In person, Rita Skeeter is much warmer and softer than her famously ferocious quill-portraits might suggest. Greeting me in the hallway of her cozy home, she leads me straight into the kitchen for a cup of tea, a slice of pound cake and, it goes without saying, a steaming vat of freshest gossip.
“Well, of course, Dumbledore is a biographer’s dream,” says Skeeter. “Such a long, full life. I’m sure my book will be the first of very, very many.”
Skeeter was certainly quick off the mark. Her nine-hundred-page book was completed in a mere four weeks after Dumbledore’s mysterious death in June. I ask her how she managed this superfast feat.
“Oh, when you’ve been a journalist as long as I have, working to a deadline is second nature. I knew that the Wizarding world was clamoring for the full story and I wanted to be the first to meet that need.”
I mention the recent, widely publicized remarks of Elphias Doge, Special Advisor to the Wizengamot and longstanding friend of Albus Dumbledore’s, that “Skeeter’s book contains less fact than a Chocolate Frog card.”
Skeeter throws back her head and laughs.
“Darling Dodgy! I remember interviewing him a few years back about merpeople rights, bless him. Completely gaga, seemed to think we were sitting at the bottom of Lake Windermere, kept telling me to watch out for trout.”
And yet Elphias Doge’s accusations of inaccuracy have been echoed in many places. Does Skeeter really feel that four short weeks have been enough to gain a full picture of Dumbledore’s long and extraordinary life?
“Oh, my dear,” beams Skeeter, rapping me affectionately across the knuckles, “you know as well as I do how much information can be generated by a fat bag of Galleons, a refusal to hear the word ‘no,’ and a nice sharp Quick-Quotes Quill! People were queuing to dish the dirt on Dumbledore anyway. Not everyone thought he was so wonderful, you know – he trod on an awful lot of important toes. But old Dodgy Doge can get off his high hippogriff, because I’ve had access to a source most journalists would swap their wands for, one who has never spoken in public before and who was close to Dumbledore during the most turbulent and disturbing phase of his youth.”
The advance publicity for Skeeter’s biography has certainly suggested that there will be shocks in store for those who believe Dumbledore to have led a blameless life.
What were the biggest surprises she uncovered, I ask?
“Now, come off it. Betty, I’m not giving away all the highlights before anybody’s bought the book!” laughs Skeeter. “But I can promise that anybody who still thinks Dumbledore was white as his beard is in for a rude awakening! Let’s just say that nobody hearing him rage against You-Know-Who would have dreamed that he dabbled in the Dark Arts himself in his youth! And for a wizard who spent his later years pleading for tolerance, he wasn’t exactly broad-minded when he was younger!
Yes, Albus Dumbledore had an extremely murky past, not to mention that very fishy family, which he worked so hard to keep hushed up.”
I ask whether Skeeter is referring to Dumbledore’s brother, Aberforth, whose conviction by the Wizengamot for misuse of magic caused a minor scandal fifteen years ago.
“Oh, Aberforth is just the tip of the dung heap,” laughs Skeeter. “No, no, I’m talking about much worse than a brother with a fondness for fiddling about with goats, worse even than the Muggle-maiming father – Dumbledore couldn’t keep either of them quiet anyway, they were both charged by the Wizengamot. No, it’s the mother and the sister that intrigued me, and a little digging uncovered a positive nest of nastiness – but, as I say, you’ll have to wait for chapters nine to twelve for full details. All I can say now is, it’s no wonder Dumbledore never talked about how his nose got broken.”
Family skeletons notwithstanding, does Skeeter deny the brilliance that led to Dumbledore’s many magical discoveries?
“He had brains,” she concedes, “although many now question whether he could really take full credit for all of his supposed achievements. As I reveal in chapter sixteen, Ivor Dillonsby claims he had already discovered eight uses of dragon’s blood when Dumbledore ‘borrowed’ his papers.”
But the importance of some of Dumbledore’s achievements cannot, I venture, be denied. What of his famous defeat of Grindelwald?
“Oh, now, I’m glad you mentioned Grindelwald,” says Skeeter with such a tantalizing smile. “I’m afraid those who go dewy-eyed over Dumbledore’s spectacular victory must brace themselves for a bombshell – or perhaps a Dungbomb. Very dirty business indeed. All I’ll say is, don’t be so sure that there really was a spectacular duel of legend. After they’ve read my book, people may be forced to conclude that Grindelwald simply conjured a white handkerchief from the end of his wand and came quietly!”
Skeeter refuses to give any more away on this intriguing subject, so we turn instead to the relationship that will undoubtedly fascinate her readers more than any other.
“Oh yes,” says Skeeter, nodding briskly, “I devote an entire chapter to the whole Potter-Dumbledore relationship. It’s been called unhealthy, even sinister. Again, your readers will have to buy my book for the whole story, but there is no question that Dumbledore took an unnatural interest in Potter from the word go. Whether that was really in the boy’s best interests – well, we’ll see. It’s certainly an open secret that Potter has had a most troubled adolescence.”
I ask whether Skeeter is still in touch with Harry Potter, whom she so famously interviewed last year: a breakthrough piece in which Potter spoke exclusively of his conviction that You-Know-Who had returned.
“Oh, yes, we’ve developed a closer bond,” says Skeeter. “Poor Potter has few real friends, and we met at one of the most testing moments of his life – the Triwizard Tournament. I am probably one of the only people alive who can say that they know the real Harry Potter.”
Which leads us neatly to the many rumors still circulating about Dumbledore’s final hours. Does Skeeter believe that Potter was there when Dumbledore died?
“Well, I don’t want to say too much – it’s all in the book – but eyewitnesses inside Hogwarts castle saw Potter running away from the scene moments after Dumbledore fell, jumped, or was pushed. Potter later gave evidence against Severus Snape, a man against whom he has a notorious grudge. Is everything as it seems? That is for the Wizarding community to decide – once they’ve read my book.”
On that intriguing note, I take my leave. There can be no doubt that Skeeter has quilled an instant bestseller. Dumbledore’s legion of admirers, meanwhile, may well be trembling at what is soon to emerge about their hero.
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.
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Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
“Ron, that's—that's it!”
“Ron, that's—that's it!” said Hermione, sounding stunned. “Of course! Why didn't I think of it?”
Harry stared at them both. “Felix Felicis?” he said. “I dunno... I was sort of saving it...”
“What for?” demanded Ron incredulously.
“What on earth is more important than this memory, Harry?” asked Hermione.
Harry did not answer. The thought of that little golden bottle had hovered on the edges of his imagination for some time; vague and unformulated plans that involved
Ginny splitting up with Dean, and Ron somehow being happy to see her with a new boyfriend, had been fermenting in the depths of his brain, unacknowledged except during
dreams or the twilight time between sleeping and waking...
“Harry? Are you still with us?” asked Hermione.
“Wha—?... Yeah, of course,” he said, pulling himself together. “Well... okay. If I can't get Slughorn to talk this afternoon, I'll take some Felix and have another
go this evening.”
“That's decided, then,” said Hermione briskly, getting to her feet and performing a graceful pirouette. “Destination... determination... deliberation...” she
murmured.
“Oh, stop that,” Ron begged her, “I feel sick enough as it is—quick, hide me!”
“It isn't Lavender!” said Hermione impatiently, as another couple of girls appeared in the courtyard and Ron dived behind her.
“Cool,” said Ron, peering over Hermione's shoulder to check. “Blimey, they don't look happy, do they?”
“They're the Montgomery sisters and of course they don't look happy, didn't you hear what happened to their little brother?” said Hermione.
“I'm losing track of what's happening to everyone's relatives, to be honest,” said Ron.
“Well, their brother was attacked by a werewolf. The rumor is that their mother refused to help the Death Eaters. Anyway, the boy was only five and he died in St.
Mungo's, they couldn't save him.”
“He died?” repeated Harry, shocked. “But surely werewolves don't kill, they just turn you into one of them?”
“They sometimes kill,” said Ron, who looked unusually grave now. “I've heard of it happening when the werewolf gets carried away.”
“What was the werewolf's name?” said Harry quickly.
“Well, the rumor is that it was that Fenrir Greyback,” said Hermione.
“I knew it—the maniac who likes attacking kids, the one Lupin told me about!” said Harry angrily.
Hermione looked at him bleakly.
“Harry, you've got to get that memory,” she said. “It's all about stopping Voldemort, isn't it? These dreadful things that are happening are all down to him...”
The bell rang overhead in the castle and both Hermione and Ron jumped to their feet, looking terrified.
“You'll do fine,” Harry told them both, as they headed toward the entrance hall to meet the rest of the people taking their Apparition Test. “Good luck.”
“And you too!” said Hermione with a significant look, as Harry headed off to the dungeons.
There were only three of them in Potions that afternoon: Harry, Ernie, and Draco Malfoy.
“All too young to Apparate just yet?” said Slughorh genially, “Not turned seventeen yet?”
Harry stared at them both. “Felix Felicis?” he said. “I dunno... I was sort of saving it...”
“What for?” demanded Ron incredulously.
“What on earth is more important than this memory, Harry?” asked Hermione.
Harry did not answer. The thought of that little golden bottle had hovered on the edges of his imagination for some time; vague and unformulated plans that involved
Ginny splitting up with Dean, and Ron somehow being happy to see her with a new boyfriend, had been fermenting in the depths of his brain, unacknowledged except during
dreams or the twilight time between sleeping and waking...
“Harry? Are you still with us?” asked Hermione.
“Wha—?... Yeah, of course,” he said, pulling himself together. “Well... okay. If I can't get Slughorn to talk this afternoon, I'll take some Felix and have another
go this evening.”
“That's decided, then,” said Hermione briskly, getting to her feet and performing a graceful pirouette. “Destination... determination... deliberation...” she
murmured.
“Oh, stop that,” Ron begged her, “I feel sick enough as it is—quick, hide me!”
“It isn't Lavender!” said Hermione impatiently, as another couple of girls appeared in the courtyard and Ron dived behind her.
“Cool,” said Ron, peering over Hermione's shoulder to check. “Blimey, they don't look happy, do they?”
“They're the Montgomery sisters and of course they don't look happy, didn't you hear what happened to their little brother?” said Hermione.
“I'm losing track of what's happening to everyone's relatives, to be honest,” said Ron.
“Well, their brother was attacked by a werewolf. The rumor is that their mother refused to help the Death Eaters. Anyway, the boy was only five and he died in St.
Mungo's, they couldn't save him.”
“He died?” repeated Harry, shocked. “But surely werewolves don't kill, they just turn you into one of them?”
“They sometimes kill,” said Ron, who looked unusually grave now. “I've heard of it happening when the werewolf gets carried away.”
“What was the werewolf's name?” said Harry quickly.
“Well, the rumor is that it was that Fenrir Greyback,” said Hermione.
“I knew it—the maniac who likes attacking kids, the one Lupin told me about!” said Harry angrily.
Hermione looked at him bleakly.
“Harry, you've got to get that memory,” she said. “It's all about stopping Voldemort, isn't it? These dreadful things that are happening are all down to him...”
The bell rang overhead in the castle and both Hermione and Ron jumped to their feet, looking terrified.
“You'll do fine,” Harry told them both, as they headed toward the entrance hall to meet the rest of the people taking their Apparition Test. “Good luck.”
“And you too!” said Hermione with a significant look, as Harry headed off to the dungeons.
There were only three of them in Potions that afternoon: Harry, Ernie, and Draco Malfoy.
“All too young to Apparate just yet?” said Slughorh genially, “Not turned seventeen yet?”
Chapter 22 After the burial
Chapter 22 After the burial
Patches of bright blue sky were beginning to appear over the castle turrets, but these signs of approaching summer did not lift Harry's mood. He had been thwarted, both
in his attempts to find out what Malfoy was doing, and in his efforts to start a conversation with Slughorn that might lead, somehow, to Slughorn handing over the
memory he had apparently suppressed for decades.
“For the last time, just forget about Malfoy,” Hermione told Harry firmly.
They were sitting with Ron in a sunny corner of the courtyard after lunch. Hermione and Ron were both clutching a Ministry of Magic leaflet: Common Apparition Mistakes
and How to Avoid Them, for they were taking their tests that very afternoon, but by and large the leaflets had not proved soothing to the nerves. Ron gave a start and
tried to hide behind Hermione as a girl came around the corner.
“It isn't Lavender,” said Hermione wearily.
“Oh, good,” said Ron, relaxing.
“Harry Potter?” said the girl. “I was asked to give you this.”
“Thanks...”
Harry's heart sank as he took the small scroll of parchment. Once the girl was out of earshot he said, “Dumbledore said we wouldn't be having any more lessons until I
got the memory!”
“Maybe he wants to check on how you're doing?” suggested Hermione, as Harry unrolled the parchment; but rather than finding Dumbledore's long, narrow, slanted writing
he saw an untidy sprawl, very difficult to read due to the presence of large blotches on the parchment where the ink had run.
Dear Harry, Ron and Hermione,
Aragog died last night. Harry and Ron, you met him and you know how special he was. Hermione, I know you'd have liked him. It would mean a lot to me if you'd nip down
for the burial later this evening. I'm planning on doing it round dusk, that was his favorite time of day. I know you're not supposed to be out that late, but you can
use the cloak. Wouldn't ask, but I can't face it alone.
Hagrid
“Look at this,” said Harry, handing the note to Hermione.
“Oh, for heaven's sake,” she said, scanning it quickly and passing it to Ron, who read it through looking increasingly incredulous.
“He's mental” he said furiously. “That thing told its mates to eat Harry and me! Told them to help themselves! And now Hagrid expects us to go down there and cry
over its horrible hairy body!”
“It's not just that,” said Hermione. “He's asking us to leave the castle at night and he knows security's a million times tighter and how much trouble we'd be in if
we were caught.”
“We've been down to see him by night before,” said Harry.
“Yes, but for something like this?” said Hermione. “We've risked a lot to help Hagrid out, but after all—Aragog's dead. If it were a question of saving him —”
“— I'd want to go even less,” said Ron firmly. “You didn't meet him, Hermione. Believe me, being dead will have improved him a lot.”
Harry took the note back and stared down at all the inky blotches all over it. Tears had clearly fallen thick and fast upon the parchment...
“Harry, you can't be thinking of going,” said Hermione. “It's such a pointless thing to get detention for.”
Harry sighed.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I s'pose Hagrid'll have to bury Aragog without us.”
“Yes, he will,” said Hermione, looking relieved. “Look, Potions will be almost empty this afternoon, with us all off doing our tests... try and soften Slughorn up a
bit then!”
“Fifty-seventh time lucky, you think?” said Harry bitterly.
“Lucky,” said Ron suddenly. “Harry, that's it—get lucky!”
“What d'you mean?”
“Use your lucky potion!”
Patches of bright blue sky were beginning to appear over the castle turrets, but these signs of approaching summer did not lift Harry's mood. He had been thwarted, both
in his attempts to find out what Malfoy was doing, and in his efforts to start a conversation with Slughorn that might lead, somehow, to Slughorn handing over the
memory he had apparently suppressed for decades.
“For the last time, just forget about Malfoy,” Hermione told Harry firmly.
They were sitting with Ron in a sunny corner of the courtyard after lunch. Hermione and Ron were both clutching a Ministry of Magic leaflet: Common Apparition Mistakes
and How to Avoid Them, for they were taking their tests that very afternoon, but by and large the leaflets had not proved soothing to the nerves. Ron gave a start and
tried to hide behind Hermione as a girl came around the corner.
“It isn't Lavender,” said Hermione wearily.
“Oh, good,” said Ron, relaxing.
“Harry Potter?” said the girl. “I was asked to give you this.”
“Thanks...”
Harry's heart sank as he took the small scroll of parchment. Once the girl was out of earshot he said, “Dumbledore said we wouldn't be having any more lessons until I
got the memory!”
“Maybe he wants to check on how you're doing?” suggested Hermione, as Harry unrolled the parchment; but rather than finding Dumbledore's long, narrow, slanted writing
he saw an untidy sprawl, very difficult to read due to the presence of large blotches on the parchment where the ink had run.
Dear Harry, Ron and Hermione,
Aragog died last night. Harry and Ron, you met him and you know how special he was. Hermione, I know you'd have liked him. It would mean a lot to me if you'd nip down
for the burial later this evening. I'm planning on doing it round dusk, that was his favorite time of day. I know you're not supposed to be out that late, but you can
use the cloak. Wouldn't ask, but I can't face it alone.
Hagrid
“Look at this,” said Harry, handing the note to Hermione.
“Oh, for heaven's sake,” she said, scanning it quickly and passing it to Ron, who read it through looking increasingly incredulous.
“He's mental” he said furiously. “That thing told its mates to eat Harry and me! Told them to help themselves! And now Hagrid expects us to go down there and cry
over its horrible hairy body!”
“It's not just that,” said Hermione. “He's asking us to leave the castle at night and he knows security's a million times tighter and how much trouble we'd be in if
we were caught.”
“We've been down to see him by night before,” said Harry.
“Yes, but for something like this?” said Hermione. “We've risked a lot to help Hagrid out, but after all—Aragog's dead. If it were a question of saving him —”
“— I'd want to go even less,” said Ron firmly. “You didn't meet him, Hermione. Believe me, being dead will have improved him a lot.”
Harry took the note back and stared down at all the inky blotches all over it. Tears had clearly fallen thick and fast upon the parchment...
“Harry, you can't be thinking of going,” said Hermione. “It's such a pointless thing to get detention for.”
Harry sighed.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I s'pose Hagrid'll have to bury Aragog without us.”
“Yes, he will,” said Hermione, looking relieved. “Look, Potions will be almost empty this afternoon, with us all off doing our tests... try and soften Slughorn up a
bit then!”
“Fifty-seventh time lucky, you think?” said Harry bitterly.
“Lucky,” said Ron suddenly. “Harry, that's it—get lucky!”
“What d'you mean?”
“Use your lucky potion!”
“And what about you?”
“And what about you?” asked Hermione, ignoring Ron. “Have you been up at the Room of Requirement all this time?”
“Yep,” said Harry. “And guess who I ran into up there? Tonks!”
“Tonks?” repeated Ron and Hermione together, looking surprised.
“Yeah, she said she'd come to visit Dumbledore.”
“If you ask me,” said Ron once Harry had finished describing his conversation with Tonks, “she's cracking up a bit. Losing her nerve after what happened at the
Ministry.”
“It's a bit odd,” said Hermione, who for some reason looked very concerned. “She's supposed to be guarding the school, why she suddenly abandoning her post to come
and see Dumbledore when he's not even here?”
“I had a thought,” said Harry tentatively. He felt strange about voicing it; this was much more Hermione's territory than his. “You don't think she can have been...
you know... in love with Sirius?”
Hermione stared at him.
“What on earth makes you say that?”
“I dunno,” said Harry, shrugging, “but she was nearly crying when I mentioned his name ... and her Patronus is a big four-legged thing now... I wondered whether it
hadn't become... you know... him.”
“It's a thought,” said Hermione slowly. “But I still don't know why she'd be bursting into the castle to see Dumbledore, if that's really why she was here.”
“Goes back to what I said, doesn't it?” said Ron, who was now shoveling mashed potato into his mouth. “She's gone a bit funny. Lost her nerve. Women,” he said
wisely to Harry, “they're easily upset.”
“And yet,” said Hermione, coming out of her reverie, “I doubt you'd find a woman who sulked for half an hour because Madam Rosmerta didn't laugh at their joke about
the hag, the Healer, and the Mimbulus mimbletonia.”
Ron scowled.
“Yep,” said Harry. “And guess who I ran into up there? Tonks!”
“Tonks?” repeated Ron and Hermione together, looking surprised.
“Yeah, she said she'd come to visit Dumbledore.”
“If you ask me,” said Ron once Harry had finished describing his conversation with Tonks, “she's cracking up a bit. Losing her nerve after what happened at the
Ministry.”
“It's a bit odd,” said Hermione, who for some reason looked very concerned. “She's supposed to be guarding the school, why she suddenly abandoning her post to come
and see Dumbledore when he's not even here?”
“I had a thought,” said Harry tentatively. He felt strange about voicing it; this was much more Hermione's territory than his. “You don't think she can have been...
you know... in love with Sirius?”
Hermione stared at him.
“What on earth makes you say that?”
“I dunno,” said Harry, shrugging, “but she was nearly crying when I mentioned his name ... and her Patronus is a big four-legged thing now... I wondered whether it
hadn't become... you know... him.”
“It's a thought,” said Hermione slowly. “But I still don't know why she'd be bursting into the castle to see Dumbledore, if that's really why she was here.”
“Goes back to what I said, doesn't it?” said Ron, who was now shoveling mashed potato into his mouth. “She's gone a bit funny. Lost her nerve. Women,” he said
wisely to Harry, “they're easily upset.”
“And yet,” said Hermione, coming out of her reverie, “I doubt you'd find a woman who sulked for half an hour because Madam Rosmerta didn't laugh at their joke about
the hag, the Healer, and the Mimbulus mimbletonia.”
Ron scowled.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
“Wha ?” said Hagrid, bending lower to hear
“Wha ?” said Hagrid, bending lower to hear what Harry was saying over the raging wind.
“Someone's been cursed!” bellowed Harry.
“Cursed? Who's bin cursed—not Ron? Hermione?”
“No, it's not them, it's Katie Bell—this way...”
Together they ran back along the lane. It took them no time to find the little group of people around Katie, who was still writhing and screaming on the ground; Ron,
Hermione, and Leanne were all trying to quiet her.
“Get back!” shouted Hagrid. “Lemme see her!”
“Something's happened to her!” sobbed Leanne. “I don't know what —”
Hagrid stared at Katie for a second, then without a word, bent down, scooped her into his arms, and ran off toward the castle with her. Within seconds, Katie's piercing
screams had died away and the only sound was the roar of the wind.
Hermione hurried over to Katie's wailing friend and put an arm around her.
“It's Leanne, isn't it?”
The girl nodded.
“Did it just happen all of a sudden, or—?”
“It was when that package tore,” sobbed Leanne, pointing at the now sodden brown-paper package on the ground, which had split open to reveal a greenish glitter. Ron
bent down, his hand outstretched, but Harry seized his arm and pulled him back.
“Don't touch it!”
He crouched down. An ornate opal necklace was visible, poking out of the paper.
“I've seen that before,” said Harry, staring at the thing. “It was on display in Borgin and Burkes ages ago. The label said it was cursed. Katie must have touched
it.” He looked up at Leanne, who had started to shake uncontrollably. “How did Katie get hold of this?”
“Well, that's why we were arguing. She came back from the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks holding it, said it was a surprise for somebody at Hogwarts and she had to
deliver it. She looked all funny when she said it... Oh no, oh no, I bet she'd been Imperiused and I didn't realize!”
Leanne shook with renewed sobs. Hermione patted her shoulder gently.
“She didn't say who'd given it to her, Leanne?”
“No... she wouldn't tell me... and I said she was being stupid and not to take it up to school, but she just wouldn't listen and... and then I tried to grab it from
her... and — and —”
Leanne let out a wail of despair.
“We'd better get up to school,” said Hermione, her arm still around Leanne. “We'll be able to find out how she is. Come on...”
Harry hesitated for a moment, then pulled his scarf from around his face and, ignoring Ron's gasp, carefully covered the necklace in it and picked it up.
“We'll need to show this to Madam Pomfrey,” he said.
As they followed Hermione and Leanne up the road, Harry was thinking furiously. They had just entered the grounds when he spoke, unable to keep his thoughts to himself
any longer.
“Malfoy knows about this necklace. It was in a case at Borgin and Burkes four years ago, I saw him having a good look at it while I was hiding from him and his dad.
This is what he was buying that day when we followed him! He remembered it and he went back for it!”
“I—I dunno, Harry,” said Ron hesitantly. “Loads of people go to Borgin and Burke... and didn't that girl say Katie got it in the girls’ bathroom?”
“She said she came back from the bathroom with it, she didn't necessarily get it in the bathroom itself—”
“McGonagall!” said Ron warningly.
Harry looked up. Sure enough, Professor McGonagall was hurrying down the stone steps through swirling sleet to meet them.
“Someone's been cursed!” bellowed Harry.
“Cursed? Who's bin cursed—not Ron? Hermione?”
“No, it's not them, it's Katie Bell—this way...”
Together they ran back along the lane. It took them no time to find the little group of people around Katie, who was still writhing and screaming on the ground; Ron,
Hermione, and Leanne were all trying to quiet her.
“Get back!” shouted Hagrid. “Lemme see her!”
“Something's happened to her!” sobbed Leanne. “I don't know what —”
Hagrid stared at Katie for a second, then without a word, bent down, scooped her into his arms, and ran off toward the castle with her. Within seconds, Katie's piercing
screams had died away and the only sound was the roar of the wind.
Hermione hurried over to Katie's wailing friend and put an arm around her.
“It's Leanne, isn't it?”
The girl nodded.
“Did it just happen all of a sudden, or—?”
“It was when that package tore,” sobbed Leanne, pointing at the now sodden brown-paper package on the ground, which had split open to reveal a greenish glitter. Ron
bent down, his hand outstretched, but Harry seized his arm and pulled him back.
“Don't touch it!”
He crouched down. An ornate opal necklace was visible, poking out of the paper.
“I've seen that before,” said Harry, staring at the thing. “It was on display in Borgin and Burkes ages ago. The label said it was cursed. Katie must have touched
it.” He looked up at Leanne, who had started to shake uncontrollably. “How did Katie get hold of this?”
“Well, that's why we were arguing. She came back from the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks holding it, said it was a surprise for somebody at Hogwarts and she had to
deliver it. She looked all funny when she said it... Oh no, oh no, I bet she'd been Imperiused and I didn't realize!”
Leanne shook with renewed sobs. Hermione patted her shoulder gently.
“She didn't say who'd given it to her, Leanne?”
“No... she wouldn't tell me... and I said she was being stupid and not to take it up to school, but she just wouldn't listen and... and then I tried to grab it from
her... and — and —”
Leanne let out a wail of despair.
“We'd better get up to school,” said Hermione, her arm still around Leanne. “We'll be able to find out how she is. Come on...”
Harry hesitated for a moment, then pulled his scarf from around his face and, ignoring Ron's gasp, carefully covered the necklace in it and picked it up.
“We'll need to show this to Madam Pomfrey,” he said.
As they followed Hermione and Leanne up the road, Harry was thinking furiously. They had just entered the grounds when he spoke, unable to keep his thoughts to himself
any longer.
“Malfoy knows about this necklace. It was in a case at Borgin and Burkes four years ago, I saw him having a good look at it while I was hiding from him and his dad.
This is what he was buying that day when we followed him! He remembered it and he went back for it!”
“I—I dunno, Harry,” said Ron hesitantly. “Loads of people go to Borgin and Burke... and didn't that girl say Katie got it in the girls’ bathroom?”
“She said she came back from the bathroom with it, she didn't necessarily get it in the bathroom itself—”
“McGonagall!” said Ron warningly.
Harry looked up. Sure enough, Professor McGonagall was hurrying down the stone steps through swirling sleet to meet them.
Ron ignored this jibe, sipping his drink
Ron ignored this jibe, sipping his drink in what he evidently considered to be a dignified silence. Harry was thinking about Sirius, and how he had hated those silver
goblets anyway. Hermione drummed her fingers on the table, her eyes flickering between Ron and the bar. The moment Harry drained the last drops in his bottle she said,
“Shall we call it a day and go back to school, then?”
The other two nodded; it had not been a fun trip and the weather was getting worse the longer they stayed. Once again they drew their cloaks tightly around them,
rearranged their scarves, pulled on their gloves, then followed Katie Bell and a friend out of the pub and back up the High Street. Harry's thoughts strayed to Ginny as
they trudged up the road to Hogwarts through the frozen slush. They had not met up with her, undoubtedly, thought Harry, because she and Dean were cozily closeted in
Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, that haunt of happy couples. Scowling, he bowed his head against the swirling sleet and trudged on.
It was a little while before Harry became aware that the voices of Katie Bell and her friend, which were being carried back to him on the wind, had become shriller and
louder. Harry squinted at their indistinct figures. The two girls were having an argument about something Katie was holding in her hand.
“It's nothing to do with you, Leanne!” Harry heard Katie say.
They rounded a corner in the lane, sleet coming thick and fast, blurring Harry's glasses. Just as he raised a gloved hand to wipe them, Leanne made to grab hold of the
package Katie was holding; Katie tugged it back and the package fell to the ground.
At once, Katie rose into the air, not as Ron had done, suspended comically by the ankle, but gracefully, her arms outstretched, as though she was about to fly. Yet
there was something wrong, something eerie... Her hair was whipped around her by the fierce wind, but her eyes were closed and her face was quite empty of expression.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Leanne had all halted in their tracks, watching.
Then, six feet above the ground, Katie let out a terrible scream. Her eyes flew open but whatever she could see, or whatever she was feeling, was clearly causing her
terrible anguish. She screamed and screamed; Leanne started to scream too and seized Katie's ankles, trying to tug her back to the ground. Harry, Ron, and Hermione
rushed forward to help, but even as they grabbed Katie's legs, she fell on top of them; Harry and Ron managed to catch her but she was writhing so much they could
hardly hold her. Instead they lowered her to the ground where she thrashed and screamed, apparently unable to recognize any of them.
Harry looked around; the landscape seemed deserted.
“Stay there!” he shouted at the others over the howling wind. “I'm going for help!”
He began to sprint toward the school; he had never seen anyone behave as Katie had just behaved and could not think what had caused it; he hurtled around a bend in the
lane and collided with what seemed to be an enormous bear on its hind legs.
“Hagrid!” he panted, disentangling himself from the hedgerow into which he had fallen.
“Harry!” said Hagrid, who had sleet trapped in his eyebrows and beard, and was wearing his great, shaggy beaverskin coat. “Jus’ bin visitin’ Grawp, he's comin’ on
so well yeh wouldn’ —”
“Hagrid, someone's hurt back there, or cursed, or something —”
goblets anyway. Hermione drummed her fingers on the table, her eyes flickering between Ron and the bar. The moment Harry drained the last drops in his bottle she said,
“Shall we call it a day and go back to school, then?”
The other two nodded; it had not been a fun trip and the weather was getting worse the longer they stayed. Once again they drew their cloaks tightly around them,
rearranged their scarves, pulled on their gloves, then followed Katie Bell and a friend out of the pub and back up the High Street. Harry's thoughts strayed to Ginny as
they trudged up the road to Hogwarts through the frozen slush. They had not met up with her, undoubtedly, thought Harry, because she and Dean were cozily closeted in
Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, that haunt of happy couples. Scowling, he bowed his head against the swirling sleet and trudged on.
It was a little while before Harry became aware that the voices of Katie Bell and her friend, which were being carried back to him on the wind, had become shriller and
louder. Harry squinted at their indistinct figures. The two girls were having an argument about something Katie was holding in her hand.
“It's nothing to do with you, Leanne!” Harry heard Katie say.
They rounded a corner in the lane, sleet coming thick and fast, blurring Harry's glasses. Just as he raised a gloved hand to wipe them, Leanne made to grab hold of the
package Katie was holding; Katie tugged it back and the package fell to the ground.
At once, Katie rose into the air, not as Ron had done, suspended comically by the ankle, but gracefully, her arms outstretched, as though she was about to fly. Yet
there was something wrong, something eerie... Her hair was whipped around her by the fierce wind, but her eyes were closed and her face was quite empty of expression.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Leanne had all halted in their tracks, watching.
Then, six feet above the ground, Katie let out a terrible scream. Her eyes flew open but whatever she could see, or whatever she was feeling, was clearly causing her
terrible anguish. She screamed and screamed; Leanne started to scream too and seized Katie's ankles, trying to tug her back to the ground. Harry, Ron, and Hermione
rushed forward to help, but even as they grabbed Katie's legs, she fell on top of them; Harry and Ron managed to catch her but she was writhing so much they could
hardly hold her. Instead they lowered her to the ground where she thrashed and screamed, apparently unable to recognize any of them.
Harry looked around; the landscape seemed deserted.
“Stay there!” he shouted at the others over the howling wind. “I'm going for help!”
He began to sprint toward the school; he had never seen anyone behave as Katie had just behaved and could not think what had caused it; he hurtled around a bend in the
lane and collided with what seemed to be an enormous bear on its hind legs.
“Hagrid!” he panted, disentangling himself from the hedgerow into which he had fallen.
“Harry!” said Hagrid, who had sleet trapped in his eyebrows and beard, and was wearing his great, shaggy beaverskin coat. “Jus’ bin visitin’ Grawp, he's comin’ on
so well yeh wouldn’ —”
“Hagrid, someone's hurt back there, or cursed, or something —”
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Chapter 70
Chapter 70
Sergey Ivanovitch Koznishev wanted a rest from mental work, and instead of going abroad as he usually did, he came towards the end of May to stay in the country with his brother. In his judgment the best sort of life was a country life. He had come now to enjoy such a life at his brother's. Konstantin Levin was very glad to have him, especially as he did not expect his brother Nikolay that summer. But in spite of his affection and respect for Sergey Ivanovitch, Konstantin Levin was uncomfortable with his brother in the country. It made him uncomfortable, and it positively annoyed him to see his brother's attitude to the country. To Konstantin Levin the country was the background of life, that is of pleasures, endeavors, labor. To Sergey Ivanovitch the country meant on one hand rest from work, on the other a valuable antidote to the corrupt influences of town, which he took with satisfaction and a sense of its utility. To Konstantin Levin the country was good first because it afforded a field for labor, of the usefulness of which there could be no doubt. To Sergey Ivanovitch the country was particularly good, because there it was possible and fitting to do nothing. Moreover, Sergey Ivanovitch's attitude to the peasants rather piqued Konstantin. Sergey Ivanovitch used to say that he knew and liked the peasantry, and he often talked to the peasants, which he knew how to do without affectation or condescension, and from every such conversation he would deduce general conclusions in favor of the peasantry and in confirmation of his knowing them. Konstantin Levin did not like such an attitude to the peasants. To Konstantin the peasant was simply the chief partner in their common labor, and in spite of all the respect and the love, almost like that of kinship, he had for the peasant-- sucked in probably, as he said himself, with the milk of his peasant nurse--still as a fellow-worker with him, while sometimes enthusiastic over the vigor, gentleness, and justice of these men, he was very often, when their common labors called for other qualities, exasperated with the peasant for his carelessness, lack of method, drunkenness, and lying. If he had been asked whether he liked or didn't like the peasants, Konstantin Levin would have been absolutely at a loss what to reply. He liked and did not like the peasants, just as he liked and did not like men in general. Of course, being a good-hearted man, he liked men rather than he disliked them, and so too with the peasants. But like or dislike "the people" as something apart he could not, not only because he lived with "the people," and all his interests were bound up with theirs, but also because he regarded himself as a part of "the people," did not see any special qualities or failings distinguishing himself and "the people," and could not contrast himself with them. Moreover, although he had lived so long in the closest relations with the peasants, as farmer and arbitrator, and what was more, as adviser (the peasants trusted him, and for thirty miles round they would come to ask his advice), he had no definite views of "the people," and would have been as much at a loss to answer the question whether he knew "the people" as the question whether he liked them. For him to say he knew the peasantry would have been the same as to say he knew men. He was continually watching and getting to know people of all sorts, and among them peasants, whom he regarded as good and interesting people, and he was continually observing new points in them, altering his former views of them and forming new ones. With Sergey Ivanovitch it was quite the contrary. Just as he liked and praised a country life in comparison with the life he did not like, so too he liked the peasantry in contradistinction to the class of men he did not like, and so too he knew the peasantry as something distinct from and opposed to men generally. In his methodical brain there were distinctly formulated certain aspects of peasant life, deduced partly from that life itself, but chiefly from contrast with other modes of life. He never changed his opinion of the peasantry and his sympathetic attitude towards them.
In the discussions that arose between the brothers on their views of the peasantry, Sergey Ivanovitch always got the better of his brother, precisely because Sergey Ivanovitch had definite ideas about the peasant--his character, his qualities, and his tastes. Konstantin Levin had no definite and unalterable idea on the subject, and so in their arguments Konstantin was readily convicted of contradicting himself.
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Sergey Ivanovitch Koznishev wanted a rest from mental work, and instead of going abroad as he usually did, he came towards the end of May to stay in the country with his brother. In his judgment the best sort of life was a country life. He had come now to enjoy such a life at his brother's. Konstantin Levin was very glad to have him, especially as he did not expect his brother Nikolay that summer. But in spite of his affection and respect for Sergey Ivanovitch, Konstantin Levin was uncomfortable with his brother in the country. It made him uncomfortable, and it positively annoyed him to see his brother's attitude to the country. To Konstantin Levin the country was the background of life, that is of pleasures, endeavors, labor. To Sergey Ivanovitch the country meant on one hand rest from work, on the other a valuable antidote to the corrupt influences of town, which he took with satisfaction and a sense of its utility. To Konstantin Levin the country was good first because it afforded a field for labor, of the usefulness of which there could be no doubt. To Sergey Ivanovitch the country was particularly good, because there it was possible and fitting to do nothing. Moreover, Sergey Ivanovitch's attitude to the peasants rather piqued Konstantin. Sergey Ivanovitch used to say that he knew and liked the peasantry, and he often talked to the peasants, which he knew how to do without affectation or condescension, and from every such conversation he would deduce general conclusions in favor of the peasantry and in confirmation of his knowing them. Konstantin Levin did not like such an attitude to the peasants. To Konstantin the peasant was simply the chief partner in their common labor, and in spite of all the respect and the love, almost like that of kinship, he had for the peasant-- sucked in probably, as he said himself, with the milk of his peasant nurse--still as a fellow-worker with him, while sometimes enthusiastic over the vigor, gentleness, and justice of these men, he was very often, when their common labors called for other qualities, exasperated with the peasant for his carelessness, lack of method, drunkenness, and lying. If he had been asked whether he liked or didn't like the peasants, Konstantin Levin would have been absolutely at a loss what to reply. He liked and did not like the peasants, just as he liked and did not like men in general. Of course, being a good-hearted man, he liked men rather than he disliked them, and so too with the peasants. But like or dislike "the people" as something apart he could not, not only because he lived with "the people," and all his interests were bound up with theirs, but also because he regarded himself as a part of "the people," did not see any special qualities or failings distinguishing himself and "the people," and could not contrast himself with them. Moreover, although he had lived so long in the closest relations with the peasants, as farmer and arbitrator, and what was more, as adviser (the peasants trusted him, and for thirty miles round they would come to ask his advice), he had no definite views of "the people," and would have been as much at a loss to answer the question whether he knew "the people" as the question whether he liked them. For him to say he knew the peasantry would have been the same as to say he knew men. He was continually watching and getting to know people of all sorts, and among them peasants, whom he regarded as good and interesting people, and he was continually observing new points in them, altering his former views of them and forming new ones. With Sergey Ivanovitch it was quite the contrary. Just as he liked and praised a country life in comparison with the life he did not like, so too he liked the peasantry in contradistinction to the class of men he did not like, and so too he knew the peasantry as something distinct from and opposed to men generally. In his methodical brain there were distinctly formulated certain aspects of peasant life, deduced partly from that life itself, but chiefly from contrast with other modes of life. He never changed his opinion of the peasantry and his sympathetic attitude towards them.
In the discussions that arose between the brothers on their views of the peasantry, Sergey Ivanovitch always got the better of his brother, precisely because Sergey Ivanovitch had definite ideas about the peasant--his character, his qualities, and his tastes. Konstantin Levin had no definite and unalterable idea on the subject, and so in their arguments Konstantin was readily convicted of contradicting himself.
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Monday, November 22, 2010
The family doctor respectfully ceased in the middle of his observations.
The family doctor respectfully ceased in the middle of his observations.
"The commencement of the tuberculous process we are not, as you are aware, able to define; till there are cavities, there is nothing definite. But we may suspect it. And there are indications; malnutrition, nervous excitability, and so on. The question stands thus: in presence of indications of tuberculous process, what is to be done to maintain nutrition?"
"But, you know, there are always moral, spiritual causes at the back in these cases," the family doctor permitted himself to interpolate with a subtle smile.
"Yes, that's an understood thing," responded the celebrated physician, again glancing at his watch. "Beg pardon, is the Yausky bridge done yet, or shall I have to drive around?" he asked. "Ah! it is. Oh, well, then I can do it in twenty minutes. So we were saying the problem may be put thus: to maintain nutrition and to give tone to the nerves. The one is in close connection with the other, one must attack both sides at once."
"And how about a tour abroad?" asked the family doctor.
"I've no liking for foreign tours. And take note: if there is an early stage of tuberculous process, of which we cannot be certain, a foreign tour will be of no use. What is wanted is means of improving nutrition, and not for lowering it." And the celebrated doctor expounded his plan of treatment with Soden waters, a remedy obviously prescribed primarily on the ground that they could do no harm.
The family doctor listened attentively and respectfully.
"But in favor of foreign travel I would urge the change of habits, the removal from conditions calling up reminiscences. And then the mother wishes it," he added.
"Ah! Well, in that case, to be sure, let them go. Only, those German quacks are mischievous.... They ought to be persuaded.... Well, let them go then."
He glanced once more at his watch.
"Oh! time's up already," And he went to the door. The celebrated doctor announced to the princess (a feeling of what was due from him dictated his doing so) that he ought to see the patient once more.
"What! another examination!" cried the mother, with horror.
"Oh, no, only a few details, princess."
"Come this way."
And the mother, accompanied by the doctor, went into the drawing room to Kitty. Wasted and flushed, with a peculiar glitter in her eyes, left there by the agony of shame she had been put through, Kitty stood in the middle of the room. When the doctor came in she flushed crimson, and her eyes filled with tears. All her illness and treatment struck her as a thing so stupid, ludicrous even! Doctoring her seemed to her as absurd as putting together the pieces of a broken vase. Her heart was broken. Why would they try to cure her with pills and powders? But she could not grieve her mother, especially as her mother considered herself to blame.
"May I trouble you to sit down, princess?" the celebrated doctor said to her.
He sat down with a smile, facing her, felt her pulse, and again began asker her tiresome questions. She answered him, and all at once got up, furious.
"Excuse me, doctor, but there is really no object in this. This is the third time you've asked me the same thing."
The celebrated doctor did not take offense.
"Nervous irritability," he said to the princess, when Kitty had left the room. "However, I had finished..."
And the doctor began scientifically explaining to the princess, as an exceptionally intelligent woman, the condition of the young princess, and concluded by insisting on the drinking of the waters, which were certainly harmless. At the question: Should they go abroad? the doctor plunged into deep meditation, as though resolving a weighty problem. Finally his decision was pronounced: they were to go abroad, but to put no faith in foreign quacks, and to apply to him in any need.
It seemed as though some piece of good fortune had come to pass after the doctor had gone. The mother was much more cheerful when she went back to her daughter, and Kitty pretended to be more cheerful. She had often, almost always, to be pretending now.
"Really, I'm quite well, mamma. But if you want to go abroad, let's go!" she said, And trying to appear interested in the proposed tour, she began talking of the preparations for the journey.
"The commencement of the tuberculous process we are not, as you are aware, able to define; till there are cavities, there is nothing definite. But we may suspect it. And there are indications; malnutrition, nervous excitability, and so on. The question stands thus: in presence of indications of tuberculous process, what is to be done to maintain nutrition?"
"But, you know, there are always moral, spiritual causes at the back in these cases," the family doctor permitted himself to interpolate with a subtle smile.
"Yes, that's an understood thing," responded the celebrated physician, again glancing at his watch. "Beg pardon, is the Yausky bridge done yet, or shall I have to drive around?" he asked. "Ah! it is. Oh, well, then I can do it in twenty minutes. So we were saying the problem may be put thus: to maintain nutrition and to give tone to the nerves. The one is in close connection with the other, one must attack both sides at once."
"And how about a tour abroad?" asked the family doctor.
"I've no liking for foreign tours. And take note: if there is an early stage of tuberculous process, of which we cannot be certain, a foreign tour will be of no use. What is wanted is means of improving nutrition, and not for lowering it." And the celebrated doctor expounded his plan of treatment with Soden waters, a remedy obviously prescribed primarily on the ground that they could do no harm.
The family doctor listened attentively and respectfully.
"But in favor of foreign travel I would urge the change of habits, the removal from conditions calling up reminiscences. And then the mother wishes it," he added.
"Ah! Well, in that case, to be sure, let them go. Only, those German quacks are mischievous.... They ought to be persuaded.... Well, let them go then."
He glanced once more at his watch.
"Oh! time's up already," And he went to the door. The celebrated doctor announced to the princess (a feeling of what was due from him dictated his doing so) that he ought to see the patient once more.
"What! another examination!" cried the mother, with horror.
"Oh, no, only a few details, princess."
"Come this way."
And the mother, accompanied by the doctor, went into the drawing room to Kitty. Wasted and flushed, with a peculiar glitter in her eyes, left there by the agony of shame she had been put through, Kitty stood in the middle of the room. When the doctor came in she flushed crimson, and her eyes filled with tears. All her illness and treatment struck her as a thing so stupid, ludicrous even! Doctoring her seemed to her as absurd as putting together the pieces of a broken vase. Her heart was broken. Why would they try to cure her with pills and powders? But she could not grieve her mother, especially as her mother considered herself to blame.
"May I trouble you to sit down, princess?" the celebrated doctor said to her.
He sat down with a smile, facing her, felt her pulse, and again began asker her tiresome questions. She answered him, and all at once got up, furious.
"Excuse me, doctor, but there is really no object in this. This is the third time you've asked me the same thing."
The celebrated doctor did not take offense.
"Nervous irritability," he said to the princess, when Kitty had left the room. "However, I had finished..."
And the doctor began scientifically explaining to the princess, as an exceptionally intelligent woman, the condition of the young princess, and concluded by insisting on the drinking of the waters, which were certainly harmless. At the question: Should they go abroad? the doctor plunged into deep meditation, as though resolving a weighty problem. Finally his decision was pronounced: they were to go abroad, but to put no faith in foreign quacks, and to apply to him in any need.
It seemed as though some piece of good fortune had come to pass after the doctor had gone. The mother was much more cheerful when she went back to her daughter, and Kitty pretended to be more cheerful. She had often, almost always, to be pretending now.
"Really, I'm quite well, mamma. But if you want to go abroad, let's go!" she said, And trying to appear interested in the proposed tour, she began talking of the preparations for the journey.
Chapter 35
Chapter 35
At the end of the winter, in the Shtcherbatskys' house, a consultation was being held, which was to pronounce on the state of Kitty's health and the measures to be taken to restore her failing strength. She had been ill, and as spring came on she grew worse. The family doctor gave her cod liver oil, then iron, then nitrate of silver, but as the first and the second and the third were alike in doing no good, and as his advice when spring came was to go abroad, a celebrated physician was called in. The celebrated physician, a very handsome man, still youngish, asked to examine the patient. He maintained, with peculiar satisfaction, it seemed, that maiden modesty is a mere relic of barbarism, and that nothing could be more natural than for a man still youngish to handle a young girl naked. He thought it natural because he did it every day, and felt and thought, as it seemed to him, no harm as he did it and consequently he considered modesty in the girl not merely as a relic of barbarism, but also as an insult to himself. There was nothing for it but to submit, since, although all the doctors had studied in the same school, had read the same books, and learned the same science, and though some people said this celebrated doctor was a bad doctor, in the princess's household and circle it was for some reason accepted that this celebrated doctor alone had some special knowledge, and that he alone could save Kitty. After a careful examination and sounding of the bewildered patient, dazed with shame, the celebrated doctor, having scrupulously washed his hands, was standing in the drawing room talking to the prince. The prince frowned and coughed, listening to the doctor. As a man who had seen something of life, and neither a fool nor an invalid, he had no faith in medicine, and in his heart was furious at the whole farce, specially as he was perhaps the only one who fully comprehended the cause of Kitty's illness. "Conceited blockhead!" he thought, as he listened to the celebrated doctor's chatter about his daughter's symptoms. The doctor was meantime with difficulty restraining the expression of his contempt for this old gentleman, and with difficulty condescending to the level of his intelligence. He perceived that it was no good talking to the old man, and that the principal person in the house was the mother. Before her he decided to scatter his pearls. At that instant the princess came into the drawing room with the family doctor. The prince withdrew, trying not to show how ridiculous he thought the whole performance. The princess was distracted, and did not know what to do. She felt she had sinned against Kitty.
"Well, doctor, decide our fate," said the princess. "Tell me everything."
"Is there hope?" she meant to say, but her lips quivered, and she could not utter the question. "Well, doctor?"
"Immediately, princess. I will talk it over with my colleague, And then I will have the honor of laying my opinion before you."
"So we had better leave you?"
"As you please."
The princess went out with a sigh.
When the doctors were left alone, the family doctor began timidly explaining his opinion, that there was a commencement of tuberculous trouble, but...and so on. The celebrated doctor listened to him, and in the middle of his sentence looked at his big gold watch.
"Yes," said he. "But..."
Sunday, November 21, 2010
‘Potter!’
‘Potter!’
The voice rang across the Entrance Hall. Snape had emerged from the staircase leading down to his office and at the sight of him Harry felt a great rush of hatred beyond anything he felt towards Malfoy ... whatever Dumbledore said, he would never forgive Snape . . . never ...
‘What are you doing, Potter?’ said Snape, as coldly as ever, as he strode over to the four of them.
‘I'm trying to decide what curse to use on Malfoy, sir,’ said Harry fiercely.
Snape stared at him.
‘Put that wand away at once,’ he said curtly. ‘Ten points from Gryff—’
Snape looked towards the giant hour-glasses on the walls and gave a sneering smile.
‘Ah. I see there are no longer any points left in the Gryffindor hour-glass to take away. In that case, Potter, we will simply have to—’
‘Add some more?’
Professor McGonagall had just stumped up the stone, steps into the castle; she was carrying a tartan carpetbag in one hand and leaning heavily on a walking stick with her other, but otherwise looked quite well.
‘Professor McGonagall!’ said Snape, striding forwards. ‘Out of St. Mungo's, I see!’
‘Yes, Professor Snape,’ said Professor McGonagall. shrugging off her travelling cloak, ‘I'm quite as good as new. You two—Crabbe—Goyle—’
She beckoned them forwards imperiously and they came, shuffling their large feet and looking awkward.
‘Here,’ said Professor McGonagall, thrusting her carpetbag into Crabbe's chest and her cloak into Goyle's, ‘take these up to my office for me.’
They turned and stumped away up the marble staircase.
The voice rang across the Entrance Hall. Snape had emerged from the staircase leading down to his office and at the sight of him Harry felt a great rush of hatred beyond anything he felt towards Malfoy ... whatever Dumbledore said, he would never forgive Snape . . . never ...
‘What are you doing, Potter?’ said Snape, as coldly as ever, as he strode over to the four of them.
‘I'm trying to decide what curse to use on Malfoy, sir,’ said Harry fiercely.
Snape stared at him.
‘Put that wand away at once,’ he said curtly. ‘Ten points from Gryff—’
Snape looked towards the giant hour-glasses on the walls and gave a sneering smile.
‘Ah. I see there are no longer any points left in the Gryffindor hour-glass to take away. In that case, Potter, we will simply have to—’
‘Add some more?’
Professor McGonagall had just stumped up the stone, steps into the castle; she was carrying a tartan carpetbag in one hand and leaning heavily on a walking stick with her other, but otherwise looked quite well.
‘Professor McGonagall!’ said Snape, striding forwards. ‘Out of St. Mungo's, I see!’
‘Yes, Professor Snape,’ said Professor McGonagall. shrugging off her travelling cloak, ‘I'm quite as good as new. You two—Crabbe—Goyle—’
She beckoned them forwards imperiously and they came, shuffling their large feet and looking awkward.
‘Here,’ said Professor McGonagall, thrusting her carpetbag into Crabbe's chest and her cloak into Goyle's, ‘take these up to my office for me.’
They turned and stumped away up the marble staircase.
Harry's heart began to race
Harry's heart began to race. He had not told Ron, Hermione or anyone else what the prophecy had contained. Neville had told them it had smashed while Harry was pulling him up the steps in the Death Room and Harry had not yet corrected this impression. He was not ready to see their expressions when he told them that he must be either murderer or victim, there was no other way ...
‘It is a pity it broke,’ said Hermione quietly, shaking her head.
‘Yeah, it is,’ said Ron. ‘Still, at least You-Know-Who never found out what was in it either— where are you going?’ he added, looking both surprised and disappointed as Harry stood up.
‘Er—Hagrid's,’ said Harry. ‘You know, he just got back and I promised I'd go down and see him and tell him how you two are.’
‘Oh, all right then,’ said Ron grumpily, looking out of the dormitory window at the patch of bright blue sky beyond. ‘Wish we could come.’
‘Say hello to him for us!’ called Hermione, as Harry proceeded down the ward. ‘And ask him what's happening about ... about his little friend!’
Harry gave a wave of his hand to show he had heard and understood as he left the dormitory.
The castle seemed very quiet even for a Sunday. Everybody was clearly out in the sunny grounds, enjoying the end of their exams and the prospect of a last few days of term unhampered by revision or homework. Harry walked slowly along the deserted corridor, peering out of windows as he went; he could see people messing around in the air over the Quidditch pitch and a couple of students swimming in the lake, accompanied by the giant squid.
He was finding it hard to decide whether he wanted to be with people or not; whenever he was in company he wanted to get away and whenever he was alone he wanted company. He thought he might really go and visit Hagrid, though, as he had not talked to him properly since he'd returned ...
Harry had just descended the last marble step into the Entrance Hall when Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle emerged from a door on the right that Harry knew led down to the Slytherin common room. Harry stopped dead; so did Malfoy and the others. The only sounds were the shouts, laughter and splashes drifting into the Hall from the grounds through the open front doors.
Malfoy glanced around—Harry knew he was checking for signs of teachers—then he looked back at Harry and said in a low voice, ‘You're dead, Potter.’
Harry raised his eyebrows.
‘Funny.’ he said, ‘you'd think I'd have stopped walking around ...’
Malfoy looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him; he felt a kind of detached satisfaction at the sight of his pale, pointed face contorted with rage.
‘You're going to pay,’ said Malfoy, in a voice barely louder than a whisper. ‘I'm going to make you pay for what you've done to my father ...’
‘Well, I'm terrified now,’ said Harry sarcastically. ‘I s'pose Lord Voldemort's just a warm-up act compared to you three—what's the matter?’ he added, for Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had all looked stricken at the sound of the name. ‘He's a mate of your dad, isn't he? Not scared of him, are you?’
‘You think you're such a big man, Potter,’ said Malfoy, advancing now, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. ‘You wait. I'll have you. You can't land my father in prison—’
‘I thought I just had,’ said Harry.
‘The dementors have left Azkaban,’ said Malfoy quietly. ‘Dad and the others'll be out in no time ...’
‘Yeah, I expect they will,’ said Harry. ‘Still, at least everyone knows what scumbags they are now—’
Malfoy's hand flew towards his wand, but Harry was too quick for him; he had drawn his own wand before Malfoy's fingers had even entered the pocket of his robes.
‘It is a pity it broke,’ said Hermione quietly, shaking her head.
‘Yeah, it is,’ said Ron. ‘Still, at least You-Know-Who never found out what was in it either— where are you going?’ he added, looking both surprised and disappointed as Harry stood up.
‘Er—Hagrid's,’ said Harry. ‘You know, he just got back and I promised I'd go down and see him and tell him how you two are.’
‘Oh, all right then,’ said Ron grumpily, looking out of the dormitory window at the patch of bright blue sky beyond. ‘Wish we could come.’
‘Say hello to him for us!’ called Hermione, as Harry proceeded down the ward. ‘And ask him what's happening about ... about his little friend!’
Harry gave a wave of his hand to show he had heard and understood as he left the dormitory.
The castle seemed very quiet even for a Sunday. Everybody was clearly out in the sunny grounds, enjoying the end of their exams and the prospect of a last few days of term unhampered by revision or homework. Harry walked slowly along the deserted corridor, peering out of windows as he went; he could see people messing around in the air over the Quidditch pitch and a couple of students swimming in the lake, accompanied by the giant squid.
He was finding it hard to decide whether he wanted to be with people or not; whenever he was in company he wanted to get away and whenever he was alone he wanted company. He thought he might really go and visit Hagrid, though, as he had not talked to him properly since he'd returned ...
Harry had just descended the last marble step into the Entrance Hall when Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle emerged from a door on the right that Harry knew led down to the Slytherin common room. Harry stopped dead; so did Malfoy and the others. The only sounds were the shouts, laughter and splashes drifting into the Hall from the grounds through the open front doors.
Malfoy glanced around—Harry knew he was checking for signs of teachers—then he looked back at Harry and said in a low voice, ‘You're dead, Potter.’
Harry raised his eyebrows.
‘Funny.’ he said, ‘you'd think I'd have stopped walking around ...’
Malfoy looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him; he felt a kind of detached satisfaction at the sight of his pale, pointed face contorted with rage.
‘You're going to pay,’ said Malfoy, in a voice barely louder than a whisper. ‘I'm going to make you pay for what you've done to my father ...’
‘Well, I'm terrified now,’ said Harry sarcastically. ‘I s'pose Lord Voldemort's just a warm-up act compared to you three—what's the matter?’ he added, for Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had all looked stricken at the sound of the name. ‘He's a mate of your dad, isn't he? Not scared of him, are you?’
‘You think you're such a big man, Potter,’ said Malfoy, advancing now, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. ‘You wait. I'll have you. You can't land my father in prison—’
‘I thought I just had,’ said Harry.
‘The dementors have left Azkaban,’ said Malfoy quietly. ‘Dad and the others'll be out in no time ...’
‘Yeah, I expect they will,’ said Harry. ‘Still, at least everyone knows what scumbags they are now—’
Malfoy's hand flew towards his wand, but Harry was too quick for him; he had drawn his own wand before Malfoy's fingers had even entered the pocket of his robes.
‘You-Know-Who's Last Attempt to Take Over
‘You-Know-Who's Last Attempt to Take Over, pages two to Jour, What the Ministry Should Have Told Us, page five, Why Nobody Listened to Albus Dumbledore, pages six to eight, Exclusive Interview with Harry Potter, page nine ...Well,’ said Hermione, folding up the newspaper and throwing it aside, ‘it's certainly given them lots to write about. And that interview with Harry isn't exclusive, it's the one that was in The Quibbler months ago ...’
‘Daddy sold it to them,’ said Luna vaguely, turning a page of The Quibbler.‘He got a very good price for it, too, so we're going to go on an expedition to Sweden this summer to see if we can catch a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.’
‘Hermione seemed to struggle with herself for a moment, then said, That sounds lovely.’
Ginny caught Harry's eye and looked away quickly, grinning.
‘So, anyway,’ said Hermione, sitting up a little straighter and wincing again, ‘what's going on in school?’
‘Well, Flitwick's got rid of Fred and George's swamp,’ said Ginny, ‘he did it in about three seconds. But he left a tiny patch under the window and he's roped it off—’
‘Why?’ said Hermione, looking startled.
‘Oh, he just says it was a really good bit of magic,’ said Ginny, shrugging.
‘I think he left it as a monument to Fred and George,’ said Ron, through a mouthful of chocolate. ‘They sent me all these, you know,’ he told Harry, pointing at the small mountain of Frogs beside him. ‘Must be doing all right out of that joke shop, eh?’
Hermione looked rather disapproving and asked, ‘So has all the trouble stopped now Dumbledore's back?’
‘Yes,’ said Neville, ‘everything's settled right back to normal.’
‘I s'pose Filch is happy, is he?’ asked Ron, propping a Chocolate Frog Card featuring Dumbledore against his water jug.
‘Not at all,’ said Ginny. ‘He's really, really miserable, actually ...’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘He keeps saying Umbridge was the best thing that ever happened to Hogwarts ...’
All six of them looked around. Professor Umbridge was lying in a bed opposite them, gazing up at the ceiling. Dumbledore had strode alone into the Forest to rescue her from the centaurs; how he had done it—how he had emerged from the trees supporting Professor Umbridge without so much as a scratch on him—nobody knew, and Umbridge was certainly not telling. Since she had returned to the castle she had not, as far as any of them knew, uttered a single word. Nobody really knew what was wrong with her, either. Her usually neat mousy hair was very untidy and there were still bits of twigs and leaves in it, but otherwise she seemed to be quite unscathed.
‘Madam Pomfrey says she's just in shock,’ whispered Hermione.
‘Sulking, more like,’ said Ginny.
‘Yeah, she shows signs of life if you do this,’ said Ron, and with his tongue he made soft clip-clopping noises. Umbridge sat bolt upright, looking around wildly.
‘Anything wrong, Professor?’ called Madam Pomfrey, poking her head around her office door.
‘No ... no ...’ said Umbridge, sinking back into her pillows. ‘No, I must have been dreaming ...’
Hermione and Ginny muffled their laughter in the bedclothes.
‘Speaking of centaurs,’ said Hermione, when she had recovered a little, ‘who's Divination teacher now? Is Firenze staying?’
‘He's got to,’ said Harry, ‘the other centaurs won't take him back, will they?’
‘It looks like he and Trelawney are both going to teach,’ said Ginny.
‘Bet Dumbledore wishes he could've got rid of Trelawney for good,’ said Ron, now munching on his fourteenth Frog. ‘Mind you, the whole subject's useless if you ask me, Firenze isn't a lot better ...’
‘How can you say that?’ Hermione demanded. ‘After we've just found out that there are real prophecies?’
‘Daddy sold it to them,’ said Luna vaguely, turning a page of The Quibbler.‘He got a very good price for it, too, so we're going to go on an expedition to Sweden this summer to see if we can catch a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.’
‘Hermione seemed to struggle with herself for a moment, then said, That sounds lovely.’
Ginny caught Harry's eye and looked away quickly, grinning.
‘So, anyway,’ said Hermione, sitting up a little straighter and wincing again, ‘what's going on in school?’
‘Well, Flitwick's got rid of Fred and George's swamp,’ said Ginny, ‘he did it in about three seconds. But he left a tiny patch under the window and he's roped it off—’
‘Why?’ said Hermione, looking startled.
‘Oh, he just says it was a really good bit of magic,’ said Ginny, shrugging.
‘I think he left it as a monument to Fred and George,’ said Ron, through a mouthful of chocolate. ‘They sent me all these, you know,’ he told Harry, pointing at the small mountain of Frogs beside him. ‘Must be doing all right out of that joke shop, eh?’
Hermione looked rather disapproving and asked, ‘So has all the trouble stopped now Dumbledore's back?’
‘Yes,’ said Neville, ‘everything's settled right back to normal.’
‘I s'pose Filch is happy, is he?’ asked Ron, propping a Chocolate Frog Card featuring Dumbledore against his water jug.
‘Not at all,’ said Ginny. ‘He's really, really miserable, actually ...’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘He keeps saying Umbridge was the best thing that ever happened to Hogwarts ...’
All six of them looked around. Professor Umbridge was lying in a bed opposite them, gazing up at the ceiling. Dumbledore had strode alone into the Forest to rescue her from the centaurs; how he had done it—how he had emerged from the trees supporting Professor Umbridge without so much as a scratch on him—nobody knew, and Umbridge was certainly not telling. Since she had returned to the castle she had not, as far as any of them knew, uttered a single word. Nobody really knew what was wrong with her, either. Her usually neat mousy hair was very untidy and there were still bits of twigs and leaves in it, but otherwise she seemed to be quite unscathed.
‘Madam Pomfrey says she's just in shock,’ whispered Hermione.
‘Sulking, more like,’ said Ginny.
‘Yeah, she shows signs of life if you do this,’ said Ron, and with his tongue he made soft clip-clopping noises. Umbridge sat bolt upright, looking around wildly.
‘Anything wrong, Professor?’ called Madam Pomfrey, poking her head around her office door.
‘No ... no ...’ said Umbridge, sinking back into her pillows. ‘No, I must have been dreaming ...’
Hermione and Ginny muffled their laughter in the bedclothes.
‘Speaking of centaurs,’ said Hermione, when she had recovered a little, ‘who's Divination teacher now? Is Firenze staying?’
‘He's got to,’ said Harry, ‘the other centaurs won't take him back, will they?’
‘It looks like he and Trelawney are both going to teach,’ said Ginny.
‘Bet Dumbledore wishes he could've got rid of Trelawney for good,’ said Ron, now munching on his fourteenth Frog. ‘Mind you, the whole subject's useless if you ask me, Firenze isn't a lot better ...’
‘How can you say that?’ Hermione demanded. ‘After we've just found out that there are real prophecies?’
Thursday, November 18, 2010
‘Sirius?’
‘Sirius?’
The man jumped and looked around. It was not Sirius, but Lupin.
‘Harry!’ he said, looking thoroughly shocked. ‘What are you—what's happened, is everything all right?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘I just wondered—I mean, I just fancied a—a chat with Sirius.’
‘I'll call him,’ said Lupin, getting to his feet, still looking perplexed, ‘he went upstairs to look for Kreacher, he seems to be hiding in the attic again ...’
And Harry saw Lupin hurry out of the kitchen. Now he was left with nothing to look at but the chair and table legs. He wondered why Sirius had never mentioned how very uncomfortable it was to speak out of the fire; his knees were already objecting painfully to their prolonged contact with Umbridge's hard stone floor.
Lupin returned with Sirius at his heels moments later.
‘What is it?’ said Sirius urgently, sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes and dropping to the ground in front of the fire, so that he and Harry were on a level. Lupin knelt down too, looking very concerned. ‘Are you all right? Do you need help?’
‘No,’ said Harry, ‘it's nothing like that ... I just wanted to talk ... about my dad.’
They exchanged a look of great surprise, but Harry did not have time to feel awkward or embarrassed; his knees were becoming sorer by the second and he guessed five minutes had already passed from the start of the diversion; George had only guaranteed him twenty. He therefore plunged immediately into the story of what he had seen in the Pensieve.
When he had finished, neither Sirius nor Lupin spoke for a moment. Then Lupin said quietly, ‘I wouldn't like you to judge your father on what you saw there, Harry. He was only fifteen—’
‘I'm fifteen,’ said Harry heatedly.
‘Look, Harry’ said Sirius placatingly, ‘James and Snape hated each other from the moment they set eyes on each other, it was just one of those things, you can understand that, can't you? I think James was everything Snape wanted to be—he was popular, he was good at Quidditch—good at pretty much everything. And Snape was just this little oddball who was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts, and James—whatever else he may have appeared to you, Harry—always hated the Dark Arts.’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, ‘but he just attacked Snape for no good reason, just because—well, just because you said you were bored,’ he finished, with a slightly apologetic note in his voice.
‘I ‘m not proud of it,’ said Sirius quickly.
Lupin looked sideways at Sirius, then said, ‘Look, Harry, what you've got to understand is that your father and Sirius were the best in the school at whatever they did— everyone thought they were the height of cool—if they sometimes got a bit carried away—’
‘If we were sometimes arrogant little berks, you mean,’ said Sirius.
Lupin smiled.
‘He kept messing up his hair,’ said Harry in a pained voice.
Sirius and Lupin laughed.
‘I'd forgotten he used to do that,’ said Sirius affectionately.
‘Was he playing with the Snitch?’ said Lupin eagerly.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, watching uncomprehendingly as Sirius and Lupin beamed reminiscently. ‘Well ... I thought he was a bit of an idiot.’
‘Of course he was a bit of an idiot!’ said Sirius bracingly, ‘we were all idiots! Well— not Moony so much,’ he said fairly, looking at Lupin.
But Lupin shook his head. ‘Did I ever tell you to lay off Snape?’ he said. ‘Did I ever have the guts to tell you I thought you were out of order?’
‘Yeah, well,’ said Sirius, ‘you made us feel ashamed of ourselves sometimes ... that was something ...’
‘And,’ said Harry doggedly, determined to say everything that was on his mind now he was here, ‘he kept looking over at the girls by the lake, hoping they were watching him!’
‘Oh, well, he always made a fool of himself whenever Lily was around,’ said Sirius, shrugging, ‘he couldn't stop himself showing off whenever he got near her.’
‘How come she married him?’ Harry asked miserably. ‘She hated him!’
‘Nah, she didn't,’ said Sirius.
‘She started going out with him in seventh year,’ said Lupin.
‘Once James had deflated his head a bit,’ said Sirius.
‘And stopped hexing people just for the fun of it,’ said Lupin.
‘Even Snape?’ said Harry.
‘Well,’ said Lupin slowly, ‘Snape was a special case. I mean, he never lost an opportunity to curse James so you couldn't really expect James to take that lying down, could you?’
‘And my mum was OK with that?’
‘She didn't know too much about it, to tell you the truth,’ said Sirius. ‘I mean, James didn't take Snape on dates with her and jinx him in front of her, did he?’
Sirius frowned at Harry, who was still looking unconvinced.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘your father was the best friend I ever had and he was a good person. A lot of people are idiots at the age of fifteen. He grew out of it.’
‘Yeah, OK,’ said Harry heavily. ‘I just never thought I'd feel sorry for Snape.’
‘Now you mention it,’ said Lupin, a faint crease between his eyebrows, ‘how did Snape react when he found you'd seen all this?’
‘He told me he'd never teach me Occlumency again,’ said Harry indifferently, ‘like that's a big disappoint—’
‘He WHAT?’ shouted Sirius, causing Harry to jump and inhale a mouthful of ashes.
‘Are you serious, Harry?’ said Lupin quickly. ‘He's stopped giving you lessons?’
The man jumped and looked around. It was not Sirius, but Lupin.
‘Harry!’ he said, looking thoroughly shocked. ‘What are you—what's happened, is everything all right?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘I just wondered—I mean, I just fancied a—a chat with Sirius.’
‘I'll call him,’ said Lupin, getting to his feet, still looking perplexed, ‘he went upstairs to look for Kreacher, he seems to be hiding in the attic again ...’
And Harry saw Lupin hurry out of the kitchen. Now he was left with nothing to look at but the chair and table legs. He wondered why Sirius had never mentioned how very uncomfortable it was to speak out of the fire; his knees were already objecting painfully to their prolonged contact with Umbridge's hard stone floor.
Lupin returned with Sirius at his heels moments later.
‘What is it?’ said Sirius urgently, sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes and dropping to the ground in front of the fire, so that he and Harry were on a level. Lupin knelt down too, looking very concerned. ‘Are you all right? Do you need help?’
‘No,’ said Harry, ‘it's nothing like that ... I just wanted to talk ... about my dad.’
They exchanged a look of great surprise, but Harry did not have time to feel awkward or embarrassed; his knees were becoming sorer by the second and he guessed five minutes had already passed from the start of the diversion; George had only guaranteed him twenty. He therefore plunged immediately into the story of what he had seen in the Pensieve.
When he had finished, neither Sirius nor Lupin spoke for a moment. Then Lupin said quietly, ‘I wouldn't like you to judge your father on what you saw there, Harry. He was only fifteen—’
‘I'm fifteen,’ said Harry heatedly.
‘Look, Harry’ said Sirius placatingly, ‘James and Snape hated each other from the moment they set eyes on each other, it was just one of those things, you can understand that, can't you? I think James was everything Snape wanted to be—he was popular, he was good at Quidditch—good at pretty much everything. And Snape was just this little oddball who was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts, and James—whatever else he may have appeared to you, Harry—always hated the Dark Arts.’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, ‘but he just attacked Snape for no good reason, just because—well, just because you said you were bored,’ he finished, with a slightly apologetic note in his voice.
‘I ‘m not proud of it,’ said Sirius quickly.
Lupin looked sideways at Sirius, then said, ‘Look, Harry, what you've got to understand is that your father and Sirius were the best in the school at whatever they did— everyone thought they were the height of cool—if they sometimes got a bit carried away—’
‘If we were sometimes arrogant little berks, you mean,’ said Sirius.
Lupin smiled.
‘He kept messing up his hair,’ said Harry in a pained voice.
Sirius and Lupin laughed.
‘I'd forgotten he used to do that,’ said Sirius affectionately.
‘Was he playing with the Snitch?’ said Lupin eagerly.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, watching uncomprehendingly as Sirius and Lupin beamed reminiscently. ‘Well ... I thought he was a bit of an idiot.’
‘Of course he was a bit of an idiot!’ said Sirius bracingly, ‘we were all idiots! Well— not Moony so much,’ he said fairly, looking at Lupin.
But Lupin shook his head. ‘Did I ever tell you to lay off Snape?’ he said. ‘Did I ever have the guts to tell you I thought you were out of order?’
‘Yeah, well,’ said Sirius, ‘you made us feel ashamed of ourselves sometimes ... that was something ...’
‘And,’ said Harry doggedly, determined to say everything that was on his mind now he was here, ‘he kept looking over at the girls by the lake, hoping they were watching him!’
‘Oh, well, he always made a fool of himself whenever Lily was around,’ said Sirius, shrugging, ‘he couldn't stop himself showing off whenever he got near her.’
‘How come she married him?’ Harry asked miserably. ‘She hated him!’
‘Nah, she didn't,’ said Sirius.
‘She started going out with him in seventh year,’ said Lupin.
‘Once James had deflated his head a bit,’ said Sirius.
‘And stopped hexing people just for the fun of it,’ said Lupin.
‘Even Snape?’ said Harry.
‘Well,’ said Lupin slowly, ‘Snape was a special case. I mean, he never lost an opportunity to curse James so you couldn't really expect James to take that lying down, could you?’
‘And my mum was OK with that?’
‘She didn't know too much about it, to tell you the truth,’ said Sirius. ‘I mean, James didn't take Snape on dates with her and jinx him in front of her, did he?’
Sirius frowned at Harry, who was still looking unconvinced.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘your father was the best friend I ever had and he was a good person. A lot of people are idiots at the age of fifteen. He grew out of it.’
‘Yeah, OK,’ said Harry heavily. ‘I just never thought I'd feel sorry for Snape.’
‘Now you mention it,’ said Lupin, a faint crease between his eyebrows, ‘how did Snape react when he found you'd seen all this?’
‘He told me he'd never teach me Occlumency again,’ said Harry indifferently, ‘like that's a big disappoint—’
‘He WHAT?’ shouted Sirius, causing Harry to jump and inhale a mouthful of ashes.
‘Are you serious, Harry?’ said Lupin quickly. ‘He's stopped giving you lessons?’
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Chapter 22 StMungo's Hosptial For Magical Maladies And Injuries
Chapter 22 StMungo's Hosptial For Magical Maladies And Injuries
Harry was so relieved she was taking him seriously that he did not hesitate, but jumped out of bed at once, pulled on his dressing gown and pushed his glasses back on to his nose.
‘Weasley, you ought to come too,’ said Professor McGonagall.
They followed Professor McGonagall past the silent figures of Neville, Dean and Seamus, out of the dormitory down the spiral stairs into the common room, through the portrait hole and off along the Fat Lady's moonlit
corridor. Harry felt as though the panic inside him might spill over at any moment; he wanted to run, to yell for Dumbledore; Mr. Weasley was bleeding as they walked along so sedately and what if those fangs (Harry tried hard
not to think ‘my fangs') had been poisonous? They passed Mrs. Norris, who turned her lamplike eyes upon them and hissed faintly but Professor McGonagall said, ‘Shoo!’ Mrs. Norris slunk away into the shadows, and in a few
minutes they had reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore s office.
‘Fizzing Whizzbee,’ said Professor McGonagall.
The gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside; the wall behind it split in two to reveal a stone staircase that was moving continually upwards like a spiral escalator. The three of them stepped on to the moving stairs; the wall
closed behind them with a thud and they were moving upwards in tight circles until they reached the highly polished oak door with the brass knocker shaped like a griffin.
Though it was now well past midnight there were voices coming from inside the room, a positive babble of them. It sounded as though Dumbledore was entertaining at least a dozen people.
Professor McGonagall rapped three times with the griffin knocker and the voices ceased abruptly as though someone had switched them all off. The door opened of its own accord and Professor McGonagall led Harry and
Ron inside.
The room was in half-darkness; the strange silver instruments standing on tables were silent and still rather than whirring and emitting puffs of smoke as they usually did; the portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses
covering the walls were all snoozing in their frames. Behind the door, a magnificent red and gold bird the size of a swan dozed on its perch with its head under its wing.
‘Oh, it's you, Professor McGonagall ... and ... ah.’
Dumbledore was sitting in a high-backed chair behind his desk; he leaned forward into the pool of candlelight illuminating the papers laid out before him. He was wearing a magnificently embroidered purple and gold dressing
gown over a snowy white nightshirt, but seemed wide-awake, his penetrating light blue eyes fixed intently upon Professor McGonagall.
‘Professor Dumbledore, Potter has had a ... well, a nightmare,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘He says ...’
‘It wasn't a nightmare,’ said Harry quickly.
Professor McGonagall looked round at Harry, frowning slightly.
‘Very well, then, Potter, you tell the Headmaster about it.’
‘I ... well, I was asleep ...’ said Harry and, even in his terror and his desperation to make Dumbledore understand, he felt slightly irritated that the Headmaster was not looking at him, but examining his own interlocked fingers. ‘
But it wasn't an ordinary dream ... it was real ... I saw it happen ...’ He took a deep breath, ‘Ron's dad—Mr. Weasley—has been attacked by a giant snake.’
The words seemed to reverberate in the air after he had said them, sounding slightly ridiculous, even comic. There was a pause in which Dumbledore leaned back and stared meditatively at the ceiling. Ron looked from Harry
to Dumbledore, white-faced and shocked.
‘How did you see this?’ Dumbledore asked quietly, still not looking at Harry.
‘Well ... I don't know,’ said Harry, rather angrily—what did it matter? ‘Inside my head, I suppose—’
‘You misunderstand me,’ said Dumbledore, still in the same calm tone. ‘I mean ... can you remember—er—where you were positioned as you watched this attack happen? Were you perhaps standing beside the victim, or else
looking down on the scene from above?’
This was such a curious question that Harry gaped at Dumbledore; it was almost as though he knew ...
‘I was the snake,’ he said. ‘I saw it all from the snake's point of view.’
Nobody else spoke for a moment, then Dumbledore, now looking at Ron who was still whey-faced, asked in a new and sharper voice, ‘Is Arthur seriously injured?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry emphatically—why were they all so slow on the uptake, did they not realise how much a person bled when fangs that long pierced their side? And why could Dumbledore not do him the courtesy of looking at
him?
But Dumbledore stood up, so quickly it made Harry jump, and addressed one of the old portraits hanging very near the ceiling. ‘Everard?’ he said sharply. ‘And you too, Dilys!’
A sallow-faced wizard with a short black fringe and an elderly witch with long silver ringlets in the frame beside him, both of whom seemed to have been in the deepest of sleeps, opened their eyes immediately.
‘You were listening?’ said Dumbledore.
The wizard nodded; the witch said, ‘Naturally.’
‘The man has red hair and glasses,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Everard, you will need to raise the alarm, make sure he is found by the right people—’
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Harry was so relieved she was taking him seriously that he did not hesitate, but jumped out of bed at once, pulled on his dressing gown and pushed his glasses back on to his nose.
‘Weasley, you ought to come too,’ said Professor McGonagall.
They followed Professor McGonagall past the silent figures of Neville, Dean and Seamus, out of the dormitory down the spiral stairs into the common room, through the portrait hole and off along the Fat Lady's moonlit
corridor. Harry felt as though the panic inside him might spill over at any moment; he wanted to run, to yell for Dumbledore; Mr. Weasley was bleeding as they walked along so sedately and what if those fangs (Harry tried hard
not to think ‘my fangs') had been poisonous? They passed Mrs. Norris, who turned her lamplike eyes upon them and hissed faintly but Professor McGonagall said, ‘Shoo!’ Mrs. Norris slunk away into the shadows, and in a few
minutes they had reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore s office.
‘Fizzing Whizzbee,’ said Professor McGonagall.
The gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside; the wall behind it split in two to reveal a stone staircase that was moving continually upwards like a spiral escalator. The three of them stepped on to the moving stairs; the wall
closed behind them with a thud and they were moving upwards in tight circles until they reached the highly polished oak door with the brass knocker shaped like a griffin.
Though it was now well past midnight there were voices coming from inside the room, a positive babble of them. It sounded as though Dumbledore was entertaining at least a dozen people.
Professor McGonagall rapped three times with the griffin knocker and the voices ceased abruptly as though someone had switched them all off. The door opened of its own accord and Professor McGonagall led Harry and
Ron inside.
The room was in half-darkness; the strange silver instruments standing on tables were silent and still rather than whirring and emitting puffs of smoke as they usually did; the portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses
covering the walls were all snoozing in their frames. Behind the door, a magnificent red and gold bird the size of a swan dozed on its perch with its head under its wing.
‘Oh, it's you, Professor McGonagall ... and ... ah.’
Dumbledore was sitting in a high-backed chair behind his desk; he leaned forward into the pool of candlelight illuminating the papers laid out before him. He was wearing a magnificently embroidered purple and gold dressing
gown over a snowy white nightshirt, but seemed wide-awake, his penetrating light blue eyes fixed intently upon Professor McGonagall.
‘Professor Dumbledore, Potter has had a ... well, a nightmare,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘He says ...’
‘It wasn't a nightmare,’ said Harry quickly.
Professor McGonagall looked round at Harry, frowning slightly.
‘Very well, then, Potter, you tell the Headmaster about it.’
‘I ... well, I was asleep ...’ said Harry and, even in his terror and his desperation to make Dumbledore understand, he felt slightly irritated that the Headmaster was not looking at him, but examining his own interlocked fingers. ‘
But it wasn't an ordinary dream ... it was real ... I saw it happen ...’ He took a deep breath, ‘Ron's dad—Mr. Weasley—has been attacked by a giant snake.’
The words seemed to reverberate in the air after he had said them, sounding slightly ridiculous, even comic. There was a pause in which Dumbledore leaned back and stared meditatively at the ceiling. Ron looked from Harry
to Dumbledore, white-faced and shocked.
‘How did you see this?’ Dumbledore asked quietly, still not looking at Harry.
‘Well ... I don't know,’ said Harry, rather angrily—what did it matter? ‘Inside my head, I suppose—’
‘You misunderstand me,’ said Dumbledore, still in the same calm tone. ‘I mean ... can you remember—er—where you were positioned as you watched this attack happen? Were you perhaps standing beside the victim, or else
looking down on the scene from above?’
This was such a curious question that Harry gaped at Dumbledore; it was almost as though he knew ...
‘I was the snake,’ he said. ‘I saw it all from the snake's point of view.’
Nobody else spoke for a moment, then Dumbledore, now looking at Ron who was still whey-faced, asked in a new and sharper voice, ‘Is Arthur seriously injured?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry emphatically—why were they all so slow on the uptake, did they not realise how much a person bled when fangs that long pierced their side? And why could Dumbledore not do him the courtesy of looking at
him?
But Dumbledore stood up, so quickly it made Harry jump, and addressed one of the old portraits hanging very near the ceiling. ‘Everard?’ he said sharply. ‘And you too, Dilys!’
A sallow-faced wizard with a short black fringe and an elderly witch with long silver ringlets in the frame beside him, both of whom seemed to have been in the deepest of sleeps, opened their eyes immediately.
‘You were listening?’ said Dumbledore.
The wizard nodded; the witch said, ‘Naturally.’
‘The man has red hair and glasses,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Everard, you will need to raise the alarm, make sure he is found by the right people—’
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Tuesday, November 16, 2010
‘Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met,
‘Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met,’ said Ron weakly, ‘and if I'm ever rude to you again—’
‘—I'll know you're back to normal,’ said Hermione. ‘Harry, yours is OK except for this bit at the end, I think you must have misheard Professor Sinistra, Europa's covered in ice, not mice—Harry?’
Harry had slid off his chair on to his knees and was now crouching on the singed and threadbare hearthrug, gazing into the flames.
‘Er—Harry?’ said Ron uncertainly. ‘Why are you down there?’
‘Because I've just seen Sirius's head in the fire,’ said Harry.
He spoke quite calmly; after all, he had seen Sirius's head in this very fire the previous year and talked to it, too; nevertheless, he could not be sure that he had really seen it this time ... it had vanished so quickly ...
‘Sirius's head?’ Hermione repeated. ‘You mean like when he wanted to talk to you during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn't do that now, it would be too—Sirius!’
She gasped, gazing at the fire; Ron dropped his quill. There in the middle of the dancing flames sat Sirius's head, long dark hair failing around his grinning face.
‘I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared,’ he said. ‘I've been checking every hour.’
‘You've been popping into the fire every hour?’ Harry said, half-laughing.
‘Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear.’
‘But what if you'd been seen?’ said Hermione anxiously.
‘Well, I think a girl—first-year, by the look of her—might've get a glimpse of me earlier, but don't worry,’ Sirius said hastily, as Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, ‘I was gone the moment she looked back at me and I'll bet she just thought I was an oddly-shaped log or something.’
‘But, Sirius, this is taking an awful risk—’ Hermione began.
‘You sound like Molly,’ said Sirius. ‘This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry's letter without resorting to a code—and codes are breakable.’
At the mention of Harry's letter, Hermione and Ron both turned to stare at him.
‘You didn't say you'd written to Sirius! said Hermione accusingly.
‘I forgot,’ said Harry, which was perfectly true; his meeting with Cho in the Owlery had driven everything before it out of his mind. ‘Don't look at me like that, Hermione, there was no way anyone would have got secret information out of it, was there, Sirius?’
‘No, it was very good,’ said Sirius, smiling. ‘Anyway, we'd better be quick, just in case we're disturbed—your scar.’
‘What about—?’ Ron began, but Hermione interrupted him.
‘We'll tell you afterwards. Go on, Sirius.’
‘Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think its anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?’
‘Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion,’ said Harry, ignoring, as usual, Ron and Hermione's winces. ‘So maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention.’
‘Well, now he's back it's bound to hurt more often,’ said Sirius.
‘So you don't think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I was in detention with her?’ Harry asked.
‘I doubt it,’ said Sirius. ‘I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater—’
‘She's foul enough to be one,’ said Harry darkly, and Ron and Hermione nodded vigorously in agreement.
‘Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters,’ said Sirius with a wry smile. ‘I know she's a nasty piece of work, though—you should hear Remus talk about her.’
‘Does Lupin know her?’ asked Harry quickly, remembering Umbridge's comments about dangerous half-breeds during her first lesson.
‘No,’ said Sirius, ‘but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job.’
Harry remembered how much shabbier Lupin looked these days and his dislike of Umbridge deepened even further.
‘What's she got against werewolves?’ said Hermione angrily.
‘Scared of them, I expect,’ said Sirius, smiling at her indignation. ‘Apparently, she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year, too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose.’
Ron laughed but Hermione looked upset.
‘Sirius!’ she said reproachfully. ‘Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher, I'm sure he'd respond. After all, you are the only member of his family he's got left, and Professor Dumbledore said—’
‘So, what are Umbridge's lessons like?’ Sirius interrupted. ‘Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?’
‘No,’ said Harry, ignoring Hermione's affronted look at being cut off in her defence of Kreacher. ‘She's not letting us use magic at all!’
‘All we do is read the stupid textbook,’ said Ron.
‘Ah, well, that figures,’ said Sirius. ‘Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat.’
‘Trained in combat!’ repeated Harry incredulously. ‘What does he think we're doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?’
‘That's exactly what he thinks you're doing,’ said Sirius, ‘or, rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing—forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic.’
There was a pause at this, then Ron said, That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard, including all the stuff that Luna Lovegood comes out with.’
‘—I'll know you're back to normal,’ said Hermione. ‘Harry, yours is OK except for this bit at the end, I think you must have misheard Professor Sinistra, Europa's covered in ice, not mice—Harry?’
Harry had slid off his chair on to his knees and was now crouching on the singed and threadbare hearthrug, gazing into the flames.
‘Er—Harry?’ said Ron uncertainly. ‘Why are you down there?’
‘Because I've just seen Sirius's head in the fire,’ said Harry.
He spoke quite calmly; after all, he had seen Sirius's head in this very fire the previous year and talked to it, too; nevertheless, he could not be sure that he had really seen it this time ... it had vanished so quickly ...
‘Sirius's head?’ Hermione repeated. ‘You mean like when he wanted to talk to you during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn't do that now, it would be too—Sirius!’
She gasped, gazing at the fire; Ron dropped his quill. There in the middle of the dancing flames sat Sirius's head, long dark hair failing around his grinning face.
‘I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared,’ he said. ‘I've been checking every hour.’
‘You've been popping into the fire every hour?’ Harry said, half-laughing.
‘Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear.’
‘But what if you'd been seen?’ said Hermione anxiously.
‘Well, I think a girl—first-year, by the look of her—might've get a glimpse of me earlier, but don't worry,’ Sirius said hastily, as Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, ‘I was gone the moment she looked back at me and I'll bet she just thought I was an oddly-shaped log or something.’
‘But, Sirius, this is taking an awful risk—’ Hermione began.
‘You sound like Molly,’ said Sirius. ‘This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry's letter without resorting to a code—and codes are breakable.’
At the mention of Harry's letter, Hermione and Ron both turned to stare at him.
‘You didn't say you'd written to Sirius! said Hermione accusingly.
‘I forgot,’ said Harry, which was perfectly true; his meeting with Cho in the Owlery had driven everything before it out of his mind. ‘Don't look at me like that, Hermione, there was no way anyone would have got secret information out of it, was there, Sirius?’
‘No, it was very good,’ said Sirius, smiling. ‘Anyway, we'd better be quick, just in case we're disturbed—your scar.’
‘What about—?’ Ron began, but Hermione interrupted him.
‘We'll tell you afterwards. Go on, Sirius.’
‘Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think its anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?’
‘Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion,’ said Harry, ignoring, as usual, Ron and Hermione's winces. ‘So maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention.’
‘Well, now he's back it's bound to hurt more often,’ said Sirius.
‘So you don't think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I was in detention with her?’ Harry asked.
‘I doubt it,’ said Sirius. ‘I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater—’
‘She's foul enough to be one,’ said Harry darkly, and Ron and Hermione nodded vigorously in agreement.
‘Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters,’ said Sirius with a wry smile. ‘I know she's a nasty piece of work, though—you should hear Remus talk about her.’
‘Does Lupin know her?’ asked Harry quickly, remembering Umbridge's comments about dangerous half-breeds during her first lesson.
‘No,’ said Sirius, ‘but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job.’
Harry remembered how much shabbier Lupin looked these days and his dislike of Umbridge deepened even further.
‘What's she got against werewolves?’ said Hermione angrily.
‘Scared of them, I expect,’ said Sirius, smiling at her indignation. ‘Apparently, she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year, too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose.’
Ron laughed but Hermione looked upset.
‘Sirius!’ she said reproachfully. ‘Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher, I'm sure he'd respond. After all, you are the only member of his family he's got left, and Professor Dumbledore said—’
‘So, what are Umbridge's lessons like?’ Sirius interrupted. ‘Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?’
‘No,’ said Harry, ignoring Hermione's affronted look at being cut off in her defence of Kreacher. ‘She's not letting us use magic at all!’
‘All we do is read the stupid textbook,’ said Ron.
‘Ah, well, that figures,’ said Sirius. ‘Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat.’
‘Trained in combat!’ repeated Harry incredulously. ‘What does he think we're doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?’
‘That's exactly what he thinks you're doing,’ said Sirius, ‘or, rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing—forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic.’
There was a pause at this, then Ron said, That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard, including all the stuff that Luna Lovegood comes out with.’
Monday, November 15, 2010
‘Don't put your wand there, boy!’
roared Moody. ‘What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!’
‘Who d'you know who's lost a buttock?’ the violet-haired woman asked Mad-Eye interestedly.
‘Never you mind, you just keep your wand out of your back pocket!’ growled Mad-Eye. ‘Elementary wand-safety, nobody bothers about it any more.’ He stumped off towards the kitchen. ‘And I saw that,’ he added irritably, as the woman rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.
Lupin held out his hand and shook Harry's.
‘How are you?’ he asked, looking closely at Harry.
‘F-fine...’
Harry could hardly believe this was real. Four weeks with nothing, not the tiniest hint of a plan to remove him from Privet Drive, and suddenly a whole bunch of wizards was standing matter-of-factly in the house as though this was a long-standing arrangement. He glanced at the people surrounding Lupin; they were still gazing avidly at him. He felt very conscious of the fact that he had not combed his hair for four days.
‘I'm—you're really lucky the Dursleys are out...’ he mumbled.
‘Lucky, ha!’ said the violet-haired woman. ‘It was me who lured them out of the way. Sent a letter by Muggle post telling them they'd been short-listed for the All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. They're heading off to the prize-giving right now.... Or they think they are.’
Harry had a fleeting vision of Uncle Vernon's face when he realised there was no All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition.
‘We are leaving, aren't we?’ he asked. ‘Soon?’
‘Almost at once,’ said Lupin, ‘we're just waiting for the all-clear.’
‘Where are we going? The Burrow?’ Harry asked hopefully.
‘Not The Burrow, no,’ said Lupin, motioning Harry towards the kitchen; the little knot of wizards followed, all still eyeing Harry curiously. ‘Too risky. We've set up Headquarters somewhere un-detectable. It's taken a while....’
Mad-Eye Moody was now sitting at the kitchen table swigging from a hip flask, his magical eye spinning in all directions, taking in the Dursleys’ many labour-saving appliances.
‘This is Alastor Moody, Harry,’ Lupin continued, pointing towards Moody.
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Harry uncomfortably. It felt odd to be introduced to somebody he'd thought he'd known for a year.
‘And this is Nymphadora—’
‘Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus,’ said the young witch with a shudder, ‘it's Tonks.’
‘Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only,’ finished Lupin.
‘So would you if your fool of a mother had called you Nymphadora,’ muttered Tonks.
‘And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt'—he indicated the tall black wizard, who bowed—'Elphias Doge'—the wheezy-voiced wizard nodded—'Dedalus Diggle—’
‘We've met before,’ squeaked the excitable Diggle, dropping his violet-coloured top hat.
‘—Emmeline Vance'—a stately-looking witch in an emerald green shawl inclined her head—'Sturgis Podmore'—a square-jawed wizard with thick straw-coloured hair winked—'and Hestia Jones.’ A pink-cheeked, black-haired witch waved from next to the toaster.
‘Who d'you know who's lost a buttock?’ the violet-haired woman asked Mad-Eye interestedly.
‘Never you mind, you just keep your wand out of your back pocket!’ growled Mad-Eye. ‘Elementary wand-safety, nobody bothers about it any more.’ He stumped off towards the kitchen. ‘And I saw that,’ he added irritably, as the woman rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.
Lupin held out his hand and shook Harry's.
‘How are you?’ he asked, looking closely at Harry.
‘F-fine...’
Harry could hardly believe this was real. Four weeks with nothing, not the tiniest hint of a plan to remove him from Privet Drive, and suddenly a whole bunch of wizards was standing matter-of-factly in the house as though this was a long-standing arrangement. He glanced at the people surrounding Lupin; they were still gazing avidly at him. He felt very conscious of the fact that he had not combed his hair for four days.
‘I'm—you're really lucky the Dursleys are out...’ he mumbled.
‘Lucky, ha!’ said the violet-haired woman. ‘It was me who lured them out of the way. Sent a letter by Muggle post telling them they'd been short-listed for the All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. They're heading off to the prize-giving right now.... Or they think they are.’
Harry had a fleeting vision of Uncle Vernon's face when he realised there was no All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition.
‘We are leaving, aren't we?’ he asked. ‘Soon?’
‘Almost at once,’ said Lupin, ‘we're just waiting for the all-clear.’
‘Where are we going? The Burrow?’ Harry asked hopefully.
‘Not The Burrow, no,’ said Lupin, motioning Harry towards the kitchen; the little knot of wizards followed, all still eyeing Harry curiously. ‘Too risky. We've set up Headquarters somewhere un-detectable. It's taken a while....’
Mad-Eye Moody was now sitting at the kitchen table swigging from a hip flask, his magical eye spinning in all directions, taking in the Dursleys’ many labour-saving appliances.
‘This is Alastor Moody, Harry,’ Lupin continued, pointing towards Moody.
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Harry uncomfortably. It felt odd to be introduced to somebody he'd thought he'd known for a year.
‘And this is Nymphadora—’
‘Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus,’ said the young witch with a shudder, ‘it's Tonks.’
‘Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only,’ finished Lupin.
‘So would you if your fool of a mother had called you Nymphadora,’ muttered Tonks.
‘And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt'—he indicated the tall black wizard, who bowed—'Elphias Doge'—the wheezy-voiced wizard nodded—'Dedalus Diggle—’
‘We've met before,’ squeaked the excitable Diggle, dropping his violet-coloured top hat.
‘—Emmeline Vance'—a stately-looking witch in an emerald green shawl inclined her head—'Sturgis Podmore'—a square-jawed wizard with thick straw-coloured hair winked—'and Hestia Jones.’ A pink-cheeked, black-haired witch waved from next to the toaster.
We—that is to say, your aunt, Dudley and I—are going out.’
‘Fine,’ said Harry dully, looking back at the ceiling.
‘You are not to leave your bedroom while we are away.’
‘OK.’
‘You are not to touch the television, the stereo, or any of our possessions.’
‘Right.’
‘You are not to steal food from the fridge.’
‘OK.’
‘I am going to lock your door.’
‘You do that.’
Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, clearly suspicious of this lack of argument, then stomped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Harry heard the key turn in the lock and Uncle Vernon's footsteps walking heavily down the stairs. A few minutes later he heard the slamming of car doors, the rumble of an engine, and the unmistakeable sound of the car sweeping out of the drive.
Harry had no particular feeling about the Dursleys leaving. It made no difference to him whether they were in the house or not. He could not even summon the energy to get up and turn on his bedroom light. The room grew steadily darker around him as he lay listening to the night sounds through the window he kept open all the time, waiting for the blessed moment when Hedwig returned.
The empty house creaked around him. The pipes gurgled. Harry lay there in a kind of stupor, thinking of nothing, suspended in misery.
Then, quite distinctly, he heard a crash in the kitchen below.
He sat bolt upright, listening intently. The Dursleys couldn't be back, it was much too soon, and in any case he hadn't heard their car.
There was silence for a few seconds, then voices.
Burglars, he thought, sliding off the bed on to his feet—but a split second later it occurred to him that burglars would keep their voices down, and whoever was moving around in the kitchen was certainly not troubling to do so.
He snatched up his wand from the bedside table and stood facing his bedroom door, listening with all his might. Next moment, he jumped as the lock gave a loud click and his door swung open.
Harry stood motionless, staring through the open doorway at the dark upstairs landing, straining his ears for further sounds, but none came. He hesitated for a moment, then moved swiftly and silently out of his room to the head of the stairs.
His heart shot upwards into his throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as he could see, looking up at him.
‘Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out,’ said a low, growling voice.
Harry's heart was thumping uncontrollably. He knew that voice, but he did not lower his wand.
‘Professor Moody?’ he said uncertainly.
‘I don't know so much about “Professor",’ growled the voice, ‘never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly.’
Harry lowered his wand slightly but did not relax his grip on it, nor did he move. He had very good reason to be suspicious. He had recently spent nine months in what he had thought was Mad-Eye Moody's company only to find out that it wasn't Moody at all, but an impostor; an impostor, moreover, who
‘It's all right, Harry. We've come to take you away.’
Harry's heart leapt. He knew that voice, too, though he hadn't heard it for over a year.
‘P-Professor Lupin?’ he said disbelievingly. ‘Is that you?’
‘Why are we all standing in the dark?’ said a third voice, this one completely unfamiliar, a woman's. ‘Lumos.’
A wand-tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light. Harry blinked. The people below were crowded around the foot of the stairs, gazing up at him intently, some craning their heads for a better look.
Remus Lupin stood nearest to him. Though still quite young, Lupin looked tired and rather ill; he had more grey hairs than when Harry had last said good-bye to him and his robes were more patched and shabbier than ever. Nevertheless, he was smiling broadly at Harry, who tried to smile back despite his state of shock.
‘Oooh, he looks just like I thought he would,’ said the witch who was holding her lit wand aloft. She looked the youngest there; she had a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. ‘Wotcher, Harry!’
‘Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus,’ said a bald black wizard standing furthest back; he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear. ‘He looks exactly like James.’
‘Except the eyes,’ said a wheezy-voiced, silver-haired wizard at the back. ‘Lily's eyes.’
Mad-Eye Moody, who had long grizzled grey hair and a large chunk missing from his nose, was squinting suspiciously at Harry through his mismatched eyes. One eye was small, dark and beady, the other large, round and electric blue—the magical eye that could see through walls, doors, and the back of Moody's own head.
‘Are you quite sure it's him, Lupin?’ he growled. ‘It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?’
‘Harry, what form does your Patronus take?’ Lupin asked.
‘A stag,’ said Harry nervously.
‘That's him, Mad-Eye,’ said Lupin.
Very conscious of everybody still staring at him, Harry descended the stairs, stowing his wand in the back pocket of his jeans as he came.
‘You are not to leave your bedroom while we are away.’
‘OK.’
‘You are not to touch the television, the stereo, or any of our possessions.’
‘Right.’
‘You are not to steal food from the fridge.’
‘OK.’
‘I am going to lock your door.’
‘You do that.’
Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, clearly suspicious of this lack of argument, then stomped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Harry heard the key turn in the lock and Uncle Vernon's footsteps walking heavily down the stairs. A few minutes later he heard the slamming of car doors, the rumble of an engine, and the unmistakeable sound of the car sweeping out of the drive.
Harry had no particular feeling about the Dursleys leaving. It made no difference to him whether they were in the house or not. He could not even summon the energy to get up and turn on his bedroom light. The room grew steadily darker around him as he lay listening to the night sounds through the window he kept open all the time, waiting for the blessed moment when Hedwig returned.
The empty house creaked around him. The pipes gurgled. Harry lay there in a kind of stupor, thinking of nothing, suspended in misery.
Then, quite distinctly, he heard a crash in the kitchen below.
He sat bolt upright, listening intently. The Dursleys couldn't be back, it was much too soon, and in any case he hadn't heard their car.
There was silence for a few seconds, then voices.
Burglars, he thought, sliding off the bed on to his feet—but a split second later it occurred to him that burglars would keep their voices down, and whoever was moving around in the kitchen was certainly not troubling to do so.
He snatched up his wand from the bedside table and stood facing his bedroom door, listening with all his might. Next moment, he jumped as the lock gave a loud click and his door swung open.
Harry stood motionless, staring through the open doorway at the dark upstairs landing, straining his ears for further sounds, but none came. He hesitated for a moment, then moved swiftly and silently out of his room to the head of the stairs.
His heart shot upwards into his throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as he could see, looking up at him.
‘Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out,’ said a low, growling voice.
Harry's heart was thumping uncontrollably. He knew that voice, but he did not lower his wand.
‘Professor Moody?’ he said uncertainly.
‘I don't know so much about “Professor",’ growled the voice, ‘never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly.’
Harry lowered his wand slightly but did not relax his grip on it, nor did he move. He had very good reason to be suspicious. He had recently spent nine months in what he had thought was Mad-Eye Moody's company only to find out that it wasn't Moody at all, but an impostor; an impostor, moreover, who
‘It's all right, Harry. We've come to take you away.’
Harry's heart leapt. He knew that voice, too, though he hadn't heard it for over a year.
‘P-Professor Lupin?’ he said disbelievingly. ‘Is that you?’
‘Why are we all standing in the dark?’ said a third voice, this one completely unfamiliar, a woman's. ‘Lumos.’
A wand-tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light. Harry blinked. The people below were crowded around the foot of the stairs, gazing up at him intently, some craning their heads for a better look.
Remus Lupin stood nearest to him. Though still quite young, Lupin looked tired and rather ill; he had more grey hairs than when Harry had last said good-bye to him and his robes were more patched and shabbier than ever. Nevertheless, he was smiling broadly at Harry, who tried to smile back despite his state of shock.
‘Oooh, he looks just like I thought he would,’ said the witch who was holding her lit wand aloft. She looked the youngest there; she had a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. ‘Wotcher, Harry!’
‘Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus,’ said a bald black wizard standing furthest back; he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear. ‘He looks exactly like James.’
‘Except the eyes,’ said a wheezy-voiced, silver-haired wizard at the back. ‘Lily's eyes.’
Mad-Eye Moody, who had long grizzled grey hair and a large chunk missing from his nose, was squinting suspiciously at Harry through his mismatched eyes. One eye was small, dark and beady, the other large, round and electric blue—the magical eye that could see through walls, doors, and the back of Moody's own head.
‘Are you quite sure it's him, Lupin?’ he growled. ‘It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?’
‘Harry, what form does your Patronus take?’ Lupin asked.
‘A stag,’ said Harry nervously.
‘That's him, Mad-Eye,’ said Lupin.
Very conscious of everybody still staring at him, Harry descended the stairs, stowing his wand in the back pocket of his jeans as he came.
She took off immediately. The moment she'd gone,
Harry threw himself down on his bed without undressing and stared at the dark ceiling. In addition to every other miserable feeling, he now felt guilty that he'd been irritable with Hedwig; she was the only friend he had at number four, Privet Drive. But he'd make it up to her when she came back with the answers from Sirius, Ron and Hermione.
They were bound to write back quickly; they couldn't possibly ignore a Dementor attack. He'd probably wake up tomorrow to three fat letters full of sympathy and plans for his immediate removal to The Burrow. And with that comforting idea, sleep rolled over him, stifling all further thought.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
But Hedwig didn't return next morning. Harry spent the day in his bedroom, leaving it only to go to the bathroom. Three times that day Aunt Petunia shoved food into his room through the cat-flap Uncle Vernon had installed three summers ago. Every time Harry heard her approaching he tried to question her about the Howler, but he might as well have interrogated the doorknob for all the answers he got. Otherwise, the Dursleys kept well clear of his bedroom. Harry couldn't see the point of forcing his company on them; another row would achieve nothing except perhaps make him so angry he'd perform more illegal magic.
So it went on for three whole days. Harry was alternately filled with restless energy that made him unable to settle to anything, during which time he paced his bedroom, furious at the whole lot of them for leaving him to stew in this mess, and with a lethargy so complete that he could lie on his bed for an hour at a time, staring dazedly into space, aching with dread at the thought of the Ministry hearing.
What if they ruled against him? What if he was expelled and his wand was snapped in half? What would he do, where would he go? He could not return to living full-time with the Dursleys, not now he knew the other world, the one to which he really belonged.... Might he be able to move into Sirius's house, as Sirius had suggested a year ago, before he had been forced to flee from the Ministry? Would Harry be allowed to live there alone, given that he was still underage? Or would the matter of where he went next be decided for him? Had his breach of the International Statute of Secrecy been severe enough to land him in a cell in Azkaban? Whenever this thought occurred, Harry invariably slid off his bed and began pacing again.
On the fourth night after Hedwig's departure Harry was lying in one of his apathetic phases, staring at the ceiling, his exhausted mind quite blank, when his uncle entered his bedroom. Harry looked slowly around at him. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and an expression of enormous smugness.
‘We're going out,’ he said.
‘Sorry?’
They were bound to write back quickly; they couldn't possibly ignore a Dementor attack. He'd probably wake up tomorrow to three fat letters full of sympathy and plans for his immediate removal to The Burrow. And with that comforting idea, sleep rolled over him, stifling all further thought.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
But Hedwig didn't return next morning. Harry spent the day in his bedroom, leaving it only to go to the bathroom. Three times that day Aunt Petunia shoved food into his room through the cat-flap Uncle Vernon had installed three summers ago. Every time Harry heard her approaching he tried to question her about the Howler, but he might as well have interrogated the doorknob for all the answers he got. Otherwise, the Dursleys kept well clear of his bedroom. Harry couldn't see the point of forcing his company on them; another row would achieve nothing except perhaps make him so angry he'd perform more illegal magic.
So it went on for three whole days. Harry was alternately filled with restless energy that made him unable to settle to anything, during which time he paced his bedroom, furious at the whole lot of them for leaving him to stew in this mess, and with a lethargy so complete that he could lie on his bed for an hour at a time, staring dazedly into space, aching with dread at the thought of the Ministry hearing.
What if they ruled against him? What if he was expelled and his wand was snapped in half? What would he do, where would he go? He could not return to living full-time with the Dursleys, not now he knew the other world, the one to which he really belonged.... Might he be able to move into Sirius's house, as Sirius had suggested a year ago, before he had been forced to flee from the Ministry? Would Harry be allowed to live there alone, given that he was still underage? Or would the matter of where he went next be decided for him? Had his breach of the International Statute of Secrecy been severe enough to land him in a cell in Azkaban? Whenever this thought occurred, Harry invariably slid off his bed and began pacing again.
On the fourth night after Hedwig's departure Harry was lying in one of his apathetic phases, staring at the ceiling, his exhausted mind quite blank, when his uncle entered his bedroom. Harry looked slowly around at him. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and an expression of enormous smugness.
‘We're going out,’ he said.
‘Sorry?’
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Harry screwed up his face and buried it in his hands
. He could not lie to himself; if he had known the prefect badge was on its way, he would have expected it to come to him, not Ron. Did this make him as arrogant as Draco
Malfoy? Did he think himself superior to everyone else? Did he really believe he was better than Ron?
No, said the small voice defiantly.
Was that true? Harry wondered, anxiously probing his own feelings.
I'm better at Quidditch, said the voice. But I'm not better at anything else.
That was definitely true, Harry thought; he was no better than Ron in lessons. But what about outside lessons? What about those adventures he, Ron, and Hermione had had together since starting at Hogwarts, often risking
much worse than expulsion?
Well, Ron and Hermione were with me most of the time, said the voice in Harry's head.
Not all the time, though, Harry argued with himself. They didn't fight Quirrell with me. They didn't take on Riddle and the Basilisk. They didn't get rid of all those dementors the night Sirius escaped. They weren't in that
graveyard with me, the night Voldemort returned....
And the same feeling of ill-usage that had overwhelmed him on the night he had arrived rose again. I've definitely done more, Harry thought indignantly. I've done more than either of them!
But maybe, said the small voice fairly, maybe Dumbledore doesn't choose prefects because they've got themselves into a load of dangerous situations.... Maybe he chooses them for other reasons.... Ron must have
something you don't....
Harry opened his eyes and stared through his fingers at the wardrobe's clawed feet, remembering what Fred had said.
‘No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect....’
Harry gave a small snort of laughter. A second later he felt sickened with himself.
Ron had not asked Dumbledore to give him the prefect badge. This was not Ron's fault. Was he, Harry, Ron's best friend in the world, going to sulk because he didn't have a badge, laugh with the twins behind Ron's back,
ruin this for Ron when, for the first time, he had beaten Harry at something?
At this point Harry heard Ron's footsteps on the stairs again. He stood up, straightened his glasses, and hitched a grin on to his face as Ron bounded back through the door.
‘Just caught her!’ he said happily. ‘She says she'll get the Cleansweep if she can.’
‘Cool,’ Harry said, and he was relieved to hear that his voice had stopped sounding hearty. ‘Listen—Ron—well done, mate.’
The smile faded off Ron's face.
‘I never thought it would be me!’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I thought it would be you!’
‘Nah, I've caused too much trouble,’ Harry said, echoing Fred.
‘Yeah,’ said Ron, ‘yeah, I suppose.... Well, we'd better get our trunks packed, hadn't we?’
It was odd how widely their possessions seemed to have scattered themselves since they had arrived. It took them most of the afternoon to retrieve their books and belongings from all over the house and stow them back
inside their school trunks. Marry noticed that Ron kept moving his prefect's badge around, first placing it on his bedside table, then putting it into his jeans pocket, then taking it out and lying it on his folded robes, as though to
see the effect of the red on the black. Only when Fred and George dropped in and offered to attach it to his forehead with a Permanent Sticking Charm did he wrap it tenderly in his maroon socks and lock it in his trunk.
Mrs. Weasley returned from Diagon Alley around six o'clock, laden with books and carrying a long package wrapped in thick brown paper that Ron took from her with a moan of longing.
‘Never mind unwrapping it now, people are arriving for dinner, I want you all downstairs,’ she said, but the moment she was out of sight Ron ripped off the paper in a frenzy and examined every inch of his new broom, an
ecstatic expression on his face.
Down in the basement Mrs. Weasley had hung a scarlet banner over the heavily laden dinner table, which read CONGRATULATIONS RON AND HERMIONE—NEW PREFECTS. She looked in a better mood than Harry had
seen her all holiday.
‘I thought we'd have a little party not a sit-down dinner,’ she told Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny as they entered the room. ‘Your father and Bill are on their way, Ron. I've sent them both owls and they're
thrilled,’ she added, beaming.
Fred rolled his eyes.
Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley Shacklebolt were already there and Mad-Eye Moody stumped in shortly after Harry had got himself a Butterbeer.
‘Oh, Alastor, I am glad you're here,’ said Mrs. Weasley brightly, as Mad-Eye shrugged off his travelling cloak. ‘We've been wanting to ask you for ages—could you have a look in the writing desk in the drawing room and tell us
what's inside it? We haven't wanted to open it just in case it's something really nasty.’
‘No problem, Molly...’
Moody's electric-blue eye swivelled upwards and stared fixedly through the ceiling of the kitchen.
‘Drawing room...’ he growled, as the pupil contracted. ‘Desk in the corner? Yeah, I see it.... Yeah, it's a boggart.... Want me to go up and get rid of it, Molly?’
‘No, no, I'll do it myself later,’ beamed Mrs. Weasley, ‘you have your drink. We're having a little bit of a celebration, actually....’ She gestured at the scarlet banner. ‘Fourth prefect in the family!’ she said fondly, ruffling Ron's
hair.
‘Prefect, eh?’ growled Moody, his normal eye on Ron and his magical eye swivelling around to gaze into the side of his head. Harry had the very uncomfortable feeling it was looking at him and moved away towards Sirius and
Lupin.
‘Well, congratulations,’ said Moody, still glaring at Ron with his normal eye, ‘authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn't have appointed you....’
Ron looked rather startled at this view of the matter but was saved the trouble of responding by the arrival of his father and eldest brother. Mrs. Weasley was in such a good mood she did not even complain that they had
brought Mundungus with them; he was wearing a long overcoat that seemed oddly lumpy in unlikely places and declined the offer to remove it and put it with Moody's travelling cloak.
‘Well, I think a toast is in order,’ said Mr. Weasley, when everyone had a drink. He raised his goblet. ‘To Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects!’
Ron and Hermione beamed as everyone drank to them, and then applauded.
‘I was never a prefect myself,’ said Tonks brightly from behind Harry as everybody moved towards the table to help themselves to food. Her hair was tomato red and waist-length today; she looked like Ginny's older sister. ‘My
Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities.’
‘Like what?’ said Ginny, who was choosing a baked potato.
‘Like the ability to behave myself,’ said Tonks.
Ginny laughed; Hermione looked as though she did not know whether to smile or not and compromised by taking an extra large gulp of Butterbeer and choking on it.
‘What about you, Sirius?’ Ginny asked, thumping Hermione on the back.
Sirius, who was right beside Harry, let out his usual bark-like laugh.
‘No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge.’
‘I think Dumbledore might have hoped I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends,’ said Lupin. ‘I need scarcely say that I failed dismally.’
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Malfoy? Did he think himself superior to everyone else? Did he really believe he was better than Ron?
No, said the small voice defiantly.
Was that true? Harry wondered, anxiously probing his own feelings.
I'm better at Quidditch, said the voice. But I'm not better at anything else.
That was definitely true, Harry thought; he was no better than Ron in lessons. But what about outside lessons? What about those adventures he, Ron, and Hermione had had together since starting at Hogwarts, often risking
much worse than expulsion?
Well, Ron and Hermione were with me most of the time, said the voice in Harry's head.
Not all the time, though, Harry argued with himself. They didn't fight Quirrell with me. They didn't take on Riddle and the Basilisk. They didn't get rid of all those dementors the night Sirius escaped. They weren't in that
graveyard with me, the night Voldemort returned....
And the same feeling of ill-usage that had overwhelmed him on the night he had arrived rose again. I've definitely done more, Harry thought indignantly. I've done more than either of them!
But maybe, said the small voice fairly, maybe Dumbledore doesn't choose prefects because they've got themselves into a load of dangerous situations.... Maybe he chooses them for other reasons.... Ron must have
something you don't....
Harry opened his eyes and stared through his fingers at the wardrobe's clawed feet, remembering what Fred had said.
‘No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect....’
Harry gave a small snort of laughter. A second later he felt sickened with himself.
Ron had not asked Dumbledore to give him the prefect badge. This was not Ron's fault. Was he, Harry, Ron's best friend in the world, going to sulk because he didn't have a badge, laugh with the twins behind Ron's back,
ruin this for Ron when, for the first time, he had beaten Harry at something?
At this point Harry heard Ron's footsteps on the stairs again. He stood up, straightened his glasses, and hitched a grin on to his face as Ron bounded back through the door.
‘Just caught her!’ he said happily. ‘She says she'll get the Cleansweep if she can.’
‘Cool,’ Harry said, and he was relieved to hear that his voice had stopped sounding hearty. ‘Listen—Ron—well done, mate.’
The smile faded off Ron's face.
‘I never thought it would be me!’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I thought it would be you!’
‘Nah, I've caused too much trouble,’ Harry said, echoing Fred.
‘Yeah,’ said Ron, ‘yeah, I suppose.... Well, we'd better get our trunks packed, hadn't we?’
It was odd how widely their possessions seemed to have scattered themselves since they had arrived. It took them most of the afternoon to retrieve their books and belongings from all over the house and stow them back
inside their school trunks. Marry noticed that Ron kept moving his prefect's badge around, first placing it on his bedside table, then putting it into his jeans pocket, then taking it out and lying it on his folded robes, as though to
see the effect of the red on the black. Only when Fred and George dropped in and offered to attach it to his forehead with a Permanent Sticking Charm did he wrap it tenderly in his maroon socks and lock it in his trunk.
Mrs. Weasley returned from Diagon Alley around six o'clock, laden with books and carrying a long package wrapped in thick brown paper that Ron took from her with a moan of longing.
‘Never mind unwrapping it now, people are arriving for dinner, I want you all downstairs,’ she said, but the moment she was out of sight Ron ripped off the paper in a frenzy and examined every inch of his new broom, an
ecstatic expression on his face.
Down in the basement Mrs. Weasley had hung a scarlet banner over the heavily laden dinner table, which read CONGRATULATIONS RON AND HERMIONE—NEW PREFECTS. She looked in a better mood than Harry had
seen her all holiday.
‘I thought we'd have a little party not a sit-down dinner,’ she told Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny as they entered the room. ‘Your father and Bill are on their way, Ron. I've sent them both owls and they're
thrilled,’ she added, beaming.
Fred rolled his eyes.
Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley Shacklebolt were already there and Mad-Eye Moody stumped in shortly after Harry had got himself a Butterbeer.
‘Oh, Alastor, I am glad you're here,’ said Mrs. Weasley brightly, as Mad-Eye shrugged off his travelling cloak. ‘We've been wanting to ask you for ages—could you have a look in the writing desk in the drawing room and tell us
what's inside it? We haven't wanted to open it just in case it's something really nasty.’
‘No problem, Molly...’
Moody's electric-blue eye swivelled upwards and stared fixedly through the ceiling of the kitchen.
‘Drawing room...’ he growled, as the pupil contracted. ‘Desk in the corner? Yeah, I see it.... Yeah, it's a boggart.... Want me to go up and get rid of it, Molly?’
‘No, no, I'll do it myself later,’ beamed Mrs. Weasley, ‘you have your drink. We're having a little bit of a celebration, actually....’ She gestured at the scarlet banner. ‘Fourth prefect in the family!’ she said fondly, ruffling Ron's
hair.
‘Prefect, eh?’ growled Moody, his normal eye on Ron and his magical eye swivelling around to gaze into the side of his head. Harry had the very uncomfortable feeling it was looking at him and moved away towards Sirius and
Lupin.
‘Well, congratulations,’ said Moody, still glaring at Ron with his normal eye, ‘authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn't have appointed you....’
Ron looked rather startled at this view of the matter but was saved the trouble of responding by the arrival of his father and eldest brother. Mrs. Weasley was in such a good mood she did not even complain that they had
brought Mundungus with them; he was wearing a long overcoat that seemed oddly lumpy in unlikely places and declined the offer to remove it and put it with Moody's travelling cloak.
‘Well, I think a toast is in order,’ said Mr. Weasley, when everyone had a drink. He raised his goblet. ‘To Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects!’
Ron and Hermione beamed as everyone drank to them, and then applauded.
‘I was never a prefect myself,’ said Tonks brightly from behind Harry as everybody moved towards the table to help themselves to food. Her hair was tomato red and waist-length today; she looked like Ginny's older sister. ‘My
Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities.’
‘Like what?’ said Ginny, who was choosing a baked potato.
‘Like the ability to behave myself,’ said Tonks.
Ginny laughed; Hermione looked as though she did not know whether to smile or not and compromised by taking an extra large gulp of Butterbeer and choking on it.
‘What about you, Sirius?’ Ginny asked, thumping Hermione on the back.
Sirius, who was right beside Harry, let out his usual bark-like laugh.
‘No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge.’
‘I think Dumbledore might have hoped I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends,’ said Lupin. ‘I need scarcely say that I failed dismally.’
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Wednesday, November 10, 2010
2009 Bank Holidays - Get List of 2009 Bank Holidays in USA, Canada, India and UK
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：122 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 1:28:12
2009 bank holidays are all public holidays and are observed across the various countries. The 2009 bank holidays are expected to be great occasions for merriment and planning for lovely vacations to ones dream destinations. Beginning with the New Year Day on the 1st of January to the Boxing Day on the 28th of December, all the 2009 Bank holidays will be observed in the highest magnitude of celebrations throughout the world. The 2009 bank holidays differ from country to country and the most significant ones have been picked here for your perusal.
The United Kingdom and parts of the Northern Ireland has 8 holidays scheduled for the year 2009. All the 2009 bank holidays in the UK are public holidays of Britain. Although relatively few in numbers as compared to other European countries, they are nevertheless
Mentioned below are the 2009 bank holidays in the UK:
New Year's Day - January 1st 2009
Good Friday April 10th 2009
Easter Monday April 13th 2009
Early May Bank Holiday - May 4th 2009
Spring Bank Holiday May 25th 2009
Summer Bank Holiday August 31st 2009
Christmas Day December 25th 2009
Boxing Day December 28th 2009
The 2009 bank holidays in US, are also known as the federal holidays. Majority of the 50 states in the US celebrate them as occasions they look forward to for a whole year. These bank holidays belong to the distinct genres of are as follows:
New Years Day January 1st 2009
Martin Luther King's Birthday January 19th 2009
President's Day February 18th 2009
Memorial Day May 26th 2009
Independence Day July 4th 2009
Labor Day September 1st 2009
Columbus Day October 13th 2009
Veteran's Day November 11th 2009
Thanksgiving Day November 27th 2009
Christmas Day December 26th 2009
2009 bank holidays in Canada are about 10 in number and all the days are observed as public holidays throughout the country.
New Year January 1st 2009
Good Friday April 10th 2009
Easter Monday April 13th 2009
Victory Day May 18th 2009
Canada day July 1st 2009
Labor Day - September 7th 2009
Thanksgiving Day October 12th 2009
Remembrance Day November 11th 2009
Christmas December 25th 2009
Boxing Day December 26th 2009
2009 bank holidays in India are a blend of national events, religious festivals and community celebrations. From the Christian religious festivals to the Sikh festivals and also the Hindu as well as Muslim festivals, the major ones are celebrated as the Bank holidays in India. Other than the religious fervor, several festivals depicting the patriotic themes like the Republic Day and the Independence Day of the country. The 2009 Bank holidays in India have been mentioned below along with the dates for your perusal:
Muharram
Republic Day
Milad un Nabi
Independence Day
Gandhi Jayanti
Id ul fitr
Dussehra
Diwali
Guru Nanak Jayanti
For updated information on the 2009 Bank holidays one could also refer to the several online portals that offer comprehensive information on the same.
2009 bank holidays are all public holidays and are observed across the various countries. The 2009 bank holidays are expected to be great occasions for merriment and planning for lovely vacations to ones dream destinations. Beginning with the New Year Day on the 1st of January to the Boxing Day on the 28th of December, all the 2009 Bank holidays will be observed in the highest magnitude of celebrations throughout the world. The 2009 bank holidays differ from country to country and the most significant ones have been picked here for your perusal.
The United Kingdom and parts of the Northern Ireland has 8 holidays scheduled for the year 2009. All the 2009 bank holidays in the UK are public holidays of Britain. Although relatively few in numbers as compared to other European countries, they are nevertheless
Mentioned below are the 2009 bank holidays in the UK:
New Year's Day - January 1st 2009
Good Friday April 10th 2009
Easter Monday April 13th 2009
Early May Bank Holiday - May 4th 2009
Spring Bank Holiday May 25th 2009
Summer Bank Holiday August 31st 2009
Christmas Day December 25th 2009
Boxing Day December 28th 2009
The 2009 bank holidays in US, are also known as the federal holidays. Majority of the 50 states in the US celebrate them as occasions they look forward to for a whole year. These bank holidays belong to the distinct genres of are as follows:
New Years Day January 1st 2009
Martin Luther King's Birthday January 19th 2009
President's Day February 18th 2009
Memorial Day May 26th 2009
Independence Day July 4th 2009
Labor Day September 1st 2009
Columbus Day October 13th 2009
Veteran's Day November 11th 2009
Thanksgiving Day November 27th 2009
Christmas Day December 26th 2009
2009 bank holidays in Canada are about 10 in number and all the days are observed as public holidays throughout the country.
New Year January 1st 2009
Good Friday April 10th 2009
Easter Monday April 13th 2009
Victory Day May 18th 2009
Canada day July 1st 2009
Labor Day - September 7th 2009
Thanksgiving Day October 12th 2009
Remembrance Day November 11th 2009
Christmas December 25th 2009
Boxing Day December 26th 2009
2009 bank holidays in India are a blend of national events, religious festivals and community celebrations. From the Christian religious festivals to the Sikh festivals and also the Hindu as well as Muslim festivals, the major ones are celebrated as the Bank holidays in India. Other than the religious fervor, several festivals depicting the patriotic themes like the Republic Day and the Independence Day of the country. The 2009 Bank holidays in India have been mentioned below along with the dates for your perusal:
Muharram
Republic Day
Milad un Nabi
Independence Day
Gandhi Jayanti
Id ul fitr
Dussehra
Diwali
Guru Nanak Jayanti
For updated information on the 2009 Bank holidays one could also refer to the several online portals that offer comprehensive information on the same.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Choosing a Lamp for a Kids Study Area
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：114 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 1:02:59
Summer's over and school's back in session (we moved South years ago, but still haven't gotten used to kids starting school before Labor Day!) and it's time to make sure your child has a quiet, well-lit place to do homework.
A couple observations from a working mother of three, who just happens to own a lamp store.
If you're going to include your child in the selection of her lamp, do a bit of pre-shopping. Lamp choices can be daunting to an adult, but they be overwhleming to a child, whether the child is 5 or 15.
Over and over again, we've watched moms lead theur under-10 year old child to our store's "Kids" section, ask the child which lamp he likes, then try to talk the child out of his selection, because it doesn't fit the space or
decor of the room. Too many times, we've watched moms try to gently explain to a 12 year old that the $450. lamp she's just fallen in love with isn't in the family budget.
Too many times, we've watched as mother and 16 year old daughter try to balance the selection of a chrome and glass ultra contemporary lamp with the Country French furnishings of the daughter's room. Bottom line: If
you're going to let your child pick out his/her lamp, pre-select the choices so you can exercise some control over the look, cost and size of the lamp. We recommend Two Choices for a pre-teen and Three Choices for a
teenager.
Let's get back to that "quiet, well-lit place to do homework." Where, in the house, a child does his studying is the real issue...whether it's at a desk in his own room, on the floor of the living room or at the kitchen counter. The
important point, of course, is that a specific place and a specified time be designated and a routine established. And wherever that place is, your "job" as a parent to is make sure THAT'S the spot that has adequate reading
light.
Bottom line: If your child sits at a desk or table to do homework, provide a lamp that's tall enough and the bottom of the lampshade is wide enough, to cast good light on the work area. The base of the lamp should be sturdy
enough so that a brush by a book or a wave of an arm won't continually knock the lamp over. The size of the lamp's base should not take up too much of the work area, so that it doesn't have to be constantly moved around
to make way for projects. The lamp should be "replaceable", i.e. NOT a sentimental family heirloom, just in case there is an accidental knock or a mishap with a spilled glass of juice or a swipe with a pencil. The lamp should
have at LEAST a 60watt bulb.
If your child ends up spawled on the floor, as one of our always did, try to make sure THAT spot is within a good pool of light, whether from a nearby table lamp or a floor lamp. The light provided by ceiling fixtures, track or can
lights just isn't enough for reading. Since the distance from the table or floor lamp, to the floor where your child is, is greater than from a desk or table, the nearby lamp should have at LEAST a 100watt bulb.
Just a brief note about Halogen Task Lamps: Much as we love them, for desk or bedside use, because they're flexible and give such good reading light, we do NOT recommend them for any children under 10 years old. The
downside of that wonderful, pure white light from a halogen bulb, is HEAT and an accidental brush could result in, if not a real burn, at least a very uncomfortable experience. And...as we learned with our easily distracted
child, a lamp with moveable parts is just more fun to play with than doing math.
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Summer's over and school's back in session (we moved South years ago, but still haven't gotten used to kids starting school before Labor Day!) and it's time to make sure your child has a quiet, well-lit place to do homework.
A couple observations from a working mother of three, who just happens to own a lamp store.
If you're going to include your child in the selection of her lamp, do a bit of pre-shopping. Lamp choices can be daunting to an adult, but they be overwhleming to a child, whether the child is 5 or 15.
Over and over again, we've watched moms lead theur under-10 year old child to our store's "Kids" section, ask the child which lamp he likes, then try to talk the child out of his selection, because it doesn't fit the space or
decor of the room. Too many times, we've watched moms try to gently explain to a 12 year old that the $450. lamp she's just fallen in love with isn't in the family budget.
Too many times, we've watched as mother and 16 year old daughter try to balance the selection of a chrome and glass ultra contemporary lamp with the Country French furnishings of the daughter's room. Bottom line: If
you're going to let your child pick out his/her lamp, pre-select the choices so you can exercise some control over the look, cost and size of the lamp. We recommend Two Choices for a pre-teen and Three Choices for a
teenager.
Let's get back to that "quiet, well-lit place to do homework." Where, in the house, a child does his studying is the real issue...whether it's at a desk in his own room, on the floor of the living room or at the kitchen counter. The
important point, of course, is that a specific place and a specified time be designated and a routine established. And wherever that place is, your "job" as a parent to is make sure THAT'S the spot that has adequate reading
light.
Bottom line: If your child sits at a desk or table to do homework, provide a lamp that's tall enough and the bottom of the lampshade is wide enough, to cast good light on the work area. The base of the lamp should be sturdy
enough so that a brush by a book or a wave of an arm won't continually knock the lamp over. The size of the lamp's base should not take up too much of the work area, so that it doesn't have to be constantly moved around
to make way for projects. The lamp should be "replaceable", i.e. NOT a sentimental family heirloom, just in case there is an accidental knock or a mishap with a spilled glass of juice or a swipe with a pencil. The lamp should
have at LEAST a 60watt bulb.
If your child ends up spawled on the floor, as one of our always did, try to make sure THAT spot is within a good pool of light, whether from a nearby table lamp or a floor lamp. The light provided by ceiling fixtures, track or can
lights just isn't enough for reading. Since the distance from the table or floor lamp, to the floor where your child is, is greater than from a desk or table, the nearby lamp should have at LEAST a 100watt bulb.
Just a brief note about Halogen Task Lamps: Much as we love them, for desk or bedside use, because they're flexible and give such good reading light, we do NOT recommend them for any children under 10 years old. The
downside of that wonderful, pure white light from a halogen bulb, is HEAT and an accidental brush could result in, if not a real burn, at least a very uncomfortable experience. And...as we learned with our easily distracted
child, a lamp with moveable parts is just more fun to play with than doing math.
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Monday, November 8, 2010
How Much Is A Mommy Makeover?
Author：Dr. Robert Kenevan Source：none Hits：46 UpdateTime：2008-7-12 18:36:58
What is a "Mommy Makeover?"
A mommy makeover is aimed at women of child bearing age and focuses on the two body parts that are almost always affected by pregnancy and aging, the breasts and abdomen. Post-Baby Bodies is another term for the "Mommy Makeover." It often includes a breast augmentation (with or without a lift) and a tummy tuck.
The price of mommy makeover will vary due to several factors including:
-The location of the cosmetic surgery clinic (city vs. smaller town). -Where the surgery is performed (outpatient vs. hospital). -The combination of which cosmetic surgeries are being performed. -The surgeon's, nursing and anesthesia fees.
According to the American Society of Plastic Surgeons the average cost of a mommy makeover averages between $12,000 - 14, 000 depending on the factors above. It is important when you have a consultation with a Board-Certified cosmetic surgeon that you know exactly what you are paying for and what fee's are included in your quote.
There are many cosmetic surgery clinic's that offer all-inclusive quotes, which means that there are no hidden fee's and you pay only one fee for your surgery. Pain medications to help control discomfort after surgery are generally covered by insurance and not included in your surgical quote.
Recent studies, by the American Board of Plastic Surgery, have pointed out a high number of women and "moms" seeking to reverse the impact of pregnancy and aging on their bodies. Pregnancy affects each woman differently, with age and genetics playing a role in how the body recovers or ages.
With cosmetic surgery becoming a main stream phenomenon, women no longer have to accept their deflated or sagging breasts, and lose or stretched skin on their stomachs, from having their children like the generations of women before.
We have found that the majority of women seeking cosmetic surgery after pregnancy are in fact uncomfortable and embarrassed with their bodies and just want to feel "normal" again.
Twenty years ago, a woman did not think she could do something about it, and she covered up with discreet clothing. But now women don't have to go on feeling self-conscious or resentful about their appearance. This is because 20 years ago cosmetic surgery was only for the rich and famous, considered vain and was not talked about.
According to the American Society of Plastic Surgeons (ASPS) doctors nationwide performed over 325,000 "mommy makeover procedures" in 2006. This is up 11% from 2005.
The majority of women do not view cosmetic surgery as the easy way out of exercising or going to the gym. In fact, many women have already spent months in the gym with a trainer before they even seek out the opinion of a board certified cosmetic surgeon. There are some things going to the gym just can't fix.
When it can be done safely, the "mommy makeover" of a post baby body offers many advantages. There is only one surgery, therefore one recovery period, which means less down time at home or away from work!
Copyright (c) 2008 Dr. Robert Kenevan
What is a "Mommy Makeover?"
A mommy makeover is aimed at women of child bearing age and focuses on the two body parts that are almost always affected by pregnancy and aging, the breasts and abdomen. Post-Baby Bodies is another term for the "Mommy Makeover." It often includes a breast augmentation (with or without a lift) and a tummy tuck.
The price of mommy makeover will vary due to several factors including:
-The location of the cosmetic surgery clinic (city vs. smaller town). -Where the surgery is performed (outpatient vs. hospital). -The combination of which cosmetic surgeries are being performed. -The surgeon's, nursing and anesthesia fees.
According to the American Society of Plastic Surgeons the average cost of a mommy makeover averages between $12,000 - 14, 000 depending on the factors above. It is important when you have a consultation with a Board-Certified cosmetic surgeon that you know exactly what you are paying for and what fee's are included in your quote.
There are many cosmetic surgery clinic's that offer all-inclusive quotes, which means that there are no hidden fee's and you pay only one fee for your surgery. Pain medications to help control discomfort after surgery are generally covered by insurance and not included in your surgical quote.
Recent studies, by the American Board of Plastic Surgery, have pointed out a high number of women and "moms" seeking to reverse the impact of pregnancy and aging on their bodies. Pregnancy affects each woman differently, with age and genetics playing a role in how the body recovers or ages.
With cosmetic surgery becoming a main stream phenomenon, women no longer have to accept their deflated or sagging breasts, and lose or stretched skin on their stomachs, from having their children like the generations of women before.
We have found that the majority of women seeking cosmetic surgery after pregnancy are in fact uncomfortable and embarrassed with their bodies and just want to feel "normal" again.
Twenty years ago, a woman did not think she could do something about it, and she covered up with discreet clothing. But now women don't have to go on feeling self-conscious or resentful about their appearance. This is because 20 years ago cosmetic surgery was only for the rich and famous, considered vain and was not talked about.
According to the American Society of Plastic Surgeons (ASPS) doctors nationwide performed over 325,000 "mommy makeover procedures" in 2006. This is up 11% from 2005.
The majority of women do not view cosmetic surgery as the easy way out of exercising or going to the gym. In fact, many women have already spent months in the gym with a trainer before they even seek out the opinion of a board certified cosmetic surgeon. There are some things going to the gym just can't fix.
When it can be done safely, the "mommy makeover" of a post baby body offers many advantages. There is only one surgery, therefore one recovery period, which means less down time at home or away from work!
Copyright (c) 2008 Dr. Robert Kenevan
Popular Hawaii Plastic Surgeries: Facial Cheek Implants
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：34 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 0:28:04
Whether you want to create symmetry in your face, or perhaps recover from the signs of aging, many people are considering undergoing the Hawaii plastic surgery procedure of facial implants. Growing in prevalence, cheek implants help restore the youthful quality to your cheeks, and they make flat cheekbones look fuller again. Or, those who have never been happy with the appearance of their cheekbones would appreciate what this type of Hawaii plastic surgeries could do for their facial appearance.
Cheek implants (submalar/malar augmentation), also sometimes referred to as cheek augmentation, is a form of Hawaii plastic surgeries that can bring contour and balance to the entire face of a patient. Indeed, cheeks play a tremendous role in creating the overall look and appearance of our face.
Cheekbones play a big role in defining the look of the face. For example, cheekbones that are flat can cause a nose that is big to look even bigger, and they can make a receding chin appear that much smaller. Cheekbones also serve to give balance to the face and to bring attention to the eyes.
By making modifications to the bones of the face, facial harmony can be achieved, thus giving the Hawaii plastic surgeries patient a more balanced and beautiful look. It is not uncommon for a patient to have two Hawaii plastic surgeries at the same time: cheek implants in conjunction with rhinoplasty (also known as a nose job).
Who is a good candidate for Hawaii plastic surgeries cheek implants?
A person who is considering having any type of Hawaii plastic surgeries, whether it is cheek implants or another form of surgery, must be in top notch physical and emotional health. The person must not have any pre-existing medical conditions to speak of, and they must not be suffering from any type of disease.
Who gets this form of Hawaii plastic surgeries?
The individuals who most often desire cheek implants via Hawaii plastic surgeries are those who have cheekbone structures that are underdeveloped. It is also common for those who have lost the padding of healthy fat and the soft tissue that make up strong cheekbones to want to restore their youthful look. The loss of the appearance of defined cheekbones most often happens naturally due to the aging process.
As time passes, the tissues and the fats in the cheekbones lessen. This causes the skin to sag, and then gives the appearance of flat and/or sunken in cheekbones. The lack of tissues making up the cheekbones can lead to wrinkles and folds developing around the mouth. Female patients of Hawaii plastic surgeries often want to have the sagging skin of their cheekbones repositioned in an upward direction. They also routinely want to create an outwardly direction, filling in the depressions and hollows of their cheekbones. This can create a more youthful and vibrant appearance for any patient.
The cheek implant through Hawaii plastic surgeries is often thought of as a type of scaffolding that serves to hold up tissues inside the cheekbones that have collapsed and sunken in, potentially by gravity and the hands of time.
It is essential during your consultation with the Hawaii plastic surgeon that you divulge your complete medical history and tell him whether or not you have ever had any other Hawaii plastic surgeries. The more information he has to add to your chart, the better prepared he will be to perform your surgery. If you have experienced dental problems in the past, this is also pertinent information for him to know.
Whether you want to rejuvenate your face structures youthful appearance, or perhaps give your natural cheeks greater definition, obtaining Hawaii plastic surgeries in the form of cheek and facial implants can give you the beautiful look you deserve.
Whether you want to create symmetry in your face, or perhaps recover from the signs of aging, many people are considering undergoing the Hawaii plastic surgery procedure of facial implants. Growing in prevalence, cheek implants help restore the youthful quality to your cheeks, and they make flat cheekbones look fuller again. Or, those who have never been happy with the appearance of their cheekbones would appreciate what this type of Hawaii plastic surgeries could do for their facial appearance.
Cheek implants (submalar/malar augmentation), also sometimes referred to as cheek augmentation, is a form of Hawaii plastic surgeries that can bring contour and balance to the entire face of a patient. Indeed, cheeks play a tremendous role in creating the overall look and appearance of our face.
Cheekbones play a big role in defining the look of the face. For example, cheekbones that are flat can cause a nose that is big to look even bigger, and they can make a receding chin appear that much smaller. Cheekbones also serve to give balance to the face and to bring attention to the eyes.
By making modifications to the bones of the face, facial harmony can be achieved, thus giving the Hawaii plastic surgeries patient a more balanced and beautiful look. It is not uncommon for a patient to have two Hawaii plastic surgeries at the same time: cheek implants in conjunction with rhinoplasty (also known as a nose job).
Who is a good candidate for Hawaii plastic surgeries cheek implants?
A person who is considering having any type of Hawaii plastic surgeries, whether it is cheek implants or another form of surgery, must be in top notch physical and emotional health. The person must not have any pre-existing medical conditions to speak of, and they must not be suffering from any type of disease.
Who gets this form of Hawaii plastic surgeries?
The individuals who most often desire cheek implants via Hawaii plastic surgeries are those who have cheekbone structures that are underdeveloped. It is also common for those who have lost the padding of healthy fat and the soft tissue that make up strong cheekbones to want to restore their youthful look. The loss of the appearance of defined cheekbones most often happens naturally due to the aging process.
As time passes, the tissues and the fats in the cheekbones lessen. This causes the skin to sag, and then gives the appearance of flat and/or sunken in cheekbones. The lack of tissues making up the cheekbones can lead to wrinkles and folds developing around the mouth. Female patients of Hawaii plastic surgeries often want to have the sagging skin of their cheekbones repositioned in an upward direction. They also routinely want to create an outwardly direction, filling in the depressions and hollows of their cheekbones. This can create a more youthful and vibrant appearance for any patient.
The cheek implant through Hawaii plastic surgeries is often thought of as a type of scaffolding that serves to hold up tissues inside the cheekbones that have collapsed and sunken in, potentially by gravity and the hands of time.
It is essential during your consultation with the Hawaii plastic surgeon that you divulge your complete medical history and tell him whether or not you have ever had any other Hawaii plastic surgeries. The more information he has to add to your chart, the better prepared he will be to perform your surgery. If you have experienced dental problems in the past, this is also pertinent information for him to know.
Whether you want to rejuvenate your face structures youthful appearance, or perhaps give your natural cheeks greater definition, obtaining Hawaii plastic surgeries in the form of cheek and facial implants can give you the beautiful look you deserve.
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