The Lewis House 42 страница

Sirius had a sudden memory of Lily, sitting quietly in her bedroom rocking chair, a white cloth draped over her breast and Harry's face as she fed him.

"That's freakish," Sirius had told her from the hallway, pointing at the feeding process. "You're scarring my godson for life."

"Hey, get out of here -" James had tried to push Sirius out of viewing distance, but Sirius had pushed back and Lily had only laughed at them as they'd got into a wrestling match, right there in the doorway.

"I'm covered up, James, for pity's sake!"

"He's been trying to get a peek at you since first year," James had retorted, trying to pin Sirius and failing.

"Oh really?" Lily had asked lightly, shooting Sirius a knowing grin. "Well, he's entitled to a good look at this if he wants it, because if he has to take Harry then he'll have to take over these feedings, won't he? There are certain charms that men can use for this sort of thing - I'll make sure to write them down for you, Sirius. Won't you look lovely with a pair of -"

James had fallen apart laughing, and Sirius had looked up, appalled. "You're a sick woman."

"You'd do it, though," she'd returned, still grinning. "I know you. Shut your eyes."

Sirius had done so, and when he'd opened them again, Lily had shut her robes and was holding Harry out to him.

Harry had been so tiny and pale and dark-headed. Big green eyes had blinked up at Sirius when he'd approached to pick up his godson's little form and cradle him in one arm. "Who's this big man?" Sirius had said in a stupid voice, tickling the baby's round stomach with one finger. "Who's this big scary man?” He had lifted Harry's little shirt and given him a raspberry on his belly, making him giggle and reach up with chubby hands, to pat Sirius's face. "Oh, he's got me!" Sirius had shouted, pretending to stagger. "He's going to knock me flat!" He'd kissed Harry on the nose. "You'll break hearts, you know that? Remind me a bit of myself, actually - strong, rakishly handsome - Prongs, are you sure he's yours?"

James had punched him from behind.

"Hey, don't make me drop him!" Sirius had shouted, clinging to Harry.

Lily had looked on as they had continued playing, her gaze strangely distant and satisfied. "You'll take care of him," she had said suddenly. "You'll love him for us."

At her words, both Sirius and James had stopped pretending to fight, and the room had gone suddenly, horribly still.

"Don't say it like that," James had said quickly, coming around Sirius. "We're not going anywhere."

Lily had given her head a quick shake and the light had come back into her eyes. "I know."

But they had been wrong.

Sirius drew his wand and pointed it at the shattered chair. "Reparo," he muttered. They had trusted him to love their son in their stead, and now he had spent the last four months obsessed with justice, ignoring his duty to James and Lily almost entirely. He rubbed his head. He needed time - time to set aside just for Harry, if Harry would accept it. Ron's assistance really had relieved the pressure of his trial preparations - perhaps if he could have Ron full time... Well, Arthur would simply have to agree. And hopefully Ron would agree. And regardless of all of it, there had to be a way to annihilate the Dementors and spare Harry the torture of this idiot job he'd taken.

There was a lot to work out. Newly determined, his mind buzzing with ideas and resolutions, Sirius focused on the Ministry, twisted his wand, and Disapparated.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Halloween

~*~

A/N: It is very odd to be writing about Halloween in April. Aura Libris is the brilliant creation of Elanor Gamgee. Thanks to the beta readers!

~*~

The light from several hundred pumpkins filled the Great Hall with a warm orange glow and to Ron, it seemed almost like Hogwarts was back in session. Though there were no students in work robes, the House banners hung proudly on the walls, the stones were polished, and the etched window glass had been replaced. Professors ate and talked at the head table while discussing the difficulty of integrating first and second year classes when Hogwarts reopened. The ghosts mingled with old friends, looking unusually cheerful; Nearly Headless Nick was tipping a festive-looking hat to the Grey Lady, and even the Bloody Baron seemed less gruesome. Professor McGonagall's decision to host a Halloween Feast had been inspired; everyone had been happily surprised, and thousands of Hogwarts alumni and prospective parents had arrived on the grounds to see for themselves the state of the school.

"Happy, Happy Halloweenie - Watch your head 'cos I'm a meanie!"

Ron ducked out of the way just in time to avoid the full impact of one of Peeves's water balloons. At least some things never changed. He straightened and brushed some drops from the sleeves of his dress robes, and nearly tripped over Colin Creevey, who was kneeling in a very awkward position on the floor.

“Hey, Colin,” Ron said. Colin had leaned far back; he was trying to get a shot of the newly restored ceiling of the Great Hall while, at the front of the Hall, Professor McGonagall was giving a "short" speech to a group of attentive parents. She went on and on, detailing the significance of the ceiling in Hogwarts' history, addressing the cultural impact of having shut Hogwarts for a year, and assuring the parents that the school was well on its way to reopening by the following September. Against his will, Ron found himself straining to hear her over the music that was playing. Most of her speech sounded like something straight out of Hermione's mouth.

“Just a sec!” Colin grunted, snapping a photograph and then pushing himself upright. “Hey, Ron.” He dusted off a hand on his robes, then offered it to Ron. “Dean did a great job up there, don’t you think?” he said, squinting upwards again.

“Yes, he did - look, do you think that I could get some copies of the photographs from tonight? I can pay you for them.” It felt so good to be able to say that. He wasn't making much more as Sirius’s assistant than he had been at the pub, but he no longer had to depend on tips, or lack thereof. He was feeling a bit extravagant.

Colin shrugged. “Sure, no problem. Don’t worry about paying, though. I always make extra copies anyway - I'll send you some when they're developed. Say, have you seen Eloise?”

Ron pointed to where Eloise Midgen was taking careful notes of all that Professor McGonagall said, her curls bobbing with every studious nod of her head. Colin thanked him and strode towards her, and Ron wandered off with his hands in his pockets, cheerful enough to whistle. He was employed at the Ministry of Magic, and his father hadn't handed him the job. He was needed. Sirius had made that very clear, telling Ron that he shouldn't take the job if he didn't want to be heavily depended upon, because "as soon as you're full time, I'm going to work you into the ground. Are you sure you don't mind quitting the pub?" Ron grinned to himself, at the memory. He hadn't thought twice about quitting, and though it had been a wrench to tell Goldie, the old man had flashed his gold-toothed smile and given Ron a hearty pat on the back. "You vill be makink sometink of yourself, young Veesley. I am not surprised." Ron's letter to Hermione had been ecstatic, and he still couldn't quite believe his own enthusiasm. The work Sirius had been asking him to do was hardly glamorous; Ron had been hunched over books and old parchment for hours at a time, poring over details until his eyes swam with exhaustion. But he loved it. He actually loved it. And better than that, he knew he was good at it. It filled him with a sense of significance that was greatly unfamiliar, but not at all unpleasant.

Giving a satisfied sigh, Ron glanced up at the ceiling. It was so good to see it back in place, like an unbroken sunset. It was almost as if it had never been torn apart - as if that battle had never happened - as if students had not stood and fought each other and brought it toppling down. It felt good, to see it whole again, as if not only his life but the wizarding world itself was finding new purpose. Tiny stars appeared at the dome's darkening edges, and a half-moon crept slowly up into the fiery sky. Ron watched, glad that Colin had promised him photographs - he knew how much the ceiling's destruction had disturbed Hermione; he wanted to send her pictures of it looking right.

Hermione had been gone for fifty-eight days. Longest we've ever been apart, Ron realized suddenly. It was true. Even in the first summers that they'd known each other, they had come together before two months' time to buy books in Diagon Alley. He remembered how different she had looked each year - and yet, how much the same. He wondered how different she would be when she returned from Cortona. She'd be brown all over; that much was certain. And her hair would be lighter, the way it had started to get after their afternoons down by the lake. She'd probably have got herself all calm and serene from meditating - though Ron did not doubt his ability to crack her within hours. But for all her differences, she would still have her expressions, and her way of walking, and just be... Hermione. He missed her terribly, and wished it were Christmas already. He had begged her to let him come to Cortona and visit, but she had stoutly replied that, though she wanted him there very much, it would distract her entirely and just make their separation longer in the end. Ron cursed her for being so bloody responsible - it was painful to know that there were two more months before he would touch her again, and he sometimes wondered how angry she would be if he ignored her request and just went there.

At least he didn't have to worry too much about her state of mind anymore; it sounded like she was finally getting into things with the Thinker, though she had sounded a little forlorn in her last letter. He sat down at the Gryffindor table, which had been put to the side of the room along with the other tables to create a dance floor, and pulled the well-worn folds of parchment out of his pocket.

Dear Ron,

I can’t tell you how proud I am to hear about your new job. Although, from the sound of things, you’ve already been doing it for the past month anyway. I’m not surprised. You’ve always been good at this sort of thing – remember when you spent all that time doing research to defend Buckbeak? I know it was difficult to tell Goldie, but I'm sure he wants you to do what’s best, and I don’t think that he was expecting you to work there forever. Besides, it sounds like Ernie MacMillan’s brother will do a fine job, and it was really nice of you to find a replacement yourself.

Thinking is finally becoming interesting. I can now meditate for two hours every day, and I’ve managed to conceive some very simple spells afterwards without the use of any books, so that’s something, I suppose. Delia’s had me practicing on little things. The other day I created a small, but powerful spell to keep a pomegranate safe from invasion by gnats and flies. Such charms do already exist, of course, but mine had to be specific to that particular pomegranate and Delia had to be unable to break it through obvious methods. She said that it was probably impenetrable, though the best test is to consult a professional Charm or Curse Breaker. When I get home, will you ask Bill to try and break my spells for me, so I can see if they work as well as I think they do?

I’m sad not to be there for Halloween, but I’m delighted to hear that they will be able to restore the ceiling in the Great Hall without too much trouble. I hated thinking of it like it was all summer - caved in and horrible. Actually, Delia told me that Professor McGonagall wrote to her for assistance, and that she is the one who actually came up with the spell to allow the magic from the undamaged portion to flow into the new sections. So you’ll have to be very observant and tell me everything that happens, because not only am I curious, but Delia is as well…

You know what else is curious?

Ron got his mental image of her fixed in his mind, and was just getting to his favorite part of the letter when Harry sat down opposite him. He folded the parchment hastily to hide Hermione's next words, stuffed it back in his pocket, and flashed a smile. “All right, Harry?”

Harry merely nodded.

He was lying, and Ron knew it - he tried to put Hermione out of his mind for a moment. Since moving into the Notch, he’d hardly seen Harry. Of course, in the beginning, they’d both been busy; Ron’s time had been filled with sleeping, helping Sirius, and working at the Snout’s Fair, while Harry had been sleeping, riding dragons, and spending time with Ginny. He'd understood when Harry had refused to go to the Cannons game; he hadn’t really expected Harry to want to come, although he had been a little disappointed. Charlie had gone with him instead, and they’d had a smashing time, but Ron hadn’t been able to help feeling a little bit jealous of his younger sister – he and Hermione hadn’t been that exclusive of Harry, had they?

And then there had been that incident with the Dementors the week before. Ron had returned home late from a double shift at the pub to find Harry asleep on the sofa, but fully dressed in his dragon-riding clothes. The next morning, he’d woken early to go and help Sirius – Harry had already left, and Sirius, looking manic, had told Ron what he had observed at Azkaban. Dementors had ganged up on Harry; his dragon wasn't safe, Sirius had said. Ron had, of course, pressed Harry for details, but when Harry had stalked into his room without answering, Ron had given up. He knew Harry too well; pushing him to talk would just make him retreat even further – a lesson that Ginny had yet to learn. She’d been at their house every day for the past week, and Harry had feigned sleep every time - or at least he hadn't opened his door.

“Butterbeer?” Ron asked, holding out a bottle to Harry. Harry shook his head. “I’ve got to work tonight. I can only stay for a little while longer.”

Ron looked at his watch. He started to crack a joke about Norbert and his early life in a tavern, but caught himself, realizing that Harry probably wouldn’t laugh. The evening had started early – Professor McGonagall and the Hogwarts faculty had begun the festivities by initiating the spell to resurrect the ceiling in the Great Hall, and now it was not quite six-thirty. The house-elves had already proven that they were still as talented as ever, and Ron was quite full from the assortment of food he’d managed to sample. There had been steaming pumpkin pasties, miniature shepherd’s pies, Cornish hens, crispy roast potatoes, and an assortment of other treats. Dessert was still on the tables, and Ron reached for another éclair before turning to watch the dancing couples in the middle of the floor. His brothers were out there: Bill with someone who must have been in his class long ago, George with Penelope, Fred with Angelina - Charlie wasn't there, but Ron spotted Mick O'Malley dancing with Lavender's sister. Even his mum and dad were quite good dancers, and moved gracefully to the sharp, warped sounds of traditional wizard promenades, which were being performed by the official Ministry Chamber Quartet.

“Hi, Ron. Harry.” Neville Longbottom sat down at their table when there was a break in the music, his cheeks rosy from having just danced with Parvati Patil.

“Neville,” said Ron, handing him the Butterbeer that Harry had just refused. “How’s it going?”

“Everything’s good,” he said, sitting back in his chair and looking quite at ease in grander robes than Ron had ever seen worn by anyone his age. The scarlet over-sleeves were heavy and doubly layered with enormous trimmed wrists, and the hat he wore was properly crooked. Neville was really starting to get professorial. “I think everyone’s having a good time – it’s nice to see the Great Hall full again, don’t you think?”

Ron nodded, and tried not to be bothered by the fact that Harry was staring off into space. “It looks great in here,” he said encouragingly to Neville. "Did you have a hand in starting up that spell? I couldn't see - too many people."

"Yeah," Neville said, half-grinning with pride. "I did. Professor McGonagall said we'd never get the ceiling back to normal without everyone's assistance. It's amazing that it only took four people to set it in motion when Hogwarts first opened, isn't it?" He smiled up at the half-moon, which crawled steadily upwards, then sat up straight, seeming to remember something. “Did you notice that Fleur Delacour is here?” he whispered, motioning across the room to where Professor McGonagall was standing. The two appeared to be involved in a deep conversation.

Just as Ron set his eyes on her, Fleur turned and stared directly at them. A moment later, both she and Professor McGonagall approached their table, and although he felt his ears burning red, Ron was surprised to notice that his mind remained relatively clear. He certainly didn’t have the urge to ask her to go on a date with him. He’d noticed it the last time he’d seen her in Madam Malkin’s, with Bill - he'd hardly done anything stupid at all. Perhaps he was building up a resistance to veela as he got older.

“’Ello, Ron! ‘Arry!” Fleur's voice was certainly very pretty; it reminded Ron of bells ringing. He jumped up and pulled out a chair for her to sit in, saw Professor McGonagall roll her eyes, and quickly pulled out another chair for her.

“It’s not necessary, Weasley," said the Headmistress, sarcasm heavy in her voice. "Do sit down.” She turned to Neville. “Mr. Longbottom, I believe you know Miss Delacour – she was, of course, one of the Triwizard champions. She has a few questions for you, if you would be so kind…”

“For me?” Neville repeated, looking somewhat amazed.

“No, for the other Mr. Longbottom at the table –” Professor McGonagall’s voice was harsh, but Ron thought he saw amusement in her eyes. “If you will excuse me, Miss Delacour?”

“Thank you very much, ‘Eadmistress.”

After McGonagall had walked away, Fleur flashed a bright smile at Ron, “Are those the new robes that you were buying when I saw you? They are very handsome.”

Now Ron did feel a bit light in the head. Did Fleur’s hair really glow like that, or was it just the light from the enormous jack-o-lantern above the table reflecting onto it? And her English seemed to be improving – she must be very clever.

Fleur turned to Harry. “I saw you last week when I returned to Azkaban to make sure that the charms were still good - You 'ave been unsafe?” she asked.

"No, no -" Harry replied, with more animation than Ron had seen from him in a week. "It’s not that bad.”

Still smiling widely, Fleur turned to address Neville, who looked afraid. “Mr. Longbottom, would you dance with me? I 'ave many questions about ‘Ogwarts, and I am told you can answer them.”

She led a rather dazed-looking Neville onto the dance floor, before he could even answer.

“Wonder what all that’s about, eh, Harry?” Ron said, waggling his eyebrows.

Harry smiled a little.

Well, there’s a start, thought Ron. Encouraged by this small step, he began to talk.

“I'll miss working at the pub,” he said neutrally, taking a swig of Butterbeer, "and I told Goldie that I’d be around to help him in a pinch if he needed it - but it's great working for Sirius, he's given me a lot of responsibility.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, sounding too casual, as if he were keeping his irritation in check. Ron followed Harry’s gaze and his eyes came to Sirius; he was across the room talking with Penelope, who was flushed from dancing and looked healthier than she had in a long time. She’d brought baby Leo with her, and he slept soundly in Ginny’s arms.

Harry looked away, and Ron glanced over at him, wondering what was going on between his best friend and his sister. He hadn’t been quite able to understand why they were fighting, and no one seemed willing to tell him, especially not Ginny or Harry. Even Sirius had only said, mysteriously, “They’ll tell you when they’re ready,” and Ron found himself getting annoyed. There was no reason to be secretive – weren’t they all friends?

“Hey Harry,” he attempted, trying to sound upbeat. “You want to go have a look at the Quidditch field? For old time’s sake?”

Harry didn’t answer.

Ron waved a hand in front of his face. “Harry? Hello?”

“Huh?” Harry looked truly surprised, as if he hadn’t been ignoring Ron on purpose. Ron repeated his question.

Harry pushed up his glasses. “Oh. Er, I don’t think so. I’ve got to fly in about an hour anyway.”

“We don’t have to fly, we can just go look. The goal posts are back up and I just saw Fred and George walk out of here - ten to one there's a game on.”

“I don’t feel like flying,” said Harry pointedly. He pushed his chair back. “I should go."

Ron felt his anger bubble to the surface, and suddenly, whether he knew Harry well or not no longer mattered - he didn't feel like being patient with any more moods. He banged his hand down on the table and leaned forward, aware that Hermione would not have approached things in this way. But then, she wasn’t here.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” Ron demanded.

Harry narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, but did not get up. “Why?”

Ron made an impatient sound. “You’ve been moping around, you look like hell, and you made Ginny cry last week. You know she's been coming over, and I know you haven't been asleep, and I bloody hate answering for you.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Is that all you can say? What happened with you two? First you can barely look at each other, then you’re all over each other -"

"Shut up, Ron."

"- and now you’re just sitting here at opposite ends of the room being dismal? Whatever it is, can’t you just have it out?”

“No.” Harry didn’t seem willing to give forth any other information.

Ron made an inarticulate noise of exasperation. “I don’t get it!” he said. “Why can’t you just yell at each other and be done with it?"

"That's not how it works."

"Believe me, Harry, that's just how it works.”

Harry looked like he wanted very badly to say something, but was fighting to keep quiet. Ron didn't want him to be quiet - he thought he might continue to provoke him until Harry just let it all out, even if it happened right here in the Great Hall, in the middle of Halloween. Anyway, he hadn’t had a good row since Hermione had left for Cortona. He was about to give Harry a little more inside information on relationships with women, when there was a loud crackling sound beside them that made them both jump in their seats. Ron turned and found he was staring at a pair of overlarge eyes, which were focused worshipfully on Harry.

“Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby nearly swooned. "A very happy Halloween!” Dobby turned to Ron, and jumped up and down several times, his ears flopping, and his expression ecstatic. “Mr. Wheezy sir! Dobby wishes you a Happy Halloween as well!" His limpid eyes filled with sudden tears. "I know you are still bravely loyal to Harry Potter, sir.”

Ron gave Harry a dark look. "So far," he muttered.

“Are those new socks, Dobby?” asked Harry, ignoring Ron and pointing to Dobby’s feet, each of which was adorned in a brightly-colored knit sock.

"Yes indeed, sir," Dobby said happily, kicking up his feet one at a time. One sock had glow-in-the-dark skeletons dancing in circles around his ankle, and the other was white, with spiders on it. The spiders were enchanted, and looked as if they were weaving thick black webs around his foot.

Ron squirmed. “Look, Harry," he interrupted, "I’m going to go and look at the Quidditch field – just promise you'll come out and have a look with me when you two are done, all right?”

“Fine,” said Harry. "You go. I'll catch up."

Ron wasn't sure if Harry meant it or not, but he decided not to second-guess him. He left the table and headed across the room to Ginny, who was stroking the bridge of Leo's nose while he slept.

"Look how tiny he is," she said to Ron, when he got close enough to hear her whisper.

Ron didn't answer right away - Sirius was still talking with Penelope; they were going over the flaws in different existing imprisonment methods and the history of prison charms which had been abandoned.

“… and what happened when they did that?” Sirius asked eagerly.

“Well, several prisoners learned how to use telepathy. There's very little that can't be done, if one is willing to use Dark magic to do it - that's the main trouble. Their bodies were imprisoned, but their minds were free to wreak havoc. Telepathic interference from convicted criminals is what actually caused the Battle at the Baths in 683…”

Trying not to get sucked into the conversation, which he actually found quite interesting, Ron sat down next to his sister, who had just put her nose in Leo’s fuzzy hair. Her eyes were focused in Harry’s general direction.

“Hey Gin,” Ron said cheerfully. She didn’t respond. “Ginny?” he nudged her slightly in the ribs.

She sighed and straightened up, smoothing Leo's hair back down. "What's up?" she asked, leaving her gaze where it was.

“Er... ” Ron realized that he wasn’t sure what to say. But he did know that sitting around not talking was no way to solve a problem. He knew from experience that Harry was just as good at holding a grudge as any member of his own family. “Nothing,” he finally said, and then added, “You look like you need to wake up. You want to go and get some air? See the Quidditch field?”

She looked at him as if he were a little mad. “Now?”

“They’ve put up the new goalposts, and people are out playing, and besides, Harry won’t go with me.”

Concern was evident in Ginny’s face, but she said casually; “He won’t?”

Ron nodded over to where Harry was actually laughing at something Dobby was saying. “No, he says he has to fly in an hour anyway, and now he’s busy with Dobby.”

Ginny shrugged. “All right,” she said, and Ron reached to take Leo from her arms. "No, I want to hold him - Penny, can I take him on a walk?"

"Yes - but it's a bit chilly. Here, hold on a minute." Penelope raised her wand and brought an enormous shoulder bag flying toward her. She rummaged in it for a long time before coming up with a thick blanket and an extra pair of baby socks. Ginny put on her own cloak while Penelope wrapped up the baby, and then took Leo back into her arms.

"But you can't bring him," Ron told Ginny, feeling a little frantic.

"Why? I'm not going to fly or anything." Ginny hefted Leo more comfortably into the crook of her elbow and tucked the blanket around his head.

"He could get hit by a Bludger."

Penelope looked sufficiently alarmed, but Ginny turned and scoffed. "Ron, don't be stupid - and don't scare Penny. We all went to Quidditch pitches when we were little, and never got hit. It's not like I'm going to walk him into the middle of the field and besides, the air will be good for him." She smiled at their sister-in-law. "See you in a bit."

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04