The Lewis House 23 страница

"What the hell –"

Ron spun to see Harry, his face a shock of concern, his mouth hanging open.

Harry stared at the wound on Ron’s face, then raised his voice again. "What happened? Weren’t you at work? Was there a fight?"

"Yeah." Ron shifted uneasily. If the last thing he wanted to do was to face Hermione, the second-to-last was to tell Harry he’d been in a brawl with Malfoy. He had no idea how Harry would respond to the information.

"Who started it?" Harry leaned forward in his chair, his book abandoned. "Do you still have your job and everything, or –"

"Malfoy," Ron blurted, not wanting to do a whole wind-up. "He came in and said a lot of – you know – and I didn’t want to get into it, but he wouldn’t let up."

Harry was already on his feet, his wand drawn. "Where is he?" His voice was dead calm.

Ron shook his head quickly, wishing he hadn’t said anything. "It’s fine – you don’t have to –"

"He’s not going to get away with this crap anymore, we’re too old. He’s lucky we’ve let him to himself all summer." Harry headed for the hall door, his stride determined.

"He didn’t get away with anything!" Ron insisted, blocking Harry’s way. "I knocked him out cold. I’m telling you he’s unconscious."

"Yeah?" Harry stopped and searched his face.

"Out like a light. He got a swing at me, first –" Ron gestured to his head, " – but it looks worse than it is."

"What d’you mean a swing? Did he hex you?"

"No, Sirius had his wand. He punched me. The cut’s from this big ring Malfoy wears on his finger."

Harry made a sound of disgust. "So you Stunned him?"

"No. Sirius had my wand, too. Used my bare hands."

Harry stared at him a second, and then, almost in spite of itself, a slow grin crawled across his face. "You slugged Malfoy."

"Yeah." Ron felt a grin twist at his own lips.

"And this was in the pub?"

"The street."

"And he just – fell over?"

"Dropped like a stone."

"Damn." Harry gave a short laugh and shook his head. "It’s about time, isn’t it?"

"Definitely," Ron agreed, laughing as well. There had been enough tension tonight, and it was good to have somebody to tell – somebody who loathed Malfoy as much as he did.

"Can’t believe I missed it," Harry continued, still savoring a grin. "Where is he now?"

"Sirius is across the road giving him back to his mum."

Harry snickered. "How’d it start, anyway?"

"He ordered me to get him a glass of wine."

"Oh ho. That bastard."

"Language, Harry."

Both boys froze at the sound of Hermione’s voice on the stair, and Harry fell to looking slightly sheepish. Ron, however, couldn’t breathe. He felt as though he’d been gripped in a vise. He didn’t want to turn and look at her. She was going to think he’d been standing here, just laughing about –

"Why is there blood on your face?" she asked, too softly.

Ron met Harry’s eyes. Harry communicated silently that he was sorry that Ron was about to get into a world of trouble, then excused himself and went from the room. Ron pivoted toward the stairs and watched him go past Hermione, where she stood in her nightdress, looking down at Ron with a tiny crease between her eyebrows. She watched him for a long time, and he felt there wasn’t any point in defending himself until he knew how much she’d heard.

"You promised," she said quietly.

She’d heard enough. Disappointment was crystal clear in her voice, and worry was in her eyes. Ron felt suddenly, unbelievably guilty. He also felt the first flare of anger – she had to understand him. She had to let him explain; she hadn’t been there, she didn’t know.

"Hermione, listen. He was saying – horrible stuff. Horrible stuff. About my dad, and Percy – about..." Ron had been about to say, ‘you’. He held his tongue. He didn’t want to be asked to repeat the words that Malfoy had called her.

"So you knocked him unconscious."

"No, not like that. First he –"

"He’s not unconscious?"

"He was, but wait, let me –"

"Oh, Ron, your face..." Hermione looked at his bleeding temple, distress evident in her expression. She came down two steps and her fingers fluttered up as if to touch him, then dropped again. "You ought to bandage that," she said, her voice shaking a little.

"I will."

"Now, before it gets infected."

"I will. But I didn’t go back on my word, Hermione," Ron pled.

She studied him with her clear brown eyes. "I know you’re angry that I want to go away," she began.

"That’s not why this happened!" Ron interrupted, furious. "I wasn’t taking anything out on Malfoy. I’m telling you, this was just self defense."

"How badly is he hurt?"

Ron snorted. "Worried about him, are you? Well, he’s hurt - but only because he broke his bloody fingers on my skull. Look, forget it. Don’t listen to me, believe what you want. I’m going to clean up." He started up the stairs, going around her to avoid contact.

"I’m only worried about you," Hermione barely managed, sounding as if she was on the edge of tears. "I just want to know what kind of trouble you’re in, I don’t want you to get arrested for some fight –"

"So what if I do?" Ron stormed into the bathroom and wet a towel, flinching when he looked into the mirror. He looked a fright; blood had tunneled into his hair, and dried beneath his eye. Rivulets of it were frozen on the side of his face, and at the place where the ring had cut in there was a deep, dark slice. Quickly he pressed the wet towel to his temple and began to wipe away dried patches of blood.

Hermione appeared in the mirror beside him - he felt her standing close, but stubbornly refused to look into the reflection of her eyes.

"It wasn’t just some fight," he muttered. "I got punched, Hermione, and if I’m stronger than Malfoy is, that’s not my fault. I had to hit back, or get punched again. I have witnesses who’ll tell you that it was self defense – not that you care about my side of the story."

"Let me do that." Hermione reached for the towel.

Ron jerked his hand away. "I’ve got it."

"Ron?" Sirius’s voice drifted up from downstairs.

Without another word to Hermione, Ron went out of the bathroom and down the stairs, to hear what had happened with Malfoy. When he reached the front room and met Sirius’s eyes, his heart gave a dark thud; Sirius looked nearly as pale and worried as he had last night, before the Wolfsbane Potion had turned out to be successful.

"What’d Draco's mum say?" Ron demanded. "Why do you look like someone’s died?"

Sirius flinched. "No one is dead, Ron. But you’d better sit down."

Ron sat blindly in the nearest chair, afraid to comprehend what was implicit in Sirius’s tone. "What... what’s the problem? He’s just unconscious - I hardly touched him, you saw what I -"

"Yes. Nevertheless he has been taken to St. Mungo’s." Sirius drew an uneven breath and raked both hands back through his hair, and Ron felt a wave of terror so strong that he thought he might throw up. He might even have done so, if it hadn’t been for the pressure of two cool hands on his shoulders and the sound of Hermione’s voice at his back.

"What’s wrong with Malfoy?" she asked in a whisper.

Sirius swallowed. "I took him to his uncle’s. And his mother... well, I don’t particularly like her, but she’s been through a war like the rest of us, and she’s suffered her losses too – so I wasn’t surprised when she started screaming at me to wake up her son. Which I tried to do, but Malfoy wouldn’t respond to any of my attempts to bring him around. That didn’t make sense to me, because I knew you hadn’t done much but knock him backwards, and nothing was injured except his fingers. But then his uncle thought to turn him over."

Hermione gripped Ron's shoulders as Sirius continued.

"Apparently Malfoy had a bad landing, Ron. Whatever he fell on must have split his head right open – and I won’t lie to you. It was a pretty bad wound. The M.L.E.S. has already been called, and they’ll already be down at the Snout’s Fair questioning witnesses and picking up evidence, so if it was a rock that did the damage, they’ll have it by now. They’ll be here next, to question you."

Ron tried to breathe, and found he couldn’t.

It was Hermione that spoke. "But Malfoy’s going to live," she said fervently. "You said they took him to St. Mungo’s."

"I think he’ll live," Sirius answered quietly. "But I’m not an expert."

Ron opened his mouth to say something about that, but his head spun so badly that he could say nothing at all. He reached up and groped for Hermione’s hands; she immediately caught hold of his.

"Ron won’t go to prison if it was self defense." Hermione’s voice shook. "He can’t. He said there were witnesses."

"True." Sirius nodded. "But there are loopholes in the laws, and we’re going to have to prepare to defend you, Ron. The M.L.E.S. is going to be here in a few moments, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the Daily Prophet was right behind them. But I’ll speak to everyone – you’re not to say a word."

Ron didn’t think he could have, even if he’d wanted to. He nodded.

"I’m going to represent you." Sirius took a deep breath, and released it. "And we should be fine. He hit first, there are witnesses to that, and your strike was self-defense. Everything you did was provoked. I can prove that. But there were plenty of people in the bar who heard every word of what you said to each other beforehand, and that won’t figure into this very well."

"Why not? What was said?" Hermione demanded. "How will it hurt him?"

Ron squeezed her hands gratefully. She was asking every question he wanted to ask, but couldn’t.

"Insults were thrown which will color this as a personal argument," Sirius explained, shaking his head. "Ron’s strike will be made out, as much as possible, to look like it was done for the sake of revenge."

"But that’s a lie," Ron rasped, finally finding his voice. "It wasn’t for revenge, I wasn’t thinking at all –"

"Just let me answer Diggory’s questions, Ron. We’ll work on the rest of it when the time comes."

"But it won’t even matter if Malfoy..." Ron couldn’t bring himself to imagine that Malfoy had died. He couldn’t say it aloud. "It’d be manslaughter," he finished numbly. "Won’t matter what the motivations were. Hell, Buckbeak acted on his instincts, and remember - they were going to kill him for it."

"That was a different Ministry," Hermione argued at once, her voice high-pitched. "That was Fudge and Malfoy and McNair, and that case was tried unfairly - not to mention that you’re human. The laws are totally different."

"She’s right." Sirius opened his mouth to say something else, but there was a loud rap at the front door that sent both him and Ron to their feet.

"That’ll be the M.L.E.S.," Ron managed. "You... Hermione, maybe you should go upstairs."

But Hermione came around to stand before him. She reached up and took his face in her hands, looking as steady and strong as she ever had. "Listen to me. I’m going up to tell Harry and Ginny and Remus what’s happening, so they won’t come down. Then I’m going to put on my dressing gown and then I’ll be right back," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "Just do what Sirius says. Don’t say anything – let him defend you." She brushed Ron’s hair back from his temple, softly caressing the wound Malfoy’s ring had made as she did so. "I believe this wasn’t your fault," she whispered, standing on her tiptoes to swiftly kiss him, then disappearing quickly up the stairs.

Ron watched her go, incredibly afraid, comforted only in the knowledge that she was coming right back. It didn’t matter if they’d fought, or if they were still fighting. Hermione gave him strength. He squared his shoulders and turned to Sirius, who stood in the corridor, ready to admit the M.L.E.S. into the house.

"Okay," Ron said, letting out a low breath and trying to calm his pounding heart so that he wouldn’t look as nervous and guilty as he felt. "Okay. You can let them in."

Chapter Sixteen

Empty Nest

A/N: We would, as usual, like to thank all of our beta-readers for their wonderful advice, commentary and help. This one is really for all the mothers out there. Can't live with you, can't live without you, but never forget that we love you!

A tap at his bedroom window woke Bill from what had been at the same time a pleasant and unsettling dream. He opened his eyes slowly, half-expecting to see a woman with long, silvery-blonde hair hovering outside, but instead he focused on a pompous-looking Ministry owl standing on the ledge. Letting his eyes wander to the watch on his bedside table before putting his feet on the floor, he noticed with a sigh of frustration that the reason it was still dark outside was that it was barely six o'clock in the morning.

After retrieving a bit of parchment and a copy of the Daily Prophet from the owl, Bill sat back down on his bed and reached for his wand to break the special "Minister of Magic" seal on the back of the note. He laughed, still not quite used to the idea that the Minister of Magic was, in fact, his own father, and then read:

Bill -

I knew something was wrong when I came downstairs this morning and saw that Ron's hand on the clock was dead center between "Prison" and "Hospital". There's no way to hide this from your mother - we've got another hour until she goes downstairs and sees it. Get over here and help me figure this one out.

Dad

Puzzled as to what his youngest brother could possibly have done to warrant such immediate attention, Bill unfurled the copy of the Daily Prophet. He stared for a moment in disbelief, and then started to laugh so hard that he fell backwards onto his bed. When he had finally calmed down, he rummaged for his robes and prepared to Apparate to the Office of the Minister.

A few moments later, he was being led into his father's office. Arthur Weasley stood in front of the fireplace, talking to Sirius Black, whose head was floating above the flames. Bill cleared his throat and his father wheeled around.

"Ah, Bill! Wonderful. Give me just a second, will you?" Arthur turned and addressed Sirius. "Right, so let him sleep - he'll need his rest. I'll talk to you more about it later. And, thanks Sirius."

"Not a problem," Sirius answered grimly. "I'm used to trouble." With a roar of flame, Sirius was gone.

Arthur Weasley rubbed his hands together briskly and smiled anxiously at his son. Bill noted that his father's hairline seemed to have receded even further, and that there were bags under his eyes, but that he also seemed to be standing straighter and taller than he ever had before. "So, you've read it then?"

Bill nodded. He was about to ask his father what Sirius had to say, when Charlie came bursting through the door, hair wild, eyelids still swollen with sleep, and robes hanging open. Bill rolled his eyes when he saw that Charlie hadn't bothered to put on proper clothes underneath the robes - he was wearing pajama bottoms and his dragon tattoo was still dozing on his chest.

"What's wrong?" Charlie nearly screamed, looking anxiously from his father to his brother.

"Didn't you read the article?" Arthur asked calmly.

"Article? What article? All I got was this note saying that Ron was in trouble. There was no article attached. The owl must have lost it on its way up to the camp."

Bill thought it was more likely that Charlie must have lost it on his floor, but he said nothing and simply reached for the copy of the newspaper on his father's desk, and read aloud:

MINISTER OF MAGIC'S SON IN NEAR-FATAL BAR BRAWL

WITH MALFOY HEIR

By N. Flummery, Daily Prophet Staff Writer

Robert Weasley, son of Minister of Magic Arthur Weasley, was involved in a fist fight yesterday evening that left his former Hogwarts classmate Draco Malfoy battling for his life at St. Mungo's.

"No!" interjected Charlie. "Really?"

Bill nodded and continued reading.

Mr. Weasley, a former Head Boy, now employed as a barkeep at the popular Snout's Fair tavern in Stagsden, threw the punch that caused a devastating head injury to Mr. Malfoy.

"They've never got on," reports Pansy Parkinson, another Hogwarts graduate. "And Roland has a terrible temper. His friends were always having to keep him away from Draco at school. We never knew what might set him off."

"Wonder where he gets that from," Arthur muttered, motioning with his head to a portrait of Mrs. Weasley on his desk.

"Mr.Malfoy, who, along with his mother, was residing this summer with his uncle, Martin Lewis, is the sole heir to the Malfoy fortune. Malfoy Manor is currently under renovation to restore the damage inflicted during the war. His father, Lucius Malfoy, was killed on the same day that You Know Who went missing.

"These have been extremely difficult times," says Narcissa Malfoy. "Draco has been my rock these past few months. It is impossible to describe the pain and anguish that one suffers at the loss of a husband - and to lose a son! I can barely - " Mrs. Malfoy was unable to finish this statement through her tears.

Although it is now suspected that Mr. Malfoy will live, as long as he unconscious, the extent of his injuries remains unkown.

Amos Diggory, head of the M.L.E.S., assured the Daily Prophet that everything was under control. "We are currently gathering evidence," was all he could be quoted as saying this morning. No charges have been filed as of yet.

Several patrons at the Snout's Fair yesterday evening have come forward to state that Mr. Weasley's attack was an act of self-defense. Since many of the witnesses were under the influence of alcohol at the time of the fight, it is not clear whether or not their testimony may be considered valid.

Arthur Weasley, the interim Minister of Magic, has not made any comment to the Daily Prophet at the time of publication. His son was also unavailable for comment, although it is rumored that Sirius Black, known (cleared) felon, is already representing him.

Bill put the paper back down on the desk and looked at his brother. He couldn't read the expression on Charlie's face at first – he was looking at the floor and shaking slightly. Finding it difficult to believe that his brother would be that upset about a fight, Bill took a step closer and put a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "Charlie? You all right?" he started to ask, but never finished, because Charlie looked up and burst into a loud torrent of laughter.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Bill started to laugh as well.

"Boys!" interjected their father harshly, "Try to exercise a little restraint." They both stopped chuckling for a second and looked at him. But when Arthur’s eyes strayed to the headline and he cracked an unwilling smile, they lost it again.

"So," asked Bill, when he had caught his breath, "you don't think this is too serious, do you Dad? Why was Sirius here? Are the Malfoys pressing charges? Was it really self-defense?"

"No official charges yet. Just threats. But according to Sirius, Ron acted honorably. He took Malfoy outside and Malfoy punched him as soon as Ron started to turn his back."

"Bastard!" said Charlie, shaking his head.

Arthur grew serious quite suddenly. "I'm relieved, boys, that you've all grown up so well. And I can't help but know that it's partially my fault that Ron's in this mess now. Lucius Malfoy and I never got on, and what happened during the war didn't exactly help create a friendly atmosphere between our families, now did it?"

He slumped into the large, official-looking Minister’s chair and put his head in his hands, groaning loudly. "Your mother has always been afraid that something like this might happen. It sounds like there were enough witnesses at the pub to keep Ron out of serious trouble, and Sirius was just telling me that he’s got the matter well in hand, if it comes to court – but it might be a struggle. And if it is… well, Ron’s of age. He faces adult consequences."

Charlie looked uncomfortably at Bill, who shrugged, and sat down opposite his father. He reflected that they were all grown up now – even little Ginny was of age, and she'd successfully brewed and administered the Wolfsbane Potion the week before. Bill tried hard to conjure an image of his sister that did not include a smudged nose and plaits, and failed. He could remember when she and Ron had been born. He’d already been quite grown up by then - starting his first year at Hogwarts and feeling quite important – and had used to hold one of them in each arm, for pictures. He remembered getting letters about Ron’s first word and Ginny’s first teeth.

But Ron and Ginny had been some of the most important figures in the war. Bill supposed he should start thinking of them as adults, and resolved to try.

"Well, I'm glad to see that you're all here."

Bill recognized the voice of Rose K. Brown and looked up to see her standing in the doorway. He looked at his watch. It wasn't even seven yet. Did she work all the time?

Raising his head from the desk, Arthur straightened and said "good morning" to her. Rose gave Charlie a withering look and tutted, and Charlie immediately fastened the clasp on his robe, but not without winking at her first.

Rose turned back to Arthur. "The Daily Prophet wants a statement from you."

"And I'll give them one in a few minutes. I'd rather not speak with that N. Flummery if possible. I'd wager he's using a Quick Quotes Quill from Rita Skeeter's private collection." Arthur pulled a piece of parchment towards him and picked up a quill.

"She," corrected Rose, "was in your class at school, Bill - in Slytherin. Remember?"

Bill did remember, and it only made him echo his father's sentiments. "Let Dad make an official statement, but I'd say no interviews or anything. Write it out and one of us can deliver it on our way out."

"Fine," Rose answered. "You can run it by me and I can deliver it and I can talk with Nancy if you'd like. She always seemed to like me. Now, Arthur, I'm sorry for all of the trouble in your family at the moment. I'm here to help however you need me. But I wonder if we could shift gears for just a moment and discuss the situation at Azkaban?"

Arthur nodded and Rose turned briskly to Charlie. "Charlie, did you finish the second set of letters?"

"Yeah." Charlie yawned. "Hopefully we’ll get another three riders before too long."

"Don’t you have all your dragon riders yet?" Arthur asked sharply.

"Nope, not by a long shot."

"But those Aurors can’t hold the Dementors back for more than another two weeks – that’s on the outside, according to Moody." Arthur looked at his son with concern. "Hasn't anyone got back to you?"

Charlie shook his head and began to explain. "None of the wartime riders were too enthusiastic about the whole thing. A few of them said they'd be reserve riders if we really needed them. So, we've got me, Mick, my assistant, and three reserves."

Lines of stress appeared on Rose’s forehead. "We have to get three more, out of all those athletes we listed."

"What athletes?" Bill asked curiously.

Grinning, Charlie said, "Rose here thought it might be a good idea to solicit the talents of a few top-notch Quidditch players."

"Quidditch players?" Arthur grinned. "I bet Ludo Bagman'd do it for you in a heartbeat."

They all laughed at this, and even Rose cracked a smile.

"Bagman was a Beater," Charlie explained. "We narrowed it down to Seekers. They have the skill at diving and maneuvering. Also, they tend to be smaller and lighter than other players, which is a distinct advantage when riding a dragon. I was a Seeker."

"Yeah, and you're so graceful," Bill couldn't help observing. "Tell me, was your assistant a Seeker as well?"

"She was," Charlie answered, and suddenly seemed very interested in speaking with Rose. "We sent out invitation letters to all the professional Seekers in Britain, and all the Seekers in trial for league teams – and we sought out a few international players as well."

"I hope we can attract the foreign flyers – it would be such good international press." Rose frowned. "Of course, I don’t know why they’d want to come all the way to Scotland just to sit on a dragon and get rained on, but given our success rate so far, we figured it couldn't hurt to ask."

"Actually… that’s a great idea." Bill wagged a half-joking finger at Charlie. "As long as you didn’t send letters to any of the Falcons’ players."

"Of course we did," interjected Rose, looking slightly annoyed. "Why not? You never know who might come in useful." She tossed her head and muttered something under her breath that sounded like "Gryffindor prejudice".

"Slytherin politics," Charlie muttered back at once. "It might look good to represent all kinds, but I don’t trust all kinds on my dragons."

Bill agreed with Charlie; however, knowing that the issue of House distinctions could easily blow up to a full-length debate, he didn't press the issue. "Do you need me right now?" he asked, turning to his father. "I reckon I'll go into work early today. I need to finish clearing triggered curses out of the bottom level of Gringotts where that dragon mucked everything up –" he ignored a glare from Charlie, "– so it’s a safe zone by September when that charmer arrives. Can’t send somebody down there into all that." Bill rubbed his head, and noticed as he did so that it was exactly the same habitual motion that his father used, when under stress. "If there’s any news on Ron, though, just let me know."

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04