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.
chanel outlet
cheap uggs on sale
burberry outlet
nike outlet store
cheap uggs for sale
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
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?”
gucci outlet
louis vuitton outlet
chanel outlet store
nike outlet store
uggs outlet
uggs sale
cheap uggs
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?”
gucci outlet
louis vuitton outlet
chanel outlet store
nike outlet store
uggs outlet
uggs sale
cheap uggs
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)