“When I discovered it, after all those years, buried in the abandoned home of the Gaunts – the Hallow I had craved most of all, though in my youth I had wanted it for very different reasons – I lost my head, Harry. I quite forgot that I was not a Horcrux, that the ring was sure to carry a curse. I picked it up, and I put it on, and for a second I imagined that I was about to see Ariana, and my mother, and my father, and to tell them how very, very sorry, I was….”
“I was such a fool, Harry. After all those years I had learned nothing. I was unworthy to unite the Deathly Hallows, I had proved it time and again, and here was final proof.”
“Why?” said Harry. “It was natural! You wanted to see them again. What’s wrong with that?”
“Maybe a man in a million could unite the Hallows, Harry. I was fit only to possess the meanest of them, the least extraordinary. I was fit to own the Elder Wand, and not boast of it, and not to kill with it. I was permitted to tame and use it, because I took it, not for gain, but to save others from it.”
“But the Cloak, I took out of vain curiousity, and so it could never have worked for me as it works for you, its true owners. The stone I would have used in an attempt to drag back those who are at peace, rather than enable my self-sacrifice, as you did. You are the worthy possessor of the Hallows.”
Dumbledore patted Harry’s hand, and Harry looked up at the old man and smiled; he could not help himself. How could he remain angry with Dumbledore now?
“Why did you have to make it so difficult?”
Dumbledore’s smile was tremulous.
“I am afraid I counted on Miss Granger to slow you up, Harry. I was afraid that your hot head might dominate your good heart. I was scared that, if presented outright with the facts about those tempting objects, you might seize the Hallows as I did, at the wrong time, for the wrong reasons. If you laid hands on them, I wanted you to possess them safely. You are the true master of death, because the true master does not seek to run away from Death. He accepts that he must die, and understands that there are far, far worse things in the living world than dying.”
“And Voldemort never knew about the Hallows?”
“I do not think so, because he did not recognize the Resurrection Stone he turned into a Horcrux. But even if he had known about them, Harry. I doubt that he would have been interested in any except the first. He would not think that he needed the Cloak, and as for the stone, whom would he want to bring back from the dead? He fears the dead. He does not love.”
“But you expected him to go after the wand?”
“I have been sure that he would try, ever since your wand beat Voldemort’s in the graveyard of Little Hangleton. At first, he was afraid that you had conquered him by superior skill. Once he had kidnapped Ollivander, however, he discovered the existence of the twin cores. He thought that explained everything. Yet the borrowed wand did no better against yours! So Voldemort, instead of asking himself what quality it was in you that had made your wand so strong, what gift you possessed that he did not, naturally set out to find the one wand that, they said, would beat any other. For him, the Elder Wand has become an obsession to rival his obsession with you. He believes that the Elder Wand removes his last weakness and makes him truly invincible. Poor Severus…”
“If you planned your death with Snape, you meant him to end up with the Elder Wand, didn’t you?”
“I admit that was my intention,” said Dumbledore, “but it did not work as I intended, did it?”
“No,” said Harry. “That bit didn’t work out.”
Friday, December 3, 2010
Dumbledore gave a little gasp and began
Dumbledore gave a little gasp and began to cry in earnest. Harry reached out and was glad to find that he could touch him: He gripped his arm tightly and Dumbledore gradually regained control.
“Well, Grindelwald fled, as anyone but I could have predicted. He vanished, with his plans for seizing power, and his schemes for Muggle torture, and his dreams of the Deathly Hallows, dreams in which I had encouraged him and helped him. He ran, while I was left to bury my sister, and learn to live with my guilt and my terrible grief, the price of my shame.”
“Years passed. There were rumors about him. They said he had procured a wand of immense power. I, meanwhile, was offered the post of Minister of Magic, not once, but several times. Naturally, I refused. I had learned that I was not to be trusted with power.”
“But you’d have been better, much better, than Fudge or Scimgeour!” burst out Harry.
“Would I?” asked Dumbledore heavily. “I am not so sure. I had proven, as a very young man, that power was my weakness and my temptation. It is a curious thing, Harry, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it. Those who, like you, have leadership thrust upon them, and take up the mantle because they must, and find to their own surprise that they wear it well.”
“I was safer at Hogwarts. I think I was a good teacher – ”
“You were the best –”
“– you are very kind, Harry. But while I busied myself with the training of young wizards, Grindelwald was raising an army. They say he feared me, and perhaps he did, but less, I think, than I feared him.”
“Oh, not death,” said Dumbledore, in answer to Harry’s questioning look. “Not what he could do to me magically. I knew that we were evenly matched, perhaps that I was a shade more skillful. It was the truth I feared. You see, I never knew which of us, in that last, horrific fight, had actually cast the curse that killed my sister. You may call me cowardly: You would be right, Harry. I dreaded beyond all things the knowledge that it had been I who brought about her death, not merely through my arrogance and stupidity, but that I actually struck the blow that snuffed out her life.”
“I think he knew it, I think he knew what frightened me. I delayed meeting him until finally, it would have been too shameful to resist any longer. People were dying and he seemed unstoppable, and I had to do what I could.”
“Well, you know what happened next. I won the duel. I won the wand.”
Another silence. Harry did not ask whether Dumbledore had ever found out who struck Ariana dead. He did not want to know, and even less did he want Dumbledore to have to tell him. At last he knew what Dumbledore would have seen when he looked in the mirror of Erised, and why Dumbledore had been so understanding of the fascination it had exercised over Harry.
They sat in silence for a long time, and the whipmerings of the creature behind them barely disturbed Harry anymore.
At last he said, “Grindelwald tried to stop Voldemort going after the wand. He lied, you know, pretended he had never had it.”
Dumbledore nodded, looking down at his lap, tears still glittering on the crooked nose.
“They say he showed remorse in later years, alone in his cell at Nurmengard. I hope that is true. I would like to think that he did feel the horror and shame of what he had done. Perhaps that lie to Voldemort was his attempt to make amends… to prevent Voldemort from taking the Hallow…”
“…or maybe from breaking into your tomb?” suggested Harry, and Dumbledore dabbed his eyes.
After another short pause Harry said, “You tried to use the Resurrection Stone.”
Dumbledore nodded.
“Well, Grindelwald fled, as anyone but I could have predicted. He vanished, with his plans for seizing power, and his schemes for Muggle torture, and his dreams of the Deathly Hallows, dreams in which I had encouraged him and helped him. He ran, while I was left to bury my sister, and learn to live with my guilt and my terrible grief, the price of my shame.”
“Years passed. There were rumors about him. They said he had procured a wand of immense power. I, meanwhile, was offered the post of Minister of Magic, not once, but several times. Naturally, I refused. I had learned that I was not to be trusted with power.”
“But you’d have been better, much better, than Fudge or Scimgeour!” burst out Harry.
“Would I?” asked Dumbledore heavily. “I am not so sure. I had proven, as a very young man, that power was my weakness and my temptation. It is a curious thing, Harry, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it. Those who, like you, have leadership thrust upon them, and take up the mantle because they must, and find to their own surprise that they wear it well.”
“I was safer at Hogwarts. I think I was a good teacher – ”
“You were the best –”
“– you are very kind, Harry. But while I busied myself with the training of young wizards, Grindelwald was raising an army. They say he feared me, and perhaps he did, but less, I think, than I feared him.”
“Oh, not death,” said Dumbledore, in answer to Harry’s questioning look. “Not what he could do to me magically. I knew that we were evenly matched, perhaps that I was a shade more skillful. It was the truth I feared. You see, I never knew which of us, in that last, horrific fight, had actually cast the curse that killed my sister. You may call me cowardly: You would be right, Harry. I dreaded beyond all things the knowledge that it had been I who brought about her death, not merely through my arrogance and stupidity, but that I actually struck the blow that snuffed out her life.”
“I think he knew it, I think he knew what frightened me. I delayed meeting him until finally, it would have been too shameful to resist any longer. People were dying and he seemed unstoppable, and I had to do what I could.”
“Well, you know what happened next. I won the duel. I won the wand.”
Another silence. Harry did not ask whether Dumbledore had ever found out who struck Ariana dead. He did not want to know, and even less did he want Dumbledore to have to tell him. At last he knew what Dumbledore would have seen when he looked in the mirror of Erised, and why Dumbledore had been so understanding of the fascination it had exercised over Harry.
They sat in silence for a long time, and the whipmerings of the creature behind them barely disturbed Harry anymore.
At last he said, “Grindelwald tried to stop Voldemort going after the wand. He lied, you know, pretended he had never had it.”
Dumbledore nodded, looking down at his lap, tears still glittering on the crooked nose.
“They say he showed remorse in later years, alone in his cell at Nurmengard. I hope that is true. I would like to think that he did feel the horror and shame of what he had done. Perhaps that lie to Voldemort was his attempt to make amends… to prevent Voldemort from taking the Hallow…”
“…or maybe from breaking into your tomb?” suggested Harry, and Dumbledore dabbed his eyes.
After another short pause Harry said, “You tried to use the Resurrection Stone.”
Dumbledore nodded.
“Grindelwald. You cannot imagine
“Grindelwald. You cannot imagine how his ideas caught me, Harry, inflamed me. Muggles forced into subservience. We wizards triumphant. Grindelwald and I, the glorious young leaders of the revolution.”
“Oh, I had a few scruples. I assuaged my conscience with empty words. It would all be for the greater good, and any harm done would be repaid a hundredfold in benefits for wizards. Did I know, in my heart of hearts, what Gellert Grindelwald was? I think I did, but I closed my eyes. If the plans we were making came to fruition, all my dreams would come true.”
“And at the heart of our schemes, the Deathly Hallows! How they fascinated him, how they fascinated both of us! The unbeatable wand, the weapon that would lead us to power! The Resurrection Stone – to him, though I pretended not to know it, it meant an army of Inferi! To me, I confess, it meant the return of my parents, and the lifting of all responsibility from my shoulders.”
“And the Cloak… somehow, we never discussed the Cloak much, Harry. Both of us could conceal ourselves well enough without the Cloak, the true magic of which, of course, is that it can be used to protect and shield others as well as its owner. I thought that, if we ever found it, it might be useful in hiding Ariana, but our interest in the Cloak was mainly that it completed the trio, for the legend said that the man who had united all three objects would then be truly master of death, which we took to mean ‘invincible.’”
“Invincible masters of death, Grindelwald and Dumbledore! Two months of insanity, of cruel dreams, and neglect of the only two members of my family left to me.”
“And then… you know what happened. Reality returned in the form of my rough, unlettered, and infinitely more admirable brother. I did not want to hear the truths he shouted at me. I did not want to hear that I could not set forth and seek Hallows with a fragile and unstable sister in tow.”
“The argument became a fight. Grindelwald lost control. That which I had always sensed in him, though I pretended not to, now sprang into terrible being. And Ariana… after all my mother’s care and caution… lay dead upon the floor.”
“Oh, I had a few scruples. I assuaged my conscience with empty words. It would all be for the greater good, and any harm done would be repaid a hundredfold in benefits for wizards. Did I know, in my heart of hearts, what Gellert Grindelwald was? I think I did, but I closed my eyes. If the plans we were making came to fruition, all my dreams would come true.”
“And at the heart of our schemes, the Deathly Hallows! How they fascinated him, how they fascinated both of us! The unbeatable wand, the weapon that would lead us to power! The Resurrection Stone – to him, though I pretended not to know it, it meant an army of Inferi! To me, I confess, it meant the return of my parents, and the lifting of all responsibility from my shoulders.”
“And the Cloak… somehow, we never discussed the Cloak much, Harry. Both of us could conceal ourselves well enough without the Cloak, the true magic of which, of course, is that it can be used to protect and shield others as well as its owner. I thought that, if we ever found it, it might be useful in hiding Ariana, but our interest in the Cloak was mainly that it completed the trio, for the legend said that the man who had united all three objects would then be truly master of death, which we took to mean ‘invincible.’”
“Invincible masters of death, Grindelwald and Dumbledore! Two months of insanity, of cruel dreams, and neglect of the only two members of my family left to me.”
“And then… you know what happened. Reality returned in the form of my rough, unlettered, and infinitely more admirable brother. I did not want to hear the truths he shouted at me. I did not want to hear that I could not set forth and seek Hallows with a fragile and unstable sister in tow.”
“The argument became a fight. Grindelwald lost control. That which I had always sensed in him, though I pretended not to, now sprang into terrible being. And Ariana… after all my mother’s care and caution… lay dead upon the floor.”
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Chapter 23 Malfoy Manor
Chapter 23 Malfoy Manor
Harry looked around at the other two, now mere outlines in the darkness. He saw Hermione point her wand, set toward the outside, but into his face; there was a bang, a burst of white light, and he buckled in agony, unable to see. He could feel his face swelling rapidly under his hands as heavy footfalls surrounded him.
“Get up, vermin.”
Unknown hands dragged Harry roughly off the ground, before he could stop them, someone had rummaged through his pockets and removed the blackthorn wand. Harry clutched at his excruciatingly painful face, which felt unrecognizable beneath his fingers, tight, swollen, and puffy as though he had suffered some violent allergic reaction. His eyes had been reduced to slits through which he could barely see; his glasses fell off as he was bundled out of the tent: all he could make out were the blurred shapes of four or five people wrestling Ron and Hermione outside too.
“Get – off – her!” Ron shouted. There was the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh: Ron grunted in pain and Hermione screamed, “No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!”
“Your boyfriend’s going to have worse than that done to him if he’s on my list,” said the horribly familiar, rasping voice. “Delicious girl… what a treat… I do enjoy the softness of the skin….”
Harry’s stomach turned over. He knew who this was, Fenrit Greyback, the werewolf who was permitted to wear Death Eater robes in return for his hired savagery.
“Search the tent!” said another voice.
Harry was thrown face down onto the ground. A thud told him that Ron had been cast down beside him. They could hear footsteps and crashes; the men were pushing over chairs inside the tent as they searched.
“Now, let’s see who we’ve got,” said Greyback’s gloating voice from overhead, and Harry was rolled over onto his back. A beam of wand light fell onto his face and Greyback laughed.
“I’ll be needing butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?“
Harry did not answer immediately.
“I said,“ repeated Greyback, and Harry received a blow to the diaphragm that made him double over in pain. ”what happened to you?“
“Stung.” Harry muttered. “Been Stung.”
“Yeah, looks like it.” said a second voice.
“What’s your name?” snarled Greyback.
“Dudley.” said Harry.
“And your first name?”
“I – Vernon. Vernon Dudley.”
“Check the list, Scabior.” said Greyback, and Harry head him move sideways to look down at Ron, instead. “And what about you, ginger?”
“Stan Shunpike.” said Ron.
“Like ‘ell you are.” said the man called Scabior. “We know Stan Shunpike, ‘e’s put a bit of work our way.”
There was another thud.
“I’b Bardy,” said Ron, and Harry could tell that his mouth was full of blood. “Bardy Weasley.”
“A Weasley?“ rasped Greyback. ”So you’re related to blood traitors even if you’re not a Mudblood. And lastly, your pretty little friend…“ The relish in his voice made Harry’s flesh crawl.
“Easy, Greyback.” said Scabior over the jeering of the others.
“Oh, I’m not going to bite just yet. We’ll see if she’s a bit quicker at remembering her name than Barny. Who are you, girly?”
“Penelope Clearwater.” said Hermione. She sounded terrified, but convincing.
“What’s your blood status?”
“Half-Blood.” said Hermione.
“Easy enough to check,” said Scabior. “But the ‘ole lot of ‘em look like they could still be ‘ogwarts age – ”
“We’b lebt,” said Ron.
Harry looked around at the other two, now mere outlines in the darkness. He saw Hermione point her wand, set toward the outside, but into his face; there was a bang, a burst of white light, and he buckled in agony, unable to see. He could feel his face swelling rapidly under his hands as heavy footfalls surrounded him.
“Get up, vermin.”
Unknown hands dragged Harry roughly off the ground, before he could stop them, someone had rummaged through his pockets and removed the blackthorn wand. Harry clutched at his excruciatingly painful face, which felt unrecognizable beneath his fingers, tight, swollen, and puffy as though he had suffered some violent allergic reaction. His eyes had been reduced to slits through which he could barely see; his glasses fell off as he was bundled out of the tent: all he could make out were the blurred shapes of four or five people wrestling Ron and Hermione outside too.
“Get – off – her!” Ron shouted. There was the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh: Ron grunted in pain and Hermione screamed, “No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!”
“Your boyfriend’s going to have worse than that done to him if he’s on my list,” said the horribly familiar, rasping voice. “Delicious girl… what a treat… I do enjoy the softness of the skin….”
Harry’s stomach turned over. He knew who this was, Fenrit Greyback, the werewolf who was permitted to wear Death Eater robes in return for his hired savagery.
“Search the tent!” said another voice.
Harry was thrown face down onto the ground. A thud told him that Ron had been cast down beside him. They could hear footsteps and crashes; the men were pushing over chairs inside the tent as they searched.
“Now, let’s see who we’ve got,” said Greyback’s gloating voice from overhead, and Harry was rolled over onto his back. A beam of wand light fell onto his face and Greyback laughed.
“I’ll be needing butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?“
Harry did not answer immediately.
“I said,“ repeated Greyback, and Harry received a blow to the diaphragm that made him double over in pain. ”what happened to you?“
“Stung.” Harry muttered. “Been Stung.”
“Yeah, looks like it.” said a second voice.
“What’s your name?” snarled Greyback.
“Dudley.” said Harry.
“And your first name?”
“I – Vernon. Vernon Dudley.”
“Check the list, Scabior.” said Greyback, and Harry head him move sideways to look down at Ron, instead. “And what about you, ginger?”
“Stan Shunpike.” said Ron.
“Like ‘ell you are.” said the man called Scabior. “We know Stan Shunpike, ‘e’s put a bit of work our way.”
There was another thud.
“I’b Bardy,” said Ron, and Harry could tell that his mouth was full of blood. “Bardy Weasley.”
“A Weasley?“ rasped Greyback. ”So you’re related to blood traitors even if you’re not a Mudblood. And lastly, your pretty little friend…“ The relish in his voice made Harry’s flesh crawl.
“Easy, Greyback.” said Scabior over the jeering of the others.
“Oh, I’m not going to bite just yet. We’ll see if she’s a bit quicker at remembering her name than Barny. Who are you, girly?”
“Penelope Clearwater.” said Hermione. She sounded terrified, but convincing.
“What’s your blood status?”
“Half-Blood.” said Hermione.
“Easy enough to check,” said Scabior. “But the ‘ole lot of ‘em look like they could still be ‘ogwarts age – ”
“We’b lebt,” said Ron.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Harry looked over at Hermione and
Harry looked over at Hermione and the question he had been about to ask – about whether Mrs. Cattermole’s lack of a wand would prevent her Apparating alongside her husband – died in his throat. Hermione was watching Ron fret over the fate of the Cattermoles, and there was such tenderness in her expression that Harry felt almost as if he had surprised her in the act of kissing him.
“So, have you got it?” Harry asked her, partly to remind her that he was there.
“Got – got what?” she said with a little start.
“What did we just go through all that for? The locket! Where’s the locket?”
“You got it?“ shouted Ron, raising himself a little higher on his pillows. ”No one tells me anything! Blimey, you could have mentioned it!“
“Well, we were running for our lives from the Death Eaters, weren’t we?” said Hermione. “Here.”
And she pulled the locket out of the pocket of her robes and handed it to Ron.
It was as large as a chicken’s egg. An ornate letter S, inlaid with many small green stones, glinted dully in the diffused light shining through the tent’s canvas roof.
“There isn’t any chance someone’s destroyed it since Kreacher had it?“ asked Ron hopefully. ”I mean, are we sure it’s still a Horcrux?“
“I think so,“ said Hermione, taking it back from him and looking at it closely. ”There’d be some sign of damage if it had been magically destroyed.“
She passed it to Harry, who turned it over in his fingers. The thing looked perfect, pristine. He remembered the mangled remains of the diary, and how the stone in the Horcrux ring had been cracked open when Dumbledore destroyed it.
“I reckon Kreacher’s right,” said Harry. “We’re going to have to work out how to open this thing before we can destroy it.”
Sudden awareness of what he was holding, of what lived behind the little golden doors, hit Harry as he spoke. Even after all their efforts to find it, he felt a violent urge to fling the locket from him. Mastering himself again, he tried to pry the locket apart with his fingers, then attempted the charm Hermione had used to open Regulus’s bedroom door. Neither worked. He handed the locket back to Ron and Hermione, each of whom did their best, but were no more successful at opening it than he had been.
“Can you feel it, though?” Ron asked in a hushed voice, as he held it tight in his clenched fist.
“What d’you mean?”
Ron passed the Horcrux to Harry. After a moment or two, Harry thought he knew what Ron meant. Was it his own blood pulsing through his veins that he could feel, or was it something beating inside the locket, like a tiny metal heart?
“What are we going to do with it?” Hermione asked.
“Keep it safe till we work out how to destroy it.” Harry replied, and, little though he wanted to, he hung the chain around his own neck, dropping the locket out of sight beneath his robes, where it rested against his chest beside the pouch Hagrid had given him.
“I think we should take it in turns to keep watch outside the tent,” he added to Hermione, standing up and stretching. “And we’ll need to think about some food as well. You stay there,” he added sharply, as Ron attempted to sit up and turned a nasty shade of green.
With the Sneakoscope Hermione had given Harry for his birthday set carefully upon the table in the tent, Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the day sharing the role of lookout. However, the Sneakoscope remained silent and still upon its point all day, and whether because of the protective enchantments and Muggle-repelling charms Hermione had spread around them, or because people rarely ventured this way, their patch of wood remained deserted, apart from occasional birds and squirrels. Evening brought no change; Harry lit his wand as he swapped places with Hermione at ten o’clock, and looked out upon a deserted scene, noting the bats fluttering high above him across the single patch of starry sky visible from their protected clearing.
He felt hungry now, and a little light-headed. Hermione had not packed any food in her magical bag, as she had assumed that they would be returning to Grimmauld Place that night, so they had had nothing to eat except some wild mushrooms that Hermione had collected from amongst the nearest trees and stewed in a Billycan. After a couple of mouthfuls Ron had pushed his portion away, looking queasy; Harry had only persevered so as to not hurt Hermione’s feelings.
“So, have you got it?” Harry asked her, partly to remind her that he was there.
“Got – got what?” she said with a little start.
“What did we just go through all that for? The locket! Where’s the locket?”
“You got it?“ shouted Ron, raising himself a little higher on his pillows. ”No one tells me anything! Blimey, you could have mentioned it!“
“Well, we were running for our lives from the Death Eaters, weren’t we?” said Hermione. “Here.”
And she pulled the locket out of the pocket of her robes and handed it to Ron.
It was as large as a chicken’s egg. An ornate letter S, inlaid with many small green stones, glinted dully in the diffused light shining through the tent’s canvas roof.
“There isn’t any chance someone’s destroyed it since Kreacher had it?“ asked Ron hopefully. ”I mean, are we sure it’s still a Horcrux?“
“I think so,“ said Hermione, taking it back from him and looking at it closely. ”There’d be some sign of damage if it had been magically destroyed.“
She passed it to Harry, who turned it over in his fingers. The thing looked perfect, pristine. He remembered the mangled remains of the diary, and how the stone in the Horcrux ring had been cracked open when Dumbledore destroyed it.
“I reckon Kreacher’s right,” said Harry. “We’re going to have to work out how to open this thing before we can destroy it.”
Sudden awareness of what he was holding, of what lived behind the little golden doors, hit Harry as he spoke. Even after all their efforts to find it, he felt a violent urge to fling the locket from him. Mastering himself again, he tried to pry the locket apart with his fingers, then attempted the charm Hermione had used to open Regulus’s bedroom door. Neither worked. He handed the locket back to Ron and Hermione, each of whom did their best, but were no more successful at opening it than he had been.
“Can you feel it, though?” Ron asked in a hushed voice, as he held it tight in his clenched fist.
“What d’you mean?”
Ron passed the Horcrux to Harry. After a moment or two, Harry thought he knew what Ron meant. Was it his own blood pulsing through his veins that he could feel, or was it something beating inside the locket, like a tiny metal heart?
“What are we going to do with it?” Hermione asked.
“Keep it safe till we work out how to destroy it.” Harry replied, and, little though he wanted to, he hung the chain around his own neck, dropping the locket out of sight beneath his robes, where it rested against his chest beside the pouch Hagrid had given him.
“I think we should take it in turns to keep watch outside the tent,” he added to Hermione, standing up and stretching. “And we’ll need to think about some food as well. You stay there,” he added sharply, as Ron attempted to sit up and turned a nasty shade of green.
With the Sneakoscope Hermione had given Harry for his birthday set carefully upon the table in the tent, Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the day sharing the role of lookout. However, the Sneakoscope remained silent and still upon its point all day, and whether because of the protective enchantments and Muggle-repelling charms Hermione had spread around them, or because people rarely ventured this way, their patch of wood remained deserted, apart from occasional birds and squirrels. Evening brought no change; Harry lit his wand as he swapped places with Hermione at ten o’clock, and looked out upon a deserted scene, noting the bats fluttering high above him across the single patch of starry sky visible from their protected clearing.
He felt hungry now, and a little light-headed. Hermione had not packed any food in her magical bag, as she had assumed that they would be returning to Grimmauld Place that night, so they had had nothing to eat except some wild mushrooms that Hermione had collected from amongst the nearest trees and stewed in a Billycan. After a couple of mouthfuls Ron had pushed his portion away, looking queasy; Harry had only persevered so as to not hurt Hermione’s feelings.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Chapter 6 The Ghoul in Pajamas
Chapter 6 The Ghoul in Pajamas
The shock of losing Mad-Eye hung over the house in the days that followed; Harry kept expecting to see him stumping in through the back door like the other Order members, who passed in and out to relay news. Harry felt that nothing but action would assuage his feelings of guilt and grief and that he ought to set out on his mission to find and destroy Horcruxes as soon as possible.
“Well, you can’t do anything about the” – Ron mouthed the word Horcruxes – “till you’re seventeen. You’ve still got the Trace on you. And we can plan here as well as anywhere, can’t we? Or,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “d’you reckon you already know where the You-Know-Whats are?”
“No,” Harry admitted.
“I think Hermione’s been doing a bit of research,” said Ron. “She said she was saving it for when you got here.”
They were sitting at the breakfast table; Mr. Weasley and Bill had just left for work. Mrs. Weasley had gone upstairs to wake Hermione and Ginny, while Fleur had drifted off to take a bath.
“The Trace’ll break on the thirty-first,” said Harry. “That means I only need to stay here four days. Then I can – ”
“Five days,” Ron corrected him firmly. “We’ve got to stay for the wedding. They’ll kill us if we miss it.”
Harry understood “they” to mean Fleur and Mrs. Weasley.
“It’s one extra day,” said Ron, when Harry looked mutinous.
“Don’t they realize how important –?”
“‘Course they don’t,” said Ron. “They haven’t got a clue. And now you mention it, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
Ron glanced toward the door into the hall to check that Mrs. Weasley was not returning yet, then leaned in closer to Harry.
“Mum’s been trying to get it out of Hermione and me. What we’re off to do. She’ll try you next, so brace yourself. Dad and Lupin’ve both asked as well, but when we said Dumbledore told you not to tell anyone except us, they dropped it. Not Mum, though. She’s determined.”
Ron’s prediction came true within hours. Shortly before lunch, Mrs. Weasley detached Harry from the others by asking him to help identify a lone man’s sock that she thought might have come out of his rucksack. Once she had him cornered in the tiny scullery off the kitchen, she started.
“Ron and Hermione seem to think that the three of you are dropping out of Hogwarts,” she began in a light, casual tone.
“Oh,” said Harry. “Well, yeah. We are.”
The mangle turned of its own accord in a corner, wringing out what looked like one of Mr. Weasley’s vests.
“May I ask why you are abandoning your education?” said Mrs. Weasley.
“Well, Dumbledore left me… stuff to do,” mumbled Harry. “Ron and Hermione know about it, and they want to come too.”
“What sort of ‘stuff’?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t – ”
“Well, frankly, I think Arthur and I have a right to know, and I’m sure Mr. And Mrs. Granger would agree!” said Mrs. Weasley. Harry had been afraid of the “concerned parent” attack. He forced himself to look directly into her eyes, noticing as he did so that they were precisely the same shade of brown as Ginny’s. This did not help.
“Dumbledore didn’t want anyone else to know, Mrs. Weasley. I’m sorry. Ron and Hermione don’t have to come, it’s their choice – ”
“I don’t see that you have to go either!” she snapped, dropping all pretense now. “You’re barely of age, any of you! It’s utter nonsense, if Dumbledore needed work doing, he had the whole Order at his command! Harry, you must have misunderstood him. Probably he was telling you something he wanted done, and you took it to mean that he wanted you–”
“I didn’t misunderstand,” said Harry flatly. “It’s got to be me.”
He handed her back the single sock he was supposed to be identifying, which was patterned with golden bulrushes.
“And that’s not mine. I don’t support Puddlemere United.”
“Oh, of course not,” said Mrs. Weasley with a sudden and rather unnerving return to her casual tone. “I should have realized. Well, Harry, while we’ve still got you here, you won’t mind helping with the preparations for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, will you? There’s still so much to do.”
“No – I – of course not,” said Harry, disconcerted by this sudden change of subject.
“Sweet of you,” she replied, and she smiled as she left the scullery.
From that moment on, Mrs. Weasley kept Harry, Ron and Hermione so busy with preparations for the wedding that they hardly had any time to think. The kindest explanation of this behavior would have been that Mrs. Weasley wanted to distract them all from thoughts of Mad-Eye and the terrors of their recent journey. After two days of nonstop cutlery cleaning, of color-matching favors, ribbons, and flowers, of de-gnoming the garden and helping Mrs. Weasley cook vast batches of canapés, however, Harry started to suspect her of a different motive. All the jobs she handed out seemed to keep him, Ron, and Hermione away from one another; he had not had a chance to speak to the two of them alone since the first night, when he had told them about Voldemort torturing Ollivander.
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The shock of losing Mad-Eye hung over the house in the days that followed; Harry kept expecting to see him stumping in through the back door like the other Order members, who passed in and out to relay news. Harry felt that nothing but action would assuage his feelings of guilt and grief and that he ought to set out on his mission to find and destroy Horcruxes as soon as possible.
“Well, you can’t do anything about the” – Ron mouthed the word Horcruxes – “till you’re seventeen. You’ve still got the Trace on you. And we can plan here as well as anywhere, can’t we? Or,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “d’you reckon you already know where the You-Know-Whats are?”
“No,” Harry admitted.
“I think Hermione’s been doing a bit of research,” said Ron. “She said she was saving it for when you got here.”
They were sitting at the breakfast table; Mr. Weasley and Bill had just left for work. Mrs. Weasley had gone upstairs to wake Hermione and Ginny, while Fleur had drifted off to take a bath.
“The Trace’ll break on the thirty-first,” said Harry. “That means I only need to stay here four days. Then I can – ”
“Five days,” Ron corrected him firmly. “We’ve got to stay for the wedding. They’ll kill us if we miss it.”
Harry understood “they” to mean Fleur and Mrs. Weasley.
“It’s one extra day,” said Ron, when Harry looked mutinous.
“Don’t they realize how important –?”
“‘Course they don’t,” said Ron. “They haven’t got a clue. And now you mention it, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
Ron glanced toward the door into the hall to check that Mrs. Weasley was not returning yet, then leaned in closer to Harry.
“Mum’s been trying to get it out of Hermione and me. What we’re off to do. She’ll try you next, so brace yourself. Dad and Lupin’ve both asked as well, but when we said Dumbledore told you not to tell anyone except us, they dropped it. Not Mum, though. She’s determined.”
Ron’s prediction came true within hours. Shortly before lunch, Mrs. Weasley detached Harry from the others by asking him to help identify a lone man’s sock that she thought might have come out of his rucksack. Once she had him cornered in the tiny scullery off the kitchen, she started.
“Ron and Hermione seem to think that the three of you are dropping out of Hogwarts,” she began in a light, casual tone.
“Oh,” said Harry. “Well, yeah. We are.”
The mangle turned of its own accord in a corner, wringing out what looked like one of Mr. Weasley’s vests.
“May I ask why you are abandoning your education?” said Mrs. Weasley.
“Well, Dumbledore left me… stuff to do,” mumbled Harry. “Ron and Hermione know about it, and they want to come too.”
“What sort of ‘stuff’?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t – ”
“Well, frankly, I think Arthur and I have a right to know, and I’m sure Mr. And Mrs. Granger would agree!” said Mrs. Weasley. Harry had been afraid of the “concerned parent” attack. He forced himself to look directly into her eyes, noticing as he did so that they were precisely the same shade of brown as Ginny’s. This did not help.
“Dumbledore didn’t want anyone else to know, Mrs. Weasley. I’m sorry. Ron and Hermione don’t have to come, it’s their choice – ”
“I don’t see that you have to go either!” she snapped, dropping all pretense now. “You’re barely of age, any of you! It’s utter nonsense, if Dumbledore needed work doing, he had the whole Order at his command! Harry, you must have misunderstood him. Probably he was telling you something he wanted done, and you took it to mean that he wanted you–”
“I didn’t misunderstand,” said Harry flatly. “It’s got to be me.”
He handed her back the single sock he was supposed to be identifying, which was patterned with golden bulrushes.
“And that’s not mine. I don’t support Puddlemere United.”
“Oh, of course not,” said Mrs. Weasley with a sudden and rather unnerving return to her casual tone. “I should have realized. Well, Harry, while we’ve still got you here, you won’t mind helping with the preparations for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, will you? There’s still so much to do.”
“No – I – of course not,” said Harry, disconcerted by this sudden change of subject.
“Sweet of you,” she replied, and she smiled as she left the scullery.
From that moment on, Mrs. Weasley kept Harry, Ron and Hermione so busy with preparations for the wedding that they hardly had any time to think. The kindest explanation of this behavior would have been that Mrs. Weasley wanted to distract them all from thoughts of Mad-Eye and the terrors of their recent journey. After two days of nonstop cutlery cleaning, of color-matching favors, ribbons, and flowers, of de-gnoming the garden and helping Mrs. Weasley cook vast batches of canapés, however, Harry started to suspect her of a different motive. All the jobs she handed out seemed to keep him, Ron, and Hermione away from one another; he had not had a chance to speak to the two of them alone since the first night, when he had told them about Voldemort torturing Ollivander.
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Monday, November 29, 2010
“It doesn't look like it was built for two people
“It doesn't look like it was built for two people. Will it hold both of us? Will we be too heavy together?”
Dumbledore chuckled.
“Voldemort will not have cared about the weight, but about the amount of magical power that crossed his lake. I rather think an enchantment will have been placed upon
this boat so that only one wizard at a time will be able to sail in it.”
“But then—?”
“I do not think you will count, Harry: you are underage and unqualified. Voldemort would never have expected a sixteen-year-old to reach this place: I think it
unlikely that your powers will register compared to mine.”
These words did nothing to raise Harry's morale; perhaps Dumbledore knew it, for he added, “Voldemort's mistake, Harry, Voldemort's mistake... age is foolish and
forgetful when it underestimates youth... now, you first this time, and be careful not to touch the water.”
Dumbledore stood aside and Harry climbed carefully into the boat. Dumbledore stepped in too, coiling the chain onto the floor. They were crammed in together; Harry
could not comfortably sit, but crouched, his knees jutting over the edge of the boat, which began to move at once. There was no sound other than the silken rustle of
the boat's prow cleaving the water; it moved without their help, as though an invisible rope was pulling it onward toward the light in the center. Soon they could no
longer see the walls of the cavern; they might have been at sea except that there were no waves.
Harry looked down and saw the reflected gold of his wandlight sparkling and glittering on the black water as they passed. The boat was carving deep ripples upon the
glassy surface, grooves in the dark mirror...
And then Harry saw it, marble white, floating inches below the surface.
“Professor!” he said, and his startled voice echoed loudly over the silent water.
“Harry?”
“I think I saw a hand in the water—a human hand!”
“Yes, I am sure you did,” said Dumbledore calmly.
Harry stared down into the water, looking for the vanished hand, and a sick feeling rose in his throat.
“So that thing that jumped out of the water—?” But Harry had his answer before Dumbledore could reply; the wandlight had slid over a fresh patch of water and showed
him, this time, a dead man lying faceup inches beneath the surface, his open eyes misted as though with cobwebs, his hair and his robes swirling around him like smoke.
Dumbledore chuckled.
“Voldemort will not have cared about the weight, but about the amount of magical power that crossed his lake. I rather think an enchantment will have been placed upon
this boat so that only one wizard at a time will be able to sail in it.”
“But then—?”
“I do not think you will count, Harry: you are underage and unqualified. Voldemort would never have expected a sixteen-year-old to reach this place: I think it
unlikely that your powers will register compared to mine.”
These words did nothing to raise Harry's morale; perhaps Dumbledore knew it, for he added, “Voldemort's mistake, Harry, Voldemort's mistake... age is foolish and
forgetful when it underestimates youth... now, you first this time, and be careful not to touch the water.”
Dumbledore stood aside and Harry climbed carefully into the boat. Dumbledore stepped in too, coiling the chain onto the floor. They were crammed in together; Harry
could not comfortably sit, but crouched, his knees jutting over the edge of the boat, which began to move at once. There was no sound other than the silken rustle of
the boat's prow cleaving the water; it moved without their help, as though an invisible rope was pulling it onward toward the light in the center. Soon they could no
longer see the walls of the cavern; they might have been at sea except that there were no waves.
Harry looked down and saw the reflected gold of his wandlight sparkling and glittering on the black water as they passed. The boat was carving deep ripples upon the
glassy surface, grooves in the dark mirror...
And then Harry saw it, marble white, floating inches below the surface.
“Professor!” he said, and his startled voice echoed loudly over the silent water.
“Harry?”
“I think I saw a hand in the water—a human hand!”
“Yes, I am sure you did,” said Dumbledore calmly.
Harry stared down into the water, looking for the vanished hand, and a sick feeling rose in his throat.
“So that thing that jumped out of the water—?” But Harry had his answer before Dumbledore could reply; the wandlight had slid over a fresh patch of water and showed
him, this time, a dead man lying faceup inches beneath the surface, his open eyes misted as though with cobwebs, his hair and his robes swirling around him like smoke.
“Oho,” said Dumbledore happily, seconds later
“Oho,” said Dumbledore happily, seconds later. His hand had closed in midair upon something Harry could not see. Dumbledore moved closer to the water; Harry watched
nervously as the tips of Dumbledore's buckled shoes found the utmost edge of the rock rim. Keeping his hand clenched in midair, Dumbledore raised his wand with the
other and tapped his fist with the point.
Immediately a thick coppery green chain appeared out of thin air, extending from the depths of the water into Dumbledore's clenched hand. Dumbledore tapped the chain,
which began to slide through his fist like a snake, coiling itself on the ground with a clinking sound that echoed noisily off the rocky walls, pulling something from
the depths of the black water. Harry gasped as the ghostly prow of a tiny boat broke the surface, glowing as green as the chain, and floated, with barely a ripple,
toward the place on the bank where Harry and Dumbledore stood.
“How did you know that was there?” Harry asked in astonishment.
“Magic always leaves traces,” said Dumbledore, as the boat hit the bank with a gentle bump, “sometimes very distinctive traces. I taught Tom Riddle. I know his
style.”
“Is ... is this boat safe?”
“Oh yes, I think so. Voldemort needed to create a means to cross the lake without attracting the wrath of those creatures he had placed within it in case he ever
wanted to visit or remove his Horcrux.”
“So the things in the water won't do anything to us if we cross in Voldemort's boat?”
“I think we must resign ourselves to the fact that they will, at some point, realize we are not Lord Voldemort. Thus far, however, we have done well. They have allowed
us to raise the boat.”
“But why have they let us?” asked Harry, who could not shake off the vision of tentacles rising out of the dark water the moment they were out of sight of the bank.
“Voldemort would have been reasonably confident that none but a very great wizard would have been able to find the boat,” said Dumbledore. “I think he would have
been prepared to risk what was, to his mind, the most unlikely possibility that somebody else would find it, knowing that he had set other obstacles ahead that only he
would be able to penetrate. We shall see whether he was right.”
Harry looked down into the boat. It really was very small.
nervously as the tips of Dumbledore's buckled shoes found the utmost edge of the rock rim. Keeping his hand clenched in midair, Dumbledore raised his wand with the
other and tapped his fist with the point.
Immediately a thick coppery green chain appeared out of thin air, extending from the depths of the water into Dumbledore's clenched hand. Dumbledore tapped the chain,
which began to slide through his fist like a snake, coiling itself on the ground with a clinking sound that echoed noisily off the rocky walls, pulling something from
the depths of the black water. Harry gasped as the ghostly prow of a tiny boat broke the surface, glowing as green as the chain, and floated, with barely a ripple,
toward the place on the bank where Harry and Dumbledore stood.
“How did you know that was there?” Harry asked in astonishment.
“Magic always leaves traces,” said Dumbledore, as the boat hit the bank with a gentle bump, “sometimes very distinctive traces. I taught Tom Riddle. I know his
style.”
“Is ... is this boat safe?”
“Oh yes, I think so. Voldemort needed to create a means to cross the lake without attracting the wrath of those creatures he had placed within it in case he ever
wanted to visit or remove his Horcrux.”
“So the things in the water won't do anything to us if we cross in Voldemort's boat?”
“I think we must resign ourselves to the fact that they will, at some point, realize we are not Lord Voldemort. Thus far, however, we have done well. They have allowed
us to raise the boat.”
“But why have they let us?” asked Harry, who could not shake off the vision of tentacles rising out of the dark water the moment they were out of sight of the bank.
“Voldemort would have been reasonably confident that none but a very great wizard would have been able to find the boat,” said Dumbledore. “I think he would have
been prepared to risk what was, to his mind, the most unlikely possibility that somebody else would find it, knowing that he had set other obstacles ahead that only he
would be able to penetrate. We shall see whether he was right.”
Harry looked down into the boat. It really was very small.
“Something, I think,
“Something, I think, that is ready to respond should we attempt to seize the Horcrux.”
Harry looked back at the water. The surface of the lake was once more shining black glass: the ripples had vanished unnaturally fast; Harry's heart, however, was still
pounding.
“Did you think that would happen, sir?”
“I thought something would happen if we made an obvious attempt to get our hands on the Horcrux. That was a very good idea, Harry; much the simplest way of finding out
what we are facing.”
“But we don't know what the thing was,” said Harry, looking at the sinisterly smooth water.
“What the things are, you mean,” said Dumbledore. “I doubt very much that there is only one of them. Shall we walk on?”
“Professor?”
“Yes, Harry?”
“Do you think we're going to have to go into the lake?”
“Into it? Only if we are very unfortunate.”
“You don't think the Horcrux is at the bottom?”
“Oh no ... I think the Horcrux is in the middle.”
And Dumbledore pointed toward the misty green light in the center of the lake.
“So we're going to have to cross the lake to get to it?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Harry did not say anything. His thoughts were all of water monsters, of giant serpents, of demons, kelpies, and sprites...
“Aha,” said Dumbledore, and he stopped again; this time, Harry really did walk into him; for a moment he toppled on the edge of the dark water, and Dumbledore's
uninjured hand closed tightly around his upper arm, pulling him back. “So sorry, Harry, I should have given warning. Stand back against the wall, please; I think I
have found the place.”
Harry had no idea what Dumbledore meant; this patch of dark bank was exactly like every other bit as far as he could tell, but Dumbledore seemed to have detected
something special about it. This time he was running his hand, not over the rocky wall, but through the thin air, as though expecting to find and grip something
invisible.
Harry looked back at the water. The surface of the lake was once more shining black glass: the ripples had vanished unnaturally fast; Harry's heart, however, was still
pounding.
“Did you think that would happen, sir?”
“I thought something would happen if we made an obvious attempt to get our hands on the Horcrux. That was a very good idea, Harry; much the simplest way of finding out
what we are facing.”
“But we don't know what the thing was,” said Harry, looking at the sinisterly smooth water.
“What the things are, you mean,” said Dumbledore. “I doubt very much that there is only one of them. Shall we walk on?”
“Professor?”
“Yes, Harry?”
“Do you think we're going to have to go into the lake?”
“Into it? Only if we are very unfortunate.”
“You don't think the Horcrux is at the bottom?”
“Oh no ... I think the Horcrux is in the middle.”
And Dumbledore pointed toward the misty green light in the center of the lake.
“So we're going to have to cross the lake to get to it?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Harry did not say anything. His thoughts were all of water monsters, of giant serpents, of demons, kelpies, and sprites...
“Aha,” said Dumbledore, and he stopped again; this time, Harry really did walk into him; for a moment he toppled on the edge of the dark water, and Dumbledore's
uninjured hand closed tightly around his upper arm, pulling him back. “So sorry, Harry, I should have given warning. Stand back against the wall, please; I think I
have found the place.”
Harry had no idea what Dumbledore meant; this patch of dark bank was exactly like every other bit as far as he could tell, but Dumbledore seemed to have detected
something special about it. This time he was running his hand, not over the rocky wall, but through the thin air, as though expecting to find and grip something
invisible.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
“Yes, I did, and I'm starting to wish I'd chosen him
“Yes, I did, and I'm starting to wish I'd chosen him, McLaggen makes Grawp look a gentleman. Let's go this way, we'll be able to see him coming, he's so tall...”
The three of them made their way over to the other side of the room, scooping up goblets of mead on the way, realizing too late that Professor Trelawney was standing
there alone.
“Hello,” said Luna politely to Professor Trelawney.
“Good evening, my dear,” said Professor Trelawney, focusing upon Luna with some difficulty. Harry could smell cooking sherry again. “I haven't seen you in my classes
lately...”
“No, I've got Firenze this year,” said Luna.
“Oh, of course,” said Professor Trelawney with an angry, drunken titter. “Or Dobbin, as I prefer to think of him. You would have thought, would you not, that now I
am returned to the school Professor Dumbledore might have got rid of the horse? But no... we share classes... It's an insult, frankly, an insult. Do you know...”
Professor Trelawney seemed too tipsy to have recognized Harry. Under cover of her furious criticisms of Firenze, Harry drew closer to Hermione and said, “Let me get
something straight. Are you planning to tell Ron that you interfered at Keeper tryouts?”
Hermione raised her eyebrows.
“Do you really think I'd stoop that low?”
Harry looked at her shrewdly.
“Hermione, if you can ask out McLaggen—”
“There's a difference,” said Hermione with dignity. “I've got no plans to tell Ron anything about what might, or might not, have happened at Keeper tryouts.”
“Good,” said Harry fervently. “Because he'll just fall apart again, and we'll lose the next match —”
“Quidditch!” said Hermione angrily. “Is that all boys care about? Cormac hasn't asked me one single question about myself, no, I've just been treated to A Hundred
Great Saves Made by Cormac McLaggen non-stop ever since—oh no, here he comes!”
She moved so fast it was as though she had Disapparated; one moment she was there, the next, she had squeezed between two guffawing witches and vanished.
“Seen Hermione?” asked McLaggen, forcing his way through the throng a minute later.
“No, sorry,” said Harry, and he turned quickly to join in Luna's conversation, forgetting for a split second to whom she was talking.
“Harry Potter!” said Professor Trelawney in deep, vibrant tones, noticing him for the first time.
“Oh, hello,” said Harry unenthusiastically.
“My dear boy!” she said in a very carrying whisper. “The rumors! The stories! The Chosen One! Of course, I have known for a very long time... the omens were never
good, Harry... but why have you not returned to Divination? For you, of all people, the subject is of the utmost importance!”
“Ah, Sybill, we all think our subject's most important!” said a loud voice, and Slughorn appeared at Professor Trelawney's other side, his face very red, his velvet
hat a little askew, a glass of mead in one hand and an enormous mince pie in the other. “But I don't think I've ever known such a natural at Potions!” said Slughorn,
regarding Harry with a fond, if bloodshot, eye. “Instinctive, you know—like his mother! I've only ever taught a few with this kind of ability, I can tell you that,
Sybill—why even Severus —”
The three of them made their way over to the other side of the room, scooping up goblets of mead on the way, realizing too late that Professor Trelawney was standing
there alone.
“Hello,” said Luna politely to Professor Trelawney.
“Good evening, my dear,” said Professor Trelawney, focusing upon Luna with some difficulty. Harry could smell cooking sherry again. “I haven't seen you in my classes
lately...”
“No, I've got Firenze this year,” said Luna.
“Oh, of course,” said Professor Trelawney with an angry, drunken titter. “Or Dobbin, as I prefer to think of him. You would have thought, would you not, that now I
am returned to the school Professor Dumbledore might have got rid of the horse? But no... we share classes... It's an insult, frankly, an insult. Do you know...”
Professor Trelawney seemed too tipsy to have recognized Harry. Under cover of her furious criticisms of Firenze, Harry drew closer to Hermione and said, “Let me get
something straight. Are you planning to tell Ron that you interfered at Keeper tryouts?”
Hermione raised her eyebrows.
“Do you really think I'd stoop that low?”
Harry looked at her shrewdly.
“Hermione, if you can ask out McLaggen—”
“There's a difference,” said Hermione with dignity. “I've got no plans to tell Ron anything about what might, or might not, have happened at Keeper tryouts.”
“Good,” said Harry fervently. “Because he'll just fall apart again, and we'll lose the next match —”
“Quidditch!” said Hermione angrily. “Is that all boys care about? Cormac hasn't asked me one single question about myself, no, I've just been treated to A Hundred
Great Saves Made by Cormac McLaggen non-stop ever since—oh no, here he comes!”
She moved so fast it was as though she had Disapparated; one moment she was there, the next, she had squeezed between two guffawing witches and vanished.
“Seen Hermione?” asked McLaggen, forcing his way through the throng a minute later.
“No, sorry,” said Harry, and he turned quickly to join in Luna's conversation, forgetting for a split second to whom she was talking.
“Harry Potter!” said Professor Trelawney in deep, vibrant tones, noticing him for the first time.
“Oh, hello,” said Harry unenthusiastically.
“My dear boy!” she said in a very carrying whisper. “The rumors! The stories! The Chosen One! Of course, I have known for a very long time... the omens were never
good, Harry... but why have you not returned to Divination? For you, of all people, the subject is of the utmost importance!”
“Ah, Sybill, we all think our subject's most important!” said a loud voice, and Slughorn appeared at Professor Trelawney's other side, his face very red, his velvet
hat a little askew, a glass of mead in one hand and an enormous mince pie in the other. “But I don't think I've ever known such a natural at Potions!” said Slughorn,
regarding Harry with a fond, if bloodshot, eye. “Instinctive, you know—like his mother! I've only ever taught a few with this kind of ability, I can tell you that,
Sybill—why even Severus —”
“Just as modest as Horace described!
“Just as modest as Horace described!” said Worple. “But seriously—” his manner changed; it became suddenly business-like, “I would be delighted to write it myself
— people are craving to know more about you, dear boy, craving! If you were prepared to grant me a few interviews, say in four- or five-hour sessions, why, we could
have the book finished within months. And all with very little effort on your part, I assure you—ask Sanguini here if it isn't quite — Sanguini, stay here!” added
Worple, suddenly stern, for the vampire had been edging toward the nearby group of girls, a rather hungry look in his eye. “Here, have a pasty,” said Worple, seizing
one from a passing elf and stuffing it into Sanguini's hand before turning his attention back to Harry.
“My dear boy, the gold you could make, you have no idea —”
“I'm definitely not interested,” said Harry firmly, “and I've just seen a friend of mine, sorry.”
He pulled Luna after him into the crowd; he had indeed just seen a long mane of brown hair disappear between what looked like two members of the Weird Sisters.
“Hermione! Hermione!”
“Harry! There you are, thank goodness! Hi, Luna !”
“What's happened to you?” asked Harry, for Hermione looked distinctly disheveled, rather as though she had just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil's Snare.
“Oh, I've just escaped—I mean, I've just left Cormac,” she said. “Under the mistletoe,” she added in explanation, as Harry continued to look questioningly at her.
“Serves you right for coming with him,” he told her severely.
“I thought he'd annoy Ron most,” said Hermione dispassionately. “I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole —”
“You considered Smith?” said Harry, revolted.
— people are craving to know more about you, dear boy, craving! If you were prepared to grant me a few interviews, say in four- or five-hour sessions, why, we could
have the book finished within months. And all with very little effort on your part, I assure you—ask Sanguini here if it isn't quite — Sanguini, stay here!” added
Worple, suddenly stern, for the vampire had been edging toward the nearby group of girls, a rather hungry look in his eye. “Here, have a pasty,” said Worple, seizing
one from a passing elf and stuffing it into Sanguini's hand before turning his attention back to Harry.
“My dear boy, the gold you could make, you have no idea —”
“I'm definitely not interested,” said Harry firmly, “and I've just seen a friend of mine, sorry.”
He pulled Luna after him into the crowd; he had indeed just seen a long mane of brown hair disappear between what looked like two members of the Weird Sisters.
“Hermione! Hermione!”
“Harry! There you are, thank goodness! Hi, Luna !”
“What's happened to you?” asked Harry, for Hermione looked distinctly disheveled, rather as though she had just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil's Snare.
“Oh, I've just escaped—I mean, I've just left Cormac,” she said. “Under the mistletoe,” she added in explanation, as Harry continued to look questioningly at her.
“Serves you right for coming with him,” he told her severely.
“I thought he'd annoy Ron most,” said Hermione dispassionately. “I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole —”
“You considered Smith?” said Harry, revolted.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Chapter 4 Horace Slughorn
Despite the fact that he had spent every waking moment of the past few days hoping desperately that Dumbledore would indeed come to fetch him, Harry felt distinctly awkward as they set off down Privet Drive together. He had never had a proper conversation with the Headmaster outside of Hogwarts before; there was usually a desk between them. The memory of their last face-to-face encounter kept intruding too, and it rather heightened Harry's sense of embarrassment; he had shouted a lot on that occasion, not to mention done his best to smash several of Dumbledore's most prized possessions.
Dumbledore, however, seemed completely relaxed.
“Keep your wand at the ready, Harry,” he said brightly.
“But I thought I'm not allowed to use magic outside school, sir?”
“If there is an attack,” said Dumbledore, “I give you permission to use any counter-jinx or -curse that might occur to you. However, I do not think you need worry about being attacked tonight.”
“Why not, sir?”
“You are with me,” said Dumbledore simply. “This will do, Harry.”
He came to an abrupt halt at the end of Privet Drive.
“You have not, of course, passed your Apparition Test,” he said.
“No,” said Harry. “I thought you had to be seventeen?”
“You do,” said Dumbledore. “So you will need to hold on to my arm very tightly. My left, if you don't mind—as you have noticed, my wand arm is a little fragile at the moment.”
Harry gripped Dumbledore's proffered forearm.
“Very good,” said Dumbledore. “Well, here we go.”
Harry felt Dumbledore's arm twist away from him and redoubled his grip; the next thing he knew, everything went black; he was being pressed very hard from all directions; he could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull and then—
He gulped great lungfulls of cold night air and opened his streaming eyes. He felt as though he had just been forced through a very tight rubber tube. It was a few seconds before he realized that Privet Drive had vanished. He and Dumbledore were now standing in what appeared to be a deserted village square, in the center of which stood an old war memorial and a few benches. His comprehension catching up with his senses, Harry realized that he had just Apparated for the first time in his life.
“Are you all right?” asked Dumbledore, looking down at him solicitously. “The sensation does take some getting used to.”
“I'm fine,” said Harry, rubbing his ears, which felt as though they had left Privet Drive rather reluctantly. “But I think I might prefer brooms...”
Dumbledore smiled, drew his traveling cloak a little more lightly around his neck, and said, “This way.”
He set off at a brisk pace, past an empty inn and a few houses. According to a clock on a nearby church, it was almost midnight.
“So tell me, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “Your scar... has it been hurting at all?”
Harry raised a hand unconsciously to his forehead and rubbed the lightning-shaped mark.
“No,” he said, “and I've been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Voldemort's getting so powerful again.”
He glanced up at Dumbledore and saw that he was wearing a satisfied expression.
“I, on the other hand, thought otherwise,” said Dumbledore. “Lord Voldemort has finally realized the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you.”
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Dumbledore, however, seemed completely relaxed.
“Keep your wand at the ready, Harry,” he said brightly.
“But I thought I'm not allowed to use magic outside school, sir?”
“If there is an attack,” said Dumbledore, “I give you permission to use any counter-jinx or -curse that might occur to you. However, I do not think you need worry about being attacked tonight.”
“Why not, sir?”
“You are with me,” said Dumbledore simply. “This will do, Harry.”
He came to an abrupt halt at the end of Privet Drive.
“You have not, of course, passed your Apparition Test,” he said.
“No,” said Harry. “I thought you had to be seventeen?”
“You do,” said Dumbledore. “So you will need to hold on to my arm very tightly. My left, if you don't mind—as you have noticed, my wand arm is a little fragile at the moment.”
Harry gripped Dumbledore's proffered forearm.
“Very good,” said Dumbledore. “Well, here we go.”
Harry felt Dumbledore's arm twist away from him and redoubled his grip; the next thing he knew, everything went black; he was being pressed very hard from all directions; he could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull and then—
He gulped great lungfulls of cold night air and opened his streaming eyes. He felt as though he had just been forced through a very tight rubber tube. It was a few seconds before he realized that Privet Drive had vanished. He and Dumbledore were now standing in what appeared to be a deserted village square, in the center of which stood an old war memorial and a few benches. His comprehension catching up with his senses, Harry realized that he had just Apparated for the first time in his life.
“Are you all right?” asked Dumbledore, looking down at him solicitously. “The sensation does take some getting used to.”
“I'm fine,” said Harry, rubbing his ears, which felt as though they had left Privet Drive rather reluctantly. “But I think I might prefer brooms...”
Dumbledore smiled, drew his traveling cloak a little more lightly around his neck, and said, “This way.”
He set off at a brisk pace, past an empty inn and a few houses. According to a clock on a nearby church, it was almost midnight.
“So tell me, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “Your scar... has it been hurting at all?”
Harry raised a hand unconsciously to his forehead and rubbed the lightning-shaped mark.
“No,” he said, “and I've been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Voldemort's getting so powerful again.”
He glanced up at Dumbledore and saw that he was wearing a satisfied expression.
“I, on the other hand, thought otherwise,” said Dumbledore. “Lord Voldemort has finally realized the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you.”
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Monday, November 22, 2010
Chapter 51
Levin certainly was out of humor, and in spite off all his desire to be affectionate and cordial to his charming visitor, he could not control his mood. The intoxication of the news that Kitty was not married had gradually begun to work upon him.
Kitty was not married, but ill, and ill from love for a man who had slighted her. This slight, as it were, rebounded upon him. Vronsky had slighted her, and she had slighted him, Levin. Consequently Vronsky had the right to despise Levin, and therefore he was his enemy. But all this Levin did not think out. He vaguely felt that there was something in it insulting to him, and he was not angry now at what had disturbed him, but he fell foul of everything that presented itself. The stupid sale of the forest, the fraud practiced upon Oblonsky and concluded in his house, exasperated him.
"Well, finished?" he said, meeting Stepan Arkadyevitch upstairs. "Would you like supper?"
"Well, I wouldn't say no to it. What an appetite I get in the country! Wonderful! Why didn't you offer Ryabinin something?"
"Oh, damn him!"
"Still, how you do treat him!" said Oblonsky. "You didn't even shake hands with him. Why not shake hands with him?"
"Because I don't shake hands with a waiter, and a waiter's a hundred times better than he is."
"What a reactionist you are, really! What about the amalgamation of classes?" said Oblonsky.
"Anyone who likes amalgamating is welcome to it, but it sickens me."
"You're a regular reactionist, I see."
"Really, I have never considered what I am. I am Konstantin Levin, and nothing else."
"And Konstantin Levin very much out of temper," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, smiling.
"Yes, I am out of temper, and do you know why? Because--excuse me--of your stupid sale..."
Stepan Arkadyevitch frowned good-humoredly, like one who feels himself teased and attacked for no fault of his own.
"Come, enough about it!" he said. "When did anybody ever sell anything without being told immediately after the sale, 'It was worth much more'? But when one wants to sell, no one will give anything.... No, I see you've a grudge against that unlucky Ryabinin."
"Maybe I have. And do you know why? You'll say again that I'm a reactionist, or some other terrible word; but all the same it does annoy and anger me to see on all sides the impoverishing of the nobility to which I belong, and, in spite of the amalgamation of classes, I'm glad to belong. And their impoverishment is not due to extravagance--that would be nothing; living in good style --that's the proper thing for noblemen; it's only the nobles who know how to do it. Now the peasants about us buy land, and I don't mind that. The gentleman does nothing, while the peasant works and supplants the idle man. That's as it ought to be. And I'm very glad for the peasant. But I do mind seeing the process of impoverishment from a sort of--I don't know what to call it-- innocence. Here a Polish speculator bought for half its value a magnificent estate from a young lady who lives in Nice. And there a merchant will get three acres of land, worth ten roubles, as security for the loan of one rouble. Here, for no kind of reason, you've made that rascal a present of thirty thousand roubles."
"Not a word more," she repeated, and with a look of chill despair,
"Not a word more," she repeated, and with a look of chill despair, incomprehensible to him, she parted from him. She felt that at that moment she could not put into words the sense of shame, of rapture, and of horror at this stepping into a new life, and she did not want to speak of it, to vulgarize this feeling by inappropriate words. But later too, and the next day and the third day, she still found no words in which she could express the complexity of her feelings; indeed, she could not even find thoughts in which she could clearly think out all that was in her soul.
She said to herself: "No, just now I can't think of it, later on, when I am calmer." But this calm for thought never came; every time the thought rose of what she had done and what would happen to her, and what she ought to do, a horror came over her and she drove those thoughts away.
"Later, later," she said--"when I am calmer."
But in dreams, when she had no control over her thoughts, her position presented itself to her in all its hideous nakedness. Once dream haunted her almost every night. She dreamed that both were her husbands at once, that both were lavishing caresses on her. Alexey Alexandrovitch was weeping, kissing her hands, and saying, "How happy we are now!" And Alexey Vronsky was there too, and he too was her husband. And she was marveling that it had once seemed impossible to her, was explaining to them, laughing, that this was ever so much simpler, and that now both of them were happy and contented. But this dream weighed on her like a nightmare, and she awoke from it in terror.
She said to herself: "No, just now I can't think of it, later on, when I am calmer." But this calm for thought never came; every time the thought rose of what she had done and what would happen to her, and what she ought to do, a horror came over her and she drove those thoughts away.
"Later, later," she said--"when I am calmer."
But in dreams, when she had no control over her thoughts, her position presented itself to her in all its hideous nakedness. Once dream haunted her almost every night. She dreamed that both were her husbands at once, that both were lavishing caresses on her. Alexey Alexandrovitch was weeping, kissing her hands, and saying, "How happy we are now!" And Alexey Vronsky was there too, and he too was her husband. And she was marveling that it had once seemed impossible to her, was explaining to them, laughing, that this was ever so much simpler, and that now both of them were happy and contented. But this dream weighed on her like a nightmare, and she awoke from it in terror.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Chapter 12
Chapter 12
The young Princess Kitty Shtcherbatskaya was eighteen. It was the first winter that she had been out in the world. Her success in society had been greater than that of either of her elder sisters, and greater even than her mother had anticipated. To say nothing of the young men who danced at the Moscow balls being almost all in love with Kitty, two serious suitors had already this first winter made their appearance: Levin, and immediately after his departure, Count Vronsky.
Levin's appearance at the beginning of the winter, his frequent visits, and evident love for Kitty, had led to the first serious conversations between Kitty's parents as to her future, and to disputes between them. The prince was on Levin's side; he said he wished for nothing better for Kitty. The princess for her part, going round the question in the manner peculiar to women, maintained that Kitty was too young, that Levin had done nothing to prove that he had serious intentions, that Kitty felt no great attraction to him, and other side issues; but she did not state the principal point, which was that she looked for a better match for her daughter, and that Levin was not to her liking, and she did not understand him. When Levin had abruptly departed, the princess was delighted, and said to her husband triumphantly: "You see I was right." When Vronsky appeared on the scene, she was still more delighted, confirmed in her opinion that Kitty was to make not simply a good, but a brilliant match.
In the mother's eyes there could be no comparison between Vronsky and Levin. She disliked in Levin his strange and uncompromising opinions and his shyness in society, founded, as she supposed, on his pride and his queer sort of life, as she considered it, absorbed in cattle and peasants. She did not very much like it that he, who was in love with her daughter, had kept coming to the house for six weeks, as though he were waiting for something, inspecting, as though he were afraid he might be doing them too great an honor by making an offer, and did not realize that a man, who continually visits at a house where there is a young unmarried girl, is bound to make his intentions clear. And suddenly, without doing so, he disappeared. "It's as well he's not attractive enough for Kitty to have fallen in love with him," thought the mother.
The young Princess Kitty Shtcherbatskaya was eighteen. It was the first winter that she had been out in the world. Her success in society had been greater than that of either of her elder sisters, and greater even than her mother had anticipated. To say nothing of the young men who danced at the Moscow balls being almost all in love with Kitty, two serious suitors had already this first winter made their appearance: Levin, and immediately after his departure, Count Vronsky.
Levin's appearance at the beginning of the winter, his frequent visits, and evident love for Kitty, had led to the first serious conversations between Kitty's parents as to her future, and to disputes between them. The prince was on Levin's side; he said he wished for nothing better for Kitty. The princess for her part, going round the question in the manner peculiar to women, maintained that Kitty was too young, that Levin had done nothing to prove that he had serious intentions, that Kitty felt no great attraction to him, and other side issues; but she did not state the principal point, which was that she looked for a better match for her daughter, and that Levin was not to her liking, and she did not understand him. When Levin had abruptly departed, the princess was delighted, and said to her husband triumphantly: "You see I was right." When Vronsky appeared on the scene, she was still more delighted, confirmed in her opinion that Kitty was to make not simply a good, but a brilliant match.
In the mother's eyes there could be no comparison between Vronsky and Levin. She disliked in Levin his strange and uncompromising opinions and his shyness in society, founded, as she supposed, on his pride and his queer sort of life, as she considered it, absorbed in cattle and peasants. She did not very much like it that he, who was in love with her daughter, had kept coming to the house for six weeks, as though he were waiting for something, inspecting, as though he were afraid he might be doing them too great an honor by making an offer, and did not realize that a man, who continually visits at a house where there is a young unmarried girl, is bound to make his intentions clear. And suddenly, without doing so, he disappeared. "It's as well he's not attractive enough for Kitty to have fallen in love with him," thought the mother.
"Oh, moralist! But you must understand,
"Oh, moralist! But you must understand, there are two women; one insists only on her rights, and those rights are your love, which you can't give her; and the other sacrifices everything for you and asks for nothing. What are you to do? How are you to act? There's a fearful tragedy in it."
"If you care for my profession of faith as regards that, I'll tell you that I don't believe there was any tragedy about it. And this is why. To my mind, love...both the sorts of love, which you remember Plato defines in his Banquet, served as the test of men. Some men only understand one sort, and some only the other. And those who only know the non-platonic love have no need to talk of tragedy. In such love there can be no sort of tragedy. 'I'm much obliged for the gratification, my humble respects'--that's all the tragedy. And in platonic love there can be no tragedy, because in that love all is clear and pure, because..."
At that instant Levin recollected his own sins and the inner conflict he had lived through. And he added unexpectedly:
"But perhaps you are right. Very likely...I don't know, I don't know."
"It's this, don't you see," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, "you're very much all of a piece. That's your strong point and your failing. You have a character that's all of a piece, and you want the whole of life to be of a piece too--but that's not how it is. You despise public official work because you want the reality to be invariably corresponding all the while with the aim--and that's not how it is. You want a man's work, too, always to have a defined aim, and love and family life always to be undivided--and that's not how it is. All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow."
Levin sighed and made no reply. He was thinking of his own affairs, and did not hear Oblonsky.
And suddenly both of them felt that though they were friends, though they had been dining and drinking together, which should have drawn them closer, yet each was thinking only of his own affairs, and they had nothing to do with one another. Oblonsky had more than once experienced this extreme sense of aloofness, instead of intimacy, coming on after dinner, and he knew what to do in such cases.
"Bill!" he called, and he went into the next room where he promptly came across and aide-de-camp of his acquaintance and dropped into conversation with him about an actress and her protector. And at once in the conversation with the aide-de-camp Oblonsky had a sense of relaxation and relief after the conversation with Levin, which always put him to too great a mental and spiritual strain.
When the Tatar appeared with a bill for twenty-six roubles and odd kopecks, besides a tip for himself, Levin, who would another time have been horrified, like any one from the country, at his share of fourteen roubles, did not notice it, paid, and set off homewards to dress and go to the Shtcherbatskys' there to decide his fate.
"If you care for my profession of faith as regards that, I'll tell you that I don't believe there was any tragedy about it. And this is why. To my mind, love...both the sorts of love, which you remember Plato defines in his Banquet, served as the test of men. Some men only understand one sort, and some only the other. And those who only know the non-platonic love have no need to talk of tragedy. In such love there can be no sort of tragedy. 'I'm much obliged for the gratification, my humble respects'--that's all the tragedy. And in platonic love there can be no tragedy, because in that love all is clear and pure, because..."
At that instant Levin recollected his own sins and the inner conflict he had lived through. And he added unexpectedly:
"But perhaps you are right. Very likely...I don't know, I don't know."
"It's this, don't you see," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, "you're very much all of a piece. That's your strong point and your failing. You have a character that's all of a piece, and you want the whole of life to be of a piece too--but that's not how it is. You despise public official work because you want the reality to be invariably corresponding all the while with the aim--and that's not how it is. You want a man's work, too, always to have a defined aim, and love and family life always to be undivided--and that's not how it is. All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow."
Levin sighed and made no reply. He was thinking of his own affairs, and did not hear Oblonsky.
And suddenly both of them felt that though they were friends, though they had been dining and drinking together, which should have drawn them closer, yet each was thinking only of his own affairs, and they had nothing to do with one another. Oblonsky had more than once experienced this extreme sense of aloofness, instead of intimacy, coming on after dinner, and he knew what to do in such cases.
"Bill!" he called, and he went into the next room where he promptly came across and aide-de-camp of his acquaintance and dropped into conversation with him about an actress and her protector. And at once in the conversation with the aide-de-camp Oblonsky had a sense of relaxation and relief after the conversation with Levin, which always put him to too great a mental and spiritual strain.
When the Tatar appeared with a bill for twenty-six roubles and odd kopecks, besides a tip for himself, Levin, who would another time have been horrified, like any one from the country, at his share of fourteen roubles, did not notice it, paid, and set off homewards to dress and go to the Shtcherbatskys' there to decide his fate.
"I'll come some day," he said. "But women
"I'll come some day," he said. "But women, my boy, they're the pivot everything turns upon. Things are in a bad way with me, very bad. And it's all through women. Tell me frankly now," he pursued, picking up a cigar and keeping one hand on his glass; "give me your advice."
"Why, what is it?"
"I'll tell you. Suppose you're married, you love your wife, but you're fascinated by another woman..."
"Excuse me, but I'm absolutely unable to comprehend how...just as I can't comprehend how I could now, after my dinner, go straight to a baker's shop and steal a roll."
Stepan Arkadyevitch's eyes sparkled more than usual.
"Why not? A roll will sometimes smell so good one can't resist it."
"Himmlisch ist's, wenn ich bezwungen Meine irdische Begier; Aber doch wenn's nich gelungen Hatt' ich auch recht huebsch Plaisir!"
As he said this, Stepan Arkadyevitch smiled subtly. Levin, too, could not help smiling.
"Yes, but joking apart," resumed Stepan Arkadyevitch, "you must understand that the woman is a sweet, gentle loving creature, poor and lonely, and has sacrificed everything. Now, when the thing's done, don't you see, can one possibly cast her off? Even supposing one parts from her, so as not to break up one's family life, still, can one help feeling for her, setting her on her feet, softening her lot?"
"Well, you must excuse me there. You know to me all women are divided into two classes...at least no...truer to say: there are women and there are...I've never seen exquisite fallen beings, and I never shall see them, but such creatures as that painted Frenchwoman at the counter with the ringlets are vermin to my mind, and all fallen women are the same."
"But the Magdalen?"
"Ah, drop that! Christ would never have said those words if He had known how they would be abused. Of all the Gospel those words are the only ones remembered. However, I'm not saying so much what I think, as what I feel. I have a loathing for fallen women. You're afraid of spiders, and I of these vermin. Most likely you've not made a study of spiders and don't know their character; and so it is with me."
"It's very well for you to talk like that; it's very much like that gentleman in Dickens who used to fling all difficult questions over his right shoulder. But to deny the facts is no answer. What's to be done--you tell me that, what's to be done? Your wife gets older, while you're full of life. Before you've time to look round, you feel that you can't love your wife with love, however much you may esteem her. And then all at once love turns up, and you're done for, done for," Stepan Arkadyevitch said with weary despair.
Levin half smiled.
"Yes, you're done for," resumed Oblonsky. "But what's to be done?"
"Don't steal rolls."
Stepan Arkadyevitch laughed outright.
"Why, what is it?"
"I'll tell you. Suppose you're married, you love your wife, but you're fascinated by another woman..."
"Excuse me, but I'm absolutely unable to comprehend how...just as I can't comprehend how I could now, after my dinner, go straight to a baker's shop and steal a roll."
Stepan Arkadyevitch's eyes sparkled more than usual.
"Why not? A roll will sometimes smell so good one can't resist it."
"Himmlisch ist's, wenn ich bezwungen Meine irdische Begier; Aber doch wenn's nich gelungen Hatt' ich auch recht huebsch Plaisir!"
As he said this, Stepan Arkadyevitch smiled subtly. Levin, too, could not help smiling.
"Yes, but joking apart," resumed Stepan Arkadyevitch, "you must understand that the woman is a sweet, gentle loving creature, poor and lonely, and has sacrificed everything. Now, when the thing's done, don't you see, can one possibly cast her off? Even supposing one parts from her, so as not to break up one's family life, still, can one help feeling for her, setting her on her feet, softening her lot?"
"Well, you must excuse me there. You know to me all women are divided into two classes...at least no...truer to say: there are women and there are...I've never seen exquisite fallen beings, and I never shall see them, but such creatures as that painted Frenchwoman at the counter with the ringlets are vermin to my mind, and all fallen women are the same."
"But the Magdalen?"
"Ah, drop that! Christ would never have said those words if He had known how they would be abused. Of all the Gospel those words are the only ones remembered. However, I'm not saying so much what I think, as what I feel. I have a loathing for fallen women. You're afraid of spiders, and I of these vermin. Most likely you've not made a study of spiders and don't know their character; and so it is with me."
"It's very well for you to talk like that; it's very much like that gentleman in Dickens who used to fling all difficult questions over his right shoulder. But to deny the facts is no answer. What's to be done--you tell me that, what's to be done? Your wife gets older, while you're full of life. Before you've time to look round, you feel that you can't love your wife with love, however much you may esteem her. And then all at once love turns up, and you're done for, done for," Stepan Arkadyevitch said with weary despair.
Levin half smiled.
"Yes, you're done for," resumed Oblonsky. "But what's to be done?"
"Don't steal rolls."
Stepan Arkadyevitch laughed outright.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Meanwhile, Ron was reading two years’
Meanwhile, Ron was reading two years’ worth of Charms notes with his fingers in his ears, his lips moving soundlessly; Seamus Finnigan was lying flat on his back on the floor, reciting the definition of a Substantive Charm while Dean checked it against The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5; and Parvati and Lavender, who were practising basic Locomotion Charms, were making their pencil-cases race each other around the edge of the table.
Dinner was a subdued affair that night. Harry and Ron did not talk much, but ate with gusto, having studied hard all day. Hermione, on the other hand, kept putting down her knife and fork and diving under the table for her bag, from which she would seize a book to check some fact or figure. Ron was just telling her that she ought to eat a decent meal or she would not sleep that night, when her fork slid from her limp fingers and landed with a loud tinkle on her plate.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ she said faintly, staring into the Entrance Hall. ‘Is that them? Is that the examiners?’
Harry and Ron whipped around on their bench. Through the doors to the Great Hall they could see Umbridge standing with a small group of ancient-looking witches and wizards. Umbridge, Harry was pleased to see, looked rather nervous.
‘Shall we go and have a closer look?’ said Ron.
Harry and Hermione nodded and they hastened towards the double doors into the Entrance Hall, slowing down as they stepped over the threshold to walk sedately past the examiners. Harry thought Professor Marchbanks must be the tiny, stooped witch with a face so lined it looked as though it had been draped in cobwebs; Umbridge was speaking to her deferentially. Professor Marchbanks seemed to be a little deaf; she was answering Professor Umbridge very loudly considering they were only a foot apart.
‘Journey was fine, journey was fine, we've made it plenty of times before!’ she said impatiently. ‘Now, I haven't heard from Dumbledore lately!’ she added, peering around the Hall as though hopeful he might suddenly emerge from a broom cupboard. ‘No idea where he is, I suppose?’
‘None at all,’ said Umbridge, shooting a malevolent look at Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were now dawdling around the foot of the stairs as Ron pretended to do up his shoelace. ‘But I daresay the Ministry of Magic will track him down soon enough.’
‘I doubt it,’ shouted tiny Professor Marchbanks, ‘not it Dumbledore doesn't want to be found! I should know ... examined him personally in Transfiguration and Charms when he did NEWTs ... did things with a wand I'd never seen before.’
‘Yes ... well ...’ said Professor Umbridge as Harry, Ron and Hermione dragged their feet up the marble staircase as slowly as they dared, ‘let me show you to the staff room. I daresay you'd like a cup of tea after your journey.’
It was an uncomfortable sort of an evening. Everyone was trying to do some last-minute revising but nobody seemed to be getting very far. Harry went to bed early but then lay awake for what felt like hours. He remembered his careers consultation and McGonagall's furious declaration that she would help him become an Auror if it was the last thing she did. He wished he had expressed a more achievable ambition now that exam time was here. He knew he was not the only one lying awake, but none of the others in the dormitory spoke and finally, one by one, they fell asleep.
None of the fifth-years talked very much at breakfast next day, either: Parvati was practising incantations under her breath while the salt cellar in front of her twitched; Hermione was rereading Achievements in Charming so fast that her eyes appeared blurred; and Neville kept dropping his knife and fork and knocking over the marmalade.
Once breakfast was over, the fifth- and seventh-years milled around in the Entrance Hall while the other students went off to lessons; then, at half past nine, they were called forwards class by class to re-enter the Great Hall, which had been rearranged exactly as Harry had seen it in the Pensieve when his father, Sirius and Snape had been taking their OWLs; the four house tables had been removed and replaced instead with many tables for one, all facing the staff-table end of the Hall where Professor McGonagall stood facing them. When they were all seated and quiet, she said, ‘You may begin,’ and turned over an enormous hour-glass on the desk beside her, on which there were also spare quills, ink bottles and rolls of parchment.
Harry turned over his paper, his heart thumping hard—three rows to his right and four seats ahead Hermione was already scribbling—and lowered his eyes to the first question: a) Give the incantation and b) describe the wand movement required to make objects fly.
Dinner was a subdued affair that night. Harry and Ron did not talk much, but ate with gusto, having studied hard all day. Hermione, on the other hand, kept putting down her knife and fork and diving under the table for her bag, from which she would seize a book to check some fact or figure. Ron was just telling her that she ought to eat a decent meal or she would not sleep that night, when her fork slid from her limp fingers and landed with a loud tinkle on her plate.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ she said faintly, staring into the Entrance Hall. ‘Is that them? Is that the examiners?’
Harry and Ron whipped around on their bench. Through the doors to the Great Hall they could see Umbridge standing with a small group of ancient-looking witches and wizards. Umbridge, Harry was pleased to see, looked rather nervous.
‘Shall we go and have a closer look?’ said Ron.
Harry and Hermione nodded and they hastened towards the double doors into the Entrance Hall, slowing down as they stepped over the threshold to walk sedately past the examiners. Harry thought Professor Marchbanks must be the tiny, stooped witch with a face so lined it looked as though it had been draped in cobwebs; Umbridge was speaking to her deferentially. Professor Marchbanks seemed to be a little deaf; she was answering Professor Umbridge very loudly considering they were only a foot apart.
‘Journey was fine, journey was fine, we've made it plenty of times before!’ she said impatiently. ‘Now, I haven't heard from Dumbledore lately!’ she added, peering around the Hall as though hopeful he might suddenly emerge from a broom cupboard. ‘No idea where he is, I suppose?’
‘None at all,’ said Umbridge, shooting a malevolent look at Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were now dawdling around the foot of the stairs as Ron pretended to do up his shoelace. ‘But I daresay the Ministry of Magic will track him down soon enough.’
‘I doubt it,’ shouted tiny Professor Marchbanks, ‘not it Dumbledore doesn't want to be found! I should know ... examined him personally in Transfiguration and Charms when he did NEWTs ... did things with a wand I'd never seen before.’
‘Yes ... well ...’ said Professor Umbridge as Harry, Ron and Hermione dragged their feet up the marble staircase as slowly as they dared, ‘let me show you to the staff room. I daresay you'd like a cup of tea after your journey.’
It was an uncomfortable sort of an evening. Everyone was trying to do some last-minute revising but nobody seemed to be getting very far. Harry went to bed early but then lay awake for what felt like hours. He remembered his careers consultation and McGonagall's furious declaration that she would help him become an Auror if it was the last thing she did. He wished he had expressed a more achievable ambition now that exam time was here. He knew he was not the only one lying awake, but none of the others in the dormitory spoke and finally, one by one, they fell asleep.
None of the fifth-years talked very much at breakfast next day, either: Parvati was practising incantations under her breath while the salt cellar in front of her twitched; Hermione was rereading Achievements in Charming so fast that her eyes appeared blurred; and Neville kept dropping his knife and fork and knocking over the marmalade.
Once breakfast was over, the fifth- and seventh-years milled around in the Entrance Hall while the other students went off to lessons; then, at half past nine, they were called forwards class by class to re-enter the Great Hall, which had been rearranged exactly as Harry had seen it in the Pensieve when his father, Sirius and Snape had been taking their OWLs; the four house tables had been removed and replaced instead with many tables for one, all facing the staff-table end of the Hall where Professor McGonagall stood facing them. When they were all seated and quiet, she said, ‘You may begin,’ and turned over an enormous hour-glass on the desk beside her, on which there were also spare quills, ink bottles and rolls of parchment.
Harry turned over his paper, his heart thumping hard—three rows to his right and four seats ahead Hermione was already scribbling—and lowered his eyes to the first question: a) Give the incantation and b) describe the wand movement required to make objects fly.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
As Harry and Ron handed Stan eleven Sickles each
As Harry and Ron handed Stan eleven Sickles each, the bus set off again, swaying ominously. It rumbled around Grimmauld Place, weaving on and off the pavement, then, with another tremendous BANG, they were all flung
backwards; Ron's chair toppled right over and Pigwidgeon, who had been on his lap, burst out of his cage and flew twittering wildly up to the front of the bus where he fluttered down on to Hermione's shoulder instead. Harry,
who had narrowly avoided falling by seizing a candle bracket, looked out of the window: they were now speeding down what appeared to be a motorway.
‘Just outside Birmingham,’ said Stan happily, answering Harry's unasked question as Ron struggled up from the floor. ‘You keepin’ well, then, ‘Arry? I seen your name in the paper loads over the summer, but it weren't never
nuffink very nice. I said to Ern, I said, ‘e didn't seem like a nutter when we met ‘im, just goes to show, dunnit?’
He handed over their tickets and continued to gaze, enthralled, at Harry. Apparently, Stan did not care how nutty somebody was, if they were famous enough to be in the paper. The Knight Bus swayed alarmingly, overtaking
a line of cars on the inside. Looking towards the front of the bus, Harry saw Hermione cover her eyes with her hands, Pigwidgeon swaying happily on her shoulder.
BANG.
Chairs slid backwards again as the Knight Bus jumped from the Birmingham motorway to a quiet country lane full of hairpin bends. Hedgerows on either side of the road were leaping out of their way as they mounted the
verges. From here they moved to a main street in the middle of a busy town, then to a viaduct surrounded by tall hills, then to a windswept road between high-rise flats, each time with a loud BANG.
‘I've changed my mind,’ muttered Ron, picking himself up from the floor for the sixth time, ‘I never want to ride on this thing again.’
‘Listen, it's ‘Ogwarts stop after this,’ said Stan brightly, swaying towards them. ‘That bossy woman up front ‘oo got on with you, she's given us a little tip to move you up the queue. We're just gonna let Madam Marsh off first,
though—there was a retching sound from downstairs, followed by a horrible spattering noise— she's not feeling ‘er best.’
A few minutes later, the Knight Bus screeched to a halt outside a small pub, which squeezed itself out of the way to avoid a collision. They could hear Stan ushering the unfortunate Madam Marsh out of the bus and the
relieved murmurings of her fellow passengers on the second deck. The bus moved on again, gathering speed, until—
BANG.
They were rolling through a snowy Hogsmeade. Harry caught a glimpse of the Hog's Head down its side street, the severed boar's head sign creaking in the wintry wind. Flecks of snow hit the large window at the front of the
bus. At last they rolled to a halt outside the gates to Hogwarts.
Lupin and Tonks helped them off the bus with their luggage, then got off to say goodbye. Harry glanced up at the three decks of the Knight Bus and saw all the passengers staring down at them, noses flat against the
windows.
‘You'll be safe once you're in the grounds,’ said Tonks, casting a careful eye around at the deserted road. ‘Have a good term, OK?’
‘Look after yourselves,’ said Lupin, shaking hands all round and reaching Harry last. ‘And listen ...’ he lowered his voice while the rest of them exchanged last-minute goodbyes with Tonks, ‘Harry, I know you don't like Snape,
but he is a superb Occlumens and we all—Sirius included—want you to learn to protect yourself, so work hard, all right?’
‘Yeah, all right,’ said Harry heavily, looking up into Lupin's prematurely lined face. ‘See you, then.’
The six of them struggled up the slippery drive towards the castle, dragging their trunks. Hermione was already talking about knitting a few elf hats before bedtime. Harry glanced back when they reached the oaken front
doors; the Knight Bus had already gone and he half-wished, given what was coming the following evening, that he was still on board.
Harry spent most of the next day dreading the evening. His morning double-Potions lesson did nothing to dispel his trepidation, as Snape was as unpleasant as ever. His mood was further lowered by the DA members
constantly approaching him in the corridors between classes, asking hopefully if there would be a meeting that night.
‘I'll let you know in the usual way when the next one is,’ Harry said over and over again, ‘but I can't do it tonight, I've got to go to—er—remedial Potions.’
‘You take remedial Potions?’ asked Zacharias Smith superciliously, having cornered Harry in the Entrance Hall after lunch. ‘Good Lord, you must be terrible. Snape doesn't usually give extra lessons, does he?’
As Smith strode away in an annoyingly buoyant fashion, Ron glared after him.
‘Shall I jinx him? I can still get him from here,’ he said, raising his wand and taking aim between Smith's shoulder blades.
‘Forget it,’ said Harry dismally. ‘It's what everyone's going to think, isn't it? That I'm really stup—’
‘Hi, Harry,’ said a voice behind him. He turned round and found Cho standing there.
‘Oh,’ said Harry as his stomach leapt uncomfortably. ‘Hi.’
‘We'll be in the library, Harry,’ said Hermione firmly as she seized Ron above the elbow and dragged him off towards the marble staircase.
‘Had a good Christmas?’ asked Cho.
‘Yeah, not bad,’ said Harry.
‘Mine was pretty quiet,’ said Cho. For some reason, she was looking rather embarrassed. ‘Erm ... there's another Hogsmeade trip next month, did you see the notice?’
‘What? Oh, no, I haven't checked the noticeboard since I got back.’
‘Yes, it's on Valentines Day ...’
‘Right,’ said Harry, wondering why she was telling him this. ‘Well, I suppose you want to— ?’
‘Only if you do,’ she said eagerly.
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backwards; Ron's chair toppled right over and Pigwidgeon, who had been on his lap, burst out of his cage and flew twittering wildly up to the front of the bus where he fluttered down on to Hermione's shoulder instead. Harry,
who had narrowly avoided falling by seizing a candle bracket, looked out of the window: they were now speeding down what appeared to be a motorway.
‘Just outside Birmingham,’ said Stan happily, answering Harry's unasked question as Ron struggled up from the floor. ‘You keepin’ well, then, ‘Arry? I seen your name in the paper loads over the summer, but it weren't never
nuffink very nice. I said to Ern, I said, ‘e didn't seem like a nutter when we met ‘im, just goes to show, dunnit?’
He handed over their tickets and continued to gaze, enthralled, at Harry. Apparently, Stan did not care how nutty somebody was, if they were famous enough to be in the paper. The Knight Bus swayed alarmingly, overtaking
a line of cars on the inside. Looking towards the front of the bus, Harry saw Hermione cover her eyes with her hands, Pigwidgeon swaying happily on her shoulder.
BANG.
Chairs slid backwards again as the Knight Bus jumped from the Birmingham motorway to a quiet country lane full of hairpin bends. Hedgerows on either side of the road were leaping out of their way as they mounted the
verges. From here they moved to a main street in the middle of a busy town, then to a viaduct surrounded by tall hills, then to a windswept road between high-rise flats, each time with a loud BANG.
‘I've changed my mind,’ muttered Ron, picking himself up from the floor for the sixth time, ‘I never want to ride on this thing again.’
‘Listen, it's ‘Ogwarts stop after this,’ said Stan brightly, swaying towards them. ‘That bossy woman up front ‘oo got on with you, she's given us a little tip to move you up the queue. We're just gonna let Madam Marsh off first,
though—there was a retching sound from downstairs, followed by a horrible spattering noise— she's not feeling ‘er best.’
A few minutes later, the Knight Bus screeched to a halt outside a small pub, which squeezed itself out of the way to avoid a collision. They could hear Stan ushering the unfortunate Madam Marsh out of the bus and the
relieved murmurings of her fellow passengers on the second deck. The bus moved on again, gathering speed, until—
BANG.
They were rolling through a snowy Hogsmeade. Harry caught a glimpse of the Hog's Head down its side street, the severed boar's head sign creaking in the wintry wind. Flecks of snow hit the large window at the front of the
bus. At last they rolled to a halt outside the gates to Hogwarts.
Lupin and Tonks helped them off the bus with their luggage, then got off to say goodbye. Harry glanced up at the three decks of the Knight Bus and saw all the passengers staring down at them, noses flat against the
windows.
‘You'll be safe once you're in the grounds,’ said Tonks, casting a careful eye around at the deserted road. ‘Have a good term, OK?’
‘Look after yourselves,’ said Lupin, shaking hands all round and reaching Harry last. ‘And listen ...’ he lowered his voice while the rest of them exchanged last-minute goodbyes with Tonks, ‘Harry, I know you don't like Snape,
but he is a superb Occlumens and we all—Sirius included—want you to learn to protect yourself, so work hard, all right?’
‘Yeah, all right,’ said Harry heavily, looking up into Lupin's prematurely lined face. ‘See you, then.’
The six of them struggled up the slippery drive towards the castle, dragging their trunks. Hermione was already talking about knitting a few elf hats before bedtime. Harry glanced back when they reached the oaken front
doors; the Knight Bus had already gone and he half-wished, given what was coming the following evening, that he was still on board.
Harry spent most of the next day dreading the evening. His morning double-Potions lesson did nothing to dispel his trepidation, as Snape was as unpleasant as ever. His mood was further lowered by the DA members
constantly approaching him in the corridors between classes, asking hopefully if there would be a meeting that night.
‘I'll let you know in the usual way when the next one is,’ Harry said over and over again, ‘but I can't do it tonight, I've got to go to—er—remedial Potions.’
‘You take remedial Potions?’ asked Zacharias Smith superciliously, having cornered Harry in the Entrance Hall after lunch. ‘Good Lord, you must be terrible. Snape doesn't usually give extra lessons, does he?’
As Smith strode away in an annoyingly buoyant fashion, Ron glared after him.
‘Shall I jinx him? I can still get him from here,’ he said, raising his wand and taking aim between Smith's shoulder blades.
‘Forget it,’ said Harry dismally. ‘It's what everyone's going to think, isn't it? That I'm really stup—’
‘Hi, Harry,’ said a voice behind him. He turned round and found Cho standing there.
‘Oh,’ said Harry as his stomach leapt uncomfortably. ‘Hi.’
‘We'll be in the library, Harry,’ said Hermione firmly as she seized Ron above the elbow and dragged him off towards the marble staircase.
‘Had a good Christmas?’ asked Cho.
‘Yeah, not bad,’ said Harry.
‘Mine was pretty quiet,’ said Cho. For some reason, she was looking rather embarrassed. ‘Erm ... there's another Hogsmeade trip next month, did you see the notice?’
‘What? Oh, no, I haven't checked the noticeboard since I got back.’
‘Yes, it's on Valentines Day ...’
‘Right,’ said Harry, wondering why she was telling him this. ‘Well, I suppose you want to— ?’
‘Only if you do,’ she said eagerly.
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Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Nearly everybody looked stunned at
Nearly everybody looked stunned at this news; everybody except Luna Lovegood, who piped up, ‘Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army.’
‘What?’ said Harry, completely thrown by this unexpected piece of information.
‘Yes, he's got an army of Heliopaths,’ said Luna solemnly.
‘No, he hasn't,’ snapped Hermione.
‘Yes, he has,’ said Luna.
‘What are Heliopaths?’ asked Neville, looking blank.
‘They're spirits of fire,’ said Luna, her protuberant eyes widening so that she looked madder than ever, ‘great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of—’
‘They don't exist, Neville,’ said Hermione tartly.
‘Oh, yes, they do!’ said Luna angrily.
‘I'm sorry, but where's the proof of that?’ snapped Hermione.
‘There are plenty of eye-witness accounts. Just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you—’
‘Hem, hem,’ said Ginny, in such a good imitation of Professor Umbridge that several people looked around in alarm and then laughed. ‘Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and have defence lessons?’
‘Yes,’ said Hermione at once, ‘yes, we were, you're right, Ginny.’
‘Well, once a week sounds cool,’ said Lee Jordan.
‘As long as—’ began Angelina.
‘Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch,’ said Hermione in a tense voice. ‘Well, the other thing to decide is where we're going to meet ...’
This was rather more difficult; the whole group fell silent.
‘Library?’ suggested Katie Bell after a few moments.
‘I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library,’ said Harry.
‘Maybe an unused classroom?’ said Dean.
‘Yeah,’ said Ron, ‘McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practising for the Tri wizard.’
But Harry was pretty certain that McGonagall would not be so accommodating this time. For all that Hermione had said about study and homework groups being allowed, he had the distinct feeling that this one might be considered a lot more rebellious.
‘Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere,’ said Hermione. ‘We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting.’
She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something.
‘I—I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think,’ she took a deep breath, ‘that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge or anybody else what we're up to.’
Fred reached out for the parchment and cheerfully wrote his signature, but Harry noticed at once that several people looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list.
‘Er ...’ said Zacharias slowly, not taking the parchment that George was trying to pass to him, ‘well ... I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is.’
But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing, too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.
‘I—well, we are prefects,’ Ernie burst out. ‘And if this list was found ... well, I mean to say ... you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out—’
‘You just said this group was the most important thing you'd do this year,’ Harry reminded him.
‘I—yes,’ said Ernie, ‘yes, I do believe that, it's just—’
‘Ernie, do you really think I'd leave that list lying around?’ said Hermione testily.
‘No. No, of course not,’ said Ernie, looking slightly less anxious. ‘I—yes, of course I'll sign.’
Nobody raised objections after Ernie, though Harry saw Cho's friend give her a rather reproachful look before adding her own name. When the last person—Zacharias— had signed, Hermione took the parchment back and slipped it carefully into her bag. There was an odd feeling in the group now. It was as though they had just signed some kind of contract.
‘Well, time's ticking on,’ said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. ‘George, Lee and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later.’
In twos and threes the rest of the group took their leave, too.
Cho made rather a business of fastening the catch on her bag before leaving, her long dark curtain of hair swinging forwards to hide her face, but her friend stood beside her, arms folded, clicking her tongue, so that Cho had little choice but to leave with her. As her friend ushered her through the door, Cho looked back and waved at Harry.
‘Well, I think that went quite well,’ said Hermione happily, as she, Harry and Ron walked out of the Hog's Head into the bright sunlight a few moments later. Harry and Ron were clutching their bottles of Butterbeer.
‘That Zacharias bloke's a wart,’ said Ron, who was glowering after the figure of Smith, just discernible in the distance.
‘I don't like him much, either,’ admitted Hermione, ‘but he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? But the more people the better really—I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn't have come if he hadn't been going out with Ginny—’
Ron, who had been draining the last few drops from his Butterbeer bottle, gagged and sprayed Butterbeer down his front.
‘He's WHAT?’ spluttered Ron, outraged, his ears now resembling curls of raw beef. ‘She's going out with—my sister's going—what d'you mean, Michael Corner?’
‘What?’ said Harry, completely thrown by this unexpected piece of information.
‘Yes, he's got an army of Heliopaths,’ said Luna solemnly.
‘No, he hasn't,’ snapped Hermione.
‘Yes, he has,’ said Luna.
‘What are Heliopaths?’ asked Neville, looking blank.
‘They're spirits of fire,’ said Luna, her protuberant eyes widening so that she looked madder than ever, ‘great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of—’
‘They don't exist, Neville,’ said Hermione tartly.
‘Oh, yes, they do!’ said Luna angrily.
‘I'm sorry, but where's the proof of that?’ snapped Hermione.
‘There are plenty of eye-witness accounts. Just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you—’
‘Hem, hem,’ said Ginny, in such a good imitation of Professor Umbridge that several people looked around in alarm and then laughed. ‘Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and have defence lessons?’
‘Yes,’ said Hermione at once, ‘yes, we were, you're right, Ginny.’
‘Well, once a week sounds cool,’ said Lee Jordan.
‘As long as—’ began Angelina.
‘Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch,’ said Hermione in a tense voice. ‘Well, the other thing to decide is where we're going to meet ...’
This was rather more difficult; the whole group fell silent.
‘Library?’ suggested Katie Bell after a few moments.
‘I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library,’ said Harry.
‘Maybe an unused classroom?’ said Dean.
‘Yeah,’ said Ron, ‘McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practising for the Tri wizard.’
But Harry was pretty certain that McGonagall would not be so accommodating this time. For all that Hermione had said about study and homework groups being allowed, he had the distinct feeling that this one might be considered a lot more rebellious.
‘Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere,’ said Hermione. ‘We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting.’
She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something.
‘I—I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think,’ she took a deep breath, ‘that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge or anybody else what we're up to.’
Fred reached out for the parchment and cheerfully wrote his signature, but Harry noticed at once that several people looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list.
‘Er ...’ said Zacharias slowly, not taking the parchment that George was trying to pass to him, ‘well ... I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is.’
But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing, too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.
‘I—well, we are prefects,’ Ernie burst out. ‘And if this list was found ... well, I mean to say ... you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out—’
‘You just said this group was the most important thing you'd do this year,’ Harry reminded him.
‘I—yes,’ said Ernie, ‘yes, I do believe that, it's just—’
‘Ernie, do you really think I'd leave that list lying around?’ said Hermione testily.
‘No. No, of course not,’ said Ernie, looking slightly less anxious. ‘I—yes, of course I'll sign.’
Nobody raised objections after Ernie, though Harry saw Cho's friend give her a rather reproachful look before adding her own name. When the last person—Zacharias— had signed, Hermione took the parchment back and slipped it carefully into her bag. There was an odd feeling in the group now. It was as though they had just signed some kind of contract.
‘Well, time's ticking on,’ said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. ‘George, Lee and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later.’
In twos and threes the rest of the group took their leave, too.
Cho made rather a business of fastening the catch on her bag before leaving, her long dark curtain of hair swinging forwards to hide her face, but her friend stood beside her, arms folded, clicking her tongue, so that Cho had little choice but to leave with her. As her friend ushered her through the door, Cho looked back and waved at Harry.
‘Well, I think that went quite well,’ said Hermione happily, as she, Harry and Ron walked out of the Hog's Head into the bright sunlight a few moments later. Harry and Ron were clutching their bottles of Butterbeer.
‘That Zacharias bloke's a wart,’ said Ron, who was glowering after the figure of Smith, just discernible in the distance.
‘I don't like him much, either,’ admitted Hermione, ‘but he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? But the more people the better really—I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn't have come if he hadn't been going out with Ginny—’
Ron, who had been draining the last few drops from his Butterbeer bottle, gagged and sprayed Butterbeer down his front.
‘He's WHAT?’ spluttered Ron, outraged, his ears now resembling curls of raw beef. ‘She's going out with—my sister's going—what d'you mean, Michael Corner?’
Monday, November 15, 2010
Chapter 9 The Woes Of Mrs.Weasley
Chapter 9 The Woes Of Mrs.Weasley
Dumbledore's abrupt departure took Harry completely by surprise. He remained sitting where he was in the chained chair, struggling with his feelings of shock and relief. The Wizengamot were all getting to their feet, talking, gathering up their papers and packing them away. Harry stood up. Nobody seemed to be paying him the slightest bit of attention, except the toadlike witch on Fudge's right, who was now gazing down at him instead of at Dumbledore. Ignoring her, he tried to catch Fudge's eye, or Madam Bones's, wanting to ask whether he was free to go, but Fudge seemed quite determined not to notice Harry, and Madam Bones was busy with her briefcase, so he took a lew tentative steps towards the exit and, when nobody called him back, broke into a very fast walk.
He took the last lew steps at a run, wrenched open the door and almost collided with Mr. Weasley, who was standing right outside, looking pale and apprehensive.
‘Dumbledore didn't say—’
‘Cleared,’ Harry said, pulling the door closed behind him, ‘of all charges!’
Beaming, Mr Weasley seized Harry by the shoulders.
‘Harry, that's wonderful! Well, of course, they couldn't have found you guilty, not on the evidence, but even so, I can't pretend I wasn't—’
But Mr. Weasley broke off, because the courtroom door had ust opened again. The Wizengamot were filing out.
‘Merlin's beard!’ exclaimed Mr. Weasley wonderingly, pulling Harry aside to let them all pass. ‘You were tried by the full court?’
‘I think so,’ said Harry quietly.
One or two of the wizards nodded to Harry as they passed and a few, including Madam Bones, said, ‘Morning, Arthur,’ to Mr. Weasley, but most averted their eyes. Cornelius Fudge and the toadlike witch were almost the last to leave the dungeon. Fudge acted as though Mr. Weasley and Harry were part of the wall, but again, the witch looked almost appraisingly at Harry as she passed. Last of all to pass was Percy. Like Fudge, he completely ignored his father and Harry; he marched past clutching a large roll of parchment and a handful of spare quills, his back rigid and his nose in the air. The lines around Mr. Weasley's mouth tightened slightly, but other than this he gave no sign that he had seen his third son.
‘I'm going to take you straight back so you can tell the others the good news,’ he said, beckoning Harry forwards as Percy's heels disappeared up the steps to Level Nine. ‘I'll drop you off on the way to that toilet in Bethnal Green. Come on....’
‘So, what will you have to do about the toilet?’ Harry asked, grinning. Everything suddenly seemed five times funnier than usual. It was starting to sink in: He was cleared, he was going back to Hogwarts.
‘Oh, it's a simple enough anti-jinx,’ said Mr. Weasley as they mounted the stairs, ‘but it's not so much having to repair the damage, it's more the attitude behind the vandalism, Harry. Muggle-baiting might strike some wizards as funny, but it's an expression of something much deeper and nastier, and I for one—’
Dumbledore's abrupt departure took Harry completely by surprise. He remained sitting where he was in the chained chair, struggling with his feelings of shock and relief. The Wizengamot were all getting to their feet, talking, gathering up their papers and packing them away. Harry stood up. Nobody seemed to be paying him the slightest bit of attention, except the toadlike witch on Fudge's right, who was now gazing down at him instead of at Dumbledore. Ignoring her, he tried to catch Fudge's eye, or Madam Bones's, wanting to ask whether he was free to go, but Fudge seemed quite determined not to notice Harry, and Madam Bones was busy with her briefcase, so he took a lew tentative steps towards the exit and, when nobody called him back, broke into a very fast walk.
He took the last lew steps at a run, wrenched open the door and almost collided with Mr. Weasley, who was standing right outside, looking pale and apprehensive.
‘Dumbledore didn't say—’
‘Cleared,’ Harry said, pulling the door closed behind him, ‘of all charges!’
Beaming, Mr Weasley seized Harry by the shoulders.
‘Harry, that's wonderful! Well, of course, they couldn't have found you guilty, not on the evidence, but even so, I can't pretend I wasn't—’
But Mr. Weasley broke off, because the courtroom door had ust opened again. The Wizengamot were filing out.
‘Merlin's beard!’ exclaimed Mr. Weasley wonderingly, pulling Harry aside to let them all pass. ‘You were tried by the full court?’
‘I think so,’ said Harry quietly.
One or two of the wizards nodded to Harry as they passed and a few, including Madam Bones, said, ‘Morning, Arthur,’ to Mr. Weasley, but most averted their eyes. Cornelius Fudge and the toadlike witch were almost the last to leave the dungeon. Fudge acted as though Mr. Weasley and Harry were part of the wall, but again, the witch looked almost appraisingly at Harry as she passed. Last of all to pass was Percy. Like Fudge, he completely ignored his father and Harry; he marched past clutching a large roll of parchment and a handful of spare quills, his back rigid and his nose in the air. The lines around Mr. Weasley's mouth tightened slightly, but other than this he gave no sign that he had seen his third son.
‘I'm going to take you straight back so you can tell the others the good news,’ he said, beckoning Harry forwards as Percy's heels disappeared up the steps to Level Nine. ‘I'll drop you off on the way to that toilet in Bethnal Green. Come on....’
‘So, what will you have to do about the toilet?’ Harry asked, grinning. Everything suddenly seemed five times funnier than usual. It was starting to sink in: He was cleared, he was going back to Hogwarts.
‘Oh, it's a simple enough anti-jinx,’ said Mr. Weasley as they mounted the stairs, ‘but it's not so much having to repair the damage, it's more the attitude behind the vandalism, Harry. Muggle-baiting might strike some wizards as funny, but it's an expression of something much deeper and nastier, and I for one—’
Dumbledore put his fingertips together again and said no more
Dumbledore put his fingertips together again and said no more. Fudge glared at him, evidently incensed. Harry glanced sideways at Dumbledore, seeking reassurance; he was not at all sure that Dumbledore was right in telling the Wizengamot, in effect, that it was about time they made a decision. Again, however, Dumbledore seemed oblivious to Harry's attempt to catch his eye. He continued to look up at the benches where the entire Wizengamot had fallen into urgent, whispered conversations.
Harry looked at his feet. His heart, which seemed to have swollen to an unnatural size, was thumping loudly under his ribs. He had expected the hearing to last longer than this. He was not at all sure that he had made a good impression. He had not really said very much. He ought to have explained more fully about the dementors, about how he had fallen over, about how both he and Dudley had nearly been kissed....
Twice he looked up at Fudge and opened his mouth to speak, but his swollen heart was now constricting his air passages and both times he merely took a deep breath and looked back down at his shoes.
Then the whispering stopped. Harry wanted to look up at the judges, but found that it was really much, much easier to keep examining his laces.
‘Those in favour of clearing the witness of all charges?’ said Madam Boness booming voice.
Harry's head jerked upwards. There were hands in the air, many of them ... more than half! Breathing very fast, he tried to count, but before he could finish, Madam Bones had said, ‘And those in favour of conviction?’
Fudge raised his hand; so did half a dozen others, including the witch on his right and the heavily-moustached wizard and the frizzy-haired witch in the second row.
Fudge glanced around at them all, looking as though there was something large stuck in his throat, then lowered his own hand. He took two deep breaths and said, in a voice distorted by suppressed rage, ‘Very well, very well ... cleared of all charges.’
‘Excellent,’ said Dumbledore briskly, springing to his feel, pulling out his wand and causing the two chintz armchairs to vanish. ‘Well, I must be getting along. Good day to you all.’
And without looking once at Harry, he swept from the dungeon.
Harry looked at his feet. His heart, which seemed to have swollen to an unnatural size, was thumping loudly under his ribs. He had expected the hearing to last longer than this. He was not at all sure that he had made a good impression. He had not really said very much. He ought to have explained more fully about the dementors, about how he had fallen over, about how both he and Dudley had nearly been kissed....
Twice he looked up at Fudge and opened his mouth to speak, but his swollen heart was now constricting his air passages and both times he merely took a deep breath and looked back down at his shoes.
Then the whispering stopped. Harry wanted to look up at the judges, but found that it was really much, much easier to keep examining his laces.
‘Those in favour of clearing the witness of all charges?’ said Madam Boness booming voice.
Harry's head jerked upwards. There were hands in the air, many of them ... more than half! Breathing very fast, he tried to count, but before he could finish, Madam Bones had said, ‘And those in favour of conviction?’
Fudge raised his hand; so did half a dozen others, including the witch on his right and the heavily-moustached wizard and the frizzy-haired witch in the second row.
Fudge glanced around at them all, looking as though there was something large stuck in his throat, then lowered his own hand. He took two deep breaths and said, in a voice distorted by suppressed rage, ‘Very well, very well ... cleared of all charges.’
‘Excellent,’ said Dumbledore briskly, springing to his feel, pulling out his wand and causing the two chintz armchairs to vanish. ‘Well, I must be getting along. Good day to you all.’
And without looking once at Harry, he swept from the dungeon.
He glanced at Madam Bones, who readjusted her monocle and stared back at him
He glanced at Madam Bones, who readjusted her monocle and stared back at him, frowning slightly.
‘I would remind everybody that the behaviour of these dementors, if indeed they are not figments of this boy's imagination, is not the subject of this hearing!’ said Fudge. ‘We are here to examine Harry Potter's offences under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery!’
‘Of course we are,’ said Dumbledore, ‘but the presence of dementors in that alleyway is highly relevant. Clause Seven of the Decree states that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations which threaten the life of the wizard or witch himself, or any witches, wizards or Muggles present at the time of the—’
‘We are familiar with Clause Seven, thank you very much!’ snarled Fudge.
‘Of course you are,’ said Dumbledore courteously. ‘Then we are in agreement that Harry's use of the Patronus Charm in these circumstances falls precisely into the category of exceptional circumstances the clause describes?’
‘If there were dementors, which I doubt.’
‘You have heard it from an eyewitness,’ Dumbledore interrupted.
‘If you still doubt her truthfulness, call her back, question her again. I am sure she would not object.’
‘I—that—not—’ blustered Fudge, fiddling with the papers before him. ‘It's—I want this over with today, Dumbledore!’
‘But naturally, you would not care how many times you heard from a witness, if the alternative was a serious miscarriage of justice,’ said Dumbledore.
‘Serious miscarriage, my hat!’ said Fudge at the top of his voice. ‘Have you ever bothered to tot up the number of cock-and-bull stories this boy has come out with, Dumbledore, while trying to cover up his flagrant misuse of magic out of school? I suppose you've forgotten the Hover Charm he used three years ago—’
‘That wasn't me, it was a house-elf!’ said Harry.
‘YOU SEE?’ roared Fudge, gesturing flamboyantly in Harry's direction. ‘A house-elf! In a Muggle house! I ask you—’
‘The house-elf in question is currently in the employ of Hogwarts School,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I can summon him here in an instant to give evidence if you wish.’
‘I—not—I haven't got time to listen to house-elves! Anyway, that's not the only—he blew up his aunt, for God's sake!’ Fudge shouted, banging his fist on the judge's bench and upsetting a bottle of ink.
‘And you very kindly did not press charges on that occasion, accepting, I presume, that even the best wizards cannot always control their emotions,’ said Dumbledore calmly, as Fudge attempted to scrub the ink off his notes.
‘And I haven't even started on what he gets up to at school—’
‘But, as the Ministry has no authority to punish Hogwarts students for misdemeanours at school, Harry's behaviour there is not relevant to this hearing,’ said Dumbledore, as politely as ever, but now with a suggestion of coolness behind his words.
‘Oho!’ said Fudge. ‘Not our business what he does at school, eh? You think so?’
‘The Ministry does not have the power to expel Hogwarts students, Cornelius, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Nor does it have the right to confiscate wands until charges have been successfully proven, again, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August, in your admirable haste to ensure that the law is upheld, you appear, inadvertently I am sure, to have overlooked a few laws yourself.’
‘Laws can be changed,’ said Fudge savagely.
‘Of course they can,’ said Dumbledore, inclining his head. ‘And you certainly seem to be making many changes, Cornelius. Why, in the few short weeks since I was asked to leave the Wizengamot, it has already become the practice to hold a full criminal trial to deal with a simple matter of underage magic!’
A few of the wizards above them shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Fudge turned a slightly deeper shade of puce. The toadlike witch on his right, however, merely gazed at Dumbledore, her face quite expressionless.
‘As far as I am aware,’ Dumbledore continued, ‘there is no law yet in place that says this court's job is to punish Harry for every bit of magic he has ever performed. He has been charged with a specific offence and he has presented his defence. All he and I can do now is to await your verdict.’
‘I would remind everybody that the behaviour of these dementors, if indeed they are not figments of this boy's imagination, is not the subject of this hearing!’ said Fudge. ‘We are here to examine Harry Potter's offences under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery!’
‘Of course we are,’ said Dumbledore, ‘but the presence of dementors in that alleyway is highly relevant. Clause Seven of the Decree states that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations which threaten the life of the wizard or witch himself, or any witches, wizards or Muggles present at the time of the—’
‘We are familiar with Clause Seven, thank you very much!’ snarled Fudge.
‘Of course you are,’ said Dumbledore courteously. ‘Then we are in agreement that Harry's use of the Patronus Charm in these circumstances falls precisely into the category of exceptional circumstances the clause describes?’
‘If there were dementors, which I doubt.’
‘You have heard it from an eyewitness,’ Dumbledore interrupted.
‘If you still doubt her truthfulness, call her back, question her again. I am sure she would not object.’
‘I—that—not—’ blustered Fudge, fiddling with the papers before him. ‘It's—I want this over with today, Dumbledore!’
‘But naturally, you would not care how many times you heard from a witness, if the alternative was a serious miscarriage of justice,’ said Dumbledore.
‘Serious miscarriage, my hat!’ said Fudge at the top of his voice. ‘Have you ever bothered to tot up the number of cock-and-bull stories this boy has come out with, Dumbledore, while trying to cover up his flagrant misuse of magic out of school? I suppose you've forgotten the Hover Charm he used three years ago—’
‘That wasn't me, it was a house-elf!’ said Harry.
‘YOU SEE?’ roared Fudge, gesturing flamboyantly in Harry's direction. ‘A house-elf! In a Muggle house! I ask you—’
‘The house-elf in question is currently in the employ of Hogwarts School,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I can summon him here in an instant to give evidence if you wish.’
‘I—not—I haven't got time to listen to house-elves! Anyway, that's not the only—he blew up his aunt, for God's sake!’ Fudge shouted, banging his fist on the judge's bench and upsetting a bottle of ink.
‘And you very kindly did not press charges on that occasion, accepting, I presume, that even the best wizards cannot always control their emotions,’ said Dumbledore calmly, as Fudge attempted to scrub the ink off his notes.
‘And I haven't even started on what he gets up to at school—’
‘But, as the Ministry has no authority to punish Hogwarts students for misdemeanours at school, Harry's behaviour there is not relevant to this hearing,’ said Dumbledore, as politely as ever, but now with a suggestion of coolness behind his words.
‘Oho!’ said Fudge. ‘Not our business what he does at school, eh? You think so?’
‘The Ministry does not have the power to expel Hogwarts students, Cornelius, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Nor does it have the right to confiscate wands until charges have been successfully proven, again, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August, in your admirable haste to ensure that the law is upheld, you appear, inadvertently I am sure, to have overlooked a few laws yourself.’
‘Laws can be changed,’ said Fudge savagely.
‘Of course they can,’ said Dumbledore, inclining his head. ‘And you certainly seem to be making many changes, Cornelius. Why, in the few short weeks since I was asked to leave the Wizengamot, it has already become the practice to hold a full criminal trial to deal with a simple matter of underage magic!’
A few of the wizards above them shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Fudge turned a slightly deeper shade of puce. The toadlike witch on his right, however, merely gazed at Dumbledore, her face quite expressionless.
‘As far as I am aware,’ Dumbledore continued, ‘there is no law yet in place that says this court's job is to punish Harry for every bit of magic he has ever performed. He has been charged with a specific offence and he has presented his defence. All he and I can do now is to await your verdict.’
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Yeah? Well, unfortunately for you, pal, I'm also a prefect!
‘’ said Ron, jabbing himself in the chest with a finger. ‘So unless you want detention, watch your mouth!’
Seamus looked for a few seconds as though detention would be a reasonable price to pay to say what was going through his mind; but with a noise of contempt he turned on his heel, vaulted into bed and pulled the hangings
shut with such violence that they were ripped from the bed and fell in a dusty pile to the floor. Ron glared at Seamus, then looked at Dean and Neville.
‘Anyone else's parents got a problem with Harry?’ he said aggressively.
‘My parents are Muggles, mate,’ said Dean, shrugging. ‘They don't know nothing about no deaths at Hogwarts, because I'm not stupid enough to tell them.’
‘You don't know my mother, she'd weasel anything out of anyone!’ Seamus snapped at him. ‘Anyway, your parents don't get the Daily Prophet.They don't know our Headmaster's been sacked from the Wizengamot and the
International Confederation of Wizards because he's losing his marbles—’
‘My gran says that's rubbish,’ piped up Neville. ‘She says it's the Daily Prophet that's going downhill, not Dumbledore. She's cancelled our subscription. We believe Harry,’ said Neville simply. He climbed into bed and pulled the
covers up to his chin, looking owlishly over them at Seamus. ‘My grans always said You-Know-Who would come back one day. She says if Dumbledore says he's back, he's back.’
Harry felt a rush of gratitude towards Neville. Nobody else said anything. Seamus got out his wand, repaired the bed hangings and vanished behind them. Dean got into bed, rolled over and fell silent. Neville, who appeared to
have nothing more to say either, was gazing fondly at his moonlit cactus.
Harry lay back on his pillows while Ron bustled around the next bed, putting his things away. He fell, shaken by the argument with Seamus, whom he had always liked very much. How many more people were going to suggest
that he was lying, or unhinged?
Had Dumbledore suffered like this all summer, as first the Wizengamot, then the International Confederation of Wizards had thrown him from their ranks? Was it anger at Harry, perhaps, that had stopped Dumbledore getting
in touch with him for months? The two of them were in this together, after all; Dumbledore had believed Harry, announced his version of events to the whole school and then to the wider wizarding community. Anyone who
thought Harry was a liar had to think that Dumbledore was, too, or else that Dumbledore had been hoodwinked ...
They'll know we're right in the end, thought Harry miserably, as Ron got into bed and extinguished the last candle in the dormitory. But he wondered how many more attacks like Seamus's he would have to endure before that
time came.
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Seamus looked for a few seconds as though detention would be a reasonable price to pay to say what was going through his mind; but with a noise of contempt he turned on his heel, vaulted into bed and pulled the hangings
shut with such violence that they were ripped from the bed and fell in a dusty pile to the floor. Ron glared at Seamus, then looked at Dean and Neville.
‘Anyone else's parents got a problem with Harry?’ he said aggressively.
‘My parents are Muggles, mate,’ said Dean, shrugging. ‘They don't know nothing about no deaths at Hogwarts, because I'm not stupid enough to tell them.’
‘You don't know my mother, she'd weasel anything out of anyone!’ Seamus snapped at him. ‘Anyway, your parents don't get the Daily Prophet.They don't know our Headmaster's been sacked from the Wizengamot and the
International Confederation of Wizards because he's losing his marbles—’
‘My gran says that's rubbish,’ piped up Neville. ‘She says it's the Daily Prophet that's going downhill, not Dumbledore. She's cancelled our subscription. We believe Harry,’ said Neville simply. He climbed into bed and pulled the
covers up to his chin, looking owlishly over them at Seamus. ‘My grans always said You-Know-Who would come back one day. She says if Dumbledore says he's back, he's back.’
Harry felt a rush of gratitude towards Neville. Nobody else said anything. Seamus got out his wand, repaired the bed hangings and vanished behind them. Dean got into bed, rolled over and fell silent. Neville, who appeared to
have nothing more to say either, was gazing fondly at his moonlit cactus.
Harry lay back on his pillows while Ron bustled around the next bed, putting his things away. He fell, shaken by the argument with Seamus, whom he had always liked very much. How many more people were going to suggest
that he was lying, or unhinged?
Had Dumbledore suffered like this all summer, as first the Wizengamot, then the International Confederation of Wizards had thrown him from their ranks? Was it anger at Harry, perhaps, that had stopped Dumbledore getting
in touch with him for months? The two of them were in this together, after all; Dumbledore had believed Harry, announced his version of events to the whole school and then to the wider wizarding community. Anyone who
thought Harry was a liar had to think that Dumbledore was, too, or else that Dumbledore had been hoodwinked ...
They'll know we're right in the end, thought Harry miserably, as Ron got into bed and extinguished the last candle in the dormitory. But he wondered how many more attacks like Seamus's he would have to endure before that
time came.
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Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Freddie and Fannies American Dream
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：98 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 1:34:48
This morning I awoke to the story of a Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac bailout and takeover by the U.S. government, to which I had a couple of questions.
Concerns if you will.
As an American, I have witnessed record numbers of American families, friends, neighbors, family members and even strangers, lose their homes to foreclosure. You see, they became involved with one of Bushs many failures. This one offered pretty much anyone with a pulse a low interest rate mortgage in an attempt at getting the American public to become homeowners.
On the surface, it sounded like a good plan. Get America back to being an ownership society. But, as is the norm in the Bush administration, greed and deception brought the American ownership illusion to a screeching halt.
First, there were the predatory lenders that had governmental blessing in their defrauding of the American public. Predatory mortgage lending practices have stripped borrowers of their home equity and families face foreclosure, destabilizing communities and our nations economy.
Speaking of the American economy, yet another Bush failure, we have witnessed rampant and runaway inflation while the America wage remained stagnant. Countless jobs have been lost to foreign lands and others have shut their doors because they just couldnt afford to keep them open.
Then the rates on the mortgages adjusted.
The effect was doubled housing payments. Catching people unaware and/or unprepared. Much like Fannie and Freddie were caught off guard. The difference being that people had their homes foreclosed on while the lending institutions that preyed on them are bailed out financially.
Are you one of those American families that lost your home to foreclosure?
How does the government bailout of the banks make you feel?
Doesnt it make you proud that you government turns its back on you but those poor bank executives get a free pass? Doesnt it make you proud to be an American?
How does this make you feel? Are you Fed Up yet?
When did Americans surrender their power to the government? We were founded on the principle of a government by the people and for the people. Somewhere along the line, we gave that power up.
The American way of life has lulled us to sleep and the power was shifted to the elite, the rich and the politicians. Its time we take that power back. By using the things they fear the most.
Education.
Facts.
History.
THE VOTE!
Whether you vote or not, you are still sending a message to our elected leaders on how you feel about things. Voting one way or another sends a message of change. Not voting sends a message that you like that great big red, white and blue dildo being shoved up your ass, more and more each day.
The choice is ours. In November.
Shall we reclaim our country in the name of America or should we just allow things to remain the same?
There is only one choice for me.
This morning I awoke to the story of a Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac bailout and takeover by the U.S. government, to which I had a couple of questions.
Concerns if you will.
As an American, I have witnessed record numbers of American families, friends, neighbors, family members and even strangers, lose their homes to foreclosure. You see, they became involved with one of Bushs many failures. This one offered pretty much anyone with a pulse a low interest rate mortgage in an attempt at getting the American public to become homeowners.
On the surface, it sounded like a good plan. Get America back to being an ownership society. But, as is the norm in the Bush administration, greed and deception brought the American ownership illusion to a screeching halt.
First, there were the predatory lenders that had governmental blessing in their defrauding of the American public. Predatory mortgage lending practices have stripped borrowers of their home equity and families face foreclosure, destabilizing communities and our nations economy.
Speaking of the American economy, yet another Bush failure, we have witnessed rampant and runaway inflation while the America wage remained stagnant. Countless jobs have been lost to foreign lands and others have shut their doors because they just couldnt afford to keep them open.
Then the rates on the mortgages adjusted.
The effect was doubled housing payments. Catching people unaware and/or unprepared. Much like Fannie and Freddie were caught off guard. The difference being that people had their homes foreclosed on while the lending institutions that preyed on them are bailed out financially.
Are you one of those American families that lost your home to foreclosure?
How does the government bailout of the banks make you feel?
Doesnt it make you proud that you government turns its back on you but those poor bank executives get a free pass? Doesnt it make you proud to be an American?
How does this make you feel? Are you Fed Up yet?
When did Americans surrender their power to the government? We were founded on the principle of a government by the people and for the people. Somewhere along the line, we gave that power up.
The American way of life has lulled us to sleep and the power was shifted to the elite, the rich and the politicians. Its time we take that power back. By using the things they fear the most.
Education.
Facts.
History.
THE VOTE!
Whether you vote or not, you are still sending a message to our elected leaders on how you feel about things. Voting one way or another sends a message of change. Not voting sends a message that you like that great big red, white and blue dildo being shoved up your ass, more and more each day.
The choice is ours. In November.
Shall we reclaim our country in the name of America or should we just allow things to remain the same?
There is only one choice for me.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Fall Gardening Tips and Ideas
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：30 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 1:07:05
Most people focus their attention on their gardens during late spring and summer. But fall is an important time for gardening as well. Not only is it a good time to prepare for winter, but you can still enjoy the plants in your
garden and even add more plants if you wish to. Here are some things that you can do in your garden in the fall.
1: Add Some Plants
Even though it is fall, you can still plant things in your garden and your yard. Icicle pansies love the fall weather. Even with the cooler weather, they will bloom late into the season. Best of all, if you leave them in the ground
over the winter, they will start to bloom again in early spring.
Trees and shrubs can still be planted in the fall. Evergreens should be planted about six weeks before the first frost of the season. Deciduous plants however, can be planted at anytime, as long as the ground isn't frozen. Be
sure to read the labels on the trees and shrubs before you buy them and make note of how large the plant will grow. The plants may be small when you first buy them, but they will grow very quickly in just a few years. As well,
the labels will often state what colour the leaves of deciduous plants will be during both the summer and the fall, giving you the perfect opportunity to add some colour during the fall months.
Six to eight weeks before the first frost of the season is the perfect time to plant bulbs in the ground. They will lie dormant all winter long and bloom in early spring, providing a splash of colour that will be greatly appreciated
after a long winter. Make sure to follow the directions on the packages for how deep and far apart to plant the bulbs, in order to ensure that all the bulbs will bloom in the spring.
2: Remember To Water
Even though it's fall and the weather is cooler and possibly wetter, your plants still need water. The water will keep summer plants alive longer and nourish fall plants that keep your garden full of life during this season. As well,
evergreen trees need water so that they can continue to grow during the fall, even if it is at a slower rate than they grew during the summer months.
Before the weather drops below the freezing point, make sure to disconnect all hoses and drain them of water. Roll up the hoses and store them away for the winter. Next, turn off the water to outdoor taps and then drain them
as well. This will prevent the water from freezing and the pipes from bursting. If that happens, you could be facing a large flood and a messy clean up.
3: Rake The Lawn
It's important to rake up the leaves on your lawn because when the leaves become wet, they will mat and become very heavy. Leaves that have been raked up can be used as mulch, compost or as both. To use leaves as
both mulch and compost, first harvest the food crops from your garden. Next, place the leaves on top of the garden. They will stay there all winter long and protect the soil from erosion and the harsh winter cold. In the spring,
the leaves become compost when you till both the leaves and the dead plants into the ground.
4: Prepare For Winter
Get ready for winter by bringing everything indoors. Take a careful look at your yard and determine what needs to be brought inside for the winter. Look at plants in containers, furniture, tools, statues and everything else in
your yard. Stone statues are fine to leave outside, but fountains will need to be drained and wrapped in a protective tarp. Tools need to be cleaned, oiled and put away into storage.
A lot of the work in the fall might seem tedious or even hard work, but it is well worth the rewards you will gain in the spring.
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Most people focus their attention on their gardens during late spring and summer. But fall is an important time for gardening as well. Not only is it a good time to prepare for winter, but you can still enjoy the plants in your
garden and even add more plants if you wish to. Here are some things that you can do in your garden in the fall.
1: Add Some Plants
Even though it is fall, you can still plant things in your garden and your yard. Icicle pansies love the fall weather. Even with the cooler weather, they will bloom late into the season. Best of all, if you leave them in the ground
over the winter, they will start to bloom again in early spring.
Trees and shrubs can still be planted in the fall. Evergreens should be planted about six weeks before the first frost of the season. Deciduous plants however, can be planted at anytime, as long as the ground isn't frozen. Be
sure to read the labels on the trees and shrubs before you buy them and make note of how large the plant will grow. The plants may be small when you first buy them, but they will grow very quickly in just a few years. As well,
the labels will often state what colour the leaves of deciduous plants will be during both the summer and the fall, giving you the perfect opportunity to add some colour during the fall months.
Six to eight weeks before the first frost of the season is the perfect time to plant bulbs in the ground. They will lie dormant all winter long and bloom in early spring, providing a splash of colour that will be greatly appreciated
after a long winter. Make sure to follow the directions on the packages for how deep and far apart to plant the bulbs, in order to ensure that all the bulbs will bloom in the spring.
2: Remember To Water
Even though it's fall and the weather is cooler and possibly wetter, your plants still need water. The water will keep summer plants alive longer and nourish fall plants that keep your garden full of life during this season. As well,
evergreen trees need water so that they can continue to grow during the fall, even if it is at a slower rate than they grew during the summer months.
Before the weather drops below the freezing point, make sure to disconnect all hoses and drain them of water. Roll up the hoses and store them away for the winter. Next, turn off the water to outdoor taps and then drain them
as well. This will prevent the water from freezing and the pipes from bursting. If that happens, you could be facing a large flood and a messy clean up.
3: Rake The Lawn
It's important to rake up the leaves on your lawn because when the leaves become wet, they will mat and become very heavy. Leaves that have been raked up can be used as mulch, compost or as both. To use leaves as
both mulch and compost, first harvest the food crops from your garden. Next, place the leaves on top of the garden. They will stay there all winter long and protect the soil from erosion and the harsh winter cold. In the spring,
the leaves become compost when you till both the leaves and the dead plants into the ground.
4: Prepare For Winter
Get ready for winter by bringing everything indoors. Take a careful look at your yard and determine what needs to be brought inside for the winter. Look at plants in containers, furniture, tools, statues and everything else in
your yard. Stone statues are fine to leave outside, but fountains will need to be drained and wrapped in a protective tarp. Tools need to be cleaned, oiled and put away into storage.
A lot of the work in the fall might seem tedious or even hard work, but it is well worth the rewards you will gain in the spring.
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Monday, November 8, 2010
Generic Drugs Are as Efficient as Branded Drugs
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：112 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 0:47:32
Generic Drug is a newly formed branch of pharmaceutical medicines, which are available in the market as a copy of original branded drug. For example Kamagra is a generic drug (generic Viagra) available in the market which is called to be the copy of Viagra. Generic drugs like Kamagra, Caverta, etc available in the market as generic version of Viagra has become famous more than the original brand name drug. Branded drugs were only affordable by the high class rich people and referred as the standard drugs, whereas common man was unable to buy the branded drugs because of the high cost.
Previously when generic drugs came to the market, they were considered as inferior quality drugs in comparison to properties and effects of the respective branded drugs. But the reality is rather opposite of the assumed fact. Characteristics, sturdiness, quality, and usage of generic drugs are exactly equivalent to the branded versions. Generic drugs are bioequivalent in pharmacodynamic and pharmacokinetic properties to the brand name drugs. The effects and time taken to show the effects by generic drugs is akin with the branded drugs.
The only difference between the generic drugs and branded drugs is the name of the branded drug given by the pharmaceutical companies for the promotion of the drug. Though, it is mandatory for the manufacturers of generic drugs that they should use the same active constituent used by the brand name drugs and must maintain the equivalency of the generic version to its branded competitor meticulously.
Generic drugs, whether the erectile dysfunction tablets or the other available drugs, are available in the market at a cost of 10% to 90% less than the price of their branded drug. The reasonably low cost of generic drugs is because manufacturers of generic drugs do not indulge in promotion, research, development, clinical trails, and advertisements. Generic drug manufacturers just copy the already approved formulae and produce the medicines.
It is not compulsory for the generic drug manufacturers that the outlook of the generic should be same like the brand name drug. Thus, generic drugs are efficient as the branded drugs.
Please be careful while purchasing these generic drugs in the market because bogus drugs are also sold in the market with a generic tag. Prescription from the doctor is necessary for the buying the generic drugs. You can purchase generic drugs from your local vendor or you can also prefer online pharmacies that supply the safe generic drugs from different countries at the lowest possible price.
Generic Drug is a newly formed branch of pharmaceutical medicines, which are available in the market as a copy of original branded drug. For example Kamagra is a generic drug (generic Viagra) available in the market which is called to be the copy of Viagra. Generic drugs like Kamagra, Caverta, etc available in the market as generic version of Viagra has become famous more than the original brand name drug. Branded drugs were only affordable by the high class rich people and referred as the standard drugs, whereas common man was unable to buy the branded drugs because of the high cost.
Previously when generic drugs came to the market, they were considered as inferior quality drugs in comparison to properties and effects of the respective branded drugs. But the reality is rather opposite of the assumed fact. Characteristics, sturdiness, quality, and usage of generic drugs are exactly equivalent to the branded versions. Generic drugs are bioequivalent in pharmacodynamic and pharmacokinetic properties to the brand name drugs. The effects and time taken to show the effects by generic drugs is akin with the branded drugs.
The only difference between the generic drugs and branded drugs is the name of the branded drug given by the pharmaceutical companies for the promotion of the drug. Though, it is mandatory for the manufacturers of generic drugs that they should use the same active constituent used by the brand name drugs and must maintain the equivalency of the generic version to its branded competitor meticulously.
Generic drugs, whether the erectile dysfunction tablets or the other available drugs, are available in the market at a cost of 10% to 90% less than the price of their branded drug. The reasonably low cost of generic drugs is because manufacturers of generic drugs do not indulge in promotion, research, development, clinical trails, and advertisements. Generic drug manufacturers just copy the already approved formulae and produce the medicines.
It is not compulsory for the generic drug manufacturers that the outlook of the generic should be same like the brand name drug. Thus, generic drugs are efficient as the branded drugs.
Please be careful while purchasing these generic drugs in the market because bogus drugs are also sold in the market with a generic tag. Prescription from the doctor is necessary for the buying the generic drugs. You can purchase generic drugs from your local vendor or you can also prefer online pharmacies that supply the safe generic drugs from different countries at the lowest possible price.
Drugs Used in Tuberculosis
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：108 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 0:48:13
Curative Therapy
A significant advancement in the treatment of tuberculosis has taken place in recent years. The development of resistance to drugs is prevented by using two or more drugs. The long duration of treatment (1 to 2 years) has been shortened by the introduction of short course chemotherapy. The problem of poor compliance to drugs is minimised by the introduction of intermittent supervised therapy called DOTS (Directly Observed Treatment Short Course) under revised National Tuberculosis Control Programme. Three types of treatment regimens used are described below:
Conventional Course Chemotherapy: This consists of streptomycin, INH and thiacetazone or ethambutol for 12-18 months. However since failure rates are high, and compliance poor, it is not recommended nowadays.
Short Course Chemotherapy: A 6 to 9 month regimen consisting of isoniazid, rifampicin, ethambutol, and pyrazinamide daily for 2 to 3 months, followed by isoniazid and rifampicin daily for 4-6 months, has been found to be satisfactory, provided that it is fully
supervised. The patient s disease is catagorized depending on the extent of disease. The treatment is carried out in two phases. In the initial phase four drugs are to be taken daily, or thrice weekly, for 2 months. Then sputum examination is done. If it is positive for TB organisms, drugs are continued for another month. In the second phase or the continuation phase, two or three drugs are to be taken for 6 to 8 months.
Drugs
The drugs used in the treatment of tuberculosis can be divided into first and second line drugs. Foods such as meat, milk, cereals, legumes, and yeast are rich in vitamin B6 . A diet containing these may help in preventing peripheral neuritis.
First Line Drugs
Isoniazid (Isonex)
Isoniazid is a first line drug. It is a bactericidal drug and kills both extracellular and intracellular bacteria. It interferes with the cell wall (mycolic acid) synthesis of the bacteria. It is the best drug for treatment of tuberculosis with respect to efficacy, safety, cost, ease of administration, and patient acceptance. It may be administered alone for prophylaxis, or in combination with other drugs for chemotherapy, of disease. It is almost always required for combination treatment in DOTS.
Adverse Effects: It increases excretion of vitamin B6 (pyridoxine) which may result in numbness, pain, tiredness, weakness, pain in the muscles and joints. Patients suffering from diabetes mellitus, malnutrition, or alcoholism should be given 10 mg pyridoxine routinely, If there are pre-existing symptoms of peripheral neuritis, a larger dose of pyridoxine of 50 to 100 mg may be given daily. Other adverse effects are liver damage, mental disturbance and rarely fits. Liver damage is not common in children but may occur in elderly and alcoholics.
Precautions
The doctor should be informed if any symptoms of peripheral neuritis such as a decreased sensation or pain in the muscles occur.
A liver function test (serum transaminase) is advised after a month or two of the treatment. If the serum transaminase exceeds 3 times normal value, the drug should be stopped.
A pyridoxine supplement is necessary in pregnant women, nursing mothers, and infants as this drug is secreted in milk.
The doctor should be consulted if any adverse effects like allergic reactions, arthritis, or difficulty in vision occur.
The drug should be taken regularly as advised by the doctor. Inadequate doses or missing the drug in between may cause a relapse.
If nausea occurs, the drug should be taken with meals, dividing the dose into two halves, that is, half in the morning and half in the evening.
Curative Therapy
A significant advancement in the treatment of tuberculosis has taken place in recent years. The development of resistance to drugs is prevented by using two or more drugs. The long duration of treatment (1 to 2 years) has been shortened by the introduction of short course chemotherapy. The problem of poor compliance to drugs is minimised by the introduction of intermittent supervised therapy called DOTS (Directly Observed Treatment Short Course) under revised National Tuberculosis Control Programme. Three types of treatment regimens used are described below:
Conventional Course Chemotherapy: This consists of streptomycin, INH and thiacetazone or ethambutol for 12-18 months. However since failure rates are high, and compliance poor, it is not recommended nowadays.
Short Course Chemotherapy: A 6 to 9 month regimen consisting of isoniazid, rifampicin, ethambutol, and pyrazinamide daily for 2 to 3 months, followed by isoniazid and rifampicin daily for 4-6 months, has been found to be satisfactory, provided that it is fully
supervised. The patient s disease is catagorized depending on the extent of disease. The treatment is carried out in two phases. In the initial phase four drugs are to be taken daily, or thrice weekly, for 2 months. Then sputum examination is done. If it is positive for TB organisms, drugs are continued for another month. In the second phase or the continuation phase, two or three drugs are to be taken for 6 to 8 months.
Drugs
The drugs used in the treatment of tuberculosis can be divided into first and second line drugs. Foods such as meat, milk, cereals, legumes, and yeast are rich in vitamin B6 . A diet containing these may help in preventing peripheral neuritis.
First Line Drugs
Isoniazid (Isonex)
Isoniazid is a first line drug. It is a bactericidal drug and kills both extracellular and intracellular bacteria. It interferes with the cell wall (mycolic acid) synthesis of the bacteria. It is the best drug for treatment of tuberculosis with respect to efficacy, safety, cost, ease of administration, and patient acceptance. It may be administered alone for prophylaxis, or in combination with other drugs for chemotherapy, of disease. It is almost always required for combination treatment in DOTS.
Adverse Effects: It increases excretion of vitamin B6 (pyridoxine) which may result in numbness, pain, tiredness, weakness, pain in the muscles and joints. Patients suffering from diabetes mellitus, malnutrition, or alcoholism should be given 10 mg pyridoxine routinely, If there are pre-existing symptoms of peripheral neuritis, a larger dose of pyridoxine of 50 to 100 mg may be given daily. Other adverse effects are liver damage, mental disturbance and rarely fits. Liver damage is not common in children but may occur in elderly and alcoholics.
Precautions
The doctor should be informed if any symptoms of peripheral neuritis such as a decreased sensation or pain in the muscles occur.
A liver function test (serum transaminase) is advised after a month or two of the treatment. If the serum transaminase exceeds 3 times normal value, the drug should be stopped.
A pyridoxine supplement is necessary in pregnant women, nursing mothers, and infants as this drug is secreted in milk.
The doctor should be consulted if any adverse effects like allergic reactions, arthritis, or difficulty in vision occur.
The drug should be taken regularly as advised by the doctor. Inadequate doses or missing the drug in between may cause a relapse.
If nausea occurs, the drug should be taken with meals, dividing the dose into two halves, that is, half in the morning and half in the evening.
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