“You refuse to tell me everything, yet you expect that small service of me!“ snarled Snape, and real anger flared in the thin face now. ”You take a great deal for granted, Dumbledore! Perhaps I have changed my mind!“
“You gave me your word, Severus. And while we are talking about services you owe me, I thought you agreed to keep a close eye on our young Slytherin friend?”
Snape looked angry, mutinous. Dumbledore sighed.
“Come to my office tonight, Severus, at eleven, and you shall not complain that I have no confidence in you…”
They were back in Dumbledore’s office, the windows dark, and Fawkes sat silent as Snape sat quite still, as Dumbledore walked around him, talking.
“Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary, otherwise how could he have the strength to do what must be done?”
“But what must he do?”
“That is between Harry and me. Now listen closely, Severus. There will come a time – after my death – do not argue, do not interrupt! There will come a time when Lord Voldemort will seem to fear for the life of his snake.“
“For Nagini?” Snape looked astonished.
“Precisely. If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Harry.”
“Tell him what?”
Dumbledore took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort’s soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself onto the only living soul left in that collapsed building. Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort’s mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die.“
Harry seemed to be watching the two men from one end of a long tunnel, they were so far away from him, their voices echoing strangely in his ears.
“So the boy…the boy must die?” asked Snape quite calmly.
“And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential.”
Another long silence. Then Snape said, “I thought…all those years…that we were protecting him for her. For Lily.”
“We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength,” said Dumbledore, his eyes still tight shut. “Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth. Sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of Voldemort.”
Dumbledore opened his eyes. Snape looked horrified.
“You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?“
“Don’t be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?”
“Lately, only those whom I could not save,” said Snape. He stood up. “You have used me.”
“Meaning?”
“I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter’s son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter – “
“But this is touching, Severus,” said Dumbledore seriously. “Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?”
“For him?“ shouted Snape. ”Expecto Patronum!“
From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe. She landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears.
“After all this time?”
Friday, December 3, 2010
You alone know whether
You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation,” said Dumbledore. “I ask this one great favor of you, Severus, because death is coming for me as surely as the Chudley Cannons will finish bottom of this year’s league. I confess I should prefer a quick, painless exit to the protracted and messy affair it will be if, for instance, Greyback is involved – I hear Voldemort has recruited him? Or dear Bellatrix, who likes to play with her food before she eats it.”
His tone was light, but his blue eyes pierced Snape as they had frequently pierced Harry, as though the soul they discussed was visible to him. At last Snape gave another curt nod.
Dumbledore seemed satisfied.
“Thank you, Severus…”
The office disappeared, and now Snape and Dumbledore were strolling together in the deserted castle grounds by twilight.
“What are you doing with Potter, all these evenings you are closeted together?“ Snape asked abruptly.
Dumbledore looked weary.
“Why? You aren’t trying to give him more detentions, Severus? The boy will soon have spent more time in detention than out.“
“He is his father over again – ”
“In looks, perhaps, but his deepest nature is much more like his mother’s. I spend time with Harry because I have things to discuss with him, information I must give him before it is too late.”
“Information,” repeated Snape. “You trust him…you do not trust me.”
“It is not a question of trust. I have, as we both know, limited time. It is essential that I give the boy enough information for him to do what he needs to do.”
“And why may I not have the same information?”
“I prefer not to put all of my secrets in one basket, particularly not a basket that spends so much time dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort.”
“Which I do on your orders!”
“And you do it extremely well. Do not think that I underestimate the constant danger in which you place yourself, Severus. To give Voldemort what appears to be valuable information while withholding the essentials is a job I would entrust to nobody but you.“
“Yet you confide much more in a boy who is incapable of Occlumency, whose magic is mediocre, and who has a direct connection into the Dark Lord’s mind!“
“Voldemort fears that connection,” said Dumbledore. “Not so long ago he had one small taste of what truly sharing Harry’s mind means to him. It was pain such as he has never experienced. He will not try to possess Harry again, I am sure of it. Not in that way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Lord Voldemort’s soul, maimed as it is, cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry’s. Like a tongue on frozen steel, like flesh in flame – “
“Souls? We were talking of minds!”
“In the case of Harry and Lord Voldemort, to speak of one is to speak of the other.”
Dumbledore glanced around to make sure that they were alone. They were close by the Forbidden Forest now, but there was no sign of anyone near them.
“After you have killed me, Severus – ”
His tone was light, but his blue eyes pierced Snape as they had frequently pierced Harry, as though the soul they discussed was visible to him. At last Snape gave another curt nod.
Dumbledore seemed satisfied.
“Thank you, Severus…”
The office disappeared, and now Snape and Dumbledore were strolling together in the deserted castle grounds by twilight.
“What are you doing with Potter, all these evenings you are closeted together?“ Snape asked abruptly.
Dumbledore looked weary.
“Why? You aren’t trying to give him more detentions, Severus? The boy will soon have spent more time in detention than out.“
“He is his father over again – ”
“In looks, perhaps, but his deepest nature is much more like his mother’s. I spend time with Harry because I have things to discuss with him, information I must give him before it is too late.”
“Information,” repeated Snape. “You trust him…you do not trust me.”
“It is not a question of trust. I have, as we both know, limited time. It is essential that I give the boy enough information for him to do what he needs to do.”
“And why may I not have the same information?”
“I prefer not to put all of my secrets in one basket, particularly not a basket that spends so much time dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort.”
“Which I do on your orders!”
“And you do it extremely well. Do not think that I underestimate the constant danger in which you place yourself, Severus. To give Voldemort what appears to be valuable information while withholding the essentials is a job I would entrust to nobody but you.“
“Yet you confide much more in a boy who is incapable of Occlumency, whose magic is mediocre, and who has a direct connection into the Dark Lord’s mind!“
“Voldemort fears that connection,” said Dumbledore. “Not so long ago he had one small taste of what truly sharing Harry’s mind means to him. It was pain such as he has never experienced. He will not try to possess Harry again, I am sure of it. Not in that way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Lord Voldemort’s soul, maimed as it is, cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry’s. Like a tongue on frozen steel, like flesh in flame – “
“Souls? We were talking of minds!”
“In the case of Harry and Lord Voldemort, to speak of one is to speak of the other.”
Dumbledore glanced around to make sure that they were alone. They were close by the Forbidden Forest now, but there was no sign of anyone near them.
“After you have killed me, Severus – ”
“It is a miracle you managed
“It is a miracle you managed to return here!“ Snape sounded furious. ”That ring carried a curse of extraordinary power, to contain it is all we can hope for; I have trapped the curse in one hand for the time being – “
Dumbledore raised his blackened, useless hand, and examined it with the expression of one being shown an interesting curio.
“You have done very well, Severus. How long do you think I have?”
Dumbledore’s tone was conversational; he might have been asking for a weather forecast. Snape hesitated, and then said, “I cannot tell. Maybe a year. There is no halting such a spell forever. It will spread eventually, it is the sort of curse that strengthens over time.”
Dumbledore smiled. The news that he had less than a year to live seemed a matter of little or no concern to him.
“I am fortunate, extremely fortunate, that I have you, Severus.”
“If you had only summoned me a little earlier, I might have been able to do more, buy you more time!” said Snape furiously. He looked down at the broken ring and the sword. “Did you think that breaking the ring would break the curse?”
“Something like that…I was delirious, no doubt…“ said Dumbledore. With an effort he straightened himself in his chair. ”Well, really, this makes matters much more straightforward.“
Snape looked utterly perplexed. Dumbledore smiled.
“I refer to the plan Lord Voldemort is revolving around me. His plan to have the poor Malfoy boy murder me.”
Snape sat down in the chair Harry had so often occupied, across the desk from Dumbledore. Harry could tell that he wanted to say more on the subject of Dumbledore’s cursed hand, but the other held it up in polite refusal to discuss the matter further. Scowling, Snape said, “The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed. This is merely punishment for Lucius’s recent failures. Slow torture for Draco’s parents, while they watch him fail and pay the price.”
“In short, the boy has had a death sentence pronounced upon him as surely as I have,” said Dumbledore. “Now, I should have thought the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?”
There was a short pause.
“That, I think, is the Dark Lord’s plan.”
“Lord Voldemort foresees a moment in the near future when he will not need a spy at Hogwarts?”
“He believes the school will soon be in his grasp, yes.”
“And if it does fall into his grasp,” said Dumbledore, almost, it seemed, as an aside, “I have your word that you will do all in your power to protect the students at Hogwarts?”
Snape gave a stiff nod.
“Good. Now then. Your first priority will be to discover what Draco is up to. A frightened teenage boy is a danger to others as well as to himself. Offer him help and guidance, he ought to accept, he likes you – ”
“ – much less since his father has lost favor. Draco blames me, he thinks I have usurped Lucius’s position.”
“All the same, try. I am concerned less for myself than for accidental victims of whatever schemes might occur to the boy. Ultimately, of course, there is only one thing to be done if we are to save him from Lord Voldemort’s wrath.“
Snape raised his eyebrows and his tone was sardonic as he asked, “Are you intending to let him kill you?”
“Certainly not. You must kill me.“
There was a long silence, broken only by an odd clicking noise. Fawkes the phoenix was gnawing a bit of cuttlebone.
“Would you like me to do it now?“ asked Snape, his voice heavy with irony. ”Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?“
“Oh, not quite yet,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “I daresay the moment will present itself in due course. Given what has happened tonight,” he indicated his withered hand, “we can be sure that it will happen within a year.”
“If you don’t mind dying,” said Snape roughly, “why not let Draco do it?”
“That boy’s soul is not yet so damaged,” said Dumbledore. “I would not have it ripped apart on my account.”
“And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?”
Dumbledore raised his blackened, useless hand, and examined it with the expression of one being shown an interesting curio.
“You have done very well, Severus. How long do you think I have?”
Dumbledore’s tone was conversational; he might have been asking for a weather forecast. Snape hesitated, and then said, “I cannot tell. Maybe a year. There is no halting such a spell forever. It will spread eventually, it is the sort of curse that strengthens over time.”
Dumbledore smiled. The news that he had less than a year to live seemed a matter of little or no concern to him.
“I am fortunate, extremely fortunate, that I have you, Severus.”
“If you had only summoned me a little earlier, I might have been able to do more, buy you more time!” said Snape furiously. He looked down at the broken ring and the sword. “Did you think that breaking the ring would break the curse?”
“Something like that…I was delirious, no doubt…“ said Dumbledore. With an effort he straightened himself in his chair. ”Well, really, this makes matters much more straightforward.“
Snape looked utterly perplexed. Dumbledore smiled.
“I refer to the plan Lord Voldemort is revolving around me. His plan to have the poor Malfoy boy murder me.”
Snape sat down in the chair Harry had so often occupied, across the desk from Dumbledore. Harry could tell that he wanted to say more on the subject of Dumbledore’s cursed hand, but the other held it up in polite refusal to discuss the matter further. Scowling, Snape said, “The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed. This is merely punishment for Lucius’s recent failures. Slow torture for Draco’s parents, while they watch him fail and pay the price.”
“In short, the boy has had a death sentence pronounced upon him as surely as I have,” said Dumbledore. “Now, I should have thought the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?”
There was a short pause.
“That, I think, is the Dark Lord’s plan.”
“Lord Voldemort foresees a moment in the near future when he will not need a spy at Hogwarts?”
“He believes the school will soon be in his grasp, yes.”
“And if it does fall into his grasp,” said Dumbledore, almost, it seemed, as an aside, “I have your word that you will do all in your power to protect the students at Hogwarts?”
Snape gave a stiff nod.
“Good. Now then. Your first priority will be to discover what Draco is up to. A frightened teenage boy is a danger to others as well as to himself. Offer him help and guidance, he ought to accept, he likes you – ”
“ – much less since his father has lost favor. Draco blames me, he thinks I have usurped Lucius’s position.”
“All the same, try. I am concerned less for myself than for accidental victims of whatever schemes might occur to the boy. Ultimately, of course, there is only one thing to be done if we are to save him from Lord Voldemort’s wrath.“
Snape raised his eyebrows and his tone was sardonic as he asked, “Are you intending to let him kill you?”
“Certainly not. You must kill me.“
There was a long silence, broken only by an odd clicking noise. Fawkes the phoenix was gnawing a bit of cuttlebone.
“Would you like me to do it now?“ asked Snape, his voice heavy with irony. ”Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?“
“Oh, not quite yet,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “I daresay the moment will present itself in due course. Given what has happened tonight,” he indicated his withered hand, “we can be sure that it will happen within a year.”
“If you don’t mind dying,” said Snape roughly, “why not let Draco do it?”
“That boy’s soul is not yet so damaged,” said Dumbledore. “I would not have it ripped apart on my account.”
“And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?”
Thursday, December 2, 2010
“I told you last week Lovegood
“I told you last week Lovegood, we weren’t coming back for anything less than some solid information! Remember last week? When you wanted to swap your daughter for that stupid bleeding headdress? And the week before” – Another bang, another squeal – “When you thought we’d give her back if you offered us proof there are Cumple” – Bang – “Headed”–bang– “Snorkacks?”
“No – no – I beg of you!” sobbed Xenophilius. “It really is Potter, Really!”
“And now it turns out you only called us here to try and blow us up!” roared the Death Eater, and there was a volley of bangs interspersed with squeals of agony from Xenophilius.
“The place looks like it’s about to fall in, Selwyn,” said a cool second voice, echoing up the mangled staircase. “The stairs are completely blocked. Could try clearing it? Might bring the place down.”
“You lying piece of filth.” shouted the wizard named Selwyn.
“You have never seen Potter in your life, have you? Thought you’d lure us here to kill us, did you? And you think you’ll get your girl back like this?”
“I swear…I swear…Potter’s upstairs!”
“Homenum revelio.” said the voice at the foot of the stairs. Harry heard Hermione gasp, and he had the odd sensation something was swooping low over him, immersing his body in its shadow.
“There’s someone up there all right, Selwyn,” said the second man sharply.
“It’s Potter, I tell you, it’s Potter!” sobbed Xenophilius. “Please…please…give me Luna, just let me have Luna…”
“You can have your little girl, Lovegood,” said Selwyn, “if you get up those stairs and bring me down Harry Potter. But if this is a plot, if it’s a trick, if you’ve got an accomplice waiting up there to ambush us, we’ll see if we can spare a bit of your daughter for you to bury.”
Xenophilius gave a wail of fear and despair. There were scurryings and scrapings.
Xenophilius was trying to get through the debris on the stairs.
“Come on,” Harry whispered, “we’ve got to get out of here.”
He started to dig himself out under cover of all the noise Xenophilius was making on the staircase. Ron was buried the deepest. Harry and Hermione climbed, as quietly as they could, over all the wreckage to where he lay, trying to prise a heavy chest of drawers off his legs. While Xenophilius banging and scraping drew nearer and nearer, Hermione managed to free Ron with the use of a Hover Charm.
“All right.” breathed Hermione, as the broken printing press blocking the top of the stairs begin to tremble. Xenophilius was feet away from them. She was still white with dust.
“Do you trust me Harry?”
Harry nodded.
“Okay then.” Hermione whispered. “give me the invisibility Cloak. Ron, you’re going to put it on.”
“Me? But Harry –”
“Please, Ron! Harry, hold on tight to my hand, Ron grab my shoulder.”
Harry held out his left hand. Ron vanished beneath the Cloak. The printing press blocking the stairs was vibrating. Xenophilius was trying to shift it using a Hover Charm. Harry did not know what Hermione was waiting for.
“Hold tight” she whispered. “Hold tight…any second…”
Xenophilius’s paper-white face appeared over the top of the sideboard.
“Obliviate!” cried Hermione, pointing her want first into his face then at the floor beneath them. “Deprimo!”
She had blasted a hole in the sitting room floor. They fell like boulders. Harry still holding onto her hand for dear life, there was a scream from below, and he glimpsed two men trying to get out of the way as vast quantities of rubble and broken furniture rained all around them from the shattered ceiling. Hermione twisted in midair and thundering of the collapsing house rang in Harry’s ears as she dragged him once more into darkness.
“No – no – I beg of you!” sobbed Xenophilius. “It really is Potter, Really!”
“And now it turns out you only called us here to try and blow us up!” roared the Death Eater, and there was a volley of bangs interspersed with squeals of agony from Xenophilius.
“The place looks like it’s about to fall in, Selwyn,” said a cool second voice, echoing up the mangled staircase. “The stairs are completely blocked. Could try clearing it? Might bring the place down.”
“You lying piece of filth.” shouted the wizard named Selwyn.
“You have never seen Potter in your life, have you? Thought you’d lure us here to kill us, did you? And you think you’ll get your girl back like this?”
“I swear…I swear…Potter’s upstairs!”
“Homenum revelio.” said the voice at the foot of the stairs. Harry heard Hermione gasp, and he had the odd sensation something was swooping low over him, immersing his body in its shadow.
“There’s someone up there all right, Selwyn,” said the second man sharply.
“It’s Potter, I tell you, it’s Potter!” sobbed Xenophilius. “Please…please…give me Luna, just let me have Luna…”
“You can have your little girl, Lovegood,” said Selwyn, “if you get up those stairs and bring me down Harry Potter. But if this is a plot, if it’s a trick, if you’ve got an accomplice waiting up there to ambush us, we’ll see if we can spare a bit of your daughter for you to bury.”
Xenophilius gave a wail of fear and despair. There were scurryings and scrapings.
Xenophilius was trying to get through the debris on the stairs.
“Come on,” Harry whispered, “we’ve got to get out of here.”
He started to dig himself out under cover of all the noise Xenophilius was making on the staircase. Ron was buried the deepest. Harry and Hermione climbed, as quietly as they could, over all the wreckage to where he lay, trying to prise a heavy chest of drawers off his legs. While Xenophilius banging and scraping drew nearer and nearer, Hermione managed to free Ron with the use of a Hover Charm.
“All right.” breathed Hermione, as the broken printing press blocking the top of the stairs begin to tremble. Xenophilius was feet away from them. She was still white with dust.
“Do you trust me Harry?”
Harry nodded.
“Okay then.” Hermione whispered. “give me the invisibility Cloak. Ron, you’re going to put it on.”
“Me? But Harry –”
“Please, Ron! Harry, hold on tight to my hand, Ron grab my shoulder.”
Harry held out his left hand. Ron vanished beneath the Cloak. The printing press blocking the stairs was vibrating. Xenophilius was trying to shift it using a Hover Charm. Harry did not know what Hermione was waiting for.
“Hold tight” she whispered. “Hold tight…any second…”
Xenophilius’s paper-white face appeared over the top of the sideboard.
“Obliviate!” cried Hermione, pointing her want first into his face then at the floor beneath them. “Deprimo!”
She had blasted a hole in the sitting room floor. They fell like boulders. Harry still holding onto her hand for dear life, there was a scream from below, and he glimpsed two men trying to get out of the way as vast quantities of rubble and broken furniture rained all around them from the shattered ceiling. Hermione twisted in midair and thundering of the collapsing house rang in Harry’s ears as she dragged him once more into darkness.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
“Undesirable Number One,
“Undesirable Number One,“ Harry muttered under his breath as he replaced Mr. Weasley’s folder and shut the drawer. He had an idea he knew who that was, and sure enough, as he straightened up and glanced around the office for fresh hiding places he saw a poster of himself on the wall, with the words UNDESIRABLE NO. 1 emblazoned across his chest. A little pink note was stuck to it with a picture of a kitten in the corner. Harry moved across to read it and saw that Umbridge had written, ”To be punished.“
Angrier than ever, he proceeded to grope in the bottoms of the vases and baskets of dried flowers, but was not at all surprised that the locket was not there. He gave the office one last sweeping look, and his heart skipped a beat. Dumbledore was staring at him from a small rectangular mirror, propped up on a bookcase beside the desk.
Harry crossed the room at a run and snatched it up, but realized that the moment he touched it that it was not a mirror at all. Dumbledore was smiling wistfully out of the front cover of a glossy book. Harry had not immediately noticed the curly green writing across his hat – The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore – nor the slightly smaller writing across his chest: “by Rita Skeeter, bestselling author of Armando Dippet: Master or Moron?”
Harry opened the book at random and saw a full-page photograph of two teenage boys, both laughing immoderately with their arms around each other’s shoulders.
Dumbledore, now with elbow-length hair, had grown a tiny wispy beard that recalled the one on Krum’s chin that had so annoyed Ron. The boy who roared in silent amusement beside Dumbledore had a gleeful, wild look about him. His golden hair fell in curls to his shoulders. Harry wondered whether it was a young Doge, but before he could check the caption, the door of the office opened.
If Thicknesse had not been looking over his shoulder as he entered, Harry would not have had time to pull the Invisibility Cloak over himself. As it was, he thought Thicknesse might have caught a glimpse of movement, because for a moment or two he remained quite still, staring curiously at the place where Harry had just vanished.
Perhaps deciding that that all he had seen was Dumbledore scratching his nose on the front of the book, for Harry had hastily replaced it upon the shelf. Thicknesse finally walked to the desk and pointed his wand at the quill standing ready in the ink pot. It sprang out and began scribbling a note to Umbridge. Very slowly, hardly daring to breathe, Harry backed out of the office into the open area beyond.
The pamphlet-makers were still clustered around the remains of the Decoy Detonator, which continued to hoot feebly as it smoked. Harry hurried off up the corridor as the young witch said, “I bet it sneaked up here from Experimental Charms, they’re so careless, remember that poisonous duck?”
Speeding back toward the lifts, Harry reviewed his options. It had never been likely that the locket was here at the Ministry, and there was no hope of bewitching its whereabouts out of Umbridge while she was sitting in a crowded court. Their priority now had to be to leave the Ministry before they were exposed, and try again another day. The first thing to do was to find Ron, and then they could work out a way of extracting Hermione from the courtroom.
The lift was empty when it arrived. Harry jumped in and pulled off the Invisibility Cloak as it started its descent. To his enormous relief, when it rattled to a halt at level two, a soaking-wet and wild-eyed Ron got in.
“M-morning,” he stammered to Harry as the lift set off again.
“Ron, it’s me, Harry!”
“Harry! Blimey, I forgot what you looked like – why isn’t Hermione with you?”
“She had to go down to the courtrooms with Umbridge, she couldn’t refuse, and – ”
But before Harry could finish the lift had stopped again. The doors opened and Mr. Weasley walked inside, talking to an elderly witch whose blonde hair was teased so high it resembled an anthill.
“… I quite understand what you’re saying, Wakanda, but I’m afraid I cannot be party to – ”
Mr. Weasley broke off; he had noticed Harry. It was very strange to have Mr. Weasley glare at him with that much dislike. The lift doors closed and the four of them trundled downward once more.
“Oh hello, Reg,” said Mr. Weasley, looking around at the sound of steady dripping from Ron’s robes. “Isn’t your wife in for questioning today? Er – what’s happened to you? Why are you so wet?”
“Yaxley’s office is raining,” said Ron. He addressed Mr. Weasley’s shoulder, and Harry felt sure he was scared that his father might recognize him if they looked directly into each other’s eyes. “I couldn’t stop it, so they’ve sent me to get Bernie – Pillsworth, I think they said – ”
“Yes, a lot of offices have been raining lately,” said Mr. Weasley. “Did you try Meterolojinx Recanto? It worked for Bletchley.”
“Meteolojinx Recanto?” whispered Ron. “No, I didn’t. Thanks, D – I mean, thanks, Arthur.”
The lift doors opened; the old witch with the anthill hair left, and Ron darted past her out of sight. Harry made to follow him, but found his path blocked as Percy Weasley strode into the lift, his nose buried in some papers he was reading.
Not until the doors had clanged shut again did Percy realize he was in a lit with his father. He glanced up, saw Mr. Weasley, turned radish red, and left the lift the moment the doors opened again. For the second time, Harry tried to get out, but this time found his way blocked by Mr. Weasley’s arm.
“One moment, Runcorn.”
The lift doors closed and as they clanked down another floor, Mr. Weasley said, “I hear you had information about Dirk Cresswell.”
Harry had the impression that Mr. Weasley’s anger was no less because of the brush with Percy. He decided his best chance was to act stupid.
“Sorry?” he said.
“Don’t pretend, Runcorn,” said Mr. Weasley fiercely. “You tracked down the wizard who faked his family tree, didn’t you?”
“I – so what if I did?” said Harry.
“So Dirk Cresswell is ten times the wizard you are,” said Mr. Weasley quietly, as the lift sank ever lower. “And if he survives Azkaban, you’ll have to answer to him, not to mention his wife, his sons, and his friends – ”
“Arthur,” Harry interrupted, “you know you’re being tracked, don’t you?”
“Is that a threat, Runcorn?” said Mr. Weasley loudly.
“No,” said Harry, “it’s a fact! They’re watching your every move – ”
Angrier than ever, he proceeded to grope in the bottoms of the vases and baskets of dried flowers, but was not at all surprised that the locket was not there. He gave the office one last sweeping look, and his heart skipped a beat. Dumbledore was staring at him from a small rectangular mirror, propped up on a bookcase beside the desk.
Harry crossed the room at a run and snatched it up, but realized that the moment he touched it that it was not a mirror at all. Dumbledore was smiling wistfully out of the front cover of a glossy book. Harry had not immediately noticed the curly green writing across his hat – The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore – nor the slightly smaller writing across his chest: “by Rita Skeeter, bestselling author of Armando Dippet: Master or Moron?”
Harry opened the book at random and saw a full-page photograph of two teenage boys, both laughing immoderately with their arms around each other’s shoulders.
Dumbledore, now with elbow-length hair, had grown a tiny wispy beard that recalled the one on Krum’s chin that had so annoyed Ron. The boy who roared in silent amusement beside Dumbledore had a gleeful, wild look about him. His golden hair fell in curls to his shoulders. Harry wondered whether it was a young Doge, but before he could check the caption, the door of the office opened.
If Thicknesse had not been looking over his shoulder as he entered, Harry would not have had time to pull the Invisibility Cloak over himself. As it was, he thought Thicknesse might have caught a glimpse of movement, because for a moment or two he remained quite still, staring curiously at the place where Harry had just vanished.
Perhaps deciding that that all he had seen was Dumbledore scratching his nose on the front of the book, for Harry had hastily replaced it upon the shelf. Thicknesse finally walked to the desk and pointed his wand at the quill standing ready in the ink pot. It sprang out and began scribbling a note to Umbridge. Very slowly, hardly daring to breathe, Harry backed out of the office into the open area beyond.
The pamphlet-makers were still clustered around the remains of the Decoy Detonator, which continued to hoot feebly as it smoked. Harry hurried off up the corridor as the young witch said, “I bet it sneaked up here from Experimental Charms, they’re so careless, remember that poisonous duck?”
Speeding back toward the lifts, Harry reviewed his options. It had never been likely that the locket was here at the Ministry, and there was no hope of bewitching its whereabouts out of Umbridge while she was sitting in a crowded court. Their priority now had to be to leave the Ministry before they were exposed, and try again another day. The first thing to do was to find Ron, and then they could work out a way of extracting Hermione from the courtroom.
The lift was empty when it arrived. Harry jumped in and pulled off the Invisibility Cloak as it started its descent. To his enormous relief, when it rattled to a halt at level two, a soaking-wet and wild-eyed Ron got in.
“M-morning,” he stammered to Harry as the lift set off again.
“Ron, it’s me, Harry!”
“Harry! Blimey, I forgot what you looked like – why isn’t Hermione with you?”
“She had to go down to the courtrooms with Umbridge, she couldn’t refuse, and – ”
But before Harry could finish the lift had stopped again. The doors opened and Mr. Weasley walked inside, talking to an elderly witch whose blonde hair was teased so high it resembled an anthill.
“… I quite understand what you’re saying, Wakanda, but I’m afraid I cannot be party to – ”
Mr. Weasley broke off; he had noticed Harry. It was very strange to have Mr. Weasley glare at him with that much dislike. The lift doors closed and the four of them trundled downward once more.
“Oh hello, Reg,” said Mr. Weasley, looking around at the sound of steady dripping from Ron’s robes. “Isn’t your wife in for questioning today? Er – what’s happened to you? Why are you so wet?”
“Yaxley’s office is raining,” said Ron. He addressed Mr. Weasley’s shoulder, and Harry felt sure he was scared that his father might recognize him if they looked directly into each other’s eyes. “I couldn’t stop it, so they’ve sent me to get Bernie – Pillsworth, I think they said – ”
“Yes, a lot of offices have been raining lately,” said Mr. Weasley. “Did you try Meterolojinx Recanto? It worked for Bletchley.”
“Meteolojinx Recanto?” whispered Ron. “No, I didn’t. Thanks, D – I mean, thanks, Arthur.”
The lift doors opened; the old witch with the anthill hair left, and Ron darted past her out of sight. Harry made to follow him, but found his path blocked as Percy Weasley strode into the lift, his nose buried in some papers he was reading.
Not until the doors had clanged shut again did Percy realize he was in a lit with his father. He glanced up, saw Mr. Weasley, turned radish red, and left the lift the moment the doors opened again. For the second time, Harry tried to get out, but this time found his way blocked by Mr. Weasley’s arm.
“One moment, Runcorn.”
The lift doors closed and as they clanked down another floor, Mr. Weasley said, “I hear you had information about Dirk Cresswell.”
Harry had the impression that Mr. Weasley’s anger was no less because of the brush with Percy. He decided his best chance was to act stupid.
“Sorry?” he said.
“Don’t pretend, Runcorn,” said Mr. Weasley fiercely. “You tracked down the wizard who faked his family tree, didn’t you?”
“I – so what if I did?” said Harry.
“So Dirk Cresswell is ten times the wizard you are,” said Mr. Weasley quietly, as the lift sank ever lower. “And if he survives Azkaban, you’ll have to answer to him, not to mention his wife, his sons, and his friends – ”
“Arthur,” Harry interrupted, “you know you’re being tracked, don’t you?”
“Is that a threat, Runcorn?” said Mr. Weasley loudly.
“No,” said Harry, “it’s a fact! They’re watching your every move – ”
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The motorbike zoomed forward
The motorbike zoomed forward; Harry glimpsed hooded Death Eaters scattering as Hagrid blasted through their circle.
“Hedwig – Hedwig – ”
But the owl lay motionless and pathetic as a toy on the floor of her cage. He could not take it in, and his terror for the others was paramount. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a mass of people moving, flares of green light, two pairs of people on brooms soaring off into the distance, but he could not tell who they were –“Hagrid, we’ve got to go back, we’ve got to go back!” he yelled over the thunderous roar of the engine, pulling out his wand, ramming Hedwig’s cage into the floor, refusing to believe that she was dead. “Hagrid, TURN AROUND!”
“My job’s ter get you there safe, Harry!” bellow Hagrid, and he opened the throttle. “Stop – STOP!” Harry shouted, but as he looked back again two jets of green light flew past his left ear: Four Death Eaters had broken away from the circle and were pursuing them, aiming for Hagrid’s broad back. Hagrid swerved, but the Death Eaters were keeping up with the bike; more curses shot after them, and Harry had to sink low into the sidecar to avoid them. Wriggling around he cried, “Stupefy!” and a red bolt of light shot from his own wand, cleaving a gap between the four pursuing Death Eaters as they scattered to avoid it.
“Hold on, Harry, this’ll do for ‘em!” roared Hagrid, and Harry looked up just in time to see Hagrid slamming a thick finger into a green button near the fuel gauge.
A wall, a solid black wall, erupted out of the exhaust pipe. Craning his neck, Harry saw it expand into being in midair. Three of the Death Eaters swerved and avoided it, but the fourth was not so lucky; He vanished from view and then dropped like a boulder from behind it, his broomstick broken into pieces. One of his fellows slowed up to save him, but they and the airborne wall were swallowed by darkness as Hagrid leaned low over the handlebars and sped up.
More Killing Curses flew past Harry’s head from the two remaining Death Eaters’ wands; they were aiming for Hagrid. Harry responded with further Stunning Spells: Red and green collided in midair in a shower of multicolored sparks, and Harry thought wildly of fireworks, and the Muggles below who would have no idea what was happening –
“Here we go again, Harry, hold on!” yelled Hagrid, and he jabbed at a second button. This time a great net burst from the bike’s exhaust, but the Death Eaters were ready for it. Not only did they swerve to avoid it, but the companion who had slowed to save their unconscious friend had caught up. He bloomed suddenly out of the darkness and now three of them were pursuing the motorbike, all shooting curses after it.
“This’ll do it, Harry, hold on tight!” yelled Hagrid, and Harry saw him slam his whole hand onto the purple button beside the speedometer.
With an unmistakable bellowing roar, dragon fire burst from the exhaust, white-hot and blue, and the motorbike shot forward like a bullet with a sound of wrenching metal. Harry saw the Death Eaters swerve out of sight to avoid the deadly trail of flame, and at the same time felt the sidecar sway ominously: Its metal connections to the bike had splintered with the force of acceleration.
“It’s all righ’, Harry!” bellowed Hagrid, now thrown flat onto the back by the surge of speed; nobody was steering now, and the sidecar was starting to twist violently in the bike’s slipstream.
“I’m on it, Harry, don’ worry!” Hagrid yelled, and from inside his jacket pocket he pulled his flowery pink umbrella.
“Hagrid! No! Let me!”
“REPARO!”
There was a deafening bang and the sidecar broke away from the bike completely. Harry sped forward, propelled by the impetus of the bike’s flight, then the sidecar began to lose height –
In desperation Harry pointed his wand at the sidecar and shouted, “Wingardium Leviosa!”
The sidecar rose like a cork, unsteerable but at least still airborne. He had but a split second’s relief, however, as more curses streaked past him: The three Death Eaters were closing in.
“I’m comin’, Harry!“ Hagrid yelled from out of the darkness, but Harry could feel the sidecar beginning to sink again: Crouching as low as he could, he pointed at the middle of the oncoming figures and yelled, ”Impedimenta!“
The jinx hit the middle Death Eater in the chest; For a moment the man was absurdly spread-eagled in midair as though he had hit an invisible barrier: One of his fellows almost collided with him – Then the sidecar began to fall in earnest, and the remaining Death Eater shot a curse so close to Harry that he had to duck below the rim of the car, knocking out a tooth on the edge of his seat –
“I’m comin’, Harry, I’m comin’!”
A huge hand seized the back of Harry’s robes and hoisted him out of the plummeting sidecar; Harry pulled his rucksack with him as he dragged himself onto the motorbike’s seat and found himself back-to-back with Hagrid. As they soared upward, away from the two remaining Death Eaters, Harry spat blood out of his mouth, pointed his wand at the falling sidecar, and yelled, “Confringo!”
He knew a dreadful, gut-wrenching pang for Hedwig as it exploded; the Death Eater nearest it was blasted off his broom and fell from sight; his companion fell back and vanished.
“Harry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” moaned Hagrid, “I shouldn’ta tried ter repair it meself – yeh’ve got no room – ”
“It’s not a problem, just keep flying!” Harry shouted back, as two more Death Eaters emerged out of the darkness, drawing closer.
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“Hedwig – Hedwig – ”
But the owl lay motionless and pathetic as a toy on the floor of her cage. He could not take it in, and his terror for the others was paramount. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a mass of people moving, flares of green light, two pairs of people on brooms soaring off into the distance, but he could not tell who they were –“Hagrid, we’ve got to go back, we’ve got to go back!” he yelled over the thunderous roar of the engine, pulling out his wand, ramming Hedwig’s cage into the floor, refusing to believe that she was dead. “Hagrid, TURN AROUND!”
“My job’s ter get you there safe, Harry!” bellow Hagrid, and he opened the throttle. “Stop – STOP!” Harry shouted, but as he looked back again two jets of green light flew past his left ear: Four Death Eaters had broken away from the circle and were pursuing them, aiming for Hagrid’s broad back. Hagrid swerved, but the Death Eaters were keeping up with the bike; more curses shot after them, and Harry had to sink low into the sidecar to avoid them. Wriggling around he cried, “Stupefy!” and a red bolt of light shot from his own wand, cleaving a gap between the four pursuing Death Eaters as they scattered to avoid it.
“Hold on, Harry, this’ll do for ‘em!” roared Hagrid, and Harry looked up just in time to see Hagrid slamming a thick finger into a green button near the fuel gauge.
A wall, a solid black wall, erupted out of the exhaust pipe. Craning his neck, Harry saw it expand into being in midair. Three of the Death Eaters swerved and avoided it, but the fourth was not so lucky; He vanished from view and then dropped like a boulder from behind it, his broomstick broken into pieces. One of his fellows slowed up to save him, but they and the airborne wall were swallowed by darkness as Hagrid leaned low over the handlebars and sped up.
More Killing Curses flew past Harry’s head from the two remaining Death Eaters’ wands; they were aiming for Hagrid. Harry responded with further Stunning Spells: Red and green collided in midair in a shower of multicolored sparks, and Harry thought wildly of fireworks, and the Muggles below who would have no idea what was happening –
“Here we go again, Harry, hold on!” yelled Hagrid, and he jabbed at a second button. This time a great net burst from the bike’s exhaust, but the Death Eaters were ready for it. Not only did they swerve to avoid it, but the companion who had slowed to save their unconscious friend had caught up. He bloomed suddenly out of the darkness and now three of them were pursuing the motorbike, all shooting curses after it.
“This’ll do it, Harry, hold on tight!” yelled Hagrid, and Harry saw him slam his whole hand onto the purple button beside the speedometer.
With an unmistakable bellowing roar, dragon fire burst from the exhaust, white-hot and blue, and the motorbike shot forward like a bullet with a sound of wrenching metal. Harry saw the Death Eaters swerve out of sight to avoid the deadly trail of flame, and at the same time felt the sidecar sway ominously: Its metal connections to the bike had splintered with the force of acceleration.
“It’s all righ’, Harry!” bellowed Hagrid, now thrown flat onto the back by the surge of speed; nobody was steering now, and the sidecar was starting to twist violently in the bike’s slipstream.
“I’m on it, Harry, don’ worry!” Hagrid yelled, and from inside his jacket pocket he pulled his flowery pink umbrella.
“Hagrid! No! Let me!”
“REPARO!”
There was a deafening bang and the sidecar broke away from the bike completely. Harry sped forward, propelled by the impetus of the bike’s flight, then the sidecar began to lose height –
In desperation Harry pointed his wand at the sidecar and shouted, “Wingardium Leviosa!”
The sidecar rose like a cork, unsteerable but at least still airborne. He had but a split second’s relief, however, as more curses streaked past him: The three Death Eaters were closing in.
“I’m comin’, Harry!“ Hagrid yelled from out of the darkness, but Harry could feel the sidecar beginning to sink again: Crouching as low as he could, he pointed at the middle of the oncoming figures and yelled, ”Impedimenta!“
The jinx hit the middle Death Eater in the chest; For a moment the man was absurdly spread-eagled in midair as though he had hit an invisible barrier: One of his fellows almost collided with him – Then the sidecar began to fall in earnest, and the remaining Death Eater shot a curse so close to Harry that he had to duck below the rim of the car, knocking out a tooth on the edge of his seat –
“I’m comin’, Harry, I’m comin’!”
A huge hand seized the back of Harry’s robes and hoisted him out of the plummeting sidecar; Harry pulled his rucksack with him as he dragged himself onto the motorbike’s seat and found himself back-to-back with Hagrid. As they soared upward, away from the two remaining Death Eaters, Harry spat blood out of his mouth, pointed his wand at the falling sidecar, and yelled, “Confringo!”
He knew a dreadful, gut-wrenching pang for Hedwig as it exploded; the Death Eater nearest it was blasted off his broom and fell from sight; his companion fell back and vanished.
“Harry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” moaned Hagrid, “I shouldn’ta tried ter repair it meself – yeh’ve got no room – ”
“It’s not a problem, just keep flying!” Harry shouted back, as two more Death Eaters emerged out of the darkness, drawing closer.
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Monday, November 29, 2010
Chapter 25 The Seer Overheard
Chapter 25 The Seer Overheard
The fact that Harry Potter was going out with Ginny Weasley seemed to interest a great number of people, most of them girls, yet Harry found himself newly and happily
impervious to gossip over the next few weeks. After all, it made a very nice change to be talked about because of something that was making him happier than he could
remember being for a very long time, rather than because he had been involved in horrific scenes of Dark magic.
“You'd think people had better things to gossip about,” said Ginny, as she sat on the common-room floor, leaning against Harry's legs and reading the Daily Prophet.
“Three Dementor attacks in a week, and all Romilda Vane does is ask me if it's true you've got a Hippogriff tattooed across your chest.”
Ron and Hermione both roared with laughter. Harry ignored them.
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her it's a Hungarian Horntail,” said Ginny, turning a page of the newspaper idly. “Much more macho.”
“Thanks,” said Harry, grinning. “And what did you tell her Ron's got?”
“A Pygmy Puff, but I didn't say where.”
Ron scowled as Hermione rolled around laughing.
“Watch it,” he said, pointing wamingly at Harry and Ginny. “Just because I've given my permission doesn't mean I can't withdraw it—”
“'Your permission’ “, scoffed Ginny. “Since when did you give me permission to do anything? Anyway, you said yourself you'd rather it was Harry than Michael or
Dean.”
“Yeah, I would,” said Ron grudgingly. “And just as long as you don't start snogging each other in public—”
“You filthy hypocrite! What about you and Lavender, thrashing around like a pair of eels all over the place?” demanded Ginny.
But Ron's tolerance was not to be tested much as they moved into June, for Harry and Ginny's time together was becoming increasingly restricted. Ginny's O.W.L.s were
approaching and she was therefore forced to revise for hours into the night. On one such evening, when Ginny had retired to the library and Harry was sitting beside the
window in the common room, supposedly finishing his Herbology home-work but in reality reliving a particularly happy hour he had spent down by the lake with Ginny at
lunch-time, Hermione dropped into the seat between him and Ron with an unpleasantly purposeful look on her face.
“I want to talk to you, Harry.”
The fact that Harry Potter was going out with Ginny Weasley seemed to interest a great number of people, most of them girls, yet Harry found himself newly and happily
impervious to gossip over the next few weeks. After all, it made a very nice change to be talked about because of something that was making him happier than he could
remember being for a very long time, rather than because he had been involved in horrific scenes of Dark magic.
“You'd think people had better things to gossip about,” said Ginny, as she sat on the common-room floor, leaning against Harry's legs and reading the Daily Prophet.
“Three Dementor attacks in a week, and all Romilda Vane does is ask me if it's true you've got a Hippogriff tattooed across your chest.”
Ron and Hermione both roared with laughter. Harry ignored them.
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her it's a Hungarian Horntail,” said Ginny, turning a page of the newspaper idly. “Much more macho.”
“Thanks,” said Harry, grinning. “And what did you tell her Ron's got?”
“A Pygmy Puff, but I didn't say where.”
Ron scowled as Hermione rolled around laughing.
“Watch it,” he said, pointing wamingly at Harry and Ginny. “Just because I've given my permission doesn't mean I can't withdraw it—”
“'Your permission’ “, scoffed Ginny. “Since when did you give me permission to do anything? Anyway, you said yourself you'd rather it was Harry than Michael or
Dean.”
“Yeah, I would,” said Ron grudgingly. “And just as long as you don't start snogging each other in public—”
“You filthy hypocrite! What about you and Lavender, thrashing around like a pair of eels all over the place?” demanded Ginny.
But Ron's tolerance was not to be tested much as they moved into June, for Harry and Ginny's time together was becoming increasingly restricted. Ginny's O.W.L.s were
approaching and she was therefore forced to revise for hours into the night. On one such evening, when Ginny had retired to the library and Harry was sitting beside the
window in the common room, supposedly finishing his Herbology home-work but in reality reliving a particularly happy hour he had spent down by the lake with Ginny at
lunch-time, Hermione dropped into the seat between him and Ron with an unpleasantly purposeful look on her face.
“I want to talk to you, Harry.”
It was, as Harry had anticipated
It was, as Harry had anticipated, useless, boring work, punctuated (as Snape had clearly planned) with the regular jolt in the stomach that meant he had just read his
father or Sirius's names, usually coupled together in various petty misdeeds, occasionally accompanied by those of Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. And while he copied
out all their various offenses and punishments, he wondered what was going on outside, where the match would have just started... Ginny playing Seeker against Cho...
Harry glanced again and again at the large clock ticking on the wall. It seemed to be moving half as fast as a regular clock; perhaps Snape had bewitched it to go extra
slowly? He could not have been here for only half an hour ... an hour ... an hour and a half...
Harry's stomach started rumbling when the clock showed half past twelve. Snape, who had not spoken at all since setting Harry his task, finally looked up at ten past
one.
“I think that will do,” he said coldly. “Mark the place you have reached. You will continue at ten o'clock next Saturday.”
“Yes, sir.”
Harry stuffed a bent card into the box at random and hurried out of the door before Snape could change his mind, racing back up the stone steps, straining his ears to
hear a sound from the pitch, but all was quiet... it was over, then...
He hesitated outside the crowded Great Hall, then ran up the marble staircase; whether Gryffindor had won or lost, the team usually celebrated or commiserated in their
own common room.
“Quid agis?” he said tentatively to the Fat Lady, wondering what he would find inside.
Her expression was unreadable as she replied, “You'll see.”
And she swung forward.
A roar of celebration erupted from the hole behind her. Harry gaped as people began to scream at the sight of him; several hands pulled him into the room.
“We won!” yelled Ron, bounding into sight and brandishing the silver Cup at Harry. “We won! Four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty! We won!”
Harry looked around; there was Ginny running toward him; she had a hard, blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without
planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her.
After several long moments—or it might have been half an hour—or possibly several sunlit days—they broke apart. The room had gone very quiet. Then several people
wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of nervous giggling. Harry looked over the top of Ginny's head to see Dean Thomas holding a shattered glass in his hand, and
Romilda Vane looking as though she might throw something. Hermione was beaming, but Harry's eyes sought Ron. At last he found him, still clutching the Cup and wearing
an expression appropriate to having been clubbed over the head. For a fraction of a second they looked at each other, then Ron gave a tiny jerk of the head that Harry
understood to mean, “Well—if you must.”
The creature in his chest roaring in triumph, he grinned down at Ginny and gestured wordlessly out of the portrait hole. A long walk in the grounds seemed indicated,
during which—if they had time—they might discuss the match.
father or Sirius's names, usually coupled together in various petty misdeeds, occasionally accompanied by those of Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. And while he copied
out all their various offenses and punishments, he wondered what was going on outside, where the match would have just started... Ginny playing Seeker against Cho...
Harry glanced again and again at the large clock ticking on the wall. It seemed to be moving half as fast as a regular clock; perhaps Snape had bewitched it to go extra
slowly? He could not have been here for only half an hour ... an hour ... an hour and a half...
Harry's stomach started rumbling when the clock showed half past twelve. Snape, who had not spoken at all since setting Harry his task, finally looked up at ten past
one.
“I think that will do,” he said coldly. “Mark the place you have reached. You will continue at ten o'clock next Saturday.”
“Yes, sir.”
Harry stuffed a bent card into the box at random and hurried out of the door before Snape could change his mind, racing back up the stone steps, straining his ears to
hear a sound from the pitch, but all was quiet... it was over, then...
He hesitated outside the crowded Great Hall, then ran up the marble staircase; whether Gryffindor had won or lost, the team usually celebrated or commiserated in their
own common room.
“Quid agis?” he said tentatively to the Fat Lady, wondering what he would find inside.
Her expression was unreadable as she replied, “You'll see.”
And she swung forward.
A roar of celebration erupted from the hole behind her. Harry gaped as people began to scream at the sight of him; several hands pulled him into the room.
“We won!” yelled Ron, bounding into sight and brandishing the silver Cup at Harry. “We won! Four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty! We won!”
Harry looked around; there was Ginny running toward him; she had a hard, blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without
planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her.
After several long moments—or it might have been half an hour—or possibly several sunlit days—they broke apart. The room had gone very quiet. Then several people
wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of nervous giggling. Harry looked over the top of Ginny's head to see Dean Thomas holding a shattered glass in his hand, and
Romilda Vane looking as though she might throw something. Hermione was beaming, but Harry's eyes sought Ron. At last he found him, still clutching the Cup and wearing
an expression appropriate to having been clubbed over the head. For a fraction of a second they looked at each other, then Ron gave a tiny jerk of the head that Harry
understood to mean, “Well—if you must.”
The creature in his chest roaring in triumph, he grinned down at Ginny and gestured wordlessly out of the portrait hole. A long walk in the grounds seemed indicated,
during which—if they had time—they might discuss the match.
“Are you telling me,” said Hermione,
“Are you telling me,” said Hermione, “that you're going to go back—?”
“And get the book? Yeah, I am,” said Harry forcefully. “Listen, without the Prince I'd never have won the Felix Felicis. I'd never have known how to save Ron from
poisoning, I'd never have —”
“— got a reputation for Potions brilliance you don't deserve,” said Hermione nastily.
“Give it a rest, Hermione!” said Ginny, and Harry was so amazed, so grateful, he looked up. “By the sound of it, Malfoy was trying to use an Unforgivable Curse, you
should be glad Harry had something good up his sleeve!”
“Well, of course I'm glad Harry wasn't cursed!” said Hermione, clearly stung. “But you can't call that Sectumsempra spell good, Ginny, look where it's landed him!
And I'd have thought, seeing what this has done to your chances in the match —”
“Oh, don't start acting as though you understand Quidditch,” snapped Ginny, “you'll only embarrass yourself.”
Harry and Ron stared: Hermione and Ginny, who had always got on together very well, were now sitting with their arms folded, glaring in opposite directions. Ron looked
nervously at Harry, then snatched up a book at random and hid behind it. Harry, however, little though he knew he deserved it, felt unbelievably cheerful all of a
sudden, even though none of them spoke again for the rest of the evening.
His lightheartedness was short-lived. There were Slytherin taunts to be endured next day, not to mention much anger from fellow Gryffindors, who were most unhappy that
their Captain had got himself banned from the final match of the season. By Saturday morning, whatever he might have told Hermione, Harry would have gladly exchanged
all the Felix Felicis in the world to be walking down to the Quidditch pitch with Ron, Ginny, and the others. It was almost unbearable to turn away from the mass of
students streaming out into the sunshine, all of them wearing rosettes and hats and brandishing banners and scarves, to descend the stone steps into the dungeons and
walk until the distant sounds of the crowd were quite obliterated, knowing that he would not be able to hear a word of commentary or a cheer or groan.
“Ah, Potter,” said Snape, when Harry had knocked on his door and entered the unpleasantly familiar office that Snape, despite teaching floors above now, had not
vacated; it was as dimly lit as ever and the same slimy dead objects were suspended in colored potions all around the walls. Ominously, there were many cob-webbed boxes
piled on a table where Harry was clearly supposed to sit; they had an aura of tedious, hard, and pointless work about them.
“Mr. Filch has been looking for someone to clear out these old files,” said Snape softly. “They are the records of other Hogwarts wrongdoers and their punishments.
Where the ink has grown faint, or the cards have suffered damage from mice, we would like you to copy out the crimes and punishments afresh and, making sure that they
are in alphabetical order, replace them in the boxes. You will not use magic.”
“Right, Professor,” said Harry, with as much contempt as he could put into the last three syllables.
“I thought you could start,” said Snape, a malicious smile on his lips, “with boxes one thousand and twelve to one thousand and fifty-six. You will find some
familiar names in there, which should add interest to the task. Here, you see...”
He pulled out a card from one of the topmost boxes with a flourish and read, “James Potter and Sirius Black. Apprehended using an illegal hex upon Bertram Aubrey.
Aubrey's head twice normal size. Double detention.” Snape sneered. “It must be such a comforting thing that, though they are gone, a record of their great
achievements remains...”
Harry felt the familiar boiling sensation in the pit of his stomach. Biting his tongue to prevent himself retaliating, he sat down in front of the boxes and pulled one
toward him.
“And get the book? Yeah, I am,” said Harry forcefully. “Listen, without the Prince I'd never have won the Felix Felicis. I'd never have known how to save Ron from
poisoning, I'd never have —”
“— got a reputation for Potions brilliance you don't deserve,” said Hermione nastily.
“Give it a rest, Hermione!” said Ginny, and Harry was so amazed, so grateful, he looked up. “By the sound of it, Malfoy was trying to use an Unforgivable Curse, you
should be glad Harry had something good up his sleeve!”
“Well, of course I'm glad Harry wasn't cursed!” said Hermione, clearly stung. “But you can't call that Sectumsempra spell good, Ginny, look where it's landed him!
And I'd have thought, seeing what this has done to your chances in the match —”
“Oh, don't start acting as though you understand Quidditch,” snapped Ginny, “you'll only embarrass yourself.”
Harry and Ron stared: Hermione and Ginny, who had always got on together very well, were now sitting with their arms folded, glaring in opposite directions. Ron looked
nervously at Harry, then snatched up a book at random and hid behind it. Harry, however, little though he knew he deserved it, felt unbelievably cheerful all of a
sudden, even though none of them spoke again for the rest of the evening.
His lightheartedness was short-lived. There were Slytherin taunts to be endured next day, not to mention much anger from fellow Gryffindors, who were most unhappy that
their Captain had got himself banned from the final match of the season. By Saturday morning, whatever he might have told Hermione, Harry would have gladly exchanged
all the Felix Felicis in the world to be walking down to the Quidditch pitch with Ron, Ginny, and the others. It was almost unbearable to turn away from the mass of
students streaming out into the sunshine, all of them wearing rosettes and hats and brandishing banners and scarves, to descend the stone steps into the dungeons and
walk until the distant sounds of the crowd were quite obliterated, knowing that he would not be able to hear a word of commentary or a cheer or groan.
“Ah, Potter,” said Snape, when Harry had knocked on his door and entered the unpleasantly familiar office that Snape, despite teaching floors above now, had not
vacated; it was as dimly lit as ever and the same slimy dead objects were suspended in colored potions all around the walls. Ominously, there were many cob-webbed boxes
piled on a table where Harry was clearly supposed to sit; they had an aura of tedious, hard, and pointless work about them.
“Mr. Filch has been looking for someone to clear out these old files,” said Snape softly. “They are the records of other Hogwarts wrongdoers and their punishments.
Where the ink has grown faint, or the cards have suffered damage from mice, we would like you to copy out the crimes and punishments afresh and, making sure that they
are in alphabetical order, replace them in the boxes. You will not use magic.”
“Right, Professor,” said Harry, with as much contempt as he could put into the last three syllables.
“I thought you could start,” said Snape, a malicious smile on his lips, “with boxes one thousand and twelve to one thousand and fifty-six. You will find some
familiar names in there, which should add interest to the task. Here, you see...”
He pulled out a card from one of the topmost boxes with a flourish and read, “James Potter and Sirius Black. Apprehended using an illegal hex upon Bertram Aubrey.
Aubrey's head twice normal size. Double detention.” Snape sneered. “It must be such a comforting thing that, though they are gone, a record of their great
achievements remains...”
Harry felt the familiar boiling sensation in the pit of his stomach. Biting his tongue to prevent himself retaliating, he sat down in front of the boxes and pulled one
toward him.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
“In the air, everyone, let's go...”
Overall it was one of the worst practices they had had all term, though Harry did not feel that honesty was the best policy when they were this close to the match.
“Good work, everyone, I think we'll flatten Slytherin,” he said bracingly, and the Chasers and Beaters left the changing room looking reasonably happy with
themselves.
“I played like a sack of dragon dung,” said Ron in a hollow voice when the door had swung shut behind Ginny.
“No, you didn't,” said Harry firmly. “You're the best Keeper I tried out, Ron. Your only problem is nerves.”
He kept up a relentless flow of encouragement all the way back to the castle, and by the time they reached the second floor, Ron was looking marginally more cheerful.
When Harry pushed open the tapestry to take their usual shortcut up to Gryffindor Tower, however, they found themselves looking at Dean and Ginny, who were locked in a
close embrace and kissing fiercely as though glued together.
It was as though something large and scaly erupted into life in Harry's stomach, clawing at his insides: hot blood seemed to flood his brain, so that all thought was
extinguished, replaced by a savage urge to jinx Dean into a jelly. Wrestling with this sudden madness, he heard Ron's voice as though from a great distance away.
“Oi!”
Dean and Ginny broke apart and looked around.
“What?” said Ginny.
“I don't want to find my own sister snogging people in public!”
“This was a deserted corridor till you came butting in!” said Ginny.
Dean was looking embarrassed. He gave Harry a shifty grin that Harry did not return, as the newborn monster inside him was roaring for Dean's instant dismissal from the
team.
“Er... c'mon, Ginny,” said Dean, “let's go back to the common room...”
“You go!” said Ginny. “I want a word with my dear brother!”
Dean left, looking as though he was not sorry to depart the scene.
“Right,” said Ginny, tossing her long red hair out of her face and glaring at Ron, “let's get this straight once and for all. It is none of your business who I go
out with or what I do with them, Ron—”
“Yeah, it is!” said Ron, just as angrily. “D’ you think I want people saying my sister's a —”
“A what?” shouted Ginny, drawing her wand. “A what, exactly?”
“He doesn't mean anything, Ginny —” said Harry automatically, though the monster was roaring its approval of Ron's words.
“Oh yes he does!” she said, flaring up at Harry. “Just because he's never snogged anyone in his life, just because the best kiss he's ever had is from our Auntie
Muriel —”
“Shut your mouth!” bellowed Ron, bypassing red and turning maroon.
“No, I will not!” yelled Ginny, beside herself. “I've seen you with Phlegm, hoping she'll kiss you on the cheek every time you see her, it's pathetic! If you went
out and got a bit of snogging done yourself, you wouldn't mind so much that everyone else does it!”
Ron had pulled out his wand too; Harry stepped swiftly between them.
“Good work, everyone, I think we'll flatten Slytherin,” he said bracingly, and the Chasers and Beaters left the changing room looking reasonably happy with
themselves.
“I played like a sack of dragon dung,” said Ron in a hollow voice when the door had swung shut behind Ginny.
“No, you didn't,” said Harry firmly. “You're the best Keeper I tried out, Ron. Your only problem is nerves.”
He kept up a relentless flow of encouragement all the way back to the castle, and by the time they reached the second floor, Ron was looking marginally more cheerful.
When Harry pushed open the tapestry to take their usual shortcut up to Gryffindor Tower, however, they found themselves looking at Dean and Ginny, who were locked in a
close embrace and kissing fiercely as though glued together.
It was as though something large and scaly erupted into life in Harry's stomach, clawing at his insides: hot blood seemed to flood his brain, so that all thought was
extinguished, replaced by a savage urge to jinx Dean into a jelly. Wrestling with this sudden madness, he heard Ron's voice as though from a great distance away.
“Oi!”
Dean and Ginny broke apart and looked around.
“What?” said Ginny.
“I don't want to find my own sister snogging people in public!”
“This was a deserted corridor till you came butting in!” said Ginny.
Dean was looking embarrassed. He gave Harry a shifty grin that Harry did not return, as the newborn monster inside him was roaring for Dean's instant dismissal from the
team.
“Er... c'mon, Ginny,” said Dean, “let's go back to the common room...”
“You go!” said Ginny. “I want a word with my dear brother!”
Dean left, looking as though he was not sorry to depart the scene.
“Right,” said Ginny, tossing her long red hair out of her face and glaring at Ron, “let's get this straight once and for all. It is none of your business who I go
out with or what I do with them, Ron—”
“Yeah, it is!” said Ron, just as angrily. “D’ you think I want people saying my sister's a —”
“A what?” shouted Ginny, drawing her wand. “A what, exactly?”
“He doesn't mean anything, Ginny —” said Harry automatically, though the monster was roaring its approval of Ron's words.
“Oh yes he does!” she said, flaring up at Harry. “Just because he's never snogged anyone in his life, just because the best kiss he's ever had is from our Auntie
Muriel —”
“Shut your mouth!” bellowed Ron, bypassing red and turning maroon.
“No, I will not!” yelled Ginny, beside herself. “I've seen you with Phlegm, hoping she'll kiss you on the cheek every time you see her, it's pathetic! If you went
out and got a bit of snogging done yourself, you wouldn't mind so much that everyone else does it!”
Ron had pulled out his wand too; Harry stepped swiftly between them.
Katie Bell was still in St.
Katie Bell was still in St. Mungo's Hospital with no prospect of leaving, which meant that the promising Gryffindor team Harry had been training so carefully since
September was one Chaser short. He kept putting off replacing Katie in the hope that she would return, but their opening match against Slytherin was looming, and he
finally had to accept that she would not be back in time to play.
Harry did not think he could stand another full-House tryout. With a sinking feeling that had little to do with Quidditch, he cornered Dean Thomas after Transfiguration
one day. Most of the class had already left, although several twittering yellow birds were still zooming around the room, all of Hermione's creation; nobody else had
succeeded in conjuring so much as a feather from thin air.
“Are you still interested in playing Chaser?”
“Why... yeah, of course!” said Dean excitedly. Over Dean's shoulder, Harry saw Seamus Finnegan slamming his books into his bag, looking sour. One of the reasons why
Harry would have preferred not to have to ask Dean to play was that he knew Seamus would not like it. On the other hand, he had to do what was best for the team, and
Dean had outflown Seamus at the tryouts.
“Well then, you're in,” said Harry. “There's a practice tonight, seven o'clock.”
“Right,” said Dean. “Cheers, Harry! Blimey, I can't wait to tell Ginny!”
He sprinted out of the room, leaving Harry and Seamus alone together, an uncomfortable moment made no easier when a bird dropping landed on Seamus's head as one of
Hermione's canaries whizzed over them.
Seamus was not the only person disgruntled by the choice of Katie's substitute. There was much muttering in the common room about the fact that Harry had now chosen two
of his classmates for the team. As Harry had endured much worse mutterings than this in his school career, he was not particularly bothered, but all the same, the
pressure was increasing to provide a win in the upcoming match against Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, Harry knew that the whole House would forget that they had
criticized him and swear that they had always known it was a great team. If they lost... well, Harry thought wryly, he had still endured worse mutterings...
Harry had no reason to regret his choice once he saw Dean fly that evening; he worked well with Ginny and Demelza. The Beaters, Peakes and Coote, were getting better
all the time. The only problem was Ron.
Harry had known all along that Ron was an inconsistent player who suffered from nerves and a lack of confidence, and unfortunately, the looming prospect of the opening
game of the season seemed to have brought out all his old insecurities. After letting in half a dozen goals, most of them scored by Ginny, his technique became wilder
and wilder, until he finally punched an oncoming Demelza Robins in the mouth.
“It was an accident, I'm sorry, Demelza, really sorry!” Ron shouted after her as she zigzagged back to the ground, dripping blood everywhere. “I just —”
“Panicked,” Ginny said angrily, landing next to Demelza and examining her fat lip. “You prat, Ron, look at the state of her!”
“I can fix that,” said Harry, landing beside the two girls, pointing his wand at Demelzas mouth, and saying “Episkey.” “And Ginny, don't call Ron a prat, you're
not the Captain of this team—”
“Well, you seemed too busy to call him a prat and I thought someone should—”
Harry forced himself not to laugh.
September was one Chaser short. He kept putting off replacing Katie in the hope that she would return, but their opening match against Slytherin was looming, and he
finally had to accept that she would not be back in time to play.
Harry did not think he could stand another full-House tryout. With a sinking feeling that had little to do with Quidditch, he cornered Dean Thomas after Transfiguration
one day. Most of the class had already left, although several twittering yellow birds were still zooming around the room, all of Hermione's creation; nobody else had
succeeded in conjuring so much as a feather from thin air.
“Are you still interested in playing Chaser?”
“Why... yeah, of course!” said Dean excitedly. Over Dean's shoulder, Harry saw Seamus Finnegan slamming his books into his bag, looking sour. One of the reasons why
Harry would have preferred not to have to ask Dean to play was that he knew Seamus would not like it. On the other hand, he had to do what was best for the team, and
Dean had outflown Seamus at the tryouts.
“Well then, you're in,” said Harry. “There's a practice tonight, seven o'clock.”
“Right,” said Dean. “Cheers, Harry! Blimey, I can't wait to tell Ginny!”
He sprinted out of the room, leaving Harry and Seamus alone together, an uncomfortable moment made no easier when a bird dropping landed on Seamus's head as one of
Hermione's canaries whizzed over them.
Seamus was not the only person disgruntled by the choice of Katie's substitute. There was much muttering in the common room about the fact that Harry had now chosen two
of his classmates for the team. As Harry had endured much worse mutterings than this in his school career, he was not particularly bothered, but all the same, the
pressure was increasing to provide a win in the upcoming match against Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, Harry knew that the whole House would forget that they had
criticized him and swear that they had always known it was a great team. If they lost... well, Harry thought wryly, he had still endured worse mutterings...
Harry had no reason to regret his choice once he saw Dean fly that evening; he worked well with Ginny and Demelza. The Beaters, Peakes and Coote, were getting better
all the time. The only problem was Ron.
Harry had known all along that Ron was an inconsistent player who suffered from nerves and a lack of confidence, and unfortunately, the looming prospect of the opening
game of the season seemed to have brought out all his old insecurities. After letting in half a dozen goals, most of them scored by Ginny, his technique became wilder
and wilder, until he finally punched an oncoming Demelza Robins in the mouth.
“It was an accident, I'm sorry, Demelza, really sorry!” Ron shouted after her as she zigzagged back to the ground, dripping blood everywhere. “I just —”
“Panicked,” Ginny said angrily, landing next to Demelza and examining her fat lip. “You prat, Ron, look at the state of her!”
“I can fix that,” said Harry, landing beside the two girls, pointing his wand at Demelzas mouth, and saying “Episkey.” “And Ginny, don't call Ron a prat, you're
not the Captain of this team—”
“Well, you seemed too busy to call him a prat and I thought someone should—”
Harry forced himself not to laugh.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
She had knocked on the door before Bella
She had knocked on the door before Bella, cursing under her breath, had caught up. Together they stood waiting, panting slightly, breathing in the smell of the dirty river that was carried to them on the night breeze. After a few seconds, they heard movement behind the door and it opened a crack. A sliver of a man could be seen looking out at them, a man with long black hair parted in curtains around a sallow face and black eyes.
Narcissa threw back her hood. She was so pale that she seemed to shine in the darkness; the long blonde hair streaming down her back gave her the look of a drowned person.
“Narcissa!” said the man, opening the door a little wider, so that the light fell upon her and her sister too. “What a pleasant surprise!”
“Severus,” she said in a strained whisper. “May I speak to you? It's urgent.”
“But of course.”
He stood back to allow her to pass him into the house. Her still-hooded sister followed without invitation.
“Snape,” she said curtly as she passed him.
“Bellatrix,” he replied, his thin mouth curling into a slightly mocking smile as he closed the door with a snap behind them.
They had stepped directly into a tiny sitting room, which had the feeling of a dark, padded cell. The walls were completely covered in books, most of them bound in old black or brown leather; a threadbare sofa, an old armchair, and a rickety table stood grouped together in a pool of dim light cast by a candle-filled lamp hung from the ceiling. The place had an air of neglect, as though it was not usually inhabited.
Snape gestured Narcissa to the sofa. She threw off her cloak, cast it aside, and sat down, staring at her white and trembling hands clasped in her lap. Bellatrix lowered her hood more slowly. Dark as her sister was fair, with heavily lidded eyes and a strong jaw, she did not take her gaze from Snape as she moved to stand behind Narcissa.
“So, what can I do for you?” Snape asked, settling himself in the armchair opposite the two sisters.
“We... we are alone, aren't we?” Narcissa asked quietly.
“Yes, of course. Well, Wormtail's here, but we're not counting vermin, are we?”
He pointed his wand at the wall of books behind him and with a bang, a hidden door flew open, revealing a narrow staircase upon which a small man stood frozen.
“As you have clearly realized, Wormtail, we have guests,” said Snape lazily.
The man crept, hunchbacked, down the last few steps and moved into the room. He had small, watery eyes, a pointed nose, and wore an unpleasant simper. His left hand was caressing his right, which looked as though it was encased in a bright silver glove.
“Narcissa!” he said, in a squeaky voice. “And Bellatrix! How charming—”
“Wormtail will get us drinks, if you'd like them,” said Snape. “And then he will return to his bedroom.”
Wormtail winced as though Snape had thrown something at him.
“I am not your servant!” he squeaked, avoiding Snape's eye.
“Really? I was under the impression that the Dark Lord placed you here to assist me.”
“To assist, yes—but not to make you drinks and—and clean your house!”
“I had no idea, Wormtail, that you were craving more dangerous assignments,” said Snape silkily. “This can be easily arranged: I shall speak to the Dark Lord—”
“I can speak to him myself if I want to!”
“Of course you can,” said Snape, sneering. “But in the meantime, bring us drinks. Some of the elf-made wine will do.”
Wormtail hesitated for a moment, looking as though he might argue, but then turned and headed through a second hidden door. They heard banging and a clinking of glasses. Within seconds he was back, bearing a dusty bottle and three glasses upon a tray. He dropped these on the rickety table and scurried from their presence, slamming the book-covered door behind him.
Snape poured out three glasses of blood-red wine and handed two of them to the sisters. Narcissa murmured a word of thanks, whilst Bellatrix said nothing, but continued to glower at Snape. This did not seem to discompose him; on the contrary, he looked rather amused.
“The Dark Lord,” he said, raising his glass and draining it.
The sisters copied him. Snape refilled their glasses.
As Narcissa took her second drink she said in a rush, “Severus, I'm sorry to come here like this, but I had to see you. I think you are the only one who can help me—”
Snape held up a hand to stop her, then pointed his wand again at the concealed staircase door. There was a loud bang and a squeal, followed by the sound of Wormtail scurrying back up the stairs.
“My apologies,” said Snape. “He has lately taken to listening at doors, I don't know what he means by it... you were saying, Narcissa?”
She took a great, shuddering breath and started again.
“Severus, I know I ought not to be here, I have been told to say nothing to anyone, but—”
“Then you ought to hold your tongue!” snarled Bellatrix. “Particularly in present company!”
“‘Present company’?” repeated Snape sardonically. “And what am I to understand by that, Bellatrix?”
“That I don't trust you, Snape, as you very well know!”
Narcissa let out a noise that might have been a dry sob and covered her face with her hands. Snape set his glass down upon the table and sat back again, his hands upon the arms of his chair, smiling into Bellatrix's glowering face.
“Narcissa, I think we ought to hear what Bellatrix is bursting to say; it will save tedious interruptions. Well, continue, Bellatrix,” said Snape. “Why is it that you do not trust me?”
“A hundred reasons!” she said loudly, striding out from behind the sofa to slam her glass upon the table. “Where to start! Where were you when the Dark Lord fell? Why did you never make any attempt to find him when he vanished? What have you been doing all these years that you've lived in Dumbledore's pocket? Why did you stop the Dark Lord procuring the Sorcerer's Stone? Why did you not return at once when the Dark Lord was reborn? Where were you a few weeks ago when we battled to retrieve the prophecy for the Dark Lord? And why, Snape, is Harry Potter still alive, when you have had him at your mercy for five years?”
She paused, her chest rising and falling rapidly, the color high in her cheeks. Behind her, Narcissa sat motionless, her face still hidden in her hands.
Snape smiled.
“Before I answer you—oh yes, Bellatrix, I am going to answer! You can carry my words back to the others who whisper behind my back, and carry false tales of my treachery to the Dark Lord! Before I answer you, I say, let me ask a question in turn. Do you really think that the Dark Lord has not asked me each and every one of those questions? And do you really think that, had I not been able to give satisfactory answers, I would be sitting here talking to you?”
She hesitated.
“I know he believes you, but...”
“You think he is mistaken? Or that I have somehow hoodwinked him? Fooled the Dark Lord, the greatest wizard, the most accomplished Legilimens the world has ever seen?”
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Narcissa threw back her hood. She was so pale that she seemed to shine in the darkness; the long blonde hair streaming down her back gave her the look of a drowned person.
“Narcissa!” said the man, opening the door a little wider, so that the light fell upon her and her sister too. “What a pleasant surprise!”
“Severus,” she said in a strained whisper. “May I speak to you? It's urgent.”
“But of course.”
He stood back to allow her to pass him into the house. Her still-hooded sister followed without invitation.
“Snape,” she said curtly as she passed him.
“Bellatrix,” he replied, his thin mouth curling into a slightly mocking smile as he closed the door with a snap behind them.
They had stepped directly into a tiny sitting room, which had the feeling of a dark, padded cell. The walls were completely covered in books, most of them bound in old black or brown leather; a threadbare sofa, an old armchair, and a rickety table stood grouped together in a pool of dim light cast by a candle-filled lamp hung from the ceiling. The place had an air of neglect, as though it was not usually inhabited.
Snape gestured Narcissa to the sofa. She threw off her cloak, cast it aside, and sat down, staring at her white and trembling hands clasped in her lap. Bellatrix lowered her hood more slowly. Dark as her sister was fair, with heavily lidded eyes and a strong jaw, she did not take her gaze from Snape as she moved to stand behind Narcissa.
“So, what can I do for you?” Snape asked, settling himself in the armchair opposite the two sisters.
“We... we are alone, aren't we?” Narcissa asked quietly.
“Yes, of course. Well, Wormtail's here, but we're not counting vermin, are we?”
He pointed his wand at the wall of books behind him and with a bang, a hidden door flew open, revealing a narrow staircase upon which a small man stood frozen.
“As you have clearly realized, Wormtail, we have guests,” said Snape lazily.
The man crept, hunchbacked, down the last few steps and moved into the room. He had small, watery eyes, a pointed nose, and wore an unpleasant simper. His left hand was caressing his right, which looked as though it was encased in a bright silver glove.
“Narcissa!” he said, in a squeaky voice. “And Bellatrix! How charming—”
“Wormtail will get us drinks, if you'd like them,” said Snape. “And then he will return to his bedroom.”
Wormtail winced as though Snape had thrown something at him.
“I am not your servant!” he squeaked, avoiding Snape's eye.
“Really? I was under the impression that the Dark Lord placed you here to assist me.”
“To assist, yes—but not to make you drinks and—and clean your house!”
“I had no idea, Wormtail, that you were craving more dangerous assignments,” said Snape silkily. “This can be easily arranged: I shall speak to the Dark Lord—”
“I can speak to him myself if I want to!”
“Of course you can,” said Snape, sneering. “But in the meantime, bring us drinks. Some of the elf-made wine will do.”
Wormtail hesitated for a moment, looking as though he might argue, but then turned and headed through a second hidden door. They heard banging and a clinking of glasses. Within seconds he was back, bearing a dusty bottle and three glasses upon a tray. He dropped these on the rickety table and scurried from their presence, slamming the book-covered door behind him.
Snape poured out three glasses of blood-red wine and handed two of them to the sisters. Narcissa murmured a word of thanks, whilst Bellatrix said nothing, but continued to glower at Snape. This did not seem to discompose him; on the contrary, he looked rather amused.
“The Dark Lord,” he said, raising his glass and draining it.
The sisters copied him. Snape refilled their glasses.
As Narcissa took her second drink she said in a rush, “Severus, I'm sorry to come here like this, but I had to see you. I think you are the only one who can help me—”
Snape held up a hand to stop her, then pointed his wand again at the concealed staircase door. There was a loud bang and a squeal, followed by the sound of Wormtail scurrying back up the stairs.
“My apologies,” said Snape. “He has lately taken to listening at doors, I don't know what he means by it... you were saying, Narcissa?”
She took a great, shuddering breath and started again.
“Severus, I know I ought not to be here, I have been told to say nothing to anyone, but—”
“Then you ought to hold your tongue!” snarled Bellatrix. “Particularly in present company!”
“‘Present company’?” repeated Snape sardonically. “And what am I to understand by that, Bellatrix?”
“That I don't trust you, Snape, as you very well know!”
Narcissa let out a noise that might have been a dry sob and covered her face with her hands. Snape set his glass down upon the table and sat back again, his hands upon the arms of his chair, smiling into Bellatrix's glowering face.
“Narcissa, I think we ought to hear what Bellatrix is bursting to say; it will save tedious interruptions. Well, continue, Bellatrix,” said Snape. “Why is it that you do not trust me?”
“A hundred reasons!” she said loudly, striding out from behind the sofa to slam her glass upon the table. “Where to start! Where were you when the Dark Lord fell? Why did you never make any attempt to find him when he vanished? What have you been doing all these years that you've lived in Dumbledore's pocket? Why did you stop the Dark Lord procuring the Sorcerer's Stone? Why did you not return at once when the Dark Lord was reborn? Where were you a few weeks ago when we battled to retrieve the prophecy for the Dark Lord? And why, Snape, is Harry Potter still alive, when you have had him at your mercy for five years?”
She paused, her chest rising and falling rapidly, the color high in her cheeks. Behind her, Narcissa sat motionless, her face still hidden in her hands.
Snape smiled.
“Before I answer you—oh yes, Bellatrix, I am going to answer! You can carry my words back to the others who whisper behind my back, and carry false tales of my treachery to the Dark Lord! Before I answer you, I say, let me ask a question in turn. Do you really think that the Dark Lord has not asked me each and every one of those questions? And do you really think that, had I not been able to give satisfactory answers, I would be sitting here talking to you?”
She hesitated.
“I know he believes you, but...”
“You think he is mistaken? Or that I have somehow hoodwinked him? Fooled the Dark Lord, the greatest wizard, the most accomplished Legilimens the world has ever seen?”
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Monday, November 22, 2010
Not one word did Stepan Arkadyevitch
Not one word did Stepan Arkadyevitch say in reference to Kitty and the Shtcherbatskys; he merely gave him greetings from his wife. Levin was grateful to him for his delicacy and was very glad of his visitor. As always happened with him during his solitude, a mass of ideas and feelings had been accumulating within him, which he could not communicate to those about him. And now he poured out upon Stepan Arkadyevitch his poetic joy in the spring, and his failures and plans for the land, and his thoughts and criticisms on the books he had been reading, and the idea of his own book, the basis of which really was, though he was unaware of it himself, a criticism of all the old books on agriculture. Stepan Arkadyevitch, always charming, understanding everything at the slightest reference, was particularly charming on this visit, and Levin noticed in him a special tenderness, as it were, and a new tone of respect that flattered him.
The efforts of Agafea Mihalovna and the cook, that the dinner should be particularly good, only ended in two famished friends attacking the preliminary course, eating a great deal of bread and butter, salt goose and salted mushrooms, and in Levin's finally ordering the soup to be served without the accompaniment of little pies, with which the cook had particularly meant to impress their visitor. But though Stepan Arkadyevitch was accustomed to very different dinners, he thought everything excellent: the herb brandy, and the bread, and the butter, and above all the salt goose and the mushrooms, and the nettle soup, and the chicken in white sauce, and the white Crimean wine-- everything was superb and delicious.
"Splendid, splendid!" he said, lighting a fat cigar after the roast. "I feel as if, coming to you, I had landed on a peaceful shore after the noise and jolting of a steamer. And so you maintain that the laborer himself is an element to be studied and to regulate the choice of methods in agriculture. Of course, I'm an ignorant outsider; but I should fancy theory and its application will have its influence on the laborer too."
"Yes, but wait a bit. I'm not talking of political economy, I'm talking of the science of agriculture. It ought to be like the natural sciences, and to observe given phenomena and the laborer in his economic, ethnographical..."
At that instant Agafea Mihalovna came in with jam.
"Oh, Agafea Mihalovna," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, kissing the tips of his plump fingers, "what salt goose, what herb brandy!...What do yo think, isn't it time to start, Kostya?" he added.
Levin looked out of the window at the sun sinking behind the bare tree-tops of the forest.
"Yes, it's time," he said. "Kouzma, get ready the trap," and he ran downstairs.
Stepan Arkadyevitch, going down, carefully took the canvas cover off his varnished gun case with his own hands, and opening it, began to get ready his expensive new-fashioned gun. Kouzma, who already scented a big tip, never left Stepan Arkadyevitch's side, and put on him both his stockings and boots, a task which Stepan Arkadyevitch readily left him.
"Kostya, give orders that if the merchant Ryabinin comes...I told him to come today, he's to be brought in and to wait for me..."
"Why, do you mean to say you're selling the forest to Ryabinin?"
"Yes. Do you know him?"
"To be sure I do. I have had to do business with him, 'positively and conclusively.'"
Stepan Arkadyevitch laughed. "Positively and conclusively" were the merchant's favorite words.
"Yes, it's wonderfully funny the way he talks. She knows where her master's going!" he added, patting Laska, who hung about Levin, whining and licking his hands, his boots, and his gun.
The trap was already at the steps when they went out.
The efforts of Agafea Mihalovna and the cook, that the dinner should be particularly good, only ended in two famished friends attacking the preliminary course, eating a great deal of bread and butter, salt goose and salted mushrooms, and in Levin's finally ordering the soup to be served without the accompaniment of little pies, with which the cook had particularly meant to impress their visitor. But though Stepan Arkadyevitch was accustomed to very different dinners, he thought everything excellent: the herb brandy, and the bread, and the butter, and above all the salt goose and the mushrooms, and the nettle soup, and the chicken in white sauce, and the white Crimean wine-- everything was superb and delicious.
"Splendid, splendid!" he said, lighting a fat cigar after the roast. "I feel as if, coming to you, I had landed on a peaceful shore after the noise and jolting of a steamer. And so you maintain that the laborer himself is an element to be studied and to regulate the choice of methods in agriculture. Of course, I'm an ignorant outsider; but I should fancy theory and its application will have its influence on the laborer too."
"Yes, but wait a bit. I'm not talking of political economy, I'm talking of the science of agriculture. It ought to be like the natural sciences, and to observe given phenomena and the laborer in his economic, ethnographical..."
At that instant Agafea Mihalovna came in with jam.
"Oh, Agafea Mihalovna," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, kissing the tips of his plump fingers, "what salt goose, what herb brandy!...What do yo think, isn't it time to start, Kostya?" he added.
Levin looked out of the window at the sun sinking behind the bare tree-tops of the forest.
"Yes, it's time," he said. "Kouzma, get ready the trap," and he ran downstairs.
Stepan Arkadyevitch, going down, carefully took the canvas cover off his varnished gun case with his own hands, and opening it, began to get ready his expensive new-fashioned gun. Kouzma, who already scented a big tip, never left Stepan Arkadyevitch's side, and put on him both his stockings and boots, a task which Stepan Arkadyevitch readily left him.
"Kostya, give orders that if the merchant Ryabinin comes...I told him to come today, he's to be brought in and to wait for me..."
"Why, do you mean to say you're selling the forest to Ryabinin?"
"Yes. Do you know him?"
"To be sure I do. I have had to do business with him, 'positively and conclusively.'"
Stepan Arkadyevitch laughed. "Positively and conclusively" were the merchant's favorite words.
"Yes, it's wonderfully funny the way he talks. She knows where her master's going!" he added, patting Laska, who hung about Levin, whining and licking his hands, his boots, and his gun.
The trap was already at the steps when they went out.
Chapter 48
Chapter 48
As he rode up to the house in the happiest frame of mind, Levin heard the bell ring at the side of the principal entrance of the house. "Yes, that's someone from the railway station," he thought, "just the time to be here from the Moscow train...Who could it be? What if it's brother Nikolay? He did say: 'Maybe I'll go to the waters, or maybe I'll come down to you.'" He felt dismayed and vexed for the first minute, that his brother Nikolay's presence should come to disturb his happy mood of spring. But he felt ashamed of the feeling, and at once he opened, as it were, the arms of his soul, and with a softened feeling of joy and expectation, now he hoped with all his heart that it was his brother. He pricked up his horse, and riding out from behind the acacias he saw a hired three-horse sledge from the railway station, and a gentleman in a fur coat. It was not his brother. "Oh, if it were only some nice person one could talk to a little!" he thought.
"Ah," cried Levin joyfully, flinging up both his hands. "Here's a delightful visitor! Ah, how glad I am to see you!" he shouted, recognizing Stepan Arkadyevitch.
"In shall find out for certain whether she's married, or when she's going to be married," he thought. And on that delicious spring day he felt that the thought of her did not hurt him at all.
"Well, you didn't expect me, eh?" said Stepan Arkadyevitch, getting out of the sledge, splashed with mud on the bridge of his nose, on his cheek, and on his eyebrows, but radiant with health and good spirits. "I've come to see you in the first place," he said, embracing and kissing him, "to have some stand-shooting second, and to sell the forest at Ergushovo third."
"Delightful! What a spring we're having! How ever did you get along in a sledge?"
"In a cart it would have been worse still, Konstantin Dmitrievitch," answered the driver, who knew him.
"Well, I'm very, very glad to see you," said Levin, with a genuine smile of childlike delight.
Levin let his friend to the room set apart for visitors, where Stepan Arkadyevitch's things were carried also--a bag, a gun in a case, a satchel for cigars. Leaving him there to wash and change his clothes, Levin went off to the counting house to speak about the ploughing and clover. Agafea Mihalovna, always very anxious for the credit of the house, met him in the hall with inquiries about dinner.
"Do just as you like, only let it be as soon as possible," he said, and went to the bailiff.
When he came back, Stepan Arkadyevitch, washed and combed, came out of his room with a beaming smile, and they went upstairs together.
"Well, I am glad I managed to get away to you! Now I shall understand what the mysterious business is that you are always absorbed in here. No, really, I envy you. What a house, how nice it all is! So bright, so cheerful!" said Stepan Arkadyevitch, forgetting that it was not always spring and fine weather like that day. "And your nurse is simply charming! A pretty maid in an apron might be even more agreeable, perhaps; but for your severe monastic style it does very well."
Stepan Arkadyevitch told him many interesting pieces of news; especially interesting to Levin was the news that his brother, Sergey Ivanovitch, was intending to pay him a visit in the summer.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
"Now mind, you'll forget, I know you,
"Now mind, you'll forget, I know you, or rush off home to the country!" Stepan Arkadyevitch called out laughing.
"No, truly!"
And Levin went out of the room, only when he was in the doorway remembering that he had forgotten to take leave of Oblonsky's colleagues.
"That gentleman must be a man of great energy," said Grinevitch, when Levin had gone away.
"Yes, my dear boy," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, nodding his head, "he's a lucky fellow! Over six thousand acres in the Karazinsky district; everything before him; and what youth and vigor! Not like some of us."
"You have a great deal to complain of, haven't you, Stepan Arkadyevitch?"
"Ah, yes, I'm in a poor way, a bad way," said Stepan Arkadyevitch with a heavy sigh.
"No, truly!"
And Levin went out of the room, only when he was in the doorway remembering that he had forgotten to take leave of Oblonsky's colleagues.
"That gentleman must be a man of great energy," said Grinevitch, when Levin had gone away.
"Yes, my dear boy," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, nodding his head, "he's a lucky fellow! Over six thousand acres in the Karazinsky district; everything before him; and what youth and vigor! Not like some of us."
"You have a great deal to complain of, haven't you, Stepan Arkadyevitch?"
"Ah, yes, I'm in a poor way, a bad way," said Stepan Arkadyevitch with a heavy sigh.
"Well, it's this," said Levin; "but it's of no importance, though."
"Well, it's this," said Levin; "but it's of no importance, though."
His face all at once took an expression of anger from the effort he was making to surmount his shyness.
"What are the Shtcherbatskys doing? Everything as it used to be?" he said.
Stepan Arkadyevitch, who had long known that Levin was in love with his sister-in-law, Kitty, gave a hardly perceptible smile, and his eyes sparkled merrily.
"You said a few words, but I can't answer in a few words, because.... Excuse me a minute..."
A secretary came in, with respectful familiarity and the modest consciousness, characteristic of every secretary, of superiority to his chief in the knowledge of their business; he went up to Oblonsky with some papers, and began, under pretense of asking a question, to explain some objection. Stepan Arkadyevitch, without hearing him out, laid his hand genially on the secretary's sleeve.
"No, you do as I told you," he said, softening his words with a smile, and with a brief explanation of his view of the matter he turned away from the papers, and said: "So do it that way, if you please, Zahar Nikititch."
The secretary retired in confusion. During the consultation with the secretary Levin had completely recovered from his embarrassment. He was standing with his elbows on the back of a chair, and on his face was a look of ironical attention.
"I don't understand it, I don't understand it," he said.
"What don't you understand?" said Oblonsky, smiling as brightly as ever, and picking up a cigarette. He expected some queer outburst from Levin.
"I don't understand what you are doing," said Levin, shrugging his shoulders. "How can you do it seriously?"
"Why not?"
"Why, because there's nothing in it."
"You think so, but we're overwhelmed with work."
"On paper. But, there, you've a gift for it," added Levin.
"That's to say, you think there's a lack of something in me?"
"Perhaps so," said Levin. "But all the same I admire your grandeur, and am proud that I've a friend in such a great person. You've not answered my question, though," he went on, with a desperate effort looking Oblonsky straight in the face.
"Oh, that's all very well. You wait a bit, and you'll come to this yourself. It's very nice for you to have over six thousand acres in the Karazinsky district, and such muscles, and the freshness of a girl of twelve; still you'll be one of us one day. Yes, as to your question, there is no change, but it's a pity you've been away so long."
"Oh, why so?" Levin queried, panic-stricken.
"Oh, nothing," responded Oblonsky. "We'll talk it over. But what's brought you up to town?"
"Oh, we'll talk about that, too, later on," said Levin, reddening again up to his ears.
"All right. I see," said Stepan Arkadyevitch. "I should ask you to come to us, you know, but my wife's not quite the thing. But I tell you what; if you want to see them, they're sure now to be at the Zoological Gardens from four to five. Kitty skates. You drive along there, and I'll come and fetch you, and we'll go and dine somewhere together."
"Capital. So good-bye till then."
His face all at once took an expression of anger from the effort he was making to surmount his shyness.
"What are the Shtcherbatskys doing? Everything as it used to be?" he said.
Stepan Arkadyevitch, who had long known that Levin was in love with his sister-in-law, Kitty, gave a hardly perceptible smile, and his eyes sparkled merrily.
"You said a few words, but I can't answer in a few words, because.... Excuse me a minute..."
A secretary came in, with respectful familiarity and the modest consciousness, characteristic of every secretary, of superiority to his chief in the knowledge of their business; he went up to Oblonsky with some papers, and began, under pretense of asking a question, to explain some objection. Stepan Arkadyevitch, without hearing him out, laid his hand genially on the secretary's sleeve.
"No, you do as I told you," he said, softening his words with a smile, and with a brief explanation of his view of the matter he turned away from the papers, and said: "So do it that way, if you please, Zahar Nikititch."
The secretary retired in confusion. During the consultation with the secretary Levin had completely recovered from his embarrassment. He was standing with his elbows on the back of a chair, and on his face was a look of ironical attention.
"I don't understand it, I don't understand it," he said.
"What don't you understand?" said Oblonsky, smiling as brightly as ever, and picking up a cigarette. He expected some queer outburst from Levin.
"I don't understand what you are doing," said Levin, shrugging his shoulders. "How can you do it seriously?"
"Why not?"
"Why, because there's nothing in it."
"You think so, but we're overwhelmed with work."
"On paper. But, there, you've a gift for it," added Levin.
"That's to say, you think there's a lack of something in me?"
"Perhaps so," said Levin. "But all the same I admire your grandeur, and am proud that I've a friend in such a great person. You've not answered my question, though," he went on, with a desperate effort looking Oblonsky straight in the face.
"Oh, that's all very well. You wait a bit, and you'll come to this yourself. It's very nice for you to have over six thousand acres in the Karazinsky district, and such muscles, and the freshness of a girl of twelve; still you'll be one of us one day. Yes, as to your question, there is no change, but it's a pity you've been away so long."
"Oh, why so?" Levin queried, panic-stricken.
"Oh, nothing," responded Oblonsky. "We'll talk it over. But what's brought you up to town?"
"Oh, we'll talk about that, too, later on," said Levin, reddening again up to his ears.
"All right. I see," said Stepan Arkadyevitch. "I should ask you to come to us, you know, but my wife's not quite the thing. But I tell you what; if you want to see them, they're sure now to be at the Zoological Gardens from four to five. Kitty skates. You drive along there, and I'll come and fetch you, and we'll go and dine somewhere together."
"Capital. So good-bye till then."
"It's a long story. I will tell you some time,
"It's a long story. I will tell you some time," said Levin, but he began telling him at once. "Well, to put it shortly, I was convinced that nothing was really done by the district councils, or ever could be," he began, as though some one had just insulted him. "On one side it's a plaything; they play at being a parliament, and I'm neither young enough nor old enough to find amusement in playthings; and on the other side" (he stammered) "it's a means for the coterie of the district to make money. Formerly they had wardships, courts of justice, now they have the district council--not in the form of bribes, but in the form of unearned salary," he said, as hotly as though someone of those present had opposed his opinion.
"Aha! You're in a new phase again, I see--a conservative," said Stepan Arkadyevitch. "However, we can go into that later."
"Yes, later. But I wanted to see you," said Levin, looking with hatred at Grinevitch's hand.
Stepan Arkadyevitch gave a scarcely perceptible smile.
"How was it you used to say you would never wear European dress again?" he said, scanning his new suit, obviously cut by a French tailor. "Ah! I see: a new phase."
Levin suddenly blushed, not as grown men blush, slightly, without being themselves aware of it, but as boys blush, feeling that they are ridiculous through their shyness, and consequently ashamed of it and blushing still more, almost to the point of tears. And it was so strange to see this sensible, manly face in such a childish plight, that Oblonsky left off looking at him.
"Oh, where shall we meet? You know I want very much to talk to you," said Levin.
Oblonsky seemed to ponder.
"I'll tell you what: let's go to Gurin's to lunch, and there we can talk. I am free till three."
"No," answered Levin, after an instant's thought, "I have got to go on somewhere else."
"All right, then, let's dine together."
"Dine together? But I have nothing very particular, only a few words to say, and a question I want to ask you, and we can have a talk afterwards."
"Well, say the few words, then, at once, and we'll gossip after dinner."
"Aha! You're in a new phase again, I see--a conservative," said Stepan Arkadyevitch. "However, we can go into that later."
"Yes, later. But I wanted to see you," said Levin, looking with hatred at Grinevitch's hand.
Stepan Arkadyevitch gave a scarcely perceptible smile.
"How was it you used to say you would never wear European dress again?" he said, scanning his new suit, obviously cut by a French tailor. "Ah! I see: a new phase."
Levin suddenly blushed, not as grown men blush, slightly, without being themselves aware of it, but as boys blush, feeling that they are ridiculous through their shyness, and consequently ashamed of it and blushing still more, almost to the point of tears. And it was so strange to see this sensible, manly face in such a childish plight, that Oblonsky left off looking at him.
"Oh, where shall we meet? You know I want very much to talk to you," said Levin.
Oblonsky seemed to ponder.
"I'll tell you what: let's go to Gurin's to lunch, and there we can talk. I am free till three."
"No," answered Levin, after an instant's thought, "I have got to go on somewhere else."
"All right, then, let's dine together."
"Dine together? But I have nothing very particular, only a few words to say, and a question I want to ask you, and we can have a talk afterwards."
"Well, say the few words, then, at once, and we'll gossip after dinner."
Thursday, November 18, 2010
‘I knew if I jus’ got him back,’
‘I knew if I jus’ got him back,’ said Hagrid, sounding close to tears himself, ‘an'—an’ taught him a few manners—I'd be able ter take him outside an’ show ev'ryone he's harmless!’
‘Harmless!’ said Hermione shrilly, and Hagrid made frantic hushing noises with his hands as the enormous creature before them grunted loudly and shifted in its sleep. ‘He's been hurting you all this time, hasn't he? That's why you've had all these injuries!’
‘He don’ know his own strength!’ said Hagrid earnestly. ‘An’ he's gettin’ better, he's not fightin’ so much any more—’
‘So, this is why it took you two months to get home!’ said Hermione distractedly. ‘Oh, Hagrid, why did you bring him back if he didn't want to come? Wouldn't he have been happier with his own people?’
‘They were all bullyin’ him, Hermione, ‘cause he's so small!’ said Hagrid.
‘Small?’ said Hermione. ‘Small?’
‘Hermione, I couldn’ leave him,’ said Hagrid, tears now trickling down his bruised face into his beard. ‘See—he's my brother!’
Hermione simply stared at him, her mouth open.
‘Hagrid, when you say “brother",’ said Harry slowly, ‘do you mean—?’
‘Well— half-brother,’ amended Hagrid. ‘Turns out me mother took up with another giant when she left me dad, an’ she went an’ had Grawp here—’
‘Grawp?’ said Harry.
‘Yeah ... well, tha's what it sounds like when he says his name,’ said Hagrid anxiously. ‘He don’ speak a lot of English ... I've bin tryin’ ter teach him ... anyway, she don’ seem ter have liked him much more'n she liked me. See, with giantesses, what counts is producin’ good big kids, and he's always been a bit on the runty side fer a giant—on'y sixteen foot—’
‘Oh, yes, tiny!’ said Hermione, with a kind of hysterical sarcasm. ‘Absolutely minuscule!’
‘He was bein’ kicked aroun’ by all o’ them—I jus’ couldn’ leave him—’
‘Did Madame Maxime want to bring him back?’ asked Harry.
‘She—well, she could see it was right importan’ ter me,’ said Hagrid, twisting his enormous hands. ‘Bu'—bu’ she got a bit tired o’ him after a while, I must admit ... so we split up on the journey home ... she promised not ter tell anyone, though ...’
‘How on earth did you get him back without anyone noticing?’ said Harry.
‘Well, tha's why it took so long, see,’ said Hagrid. ‘Could on'y travel by nigh’ an’ through wild country an’ stuff. Course, he covers the ground pretty well when he wants ter, but he kep’ wantin’ ter go back.’
‘Oh, Hagrid, why on earth didn't you let him!’ said Hermione, flopping down on to a ripped up tree and burying her face in her hands. ‘What do you think you're going to do with a violent giant who doesn't even want to be here!’
‘Well, now— “violent"—tha's a bit harsh,’ said Hagrid, still twisting his hands agitatedly. ‘I'll admit he mighta taken a couple o’ swings at me when he's bin in a bad mood, but he's gettin’ better, loads better, settlin’ down well.’
‘What are those ropes for, then?’ Harry asked.
He had just noticed ropes thick as saplings stretching from around the trunks of the largest nearby trees towards the place where Grawp lay curled on the ground with his back to them.
‘You have to keep him tied up?’ said Hermione faintly.
‘Well ... yeah ...’ said Hagrid, looking anxious. ‘See—it's like I say—he doesn’ really know ‘is own strength.’
Harry understood now why there had been such a suspicious lack of any other living creature in this part of the Forest.
‘So, what is it you want Harry and Ron and me to do?’ Hermione asked apprehensively.
‘Look after him,’ said Hagrid croakily. ‘After I'm gone.’
‘Harmless!’ said Hermione shrilly, and Hagrid made frantic hushing noises with his hands as the enormous creature before them grunted loudly and shifted in its sleep. ‘He's been hurting you all this time, hasn't he? That's why you've had all these injuries!’
‘He don’ know his own strength!’ said Hagrid earnestly. ‘An’ he's gettin’ better, he's not fightin’ so much any more—’
‘So, this is why it took you two months to get home!’ said Hermione distractedly. ‘Oh, Hagrid, why did you bring him back if he didn't want to come? Wouldn't he have been happier with his own people?’
‘They were all bullyin’ him, Hermione, ‘cause he's so small!’ said Hagrid.
‘Small?’ said Hermione. ‘Small?’
‘Hermione, I couldn’ leave him,’ said Hagrid, tears now trickling down his bruised face into his beard. ‘See—he's my brother!’
Hermione simply stared at him, her mouth open.
‘Hagrid, when you say “brother",’ said Harry slowly, ‘do you mean—?’
‘Well— half-brother,’ amended Hagrid. ‘Turns out me mother took up with another giant when she left me dad, an’ she went an’ had Grawp here—’
‘Grawp?’ said Harry.
‘Yeah ... well, tha's what it sounds like when he says his name,’ said Hagrid anxiously. ‘He don’ speak a lot of English ... I've bin tryin’ ter teach him ... anyway, she don’ seem ter have liked him much more'n she liked me. See, with giantesses, what counts is producin’ good big kids, and he's always been a bit on the runty side fer a giant—on'y sixteen foot—’
‘Oh, yes, tiny!’ said Hermione, with a kind of hysterical sarcasm. ‘Absolutely minuscule!’
‘He was bein’ kicked aroun’ by all o’ them—I jus’ couldn’ leave him—’
‘Did Madame Maxime want to bring him back?’ asked Harry.
‘She—well, she could see it was right importan’ ter me,’ said Hagrid, twisting his enormous hands. ‘Bu'—bu’ she got a bit tired o’ him after a while, I must admit ... so we split up on the journey home ... she promised not ter tell anyone, though ...’
‘How on earth did you get him back without anyone noticing?’ said Harry.
‘Well, tha's why it took so long, see,’ said Hagrid. ‘Could on'y travel by nigh’ an’ through wild country an’ stuff. Course, he covers the ground pretty well when he wants ter, but he kep’ wantin’ ter go back.’
‘Oh, Hagrid, why on earth didn't you let him!’ said Hermione, flopping down on to a ripped up tree and burying her face in her hands. ‘What do you think you're going to do with a violent giant who doesn't even want to be here!’
‘Well, now— “violent"—tha's a bit harsh,’ said Hagrid, still twisting his hands agitatedly. ‘I'll admit he mighta taken a couple o’ swings at me when he's bin in a bad mood, but he's gettin’ better, loads better, settlin’ down well.’
‘What are those ropes for, then?’ Harry asked.
He had just noticed ropes thick as saplings stretching from around the trunks of the largest nearby trees towards the place where Grawp lay curled on the ground with his back to them.
‘You have to keep him tied up?’ said Hermione faintly.
‘Well ... yeah ...’ said Hagrid, looking anxious. ‘See—it's like I say—he doesn’ really know ‘is own strength.’
Harry understood now why there had been such a suspicious lack of any other living creature in this part of the Forest.
‘So, what is it you want Harry and Ron and me to do?’ Hermione asked apprehensively.
‘Look after him,’ said Hagrid croakily. ‘After I'm gone.’
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
‘Good likeness,’ said Fred, grinning.
‘Good likeness,’ said Fred, grinning. Harry threw his new homework diary at him; it hit the wall opposite and fell to the floor where it said happily: ‘If you've dotted the “i"s and crossed the “t"s then you may do whatever you
please!’
They got up and dressed. They could hear the various inhabitants of the house calling ‘Merry Christmas’ to one another. On their way downstairs they met Hermione.
Thanks for the book, Harry,’ she said happily. ‘I've been wanting that New Theory of Numerology for ages! And that perfume's really unusual, Ron.’
‘No problem,’ said Ron. ‘Who's that for, anyway?’ he added, nodding at the neatly wrapped present she was carrying.
‘Kreacher,’ said Hermione brightly.
‘It had better not be clothes!’ Ron warned her. ‘You know what Sirius said: Kreacher knows too much, we can't set him free!’
‘It isn't clothes,’ said Hermione, ‘although if I had my way I'd certainly give him something to wear other than that filthy old rag. No, it's a patchwork quilt, I thought it would brighten up his bedroom.’
‘What bedroom?’ said Harry, dropping his voice to a whisper as they were passing the portrait of Sirius's mother.
‘Well, Sirius says it's not so much a bedroom, more a kind of—den,’ said Hermione. ‘Apparently he sleeps under the boiler in that cupboard off the kitchen.’
Mrs. Weasley was the only person in the basement when they arrived there. She was standing at the stove and sounded as though she had a bad head cold as she wished them ‘Merry Christmas', and they all averted their
eyes.
‘So, is this Kreacher's bedroom?’ said Ron, strolling over to a dingy door in the corner opposite the pantry. Harry had never seen it open.
‘Yes,’ said Hermione, now sounding a little nervous. ‘Er ... I think we'd better knock.’
Ron rapped on the door with his knuckles but there was no reply.
‘He must be sneaking around upstairs,’ he said, and without further ado pulled open the door. ‘Urgh!’
Harry peered inside. Most of the cupboard was taken up with a very large and old-fashioned boiler, but in the foot of space underneath the pipes Kreacher had made himself something that looked like a nest. A jumble of
assorted rags and smelly old blankets were piled on the floor and the small dent in the middle of it showed where Kreacher curled up to sleep every night. Here and there among the material were stale bread crusts and
mouldy old bits of cheese. In a far corner glinted small objects and coins that Harry guessed Kreacher had saved, magpie-like, from Sirius's purge of the house, and he had also managed to retrieve the silver-framed family
photographs that Sirius had thrown away over the summer. Their glass might be shattered, but still the little black-and-white people inside them peered up at him haughtily, including—he felt a little jolt in his stomach—the
dark, heavy-lidded woman whose trial he had witnessed in Dumbledore's Pensieve: Bellatrix Lestrange. By the looks of it, hers was Kreacher's favourite photograph; he had placed it to the fore of all the others and had
mended the glass clumsily with Spellotape.
‘I think I'll just leave his present here,’ said Hermione, laying the package neatly in the middle of the depression in the rags and blankets and closing the door quietly. ‘He'll find it later, that'll be fine.’
‘Come to think of it,’ said Sirius, emerging from the pantry carrying a large turkey as they closed the cupboard door, ‘has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?’
‘I haven't seen him since the night we came back here,’ said Harry. ‘You were ordering him out of the kitchen.’
‘Yeah ...’ said Sirius, frowning. ‘You know, I think that's the last time I saw him, too ... he must be hiding upstairs somewhere.’
‘He couldn't have left, could he?’ said Harry. ‘I mean, when you said “out", maybe he thought you meant get out of the house?’
‘No, no, house-elves can't leave unless they're given clothes. They're tied to their family's house,’ said Sirius.
‘They can leave the house if they really want to,’ Harry contradicted him. ‘Dobby did, he left the Malfoy's’ to give me warnings two years ago. He had to punish himself afterwards, but he still managed it.’
Sirius looked slightly disconcerted for a moment, then said, ‘I'll look for him later, I expect I'll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother's old bloomers or something. Of course, he might have crawled into the airing
cupboard and died ... but I mustn't get my hopes up.’
Fred, George and Ron laughed; Hermione, however, looked reproachful.
Once they had eaten their Christmas lunch, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione were planning to pay Mr. Weasley another visit, escorted by Mad-Eye and Lupin. Mundungus turned up in time for Christmas pudding and trifle,
having managed to ‘borrow’ a car for the occasion, as the Underground did not run on Christmas Day. The car, which Harry doubted very much had been taken with the consent of its owner, had been enlarged with a spell
like the Weasleys’ old Ford Anglia had once been. Although normally proportioned outside, ten people with Mundungus driving were able to fit into it quite comfortably. Mrs. Weasley hesitated before getting inside—Harry
knew her disapproval of Mundungus was battling with her dislike of travelling without magic—but, finally, the cold outside and her children's pleading triumphed, and she settled herself into the back seat between Fred and Bill
with good grace.
The journey to St Mungo's was quite quick as there was very little traffic on the roads. A small trickle of witches and wizards was creeping furtively up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital. Harry and the others got
out of the car, and Mundungus drove off around the corner to wait for them. They strolled casually towards the window where the dummy in green nylon stood, then, one by one, stepped through the glass.
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please!’
They got up and dressed. They could hear the various inhabitants of the house calling ‘Merry Christmas’ to one another. On their way downstairs they met Hermione.
Thanks for the book, Harry,’ she said happily. ‘I've been wanting that New Theory of Numerology for ages! And that perfume's really unusual, Ron.’
‘No problem,’ said Ron. ‘Who's that for, anyway?’ he added, nodding at the neatly wrapped present she was carrying.
‘Kreacher,’ said Hermione brightly.
‘It had better not be clothes!’ Ron warned her. ‘You know what Sirius said: Kreacher knows too much, we can't set him free!’
‘It isn't clothes,’ said Hermione, ‘although if I had my way I'd certainly give him something to wear other than that filthy old rag. No, it's a patchwork quilt, I thought it would brighten up his bedroom.’
‘What bedroom?’ said Harry, dropping his voice to a whisper as they were passing the portrait of Sirius's mother.
‘Well, Sirius says it's not so much a bedroom, more a kind of—den,’ said Hermione. ‘Apparently he sleeps under the boiler in that cupboard off the kitchen.’
Mrs. Weasley was the only person in the basement when they arrived there. She was standing at the stove and sounded as though she had a bad head cold as she wished them ‘Merry Christmas', and they all averted their
eyes.
‘So, is this Kreacher's bedroom?’ said Ron, strolling over to a dingy door in the corner opposite the pantry. Harry had never seen it open.
‘Yes,’ said Hermione, now sounding a little nervous. ‘Er ... I think we'd better knock.’
Ron rapped on the door with his knuckles but there was no reply.
‘He must be sneaking around upstairs,’ he said, and without further ado pulled open the door. ‘Urgh!’
Harry peered inside. Most of the cupboard was taken up with a very large and old-fashioned boiler, but in the foot of space underneath the pipes Kreacher had made himself something that looked like a nest. A jumble of
assorted rags and smelly old blankets were piled on the floor and the small dent in the middle of it showed where Kreacher curled up to sleep every night. Here and there among the material were stale bread crusts and
mouldy old bits of cheese. In a far corner glinted small objects and coins that Harry guessed Kreacher had saved, magpie-like, from Sirius's purge of the house, and he had also managed to retrieve the silver-framed family
photographs that Sirius had thrown away over the summer. Their glass might be shattered, but still the little black-and-white people inside them peered up at him haughtily, including—he felt a little jolt in his stomach—the
dark, heavy-lidded woman whose trial he had witnessed in Dumbledore's Pensieve: Bellatrix Lestrange. By the looks of it, hers was Kreacher's favourite photograph; he had placed it to the fore of all the others and had
mended the glass clumsily with Spellotape.
‘I think I'll just leave his present here,’ said Hermione, laying the package neatly in the middle of the depression in the rags and blankets and closing the door quietly. ‘He'll find it later, that'll be fine.’
‘Come to think of it,’ said Sirius, emerging from the pantry carrying a large turkey as they closed the cupboard door, ‘has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?’
‘I haven't seen him since the night we came back here,’ said Harry. ‘You were ordering him out of the kitchen.’
‘Yeah ...’ said Sirius, frowning. ‘You know, I think that's the last time I saw him, too ... he must be hiding upstairs somewhere.’
‘He couldn't have left, could he?’ said Harry. ‘I mean, when you said “out", maybe he thought you meant get out of the house?’
‘No, no, house-elves can't leave unless they're given clothes. They're tied to their family's house,’ said Sirius.
‘They can leave the house if they really want to,’ Harry contradicted him. ‘Dobby did, he left the Malfoy's’ to give me warnings two years ago. He had to punish himself afterwards, but he still managed it.’
Sirius looked slightly disconcerted for a moment, then said, ‘I'll look for him later, I expect I'll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother's old bloomers or something. Of course, he might have crawled into the airing
cupboard and died ... but I mustn't get my hopes up.’
Fred, George and Ron laughed; Hermione, however, looked reproachful.
Once they had eaten their Christmas lunch, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione were planning to pay Mr. Weasley another visit, escorted by Mad-Eye and Lupin. Mundungus turned up in time for Christmas pudding and trifle,
having managed to ‘borrow’ a car for the occasion, as the Underground did not run on Christmas Day. The car, which Harry doubted very much had been taken with the consent of its owner, had been enlarged with a spell
like the Weasleys’ old Ford Anglia had once been. Although normally proportioned outside, ten people with Mundungus driving were able to fit into it quite comfortably. Mrs. Weasley hesitated before getting inside—Harry
knew her disapproval of Mundungus was battling with her dislike of travelling without magic—but, finally, the cold outside and her children's pleading triumphed, and she settled herself into the back seat between Fred and Bill
with good grace.
The journey to St Mungo's was quite quick as there was very little traffic on the roads. A small trickle of witches and wizards was creeping furtively up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital. Harry and the others got
out of the car, and Mundungus drove off around the corner to wait for them. They strolled casually towards the window where the dummy in green nylon stood, then, one by one, stepped through the glass.
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Tuesday, November 16, 2010
‘Yeah, she probably would,’
‘Yeah, she probably would,’ said Harry dully. ‘And how long do you reckon it'd take Umbridge to pass another decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?’
Ron opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out and, after a moment, he closed it again, defeated.
‘She's an awful woman,’ said Hermione in a small voice. ‘Awful.You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in ... we've got to do something about her.’
‘I suggested poison,’ said Ron grimly.
‘No ... I mean, something about what a dreadful teacher she is, and how we're not going to learn any Defence from her at all,’ said Hermione.
‘Well, what can we do about that?’ said Ron, yawning. ’ ‘S too late, isn't it? She's got the job, she's here to stay. Fudge'll make sure of that.’
‘Well,’ said Hermione tentatively. ‘You know, I was thinking today ...’ she shot a slightly nervous look at Harry and then plunged on, ‘I was thinking that— maybe the time's come when we should just—just do it ourselves.’
‘Do what ourselves?’ said Harry suspiciously, still floating his hand in the essence of Murtlap tentacles.
‘Well—learn Defence Against the Dark Arts ourselves, said Hermione.
‘Come off it,’ groaned Ron. ‘You want us to do extra work? D'you realise Harry and I are behind on homework again and it's only the second week?’
‘But this is much more important than homework!’ said Hermione.
Harry and Ron goggled at her.
‘I didn't think there was anything in the universe more important than homework!’ said Ron.
‘Don't be silly, of course there is,’ said Hermione, and Harry saw, with an ominous feeling, that her face was suddenly alight with the kind of fervour that SPEW usually inspired in her. ‘It's about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge's first lesson, for what's waiting for us out there. It's about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don't learn anything for a whole year—’
‘We can't do much by ourselves,’ said Ron in a defeated voice. ‘I mean, all right, we can go and look jinxes up in the library and try and practise them, I suppose—’
‘No, I agree, we've gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books,’ said Hermione. ‘We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we're going wrong.’
‘If you're talking about Lupin ...’ Harry began.
‘No, no, I'm not talking about Lupin,’ said Hermione. ‘He's too busy with the Order and, anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that's not nearly often enough.’
‘Who, then?’ said Harry, frowning at her.
Hermione heaved a very deep sigh.
‘Isn't it obvious?’ she said. ‘I'm talking about you,Harry.’
There was a moment's silence. A light night breeze rattled the windowpanes behind Ron, and the fire guttered.
‘About me what?’ said Harry.
‘I'm talking about you teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts.’
Harry stared at her. Then he turned to Ron, ready to exchange the exasperated looks they sometimes shared when Hermione elaborated on far-fetched schemes like SPEW. To Harry's consternation, however, Ron did not look exasperated.
He was frowning slightly, apparently thinking. Then he said, ‘That's an idea.’
‘What's an idea?’ said Harry.
‘You,’ said Ron. ‘Teaching us to do it.’
‘But ...’
Harry was grinning now, sure the pair of them were pulling his leg.
‘But I'm not a teacher, I can't—’
‘Harry, you're the best in the year at Defence Against the Dark Arts,’ said Hermione.
‘Me?’ said Harry now grinning more broadly than ever. ‘No, I'm not, you've beaten me in every test—’
‘Actually I haven't,’ said Hermione coolly. ‘You beat me in our third year—the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I'm not talking about test results, Harry. Think what you've done!’
‘How d'you mean?’
‘You know what, I'm not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me,’ Ron said to Hermione, smirking slightly. He turned to Harry.
‘Let's think,’ he said, pulling a face like Goyle concentrating. ‘Uh ... first year—you saved the Philosopher's Stone from You-Know-Who.’
‘But that was luck,’ said Harry, ‘it wasn't skill—’
‘Second year,’ Ron interrupted, ‘you killed the Basilisk and destroyed Riddle.’
‘Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up, I—’
‘Third year,’ said Ron, louder still, ‘you fought off about a hundred dementors at once—’
‘You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't—’
‘Last year,’ Ron said, almost shouting now, ‘you fought off You-know-Who again—’
‘Listen to me!’ said Harry, almost angrily, because Ron and Hermione were both smirking now. ‘Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck—I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I didn't plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help—’
Ron and Hermione were still smirking and Harry felt his temper rise; he wasn't even sure why he was feeling so angry.
‘Don't sit there grinning like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn't I?’ he said heatedly. ‘I know what went on, all right? And I didn't get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defence Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because— because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right—but I just blundered through it all, I didn't have a clue what I was doing—STOP LAUGHING!’
Ron opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out and, after a moment, he closed it again, defeated.
‘She's an awful woman,’ said Hermione in a small voice. ‘Awful.You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in ... we've got to do something about her.’
‘I suggested poison,’ said Ron grimly.
‘No ... I mean, something about what a dreadful teacher she is, and how we're not going to learn any Defence from her at all,’ said Hermione.
‘Well, what can we do about that?’ said Ron, yawning. ’ ‘S too late, isn't it? She's got the job, she's here to stay. Fudge'll make sure of that.’
‘Well,’ said Hermione tentatively. ‘You know, I was thinking today ...’ she shot a slightly nervous look at Harry and then plunged on, ‘I was thinking that— maybe the time's come when we should just—just do it ourselves.’
‘Do what ourselves?’ said Harry suspiciously, still floating his hand in the essence of Murtlap tentacles.
‘Well—learn Defence Against the Dark Arts ourselves, said Hermione.
‘Come off it,’ groaned Ron. ‘You want us to do extra work? D'you realise Harry and I are behind on homework again and it's only the second week?’
‘But this is much more important than homework!’ said Hermione.
Harry and Ron goggled at her.
‘I didn't think there was anything in the universe more important than homework!’ said Ron.
‘Don't be silly, of course there is,’ said Hermione, and Harry saw, with an ominous feeling, that her face was suddenly alight with the kind of fervour that SPEW usually inspired in her. ‘It's about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge's first lesson, for what's waiting for us out there. It's about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don't learn anything for a whole year—’
‘We can't do much by ourselves,’ said Ron in a defeated voice. ‘I mean, all right, we can go and look jinxes up in the library and try and practise them, I suppose—’
‘No, I agree, we've gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books,’ said Hermione. ‘We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we're going wrong.’
‘If you're talking about Lupin ...’ Harry began.
‘No, no, I'm not talking about Lupin,’ said Hermione. ‘He's too busy with the Order and, anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that's not nearly often enough.’
‘Who, then?’ said Harry, frowning at her.
Hermione heaved a very deep sigh.
‘Isn't it obvious?’ she said. ‘I'm talking about you,Harry.’
There was a moment's silence. A light night breeze rattled the windowpanes behind Ron, and the fire guttered.
‘About me what?’ said Harry.
‘I'm talking about you teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts.’
Harry stared at her. Then he turned to Ron, ready to exchange the exasperated looks they sometimes shared when Hermione elaborated on far-fetched schemes like SPEW. To Harry's consternation, however, Ron did not look exasperated.
He was frowning slightly, apparently thinking. Then he said, ‘That's an idea.’
‘What's an idea?’ said Harry.
‘You,’ said Ron. ‘Teaching us to do it.’
‘But ...’
Harry was grinning now, sure the pair of them were pulling his leg.
‘But I'm not a teacher, I can't—’
‘Harry, you're the best in the year at Defence Against the Dark Arts,’ said Hermione.
‘Me?’ said Harry now grinning more broadly than ever. ‘No, I'm not, you've beaten me in every test—’
‘Actually I haven't,’ said Hermione coolly. ‘You beat me in our third year—the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I'm not talking about test results, Harry. Think what you've done!’
‘How d'you mean?’
‘You know what, I'm not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me,’ Ron said to Hermione, smirking slightly. He turned to Harry.
‘Let's think,’ he said, pulling a face like Goyle concentrating. ‘Uh ... first year—you saved the Philosopher's Stone from You-Know-Who.’
‘But that was luck,’ said Harry, ‘it wasn't skill—’
‘Second year,’ Ron interrupted, ‘you killed the Basilisk and destroyed Riddle.’
‘Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up, I—’
‘Third year,’ said Ron, louder still, ‘you fought off about a hundred dementors at once—’
‘You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't—’
‘Last year,’ Ron said, almost shouting now, ‘you fought off You-know-Who again—’
‘Listen to me!’ said Harry, almost angrily, because Ron and Hermione were both smirking now. ‘Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck—I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I didn't plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help—’
Ron and Hermione were still smirking and Harry felt his temper rise; he wasn't even sure why he was feeling so angry.
‘Don't sit there grinning like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn't I?’ he said heatedly. ‘I know what went on, all right? And I didn't get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defence Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because— because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right—but I just blundered through it all, I didn't have a clue what I was doing—STOP LAUGHING!’
Monday, November 15, 2010
‘Well, Molly, I'm pretty sure this is a boggart,’
‘Well, Molly, I'm pretty sure this is a boggart,’ said Sirius, peering through the keyhole, ‘but perhaps we ought to let Mad-Eye have a shifty at it before we let it out—knowing my mother, it could be something much worse.’
‘Right you are, Sirius,’ said Mrs. Weasley.
They were both speaking in carefully light, polite voices that told Harry quite plainly that neither had forgotten their disagreement of the night before.
A loud, clanging bell sounded from downstairs, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails that had been triggered the previous night by Tonks knocking over the umbrella stand.
‘I keep telling them not to ring the doorbell!’ said Sirius exasperatedly, hurrying out of the room. They heard him thundering clown the stairs as Mrs. Black's screeches echoed up through the house once more: ‘Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of flith...’
‘Close the door, please, Harry,’ said Mrs. Weasley.
Harry took as much time as he dared to close the drawing-room door; he wanted to listen to what was going on downstairs. Sirius had obviously managed to shut the curtains over his mothers portrait because she had stopped screaming. He heard Sirius walking down the hall, then the clattering of the chain on the front door, and then a deep voice he recognised as Kingsley Shacklebolt's saying, ‘Hestia's just relieved me, so she's got Moody's Cloak now, thought I'd leave a report for Dumbledore....’
Feeling Mrs Weasley's eyes on the back of his head, Harry regretfully closed the drawing-room door and rejoined the doxy party.
Mrs. Weasley was bending over to check the page on doxys in Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests, which was lying open on the sofa.
‘Right, you lot, you need to be careful, because doxys bite and their teeth are poisonous. I've got a bottle of antidote here, but I'd rather nobody needed it.’
She straightened up, positioned herself squarely in front of the curtains and beckoned them all forward.
‘When I say the word, start spraying immediately,’ she said. ‘They'll come flying out at us, I expect, but it says on the sprays one good squirt will paralyse them. When they're immobilized, just throw them in this bucket.’
She stepped carefully out of their line of fire, and raised her own spray.
‘All right—squirt!’
Harry had been spraying only a few seconds when a fully-grown doxy came soaring out of a fold in the material, shiny beetle-like wings whirring, tiny needle-sharp teeth bared, its fairy-like body covered with thick black hair and its four tiny fists clenched with fury. Harry caught it full in the face with a blast of Doxycide; it froze in midair and fell, with a surprisingly loud thunk, on to the worn carpet below. Harry picked it up and threw it in the bucket.
‘Fred, what are you doing?’ said Mrs. Weasley sharply. ‘Spray that at once and throw it away!’
Harry looked round. Fred was holding a struggling doxy between his forefinger and thumb.
‘Right-o,’ Fred said brightly, spraying the doxy quickly in the face so that it fainted, but the moment Mrs. Weasley's back was turned he pocketed it with a wink.
‘We want to experiment with doxy venom for our Skiving Snackboxes,’ George told Harry under his breath.
Deftly spraying two doxys at once as they soared straight for his nose, Harry moved closer to George and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘What are Skiving Snackboxes?’
‘Right you are, Sirius,’ said Mrs. Weasley.
They were both speaking in carefully light, polite voices that told Harry quite plainly that neither had forgotten their disagreement of the night before.
A loud, clanging bell sounded from downstairs, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails that had been triggered the previous night by Tonks knocking over the umbrella stand.
‘I keep telling them not to ring the doorbell!’ said Sirius exasperatedly, hurrying out of the room. They heard him thundering clown the stairs as Mrs. Black's screeches echoed up through the house once more: ‘Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of flith...’
‘Close the door, please, Harry,’ said Mrs. Weasley.
Harry took as much time as he dared to close the drawing-room door; he wanted to listen to what was going on downstairs. Sirius had obviously managed to shut the curtains over his mothers portrait because she had stopped screaming. He heard Sirius walking down the hall, then the clattering of the chain on the front door, and then a deep voice he recognised as Kingsley Shacklebolt's saying, ‘Hestia's just relieved me, so she's got Moody's Cloak now, thought I'd leave a report for Dumbledore....’
Feeling Mrs Weasley's eyes on the back of his head, Harry regretfully closed the drawing-room door and rejoined the doxy party.
Mrs. Weasley was bending over to check the page on doxys in Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests, which was lying open on the sofa.
‘Right, you lot, you need to be careful, because doxys bite and their teeth are poisonous. I've got a bottle of antidote here, but I'd rather nobody needed it.’
She straightened up, positioned herself squarely in front of the curtains and beckoned them all forward.
‘When I say the word, start spraying immediately,’ she said. ‘They'll come flying out at us, I expect, but it says on the sprays one good squirt will paralyse them. When they're immobilized, just throw them in this bucket.’
She stepped carefully out of their line of fire, and raised her own spray.
‘All right—squirt!’
Harry had been spraying only a few seconds when a fully-grown doxy came soaring out of a fold in the material, shiny beetle-like wings whirring, tiny needle-sharp teeth bared, its fairy-like body covered with thick black hair and its four tiny fists clenched with fury. Harry caught it full in the face with a blast of Doxycide; it froze in midair and fell, with a surprisingly loud thunk, on to the worn carpet below. Harry picked it up and threw it in the bucket.
‘Fred, what are you doing?’ said Mrs. Weasley sharply. ‘Spray that at once and throw it away!’
Harry looked round. Fred was holding a struggling doxy between his forefinger and thumb.
‘Right-o,’ Fred said brightly, spraying the doxy quickly in the face so that it fainted, but the moment Mrs. Weasley's back was turned he pocketed it with a wink.
‘We want to experiment with doxy venom for our Skiving Snackboxes,’ George told Harry under his breath.
Deftly spraying two doxys at once as they soared straight for his nose, Harry moved closer to George and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘What are Skiving Snackboxes?’
‘You've never been on the receiving end of one of her Bat-Bogey Hexes, have you?’
‘You've never been on the receiving end of one of her Bat-Bogey Hexes, have you?’
‘Shhh!’ said Fred, half-rising from the bed. ‘Listen!’
They fell silent. Footsteps were coming up the stairs.
‘Mum,’ said George and without further ado there was a loud crack and Harry felt the weight vanish from the end of his bed. A few seconds later, they heard the floorboard creak outside their door; Mrs. Weasley was plainly listening to check whether or not they were talking.
Hedwig and Pigwidgeon hooted dolefully. The floorboard creaked again and they heard her heading upstairs to check on Fred and George.
‘She doesn't trust us at all, you know,’ said Ron regretfully.
Harry was sure he would not be able to fall asleep; the evening had been so packed with things to think about that he fully expected to lie awake for hours mulling it all over. He wanted to continue talking to Ron, but Mrs. Weasley was now creaking back downstairs again, and once she had gone he distinctly heard others making their way upstairs.... In fact, many-legged creatures were cantering softly up and down outside the bedroom door, and Hagrid, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, was saying, ‘Beauties, aren't they, eh, Harry? We'll be studyin’ weapons this term....’ and Harry saw that the creatures had cannons for heads and were wheeling to face him.... He ducked....
The next thing he knew, he was curled into a warm ball under his bedclothes and George's loud voice was filling the room.
‘Mum says get up, your breakfast is in the kitchen and then she needs you in the drawing room, there are loads more doxys than she thought and she's found a nest of dead puffskeins under the sofa.’
Half an hour later, Harry and Ron, who had dressed and breakfasted quickly, entered the drawing room, a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive-green walls covered in dirty tapestries. The carpet exhaled little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and the long, moss-green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees. It was around these that Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George were grouped, all looking rather peculiar as they had each tied a cloth over their nose and mouth. Each of them was also holding a large bottle of black liquid with a nozzle at the end.
‘Cover your faces and take a spray,’ Mrs. Weasley said to Harry and Ron the moment she saw them, pointing to two more bottles of black liquid standing on a spindle-legged table. ‘It's Doxycide. I've never seen an infestation this bad—what that house-elf's been doing for the last ten years—’
Hermione's face was half concealed by a tea towel but Harry distinctly saw her throw a reproachful look at Mrs. Weasley.
‘Kreacher's really old, he probably couldn't manage—’
‘You'd be surprised what Kreacher can manage when he wants to, Hermione,’ said Sirius, who had just entered the room carrying a bloodstained bag of what appeared to be dead rats. ‘I've just been feeding Buckbeak,’ he added, in reply to Harry's enquiring look. ‘I keep him upstairs in my mother's bedroom. Anyway ... this writing desk...’
He dropped the bag of rats into an armchair, then bent over to examine the locked cabinet which, Harry now noticed for the first time, was shaking slightly.
‘Shhh!’ said Fred, half-rising from the bed. ‘Listen!’
They fell silent. Footsteps were coming up the stairs.
‘Mum,’ said George and without further ado there was a loud crack and Harry felt the weight vanish from the end of his bed. A few seconds later, they heard the floorboard creak outside their door; Mrs. Weasley was plainly listening to check whether or not they were talking.
Hedwig and Pigwidgeon hooted dolefully. The floorboard creaked again and they heard her heading upstairs to check on Fred and George.
‘She doesn't trust us at all, you know,’ said Ron regretfully.
Harry was sure he would not be able to fall asleep; the evening had been so packed with things to think about that he fully expected to lie awake for hours mulling it all over. He wanted to continue talking to Ron, but Mrs. Weasley was now creaking back downstairs again, and once she had gone he distinctly heard others making their way upstairs.... In fact, many-legged creatures were cantering softly up and down outside the bedroom door, and Hagrid, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, was saying, ‘Beauties, aren't they, eh, Harry? We'll be studyin’ weapons this term....’ and Harry saw that the creatures had cannons for heads and were wheeling to face him.... He ducked....
The next thing he knew, he was curled into a warm ball under his bedclothes and George's loud voice was filling the room.
‘Mum says get up, your breakfast is in the kitchen and then she needs you in the drawing room, there are loads more doxys than she thought and she's found a nest of dead puffskeins under the sofa.’
Half an hour later, Harry and Ron, who had dressed and breakfasted quickly, entered the drawing room, a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive-green walls covered in dirty tapestries. The carpet exhaled little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and the long, moss-green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees. It was around these that Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George were grouped, all looking rather peculiar as they had each tied a cloth over their nose and mouth. Each of them was also holding a large bottle of black liquid with a nozzle at the end.
‘Cover your faces and take a spray,’ Mrs. Weasley said to Harry and Ron the moment she saw them, pointing to two more bottles of black liquid standing on a spindle-legged table. ‘It's Doxycide. I've never seen an infestation this bad—what that house-elf's been doing for the last ten years—’
Hermione's face was half concealed by a tea towel but Harry distinctly saw her throw a reproachful look at Mrs. Weasley.
‘Kreacher's really old, he probably couldn't manage—’
‘You'd be surprised what Kreacher can manage when he wants to, Hermione,’ said Sirius, who had just entered the room carrying a bloodstained bag of what appeared to be dead rats. ‘I've just been feeding Buckbeak,’ he added, in reply to Harry's enquiring look. ‘I keep him upstairs in my mother's bedroom. Anyway ... this writing desk...’
He dropped the bag of rats into an armchair, then bent over to examine the locked cabinet which, Harry now noticed for the first time, was shaking slightly.
‘Well, they didn't tell us much we couldn't have guessed, did they?’
‘Well, they didn't tell us much we couldn't have guessed, did they?’ he said, thinking of all that had been said downstairs. ‘I mean, all they've really said is that the Order's trying to stop people joining Vol—’
There was a sharp intake of breath from Ron.
—demort,’ said Harry firmly. ‘When are you going to start using his name? Sirius and Lupin do.’
Ron ignored this last comment.
‘Yeah, you're right,’ he said, ‘we already knew nearly everything they told us, from using the Extendable Ears. The only new bit was—’
Crack.
‘OUCH!’
‘Keep your voice down, Ron, or Mum'll be back up here.’
‘You two just Apparated on my knees!’
‘Yeah, well, it's harder in the dark—’
Harry saw the blurred outlines of Fred and George leaping down from Ron's bed. There was a groan of bedsprings and Harry's mattress descended a few inches as George sat down near his feet.
‘So, got there yet?’ said George eagerly.
‘The weapon Sirius mentioned?’ said Harry.
‘Let slip, more like,’ said Fred with relish, now sitting next to Ron. ‘We didn't hear about that on the old Extendables, did we?’
‘What d'you reckon it is?’ said Harry.
‘Could be anything,’ said Fred.
‘But there can't be anything worse than the Avada Kedavra curse, can there?’ said Ron. ‘What's worse than death?’
‘Maybe it's something that can kill loads of people at once,’ suggested George.
‘Maybe it's some particularly painful way of killing people,’ said Ron learfully.
‘He's got the Cruciatus Curse for causing pain,’ said Harry, ‘he doesn't need anything more efficient than that.’
There was a pause and Harry knew that the others, like him, were wondering what horrors this weapon could perpetrate.
‘So who d'you think's got it now?’ asked George.
‘I hope it's our side,’ said Ron, sounding slightly nervous.
‘If it is, Dumbledore's probably keeping it,’ said Fred.
‘Where?’ said Ron quickly. ‘Hogwarts?’
‘Bet it is!’ said George. That's where he hid the Philosopher's Stone.’
‘A weapon's going to be a lot bigger than the Stone, though!’ said Ron.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Fred.
‘Yeah, size is no guarantee of power,’ said George. ‘Look at Ginny.’
‘What d'you mean?’ said Harry.
There was a sharp intake of breath from Ron.
—demort,’ said Harry firmly. ‘When are you going to start using his name? Sirius and Lupin do.’
Ron ignored this last comment.
‘Yeah, you're right,’ he said, ‘we already knew nearly everything they told us, from using the Extendable Ears. The only new bit was—’
Crack.
‘OUCH!’
‘Keep your voice down, Ron, or Mum'll be back up here.’
‘You two just Apparated on my knees!’
‘Yeah, well, it's harder in the dark—’
Harry saw the blurred outlines of Fred and George leaping down from Ron's bed. There was a groan of bedsprings and Harry's mattress descended a few inches as George sat down near his feet.
‘So, got there yet?’ said George eagerly.
‘The weapon Sirius mentioned?’ said Harry.
‘Let slip, more like,’ said Fred with relish, now sitting next to Ron. ‘We didn't hear about that on the old Extendables, did we?’
‘What d'you reckon it is?’ said Harry.
‘Could be anything,’ said Fred.
‘But there can't be anything worse than the Avada Kedavra curse, can there?’ said Ron. ‘What's worse than death?’
‘Maybe it's something that can kill loads of people at once,’ suggested George.
‘Maybe it's some particularly painful way of killing people,’ said Ron learfully.
‘He's got the Cruciatus Curse for causing pain,’ said Harry, ‘he doesn't need anything more efficient than that.’
There was a pause and Harry knew that the others, like him, were wondering what horrors this weapon could perpetrate.
‘So who d'you think's got it now?’ asked George.
‘I hope it's our side,’ said Ron, sounding slightly nervous.
‘If it is, Dumbledore's probably keeping it,’ said Fred.
‘Where?’ said Ron quickly. ‘Hogwarts?’
‘Bet it is!’ said George. That's where he hid the Philosopher's Stone.’
‘A weapon's going to be a lot bigger than the Stone, though!’ said Ron.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Fred.
‘Yeah, size is no guarantee of power,’ said George. ‘Look at Ginny.’
‘What d'you mean?’ said Harry.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
‘I'm talking about—look!’
Harry grabbed Ron's arm and wheeled him about so that he was face to face with the winged horse. Ron stared straight at it for a second, then looked back at Harry.
‘What am I supposed to be looking at?’
‘At the—there, between the shafts! Harnessed to the coach! It's right there in front—’
But as Ron continued to look bemused, a strange thought occurred to Harry.
‘Can't ... can't you see them?’
‘See what?’
‘Can't you see what's pulling the carriages?’
Ron looked seriously alarmed now.
‘Are you feeling all right, Harry?’
‘I ... yeah...’
Harry felt utterly bewildered. The horse was there in front of him, gleaming solidly in the dim light issuing from the station windows behind them, vapour rising from its nostrils in the chilly night air. Yet, unless Ron was faking—
and it was a very feeble joke if he was—Ron could not see it at all.
‘Shall we get in, then?’ said Ron uncertainly, looking at Harry as though worried about him.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘Yeah, go on...’
‘It's all right,’ said a dreamy voice from beside Harry as Ron vanished into the coach's dark interior. ‘You're not going mad or anything. I can see them, too.’
‘Can you?’ said Harry desperately, turning to Luna. He could see the bat-winged horses reflected in her wide silvery eyes.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Luna, ‘I've been able to see them ever since my first day here. They've always pulled the carriages. Don't worry. You're just as sane as I am.’
Smiling faintly, she climbed into the musty interior of the carriage after Ron. Not altogether reassured, Harry followed her.
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‘What am I supposed to be looking at?’
‘At the—there, between the shafts! Harnessed to the coach! It's right there in front—’
But as Ron continued to look bemused, a strange thought occurred to Harry.
‘Can't ... can't you see them?’
‘See what?’
‘Can't you see what's pulling the carriages?’
Ron looked seriously alarmed now.
‘Are you feeling all right, Harry?’
‘I ... yeah...’
Harry felt utterly bewildered. The horse was there in front of him, gleaming solidly in the dim light issuing from the station windows behind them, vapour rising from its nostrils in the chilly night air. Yet, unless Ron was faking—
and it was a very feeble joke if he was—Ron could not see it at all.
‘Shall we get in, then?’ said Ron uncertainly, looking at Harry as though worried about him.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘Yeah, go on...’
‘It's all right,’ said a dreamy voice from beside Harry as Ron vanished into the coach's dark interior. ‘You're not going mad or anything. I can see them, too.’
‘Can you?’ said Harry desperately, turning to Luna. He could see the bat-winged horses reflected in her wide silvery eyes.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Luna, ‘I've been able to see them ever since my first day here. They've always pulled the carriages. Don't worry. You're just as sane as I am.’
Smiling faintly, she climbed into the musty interior of the carriage after Ron. Not altogether reassured, Harry followed her.
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Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Online news
Author：Dale Styne Source：none Hits：128 UpdateTime：2008-7-10 22:42:54
The best thing about internet is that you can get whatever information that you want and thats too in matter of few seconds. You can check out any information and also trace out if there is any update available for that, this could certainly be helpful if you are looking for some technology and science based information. As these are the fields where you can expect changes and advancements on regular basis, so, that is the reason why you will have to check back after few days. But the main thing is that you will get information with all sorts of update. The online information has certainly freed the man from the tiresome efforts that he used to make before reaching to any sort of information.
Another thing that is most amazing about getting online information is that you can find out all sorts of news as well. These sorts of news are presented to you by different resources and are updated regularly. You can find some breaking news as early as they would have happened. There are a lot of people who like internet because it provides them a resource of online news. You can check out for any sort of news that might be related to any field. However, most of the people who check out the online news usually go for some specific news. Most of them would be checking the news for the latest information over financial matters, for instance, you can check out forex rate and lot of other thing of similar nature. Along with this, various kinds of sports news are quite regularly checked by most of the people, you can find out as who is playing with whom and who have defeated whom. You can also fancy getting the news over entertainment and movies, movie review are something that most people like to check out along with this they can check out as when their favorite film will be hitting the cinemas screens.
There are different websites which are the source of providing the online news; however, Blog resources are also quite proficient in doing the same. Here, you can check out the entries and news that have recently hit the block. Also, some of the newspaper maintains their online website with an online edition of their news paper; those websites can also be a great resource for checking out the online news.
Internet is also a great source for you to keep an eye on world news. What is happening in world and what is likely to happen in near future, all such kind of information can be acquired in the just few clicks. If you are interested in politics, you can also find out as what is going on in your domestic or worlds politics, for that matter. As a whole, it wouldnt be wrong to say that internet is playing a vital role to keep people aware of the facts and figures that are keep on changing around them. So, stay connected as it is your best chance to learn something new and effective.
The best thing about internet is that you can get whatever information that you want and thats too in matter of few seconds. You can check out any information and also trace out if there is any update available for that, this could certainly be helpful if you are looking for some technology and science based information. As these are the fields where you can expect changes and advancements on regular basis, so, that is the reason why you will have to check back after few days. But the main thing is that you will get information with all sorts of update. The online information has certainly freed the man from the tiresome efforts that he used to make before reaching to any sort of information.
Another thing that is most amazing about getting online information is that you can find out all sorts of news as well. These sorts of news are presented to you by different resources and are updated regularly. You can find some breaking news as early as they would have happened. There are a lot of people who like internet because it provides them a resource of online news. You can check out for any sort of news that might be related to any field. However, most of the people who check out the online news usually go for some specific news. Most of them would be checking the news for the latest information over financial matters, for instance, you can check out forex rate and lot of other thing of similar nature. Along with this, various kinds of sports news are quite regularly checked by most of the people, you can find out as who is playing with whom and who have defeated whom. You can also fancy getting the news over entertainment and movies, movie review are something that most people like to check out along with this they can check out as when their favorite film will be hitting the cinemas screens.
There are different websites which are the source of providing the online news; however, Blog resources are also quite proficient in doing the same. Here, you can check out the entries and news that have recently hit the block. Also, some of the newspaper maintains their online website with an online edition of their news paper; those websites can also be a great resource for checking out the online news.
Internet is also a great source for you to keep an eye on world news. What is happening in world and what is likely to happen in near future, all such kind of information can be acquired in the just few clicks. If you are interested in politics, you can also find out as what is going on in your domestic or worlds politics, for that matter. As a whole, it wouldnt be wrong to say that internet is playing a vital role to keep people aware of the facts and figures that are keep on changing around them. So, stay connected as it is your best chance to learn something new and effective.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
How To Keep Butterflies Around Longer In Your Gardens
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：106 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 1:10:06
In order to keep butterflies in your gardens longer, you need to provide the right habitat for them to stay.
Butterflies have different life stages which need certain foods to survive. For example, some eat carrot, dill and parsley, cabbage, sunflower, clover and alfalfa. Some shrubs such as lilacs and certain trees like birch, ash, oak,
willow and elms also provide larval food.
Nectar plants not only provide food for the butterflies, but also provide cover. Nectar plants include important vitamins needed from the plant food to grow and survive. Without the nectar from the plant food, they will most
likely move elsewhere. Flowering plants not only provide important nectar and vitamins, but also supply cover. Butterflies also need a place to lay their eggs. Later fall flowers do not have the amount of nectar that earlier
spring or summer flowers have, so by providing many more flowers at their convenience at this time of the year, will allow them to remain in your landscaping much longer. Keep in mind that this does not mean that double
flowers will attract more butterflies. Double flowers often have less nectar than single flowers and access to the nectar is much deeper and more difficult for the smaller species.
Flowers that have many flower clusters such as the phlox, black-eyed susans, blazing stars and zinnias not only provide nectar, but provide a great landing place for the larger butterflies. Larger butterflies live longer than
smaller ones. Small butterflies live only about a week or two, while larger butterflies such as the Monarch may live for up to nine months!
Remember, just like other things in life, its not the size that will determine the quantity or quality. Many herbs that are grown in the garden have tiny little flowers, but have really high amount of nectar.
Butterflies will often sleep at night under large leafs or in rock crevices. So be sure to have other larger leaf foliage and rock gardens as well to keep them safe and comfortable.
If you keep your garden well-fertilized, you are most likely to have healthy plants, which in turn will make much more pleasant surroundings for your beautiful flying friends.
Dont forget that butterflies are near-sighted, so have lots of larger bunches of flowers, even many groups of different colors of flowers, so that the butterflies may find them. Also, try cutting some of the stems back a little in
the spring, to produce more flowers.
There are around 20,000 different butterfly species in the world. Wouldnt it be nice to keep a few for a longer period of time in your area?
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In order to keep butterflies in your gardens longer, you need to provide the right habitat for them to stay.
Butterflies have different life stages which need certain foods to survive. For example, some eat carrot, dill and parsley, cabbage, sunflower, clover and alfalfa. Some shrubs such as lilacs and certain trees like birch, ash, oak,
willow and elms also provide larval food.
Nectar plants not only provide food for the butterflies, but also provide cover. Nectar plants include important vitamins needed from the plant food to grow and survive. Without the nectar from the plant food, they will most
likely move elsewhere. Flowering plants not only provide important nectar and vitamins, but also supply cover. Butterflies also need a place to lay their eggs. Later fall flowers do not have the amount of nectar that earlier
spring or summer flowers have, so by providing many more flowers at their convenience at this time of the year, will allow them to remain in your landscaping much longer. Keep in mind that this does not mean that double
flowers will attract more butterflies. Double flowers often have less nectar than single flowers and access to the nectar is much deeper and more difficult for the smaller species.
Flowers that have many flower clusters such as the phlox, black-eyed susans, blazing stars and zinnias not only provide nectar, but provide a great landing place for the larger butterflies. Larger butterflies live longer than
smaller ones. Small butterflies live only about a week or two, while larger butterflies such as the Monarch may live for up to nine months!
Remember, just like other things in life, its not the size that will determine the quantity or quality. Many herbs that are grown in the garden have tiny little flowers, but have really high amount of nectar.
Butterflies will often sleep at night under large leafs or in rock crevices. So be sure to have other larger leaf foliage and rock gardens as well to keep them safe and comfortable.
If you keep your garden well-fertilized, you are most likely to have healthy plants, which in turn will make much more pleasant surroundings for your beautiful flying friends.
Dont forget that butterflies are near-sighted, so have lots of larger bunches of flowers, even many groups of different colors of flowers, so that the butterflies may find them. Also, try cutting some of the stems back a little in
the spring, to produce more flowers.
There are around 20,000 different butterfly species in the world. Wouldnt it be nice to keep a few for a longer period of time in your area?
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