it ceased to exist.

~*~

Ron had never been unable to eat his mother's cooking before. She had made all of his favorites, along with everyone else's, but the fried chicken tasted like a corned beef sandwich and he almost gagged trying to get it down. Finally, he threw half a drumstick on the plate in frustration, and looked around at everyone.

"How can you all just sit there and… eat?" he demanded.

Fred stood up. "This better?"

Everyone else laughed, but Ron only scowled; this was nothing to joke about. He excused himself from the table and paced maniacally around the garden of the Burrow. A gnome, smelling the garden banquet, stuck its ugly head out of the ground, and Ron picked it up and threw it so hard over the hedge that Adam and all the other children cheered.

"Maybe you should just go over there now and volunteer to be a Chaser, Ron," said Charlie.

"Ha ha," said Ron. Charlie had certainly been a lot happier these past few weeks. He wasn't going to be returning to Romania. He and Cho Chang were looking very cozy together, and whenever Charlie talked about his newest mad idea - running a stable for abandoned dragons off the coast of Wales, near Culparrat - Cho joined in the conversation as though it were understood that she was going with him.

"Ron, you've hardly touched your dinner," his mother rebuked. "And I'll thank you to remember that this lunch is not about the Chudley Cannons, it's about your father's re-election. Now, show him some respect and finish your chicken."

"It's Poultry Respectfulness Day, Ron," said George.

"Yeah," said Fred. "By the order of the Minister."

Everyone except Ron laughed again, and his father motioned for him to take his seat.

"I understand how you feel, son," he said. "You're going to need your energy to cheer on the Cannons - but if you're not going to eat that, give it here."

Ron passed his father the uneaten drumstick and sat down again next to Hermione, who was wearing his old Cannons shirt. At least she loved him. He hadn't even had to ask her to wear it. She had just understood that certain things were important - but then, she had always been a clever girl.

"I can't believe Bill's in France," Adam complained. He was also picking at his dinner. "Missing this. Couldn’t he wait a few more days?"

Ron wholeheartedly agreed that his eldest brother was completely mad. "He's the one who gave me my first Cannons poster," he told Adam. "I assumed he'd understand what a moment this is in the history of the team - no one understands -"

Hermione slipped her arm around him. "I understand, Ron," she said.

Ron pulled her closer and narrowly glanced at Harry, who professed to be a Cannons fan, and yet had turned down a spot on the team and was now on his third piece of roast beef.

"I understand that you're insane," Hermione added after a moment. Harry snickered.

Ron shrugged Hermione away from him and crossed his arms. Fiancée or not, she was in the doghouse until she did some serious cheering for the Cannons - they all were.

At least they were dressed for it, though, Ron thought, looking around the table. His father was wearing a modest Chudley Cannons sash across his robes - "Because I shouldn't really show favoritism, Ron." His mother wore black robes with orange sleeves that she'd stitched on that morning. Everyone else was wearing either Cannons T-shirts or orange hats, except Angelina, who was wearing her Montrose Magpies shirt and didn't seem to care if it was wrong.

"They're not playing the Magpies," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "It's not like I'm cheering for the enemy."

"It doesn't matter," Fred said, holding out his spare Cannons shirt. "You'll be happier if you wear this, trust me."

Angelina shook her head. "No, I'm dressed, thanks. And I think you're taking this a bit seriously -"

Ron gave a cry of pure frustration, and Leo, who had been rocking back and forth in mid-air and sleeping peacefully, woke up and started wailing.

"Sorry," Ron muttered, when both Penelope and his mother shot him looks.

"Ron, it's two hours till the match," Ginny said, looking at her watch. "Just go if you're so eager to be there, and stop annoying every - OW!"

Ron had leaned back, reached out a long arm and snapped Ginny hard on the shoulder. She gave him a very dirty look. Harry looked as though he were torn between laughing and punching Ron, but in the end, he just reached for another slice of roast beef.

"I think I will go!" Ron said, standing up again. He knew he'd be better off at the stadium with the other real fans; he was just going to lose his mind if he had to stay here. "Dad, can I have my ticket, please?"

"Wait, Ron, I've made pies," said his mother. "Chocolate, lemon-meringue, and pumpkin – it's your favorite!"

Ron knew it was cruel, but desperate times called for desperate measures. His mother had bombarded him with maroon sweaters and corned beef and pumpkin pie his whole life, just because he had expressed an interest in them at the age of three. He had to draw the line.

"Mum," he said, "I… think pumpkin pie is disgusting." His mother's jaw dropped. "Not just yours – everyone's. But I'll eat a piece of the chocolate after the Cannons win!" he added quickly.

"I'll go with you," said Harry, finishing his last bite and standing. Ron was surprised, but pleased. It had been difficult to tear Harry away from Ginny these past few weeks, and although Ron could certainly understand, he wanted his best friend back for this momentous event. Once they got there, he knew Harry would get into the spirit of it. It was Quidditch, after all.

"Right," said Ron, taking two tickets from his father and handing one to Harry. "See you lot there."

*

The security outside the Quidditch stadium was unlike anything Harry had ever seen, which struck him as odd; the security hadn't been like this at the World Cup, in his fourth year, and that had been an international event. Perhaps the after-effects of war had made everyone especially paranoid. Wizards from the M.L.E.S. guarded the stadium entrance, looking grim and running their wands over everyone who entered, and it took a very long time to get inside. The longer they had to wait, the edgier Ron became, until Harry had to ask him to stop leaping up to check the front of the line every five seconds, because it was making him nervous.

"Are you carrying any cannonballs, hammers, pieces of old metal pipe, or any other objects that might be used to break heads?" asked the Enforcer who was running his wand over Ron.

"No, we're supporting the Cannons!" Ron protested, as the Enforcer ran a wand across his shoes one more time.

"Have you left your cloaks or bags unattended at any time?"

"We're not wearing any," Ron pointed out irritably. "Are you finished -"

"Has anyone else asked you to carry any cannonballs, hammers, pieces of old metal pipe, or any other objects that might be used to break heads?"

"Yeah," Ron said sarcastically. "And we're a couple of prats with candy floss for brains, so we decided it would be clever to say yes -"

Ron was immediately led to the side by two very large guards, sharply questioned, and was only released when Harry approached and was recognized.

"What's the problem?" Ron hissed, rubbing his wrists where the guards had grabbed them.

"The Falcons fans take their motto very seriously," growled one of the guards. "We're not having any unnecessary injuries at this game. All jokes at the gates are to be treated as threats to security."

"Paranoid much?" Ron muttered.

Harry dragged Ron away before he could say anything that would get them kicked out. When they finally entered the stadium, Ron hustled Harry past the food, muttering something about people who could be hungry at a time like this, and past all the bright-orange Cannons merchandise glittering in the sunlight. "I've got all the merchandise I need," he said, and patted his pocket. "This money's for Butterbeer."

They emerged onto the first bleachers and started to climb – Mr. Weasley, being Minister of Magic, was able to use the entire top box.

Harry was surprised to see so many people already at the stadium. Ron wasn't the only super-fanatical Cannons fan. There was still an hour and a half until the game started, and already the people in the seats created such an enormous, bright orange blur that it almost hurt Harry's eyes to look at them.

"Isn't it beautiful?" said Ron, putting a hand over his eyes and staring upwards. "The Cannons haven't been in a League Championship since 1892. And today… finally… all the loyal fans will be rewarded." His eyes looked glassy. "It's an honor to be here," he said. "An honor."

Harry would have snickered at Ron's somber tone if he hadn't been almost as excited. He had never been a big Cannons fan until this year, but there was something fantastic about seeing the underdogs rise to the top, Quidditch matches were nearly always a good time, and championships were always exceptionally cool. He found himself trying to hurry to get up to their seats.

About halfway up, someone waved, and Harry saw that it was Mr. Gladrag. He hurried towards them with his wife, as glamorous as ever, who was dressed in a long, sleeveless robe of brilliant orange, with little cannonballs zooming all around on the fabric.

"Like it?" asked Mr. Gladrag, looking at his young wife with obvious pride. When Harry and Ron both nodded, he looked pleased.

"We can make them to order for your young ladies, if you like," he offered. "Special discount – just for you two."

Harry tried to imagine Ginny wearing such a dress, but the Ginny in his head kept laughing at herself. He thought that Ron might be trying to see Hermione in his head as well, because he let out a loud snort that he quickly turned into a cough. Then he politely thanked Mr. Gladrag, and they continued up the stairs.

When they reached the box, which was bedecked with orange and black sparklers and streamers despite Mr. Weasley's protestations about "neutrality," Ron sat down right in the middle of the front row and pulled out his Omnioculars.

"You've still got those?" Harry asked.

"Best present you ever gave me," Ron said graciously, and tipped his old Cannons hat at Harry. "This is the second best." Ron, whose face had been unusually pale all morning, turned a bit pink, and looked away. Harry remembered how upset Ron had been, when he'd discovered that the gold with which he'd paid Harry back for the Omnioculars at the Quidditch World Cup had been leprechaun gold and had vanished into thin air several hours later. It seemed so long ago.

A young wizard wearing several flashing buttons on his robes and a plain hat that just said "QUIDDITCH" on it in plain lettering, came around selling bottles of Bottomless Butterbeer Extra - "Outlasts the Longest Match!" Ron motioned to him, bought two bottles, and handed one to Harry.

"Now we really are even," he joked, and then turned his attention to the field. Not much was going on.

"Where is everyone?" Harry asked. "Shouldn't they be practicing by now?"

"Fat lot you know," said Ron. "Haven't been paying attention to the season as much as you should. Been doing other, more important things, have you?"

Harry pulled the brim of his hat very low, and didn't answer.

"There's a very strict warm-up schedule now – has been ever since Knight was injured before that game that you played."

Just then, there was a loud booing and hissing noise and line of players in dark-gray and white robes flew out onto the field from behind one of the stands. The Falmouth Falcons.

"See," Ron explained to Harry, "they have half an hour to warm up, then they go in and the Cannons come out for half an hour. That way, they're not both on the field at the same time and there's less chance of getting hurt."

Harry watched intently as the Falcons flew back and forth, throwing Quaffles at each other and dodging Bludgers. The Cannons were in for a tough game if this warm-up session was any indication. The two burly Beaters were pelting their own Chasers with Bludgers, and following up with insults. The Chasers were showing the Keeper no mercy, as Quaffle after Quaffle flew expertly towards the hoops. Whenever the Keeper missed, he caught up with the Quaffle and threw it so hard back at the offending Chaser that Harry kept waiting for one of them to fall of his broom.

"Good to see you've decided to eat, Ron," said Hermione, motioning to the Butterbeer clutched in Ron's hand. She and Ginny had just entered the box, and they took seats on either side of Ron and Harry, and passed them official programs. The programs were thick and shiny, and the cover was divided diagonally into two sections, one orange and one gray. Photographs of the team captains glimmered up from their respective colors; Mulrod McNierney looked frightening, and Oliver looked fierce. Across the front in black lettering the program read: QLCFGB&I.

"The Q L C…" Hermione began uncertainly.

"Quidditch League Cup Final of Great Britain and Ireland," Ron said, grabbing his program and holding up his bottle without taking his eyes off the warm up. "Want a drink? They're bottomless."

"Is it just Butterbeer?" Hermione asked warily.

"Yeah." Ron waved a haphazard hand in the air, and the Butterbeer man came back. "Two more, please," Ron said, and passed one to Hermione without incident. But he virtually threw the other bottle at Ginny and leapt from his seat to clutch the railing.

She squealed and held the foaming bottle away from her lap. "Ron," she complained.

But Ron was no longer available. The Cannons had flown onto the field. Harry got to his feet and cheered, though he noticed that Ron wasn't shouting like most of the other fans; instead he had gone perfectly still, and there was a look of perfect concentration on his face, as if his personal focus, starting now, would make or break the match.

Harry grinned. If a person was going to get fanatical about something, Quidditch was really the best choice. He turned back to the pitch as Maureen Knight began to practice her dives, and he felt a pang of jealousy. He would have loved to play in a match as important as this. It was something he hadn't let himself think about seriously for a long time, but watching Knight made him itch to be in her place. He could almost feel the wind beating against his own face as she dove again.

"What?" Ron said absently to Hermione. She was barely watching the practice, and instead was reading her program and asking Ron questions about it.

"Maureen Knight is leaving the Cannons," Hermione repeated, looking surprised that Ron didn't already know it.

"What?" said Harry, shocked. "Why?"

"It doesn't say…" mused Hermione. "Oh, wait, it says she's leaving for personal reasons. I wonder if Oliver's been too hard on her?"

Harry pulled his own Omnioculars out of his pocket and focused on the space in the sky where Knight and Wood seemed to be having an intense conversation. From far away, they certainly seemed to be arguing, but up close, they didn't look angry at all. As a matter of fact, they looked like they were trying very hard not to laugh. He recalled that Oliver always launched himself at Knight after she caught the Snitch, and he wondered if there was anything "personal" between them.

"She wouldn't really leave the Cannons when she's doing so well," Harry said, still unconvinced.

"She would," said Ginny, who also had a copy of the guide in her lap. "It says here, 'Maureen Knight will return to the Ballycastle Bats next season, leaving the Chudley Cannons without a Seeker'. Then it lists the best picks for next year's Seeker, and you're at the top of the list."

Harry let go of his Omnioculars and blinked at her. "Am I really?" he asked in surprise. "Can I see?"

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04