Dolores Umbridge 24 страница

“No, ” Harry corrected him. “He must’ve known you’d always want to come back. ”

Ron looked grateful, but still awkward. Partly to change the sub- ject, Harry said, “Speaking of Dumbledore, have you heard what Skeeter wrote about him? ”

“Oh yeah, ” said Ron at once, “people are talking about it quite a lot. ’Course, if things were different, it’d be huge news, Dumble- dore being pals with Grindelwald, but now it’s just something to laugh about for people who didn’t like Dumbledore, and a bit of a slap in the face for everyone who thought he was such a good bloke. I don’t know that it’s such a big deal, though. He was really young when they —”

“Our age, ” said Harry, just as he had retorted to Hermione, and something in his face seemed to decide Ron against pursuing the subject.

A large spider sat in the middle of a frosted web in the brambles. Harry took aim at it with the wand Ron had given him the previous

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night, which Hermione had since condescended to examine, and had decided was made of blackthorn.

“ Engorgio. ”

The spider gave a little shiver, bouncing slightly in the web. Harry tried again. This time the spider grew slightly larger.

“Stop that, ” said Ron sharply. “I’m sorry I said Dumbledore was young, okay? ”

Harry had forgotten Ron’s hatred of spiders.

“Sorry — Reducio. ”

The spider did not shrink. Harry looked down at the blackthorn wand. Every minor spell he had cast with it so far that day had seemed less powerful than those he had produced with his phoenix wand. The new one felt intrusively unfamiliar, like having somebody else’s hand sewn to the end of his arm.

“You just need to practice, ” said Hermione, who had approached them noiselessly from behind and had stood watching anxiously as Harry tried to enlarge and reduce the spider. “It’s all a matter of confidence, Harry. ”

He knew why she wanted it to be all right: She still felt guilty about breaking his wand. He bit back the retort that sprang to his lips, that she could take the blackthorn wand if she thought it made no difference, and he would have hers instead. Keen for them all to be friends again, however, he agreed; but when Ron gave Hermi- one a tentative smile, she stalked off and vanished behind her book once more.

All three of them returned to the tent when darkness fell, and Harry took first watch. Sitting in the entrance, he tried to make the blackthorn wand levitate small stones at his feet; but his magic still seemed clumsier and less powerful than it had done before.

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Hermione was lying on her bunk reading, while Ron, after many nervous glances up at her, had taken a small wooden wireless out of his rucksack and started to try and tune it.

“There’s this one program, ” he told Harry in a low voice, “that tells the news like it really is. All the others are on You-Know-Who’s side and are following the Ministry line, but this one. . . you wait till you hear it, it’s great. Only they can’t do it every night, they have to keep changing locations in case they’re raided, and you need a password to tune in. . . . Trouble is, I missed the last one. . . . ”

He drummed lightly on the top of the radio with his wand, mut- tering random words under his breath. He threw Hermione many covert glances, plainly fearing an angry outburst, but for all the no- tice she took of him he might not have been there. For ten minutes or so Ron tapped and muttered, Hermione turned the pages of her book, and Harry continued to practice with the blackthorn wand. Finally Hermione climbed down from her bunk. Ron ceased his tapping at once.

“If it’s annoying you, I’ll stop! ” he told Hermione nervously. Hermione did not deign to respond, but approached Harry. “We need to talk, ” she said.

He looked at the book still clutched in her hand. It was The Life

and Lies of Albus Dumbledore.

“What? ” he said apprehensively. It flew through his mind that there was a chapter on him in there; he was not sure he felt up to hearing Rita’s version of his relationship with Dumbledore. Hermi- one’s answer, however, was completely unexpected.

“I want to go and see Xenophilius Lovegood. ”

He stared at her.

“Sorry? ”

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“Xenophilius Lovegood. Luna’s father. I want to go and talk to him! ”

“Er — why? ”

She took a deep breath, as though bracing herself, and said, “It’s

that mark, the mark in Beedle the Bard. Look at this! ”

She thrust The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore under Harry’s

unwilling eyes and he saw a photograph of the original letter that Dumbledore had written Grindelwald, with Dumbledore’s famil- iar thin, slanting handwriting. He hated seeing absolute proof that Dumbledore really had written those words, that they had not been Rita’s invention.

“The signature, ” said Hermione. “Look at the signature, Harry! ” He obeyed. For a moment he had no idea what she was talking about, but, looking more closely with the aid of his lit wand, he saw

that Dumbledore had replaced the A of Albus with a tiny version

of the same triangular mark inscribed upon The Tales of Beedle the

Bard.

“Er — what are you —? ” said Ron tentatively, but Hermione quelled him with a look and turned back to Harry.

“It keeps cropping up, doesn’t it? ” she said. “I know Viktor said it was Grindelwald’s mark, but it was definitely on that old grave in Godric’s Hollow, and the dates on the headstone were long before Grindelwald came along! And now this! Well, we can’t ask Dumble- dore or Grindelwald what it means — I don’t even know whether Grindelwald’s still alive — but we can ask Mr. Lovegood. He was wearing the symbol at the wedding. I’m sure this is important, Harry! ”

Harry did not answer immediately. He looked into her intense, eager face and then out into the surrounding darkness, thinking.

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After a long pause he said, “Hermione, we don’t need another God- ric’s Hollow. We talked ourselves into going there, and —”

“But it keeps appearing, Harry! Dumbledore left me The Tales of

Beedle the Bard, how do you know we’re not supposed to find out

about the sign? ”

“Here we go again! ” Harry felt slightly exasperated. “We keep trying to convince ourselves Dumbledore left us secret signs and clues —”

“The Deluminator turned out to be pretty useful, ” piped up Ron. “I think Hermione’s right, I think we ought to go and see Lovegood. ”

Harry threw him a dark look. He was quite sure that Ron’s sup- port of Hermione had little to do with a desire to know the meaning of the triangular rune.

“It won’t be like Godric’s Hollow, ” Ron added, “Lovegood’s on

your side, Harry, The Quibbler’s been for you all along, it keeps tell-

ing everyone they’ve got to help you! ”

“I’m sure this is important! ” said Hermione earnestly. “But don’t you think if it was, Dumbledore would have told me about it before he died? ”

“Maybe. . . maybe it’s something you need to find out for your- self, ” said Hermione with a faint air of clutching at straws. “Yeah, ” said Ron sycophantically, “that makes sense. ” “No, it doesn’t, ” snapped Hermione, “but I still think we ought to talk to Mr. Lovegood. A symbol that links Dumbledore, Grin- delwald, and Godric’s Hollow? Harry, I’m sure we ought to know about this! ”

“I think we should vote on it, ” said Ron. “Those in favor of going to see Lovegood —”

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His hand flew into the air before Hermione’s. Her lips quivered suspiciously as she raised her own.

“Outvoted, Harry, sorry, ” said Ron, clapping him on the back. “Fine, ” said Harry, half amused, half irritated. “Only, once we’ve seen Lovegood, let’s try and look for some more Horcruxes, shall we? Where do the Lovegoods live, anyway? Do either of you know? ” “Yeah, they’re not far from my place, ” said Ron. “I dunno exactly where, but Mum and Dad always point toward the hills whenever they mention them. Shouldn’t be hard to find. ”

When Hermione had returned to her bunk, Harry lowered his voice.

“You only agreed to try and get back in her good books. ” “All’s fair in love and war, ” said Ron brightly, “and this is a bit of both. Cheer up, it’s the Christmas holidays, Luna’ll be home! ” They had an excellent view of the village of Ottery St. Catchpole from the breezy hillside to which they Disapparated next morning. From their high vantage point the village looked like a collection of toy houses in the great slanting shafts of sunlight stretching to earth in the breaks between clouds. They stood for a minute or two looking toward the Burrow, their hands shadowing their eyes, but all they could make out were the high hedges and trees of the orchard, which afforded the crooked little house protection from Muggle eyes. “It’s weird, being this near, but not going to visit, ” said Ron. “Well, it’s not like you haven’t just seen them. You were there for Christmas, ” said Hermione coldly.

“I wasn’t at the Burrow! ” said Ron with an incredulous laugh. “Do you think I was going to go back there and tell them all I’d walked out on you? Yeah, Fred and George would’ve been great about it. And Ginny, she’d have been really understanding. ”

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“But where have you been, then? ” asked Hermione, surprised. “Bill and Fleur’s new place. Shell Cottage. Bill’s always been de- cent to me. He — he wasn’t impressed when he heard what I’d done, but he didn’t go on about it. He knew I was really sorry. None of the rest of the family know I was there. Bill told Mum he and Fleur weren’t going home for Christmas because they wanted to spend it alone. You know, first holiday after they were married. I don’t think Fleur minded. You know how much she hates Celestina Warbeck. ”

Ron turned his back on the Burrow.

“Let’s try up here, ” he said, leading the way over the top of the hill.

They walked for a few hours, Harry, at Hermione’s insistence, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak. The cluster of low hills ap- peared to be uninhabited apart from one small cottage, which seemed deserted.

“Do you think it’s theirs, and they’ve gone away for Christmas? ” said Hermione, peering through the window at a neat little kitchen with geraniums on the windowsill. Ron snorted.

“Listen, I’ve got a feeling you’d be able to tell who lived there if you looked through the Lovegoods’ window. Let’s try the next lot of hills. ”

So they Disapparated a few miles farther north. “Aha! ” shouted Ron, as the wind whipped their hair and clothes. Ron was pointing upward, toward the top of the hill on which they had appeared, where a most strange-looking house rose vertically against the sky, a great black cylinder with a ghostly moon hanging behind it in the afternoon sky. “That’s got to be Luna’s house, who else would live in a place like that? It looks like a giant rook! ”

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“It’s nothing like a bird, ” said Hermione, frowning at the tower. “I was talking about a chess rook, ” said Ron. “A castle to you. ” Ron’s legs were the longest and he reached the top of the hill first. When Harry and Hermione caught up with him, panting and clutching stitches in their sides, they found him grinning broadly. “It’s theirs, ” said Ron. “Look. ”

Three hand-painted signs had been tacked to a broken-down gate. The first read,

THE QUIBBLER. EDITOR: X. LOVEGOOD

the second,

PICK YOUR OWN MISTLETOE

the third,

KEEP OFF THE DIRIGIBLE PLUMS

The gate creaked as they opened it. The zigzagging path leading to the front door was overgrown with a variety of odd plants, includ- ing a bush covered in the orange radishlike fruit Luna sometimes wore as earrings. Harry thought he recognized a Snargaluff and gave the wizened stump a wide berth. Two aged crab apple trees, bent with the wind, stripped of leaves but still heavy with berry-sized red fruits and bushy crowns of white-beaded mistletoe, stood sentinel on either side of the front door. A little owl with a slightly flattened, hawklike head peered down at them from one of the branches. “You’d better take off the Invisibility Cloak, Harry, ” said Hermi- one. “It’s you Mr. Lovegood wants to help, not us. ”

He did as she suggested, handing her the Cloak to stow in the beaded bag. She then rapped three times on the thick black door,

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which was studded with iron nails and bore a knocker shaped like an eagle.

Barely ten seconds passed, then the door was flung open and there stood Xenophilius Lovegood, barefoot and wearing what appeared to be a stained nightshirt. His long white candyfloss hair was dirty and unkempt. Xenophilius had been positively dapper at Bill and Fleur’s wedding by comparison.

“What? What is it? Who are you? What do you want? ” he cried in a high-pitched, querulous voice, looking first at Hermione, then at Ron, and finally at Harry, upon which his mouth fell open in a perfect, comical O.

“Hello, Mr. Lovegood, ” said Harry, holding out his hand. “I’m Harry, Harry Potter. ”

Xenophilius did not take Harry’s hand, although the eye that was not pointing inward at his nose slid straight to the scar on Harry’s forehead.

“Would it be okay if we came in? ” asked Harry. “There’s some- thing we’d like to ask you. ”

“I. . . I’m not sure that’s advisable, ” whispered Xenophilius. He swallowed and cast a quick look around the garden. “Rather a shock. . . My word. . . I. . . I’m afraid I don’t really think I ought to —”

“It won’t take long, ” said Harry, slightly disappointed by this less-than-warm welcome.

“I — oh, all right then. Come in, quickly. Quickly! ”

They were barely over the threshold when Xenophilius slammed the door shut behind them. They were standing in the most peculiar kitchen Harry had ever seen. The room was perfectly circular, so that it felt like being inside a giant pepper pot. Everything was curved

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to fit the walls — the stove, the sink, and the cupboards — and all of it had been painted with flowers, insects, and birds in bright pri- mary colors. Harry thought he recognized Luna’s style: The effect, in such an enclosed space, was slightly overwhelming.

In the middle of the floor, a wrought-iron spiral staircase led to the upper levels. There was a great deal of clattering and banging coming from overhead: Harry wondered what Luna could be doing. “You’d better come up, ” said Xenophilius, still looking extremely uncomfortable, and he led the way.

The room above seemed to be a combination of living room and workplace, and as such, was even more cluttered than the kitchen. Though much smaller and entirely round, the room somewhat re- sembled the Room of Requirement on the unforgettable occasion that it had transformed itself into a gigantic labyrinth comprised of centuries of hidden objects. There were piles upon piles of books and papers on every surface. Delicately made models of creatures Harry did not recognize, all flapping wings or snapping jaws, hung from the ceiling.

Luna was not there: The thing that was making such a racket was a wooden object covered in magically turning cogs and wheels. It looked like the bizarre offspring of a workbench and a set of old shelves, but after a moment Harry deduced that it was an old- fashioned printing press, due to the fact that it was churning out

Quibblers.

“Excuse me, ” said Xenophilius, and he strode over to the ma- chine, seized a grubby tablecloth from beneath an immense number of books and papers, which all tumbled onto the floor, and threw it over the press, somewhat muffling the loud bangs and clatters. He then faced Harry.

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“Why have you come here? ”

Before Harry could speak, however, Hermione let out a small cry of shock.

“Mr. Lovegood — what’s that? ”

She was pointing at an enormous, gray spiral horn, not unlike that of a unicorn, which had been mounted on the wall, protruding several feet into the room.

“It is the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, ” said Xeno- philius.

“No it isn’t! ” said Hermione.

“Hermione, ” muttered Harry, embarrassed, “now’s not the moment —”

“But Harry, it’s an Erumpent horn! It’s a Class B Tradeable Material and it’s an extraordinarily dangerous thing to have in a house! ”

“How d’you know it’s an Erumpent horn? ” asked Ron, edging away from the horn as fast as he could, given the extreme clutter of the room.

“There’s a description in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them!

Mr. Lovegood, you need to get rid of it straightaway, don’t you know it can explode at the slightest touch? ”

“The Crumple-Horned Snorkack, ” said Xenophilius very clearly, a mulish look upon his face, “is a shy and highly magical creature, and its horn —”

“Mr. Lovegood, I recognize the grooved markings around the base, that’s an Erumpent horn and it’s incredibly dangerous — I don’t know where you got it —”

“I bought it, ” said Xenophilius dogmatically, “two weeks ago, from a delightful young wizard who knew of my interest in the exquisite

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Snorkack. A Christmas surprise for my Luna. Now, ” he said, turning to Harry, “why exactly have you come here, Mr. Potter? ”

“We need some help, ” said Harry, before Hermione could start again.

“Ah, ” said Xenophilius. “Help. Hmm. ”

His good eye moved again to Harry’s scar. He seemed simultane- ously terrified and mesmerized.

“Yes. The thing is. . . helping Harry Potter. . . rather danger- ous. . . ”

“Aren’t you the one who keeps telling everyone it’s their first duty to help Harry? ” said Ron. “In that magazine of yours? ” Xenophilius glanced behind him at the concealed printing press, still banging and clattering beneath the tablecloth.

“Er — yes, I have expressed that view. However —” “That’s for everyone else to do, not you personally? ” said Ron. Xenophilius did not answer. He kept swallowing, his eyes darting between the three of them. Harry had the impression that he was undergoing some painful internal struggle.

“Where’s Luna? ” asked Hermione. “Let’s see what she thinks. ” Xenophilius gulped. He seemed to be steeling himself. Finally he said in a shaky voice difficult to hear over the noise of the printing press, “Luna is down at the stream, fishing for Freshwater Plimpies. She. . . she will like to see you. I’ll go and call her and then — yes, very well. I shall try to help you. ”

He disappeared down the spiral staircase and they heard the front door open and close. They looked at each other.

“Cowardly old wart, ” said Ron. “Luna’s got ten times his guts. ” “He’s probably worried about what’ll happen to them if the Death Eaters find out I was here, ” said Harry.

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“Well, I agree with Ron, ” said Hermione. “Awful old hypocrite, telling everyone else to help you and trying to worm out of it him- self. And for heaven’s sake keep away from that horn. ”

Harry crossed to the window on the far side of the room. He could see a stream, a thin, glittering ribbon lying far below them at the base of the hill. They were very high up; a bird fluttered past the window as he stared in the direction of the Burrow, now invis- ible beyond another line of hills. Ginny was over there somewhere. They were closer to each other today than they had been since Bill and Fleur’s wedding, but she could have no idea he was gazing to- ward her now, thinking of her. He supposed he ought to be glad of it; anyone he came into contact with was in danger, Xenophilius’s attitude proved that.

He turned away from the window and his gaze fell upon another peculiar object standing upon the cluttered, curved sideboard: a stone bust of a beautiful but austere-looking witch wearing a most bizarre-looking headdress. Two objects that resembled golden ear trumpets curved out from the sides. A tiny pair of glittering blue wings was stuck to a leather strap that ran over the top of her head, while one of the orange radishes had been stuck to a second strap around her forehead.

“Look at this, ” said Harry.

“Fetching, ” said Ron. “Surprised he didn’t wear that to the wedding. ”

They heard the front door close, and a moment later Xenophil- ius had climbed back up the spiral staircase into the room, his thin legs now encased in Wellington boots, bearing a tray of ill-assorted teacups and a steaming teapot.

“Ah, you have spotted my pet invention, ” he said, shoving the

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tray into Hermione’s arms and joining Harry at the statue’s side. “Modeled, fittingly enough, upon the head of the beautiful Rowena

Ravenclaw. ‘Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure ! ’”

He indicated the objects like ear trumpets.

“These are the Wrackspurt siphons — to remove all sources of distraction from the thinker’s immediate area. Here, ” he pointed out the tiny wings, “a billywig propeller, to induce an elevated frame of mind. Finally, ” he pointed to the orange radish, “the Dirigible Plum, so as to enhance the ability to accept the extraordinary. ” Xenophilius strode back to the tea tray, which Hermione had man- aged to balance precariously on one of the cluttered side tables. “May I offer you all an infusion of Gurdyroots? ” said Xenophil- ius. “We make it ourselves. ” As he started to pour out the drink, which was as deeply purple as beetroot juice, he added, “Luna is down beyond Bottom Bridge, she is most excited that you are here. She ought not to be too long, she has caught nearly enough Plimp- ies to make soup for all of us. Do sit down and help yourselves to sugar.

“Now, ” he removed a tottering pile of papers from an armchair and sat down, his Wellingtoned legs crossed, “how may I help you, Mr. Potter? ”

“Well, ” said Harry, glancing at Hermione, who nodded encour- agingly, “it’s about that symbol you were wearing around your neck at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, Mr. Lovegood. We wondered what it meant. ”

Xenophilius raised his eyebrows.

“Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows? ”

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THE TALE OF THE THREE BROTHERS

arry turned to look at Ron and Hermione. Neither of them seemed to have understood what Xenophilius had

said either.

“The Deathly Hallows? ”

“That’s right, ” said Xenophilius. “You haven’t heard of them? I’m not surprised. Very, very few wizards believe. Witness that knuckle- headed young man at your brother’s wedding, ” he nodded at Ron, “who attacked me for sporting the symbol of a well-known Dark wizard! Such ignorance. There is nothing Dark about the Hallows

— at least, not in that crude sense. One simply uses the symbol to reveal oneself to other believers, in the hope that they might help one with the Quest. ”

He stirred several lumps of sugar into his Gurdyroot infusion and drank some.

“I’m sorry, ” said Harry. “I still don’t really understand. ” To be polite, he took a sip from his cup too, and almost gagged:

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The stuff was quite disgusting, as though someone had liquidized bogey-flavored Every Flavor Beans.

“Well, you see, believers seek the Deathly Hallows, ” said Xeno- philius, smacking his lips in apparent appreciation of the Gurdyroot infusion.

“But what are the Deathly Hallows? ” asked Hermione.

Xenophilius set aside his empty teacup.

“I assume that you are all familiar with “The Tale of the Three Brothers’? ”

Harry said, “No, ” but Ron and Hermione both said, “Yes. ” Xeno- philius nodded gravely.

“Well, well, Mr. Potter, the whole thing starts with ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers’. . . I have a copy somewhere. . . . ”

He glanced vaguely around the room, at the piles of parchment and books, but Hermione said, “I’ve got a copy, Mr. Lovegood, I’ve got it right here. ”

And she pulled out The Tales of Beedle the Bard from the small,

beaded bag.

“The original? ” inquired Xenophilius sharply, and when she nod- ded, he said, “Well then, why don’t you read it aloud? Much the best way to make sure we all understand. ”

“Er. . . all right, ” said Hermione nervously. She opened the book, and Harry saw that the symbol they were investigating headed the top of the page as she gave a little cough, and began to read.

“‘There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely,

winding road at twilight —’”

“Midnight, our mum always told us, ” said Ron, who had stretched out, arms behind his head, to listen. Hermione shot him a look of annoyance.

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“Sorry, I just think it’s a bit spookier if it’s midnight! ” said Ron. “Yeah, because we really need a bit more fear in our lives, ” said Harry before he could stop himself. Xenophilius did not seem to be paying much attention, but was staring out of the window at the sky. “Go on, Hermione. ”

“‘In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and

too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it

when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure.

“‘And Death spoke to them —’”

“Sorry, ” interjected Harry, “but Death spoke to them? ”

“It’s a fairy tale, Harry! ”

“Right, sorry. Go on. ”

“‘And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated

out of three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having

been clever enough to evade him.

“‘So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand

more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand

from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.

“‘Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that

he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would

have the power to bring back the dead.

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“‘And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he

would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being fol- lowed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own

Cloak of Invisibility. ’”

“Death’s got an Invisibility Cloak? ” Harry interrupted again. “So he can sneak up on people, ” said Ron. “Sometimes he gets bored of running at them, flapping his arms and shrieking. . . sorry, Hermione. ”

“‘Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue

on their way, and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure

they had had, and admiring Death’s gifts.