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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Wednesday, November 17, 2010
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.
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