Harry reached the bottom of the article, but continued to stare blankly at the page. Revulsion and fury rose in him like vomit; he balled up the newspaper and threw it, with all his force, at the wall, where it joined the rest of the rubbish heaped around his overflowing bin.
He began to stride blindly around the room, opening empty drawers and picking up books only to replace them on the same piles, barely conscious of what he was doing, as random phrases from Rita’s article echoed in his head: An entire chapter to the whole Potter-Dumbledore relationship… It’s been called unhealthy, even sinister… He dabbled in the Dark Arts himself in his youth… I’ve had access to a source most journalists would swap their wands for…
“Lies!” Harry bellowed, and through the window he saw the next-door neighbor, who had paused to restart his lawn mower, look up nervously.
Harry sat down hard on the bed. The broken bit of mirror danced away from him; he picked it up and turned it over in his fingers, thinking, thinking of Dumbledore and the lies with which Rita Skeeter was defaming him…
A flash of brightest blue. Harry froze, his cut finger slipping on the jagged edge of the mirror again. He had imagined it, he must have done. He glanced over his shoulder, but the wall was a sickly peach color of Aunt Petunia’s choosing: There was nothing blue there for the mirror to reflect. He peered into the mirror fragment again, and saw nothing but his own bright green eye looking back at him.
He had imagined it, there was no other explanation; imagined it, because he had been thinking of his dead headmaster. If anything was certain, it was that the bright blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore would never pierce him again.
Chapter 3 The Dursleys Departing
The sound of the front door slamming echoed up the stairs and a voice roared, “Oh! You!”
Sixteen years of being addressed thus left Harry in no doubt when his uncle was calling, nevertheless, he did not immediately respond. He was still at the narrow fragment in which, for a split second, he had thought he saw Dumbledore’s eye. It was not until his uncle bellowed, “BOY!” that Harry got slowly out of bed and headed for the bedroom door, pausing to add the piece of broken mirror to the rucksack filled with things he would be taking with him.
“You took you time!” roared Vernon Dursley when Harry appeared at the top of the stairs, “Get down here. I want a word!”
Harry strolled downstairs, his hands deep in his pants pockets. When he searched the living room he found all three Dursleys. They were dressed for packing; Uncle Vernon in an old ripped-up jacket and Dudley, Harry’s, large, blond, muscular cousin, in his leather jacket.
“Yes?” asked Harry.
“Sit down!” said Uncle Vernon. Harry raised his eyebrows. “Please!” added Uncle Vernon, wincing slightly as though the word was sharp in his throat. Harry sat. He thought he knew what was coming. His uncle began to pace up and down, Aunt Petunia and Dudley, following his movement with anxious expressions. Finally, his large purple face crumpled with concentration. Uncle Vernon stopped in front of Harry and spoke.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said.
“What a surprise,” said Harry.
“Don’t you take that tone – ” began Aunt Petunia in a shrill voice, but Vernon Dursley waved her down “It’s all a lot of claptrap,” said Uncle Vernon, glaring at Harry with piggy little eyes. “I’ve decided I don’t believe a word of it. We’re staying put, we’re not going anywhere.”
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Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
walking down the steps into the dusk.
walking down the steps into the dusk.
It was when he reached the bottom step that it occurred to him how very pleasant it would be to pass the vegetable patch on his walk to Hagrid's. It was not strictly on
the way, but it seemed clear to Harry that this was a whim on which he should act, so he directed his feet immediately toward the vegetable patch, where he was pleased,
but not altogether surprised, to find Professor Slughorn in conversation with Professor Sprout. Harry lurked behind a low stone wall, feeling at peace with the world
and listening to their conversation.
“... I do thank you for taking the time, Pomona,” Slughorn was saying courteously. “Most authorities agree that they are at their most efficacious if picked at
twilight.”
“Oh, I quite agree,” said Professor Sprout warmly. “That enough for you?”
“Plenty, plenty,” said Slughorn, who, Harry saw, was carrying an armful of leafy plants. “This should allow for a few leaves for each of my third-years, and some to
spare if anybody over-stews them... well, good evening to you, and many thanks again!”
Professor Sprout headed off into the gathering darkness in the direction of her greenhouses, and Slughorn directed his steps to the spot where Harry stood, invisible.
Seized with an immediate desire to reveal himself, Harry pulled off the cloak with a flourish.
“Good evening, Professor.”
“Merlin's beard, Harry, you made me jump,” said Slughorn, stopping dead in his tracks and looking wary. “How did you get out of the castle?”
“I think Filch must've forgotten to lock the doors,” said Harry cheerfully, and was delighted to see Slughorn scowl.
“I'll be reporting that man, he's more concerned about litter than proper security if you ask me... but why are you out then, Harry?”
“Well, sir, it's Hagrid,” said Harry, who knew that the right thing to do just now was to tell the truth. “He's pretty upset... but you won't tell anyone, Professor?
I don't want trouble for him...”
Slughorn's curiosity was evidently aroused.
“Well, I can't promise that,” he said gruffly. “But I know that Dumbledore trusts Hagrid to the hilt, so I'm sure he can't be up to anything very dreadful...”
“Well, it's this giant spider, he's had it for years... it lived in the forest... it could talk and everything—”
“I heard rumors there were Acromantula in the forest,” said Slughorn softly, looking over at the mass of black trees. “It's true, then?”
“Yes,” said Harry. “But this one, Aragog, the first one Hagrid ever got, it died last night. He's devastated. He wants company while he buries it and I said I'd go.
”
“Touching, touching,” said Slughorn absentmindedly, his large droopy eyes fixed upon the distant lights of Hagrid's cabin. “But Acromantula venom is very valuable...
It was when he reached the bottom step that it occurred to him how very pleasant it would be to pass the vegetable patch on his walk to Hagrid's. It was not strictly on
the way, but it seemed clear to Harry that this was a whim on which he should act, so he directed his feet immediately toward the vegetable patch, where he was pleased,
but not altogether surprised, to find Professor Slughorn in conversation with Professor Sprout. Harry lurked behind a low stone wall, feeling at peace with the world
and listening to their conversation.
“... I do thank you for taking the time, Pomona,” Slughorn was saying courteously. “Most authorities agree that they are at their most efficacious if picked at
twilight.”
“Oh, I quite agree,” said Professor Sprout warmly. “That enough for you?”
“Plenty, plenty,” said Slughorn, who, Harry saw, was carrying an armful of leafy plants. “This should allow for a few leaves for each of my third-years, and some to
spare if anybody over-stews them... well, good evening to you, and many thanks again!”
Professor Sprout headed off into the gathering darkness in the direction of her greenhouses, and Slughorn directed his steps to the spot where Harry stood, invisible.
Seized with an immediate desire to reveal himself, Harry pulled off the cloak with a flourish.
“Good evening, Professor.”
“Merlin's beard, Harry, you made me jump,” said Slughorn, stopping dead in his tracks and looking wary. “How did you get out of the castle?”
“I think Filch must've forgotten to lock the doors,” said Harry cheerfully, and was delighted to see Slughorn scowl.
“I'll be reporting that man, he's more concerned about litter than proper security if you ask me... but why are you out then, Harry?”
“Well, sir, it's Hagrid,” said Harry, who knew that the right thing to do just now was to tell the truth. “He's pretty upset... but you won't tell anyone, Professor?
I don't want trouble for him...”
Slughorn's curiosity was evidently aroused.
“Well, I can't promise that,” he said gruffly. “But I know that Dumbledore trusts Hagrid to the hilt, so I'm sure he can't be up to anything very dreadful...”
“Well, it's this giant spider, he's had it for years... it lived in the forest... it could talk and everything—”
“I heard rumors there were Acromantula in the forest,” said Slughorn softly, looking over at the mass of black trees. “It's true, then?”
“Yes,” said Harry. “But this one, Aragog, the first one Hagrid ever got, it died last night. He's devastated. He wants company while he buries it and I said I'd go.
”
“Touching, touching,” said Slughorn absentmindedly, his large droopy eyes fixed upon the distant lights of Hagrid's cabin. “But Acromantula venom is very valuable...
Two or three hours should do it.”
Two or three hours should do it.”
“It's a great feeling when you take it,” said Ron reminiscently. “Like you can't do anything wrong.”
“What are you talking about?” said Hermione, laughing. “You've never taken any!”
“Yeah, but I thought I had, didn't I?” said Ron, as though explaining the obvious. “Same difference really ...”
As they had only just seen Slughorn enter the Great Hall and knew that he liked to take time over meals, they lingered for a while in the common room, the plan being
that Harry should go to Slughorn s office once the teacher had had time to get back there. When the sun had sunk to the level of the treetops in the Forbidden Forest,
they decided the moment had come, and after checking carefully that Neville, Dean, and Seamus were all in the common room, sneaked up to the boys’ dormitory.
Harry took out the rolled-up socks at the bottom of his trunk and extracted the tiny, gleaming bottle.
“Well, here goes,” said Harry, and he raised the little bottle and look a carefully measured gulp.
“What does it feel like?” whispered Hermione.
Harry did not answer for a moment. Then, slowly but surely, an exhilarating sense of infinite opportunity stole through him; he felt as though he could have done
anything, anything at all... and getting the memory from Slughorn seemed suddenly not only possible, but positively easy...
He got to his feet, smiling, brimming with confidence.
“Excellent,” he said. “Really excellent. Right... I'm going down to Hagrid's.”
“What?” said Ron and Hermione together, looking aghast.
“No, Harry—you've got to go and see Slughorn, remember?” said Hermione.
“No,” said Harry confidently. “I'm going to Hagrid's, I've got a good feeling about going to Hagrid's.”
“You've got a good feeling about burying a giant spider?” asked Ron, looking stunned.
“Yeah,” said Harry, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag. “I feel like it's the place to be tonight, you know what I mean?”
“No,” said Ron and Hermione together, both looking positively alarmed now.
“This is Felix Felicis, I suppose?” said Hermione anxiously, holding up the bottle to the light. “You haven't got another little bottle full of— I don't know —”
“Essence of Insanity?” suggested Ron, as Harry swung his cloak over his shoulders.
Harry laughed, and Ron and Hermione looked even more alarmed.
“Trust me,” he said. “I know what I'm doing ... or at least...” he strolled confidently to the door, “Felix does.”
He pulled the Invisibility Cloak over his head and set off down the stairs, Ron and Hermione hurrying along behind him. At the foot of the stairs, Harry slid through
the open door.
“What were you doing up there with her!” shrieked Lavender Brown, staring right through Harry at Ron and Hermione emerging together from the boys’ dormitories. Harry
heard Ron spluttering behind him as he darted across the room away from them.
Getting through the portrait hole was simple; as he approached it, Ginny and Dean came through it, and Harry was able to slip between them. As he did so, he brushed
accidentally against Ginny.
“Don't push me, please, Dean,” she said, sounding annoyed. “You're always doing that, I can get through perfectly well on my own...”
The portrait swung closed behind Harry, but not before he had heard Dean make an angry retort... his feeling of elation increasing, Harry strode off through the castle.
He did not have to creep along, for he met nobody on his way, but this did not surprise him in the slightest. This evening, he was the luckiest person at Hogwarts.
Why he knew that going to Hagrid's was the right thing to do, he had no idea. It was as though the potion was illuminating a few steps of the path at a time. He could
not see the final destination, he could not see where Slughorn came in, but he knew that he was going the right way to get that memory. When he reached the entrance
hall he saw that Filch had forgotten to lock the front door. Beaming, Harry threw it open and breathed in the smell of clean air and grass for a moment before
“It's a great feeling when you take it,” said Ron reminiscently. “Like you can't do anything wrong.”
“What are you talking about?” said Hermione, laughing. “You've never taken any!”
“Yeah, but I thought I had, didn't I?” said Ron, as though explaining the obvious. “Same difference really ...”
As they had only just seen Slughorn enter the Great Hall and knew that he liked to take time over meals, they lingered for a while in the common room, the plan being
that Harry should go to Slughorn s office once the teacher had had time to get back there. When the sun had sunk to the level of the treetops in the Forbidden Forest,
they decided the moment had come, and after checking carefully that Neville, Dean, and Seamus were all in the common room, sneaked up to the boys’ dormitory.
Harry took out the rolled-up socks at the bottom of his trunk and extracted the tiny, gleaming bottle.
“Well, here goes,” said Harry, and he raised the little bottle and look a carefully measured gulp.
“What does it feel like?” whispered Hermione.
Harry did not answer for a moment. Then, slowly but surely, an exhilarating sense of infinite opportunity stole through him; he felt as though he could have done
anything, anything at all... and getting the memory from Slughorn seemed suddenly not only possible, but positively easy...
He got to his feet, smiling, brimming with confidence.
“Excellent,” he said. “Really excellent. Right... I'm going down to Hagrid's.”
“What?” said Ron and Hermione together, looking aghast.
“No, Harry—you've got to go and see Slughorn, remember?” said Hermione.
“No,” said Harry confidently. “I'm going to Hagrid's, I've got a good feeling about going to Hagrid's.”
“You've got a good feeling about burying a giant spider?” asked Ron, looking stunned.
“Yeah,” said Harry, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag. “I feel like it's the place to be tonight, you know what I mean?”
“No,” said Ron and Hermione together, both looking positively alarmed now.
“This is Felix Felicis, I suppose?” said Hermione anxiously, holding up the bottle to the light. “You haven't got another little bottle full of— I don't know —”
“Essence of Insanity?” suggested Ron, as Harry swung his cloak over his shoulders.
Harry laughed, and Ron and Hermione looked even more alarmed.
“Trust me,” he said. “I know what I'm doing ... or at least...” he strolled confidently to the door, “Felix does.”
He pulled the Invisibility Cloak over his head and set off down the stairs, Ron and Hermione hurrying along behind him. At the foot of the stairs, Harry slid through
the open door.
“What were you doing up there with her!” shrieked Lavender Brown, staring right through Harry at Ron and Hermione emerging together from the boys’ dormitories. Harry
heard Ron spluttering behind him as he darted across the room away from them.
Getting through the portrait hole was simple; as he approached it, Ginny and Dean came through it, and Harry was able to slip between them. As he did so, he brushed
accidentally against Ginny.
“Don't push me, please, Dean,” she said, sounding annoyed. “You're always doing that, I can get through perfectly well on my own...”
The portrait swung closed behind Harry, but not before he had heard Dean make an angry retort... his feeling of elation increasing, Harry strode off through the castle.
He did not have to creep along, for he met nobody on his way, but this did not surprise him in the slightest. This evening, he was the luckiest person at Hogwarts.
Why he knew that going to Hagrid's was the right thing to do, he had no idea. It was as though the potion was illuminating a few steps of the path at a time. He could
not see the final destination, he could not see where Slughorn came in, but he knew that he was going the right way to get that memory. When he reached the entrance
hall he saw that Filch had forgotten to lock the front door. Beaming, Harry threw it open and breathed in the smell of clean air and grass for a moment before
They shook their heads.
They shook their heads.
“Ah well,” said Slughorn cheerily, “as we're so few, we'll do something fun. I want you all to brew me up something amusing!”
“That sounds good, sir,” said Ernie sycophantically, rubbing his hands together. Malfoy, on the other hand, did not crack a smile.
“What do you mean, ‘something amusing'?” he said irritably.
“Oh, surprise me,” said Slughorn airily.
Malfoy opened his copy of Advanced Potion-Making with a sulky expression. It could not have been plainer that he thought this lesson was a waste of time. Undoubtedly,
Harry thought, watching him over the top of his own book, Malfoy was begrudging the time he could otherwise be spending in the Room of Requirement.
Was it his imagination, or did Malfoy, like Tonks, look thinner? Certainly he looked paler; his skin still had that grayish tinge, probably because he so rarely saw
daylight these days. But there was no air of smugness, excitement, or superiority; none of the swagger that he had had on the Hogwarts Express, when he had boasted
openly of the mission he had been given by Voldemort... there could be only one conclusion, in Harry's opinion: the mission, whatever it was, was going badly.
Cheered by this thought, Harry skimmed through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making and found a heavily corrected Half-Blood Prince's version of An Elixir to Induce
Euphoria, which seemed not only to meet Slughorn's instructions, but which might (Harry's heart leapt as the thought struck him) put Slughorn into such a good mood that
he would be prepared to hand over that memory if Harry could persuade him to taste some...
“Well, now, this looks absolutely wonderful,” said Slughorn an hour and a half later, clapping his hands together as he stared down into the sunshine yellow contents
of Harry's cauldron. “Euphoria, I take it? And what's that I smell? Mmmm... you've added just a sprig of peppermint, haven't you? Unorthodox, but what a stroke of
inspiration, Harry, of course, that would tend to counterbalance the occasional side effects of excessive singing and nose-tweaking... I really don't know where you get
these brain waves, my boy... unless —”
Harry pushed the Half-Blood Prince's book deeper into his bag with his foot.
“— it's just your mother's genes coming out in you!”
“Oh... yeah, maybe,” said Harry, relieved.
Ernie was looking rather grumpy; determined to outshine Harry for once, he had most rashly invented his own potion, which had curdled and formed a kind of purple
dumpling at the bottom of his cauldron. Malfoy was already packing up, sour-faced; Slughorn had pronounced his Hiccuping Solution merely “passable.”
The bell rang and both Ernie and Malfoy left at once. “Sir,” Harry began, but Slughorn immediately glanced over his shoulder; when he saw that the room was empty but
for himself and Harry, he hurried away as fast as he could.
“Professor—Professor, don't you want to taste my po—?” called Harry desperately.
But Slughorn had gone. Disappointed, Harry emptied the cauldron, packed up his things, left the dungeon, and walked slowly back upstairs to the common room.
Ron and Hermione returned in the late afternoon.
“Harry!” cried Hermione as she climbed through the portrait hole. “Harry, I passed!”
“Well done!” he said. “And Ron?”
“He—he just failed,” whispered Hermione, as Ron came slouching into the room looking most morose. “It was really unlucky, a tiny thing, the examiner just spotted
that he'd left half an eyebrow behind... how did it go with Slughorn?”
“No joy,” said Harry, as Ron joined them. “Bad luck, mate, but you'll pass next time—we can take it together.”
“Yeah, I s'pose,” said Ron grumpily. “But half an eyebrow! Like that matters!”
“I know,” said Hermione soothingly, “it does seem really harsh...”
They spent most of their dinner roundly abusing the Apparition examiner, and Ron looked fractionally more cheerful by the time they set off back to the common room, now
discussing the continuing problem of Slughorn and the memory.
“So, Harry—you going to use the Felix Felicis or what?” Ron demanded.
“Yeah, I s'pose I'd better,” said Harry. “I don't reckon I'll need all of it, not twenty-four hours’ worth, it can't take all night... I'll just take a mouthful.
“Ah well,” said Slughorn cheerily, “as we're so few, we'll do something fun. I want you all to brew me up something amusing!”
“That sounds good, sir,” said Ernie sycophantically, rubbing his hands together. Malfoy, on the other hand, did not crack a smile.
“What do you mean, ‘something amusing'?” he said irritably.
“Oh, surprise me,” said Slughorn airily.
Malfoy opened his copy of Advanced Potion-Making with a sulky expression. It could not have been plainer that he thought this lesson was a waste of time. Undoubtedly,
Harry thought, watching him over the top of his own book, Malfoy was begrudging the time he could otherwise be spending in the Room of Requirement.
Was it his imagination, or did Malfoy, like Tonks, look thinner? Certainly he looked paler; his skin still had that grayish tinge, probably because he so rarely saw
daylight these days. But there was no air of smugness, excitement, or superiority; none of the swagger that he had had on the Hogwarts Express, when he had boasted
openly of the mission he had been given by Voldemort... there could be only one conclusion, in Harry's opinion: the mission, whatever it was, was going badly.
Cheered by this thought, Harry skimmed through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making and found a heavily corrected Half-Blood Prince's version of An Elixir to Induce
Euphoria, which seemed not only to meet Slughorn's instructions, but which might (Harry's heart leapt as the thought struck him) put Slughorn into such a good mood that
he would be prepared to hand over that memory if Harry could persuade him to taste some...
“Well, now, this looks absolutely wonderful,” said Slughorn an hour and a half later, clapping his hands together as he stared down into the sunshine yellow contents
of Harry's cauldron. “Euphoria, I take it? And what's that I smell? Mmmm... you've added just a sprig of peppermint, haven't you? Unorthodox, but what a stroke of
inspiration, Harry, of course, that would tend to counterbalance the occasional side effects of excessive singing and nose-tweaking... I really don't know where you get
these brain waves, my boy... unless —”
Harry pushed the Half-Blood Prince's book deeper into his bag with his foot.
“— it's just your mother's genes coming out in you!”
“Oh... yeah, maybe,” said Harry, relieved.
Ernie was looking rather grumpy; determined to outshine Harry for once, he had most rashly invented his own potion, which had curdled and formed a kind of purple
dumpling at the bottom of his cauldron. Malfoy was already packing up, sour-faced; Slughorn had pronounced his Hiccuping Solution merely “passable.”
The bell rang and both Ernie and Malfoy left at once. “Sir,” Harry began, but Slughorn immediately glanced over his shoulder; when he saw that the room was empty but
for himself and Harry, he hurried away as fast as he could.
“Professor—Professor, don't you want to taste my po—?” called Harry desperately.
But Slughorn had gone. Disappointed, Harry emptied the cauldron, packed up his things, left the dungeon, and walked slowly back upstairs to the common room.
Ron and Hermione returned in the late afternoon.
“Harry!” cried Hermione as she climbed through the portrait hole. “Harry, I passed!”
“Well done!” he said. “And Ron?”
“He—he just failed,” whispered Hermione, as Ron came slouching into the room looking most morose. “It was really unlucky, a tiny thing, the examiner just spotted
that he'd left half an eyebrow behind... how did it go with Slughorn?”
“No joy,” said Harry, as Ron joined them. “Bad luck, mate, but you'll pass next time—we can take it together.”
“Yeah, I s'pose,” said Ron grumpily. “But half an eyebrow! Like that matters!”
“I know,” said Hermione soothingly, “it does seem really harsh...”
They spent most of their dinner roundly abusing the Apparition examiner, and Ron looked fractionally more cheerful by the time they set off back to the common room, now
discussing the continuing problem of Slughorn and the memory.
“So, Harry—you going to use the Felix Felicis or what?” Ron demanded.
“Yeah, I s'pose I'd better,” said Harry. “I don't reckon I'll need all of it, not twenty-four hours’ worth, it can't take all night... I'll just take a mouthful.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
“You saw Malfoy leaving the shop with a similar package?”
“You saw Malfoy leaving the shop with a similar package?”
“No, Professor, he told Borgin to keep it in the shop for him —”
“But Harry,” Hermione interrupted, “Borgin asked him if he wanted to take it with him, and Malfoy said no —”
“Because he didn't want to touch it, obviously!” said Harry angrily.
“What he actually said was, ‘How would I look carrying that down the street?'” said Hermione.
“Well, he would look a bit of a prat carrying a necklace,” interjected Ron.
“Oh, Ron,” said Hermione despairingly, “it would be all wrapped up, so he wouldn't have to touch it, and quite easy to hide inside a cloak, so nobody would see it! I
think whatever he reserved at Borgin and Burkes was noisy or bulky, something he knew would draw attention to him if he carried it down the street—and in any case,”
she pressed on loudly, before Harry could interrupt, “I asked Borgin about the necklace, don't you remember? When I went in to try and find out what Malfoy had asked
him to keep, I saw it there. And Borgin just told me the price, he didn't say it was already sold or anything —”
“Well, you were being really obvious, he realized what you were up to within about five seconds, of course he wasn't going to tell you—anyway, Malfoy could've sent
off for it since —”
“That's enough!” said Professor McGonagall, as Hermione opened her mouth to retort, looking furious. “Potter, I appreciate you telling me this, but we cannot point
the finger of blame at Mr. Malfoy purely because he visited the shop where this necklace might have been purchased. The same is probably true of hundreds of people —”
“— that's what I said —” muttered Ron.
“— and in any case, we have put stringent security measures in place this year. I do not believe that necklace can possibly have entered this school without our
knowledge —”
“But —”
“— and what is more,” said Professor McGonagall, with an air of awful finality, “Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today.”
Harry gaped at her, deflating.
“How do you know, Professor?”
“Because he was doing detention with me. He has now failed to complete his Transfiguration homework twice in a row. So, thank you for telling me your suspicions,
Potter,” she said as she marched past them, “but I need to go up to the hospital wing now to check on Katie Bell. Good day to you all.”
She held open her office door. They had no choice but to file past her without another word.
Harry was angry with the other two for siding with McGonagall; nevertheless, he felt compelled to join in once they started discussing what had happened.
“So who do you reckon Katie was supposed to give the necklace to?” asked Ron, as they climbed the stairs to the common room.
“Goodness only knows,” said Hermione. “But whoever it was has had a narrow escape. No one could have opened that package without touching the necklace.”
“It could've been meant for loads of people,” said Harry. “Dumbledore—the Death Eaters would love to get rid of him, he must be one of their top targets. Or
Slughorn — Dumbledore reckons Voldemort really wanted him and they can't be pleased that he's sided with Dumbledore. Or —”
“Or you,” said Hermione, looking troubled.
“Couldn't have been,” said Harry, “or Katie would've just turned around in the lane and given it to me, wouldn't she? I was behind her all the way out of the Three
“No, Professor, he told Borgin to keep it in the shop for him —”
“But Harry,” Hermione interrupted, “Borgin asked him if he wanted to take it with him, and Malfoy said no —”
“Because he didn't want to touch it, obviously!” said Harry angrily.
“What he actually said was, ‘How would I look carrying that down the street?'” said Hermione.
“Well, he would look a bit of a prat carrying a necklace,” interjected Ron.
“Oh, Ron,” said Hermione despairingly, “it would be all wrapped up, so he wouldn't have to touch it, and quite easy to hide inside a cloak, so nobody would see it! I
think whatever he reserved at Borgin and Burkes was noisy or bulky, something he knew would draw attention to him if he carried it down the street—and in any case,”
she pressed on loudly, before Harry could interrupt, “I asked Borgin about the necklace, don't you remember? When I went in to try and find out what Malfoy had asked
him to keep, I saw it there. And Borgin just told me the price, he didn't say it was already sold or anything —”
“Well, you were being really obvious, he realized what you were up to within about five seconds, of course he wasn't going to tell you—anyway, Malfoy could've sent
off for it since —”
“That's enough!” said Professor McGonagall, as Hermione opened her mouth to retort, looking furious. “Potter, I appreciate you telling me this, but we cannot point
the finger of blame at Mr. Malfoy purely because he visited the shop where this necklace might have been purchased. The same is probably true of hundreds of people —”
“— that's what I said —” muttered Ron.
“— and in any case, we have put stringent security measures in place this year. I do not believe that necklace can possibly have entered this school without our
knowledge —”
“But —”
“— and what is more,” said Professor McGonagall, with an air of awful finality, “Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today.”
Harry gaped at her, deflating.
“How do you know, Professor?”
“Because he was doing detention with me. He has now failed to complete his Transfiguration homework twice in a row. So, thank you for telling me your suspicions,
Potter,” she said as she marched past them, “but I need to go up to the hospital wing now to check on Katie Bell. Good day to you all.”
She held open her office door. They had no choice but to file past her without another word.
Harry was angry with the other two for siding with McGonagall; nevertheless, he felt compelled to join in once they started discussing what had happened.
“So who do you reckon Katie was supposed to give the necklace to?” asked Ron, as they climbed the stairs to the common room.
“Goodness only knows,” said Hermione. “But whoever it was has had a narrow escape. No one could have opened that package without touching the necklace.”
“It could've been meant for loads of people,” said Harry. “Dumbledore—the Death Eaters would love to get rid of him, he must be one of their top targets. Or
Slughorn — Dumbledore reckons Voldemort really wanted him and they can't be pleased that he's sided with Dumbledore. Or —”
“Or you,” said Hermione, looking troubled.
“Couldn't have been,” said Harry, “or Katie would've just turned around in the lane and given it to me, wouldn't she? I was behind her all the way out of the Three
“Hagrid says you four saw what happened
“Hagrid says you four saw what happened to Katie Bell—upstairs to my office at once, please! What's that you're holding, Potter?”
“It's the thing she touched,” said Harry.
“Good Lord,” said Professor McGonagall, looking alarmed as she took the necklace from Harry. “No, no, Filch, they're with me!” she added hastily, as Filch came
shuffling eagerly across the entrance hall holding his Secrecy Sensor aloft. “Take this necklace to Professor Snape at once, but be sure not to touch it, keep it
wrapped in the scarf!”
Harry and the others followed Professor McGonagall upstairs and into her office. The sleet-spattered windows were rattling in their frames, and the room was chilly
despite the fire crackling in the grate. Professor McGonagall closed the door and swept around her desk to face Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the still sobbing Leanne.
“Well?” she said sharply. “What happened?”
Haltingly, and with many pauses while she attempted to control her crying, Leanne told Professor McGonagall how Katie had gone to the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks
and returned holding the unmarked package, how Katie had seemed a little odd, and how they had argued about the advisability of agreeing to deliver unknown objects, the
argument culminating in the tussle over the parcel, which tore open. At this point, Leanne was so overcome, there was no getting another word out of her.
“All right,” said Professor McGonagall, not unkindly, “go up to the hospital wing, please, Leanne, and get Madam Pomfrey to give you something for shock.”
When she had left the room, Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
“What happened when Katie touched the necklace?”
“She rose up in the air,” said Harry, before either Ron or Hermione could speak, “and then began to scream, and collapsed. Professor, can I see Professor Dumbledore,
please?”
“The Headmaster is away until Monday, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, looking surprised.
“Away?” Harry repeated angrily.
“Yes, Potter, away!” said Professor McGonagall tartly. “But anything you have to say about this horrible business can be said to me, I'm sure!”
For a split second, Harry hesitated. Professor McGonagall did not invite confidences; Dumbledore, though in many ways more intimidating, still seemed less likely to
scorn a theory, however wild. This was a life-and-death matter, though, and no moment to worry about being laughed at.
“I think Draco Malfoy gave Katie that necklace, Professor.”
On one side of him, Ron rubbed his nose in apparent embarrassment; on the other, Hermione shuffled her feet as though quite keen to put a bit of distance between
herself and Harry.
“That is a very serious accusation, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, after a shocked pause. “Do you have any proof?”
“No,” said Harry, “but...” and he told her about following Malfoy to Borgin and Burkes and the conversation they had overheard between him and Mr. Borgin.
When he had finished speaking, Professor McGonagall looked slightly confused.
“Malfoy took something to Borgin and Burkes for repair?”
“No, Professor, he just wanted Borgin to tell him how to mend something, he didn't have it with him. But that's not the point, the thing is that he bought something at
the same time, and I think it was that necklace —”
“It's the thing she touched,” said Harry.
“Good Lord,” said Professor McGonagall, looking alarmed as she took the necklace from Harry. “No, no, Filch, they're with me!” she added hastily, as Filch came
shuffling eagerly across the entrance hall holding his Secrecy Sensor aloft. “Take this necklace to Professor Snape at once, but be sure not to touch it, keep it
wrapped in the scarf!”
Harry and the others followed Professor McGonagall upstairs and into her office. The sleet-spattered windows were rattling in their frames, and the room was chilly
despite the fire crackling in the grate. Professor McGonagall closed the door and swept around her desk to face Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the still sobbing Leanne.
“Well?” she said sharply. “What happened?”
Haltingly, and with many pauses while she attempted to control her crying, Leanne told Professor McGonagall how Katie had gone to the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks
and returned holding the unmarked package, how Katie had seemed a little odd, and how they had argued about the advisability of agreeing to deliver unknown objects, the
argument culminating in the tussle over the parcel, which tore open. At this point, Leanne was so overcome, there was no getting another word out of her.
“All right,” said Professor McGonagall, not unkindly, “go up to the hospital wing, please, Leanne, and get Madam Pomfrey to give you something for shock.”
When she had left the room, Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
“What happened when Katie touched the necklace?”
“She rose up in the air,” said Harry, before either Ron or Hermione could speak, “and then began to scream, and collapsed. Professor, can I see Professor Dumbledore,
please?”
“The Headmaster is away until Monday, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, looking surprised.
“Away?” Harry repeated angrily.
“Yes, Potter, away!” said Professor McGonagall tartly. “But anything you have to say about this horrible business can be said to me, I'm sure!”
For a split second, Harry hesitated. Professor McGonagall did not invite confidences; Dumbledore, though in many ways more intimidating, still seemed less likely to
scorn a theory, however wild. This was a life-and-death matter, though, and no moment to worry about being laughed at.
“I think Draco Malfoy gave Katie that necklace, Professor.”
On one side of him, Ron rubbed his nose in apparent embarrassment; on the other, Hermione shuffled her feet as though quite keen to put a bit of distance between
herself and Harry.
“That is a very serious accusation, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, after a shocked pause. “Do you have any proof?”
“No,” said Harry, “but...” and he told her about following Malfoy to Borgin and Burkes and the conversation they had overheard between him and Mr. Borgin.
When he had finished speaking, Professor McGonagall looked slightly confused.
“Malfoy took something to Borgin and Burkes for repair?”
“No, Professor, he just wanted Borgin to tell him how to mend something, he didn't have it with him. But that's not the point, the thing is that he bought something at
the same time, and I think it was that necklace —”
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
I Sergey Ivanovitch's eyes
I Sergey Ivanovitch's eyes his younger brother was a capital fellow, with his heart in the right place (as he expressed it in French), but with a mind which, though fairly quick, was too much influenced by the impressions of the moment, and consequently filled with contradictions. With all the condescension of an elder brother he sometimes explained to him the true import of things, but he derived little satisfaction from arguing with him because he got the better of him too easily.
Konstantin Levin regarded his brother as a man of immense intellect and culture, as generous in the highest sense of the word, and possessed of a special faculty for working for the public good. But in the depths of his heart, the older he became, and the more intimately he knew his brother, the more and more frequently the thought struck him that this faculty of working for the public good, of which he felt himself utterly devoid, was possibly not so much a quality as a lack of something --not a lack of good, honest, noble desires and tastes, but a lack of vital force, of what is called heart, of that impulse which drives a man to choose someone out of the innumerable paths of life, and to care only for that one. The better he knew his brother, the more he noticed that Sergey Ivanovitch, and many other people who worked for the public welfare, were not led by an impulse of the heart to care for the public good, but reasoned from intellectual considerations that it was a right thing to take interest in public affairs, and consequently took interest in them. Levin was confirmed in this generalization by observing that his brother did not take questions affecting the public welfare or the question of the immortality of the soul a bit more to heart than he did chess problems, or the ingenious construction of a new machine.
Besides this, Konstantin Levin was not at his ease with his brother, because in summer in the country Levin was continually busy with work on the land, and the long summer day was not long enough for him to get through all he had to do, while Sergey Ivanovitch was taking a holiday. But though he was taking a holiday now, that is to say, he was doing no writing, he was so used to intellectual activity that he liked to put into concise and eloquent shape the ideas that occurred to him, and liked to have someone to listen to him. His most usual and natural listener was his brother. And so in spite of the friendliness and directness of their relations, Konstantin felt an awkwardness in leaving him alone. Sergey Ivanovitch liked to stretch himself on the grass in the sun, and to lie so, basking and chatting lazily.
"You wouldn't believe," he would say to his brother, "what a pleasure this rural laziness is to me. Not an idea in one's brain, as empty as a drum!"
But Konstantin Levin found it dull sitting and listening to him, especially when he knew that while he was away they would be carting dung onto the fields not ploughed ready for it, and heaping it all up anyhow; and would not screw the shares in the ploughs, but would let them come off and then say that the new ploughs were a silly invention, and there was nothing like the old Andreevna plough, and so on.
"Come, you've done enough trudging about in the heat," Sergey Ivanovitch would say to him.
"No, I must just run round to the counting-house for a minute," Levin would answer, and he would run off to the fields.
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Konstantin Levin regarded his brother as a man of immense intellect and culture, as generous in the highest sense of the word, and possessed of a special faculty for working for the public good. But in the depths of his heart, the older he became, and the more intimately he knew his brother, the more and more frequently the thought struck him that this faculty of working for the public good, of which he felt himself utterly devoid, was possibly not so much a quality as a lack of something --not a lack of good, honest, noble desires and tastes, but a lack of vital force, of what is called heart, of that impulse which drives a man to choose someone out of the innumerable paths of life, and to care only for that one. The better he knew his brother, the more he noticed that Sergey Ivanovitch, and many other people who worked for the public welfare, were not led by an impulse of the heart to care for the public good, but reasoned from intellectual considerations that it was a right thing to take interest in public affairs, and consequently took interest in them. Levin was confirmed in this generalization by observing that his brother did not take questions affecting the public welfare or the question of the immortality of the soul a bit more to heart than he did chess problems, or the ingenious construction of a new machine.
Besides this, Konstantin Levin was not at his ease with his brother, because in summer in the country Levin was continually busy with work on the land, and the long summer day was not long enough for him to get through all he had to do, while Sergey Ivanovitch was taking a holiday. But though he was taking a holiday now, that is to say, he was doing no writing, he was so used to intellectual activity that he liked to put into concise and eloquent shape the ideas that occurred to him, and liked to have someone to listen to him. His most usual and natural listener was his brother. And so in spite of the friendliness and directness of their relations, Konstantin felt an awkwardness in leaving him alone. Sergey Ivanovitch liked to stretch himself on the grass in the sun, and to lie so, basking and chatting lazily.
"You wouldn't believe," he would say to his brother, "what a pleasure this rural laziness is to me. Not an idea in one's brain, as empty as a drum!"
But Konstantin Levin found it dull sitting and listening to him, especially when he knew that while he was away they would be carting dung onto the fields not ploughed ready for it, and heaping it all up anyhow; and would not screw the shares in the ploughs, but would let them come off and then say that the new ploughs were a silly invention, and there was nothing like the old Andreevna plough, and so on.
"Come, you've done enough trudging about in the heat," Sergey Ivanovitch would say to him.
"No, I must just run round to the counting-house for a minute," Levin would answer, and he would run off to the fields.
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Monday, November 22, 2010
"These stupid chignons!
"These stupid chignons! There's no getting at the real daughter. One simply strokes the bristles of dead women. Well, Dolinka," he turned to his elder daughter, "what's your young buck about, hey?"
"Nothing, father," answered Dolly, understanding that her husband was meant. "He's always out; I scarcely ever see him," she could not resist adding with a sarcastic smile.
"Why, hasn't he gone into the country yet--to see about selling that forest?"
"No, he's still getting ready for the journey."
"Oh, that's it!" said the prince. "And so am I to be getting ready for a journey too? At your service," he said to his wife, sitting down. "And I tell you what, Katia," he went on to his younger daughter, "you must wake up one fine day and say to yourself: Why, I'm quite well, and merry, and going out again with father for an early morning walk in the frost. Hey?"
What her father said seemed simple enough, yet at these words Kitty became confused and overcome like a detected criminal. "Yes, he sees it all, he understands it all, and in these words he's telling me that though I'm ashamed, I must get over my shame." She could not pluck up spirit to make any answer. She tried to begin, and all at once burst into tears, and rushed out of the room.
"See what comes of your jokes!" the princess pounced down on her husband. "You're always..." she began a string of reproaches.
The prince listened to the princess's scolding rather a long while without speaking, but his face was more and more frowning.
"She's so much to be pitied, poor child, so much to be pitied, and you don't feel how it hurts her to hear the slightest reference to the cause of it. Ah! to be so mistaken in people!" said the princess, and by the change in her tone both Dolly and the prince knew she was speaking of Vronsky. "I don't know why there aren't laws against such base, dishonorable people."
"Ah, I can't bear to hear you!" said the prince gloomily, getting up from his low chair, and seeming anxious to get away, yet stopping in the doorway. "There are laws, madam, and since you've challenged me to it, I'll tell you who's to blame for it all: you and you, you and nobody else. Laws against such young gallants there have always been, and there still are! Yes, if there has been nothing that ought not to have been, old as I am, I'd have called him out to the barrier, the young dandy. Yes, and now you physic her and call in these quacks."
The prince apparently had plenty more to say, but as soon as the princess heard his tone she subsided at once, and became penitent, as she always did on serious occasions.
"Alexander, Alexander," she whispered, moving to him and beginning to weep.
As soon as she began to cry the prince too calmed down. He went up to her.
"There, that's enough, that's enough! You're wretched too, I know. It can't be helped. There's no great harm done. God is merciful...thanks..." he said, not knowing what he was saying, as he responded to the tearful kiss of the princess that he felt on his hand. And the prince went out of the room.
Before this, as soon as Kitty went out of the room in tears, Dolly, with her motherly, family instincts, had promptly perceived that here a woman's work lay before her, and she prepared to do it. She took of her hat, and, morally speaking, tucked up her sleeves and prepared for action. While her mother was attacking her father, she tried to restrain her mother, so far as filial reverence would allow. During the prince's outburst she was silent; she felt ashamed for her mother, and tender towards her father for so quickly being kind again. But when her father left them she made ready for what was the chief thing needful--to go to Kitty and console her.
"I'd been meaning to tell you something for a long while, mamma: did you know that Levin meant to make Kitty an offer when he was here the last time? He told Stiva so."
"Well, what then? I don't understand..."
"So did Kitty perhaps refuse him?... She didn't tell you so?"
"No, she has said nothing to me either of one or the other; she's too proud. But I know it's all on account of the other."
"Yes, but suppose she has refused Levin, and she wouldn't have refused him if it hadn't been for the other, I know. And then, he has deceived her so horribly."
It was too terrible for the princess to think how she had sinned against her daughter, and she broke out angrily.
"Oh, I really don't understand! Nowadays they will all go their own way, and mothers haven't a word to say in anything, and then..."
"Mamma, I'll go up to her."
"Well, do. Did I tell you not to?" said her mother.
"Nothing, father," answered Dolly, understanding that her husband was meant. "He's always out; I scarcely ever see him," she could not resist adding with a sarcastic smile.
"Why, hasn't he gone into the country yet--to see about selling that forest?"
"No, he's still getting ready for the journey."
"Oh, that's it!" said the prince. "And so am I to be getting ready for a journey too? At your service," he said to his wife, sitting down. "And I tell you what, Katia," he went on to his younger daughter, "you must wake up one fine day and say to yourself: Why, I'm quite well, and merry, and going out again with father for an early morning walk in the frost. Hey?"
What her father said seemed simple enough, yet at these words Kitty became confused and overcome like a detected criminal. "Yes, he sees it all, he understands it all, and in these words he's telling me that though I'm ashamed, I must get over my shame." She could not pluck up spirit to make any answer. She tried to begin, and all at once burst into tears, and rushed out of the room.
"See what comes of your jokes!" the princess pounced down on her husband. "You're always..." she began a string of reproaches.
The prince listened to the princess's scolding rather a long while without speaking, but his face was more and more frowning.
"She's so much to be pitied, poor child, so much to be pitied, and you don't feel how it hurts her to hear the slightest reference to the cause of it. Ah! to be so mistaken in people!" said the princess, and by the change in her tone both Dolly and the prince knew she was speaking of Vronsky. "I don't know why there aren't laws against such base, dishonorable people."
"Ah, I can't bear to hear you!" said the prince gloomily, getting up from his low chair, and seeming anxious to get away, yet stopping in the doorway. "There are laws, madam, and since you've challenged me to it, I'll tell you who's to blame for it all: you and you, you and nobody else. Laws against such young gallants there have always been, and there still are! Yes, if there has been nothing that ought not to have been, old as I am, I'd have called him out to the barrier, the young dandy. Yes, and now you physic her and call in these quacks."
The prince apparently had plenty more to say, but as soon as the princess heard his tone she subsided at once, and became penitent, as she always did on serious occasions.
"Alexander, Alexander," she whispered, moving to him and beginning to weep.
As soon as she began to cry the prince too calmed down. He went up to her.
"There, that's enough, that's enough! You're wretched too, I know. It can't be helped. There's no great harm done. God is merciful...thanks..." he said, not knowing what he was saying, as he responded to the tearful kiss of the princess that he felt on his hand. And the prince went out of the room.
Before this, as soon as Kitty went out of the room in tears, Dolly, with her motherly, family instincts, had promptly perceived that here a woman's work lay before her, and she prepared to do it. She took of her hat, and, morally speaking, tucked up her sleeves and prepared for action. While her mother was attacking her father, she tried to restrain her mother, so far as filial reverence would allow. During the prince's outburst she was silent; she felt ashamed for her mother, and tender towards her father for so quickly being kind again. But when her father left them she made ready for what was the chief thing needful--to go to Kitty and console her.
"I'd been meaning to tell you something for a long while, mamma: did you know that Levin meant to make Kitty an offer when he was here the last time? He told Stiva so."
"Well, what then? I don't understand..."
"So did Kitty perhaps refuse him?... She didn't tell you so?"
"No, she has said nothing to me either of one or the other; she's too proud. But I know it's all on account of the other."
"Yes, but suppose she has refused Levin, and she wouldn't have refused him if it hadn't been for the other, I know. And then, he has deceived her so horribly."
It was too terrible for the princess to think how she had sinned against her daughter, and she broke out angrily.
"Oh, I really don't understand! Nowadays they will all go their own way, and mothers haven't a word to say in anything, and then..."
"Mamma, I'll go up to her."
"Well, do. Did I tell you not to?" said her mother.
Chapter 36
Chapter 36
Soon after the doctor, Dolly had arrived. She knew that there was to be a consultation that day, and though she was only just up after her confinement (she had another baby, a little girl, born at the end of the winter), though she had trouble and anxiety enough of her own, she had left her tiny baby and a sick child, to come and hear Kitty's fate, which was to be decided that day. "Well, well?" she said, coming into the drawing room, without taking off her hat. "You're all in good spirits. Good news, then?"
They tried to tell her what the doctor had said, but it appeared that though the doctor had talked distinctly enough and at great length, it was utterly impossible to report what he had said. The only point of interest was that it was settled they should go abroad.
Dolly could not help sighing. Her dearest friend, her sister, was going away. And her life was not a cheerful one. Her relations with Stepan Arkadyevitch after their reconciliation had become humiliating. The union Anna had cemented turned out to be of no solid character, and family harmony was breaking down again at the same point. There had been nothing definite, but Stepan Arkadyevitch was hardly ever at home; money, too, was hardly ever forthcoming, and Dolly was continually tortured by suspicions of infidelity, which she tried to dismiss, dreading the agonies of jealousy she had been through already. The first onslaught of jealousy, once lived through, could never come back again, and even the discovery of infidelities could never now affect her as it had the first time. Such a discovery now would only mean breaking up family habits, and she let herself be deceived, despising him and still more herself, for the weakness. Besides this, the care of her large family was a constant worry to her: first, the nursing of her young baby did not go well, then the nurse had gone away, now one of the children had fallen ill.
"Well, how are all of you?" asked her mother.
"Ah, mamma, we have plenty of troubles of our own. Lili is ill, And I'm afraid it's scarlatina. I have come here now to hear about Kitty, And then I shall shut myself up entirely, if--God forbid--it should be scarlatina."
The old prince too had come in from his study after the doctor's departure, and after presenting his cheek to Dolly, and saying a few words to her, he turned to his wife:
"How have you settled it? you're going? Well, and what do you mean to do with me?"
"I suppose you had better stay here, Alexander," said his wife.
"That's as you like."
"Mamma, why shouldn't father come with us?" said Kitty. "It would be nicer for him and for us too."
The old prince got up and stroked Kitty's hair. She lifted her head and looked at them with a forced smile. It always seemed to her that he understood her better than anyone in the family, though he did not say much about her. Being the youngest, she was her father's favorite, and she fancied that his love gave him insight. When now her glance meet his blue kindly eyes looking intently at her, it seemed to her that he saw right through her, and understood all that was not good that was passing within her. Reddening, she stretched out towards him expecting a kiss, but he only patted her hair and said:
Sunday, November 21, 2010
He sat there for a long time, gazing out at the water
He sat there for a long time, gazing out at the water, trying not to think about his godfather or to remember that it was directly across from here, on the opposite bank, that Sirius had once collapsed trying to fend off a hundred dementors ...
The sun had set before he realised he was cold. He got up and returned to the castle, wiping his face on his sleeve as he went.
Ron and Hermione left the hospital wing completely cured three days before the end of term. Hermione kept showing signs of wanting to talk about Sirius, but Ron tended to make ‘hushing’ noises every time she mentioned his name. Harry was still not sure whether or not he wanted to talk about his godfather yet; his wishes varied with his mood. He knew one thing, though: unhappy as he felt at the moment, he would greatly miss Hogwarts in a few days’ time when he was back at number four, Privet Drive. Even though he now understood exactly why he had to return there every summer, he did not feel any better about it. Indeed, he had never dreaded his return more.
Professor Umbridge left Hogwarts the day before the end of term. It seemed she had crept out of the hospital wing during dinnertime, evidently hoping to depart undetected, but unfortunately for her, she met Peeves on the way, who seized his last chance to do as Fred had instructed, and chased her gleefully from the premises whacking her alternately with a walking stick and a sock full of chalk. Many students ran out into the Entrance Hall to watch her running away down the path and the Heads of Houses tried only half-heartedly to restrain them. Indeed, Professor McGonagall sank back into her chair at the staff table after a few feeble remonstrances and was clearly heard to express a regret that she could not run cheering after Umbridge herself, because Peeves had borrowed her walking stick.
Their last evening at school arrived; most people had finished packing and were already heading down to the end-of-term leaving feast, but Harry had not even started.
‘Just do it tomorrow!’ said Ron, who was waiting by the door of their dormitory. ‘Come on, I'm starving.’
‘I won't be long ... look, you go ahead ...’
But when the dormitory door closed behind Ron, Harry made no effort to speed up his packing. The very last thing he wanted to do was to attend the Leaving Feast. He was worried that Dumbledore would make some reference to him in his speech. He was sure to mention Voldemort's return; he had talked to them about it last year, after all ...
Harry pulled some crumpled robes out of the very bottom of his trunk to make way for folded ones and, as he did so, noticed a badly wrapped package lying in a corner of it. He could not think what it was doing there. He bent down, pulled it out from underneath his trainers and examined it.
He realised what it was within seconds. Sirius had given it to him just inside the front door of number twelve Grimmauld Place. ‘Use it if you need me, all right?’
Harry sank down on to his bed and unwrapped the package. Out fell a small, square mirror. It looked old; it was certainly dirty. Harry held it up to his face and saw his own reflection looking back at him.
He turned the mirror over. There on the reverse side was a scribbled note from Sirius.
This is a two-way mirror, I've got the other one of the pair. If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you'll appear in my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours. James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions.
Harry's heart began to race. He remembered seeing his dead parents in the Mirror of Erised four years ago. He was going to be able to talk to Sirius again, right now, he knew it—
He looked around to make sure there was nobody else there; the dormitory was quite empty. He looked back at the mirror, raised it in front of his face with trembling hands and said, loudly and clearly, ‘Sirius.’
His breath misted the surface of the glass. He held the mirror even closer, excitement flooding through him, but the eyes blinking back at him through the fog were definitely his own.
He wiped the mirror clear again and said, so that every syllable rang clearly through the room:
‘Sirius Black!’
Nothing happened. The frustrated face looking back out of the mirror was still, definitely, his own ...
Sirius didn't have his mirror on him when he went through the archway, said a small voice in Harry's head. That's why it's not working ...
Harry remained quite still for a moment, then hurled the mirror back into the trunk where it shattered. He had been convinced, for a whole, shining minute, that he was going to see Sirius, talk to him again ...
Disappointment was burning in his throat; he got up and began throwing his things pell-mell into the trunk on top of the broken mirror—
But then an idea struck him ... a better idea than a mirror ... a much bigger, more important idea ... how had he never thought of it before—why had he never asked?
He was sprinting out of the dormitory and down the spiral staircase, hitting the walls as he ran and barely noticing; he hurtled across the empty common room, through the portrait hole and off along the corridor, ignoring the Fat Lady, who called after him: ‘The feast is about to start, you know, you're cutting it very fine!’
The sun had set before he realised he was cold. He got up and returned to the castle, wiping his face on his sleeve as he went.
Ron and Hermione left the hospital wing completely cured three days before the end of term. Hermione kept showing signs of wanting to talk about Sirius, but Ron tended to make ‘hushing’ noises every time she mentioned his name. Harry was still not sure whether or not he wanted to talk about his godfather yet; his wishes varied with his mood. He knew one thing, though: unhappy as he felt at the moment, he would greatly miss Hogwarts in a few days’ time when he was back at number four, Privet Drive. Even though he now understood exactly why he had to return there every summer, he did not feel any better about it. Indeed, he had never dreaded his return more.
Professor Umbridge left Hogwarts the day before the end of term. It seemed she had crept out of the hospital wing during dinnertime, evidently hoping to depart undetected, but unfortunately for her, she met Peeves on the way, who seized his last chance to do as Fred had instructed, and chased her gleefully from the premises whacking her alternately with a walking stick and a sock full of chalk. Many students ran out into the Entrance Hall to watch her running away down the path and the Heads of Houses tried only half-heartedly to restrain them. Indeed, Professor McGonagall sank back into her chair at the staff table after a few feeble remonstrances and was clearly heard to express a regret that she could not run cheering after Umbridge herself, because Peeves had borrowed her walking stick.
Their last evening at school arrived; most people had finished packing and were already heading down to the end-of-term leaving feast, but Harry had not even started.
‘Just do it tomorrow!’ said Ron, who was waiting by the door of their dormitory. ‘Come on, I'm starving.’
‘I won't be long ... look, you go ahead ...’
But when the dormitory door closed behind Ron, Harry made no effort to speed up his packing. The very last thing he wanted to do was to attend the Leaving Feast. He was worried that Dumbledore would make some reference to him in his speech. He was sure to mention Voldemort's return; he had talked to them about it last year, after all ...
Harry pulled some crumpled robes out of the very bottom of his trunk to make way for folded ones and, as he did so, noticed a badly wrapped package lying in a corner of it. He could not think what it was doing there. He bent down, pulled it out from underneath his trainers and examined it.
He realised what it was within seconds. Sirius had given it to him just inside the front door of number twelve Grimmauld Place. ‘Use it if you need me, all right?’
Harry sank down on to his bed and unwrapped the package. Out fell a small, square mirror. It looked old; it was certainly dirty. Harry held it up to his face and saw his own reflection looking back at him.
He turned the mirror over. There on the reverse side was a scribbled note from Sirius.
This is a two-way mirror, I've got the other one of the pair. If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you'll appear in my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours. James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions.
Harry's heart began to race. He remembered seeing his dead parents in the Mirror of Erised four years ago. He was going to be able to talk to Sirius again, right now, he knew it—
He looked around to make sure there was nobody else there; the dormitory was quite empty. He looked back at the mirror, raised it in front of his face with trembling hands and said, loudly and clearly, ‘Sirius.’
His breath misted the surface of the glass. He held the mirror even closer, excitement flooding through him, but the eyes blinking back at him through the fog were definitely his own.
He wiped the mirror clear again and said, so that every syllable rang clearly through the room:
‘Sirius Black!’
Nothing happened. The frustrated face looking back out of the mirror was still, definitely, his own ...
Sirius didn't have his mirror on him when he went through the archway, said a small voice in Harry's head. That's why it's not working ...
Harry remained quite still for a moment, then hurled the mirror back into the trunk where it shattered. He had been convinced, for a whole, shining minute, that he was going to see Sirius, talk to him again ...
Disappointment was burning in his throat; he got up and began throwing his things pell-mell into the trunk on top of the broken mirror—
But then an idea struck him ... a better idea than a mirror ... a much bigger, more important idea ... how had he never thought of it before—why had he never asked?
He was sprinting out of the dormitory and down the spiral staircase, hitting the walls as he ran and barely noticing; he hurtled across the empty common room, through the portrait hole and off along the corridor, ignoring the Fat Lady, who called after him: ‘The feast is about to start, you know, you're cutting it very fine!’
Harry would normally have tried to persuade
Harry would normally have tried to persuade Hagrid out of this idea at once; the prospect of a second giant taking up residence in the Forest, possibly even wilder and more brutal than Grawp, was positively alarming, but somehow Harry could not muster the energy necessary to argue the point. He was starting to wish he was alone again, and with the idea of hastening his departure he took several large gulps of his dandelion juice, half-emptying his glass.
‘Ev'ryone knows yeh've bin tellin’ the truth now, Harry’ said Hagrid softly and unexpectedly. He was watching Harry closely. ‘Tha's gotta be better, hasn’ it?’
Harry shrugged.
‘Look ...’ Hagrid leaned towards him across the table, ‘I knew Sirius longer ‘n yeh did ... he died in battle, an tha's the way he'd've wanted ter go—’
‘He didn't want to go at all!’ said Harry angrily.
Hagrid bowed his great shaggy head.
‘Nah, I don’ reckon he did,’ he said quietly. ‘But still, Harry ... he was never one ter sit aroun’ at home an’ let other people do the fightin'. He couldn've lived with himself if he hadn’ gone ter help—’
Harry leapt up.
‘I've got to go and visit Ron and Hermione in the hospital wing,’ he said mechanically.
‘Oh,’ said Hagrid, looking rather upset. ‘Oh ... all righ’ then, Harry ... take care o’ yerself then, an’ drop back in if yeh've got a mo ...’
‘Yeah ... right ...’
Harry crossed to the door as fast as he could and pulled it open; he was out in the sunshine again before Hagrid had finished saying goodbye, and walking away across the lawn. Once again, people called out to him as he passed. He closed his eyes for a few moments, wishing they would all vanish, that he could open his eyes and find himself alone in the grounds ...
A few days ago, before his exams had finished and he had seen the vision Voldemort had planted in his mind, he would have given almost anything for the wizarding world to know he had been telling the truth, for them to believe that Voldemort was back, and to know that he was neither a liar nor mad. Now, however ...
He walked a short way around the lake, sat down on its bank, sheltered from the gaze of passers-by behind a tangle of shrubs, and stared out over the gleaming water, thinking ...
Perhaps the reason he wanted to be alone was because he had felt isolated from everybody since his talk with Dumbledore. An invisible barrier separated him from the rest of the world. He was—he had always been—a marked man. It was just that he had never really understood what that meant ...
And yet sitting here on the edge of the lake, with the terrible weight of grief dragging at him, with the loss of Sirius so raw and fresh inside, he could not muster any great sense of fear. It was sunny, and the grounds around him were full of laughing people, and even though he felt as distant from them as though he belonged to a different race, it was still very hard to believe as he sat here that his life must include, or end in, murder ...
‘Ev'ryone knows yeh've bin tellin’ the truth now, Harry’ said Hagrid softly and unexpectedly. He was watching Harry closely. ‘Tha's gotta be better, hasn’ it?’
Harry shrugged.
‘Look ...’ Hagrid leaned towards him across the table, ‘I knew Sirius longer ‘n yeh did ... he died in battle, an tha's the way he'd've wanted ter go—’
‘He didn't want to go at all!’ said Harry angrily.
Hagrid bowed his great shaggy head.
‘Nah, I don’ reckon he did,’ he said quietly. ‘But still, Harry ... he was never one ter sit aroun’ at home an’ let other people do the fightin'. He couldn've lived with himself if he hadn’ gone ter help—’
Harry leapt up.
‘I've got to go and visit Ron and Hermione in the hospital wing,’ he said mechanically.
‘Oh,’ said Hagrid, looking rather upset. ‘Oh ... all righ’ then, Harry ... take care o’ yerself then, an’ drop back in if yeh've got a mo ...’
‘Yeah ... right ...’
Harry crossed to the door as fast as he could and pulled it open; he was out in the sunshine again before Hagrid had finished saying goodbye, and walking away across the lawn. Once again, people called out to him as he passed. He closed his eyes for a few moments, wishing they would all vanish, that he could open his eyes and find himself alone in the grounds ...
A few days ago, before his exams had finished and he had seen the vision Voldemort had planted in his mind, he would have given almost anything for the wizarding world to know he had been telling the truth, for them to believe that Voldemort was back, and to know that he was neither a liar nor mad. Now, however ...
He walked a short way around the lake, sat down on its bank, sheltered from the gaze of passers-by behind a tangle of shrubs, and stared out over the gleaming water, thinking ...
Perhaps the reason he wanted to be alone was because he had felt isolated from everybody since his talk with Dumbledore. An invisible barrier separated him from the rest of the world. He was—he had always been—a marked man. It was just that he had never really understood what that meant ...
And yet sitting here on the edge of the lake, with the terrible weight of grief dragging at him, with the loss of Sirius so raw and fresh inside, he could not muster any great sense of fear. It was sunny, and the grounds around him were full of laughing people, and even though he felt as distant from them as though he belonged to a different race, it was still very hard to believe as he sat here that his life must include, or end in, murder ...
‘Right then,’ said Professor McGonagall
‘Right then,’ said Professor McGonagall, looking up at the hourglasses on the wall. ‘Well, I think Potter and his friends ought to have fifty points apiece for alerting the world to the return of You-Know-Who! What say you, Professor Snape?’
‘What?’ snapped Snape, though Harry knew he had heard perfectly well. ‘Oh—well—I suppose ...’
‘So that's fifty each for Potter, the two Weasleys, Longbottom and Miss Granger,’ said Professor McGonagall, and a shower of rubies fell down into the bottom bulb of Gryffindor s hour-glass as she spoke. ‘Oh—and fifty for Miss Lovegood, I suppose,’ she added, and a number of sapphires fell into Ravenclaw's glass. ‘Now, you wanted to take ten from Mr. Potter, I think, Professor Snape—so there we are ...’
A few rubies retreated into the upper bulb, leaving a respectable amount below nevertheless.
‘Well, Potter, Malfoy, I think you ought to be outside on a glorious day like this,’ Professor McGonagall continued briskly.
Harry did not need telling twice; he thrust his wand back inside his robes and headed straight for the front doors without another glance at Snape and Malfoy.
The hot sun hit him with a blast as he walked across the lawns towards Hagrid's cabin. Students lying around on the grass sunbathing, talking, reading the Sunday Prophet and eating sweets, looked up at him as he passed; some called out to him, or else waved, clearly eager to show that they, like the Prophet, had decided he was something of a hero. Harry said nothing to any of them. He had no idea how much they knew of what had happened three days ago, but he had so far avoided being questioned and preferred to keep it that way.
He thought at first when he knocked on Hagrid's cabin door that he was out, but then Fang came charging around the corner and almost bowled him over with the enthusiasm of his welcome. Hagrid, it transpired, was picking runner beans in his back garden.
‘All righ', Harry!’ he said, beaming, when Harry approached the fence. ‘Come in, come in, we'll have a cup o’ dandelion juice ...
‘How's things?’ Hagrid asked him, as they settled down at his wooden table with a glass apiece of iced juice. ‘Yeh—er—feelin’ all righ', are yeh?’
Harry knew from the look of concern on Hagrid's face that he was not referring to Harry's physical well-being.
‘I'm fine,’ Harry said quickly, because he could not bear to discuss the thing that he knew was in Hagrid's mind. ‘So, where've you been?’
‘Bin hidin’ out in the mountains,’ said Hagrid. ‘Up in a cave, like Sirius did when he—’
Hagrid broke off, cleared his throat gruffly, looked at Harry, and took a long draught of juice.
‘Anyway, back now,’ he said feebly.
‘You—you look better,’ said Harry, who was determined to keep the conversation moving away from Sirius.
‘Wha?’ said Hagrid, raising a massive hand and feeling his face. ‘Oh—oh yeah. Well, Grawpy's loads better behaved now, loads. Seemed right pleased ter see me when I got back, ter tell yeh the truth. He's a good lad, really ... Ive bin thinkin abou tryin ter find him a lady friend, actually ...’
‘What?’ snapped Snape, though Harry knew he had heard perfectly well. ‘Oh—well—I suppose ...’
‘So that's fifty each for Potter, the two Weasleys, Longbottom and Miss Granger,’ said Professor McGonagall, and a shower of rubies fell down into the bottom bulb of Gryffindor s hour-glass as she spoke. ‘Oh—and fifty for Miss Lovegood, I suppose,’ she added, and a number of sapphires fell into Ravenclaw's glass. ‘Now, you wanted to take ten from Mr. Potter, I think, Professor Snape—so there we are ...’
A few rubies retreated into the upper bulb, leaving a respectable amount below nevertheless.
‘Well, Potter, Malfoy, I think you ought to be outside on a glorious day like this,’ Professor McGonagall continued briskly.
Harry did not need telling twice; he thrust his wand back inside his robes and headed straight for the front doors without another glance at Snape and Malfoy.
The hot sun hit him with a blast as he walked across the lawns towards Hagrid's cabin. Students lying around on the grass sunbathing, talking, reading the Sunday Prophet and eating sweets, looked up at him as he passed; some called out to him, or else waved, clearly eager to show that they, like the Prophet, had decided he was something of a hero. Harry said nothing to any of them. He had no idea how much they knew of what had happened three days ago, but he had so far avoided being questioned and preferred to keep it that way.
He thought at first when he knocked on Hagrid's cabin door that he was out, but then Fang came charging around the corner and almost bowled him over with the enthusiasm of his welcome. Hagrid, it transpired, was picking runner beans in his back garden.
‘All righ', Harry!’ he said, beaming, when Harry approached the fence. ‘Come in, come in, we'll have a cup o’ dandelion juice ...
‘How's things?’ Hagrid asked him, as they settled down at his wooden table with a glass apiece of iced juice. ‘Yeh—er—feelin’ all righ', are yeh?’
Harry knew from the look of concern on Hagrid's face that he was not referring to Harry's physical well-being.
‘I'm fine,’ Harry said quickly, because he could not bear to discuss the thing that he knew was in Hagrid's mind. ‘So, where've you been?’
‘Bin hidin’ out in the mountains,’ said Hagrid. ‘Up in a cave, like Sirius did when he—’
Hagrid broke off, cleared his throat gruffly, looked at Harry, and took a long draught of juice.
‘Anyway, back now,’ he said feebly.
‘You—you look better,’ said Harry, who was determined to keep the conversation moving away from Sirius.
‘Wha?’ said Hagrid, raising a massive hand and feeling his face. ‘Oh—oh yeah. Well, Grawpy's loads better behaved now, loads. Seemed right pleased ter see me when I got back, ter tell yeh the truth. He's a good lad, really ... Ive bin thinkin abou tryin ter find him a lady friend, actually ...’
Thursday, November 18, 2010
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, surprised at what he considered
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, surprised at what he considered a great over-reaction. ‘But it's OK, I don't care, it's a bit of a relief to tell you the—’
‘I'm coming up there to have a word with Snape!’ said Sirius forcefully, and he actually made to stand up, but Lupin wrenched him back down again.
‘If anyone's going to tell Snape it will be me!’ he said firmly. ‘But Harry, first of all, you're to go back to Snape and tell him that on no account is he to stop giving you lessons—when Dumbledore hears—’
‘I can't tell him that, he'd kill me!’ said Harry, outraged. ‘You didn't see him when we got out of the Pensieve.’
‘Harry there is nothing so important as you learning Occlumency!’ said Lupin sternly. ‘Do you understand me? Nothing!’
‘OK, OK,’ said Harry, thoroughly discomposed, not to mention annoyed. ‘I'll ... I'll try and say something to him ... but it won't be—’
He fell silent. He could hear distant footsteps.
‘Is that Kreacher coming downstairs?’
‘No,’ said Sirius, glancing behind him. ‘It must be somebody your end.’
Harry's heart skipped several beats.
‘I'd better go!’ he said hastily and pulled his head backwards out of the Grimmauld Place fire. For a moment his head seemed to be revolving on his shoulders, then he found himself kneeling in front of Umbridge's fire with it firmly back on and watching the emerald flames flicker and die.
‘Quickly, quickly!’ he heard a wheezy voice mutter right outside the office door. ‘Ah, she's left it open—’
Harry dived for the Invisibility Cloak and had just managed to pull it back over himself when Filch burst into the office. He looked absolutely delighted about something and was talking to himself feverishly as he crossed the room, pulled open a drawer in Umbridge's desk and began rifling through the papers inside it.
‘Approval for Whipping ... Approval for Whipping ... I can do it at last ... they've had it coming to them for years ...’
He pulled out a piece of parchment, kissed it, then shuffled rapidly back out of the door, clutching it to his chest.
Harry leapt to his feet and, making sure he had his bag and that the Invisibility Cloak was completely covering him, he wrenched open the door and hurried out of the office after Filch, who was hobbling along faster than Harry had ever seen him go.
One landing down from Umbridge's office, Harry thought it was safe to become visible again. He pulled off the Cloak, shoved it in his bag and hurried onwards. There was a great deal of shouting and movement coming from the Entrance Hall. He ran down the marble staircase and found what looked like most of the school assembled there.
‘I'm coming up there to have a word with Snape!’ said Sirius forcefully, and he actually made to stand up, but Lupin wrenched him back down again.
‘If anyone's going to tell Snape it will be me!’ he said firmly. ‘But Harry, first of all, you're to go back to Snape and tell him that on no account is he to stop giving you lessons—when Dumbledore hears—’
‘I can't tell him that, he'd kill me!’ said Harry, outraged. ‘You didn't see him when we got out of the Pensieve.’
‘Harry there is nothing so important as you learning Occlumency!’ said Lupin sternly. ‘Do you understand me? Nothing!’
‘OK, OK,’ said Harry, thoroughly discomposed, not to mention annoyed. ‘I'll ... I'll try and say something to him ... but it won't be—’
He fell silent. He could hear distant footsteps.
‘Is that Kreacher coming downstairs?’
‘No,’ said Sirius, glancing behind him. ‘It must be somebody your end.’
Harry's heart skipped several beats.
‘I'd better go!’ he said hastily and pulled his head backwards out of the Grimmauld Place fire. For a moment his head seemed to be revolving on his shoulders, then he found himself kneeling in front of Umbridge's fire with it firmly back on and watching the emerald flames flicker and die.
‘Quickly, quickly!’ he heard a wheezy voice mutter right outside the office door. ‘Ah, she's left it open—’
Harry dived for the Invisibility Cloak and had just managed to pull it back over himself when Filch burst into the office. He looked absolutely delighted about something and was talking to himself feverishly as he crossed the room, pulled open a drawer in Umbridge's desk and began rifling through the papers inside it.
‘Approval for Whipping ... Approval for Whipping ... I can do it at last ... they've had it coming to them for years ...’
He pulled out a piece of parchment, kissed it, then shuffled rapidly back out of the door, clutching it to his chest.
Harry leapt to his feet and, making sure he had his bag and that the Invisibility Cloak was completely covering him, he wrenched open the door and hurried out of the office after Filch, who was hobbling along faster than Harry had ever seen him go.
One landing down from Umbridge's office, Harry thought it was safe to become visible again. He pulled off the Cloak, shoved it in his bag and hurried onwards. There was a great deal of shouting and movement coming from the Entrance Hall. He ran down the marble staircase and found what looked like most of the school assembled there.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Both nodded and moved sideways out of their frames
, but instead of emerging in neighbouring pictures (as usually happened at Hogwarts) neither reappeared. One frames now contained nothing but a backdrop of dark
curtain, the other a handsome leather armchair. Harry noticed that many of the other headmasters and mistresses on the walls, though snoring and drooling most convincingly, kept sneaking peeks at him from under their
eyelids, and he suddenly understood who had been talking when they had knocked.
‘Everard and Dilys were two of Hogwartss most celebrated Heads,’ Dumbledore said, now sweeping around Harry, Ron and Professor McGonagall to approach the magnificent sleeping bird on his perch beside the door. ‘Their
renown is such that both have portraits hanging in other important wizarding institutions. As they are free to move between their own portraits, they can tell us what may be happening elsewhere ...’
‘But Mr. Weasley could be anywhere!’ said Harry.
‘Please sit down, all three of you,’ said Dumbledore, as though Harry had not spoken, ‘Everard and Dilys may not be back for several minutes. Professor McGonagall, if you could draw up extra chairs.’
Professor McGonagall pulled her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown and waved it; three chairs appeared out of thin air, straight-backed and wooden, quite unlike the comfortable chintz armchairs that Dumbledore
had conjured up at Harry's hearing. Harry sat down, watching Dumbledore over his shoulder. Dumbledore was now stroking Fawkes's plumed golden head with one finger. The phoenix awoke immediately. He stretched his
beautiful head high and observed Dumbledore through bright, dark eyes.
‘We will need,’ Dumbledore said very quietly to the bird, ‘a warning.’
There was a flash of fire and the phoenix had gone.
Dumbledore now swooped down upon one of the fragile silver instruments whose function Harry had never known, carried it over to his desk, sat down facing them again and tapped it gently with the tip of his wand.
The instrument tinkled into life at once with rhythmic clinking noises. Tiny puffs of pale green smoke issued from the minuscule silver tube at the top. Dumbledore watched the smoke closely, his brow furrowed. After a few
seconds, the tiny puffs became a steady stream of smoke that thickened and coiled in the air ... a serpent's head grew out of the end of it, opening its mouth wide. Harry wondered whether the instrument was confirming his
story: he looked eagerly at Dumbledore for a sign that he was right, but Dumbledore did not look up.
‘Naturally, naturally,’ murmured Dumbledore apparently to himself, still observing the stream of smoke without the slightest sign of surprise. ‘But in essence divided?’
Harry could make neither head nor tail of this question. The smoke serpent, however, split itself instantly into two snakes, both coiling and undulating in the dark air. With a look of grim satisfaction, Dumbledore gave the
instrument another gentle tap with his wand: the clinking noise slowed and died and the smoke serpents grew faint, became a formless haze and vanished.
Dumbledore replaced the instrument on its spindly little table. Harry saw many of the old headmasters in the portraits follow him with their eyes, then, realising that Harry was watching them, hastily pretend to be sleeping
again. Harry wanted to ask what the strange silver instrument was for, but before he could do so, there was a shout from the top of the wall to their right; the wizard called Everard had reappeared in his portrait., panting
slightly.
‘Dumbledore!’
‘What news?’ said Dumbledore at once.
‘I yelled until someone came running,’ said the wizard, who was mopping his brow on the curtain behind him, ‘said I'd heard something moving downstairs—they weren't sure whether to believe me but went down to check—you
know there are no portraits down there to watch from. Anyway, they carried him up a few minutes later. He doesn't look good, he's covered in blood, I ran along to Elfrida Cragg's portrait to get a good view as they left—’
‘Good,’ said Dumbledore as Ron made a convulsive movement. ‘I take it Dilys will have seen him arrive, then—’
And moments later, the silver-ringleted witch had reappeared in her picture, too; she sank, coughing, into her armchair and said, ‘Yes, they've taken him to St. Mungo's, Dumbledore ... they carried him past my portrait ... he
looks bad ...’
‘Thank you,’ said Dumbledore. He looked round at Professor McGonagall.
‘Minerva, I need you to go and wake the other Weasley children.’
‘Of course ...’
Professor McGonagall got up and moved swiftly to the door. Harry cast a sideways glance at Ron, who was looking terrified.
‘And Dumbledore— what about Molly?’ said Professor McGonagall, pausing at the door.
‘That will be a job for Fawkes when he has finished keeping a lookout for anybody approaching,’ said Dumbledore. ‘But she may already know ... that excellent clock of hers ...’
Harry knew Dumbledore was referring to the clock that told, not the time, but the whereabouts and conditions of the various Weasley family members, and with a pang he thought that Mr. Weasley's hand must, even now, be
pointing at mortal peril.But it was very late. Mrs. Weasley was probably asleep, not watching the clock. Harry felt cold as he remembered Mrs. Weasley's boggart turning into Mr. Weasley's lifeless body, his glasses askew,
blood running down his face ... but Mr. Weasley wasn't going to die ... he couldn't ...
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curtain, the other a handsome leather armchair. Harry noticed that many of the other headmasters and mistresses on the walls, though snoring and drooling most convincingly, kept sneaking peeks at him from under their
eyelids, and he suddenly understood who had been talking when they had knocked.
‘Everard and Dilys were two of Hogwartss most celebrated Heads,’ Dumbledore said, now sweeping around Harry, Ron and Professor McGonagall to approach the magnificent sleeping bird on his perch beside the door. ‘Their
renown is such that both have portraits hanging in other important wizarding institutions. As they are free to move between their own portraits, they can tell us what may be happening elsewhere ...’
‘But Mr. Weasley could be anywhere!’ said Harry.
‘Please sit down, all three of you,’ said Dumbledore, as though Harry had not spoken, ‘Everard and Dilys may not be back for several minutes. Professor McGonagall, if you could draw up extra chairs.’
Professor McGonagall pulled her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown and waved it; three chairs appeared out of thin air, straight-backed and wooden, quite unlike the comfortable chintz armchairs that Dumbledore
had conjured up at Harry's hearing. Harry sat down, watching Dumbledore over his shoulder. Dumbledore was now stroking Fawkes's plumed golden head with one finger. The phoenix awoke immediately. He stretched his
beautiful head high and observed Dumbledore through bright, dark eyes.
‘We will need,’ Dumbledore said very quietly to the bird, ‘a warning.’
There was a flash of fire and the phoenix had gone.
Dumbledore now swooped down upon one of the fragile silver instruments whose function Harry had never known, carried it over to his desk, sat down facing them again and tapped it gently with the tip of his wand.
The instrument tinkled into life at once with rhythmic clinking noises. Tiny puffs of pale green smoke issued from the minuscule silver tube at the top. Dumbledore watched the smoke closely, his brow furrowed. After a few
seconds, the tiny puffs became a steady stream of smoke that thickened and coiled in the air ... a serpent's head grew out of the end of it, opening its mouth wide. Harry wondered whether the instrument was confirming his
story: he looked eagerly at Dumbledore for a sign that he was right, but Dumbledore did not look up.
‘Naturally, naturally,’ murmured Dumbledore apparently to himself, still observing the stream of smoke without the slightest sign of surprise. ‘But in essence divided?’
Harry could make neither head nor tail of this question. The smoke serpent, however, split itself instantly into two snakes, both coiling and undulating in the dark air. With a look of grim satisfaction, Dumbledore gave the
instrument another gentle tap with his wand: the clinking noise slowed and died and the smoke serpents grew faint, became a formless haze and vanished.
Dumbledore replaced the instrument on its spindly little table. Harry saw many of the old headmasters in the portraits follow him with their eyes, then, realising that Harry was watching them, hastily pretend to be sleeping
again. Harry wanted to ask what the strange silver instrument was for, but before he could do so, there was a shout from the top of the wall to their right; the wizard called Everard had reappeared in his portrait., panting
slightly.
‘Dumbledore!’
‘What news?’ said Dumbledore at once.
‘I yelled until someone came running,’ said the wizard, who was mopping his brow on the curtain behind him, ‘said I'd heard something moving downstairs—they weren't sure whether to believe me but went down to check—you
know there are no portraits down there to watch from. Anyway, they carried him up a few minutes later. He doesn't look good, he's covered in blood, I ran along to Elfrida Cragg's portrait to get a good view as they left—’
‘Good,’ said Dumbledore as Ron made a convulsive movement. ‘I take it Dilys will have seen him arrive, then—’
And moments later, the silver-ringleted witch had reappeared in her picture, too; she sank, coughing, into her armchair and said, ‘Yes, they've taken him to St. Mungo's, Dumbledore ... they carried him past my portrait ... he
looks bad ...’
‘Thank you,’ said Dumbledore. He looked round at Professor McGonagall.
‘Minerva, I need you to go and wake the other Weasley children.’
‘Of course ...’
Professor McGonagall got up and moved swiftly to the door. Harry cast a sideways glance at Ron, who was looking terrified.
‘And Dumbledore— what about Molly?’ said Professor McGonagall, pausing at the door.
‘That will be a job for Fawkes when he has finished keeping a lookout for anybody approaching,’ said Dumbledore. ‘But she may already know ... that excellent clock of hers ...’
Harry knew Dumbledore was referring to the clock that told, not the time, but the whereabouts and conditions of the various Weasley family members, and with a pang he thought that Mr. Weasley's hand must, even now, be
pointing at mortal peril.But it was very late. Mrs. Weasley was probably asleep, not watching the clock. Harry felt cold as he remembered Mrs. Weasley's boggart turning into Mr. Weasley's lifeless body, his glasses askew,
blood running down his face ... but Mr. Weasley wasn't going to die ... he couldn't ...
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Tuesday, November 16, 2010
‘So we're being prevented from learning
‘So we're being prevented from learning Defence Against the Dark Arts because Fudge is scared we'll use spells against the Ministry?’ said Hermione, looking furious.
‘Yep,’ said Sirius. ‘Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge.’
This reminded Harry of Percy's letter.
‘D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the Daily Prophet tomorrow? Ron's brother Percy reckons there will be—’
‘I don't know,’ said Sirius, ‘I haven't seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. It's just been Kreacher and me here.’
There was a definite note of bitterness in Sirius's voice.
‘So you haven't had any news about Hagrid, either?’
‘Ah ...’ said Sirius, ‘well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what's happened to him.’ Then, seeing their stricken faces, he added quickly, ‘But Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you three get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine.’
‘But if he was supposed to be back by now ...’ said Hermione in a small, anxious voice.
‘Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home—but there's nothing to suggest he's hurt or—well, nothing to suggest he's not perfectly OK.’
Unconvinced, Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks.
‘Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid,’ said Sirius hastily, ‘it'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be OK.’ And when they did not appear cheered by this, Sirius added, ‘When's your next Hogsmeade weekend, anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? I thought I could—’
‘NO!’ said Harry and Hermione together, very loudly.
‘Sirius, didn't you see the Daily Prophet?’ said Hermione anxiously.
‘Oh, that,’ said Sirius, grinning, ‘they're always guessing where I am, they haven't really got a clue—’
‘Yeah, but we think this time they have,’ said Harry. ‘Something Malfoy said on the train made us think he knew it was you, and his father was on the platform, Sirius— you know, Lucius Malfoy—so don't come up here, whatever you do. If Malfoy recognises you again—’
‘All right, all right, I've got the point,’ said Sirius. He looked most displeased. ‘Just an idea, thought you might like to get together.’
‘I would, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!’ said Harry.
There was a pause in which Sirius looked out of the fire at Harry, a crease between his sunken eyes.
‘You're less like your father than I thought,’ he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. ‘The risk would've been what made it fun for James.’
‘Look—’
‘Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs,’ said Sirius, but Harry was sure he was lying. ‘I'll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?’
There was a tiny pop, and the place where Sirius's head had been was flickering flame once more.
‘Yep,’ said Sirius. ‘Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge.’
This reminded Harry of Percy's letter.
‘D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the Daily Prophet tomorrow? Ron's brother Percy reckons there will be—’
‘I don't know,’ said Sirius, ‘I haven't seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. It's just been Kreacher and me here.’
There was a definite note of bitterness in Sirius's voice.
‘So you haven't had any news about Hagrid, either?’
‘Ah ...’ said Sirius, ‘well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what's happened to him.’ Then, seeing their stricken faces, he added quickly, ‘But Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you three get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine.’
‘But if he was supposed to be back by now ...’ said Hermione in a small, anxious voice.
‘Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home—but there's nothing to suggest he's hurt or—well, nothing to suggest he's not perfectly OK.’
Unconvinced, Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks.
‘Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid,’ said Sirius hastily, ‘it'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be OK.’ And when they did not appear cheered by this, Sirius added, ‘When's your next Hogsmeade weekend, anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? I thought I could—’
‘NO!’ said Harry and Hermione together, very loudly.
‘Sirius, didn't you see the Daily Prophet?’ said Hermione anxiously.
‘Oh, that,’ said Sirius, grinning, ‘they're always guessing where I am, they haven't really got a clue—’
‘Yeah, but we think this time they have,’ said Harry. ‘Something Malfoy said on the train made us think he knew it was you, and his father was on the platform, Sirius— you know, Lucius Malfoy—so don't come up here, whatever you do. If Malfoy recognises you again—’
‘All right, all right, I've got the point,’ said Sirius. He looked most displeased. ‘Just an idea, thought you might like to get together.’
‘I would, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!’ said Harry.
There was a pause in which Sirius looked out of the fire at Harry, a crease between his sunken eyes.
‘You're less like your father than I thought,’ he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. ‘The risk would've been what made it fun for James.’
‘Look—’
‘Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs,’ said Sirius, but Harry was sure he was lying. ‘I'll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?’
There was a tiny pop, and the place where Sirius's head had been was flickering flame once more.
Monday, November 15, 2010
‘I'm just telling the boy the plan,’
growled Moody. ‘Our job's to deliver him safely to Headquarters and if we die in the attempt—’
‘No one's going to die,’ said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep, calming voice.
‘Mount your brooms, that's the first signal!’ said Lupin sharply, pointing into the sky.
Far, far above them, a shower of bright red sparks had flared among the stars. Harry recognised them at once as wand sparks. He swung his right leg over his Firebolt, gripped its handle tightly and felt it vibrating very slightly, as though it was as keen as he was to be up in the air once more.
‘Second signal, let's go!’ said Lupin loudly as more sparks, green this time, exploded high above them.
Harry kicked off hard from the ground. The cool night air rushed through his hair as the neat square gardens of Privet Drive fell away, shrinking rapidly into a patchwork of dark greens and blacks, and every thought of the Ministry hearing was swept from his mind as though the rush of air had blown it out of his head. He felt as though his heart was going to explode with pleasure; he was flying again, flying away from Privet Drive as he'd been fantasising about all summer, he was going home.... For a few glorious moments, all his problems seemed to recede to nothing, insignificant in the vast, starry sky.
‘Hard left, hard left, there's a Muggle looking up!’ shouted Moody from behind him. Tonks swerved and Harry followed her, watching his trunk swinging wildly beneath her broom. ‘We need more height.... Give it another quarter of a mile!’
Harry's eyes watered in the chill as they soared upwards: he could see nothing below now but tiny pinpricks of light that were car headlights and streetlamps. Two of those tiny lights might belong to Uncle Vernon's car.... The Dursleys would be heading back to their empty house right now, full of rage about the nonexistent Lawn Competition ... and Harry laughed aloud at the thought, though his voice was drowned by the flapping robes of the others, the creaking of the harness holding his trunk and the cage, and the whoosh of the wind in their ears as they sped through the air. He had not felt this alive in a month, or this happy.
‘Bearing south!’ shouted Mad-Eye. ‘Town ahead!’
They soared right to avoid passing directly over the glittering spiderweb of lights below.
‘Bear southeast and keep climbing, there's some low cloud ahead we can lose ourselves in!’ called Moody.
‘We're not going through clouds!’ shouted Tonks angrily, ‘we'll get soaked, Mad-Eye!’
Harry was relieved to hear her say this; his hands were growing numb on the Firebolt's handle. He wished he had thought to put on a coat; he was starting to shiver.
They altered their course every now and then according to Mad-Eye's instructions. Harry's eyes were screwed up against the rush of icy wind that was starting to make his ears ache; he could remember being this cold on a broom only once before, during the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff in his third year, which had taken place in a storm. The guard around him was circling continuously like giant birds of prey. Harry lost track of time. He wondered how long they had been flying, it felt like an hour at least.
‘Turning southwest!’ yelled Moody. ‘We want to avoid the motorway!’
Harry was now so chilled he thought longingly of the snug, dry interiors of the cars streaming along below, then, even more longingly, of travelling by Floo powder; it might be uncomfortable to spin around in fireplaces but it was at least warm in the flames.... Kingsley Shacklebolt swooped around him, bald pate and earring gleaming slightly in the moonlight.... Now Emmeline Vance was on his right, her wand out, her head turning left and right ... then she, too, swooped over him, to be replaced by Sturgis Podmore....
‘No one's going to die,’ said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep, calming voice.
‘Mount your brooms, that's the first signal!’ said Lupin sharply, pointing into the sky.
Far, far above them, a shower of bright red sparks had flared among the stars. Harry recognised them at once as wand sparks. He swung his right leg over his Firebolt, gripped its handle tightly and felt it vibrating very slightly, as though it was as keen as he was to be up in the air once more.
‘Second signal, let's go!’ said Lupin loudly as more sparks, green this time, exploded high above them.
Harry kicked off hard from the ground. The cool night air rushed through his hair as the neat square gardens of Privet Drive fell away, shrinking rapidly into a patchwork of dark greens and blacks, and every thought of the Ministry hearing was swept from his mind as though the rush of air had blown it out of his head. He felt as though his heart was going to explode with pleasure; he was flying again, flying away from Privet Drive as he'd been fantasising about all summer, he was going home.... For a few glorious moments, all his problems seemed to recede to nothing, insignificant in the vast, starry sky.
‘Hard left, hard left, there's a Muggle looking up!’ shouted Moody from behind him. Tonks swerved and Harry followed her, watching his trunk swinging wildly beneath her broom. ‘We need more height.... Give it another quarter of a mile!’
Harry's eyes watered in the chill as they soared upwards: he could see nothing below now but tiny pinpricks of light that were car headlights and streetlamps. Two of those tiny lights might belong to Uncle Vernon's car.... The Dursleys would be heading back to their empty house right now, full of rage about the nonexistent Lawn Competition ... and Harry laughed aloud at the thought, though his voice was drowned by the flapping robes of the others, the creaking of the harness holding his trunk and the cage, and the whoosh of the wind in their ears as they sped through the air. He had not felt this alive in a month, or this happy.
‘Bearing south!’ shouted Mad-Eye. ‘Town ahead!’
They soared right to avoid passing directly over the glittering spiderweb of lights below.
‘Bear southeast and keep climbing, there's some low cloud ahead we can lose ourselves in!’ called Moody.
‘We're not going through clouds!’ shouted Tonks angrily, ‘we'll get soaked, Mad-Eye!’
Harry was relieved to hear her say this; his hands were growing numb on the Firebolt's handle. He wished he had thought to put on a coat; he was starting to shiver.
They altered their course every now and then according to Mad-Eye's instructions. Harry's eyes were screwed up against the rush of icy wind that was starting to make his ears ache; he could remember being this cold on a broom only once before, during the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff in his third year, which had taken place in a storm. The guard around him was circling continuously like giant birds of prey. Harry lost track of time. He wondered how long they had been flying, it felt like an hour at least.
‘Turning southwest!’ yelled Moody. ‘We want to avoid the motorway!’
Harry was now so chilled he thought longingly of the snug, dry interiors of the cars streaming along below, then, even more longingly, of travelling by Floo powder; it might be uncomfortable to spin around in fireplaces but it was at least warm in the flames.... Kingsley Shacklebolt swooped around him, bald pate and earring gleaming slightly in the moonlight.... Now Emmeline Vance was on his right, her wand out, her head turning left and right ... then she, too, swooped over him, to be replaced by Sturgis Podmore....
‘And I'm still riding a Comet Two Sixty,’
said Tonks enviously. ‘Ah well ... wand still in your jeans? Both buttocks still on? OK, let's go. Locomotor trunk.’
Harry's trunk rose a few inches into the air. Holding her wand like a conductors baton, Tonks made the trunk hover across the room and out of the door ahead of them, Hedwig's cage in her left hand. Harry followed her down the stairs carrying his broomstick.
Back in the kitchen Moody had replaced his eye, which was spinning so fast after its cleaning it made Harry feel sick to look at it. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Sturgis Podmore were examining the microwave and Hestia Jones was laughing at a potato peeler she had come across while rummaging in the drawers. Lupin was sealing a letter addressed to the Dursleys.
‘Excellent,’ said Lupin, looking up as Tonks and Harry entered. ‘We've got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we're ready. Harry, I've left a letter telling your aunt and uncle not to worry—’
‘They won't,’ said Harry.
‘—that you're safe—’
‘That'll just depress them.’
‘—and you'll see them next summer.’
‘Do I have to?’
Lupin smiled but made no answer.
‘Come here, boy,’ said Moody gruffly, beckoning Harry towards him with his wand. ‘I need to Disillusion you.’
‘You need to what?’ said Harry nervously.
‘Disillusionment Charm,’ said Moody, raising his wand. ‘Lupin says you've got an Invisibility Cloak, but it won't stay on while we're flying; this'll disguise you better. Here you go—’
He rapped him hard on the top of the head and Harry felt a curious sensation as though Moody had just smashed an egg there; cold trickles seemed to be running down his body from the point the wand had struck.
‘Nice one, Mad-Eye,’ said Tonks appreciatively, staring at Harry's midriff.
Harry looked down at his body, or rather, what had been his body, for it didn't look anything like his any more. It was not invisible; it had simply taken on the exact colour and texture of the kitchen unit behind him. He seemed to have become a human chameleon.
‘Come on,’ said Moody, unlocking the back door with his wand.
They all stepped outside on to Uncle Vernon's beautifully kept lawn.
‘Clear night,’ grunted Moody, his magical eye scanning the heavens. ‘Could've done with a bit more cloud cover. Right, you,’ he barked at Harry, ‘we're going to be flying in close formation. Tonks'll be right in front of you, keep close on her tail. Lupin'll be covering you from below. I'm going to be behind you. The rest'll be circling us. We don't break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed—’
‘Is that likely?’ Harry asked apprehensively, but Moody ignored him.
‘—the others keep flying, don't stop, don't break ranks. If they take out all of us and you survive, Harry, the rear guard are standing by to take over; keep flying east and they'll join you.’
‘Stop being so cheerful, Mad-Eye, he'll think we're not taking this seriously,’ said Tonks, as she strapped Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage into a harness hanging from her broom.
Harry's trunk rose a few inches into the air. Holding her wand like a conductors baton, Tonks made the trunk hover across the room and out of the door ahead of them, Hedwig's cage in her left hand. Harry followed her down the stairs carrying his broomstick.
Back in the kitchen Moody had replaced his eye, which was spinning so fast after its cleaning it made Harry feel sick to look at it. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Sturgis Podmore were examining the microwave and Hestia Jones was laughing at a potato peeler she had come across while rummaging in the drawers. Lupin was sealing a letter addressed to the Dursleys.
‘Excellent,’ said Lupin, looking up as Tonks and Harry entered. ‘We've got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we're ready. Harry, I've left a letter telling your aunt and uncle not to worry—’
‘They won't,’ said Harry.
‘—that you're safe—’
‘That'll just depress them.’
‘—and you'll see them next summer.’
‘Do I have to?’
Lupin smiled but made no answer.
‘Come here, boy,’ said Moody gruffly, beckoning Harry towards him with his wand. ‘I need to Disillusion you.’
‘You need to what?’ said Harry nervously.
‘Disillusionment Charm,’ said Moody, raising his wand. ‘Lupin says you've got an Invisibility Cloak, but it won't stay on while we're flying; this'll disguise you better. Here you go—’
He rapped him hard on the top of the head and Harry felt a curious sensation as though Moody had just smashed an egg there; cold trickles seemed to be running down his body from the point the wand had struck.
‘Nice one, Mad-Eye,’ said Tonks appreciatively, staring at Harry's midriff.
Harry looked down at his body, or rather, what had been his body, for it didn't look anything like his any more. It was not invisible; it had simply taken on the exact colour and texture of the kitchen unit behind him. He seemed to have become a human chameleon.
‘Come on,’ said Moody, unlocking the back door with his wand.
They all stepped outside on to Uncle Vernon's beautifully kept lawn.
‘Clear night,’ grunted Moody, his magical eye scanning the heavens. ‘Could've done with a bit more cloud cover. Right, you,’ he barked at Harry, ‘we're going to be flying in close formation. Tonks'll be right in front of you, keep close on her tail. Lupin'll be covering you from below. I'm going to be behind you. The rest'll be circling us. We don't break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed—’
‘Is that likely?’ Harry asked apprehensively, but Moody ignored him.
‘—the others keep flying, don't stop, don't break ranks. If they take out all of us and you survive, Harry, the rear guard are standing by to take over; keep flying east and they'll join you.’
‘Stop being so cheerful, Mad-Eye, he'll think we're not taking this seriously,’ said Tonks, as she strapped Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage into a harness hanging from her broom.
Harry inclined his head awkwardly at each of
them as they were introduced. He wished they would look at something other than him; it was as though he had suddenly been ushered on-stage. He also wondered why so many of them were there.
‘A surprising number of people volunteered to come and get you,’ said Lupin, as though he had read Harry's mind; the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.
‘Yeah, well, the more the better,’ said Moody darkly. ‘We're your guard, Potter.’
‘We're just waiting for the signal to tell us it's safe to set off,’ said Lupin, glancing out of the kitchen window. ‘We've got about fifteen minutes.’
‘Very clean, aren't they, these Muggles?’ said the witch called Tonks, who was looking around the kitchen with great interest. ‘My dad's Muggle-born and he's a right old slob. I suppose it varies, just as it does with wizards?’
‘Er—yeah,’ said Harry. ‘Look'—he turned back to Lupin—'what's going on, I haven't heard anything from anyone, what's Vol—?’
Several of the witches and wizards made odd hissing noises; Dedalus Diggle dropped his hat again, and Moody growled, ‘Shut up!’
‘What?’ said Harry.
‘We're not discussing anything here, it's too risky,’ said Moody, turning his normal eye on Harry. His magical eye remained focused on the ceiling. ‘Damn it,’ he added angrily, putting a hand up to the magical eye, ‘it keeps getting stuck—ever since that scum wore it—’
And with a nasty squelching sound much like a plunger being pulled from a sink, he popped out his eye.
‘Mad-Eye, you do know that's disgusting, don't you?’ said Tonks conversationally.
‘Get me a glass of water, would you, Harry,’ requested Moody.
Harry crossed to the dishwasher, took out a clean glass and filled it with water at the sink, still watched eagerly by the band of wizards. Their relentless staring was starting to annoy him.
‘Cheers,’ said Moody, when Harry handed him the glass. He dropped the magical eyeball into the water and prodded it up and down; the eye whizzed around, staring at them all in turn. ‘I want three hundred and sixty degrees visibility on the return journey.’
‘How're we getting—wherever we're going?’ Harry asked.
‘Brooms,’ said Lupin. ‘Only way. You're too young to Apparate, they'll be watching the Floo Network and it's more than our life's worth to set up an unauthorised Portkey.’
‘Remus says you're a good flier,’ said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice.
‘He's excellent,’ said Lupin, who was checking his watch. ‘Anyway, you'd better go and get packed, Harry, we want to be ready to go when the signal comes.’
‘I'll come and help you,’ said Tonks brightly.
She followed Harry back into the hall and up the stairs, looking around with much curiosity and interest.
‘Funny place,’ she said. ‘It's a bit too clean, d'you know what I mean? Bit unnatural. Oh, this is better,’ she added, as they entered Harry's bedroom and he turned on the light.
His room was certainly much messier than the rest of the house. Confined to it for four days in a very bad mood, Harry had not bothered tidying up after himself. Most of the books he owned were strewn over the floor where he'd tried to distract himself with each in turn and thrown it aside; Hedwig's cage needed cleaning out and was starting to smell; and his trunk lay open, revealing a jumbled mixture of Muggle clothes and wizards’ robes that had spilled on to the floor around it.
Harry started picking up books and throwing them hastily into his trunk. Tonks paused at his open wardrobe to look critically at her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door.
‘You know, I don't think violet's really my colour,’ she said pensively, tugging at a lock of spiky hair. ‘D'you think it makes me look a bit peaky?’
‘Er—’ said Harry, looking up at her over the top of Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland.
‘Yeah, it does,’ said Tonks decisively. She screwed up her eyes in a strained expression as though she was struggling to remember something. A second later, her hair had turned bubble-gum pink.
‘How did you do that?’ said Harry, gaping at her as she opened her eyes again.
‘I'm a Metamorphmagus,’ she said, looking back at her reflection and turning her head so that she could see her hair from all directions. ‘It means I can change my appearance at will,’ she added, spotting Harry's puzzled expression in the mirror behind her. ‘I was born one. I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training without any study at all, it was great.’
‘You're an Auror?’ said Harry, impressed. Being a Dark-wizard-catcher was the only career he'd ever considered after Hogwarts.
‘Yeah,’ said Tonks, looking proud. ‘Kingsley is as well; he's a bit higher up than me, though. I only qualified a year ago. Nearly failed on Stealth and Tracking. I'm dead clumsy, did you hear me break that plate when we arrived downstairs?’
‘Can you learn how to be a Metamorphmagus?’ Harry asked her, straightening up, completely forgetting about packing.
Tonks chuckled.
‘Bet you wouldn't mind hiding that scar sometimes, eh?’
Her eyes found the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead.
‘No, I wouldn't mind,’ Harry mumbled, turning away. He did not like people staring at his scar.
‘Well, you'll have to learn the hard way, I'm afraid,’ said Tonks. ‘Metamorphmagi are really rare, they're born, not made. Most wizards need to use a wand, or potions, to change their appearance. But we've got to get going, Harry, we're supposed to be packing,’ she added guiltily, looking around at all the mess on the floor.
‘Oh—yeah,’ said Harry, grabbing a few more books.
‘Don't be stupid, it'll be much quicker if I—pack!’ cried Tonks, waving her wand in a long, sweeping movement over the floor.
Books, clothes, telescope, and scales all soared into the air and flew pell-mell into the trunk.
‘It's not very neat,’ said Tonks, walking over to the trunk and looking down at the jumble inside. ‘My mum's got this knack of getting stuff to fit itself in neatly—she even gets the socks to fold themselves—but I've never mastered how she does it—it's a kind of flick—’ She flicked her wand hopefully.
One of Harry's socks gave a feeble sort of wiggle and flopped back on top of the mess in the trunk.
‘Ah, well,’ said Tonks, slamming the trunk's lid shut, ‘at least it's all in. That could do with a bit of cleaning, too.’ She pointed her wand at Hedwig's cage. ‘Scourgify.’ A few feathers and droppings vanished. ‘Well, that's a bit better— I've never quite got the hang of these householdy sort of spells. Right—got everything? Cauldron? Broom? Wow! A Firebolt!’
Her eyes widened as they fell on the broomstick in Harry's right hand. It was his pride and joy, a gift from Sirius, an international-standard broomstick.
‘A surprising number of people volunteered to come and get you,’ said Lupin, as though he had read Harry's mind; the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.
‘Yeah, well, the more the better,’ said Moody darkly. ‘We're your guard, Potter.’
‘We're just waiting for the signal to tell us it's safe to set off,’ said Lupin, glancing out of the kitchen window. ‘We've got about fifteen minutes.’
‘Very clean, aren't they, these Muggles?’ said the witch called Tonks, who was looking around the kitchen with great interest. ‘My dad's Muggle-born and he's a right old slob. I suppose it varies, just as it does with wizards?’
‘Er—yeah,’ said Harry. ‘Look'—he turned back to Lupin—'what's going on, I haven't heard anything from anyone, what's Vol—?’
Several of the witches and wizards made odd hissing noises; Dedalus Diggle dropped his hat again, and Moody growled, ‘Shut up!’
‘What?’ said Harry.
‘We're not discussing anything here, it's too risky,’ said Moody, turning his normal eye on Harry. His magical eye remained focused on the ceiling. ‘Damn it,’ he added angrily, putting a hand up to the magical eye, ‘it keeps getting stuck—ever since that scum wore it—’
And with a nasty squelching sound much like a plunger being pulled from a sink, he popped out his eye.
‘Mad-Eye, you do know that's disgusting, don't you?’ said Tonks conversationally.
‘Get me a glass of water, would you, Harry,’ requested Moody.
Harry crossed to the dishwasher, took out a clean glass and filled it with water at the sink, still watched eagerly by the band of wizards. Their relentless staring was starting to annoy him.
‘Cheers,’ said Moody, when Harry handed him the glass. He dropped the magical eyeball into the water and prodded it up and down; the eye whizzed around, staring at them all in turn. ‘I want three hundred and sixty degrees visibility on the return journey.’
‘How're we getting—wherever we're going?’ Harry asked.
‘Brooms,’ said Lupin. ‘Only way. You're too young to Apparate, they'll be watching the Floo Network and it's more than our life's worth to set up an unauthorised Portkey.’
‘Remus says you're a good flier,’ said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice.
‘He's excellent,’ said Lupin, who was checking his watch. ‘Anyway, you'd better go and get packed, Harry, we want to be ready to go when the signal comes.’
‘I'll come and help you,’ said Tonks brightly.
She followed Harry back into the hall and up the stairs, looking around with much curiosity and interest.
‘Funny place,’ she said. ‘It's a bit too clean, d'you know what I mean? Bit unnatural. Oh, this is better,’ she added, as they entered Harry's bedroom and he turned on the light.
His room was certainly much messier than the rest of the house. Confined to it for four days in a very bad mood, Harry had not bothered tidying up after himself. Most of the books he owned were strewn over the floor where he'd tried to distract himself with each in turn and thrown it aside; Hedwig's cage needed cleaning out and was starting to smell; and his trunk lay open, revealing a jumbled mixture of Muggle clothes and wizards’ robes that had spilled on to the floor around it.
Harry started picking up books and throwing them hastily into his trunk. Tonks paused at his open wardrobe to look critically at her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door.
‘You know, I don't think violet's really my colour,’ she said pensively, tugging at a lock of spiky hair. ‘D'you think it makes me look a bit peaky?’
‘Er—’ said Harry, looking up at her over the top of Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland.
‘Yeah, it does,’ said Tonks decisively. She screwed up her eyes in a strained expression as though she was struggling to remember something. A second later, her hair had turned bubble-gum pink.
‘How did you do that?’ said Harry, gaping at her as she opened her eyes again.
‘I'm a Metamorphmagus,’ she said, looking back at her reflection and turning her head so that she could see her hair from all directions. ‘It means I can change my appearance at will,’ she added, spotting Harry's puzzled expression in the mirror behind her. ‘I was born one. I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training without any study at all, it was great.’
‘You're an Auror?’ said Harry, impressed. Being a Dark-wizard-catcher was the only career he'd ever considered after Hogwarts.
‘Yeah,’ said Tonks, looking proud. ‘Kingsley is as well; he's a bit higher up than me, though. I only qualified a year ago. Nearly failed on Stealth and Tracking. I'm dead clumsy, did you hear me break that plate when we arrived downstairs?’
‘Can you learn how to be a Metamorphmagus?’ Harry asked her, straightening up, completely forgetting about packing.
Tonks chuckled.
‘Bet you wouldn't mind hiding that scar sometimes, eh?’
Her eyes found the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead.
‘No, I wouldn't mind,’ Harry mumbled, turning away. He did not like people staring at his scar.
‘Well, you'll have to learn the hard way, I'm afraid,’ said Tonks. ‘Metamorphmagi are really rare, they're born, not made. Most wizards need to use a wand, or potions, to change their appearance. But we've got to get going, Harry, we're supposed to be packing,’ she added guiltily, looking around at all the mess on the floor.
‘Oh—yeah,’ said Harry, grabbing a few more books.
‘Don't be stupid, it'll be much quicker if I—pack!’ cried Tonks, waving her wand in a long, sweeping movement over the floor.
Books, clothes, telescope, and scales all soared into the air and flew pell-mell into the trunk.
‘It's not very neat,’ said Tonks, walking over to the trunk and looking down at the jumble inside. ‘My mum's got this knack of getting stuff to fit itself in neatly—she even gets the socks to fold themselves—but I've never mastered how she does it—it's a kind of flick—’ She flicked her wand hopefully.
One of Harry's socks gave a feeble sort of wiggle and flopped back on top of the mess in the trunk.
‘Ah, well,’ said Tonks, slamming the trunk's lid shut, ‘at least it's all in. That could do with a bit of cleaning, too.’ She pointed her wand at Hedwig's cage. ‘Scourgify.’ A few feathers and droppings vanished. ‘Well, that's a bit better— I've never quite got the hang of these householdy sort of spells. Right—got everything? Cauldron? Broom? Wow! A Firebolt!’
Her eyes widened as they fell on the broomstick in Harry's right hand. It was his pride and joy, a gift from Sirius, an international-standard broomstick.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Harry's mood suddenly lifted
. His father had not been a prefect either. All at once the party seemed much more enjoyable; he loaded up his plate, feeling doubly fond of everyone in the room.
Ron was rhapsodising about his new broom to anybody who would listen.
‘...nought to seventy in ten seconds, not bad, is it? When you think the Comet Two Ninety's only nought to sixty and that's with a decent tailwind according to Which Broomstick?’
Hermione was talking very earnestly to Lupin about her view of elf rights.
‘I mean, it's the same kind of nonsense as werewolf segregation, isn't it? It all stems from this horrible thing wizards have of thinking they're superior to other creatures....’
Mrs. Weasley and Bill were having their usual argument about Bill's hair.
‘...getting really out of hand, and you're so good-looking, it would look much better shorter, wouldn't it, Harry?’
‘Oh—I dunno—’ said Harry, slightly alarmed at being asked his opinion; he slid away from them in the direction of Fred and George, who were huddled in a corner with Mundungus.
Mundungus stopped talking when he saw Harry, but Fred winked and beckoned Harry closer.
‘It's OK,’ he told Mundungus, ‘we can trust Harry, he's our financial backer.’
‘Look what Dung's got us,’ said George, holding out his hand to Harry. It was full of what looked like shrivelled black pods. A faint rattling noise was coming from them, even though they were completely stationary.
‘Venomous Tentacula seeds,’ said George. ‘We need them for the Skiving Snackboxes but they're a Class C Non-Tradeable Substance so we've been having a bit of trouble getting hold of them.’
‘Ten Galleons the lot, then, Dung?’ said Fred.
‘Wiv all the trouble I went to to get ‘em?’ said Mundungus, his saggy, bloodshot eyes stretching even wider. ‘I'm sorry, lads, but I'm not taking a Knut under twenty.’
‘Dung likes his little joke,’ Fred said to Harry.
‘Yeah, his best one so far has been six Sickles for a bag of Knarl quills,’ said George.
‘Be careful,’ Harry warned them quietly.
‘What?’ said Fred. ‘Mum's busy cooing over Prefect Ron, we're okay.’
‘But Moody could have his eye on you,’ Harry pointed out.
Mundungus looked nervously over his shoulder.
‘Good point, that,’ he grunted. ‘All right, lads, ten it is, if you'll take ‘em quick.’
‘Cheers, Harry!’ said Fred delightedly, when Mundungus had emptied his pockets into the twins’ outstretched hands and scuttled off towards the food. ‘We'd better get these upstairs....’
Harry watched them go, feeling slightly uneasy. It had just occurred to him that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would want to know how Fred and George were financing their joke shop business when, as was inevitable, they finally
found out about it. Giving the twins his Triwizard winnings had seemed a simple thing to do at the time, but what if it led to another family row and a Percy-like estrangement? Would Mrs. Weasley still feel that Harry was as
good as her son if she found out he had made it possible for Fred and George to start a career she thought quite unsuitable?
Standing where the twins had left him, with nothing but a guilty weight in the pit of his stomach for company, Harry caught the sound of his own name. Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep voice was audible even over the surrounding
chatter.
‘...why Dumbledore didn't make Potter a prefect?’ said Kingsley.
‘He'll have had his reasons,’ replied Lupin.
‘But it would've shown confidence in him. It's what I'd've done,’ persisted Kingsley, ’ ‘specially with the Daily Prophet having a go at him every few days....’
Harry did not look round; he did not want Lupin or Kingsley to know he had heard. Though not remotely hungry, he followed Mundungus back towards the table. His pleasure in the party had evaporated as quickly as it had
come; he wished he were upstairs in bed.
Mad-Eye Moody was sniffing at a chicken leg with what remained of his nose; evidently he could not detect any trace of poison, because he then tore a strip off it with his teeth.
‘...the handle's made of Spanish oak with anti-jinx varnish and in-built vibration control—’ Ron was saying to Tonks.
Mrs. Weasley yawned widely.
‘Well, I think I'll sort out that boggart before I turn in.... Arthur, I don't want this lot up too late, all right? ‘Night, Harry, dear.’
She left the kitchen. Harry set down his plate and wondered whether he could follow her without attracting attention.
‘You all right, Potter?’ grunted Moody.
‘Yeah, fine,’ lied Harry.
Moody took a swig from his hipflask, his electric-blue eye staring sideways at Harry.
‘Come here, I've got something that might interest you,’ he said.
From an inner pocket of his robes Moody pulled a very tattered old wizarding photograph.
‘Original Order of the Phoenix,’ growled Moody. ‘Found it last night when I was looking for my spare Invisibility Cloak, seeing as Podmore hasn't had the manners to return my best one.... Thought people might like to see it.’
Harry took the photograph. A small crowd of people, some waving at him, others lifting their glasses, looked back up at him.
‘There's me,’ said Moody, unnecessarily pointing at himself. The Moody in the picture was unmistakeable, though his hair was slightly less grey and his nose was intact. ‘And there's Dumbledore beside me, Dedalus Diggle on
the other side... That's Marlene McKinnon, she was killed two weeks after this was taken, they got her whole family. That's Frank and Alice Longbottom—’
Harry's stomach, already uncomfortable, clenched as he looked at Alice Longbottom; he knew her round, friendly face very well, even though he had never met her, because she was the image of her son, Neville.
‘Poor devils,’ growled Moody. ‘Better dead than what happened to them ... and that's Emmeline Vance, you've met her, and that there's Lupin, obviously ... Benjy Fenwick, he copped it too, we only ever found bits of him ...
shift aside there,’ he added, poking the picture, and the little photographic people edged sideways, so that those who were partially obscured could move to the front.
‘That's Edgar Bones ... brother of Amelia Bones, they got him and his family, too, he was a great wizard ... Sturgis Podmore, blimey, he looks young ... Caradoc Dearborn, vanished six months after this, we never found his
body ... Hagrid, of course, looks exactly the same as ever ... Elphias Doge, you've met him, I'd forgotten he used to wear that stupid hat ... Gideon Prewett, it took five Death Eaters to kill him and his brother Fabian, they
fought like heroes ... budge along, budge along ...’
The little people in the photograph jostled among themselves and those hidden right at the back appeared at the forefront of the picture.
‘That's Dumbledore's brother Aberforth, only time I ever met him, strange bloke ... That's Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort killed her personally ... Sirius, when he still had short hair ... and ... there you go, thought that would
interest you!’
Harry's heart turned over. His mother and father were beaming up at him, sitting on either side of a small, watery-eyed man whom Harry recognised at once as Wormtail, the one who had betrayed his parents’ whereabouts to
Voldemort and so helped to bring about their deaths.
‘Eh?’ said Moody.
Harry looked up into Moody s heavily scarred and pitted face. Evidently Moody was under the impression he had just given Harry a bit of a treat.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, once again attempting to grin. ‘Er ... listen, I've just remembered, I haven't packed my...’
He was spared the trouble of inventing an object he had not packed. Sirius had just said, ‘What's that you've got there, Mad-Eye?’ and Moody had turned towards him. Harry crossed the kitchen, slipped through the door and
up the stairs before anyone could call him back.
He did not know why it had been such a shock; he had seen pictures of his parents before, after all, and he had met Wormtail ... but to have them sprung on him like that, when he was least expecting it.... No one would like
that, he thought angrily...
And then, to see them surrounded by all those other happy faces ... Benjy Fenwick, who had been found in bits, and Gideon Prewett, who had died like a hero, and the Longbottoms, who had been tortured into madness ... all
waving happily out of the photograph forever more, not knowing that they were doomed ... well, Moody might find that interesting ... he, Harry, found it disturbing....
Harry tiptoed up the stairs in the hall past the stuffed elf-heads, glad to be on his own again, but as he approached the first landing he heard noises. Someone was sobbing in the drawing room.
‘Hello?’ Harry said.
There was no answer but the sobbing continued. He climbed the remaining stairs two at a time, walked across the landing and opened the drawing-room door.
Someone was cowering against the dark wall, her wand in her hand, her whole body shaking with sobs. Sprawled on the dusty old carpet in a patch of moonlight, clearly dead, was Ron.
All the air seemed to vanish from Harry's lungs; he felt as though he were falling through the floor; his brain turned icy cold—Ron dead, no, it couldn't be—’
But wait a moment, it couldn't be— Ron was downstairs—
‘Mrs. Weasley?’ Harry croaked.
‘R-r-riddikulus!’ Mrs. Weasley sobbed, pointing her shaking wand at Ron's body.
Crack
Ron's body turned into Bill's, spread-eagled on his back, his eyes wide open and empty. Mrs Weasley sobbed harder than ever.
‘R-riddikulus!’ she sobbed again.
Crack.
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Ron was rhapsodising about his new broom to anybody who would listen.
‘...nought to seventy in ten seconds, not bad, is it? When you think the Comet Two Ninety's only nought to sixty and that's with a decent tailwind according to Which Broomstick?’
Hermione was talking very earnestly to Lupin about her view of elf rights.
‘I mean, it's the same kind of nonsense as werewolf segregation, isn't it? It all stems from this horrible thing wizards have of thinking they're superior to other creatures....’
Mrs. Weasley and Bill were having their usual argument about Bill's hair.
‘...getting really out of hand, and you're so good-looking, it would look much better shorter, wouldn't it, Harry?’
‘Oh—I dunno—’ said Harry, slightly alarmed at being asked his opinion; he slid away from them in the direction of Fred and George, who were huddled in a corner with Mundungus.
Mundungus stopped talking when he saw Harry, but Fred winked and beckoned Harry closer.
‘It's OK,’ he told Mundungus, ‘we can trust Harry, he's our financial backer.’
‘Look what Dung's got us,’ said George, holding out his hand to Harry. It was full of what looked like shrivelled black pods. A faint rattling noise was coming from them, even though they were completely stationary.
‘Venomous Tentacula seeds,’ said George. ‘We need them for the Skiving Snackboxes but they're a Class C Non-Tradeable Substance so we've been having a bit of trouble getting hold of them.’
‘Ten Galleons the lot, then, Dung?’ said Fred.
‘Wiv all the trouble I went to to get ‘em?’ said Mundungus, his saggy, bloodshot eyes stretching even wider. ‘I'm sorry, lads, but I'm not taking a Knut under twenty.’
‘Dung likes his little joke,’ Fred said to Harry.
‘Yeah, his best one so far has been six Sickles for a bag of Knarl quills,’ said George.
‘Be careful,’ Harry warned them quietly.
‘What?’ said Fred. ‘Mum's busy cooing over Prefect Ron, we're okay.’
‘But Moody could have his eye on you,’ Harry pointed out.
Mundungus looked nervously over his shoulder.
‘Good point, that,’ he grunted. ‘All right, lads, ten it is, if you'll take ‘em quick.’
‘Cheers, Harry!’ said Fred delightedly, when Mundungus had emptied his pockets into the twins’ outstretched hands and scuttled off towards the food. ‘We'd better get these upstairs....’
Harry watched them go, feeling slightly uneasy. It had just occurred to him that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would want to know how Fred and George were financing their joke shop business when, as was inevitable, they finally
found out about it. Giving the twins his Triwizard winnings had seemed a simple thing to do at the time, but what if it led to another family row and a Percy-like estrangement? Would Mrs. Weasley still feel that Harry was as
good as her son if she found out he had made it possible for Fred and George to start a career she thought quite unsuitable?
Standing where the twins had left him, with nothing but a guilty weight in the pit of his stomach for company, Harry caught the sound of his own name. Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep voice was audible even over the surrounding
chatter.
‘...why Dumbledore didn't make Potter a prefect?’ said Kingsley.
‘He'll have had his reasons,’ replied Lupin.
‘But it would've shown confidence in him. It's what I'd've done,’ persisted Kingsley, ’ ‘specially with the Daily Prophet having a go at him every few days....’
Harry did not look round; he did not want Lupin or Kingsley to know he had heard. Though not remotely hungry, he followed Mundungus back towards the table. His pleasure in the party had evaporated as quickly as it had
come; he wished he were upstairs in bed.
Mad-Eye Moody was sniffing at a chicken leg with what remained of his nose; evidently he could not detect any trace of poison, because he then tore a strip off it with his teeth.
‘...the handle's made of Spanish oak with anti-jinx varnish and in-built vibration control—’ Ron was saying to Tonks.
Mrs. Weasley yawned widely.
‘Well, I think I'll sort out that boggart before I turn in.... Arthur, I don't want this lot up too late, all right? ‘Night, Harry, dear.’
She left the kitchen. Harry set down his plate and wondered whether he could follow her without attracting attention.
‘You all right, Potter?’ grunted Moody.
‘Yeah, fine,’ lied Harry.
Moody took a swig from his hipflask, his electric-blue eye staring sideways at Harry.
‘Come here, I've got something that might interest you,’ he said.
From an inner pocket of his robes Moody pulled a very tattered old wizarding photograph.
‘Original Order of the Phoenix,’ growled Moody. ‘Found it last night when I was looking for my spare Invisibility Cloak, seeing as Podmore hasn't had the manners to return my best one.... Thought people might like to see it.’
Harry took the photograph. A small crowd of people, some waving at him, others lifting their glasses, looked back up at him.
‘There's me,’ said Moody, unnecessarily pointing at himself. The Moody in the picture was unmistakeable, though his hair was slightly less grey and his nose was intact. ‘And there's Dumbledore beside me, Dedalus Diggle on
the other side... That's Marlene McKinnon, she was killed two weeks after this was taken, they got her whole family. That's Frank and Alice Longbottom—’
Harry's stomach, already uncomfortable, clenched as he looked at Alice Longbottom; he knew her round, friendly face very well, even though he had never met her, because she was the image of her son, Neville.
‘Poor devils,’ growled Moody. ‘Better dead than what happened to them ... and that's Emmeline Vance, you've met her, and that there's Lupin, obviously ... Benjy Fenwick, he copped it too, we only ever found bits of him ...
shift aside there,’ he added, poking the picture, and the little photographic people edged sideways, so that those who were partially obscured could move to the front.
‘That's Edgar Bones ... brother of Amelia Bones, they got him and his family, too, he was a great wizard ... Sturgis Podmore, blimey, he looks young ... Caradoc Dearborn, vanished six months after this, we never found his
body ... Hagrid, of course, looks exactly the same as ever ... Elphias Doge, you've met him, I'd forgotten he used to wear that stupid hat ... Gideon Prewett, it took five Death Eaters to kill him and his brother Fabian, they
fought like heroes ... budge along, budge along ...’
The little people in the photograph jostled among themselves and those hidden right at the back appeared at the forefront of the picture.
‘That's Dumbledore's brother Aberforth, only time I ever met him, strange bloke ... That's Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort killed her personally ... Sirius, when he still had short hair ... and ... there you go, thought that would
interest you!’
Harry's heart turned over. His mother and father were beaming up at him, sitting on either side of a small, watery-eyed man whom Harry recognised at once as Wormtail, the one who had betrayed his parents’ whereabouts to
Voldemort and so helped to bring about their deaths.
‘Eh?’ said Moody.
Harry looked up into Moody s heavily scarred and pitted face. Evidently Moody was under the impression he had just given Harry a bit of a treat.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, once again attempting to grin. ‘Er ... listen, I've just remembered, I haven't packed my...’
He was spared the trouble of inventing an object he had not packed. Sirius had just said, ‘What's that you've got there, Mad-Eye?’ and Moody had turned towards him. Harry crossed the kitchen, slipped through the door and
up the stairs before anyone could call him back.
He did not know why it had been such a shock; he had seen pictures of his parents before, after all, and he had met Wormtail ... but to have them sprung on him like that, when he was least expecting it.... No one would like
that, he thought angrily...
And then, to see them surrounded by all those other happy faces ... Benjy Fenwick, who had been found in bits, and Gideon Prewett, who had died like a hero, and the Longbottoms, who had been tortured into madness ... all
waving happily out of the photograph forever more, not knowing that they were doomed ... well, Moody might find that interesting ... he, Harry, found it disturbing....
Harry tiptoed up the stairs in the hall past the stuffed elf-heads, glad to be on his own again, but as he approached the first landing he heard noises. Someone was sobbing in the drawing room.
‘Hello?’ Harry said.
There was no answer but the sobbing continued. He climbed the remaining stairs two at a time, walked across the landing and opened the drawing-room door.
Someone was cowering against the dark wall, her wand in her hand, her whole body shaking with sobs. Sprawled on the dusty old carpet in a patch of moonlight, clearly dead, was Ron.
All the air seemed to vanish from Harry's lungs; he felt as though he were falling through the floor; his brain turned icy cold—Ron dead, no, it couldn't be—’
But wait a moment, it couldn't be— Ron was downstairs—
‘Mrs. Weasley?’ Harry croaked.
‘R-r-riddikulus!’ Mrs. Weasley sobbed, pointing her shaking wand at Ron's body.
Crack
Ron's body turned into Bill's, spread-eagled on his back, his eyes wide open and empty. Mrs Weasley sobbed harder than ever.
‘R-riddikulus!’ she sobbed again.
Crack.
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Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Fallen Mann
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：110 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 1:27:25
The Mann Act, long relegated to the status of bawdy Frank Sinatra punch lines and literary asidesLolitas Humbert Humbert deplores the law as "lending itself to a dreadful pun"was serious news recently for the first time in a century. In March, when Eliot Spitzer resigned as governor of New York, pundits speculated that he might face criminal charges based on the law, passed in 1910, that forbade the interstate transportation of any woman or girl for "the purpose of prostitution or debauchery, or for any other immoral purpose." Named for Republican Congressman James R. Mann and officially known as the White Slave Traffic Act, the law had a tortured (and torturous) history well before it loomed as a threat to Spitzer or entered mid-century pop culture lexicon.
Much has been said about Spitzers hypocrisy in the matter: the self-proclaimed reformist governor who would scour New York State free of corruption, who has fervently prosecuted prostitution rings, who pointed out that such organizations are often linked to money laundering, drugs, and human trafficking. But Spitzer, while guilty of bad judgment and stunning arrogance, is no more disingenuous than the people and events that lead to this anachronistic law nearly a century ago.
The furor surrounding the Mann Act has been forgotten, but during the first decade of the 20th century, the "social evil," as prostitution was called, inspired daily newspaper coverage. In 1907, the federal government, concerned about the proliferation of red-light districts across the country, dispatched a team of agents to investigate conditions in several major cities. In Chicago, an ambitious young states attorney named Clifford Roe sought a face to humanize prostitution, and one night, she quite literally fell from the sky.
A teenaged girl, the story went, tossed a note from the window of a brothel reading, "I am a white slave," and it found its way to Roes office. No one, Roe least of all, paid much attention to discrepancies in the victims story, including a rumor that she was a prostitute by choice whod had a momentary spat with her pimp, and was back to work as soon as the case closed.
Roe used this case to argue for stricter laws against prostitution rings, eventually securing passage of seminal legislation in twenty-eight states and the District of Columbia. His colleagues, most notably Congressman Mann and Edwin Sims, the citys U.S. district attorney, fueled the hysteria with hyperbole and outright lies, recounting lurid tales of professional rapists and a head pimp known internationally as "The Big Chief."
By December 1909, when the federal agents presented their findings on various red-light districts, America was in the throes of white slavery panic. Churches, womens groups, and reform organizations bombarded their representatives with pleas to take national action. President William Howard Taft heeded the call, declaring Manns proposed bill "constitutional" and allocating $50,000 for the employment of special inspectors. A new branch within the U.S. Department of Justice called the Bureau of Investigationthe "Federal" to be added laterwould be charged with tracking down Mann Act violations. The Bureau, at this point, employed only twenty-three agents, but Manns law launched its transformation from a small office concerned with miscellaneous minor crimes to the governments most recognizable and powerful legal arm.
The Mann Act, long relegated to the status of bawdy Frank Sinatra punch lines and literary asidesLolitas Humbert Humbert deplores the law as "lending itself to a dreadful pun"was serious news recently for the first time in a century. In March, when Eliot Spitzer resigned as governor of New York, pundits speculated that he might face criminal charges based on the law, passed in 1910, that forbade the interstate transportation of any woman or girl for "the purpose of prostitution or debauchery, or for any other immoral purpose." Named for Republican Congressman James R. Mann and officially known as the White Slave Traffic Act, the law had a tortured (and torturous) history well before it loomed as a threat to Spitzer or entered mid-century pop culture lexicon.
Much has been said about Spitzers hypocrisy in the matter: the self-proclaimed reformist governor who would scour New York State free of corruption, who has fervently prosecuted prostitution rings, who pointed out that such organizations are often linked to money laundering, drugs, and human trafficking. But Spitzer, while guilty of bad judgment and stunning arrogance, is no more disingenuous than the people and events that lead to this anachronistic law nearly a century ago.
The furor surrounding the Mann Act has been forgotten, but during the first decade of the 20th century, the "social evil," as prostitution was called, inspired daily newspaper coverage. In 1907, the federal government, concerned about the proliferation of red-light districts across the country, dispatched a team of agents to investigate conditions in several major cities. In Chicago, an ambitious young states attorney named Clifford Roe sought a face to humanize prostitution, and one night, she quite literally fell from the sky.
A teenaged girl, the story went, tossed a note from the window of a brothel reading, "I am a white slave," and it found its way to Roes office. No one, Roe least of all, paid much attention to discrepancies in the victims story, including a rumor that she was a prostitute by choice whod had a momentary spat with her pimp, and was back to work as soon as the case closed.
Roe used this case to argue for stricter laws against prostitution rings, eventually securing passage of seminal legislation in twenty-eight states and the District of Columbia. His colleagues, most notably Congressman Mann and Edwin Sims, the citys U.S. district attorney, fueled the hysteria with hyperbole and outright lies, recounting lurid tales of professional rapists and a head pimp known internationally as "The Big Chief."
By December 1909, when the federal agents presented their findings on various red-light districts, America was in the throes of white slavery panic. Churches, womens groups, and reform organizations bombarded their representatives with pleas to take national action. President William Howard Taft heeded the call, declaring Manns proposed bill "constitutional" and allocating $50,000 for the employment of special inspectors. A new branch within the U.S. Department of Justice called the Bureau of Investigationthe "Federal" to be added laterwould be charged with tracking down Mann Act violations. The Bureau, at this point, employed only twenty-three agents, but Manns law launched its transformation from a small office concerned with miscellaneous minor crimes to the governments most recognizable and powerful legal arm.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Ready. Set. Spook! Ideas For Indoor & Outdoor Halloween Decorations.
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：87 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 1:02:32
Ready. Set. Spook!
Labor Day has come and gone with the summer heat. Its official; fall is here. Aside from comfortable sweaters and pumpkin spice lattes, this season means that its time to decorate for Halloween!
The great thing about Halloween is that the possibilities for decorations are virtually endless. Anything can be scary with a little bit of fun work. Make your house rise from the grave and come to life with cool and visually
stunning yard decorations. For this time of the year, the spookiest yard is something to be proud of.
If you happen to live in a yard with an abundance of trees or shrubs, you've already got a great head start on outdoor decorating. Go for the classic "cob webbed" look for shrubs, using something as simple as cotton, which is
very inexpensive and can be purchased at most dollar stores or discount retailers. For the trees, get some artificial bats. You can find some inexpensive ones in stores. For a fun activity, make some on your own using soda
bottles, garbage bags and electrical tape (more on that later.)
Lawn cut outs are also an exciting way to spook up your yard. Again, the possibilities for what you can do are endless and only limited by your imagination. From the classic jack-o-lanterns and witches to completely custom
graphics, holiday cutouts are a staple of Halloween lawn decorations. Theres plenty of places online, such as holidaycutouts.net to order scary cutouts, which can also be used indoors to spook the trick or treaters at your
door.
How To Make Halloween Bat Decorations:
Materials
o 2 large black trash bags
o 2-liter plastic soda bottle
o Black electrical tape
o Rubber bands
o White plastic lid
o 2 straight sticks
o Red dot stickers
Step 1: To make the bat's body, wrap one of the trash bags around the plastic bottle and secure it in place with the electrical tape.
Step 2: Create the bat's ears by pinching two small bunches of plastic (near the cap end of the bottle) and wrapping a rubber band around the base of each bunch. Cut a set of fangs out of the white plastic lid, tape them in
place, then affix the red stickers for eyes.
Step 3: Cut open the other trash bag, lay it flat, then cut two large bat wings out of it, roughly in the shape of the ones shown.
Step 4: Lay one of the wings flat on the ground and place one of the sticks just above it (if necessary, trim the stick to the wing's length with clippers). Tape the three "points" on the top of the wing to the stick with electrical
tape. Repeat for the other wing, then securely tape both wings to the sides of the bat's body.
Step 5: To hang the bat, simply nestle the sticks among the branches of a tree. If the weather is particularly windy, you may want to tape the wings in place, so your bat won't take flight.
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Ready. Set. Spook!
Labor Day has come and gone with the summer heat. Its official; fall is here. Aside from comfortable sweaters and pumpkin spice lattes, this season means that its time to decorate for Halloween!
The great thing about Halloween is that the possibilities for decorations are virtually endless. Anything can be scary with a little bit of fun work. Make your house rise from the grave and come to life with cool and visually
stunning yard decorations. For this time of the year, the spookiest yard is something to be proud of.
If you happen to live in a yard with an abundance of trees or shrubs, you've already got a great head start on outdoor decorating. Go for the classic "cob webbed" look for shrubs, using something as simple as cotton, which is
very inexpensive and can be purchased at most dollar stores or discount retailers. For the trees, get some artificial bats. You can find some inexpensive ones in stores. For a fun activity, make some on your own using soda
bottles, garbage bags and electrical tape (more on that later.)
Lawn cut outs are also an exciting way to spook up your yard. Again, the possibilities for what you can do are endless and only limited by your imagination. From the classic jack-o-lanterns and witches to completely custom
graphics, holiday cutouts are a staple of Halloween lawn decorations. Theres plenty of places online, such as holidaycutouts.net to order scary cutouts, which can also be used indoors to spook the trick or treaters at your
door.
How To Make Halloween Bat Decorations:
Materials
o 2 large black trash bags
o 2-liter plastic soda bottle
o Black electrical tape
o Rubber bands
o White plastic lid
o 2 straight sticks
o Red dot stickers
Step 1: To make the bat's body, wrap one of the trash bags around the plastic bottle and secure it in place with the electrical tape.
Step 2: Create the bat's ears by pinching two small bunches of plastic (near the cap end of the bottle) and wrapping a rubber band around the base of each bunch. Cut a set of fangs out of the white plastic lid, tape them in
place, then affix the red stickers for eyes.
Step 3: Cut open the other trash bag, lay it flat, then cut two large bat wings out of it, roughly in the shape of the ones shown.
Step 4: Lay one of the wings flat on the ground and place one of the sticks just above it (if necessary, trim the stick to the wing's length with clippers). Tape the three "points" on the top of the wing to the stick with electrical
tape. Repeat for the other wing, then securely tape both wings to the sides of the bat's body.
Step 5: To hang the bat, simply nestle the sticks among the branches of a tree. If the weather is particularly windy, you may want to tape the wings in place, so your bat won't take flight.
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Monday, November 8, 2010
HPV Vaccine And Cervical Cancer: Is it worth vaccinating?
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：147 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 0:38:48
Over the past two years, the O-N-E L-E-S-S campaign for Gardasil, the new HPV vaccine to protect against cervical cancer, has brought discussion about the human papilloma virus to the forefront, shining new light not only on the vaccine itself, but also on the issues that surround it.
HPV is ubiquitous. Nearly 50% of sexually active people will have HPV at some point in their lives. There are around 20 million people with HPV infections in the U.S., with 6.2 million new cases occurring every year. The most serious consequence of HPV infections is cervical cancer, yet public knowledge about HPV is poor -- less than 50% of women have heard about HPV and its link to cervical cancer.
It's crucial that the public gains more knowledge about HPV and cervical cancer, particularly in the present climate where the merits of the vaccine have been clouded by a political rhetoric. Information on the link between HPV and cervical cancer, how common the disease is and who gets it, detection methods, other effects of the disease, and the role and effectiveness of the vaccine have to be addressed. Examining these topics will help guide decisions as medical professionals recommend this vaccination to a whole generation of 11-12 year old girls, and perhaps boys in the future.
The relationship between HPV and cervical cancer: There are over 100 types of HPV. About 15 of them are "high-risk" types that cause cervical cancer. HPV infections are more common in the younger population, with nearly 75% occurring in the 15-25 age group. Most HPV infections are "silent" -- people who carry the virus don't know they have it and transmit it freely to their sexual partners. The good news, however, is that most of these infections are self-limiting, meaning that nearly 90% of them resolve on their own within 24 months without causing any problems. In a minority of people, however, the infections persist, either as a result of high-risk sexual behavior (such as multiple partners and unprotected sex), or weakened immunity because of smoking, stress, and long term use of certain medications like steroids. These factors can propel HPV infections to cause precancerous and cancerous lesions of the cervix. Over 99% of cervical cancers are caused by HPV. HPV infections are necessary, but not sufficient on their own to cause cervical cancer.
Pap tests and cervical cancer: A Pap test detects early changes in the cells of the cervix due to HPV or other effects, which if left untreated, may progress to cervical cancer. Fortunately, due to a well organized Pap test program in the U.S., the incidence of cervical cancer has dropped by 75% over the past 50 years. Therefore, for women who get regular Pap smears, the incidence of cervical cancer is low. Currently in the U.S., about 11,000 new cases of cervical cancer develop each year, and around 4,000 deaths occur from it. Even though one would wish that there were no cases of cervical cancers to reckon with, when compared to the number of HPV infections that occur each year, the ratio between HPV infections to cervical cancer is low. According to the American Cancer Society, four out of five women who died of cervical cancer did not have a Pap test in the previous five years. These numbers show that the Pap smear has been very successful in curtailing the incidence of cervical cancer in this country.
Over the past two years, the O-N-E L-E-S-S campaign for Gardasil, the new HPV vaccine to protect against cervical cancer, has brought discussion about the human papilloma virus to the forefront, shining new light not only on the vaccine itself, but also on the issues that surround it.
HPV is ubiquitous. Nearly 50% of sexually active people will have HPV at some point in their lives. There are around 20 million people with HPV infections in the U.S., with 6.2 million new cases occurring every year. The most serious consequence of HPV infections is cervical cancer, yet public knowledge about HPV is poor -- less than 50% of women have heard about HPV and its link to cervical cancer.
It's crucial that the public gains more knowledge about HPV and cervical cancer, particularly in the present climate where the merits of the vaccine have been clouded by a political rhetoric. Information on the link between HPV and cervical cancer, how common the disease is and who gets it, detection methods, other effects of the disease, and the role and effectiveness of the vaccine have to be addressed. Examining these topics will help guide decisions as medical professionals recommend this vaccination to a whole generation of 11-12 year old girls, and perhaps boys in the future.
The relationship between HPV and cervical cancer: There are over 100 types of HPV. About 15 of them are "high-risk" types that cause cervical cancer. HPV infections are more common in the younger population, with nearly 75% occurring in the 15-25 age group. Most HPV infections are "silent" -- people who carry the virus don't know they have it and transmit it freely to their sexual partners. The good news, however, is that most of these infections are self-limiting, meaning that nearly 90% of them resolve on their own within 24 months without causing any problems. In a minority of people, however, the infections persist, either as a result of high-risk sexual behavior (such as multiple partners and unprotected sex), or weakened immunity because of smoking, stress, and long term use of certain medications like steroids. These factors can propel HPV infections to cause precancerous and cancerous lesions of the cervix. Over 99% of cervical cancers are caused by HPV. HPV infections are necessary, but not sufficient on their own to cause cervical cancer.
Pap tests and cervical cancer: A Pap test detects early changes in the cells of the cervix due to HPV or other effects, which if left untreated, may progress to cervical cancer. Fortunately, due to a well organized Pap test program in the U.S., the incidence of cervical cancer has dropped by 75% over the past 50 years. Therefore, for women who get regular Pap smears, the incidence of cervical cancer is low. Currently in the U.S., about 11,000 new cases of cervical cancer develop each year, and around 4,000 deaths occur from it. Even though one would wish that there were no cases of cervical cancers to reckon with, when compared to the number of HPV infections that occur each year, the ratio between HPV infections to cervical cancer is low. According to the American Cancer Society, four out of five women who died of cervical cancer did not have a Pap test in the previous five years. These numbers show that the Pap smear has been very successful in curtailing the incidence of cervical cancer in this country.
Perilous Indicators of Ovarian Cancer
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：126 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 0:38:53
If a woman is diagnosed with ovarian cancer during the early stages of the disease, her survival rates are excellent (75%) - that means it's critical to keep an eye on potential ovarian cancer warning signs.
A woman's chances of survival are strong if the ovarian cancer is caught early, but approximately 75% of women are diagnosed after it has already spread beyond the ovaries, and this is when survival rates drop to only around 20 or 30 percent.
For an overview of some of the basic signs and symptoms associated with this disease, keep reading.
Abdominal Bloating
Constant and persistent bloating is often a clear indicator of ovarian cancer, especially if it's a significant change in a patient's bloating habits. So, if you've noticed an increase in how much and how often you're bloating, talk to you doctor.
Abdominal or Pelvic Pain
Abdominal and pelvic pain or chronic constipation is more common in women with ovarian cancer than those without.
Poor Appetite and Weight Loss
Like many cancer patients, one of the clearest ovarian cancer warning signs is a significantly decreased appetite, trouble eating and, subsequently, significant weight loss. Patients who often feel full after eating just a little bit of food or who have recently developed trouble eating should consult a doctor.
Urinary Dysfunction
Urinary incontinence and a frequent or urgent need to urinate are both common symptoms of ovarian cancer. Patients often compare these symptoms and warning signs to a painless urinary tract infection (UTI). That is, the increased need to urinate but without the burning or pain during urination often associated with a UTI.
Back Pain and General Fatigue
Because general fatigue and a dull, back pain are common symptoms for many women - often experienced a few days every month - it's hard for patients and doctors to associate them with possible ovarian cancer.
One clear indicator is if the symptoms are persistent and almost daily rather than restricted to a specific period. However, other symptoms should be present before the patient is screened for cancer.
Family History
If you know that your family has a history of ovarian cancer, it's important to tell your doctor and be screened or evaluated on an ongoing basis. Essentially, if one immediate family member or two members of your extended family have been diagnosed with the disease, then it could be a clear warning sign and an indicator that you need to watch out for possible symptoms.
The good news is that even early stage ovarian cancer can produce many of these warning signs, and early detection often results in a stronger prognosis. So, watch your body, be aware of changes and don't be afraid to consult with your physician.
If a woman is diagnosed with ovarian cancer during the early stages of the disease, her survival rates are excellent (75%) - that means it's critical to keep an eye on potential ovarian cancer warning signs.
A woman's chances of survival are strong if the ovarian cancer is caught early, but approximately 75% of women are diagnosed after it has already spread beyond the ovaries, and this is when survival rates drop to only around 20 or 30 percent.
For an overview of some of the basic signs and symptoms associated with this disease, keep reading.
Abdominal Bloating
Constant and persistent bloating is often a clear indicator of ovarian cancer, especially if it's a significant change in a patient's bloating habits. So, if you've noticed an increase in how much and how often you're bloating, talk to you doctor.
Abdominal or Pelvic Pain
Abdominal and pelvic pain or chronic constipation is more common in women with ovarian cancer than those without.
Poor Appetite and Weight Loss
Like many cancer patients, one of the clearest ovarian cancer warning signs is a significantly decreased appetite, trouble eating and, subsequently, significant weight loss. Patients who often feel full after eating just a little bit of food or who have recently developed trouble eating should consult a doctor.
Urinary Dysfunction
Urinary incontinence and a frequent or urgent need to urinate are both common symptoms of ovarian cancer. Patients often compare these symptoms and warning signs to a painless urinary tract infection (UTI). That is, the increased need to urinate but without the burning or pain during urination often associated with a UTI.
Back Pain and General Fatigue
Because general fatigue and a dull, back pain are common symptoms for many women - often experienced a few days every month - it's hard for patients and doctors to associate them with possible ovarian cancer.
One clear indicator is if the symptoms are persistent and almost daily rather than restricted to a specific period. However, other symptoms should be present before the patient is screened for cancer.
Family History
If you know that your family has a history of ovarian cancer, it's important to tell your doctor and be screened or evaluated on an ongoing basis. Essentially, if one immediate family member or two members of your extended family have been diagnosed with the disease, then it could be a clear warning sign and an indicator that you need to watch out for possible symptoms.
The good news is that even early stage ovarian cancer can produce many of these warning signs, and early detection often results in a stronger prognosis. So, watch your body, be aware of changes and don't be afraid to consult with your physician.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
What Are Prepaid College Tuition Plans
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：47 UpdateTime：2008-10-18 23:43:00
Given the costs of financing college studies, it is sometimes hard for students to pay for tuition. However, there are options for parents and family members to aid them in the process. Prepaid college tuition plans can be a viable solution that lets parents purchase today or start saving at current prices for the costs of public in-state college fees and other costs related to college studies.
These plans are also known as prepaid education arrangements and provide the family members with the possibility of purchasing (today and at current prices) the future education of their children or teenagers. As usual, these plans have advantages and disadvantages that need to be considered before deciding whether it is advisable to get into one of these programs or resort to other sources of college funds.
Benefits Offered By Prepaid Tuition Plans
It is a low risk investment because as long as you know that your children will go to college, you can be sure that at that time you will not have to pay any more money and you will be able to dispose of all your income since the amounts set aside in the prepaid tuition plan will cover for all the costs of college tuition.
Besides, the amounts invested are guaranteed by the state governments that will ensure and assure that the money saved will produce enough revenue to at least match the increase of the costs of college tuition. Thats why this investment implies such a low risk: because it has a government guarantee. Moreover, prepaid tuition plans revenues usually do much better than certificate of deposits and other low risk investments.
Disadvantages Of Prepaid Tuition Plans
The limitations of prepaid tuition plans have to be considered definitely a disadvantage unless you know for sure that your children will not want to attend to other colleges. The participation in these programs is limited to residents of the state where the colleges sit in and only for state universities, no private universities are included and other states universities are also excluded. Therefore, the choices of the student will be limited to the public colleges that are located in that state.
The low risk that was considered a benefit can also be considered a disadvantage because the earnings produced by these prepaid tuition plans are not that significant when compared to other less conservative investments. Therefore, for those who have enough time and are less conservative investors, it is wise to search for other options first as prepaid tuition plan savings will not produce much revenue when compared with stocks, bonds, etc.
These tuition finance plans can also limit your ability to obtain financial aid from the government. When being considered for government grants and loans for college, the fact that you have participated in a prepaid tuition plan will show that you had saving capacity and will imply less advantageous terms on your subsidized loans and lower amounts (if approved) on government grants.
Another downside that is important to note is that you have to be convinced that you want to participate on these programs otherwise, cancellation and refund of these prepaid tuition plans imply high penalty fees and other costs that would turn such decision too onerous.
Given the costs of financing college studies, it is sometimes hard for students to pay for tuition. However, there are options for parents and family members to aid them in the process. Prepaid college tuition plans can be a viable solution that lets parents purchase today or start saving at current prices for the costs of public in-state college fees and other costs related to college studies.
These plans are also known as prepaid education arrangements and provide the family members with the possibility of purchasing (today and at current prices) the future education of their children or teenagers. As usual, these plans have advantages and disadvantages that need to be considered before deciding whether it is advisable to get into one of these programs or resort to other sources of college funds.
Benefits Offered By Prepaid Tuition Plans
It is a low risk investment because as long as you know that your children will go to college, you can be sure that at that time you will not have to pay any more money and you will be able to dispose of all your income since the amounts set aside in the prepaid tuition plan will cover for all the costs of college tuition.
Besides, the amounts invested are guaranteed by the state governments that will ensure and assure that the money saved will produce enough revenue to at least match the increase of the costs of college tuition. Thats why this investment implies such a low risk: because it has a government guarantee. Moreover, prepaid tuition plans revenues usually do much better than certificate of deposits and other low risk investments.
Disadvantages Of Prepaid Tuition Plans
The limitations of prepaid tuition plans have to be considered definitely a disadvantage unless you know for sure that your children will not want to attend to other colleges. The participation in these programs is limited to residents of the state where the colleges sit in and only for state universities, no private universities are included and other states universities are also excluded. Therefore, the choices of the student will be limited to the public colleges that are located in that state.
The low risk that was considered a benefit can also be considered a disadvantage because the earnings produced by these prepaid tuition plans are not that significant when compared to other less conservative investments. Therefore, for those who have enough time and are less conservative investors, it is wise to search for other options first as prepaid tuition plan savings will not produce much revenue when compared with stocks, bonds, etc.
These tuition finance plans can also limit your ability to obtain financial aid from the government. When being considered for government grants and loans for college, the fact that you have participated in a prepaid tuition plan will show that you had saving capacity and will imply less advantageous terms on your subsidized loans and lower amounts (if approved) on government grants.
Another downside that is important to note is that you have to be convinced that you want to participate on these programs otherwise, cancellation and refund of these prepaid tuition plans imply high penalty fees and other costs that would turn such decision too onerous.
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