“I’d love some,” he replied.
“I’ll distract them all,” she said. “Use your cloak.”
And before he could say a word, she had cried, “Oooh, look, a Blibbering Humdinger!” and pointed out the window. Everyone who heard looked around, and Harry slid the Cloak up over himself, and got to his feet.
Now he could move through the Hall without interference. He spotted Ginny two tables away; she was sitting with her head on her mother’s shoulder: There would be time to talk later, hours and days and maybe years in which to talk. He saw Neville, the sword of Gryffindor lying beside his plate as he ate, surrounded by a knot of fervent admirers. Along the aisle between the tables he walked, and he spotted the three Malfoys, huddled together as though unsure whether or not they were supposed to be there, but nobody was paying them any attention. Everywhere he looked, he saw families reunited, and finally, he saw the two whose company he craved most.
“It’s me,” he muttered, crouching down between them. “Will you come with me?”
They stood up at once, and together he, Ron and Hermione left the Great Hall. Great chunks were missing from the marble staircase, part of the balustrade gone, and rubble and bloodstains occurred ever few steps as their climbed.
Somewhere in the distance they could hear Peeves zooming through the corridors singing a victory song of his own composition:
We did it, we bashed them, wee Potter’s the one,
And Voldy’s gone moldy, so now let’s have fun!
“Really gives a feeling for the scope and tragedy of the thing, doesn’t it?“ said Ron, pushing open a door to let Harry and Hermione through.
Happiness would come, Harry though, but at the moment it was muffled by exhaustion, and the pain of losing Fred and Lupin and Tonks pierced him like a physical wound every few steps. Most of all he felt the most stupendous relief, and a longing to sleep. But first he owed an explanation to Ron and Hermione, who had stuck with him for so long, and who deserved the truth.
Painstakingly he recounted what he had seem in the Pensieve and what had happened in the forest, and they had not even begun to express all their shock and amazement, when at last they arrived at the place to which they had been walking, though none of them had mentioned their destination.
Since he had last seen it, the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster’s study had been knocked aside; it stood lopsided, looking a little punch-drunk, and Harry wondered whether it would be able to distinguish passwords anymore.
“Can we go up?” he asked the gargoyle.
Friday, December 3, 2010
The bang was like a cannon blast
The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort’s green jet meet his own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air toward the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy’s shell.
One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered toward him, and the first to reach him were Ron and Hermione, and it was their arms that were wrapped around him, their incomprehensible shouts that deafened him. Then Ginny, Neville, and Luna were there, and then all the Weasleys and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout, and Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, not tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him, hundreds of them pressing in, all of them determined to touch the Boy Who Lived, the reason it was over at last – The sun rose steadily over Hogwarts, and the Great Hall blazed with life and light. Harry was an indispensable part of the mingled outpourings of jubilation and mourning, of grief and celebration. They wanted him there with them, their leader and symbol, their savior and their guide, and that he had not slept, that he craved the company of only a few of them, seemed to occur to no one. He must speak to the bereaved, clasp their hands, witness their tears, receive their thanks, hear the news now creeping in from every quarter as the morning drew on; that the Imperiused up and down the country had come back to themselves, that Death Eaters were fleeing or else being captured, that the innocent of Azkaban were being released at that very moment, and that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been named temporary Minister of Magic.
They moved Voldemort’s body and laid it in a chamber off the Hall, away form the bodies of Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Colin Creevey, and fifty others who had died fighting him. McGonagall had replaced the House tables, but nobody was sitting according to House anymore: All were jumbled together, teachers and pupils, ghosts and parents, centaurs and house-elves, and Firenze lay recovering in the corner, and Grawp peered in through a smashed window, and people were throwing food into his laughing mouth. After a while, exhausted and drained, Harry found himself sitting on a bench beside Luna.
“I’d want some peace and quiet, if it were me,” she said.
One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered toward him, and the first to reach him were Ron and Hermione, and it was their arms that were wrapped around him, their incomprehensible shouts that deafened him. Then Ginny, Neville, and Luna were there, and then all the Weasleys and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout, and Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, not tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him, hundreds of them pressing in, all of them determined to touch the Boy Who Lived, the reason it was over at last – The sun rose steadily over Hogwarts, and the Great Hall blazed with life and light. Harry was an indispensable part of the mingled outpourings of jubilation and mourning, of grief and celebration. They wanted him there with them, their leader and symbol, their savior and their guide, and that he had not slept, that he craved the company of only a few of them, seemed to occur to no one. He must speak to the bereaved, clasp their hands, witness their tears, receive their thanks, hear the news now creeping in from every quarter as the morning drew on; that the Imperiused up and down the country had come back to themselves, that Death Eaters were fleeing or else being captured, that the innocent of Azkaban were being released at that very moment, and that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been named temporary Minister of Magic.
They moved Voldemort’s body and laid it in a chamber off the Hall, away form the bodies of Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Colin Creevey, and fifty others who had died fighting him. McGonagall had replaced the House tables, but nobody was sitting according to House anymore: All were jumbled together, teachers and pupils, ghosts and parents, centaurs and house-elves, and Firenze lay recovering in the corner, and Grawp peered in through a smashed window, and people were throwing food into his laughing mouth. After a while, exhausted and drained, Harry found himself sitting on a bench beside Luna.
“I’d want some peace and quiet, if it were me,” she said.
“He killed – ”
“He killed – ”
“Aren’t you listening? Snape never beat Dumbledore! Dumbledore’s death was planned between them! Dumbledore intended to die, undefeated, the wand’s last true master! If all had gone as planned, the wand’s power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him!”
“But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!” Voldemort’s voice shook with malicious pleasure. “I stole the wand from its last master’s tomb! I removed it against the last master’s wishes! Its power is mine!”
“You still don’t get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn’t enough! Holding it, using it, doesn’t make it really yours. Didn’t you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard… The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world’s most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance…”
Voldemort’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and Harry could feel the curse coming, feel it building inside the wand pointed at his face.
“The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy.”
Blank shock showed in Voldemort’s face for a moment, but then it was gone.
“But what does it matter?” he said softly. “Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: We duel on skill alone… and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy…”
“But you’re too late,” said Harry. “You’ve missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took his wand from him.”
Harry twitched the hawthorn wand, and he felt the eyes of everyone in the Hall upon it.
“So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it?” whispered Harry. “Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand.”
A red-glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort’s was suddenly a flaming blur. Harry heard the high voice shriek as he too yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco’s wand:
“Avada Kedavra!“
“Expelliarmus!“
“Aren’t you listening? Snape never beat Dumbledore! Dumbledore’s death was planned between them! Dumbledore intended to die, undefeated, the wand’s last true master! If all had gone as planned, the wand’s power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him!”
“But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!” Voldemort’s voice shook with malicious pleasure. “I stole the wand from its last master’s tomb! I removed it against the last master’s wishes! Its power is mine!”
“You still don’t get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn’t enough! Holding it, using it, doesn’t make it really yours. Didn’t you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard… The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world’s most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance…”
Voldemort’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and Harry could feel the curse coming, feel it building inside the wand pointed at his face.
“The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy.”
Blank shock showed in Voldemort’s face for a moment, but then it was gone.
“But what does it matter?” he said softly. “Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: We duel on skill alone… and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy…”
“But you’re too late,” said Harry. “You’ve missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took his wand from him.”
Harry twitched the hawthorn wand, and he felt the eyes of everyone in the Hall upon it.
“So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it?” whispered Harry. “Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand.”
A red-glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort’s was suddenly a flaming blur. Harry heard the high voice shriek as he too yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco’s wand:
“Avada Kedavra!“
“Expelliarmus!“
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Bellatrix hit him across the face
Bellatrix hit him across the face: the blow echoed around the room.
“If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next,“ she said. ”Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them – yet.“
She threw Greyback’s wand back to him, then took a short silver knife from under her robes. She cut Hermione free from the other prisoners, then dragged her by the hair into the middle of the room, while Greyback forced the rest of them to shuffle across to another door, into a dark passageway, his wand held out in front of him, projecting an invisible and irresistible force.
“Reckon she’ll let me have a bit of the girl when she’s finished with her?” Greyback crooned as he forced them along the corridor. “I’d say I’ll get a bite or two, wouldn’t you, ginger?”
Harry could feel Ron shaking. They were forced down a steep flight of stairs, still tied back-to-back and in danger of slipping and breaking their necks at any moment. At the bottom was a heavy door. Greyback unlocked it with a tap of his wand, then forced them into a dank and musty room and left them in total darkness. The echoing bang of the slammed cellar door had not died away before there was a terrible, drawn out scream from directly above them.
“HERMIONE!“ Ron bellowed, and he started to writhe and struggle against the ropes tying them together, so that Harry staggered. “HERMIONE!”
“Be quiet!” Harry said. “Shut up. Ron, we need to work out a way – ”
“HERMIONE! HERMIONE!”
“We need a plan, stop yelling – we need to get these ropes off – ”
“Harry?” came a whisper through the darkness. “Ron? Is that you?”
Ron stopped shouting. There was a sound of movement close by them, then Harry saw a shadow moving closer.
“Harry? Ron?”
“Luna?“
“Yes, it’s me! Oh no, I didn’t want you to be caught!”
“Luna, can you help us get these ropes off?“ said Harry.
“Oh yes, I expect so…. There’s an old nail we use if we need to break anything…. Just a moment…”
Hermione screamed again from overhead, and they could hear Bellatrix screaming too, but her words were inaudible, for Ron shouted again, “HERMIONE! HERMIONE!”
“Mr. Ollivander?“ Harry could hear Luna saying. ”Mr. Ollivander, have you got the nail? If you just move over a little bit… I think it was beside the water jug.“
She was back within seconds.
“You’ll need to stay still,” she said.
Harry could feel her digging at the rope’s tough fibers to work the knots free. From upstairs they heard Bellatrix’s voice.
“I’m going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?“
“We found it – we found it – PLEASE!” Hermione screamed again; Ron struggled harder than ever, and the rusty nail slipped onto Harry’s wrist.
“Ron, please stay still!” Luna whispered. “I can’t see what I’m doing – ”
“My pocket!” said Ron, “In my pocket, there’s a Deluminator, and it’s full of light!”
A few seconds later, there was a click, and the luminescent spheres the Deluminator had sucked from the lamps in the tent flew into the cellar: Unable to rejoin their sources, they simply hung there, like tiny suns, flooding the underground room with light. Harry saw Luna, all eyes in her white face, and the motionless figure of Ollivander the wandmaker, curled up on the floor in the corner. Craning around, he caught sight of their fellow prisoners: Dean and Griphook the goblin, who seemed barely conscious, kept standing by the ropes that bound him to the humans.
“Oh, that’s much easier, thanks, Ron,” said Luna, and she began hacking at their bindings again. “Hello, Dean!”
From above came Bellatrix’s voice.
“You’re lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!“
Another terrible scream–
“HERMIONE!”
“What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!”
“There!”
Harry felt the ropes fall away and turned, rubbing his wrists, to see Ron running around the cellar, looking up at the low ceiling, searching for a trapdoor. Dean, his face bruised and bloody, said “Thanks” to Luna and stood there, shivering, but Griphook sank onto the cellar floor, looking groggy and disoriented, many welts across his swarthy face.
Ron was now trying to Disapparate without a wand.
“There’s no way out, Ron,“ said Luna, watching his fruitless efforts. ”The cellar is completely escape-proof. I tried, at first. Mr. Ollivander has been here for a long time, he’s tried everything.“
Hermione was screaming again: The sound went through Harry like physical pain. Barely conscious of the fierce prickling of his scar, he too started to run around the cellar, feeling the walls for he hardly knew what, knowing in his heart that it was useless.
“What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!“
“If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next,“ she said. ”Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them – yet.“
She threw Greyback’s wand back to him, then took a short silver knife from under her robes. She cut Hermione free from the other prisoners, then dragged her by the hair into the middle of the room, while Greyback forced the rest of them to shuffle across to another door, into a dark passageway, his wand held out in front of him, projecting an invisible and irresistible force.
“Reckon she’ll let me have a bit of the girl when she’s finished with her?” Greyback crooned as he forced them along the corridor. “I’d say I’ll get a bite or two, wouldn’t you, ginger?”
Harry could feel Ron shaking. They were forced down a steep flight of stairs, still tied back-to-back and in danger of slipping and breaking their necks at any moment. At the bottom was a heavy door. Greyback unlocked it with a tap of his wand, then forced them into a dank and musty room and left them in total darkness. The echoing bang of the slammed cellar door had not died away before there was a terrible, drawn out scream from directly above them.
“HERMIONE!“ Ron bellowed, and he started to writhe and struggle against the ropes tying them together, so that Harry staggered. “HERMIONE!”
“Be quiet!” Harry said. “Shut up. Ron, we need to work out a way – ”
“HERMIONE! HERMIONE!”
“We need a plan, stop yelling – we need to get these ropes off – ”
“Harry?” came a whisper through the darkness. “Ron? Is that you?”
Ron stopped shouting. There was a sound of movement close by them, then Harry saw a shadow moving closer.
“Harry? Ron?”
“Luna?“
“Yes, it’s me! Oh no, I didn’t want you to be caught!”
“Luna, can you help us get these ropes off?“ said Harry.
“Oh yes, I expect so…. There’s an old nail we use if we need to break anything…. Just a moment…”
Hermione screamed again from overhead, and they could hear Bellatrix screaming too, but her words were inaudible, for Ron shouted again, “HERMIONE! HERMIONE!”
“Mr. Ollivander?“ Harry could hear Luna saying. ”Mr. Ollivander, have you got the nail? If you just move over a little bit… I think it was beside the water jug.“
She was back within seconds.
“You’ll need to stay still,” she said.
Harry could feel her digging at the rope’s tough fibers to work the knots free. From upstairs they heard Bellatrix’s voice.
“I’m going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?“
“We found it – we found it – PLEASE!” Hermione screamed again; Ron struggled harder than ever, and the rusty nail slipped onto Harry’s wrist.
“Ron, please stay still!” Luna whispered. “I can’t see what I’m doing – ”
“My pocket!” said Ron, “In my pocket, there’s a Deluminator, and it’s full of light!”
A few seconds later, there was a click, and the luminescent spheres the Deluminator had sucked from the lamps in the tent flew into the cellar: Unable to rejoin their sources, they simply hung there, like tiny suns, flooding the underground room with light. Harry saw Luna, all eyes in her white face, and the motionless figure of Ollivander the wandmaker, curled up on the floor in the corner. Craning around, he caught sight of their fellow prisoners: Dean and Griphook the goblin, who seemed barely conscious, kept standing by the ropes that bound him to the humans.
“Oh, that’s much easier, thanks, Ron,” said Luna, and she began hacking at their bindings again. “Hello, Dean!”
From above came Bellatrix’s voice.
“You’re lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!“
Another terrible scream–
“HERMIONE!”
“What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!”
“There!”
Harry felt the ropes fall away and turned, rubbing his wrists, to see Ron running around the cellar, looking up at the low ceiling, searching for a trapdoor. Dean, his face bruised and bloody, said “Thanks” to Luna and stood there, shivering, but Griphook sank onto the cellar floor, looking groggy and disoriented, many welts across his swarthy face.
Ron was now trying to Disapparate without a wand.
“There’s no way out, Ron,“ said Luna, watching his fruitless efforts. ”The cellar is completely escape-proof. I tried, at first. Mr. Ollivander has been here for a long time, he’s tried everything.“
Hermione was screaming again: The sound went through Harry like physical pain. Barely conscious of the fierce prickling of his scar, he too started to run around the cellar, feeling the walls for he hardly knew what, knowing in his heart that it was useless.
“What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!“
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Chapter 15 The Goblin's Revenge
Chapter 15 The Goblin's Revenge
Early next morning, before the other two were awake, Harry left the tent to search the woods around them for the oldest, most gnarled, and resilient-looking tree he could find. There in its shadows he buried Mad-Eye Moody’s eye and marked the spot by gouging a small cross in the bark with his wand. It was not much, but Harry felt that Mad-Eye would have much preferred this to being stuck on Dolores Umbridge’s door. Then he returned to the tent to wait for the others to wake, and discuss what they were going to do next.
Harry and Hermione felt that it was best not to stay anywhere too long, and Ron agreed, with the sole proviso that their next move took them within reach of a bacon sandwich. Hermione therefore removed the enchantments she had placed around the clearing, while Harry and Ron obliterated all the marks and impressions on the ground that might show they had camped there. Then they Disapparated to the outskirts of a small market town.
Once they had pitched the tent in the shelter of a small copse of trees and surrounded it with freshly cast defensive enchantments. Harry ventured out under the Invisibility Cloak to find sustenance. This, however, did not go as planned. He had barely entered the town when an unnatural chill, a descending mist, and a sudden darkening of the skies made him freeze where he stood.
“But you can make a brilliant Patronus!” protested Ron, when Harry arrived back at the tent empty handed, out of breath, and mouthing the single word, dementors.
“I couldn’t… make one.” he panted, clutching the stitch in his side. “Wouldn’t… come.”
Their expressions of consternation and disappointment made Harry feel ashamed. It had been a nightmarish experience, seeing the dementors gliding out of the must in the distance and realizing, as the paralyzing cold choked his lungs and a distant screaming filled his ears, that he was not going to be able to protect himself. It had taken all Harry’s willpower to uproot himself from the spot and run, leaving the eyeless dementors to glide amongst the Muggles who might not be able to see them, but would assuredly feel the despair they cast wherever they went.
“So we still haven’t got any food.”
“Shut up, Ron,” snapped Hermione. “Harry, what happened? Why do you think you couldn’t make your Patronus? You managed perfectly yesterday!”
“I don’t know.”
He sat low in one of Perkins’s old armchairs, feeling more humiliated by the moment. He was afraid that something had gone wrong inside him. Yesterday seemed a long time ago: Today me might have been thirteen years old again, the only one who collapsed on the Hogwarts Express.
Ron kicked a chair leg.
“What?” he snarled at Hermione. “I’m starving! All I’ve had since I bled half to death is a couple of toadstools!”
“You go and fight your way through the dementors, then,” said Harry, stung.
“I would, but my arm’s in a sling, in case you hadn’t noticed!”
“That’s convenient.”
“And what’s that supposed to –?”
“Of course!” cried Hermione, clapping a hand to her forehead and startling both of them into silence. “Harry, give me the locket! Come on,” she said impatiently, clicking her fingers at him when he did not react, “the Horcrux, Harry, you’re still wearing it!”
She held out her hands, and Harry lifted the golden chain over his head. The moment it parted contact with Harry’s skin he felt oddly light. He had not even realized that he was clammy or that there was a heavy weight pressing on his stomach until both sensations lifted.
“Better?” asked Hermione.
“Yeah, loads better!”
“Harry,” she said, crouching down in front of him and using the kind of voice he associated with visiting the very sick, “you don’t think you’ve been possessed, do you?”
“What? No!” he said defensively, “I remember everything we’ve done while I’ve bee wearing it. I wouldn’t know what I’d done if I’d been possessed, would I?
Ginny told me there were times when she couldn’t remember anything.”
“Hmm,” said Hermione, looking down at the heavy locket. “Well, maybe we ought not to wear it. We can just keep it in the tent.”
Early next morning, before the other two were awake, Harry left the tent to search the woods around them for the oldest, most gnarled, and resilient-looking tree he could find. There in its shadows he buried Mad-Eye Moody’s eye and marked the spot by gouging a small cross in the bark with his wand. It was not much, but Harry felt that Mad-Eye would have much preferred this to being stuck on Dolores Umbridge’s door. Then he returned to the tent to wait for the others to wake, and discuss what they were going to do next.
Harry and Hermione felt that it was best not to stay anywhere too long, and Ron agreed, with the sole proviso that their next move took them within reach of a bacon sandwich. Hermione therefore removed the enchantments she had placed around the clearing, while Harry and Ron obliterated all the marks and impressions on the ground that might show they had camped there. Then they Disapparated to the outskirts of a small market town.
Once they had pitched the tent in the shelter of a small copse of trees and surrounded it with freshly cast defensive enchantments. Harry ventured out under the Invisibility Cloak to find sustenance. This, however, did not go as planned. He had barely entered the town when an unnatural chill, a descending mist, and a sudden darkening of the skies made him freeze where he stood.
“But you can make a brilliant Patronus!” protested Ron, when Harry arrived back at the tent empty handed, out of breath, and mouthing the single word, dementors.
“I couldn’t… make one.” he panted, clutching the stitch in his side. “Wouldn’t… come.”
Their expressions of consternation and disappointment made Harry feel ashamed. It had been a nightmarish experience, seeing the dementors gliding out of the must in the distance and realizing, as the paralyzing cold choked his lungs and a distant screaming filled his ears, that he was not going to be able to protect himself. It had taken all Harry’s willpower to uproot himself from the spot and run, leaving the eyeless dementors to glide amongst the Muggles who might not be able to see them, but would assuredly feel the despair they cast wherever they went.
“So we still haven’t got any food.”
“Shut up, Ron,” snapped Hermione. “Harry, what happened? Why do you think you couldn’t make your Patronus? You managed perfectly yesterday!”
“I don’t know.”
He sat low in one of Perkins’s old armchairs, feeling more humiliated by the moment. He was afraid that something had gone wrong inside him. Yesterday seemed a long time ago: Today me might have been thirteen years old again, the only one who collapsed on the Hogwarts Express.
Ron kicked a chair leg.
“What?” he snarled at Hermione. “I’m starving! All I’ve had since I bled half to death is a couple of toadstools!”
“You go and fight your way through the dementors, then,” said Harry, stung.
“I would, but my arm’s in a sling, in case you hadn’t noticed!”
“That’s convenient.”
“And what’s that supposed to –?”
“Of course!” cried Hermione, clapping a hand to her forehead and startling both of them into silence. “Harry, give me the locket! Come on,” she said impatiently, clicking her fingers at him when he did not react, “the Horcrux, Harry, you’re still wearing it!”
She held out her hands, and Harry lifted the golden chain over his head. The moment it parted contact with Harry’s skin he felt oddly light. He had not even realized that he was clammy or that there was a heavy weight pressing on his stomach until both sensations lifted.
“Better?” asked Hermione.
“Yeah, loads better!”
“Harry,” she said, crouching down in front of him and using the kind of voice he associated with visiting the very sick, “you don’t think you’ve been possessed, do you?”
“What? No!” he said defensively, “I remember everything we’ve done while I’ve bee wearing it. I wouldn’t know what I’d done if I’d been possessed, would I?
Ginny told me there were times when she couldn’t remember anything.”
“Hmm,” said Hermione, looking down at the heavy locket. “Well, maybe we ought not to wear it. We can just keep it in the tent.”
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Reveling in the removal of his Trace,
Reveling in the removal of his Trace, Harry sent Ron’s possessions flying around the room, causing Pigwidgeon to wake up and flutter excitedly around his cage. Harry also tried tying the laces of his trainers by magic (the resultant knot took several minutes to untie by hand) and, purely for the pleasure of it, turned the orange robes on Ron’s Chudley Cannons posters bright blue.
“I’d do your fly by hand, though,” Ron advised Harry, sniggering when Harry immediately checked it. “Here’s your present. Unwrap it up here, it’s not for my mother’s eyes.”
“A book?” said Harry as he took the rectangular parcel. “Bit of a departure from tradition, isn’t it?”
“This isn’t your average book,” said Ron. “It’d pure gold: Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. Explains everything you need to know about girls. If only I’d had this last year I’d have known exactly how to get rid of Lavender and I would’ve known how to get going with… Well, Fred and George gave me a copy, and I’ve learned a lot. You’d be surprised, it’s not all about wandwork, either.”
When they arrived in the kitchen they found a pile of presents waiting on the table. Bill and Monsieur Delacour were finishing their breakfasts, while Mrs. Weasley stood chatting to them over the frying pan.
“Arthur told me to wish you a happy seventeenth, Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley, beaming at him. “He had to leave early for work, but he’ll be back for dinner. That’s our present on top.”
Harry sat down, took the square parcel she had indicated, and unwrapped it. Inside was a watch very like the one Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had given Ron for his seventeenth; it was gold, with stars circling around the race instead of hands.
“It’s traditional to give a wizard a watch when he comes of age,” said Mrs. Weasley, watching him anxiously from beside the cooker. “I’m afraid that one isn’t new like Ron’s, it was actually my brother Fabian’s and he wasn’t terribly careful with his possessions, it’s a bit dented on the back, but–”
The rest of her speech was lost; Harry had got up and hugged her. He tried to put a lot of unsaid things into the hug and perhaps she understood them, because she patted his cheek clumsily when he released her, then waved her wand in a slightly random way, causing half a pack of bacon to flop out of the frying pan onto the floor.
“Happy birthday, Harry!” said Hermione, hurrying into the kitchen and adding her own present to the top of the pile. “It’s not much, but I hope you like it. What did you get him?” she added to Ron, who seemed not to hear her.
“Come on, then, open Hermione’s!” said Ron.
She had bought him a new Sneakoscope. The other packages contained an enchanted razor from Bill and Fleur (“Ah yes, zis will give you ze smoothest shave you will ever ‘ave,” Monsieur Delacour assured him, “but you must tell it clearly what you want…ozzerwise you might find you ‘ave a leetle less hair zan you would like…”), chocolates from the Delacours, and an enormous box of the latest Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes merchandise from Fred and George.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione did not linger at the table, as the arrival of Madame Delacour, Fleur, and Gabrielle made the kitchen uncomfortably crowded.
“I’ll pack these for you,” Hermione said brightly, taking Harry’s presents out of his arms as the three of them headed back upstairs. “I’m nearly done, I’m just waiting for the rest of your underpants to come out of the wash, Ron–”
Ron’s splutter was interrupted by the opening of a door on the first-floor landing.
“Harry, will you come in here a moment?”
It was Ginny. Ron came to an abrupt halt, but Hermione took him by the elbow and tugged him on up the stairs. Feeling nervous, Harry followed Ginny into her room.
He had never been inside it before. It was small, but bright. There was a large poster of the Wizarding band the Weird Sisters on one wall, and a picture of Gwenog Jones, Captain of the all-witch Quidditch team the Holyhead Harpies, on the other. A desk stood facing the open window, which looked out over the orchard where he and Ginny had once played a two-a-side Quidditch with Ron and Hermione, and which now housed a large, pearly white marquee. The golden flag on top was level with Ginny’s window.
Ginny looked up into Harry’s face, took a deep breath, and said, “Happy seventeenth.”
“Yeah…thanks.”
She was looking at him steadily; he however, found it difficult to look back at her; it was like gazing into a brilliant light.
“Nice view,” he said feebly, pointing toward with window.
She ignored this. He could not blame her.
“I couldn’t think what to get you,” she said.
“You didn’t have to get me anything.”
She disregarded this too.
“I didn’t know what would be useful. Nothing too big, because you wouldn’t be able to take it with you.”
He chanced a glance at her. She was not tearful; that was one of the many wonderful things about Ginny, she was rarely weepy. He had sometimes thought that having six brothers must have toughened her up.
She took a step closer to him.
“So then I thought, I’d like you to have something to remember me by, you know, if you meet some veela when you’re off doing whatever you’re doing.”
chanel outlet
cheap uggs on sale
burberry outlet
nike outlet store
cheap uggs for sale
“I’d do your fly by hand, though,” Ron advised Harry, sniggering when Harry immediately checked it. “Here’s your present. Unwrap it up here, it’s not for my mother’s eyes.”
“A book?” said Harry as he took the rectangular parcel. “Bit of a departure from tradition, isn’t it?”
“This isn’t your average book,” said Ron. “It’d pure gold: Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. Explains everything you need to know about girls. If only I’d had this last year I’d have known exactly how to get rid of Lavender and I would’ve known how to get going with… Well, Fred and George gave me a copy, and I’ve learned a lot. You’d be surprised, it’s not all about wandwork, either.”
When they arrived in the kitchen they found a pile of presents waiting on the table. Bill and Monsieur Delacour were finishing their breakfasts, while Mrs. Weasley stood chatting to them over the frying pan.
“Arthur told me to wish you a happy seventeenth, Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley, beaming at him. “He had to leave early for work, but he’ll be back for dinner. That’s our present on top.”
Harry sat down, took the square parcel she had indicated, and unwrapped it. Inside was a watch very like the one Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had given Ron for his seventeenth; it was gold, with stars circling around the race instead of hands.
“It’s traditional to give a wizard a watch when he comes of age,” said Mrs. Weasley, watching him anxiously from beside the cooker. “I’m afraid that one isn’t new like Ron’s, it was actually my brother Fabian’s and he wasn’t terribly careful with his possessions, it’s a bit dented on the back, but–”
The rest of her speech was lost; Harry had got up and hugged her. He tried to put a lot of unsaid things into the hug and perhaps she understood them, because she patted his cheek clumsily when he released her, then waved her wand in a slightly random way, causing half a pack of bacon to flop out of the frying pan onto the floor.
“Happy birthday, Harry!” said Hermione, hurrying into the kitchen and adding her own present to the top of the pile. “It’s not much, but I hope you like it. What did you get him?” she added to Ron, who seemed not to hear her.
“Come on, then, open Hermione’s!” said Ron.
She had bought him a new Sneakoscope. The other packages contained an enchanted razor from Bill and Fleur (“Ah yes, zis will give you ze smoothest shave you will ever ‘ave,” Monsieur Delacour assured him, “but you must tell it clearly what you want…ozzerwise you might find you ‘ave a leetle less hair zan you would like…”), chocolates from the Delacours, and an enormous box of the latest Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes merchandise from Fred and George.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione did not linger at the table, as the arrival of Madame Delacour, Fleur, and Gabrielle made the kitchen uncomfortably crowded.
“I’ll pack these for you,” Hermione said brightly, taking Harry’s presents out of his arms as the three of them headed back upstairs. “I’m nearly done, I’m just waiting for the rest of your underpants to come out of the wash, Ron–”
Ron’s splutter was interrupted by the opening of a door on the first-floor landing.
“Harry, will you come in here a moment?”
It was Ginny. Ron came to an abrupt halt, but Hermione took him by the elbow and tugged him on up the stairs. Feeling nervous, Harry followed Ginny into her room.
He had never been inside it before. It was small, but bright. There was a large poster of the Wizarding band the Weird Sisters on one wall, and a picture of Gwenog Jones, Captain of the all-witch Quidditch team the Holyhead Harpies, on the other. A desk stood facing the open window, which looked out over the orchard where he and Ginny had once played a two-a-side Quidditch with Ron and Hermione, and which now housed a large, pearly white marquee. The golden flag on top was level with Ginny’s window.
Ginny looked up into Harry’s face, took a deep breath, and said, “Happy seventeenth.”
“Yeah…thanks.”
She was looking at him steadily; he however, found it difficult to look back at her; it was like gazing into a brilliant light.
“Nice view,” he said feebly, pointing toward with window.
She ignored this. He could not blame her.
“I couldn’t think what to get you,” she said.
“You didn’t have to get me anything.”
She disregarded this too.
“I didn’t know what would be useful. Nothing too big, because you wouldn’t be able to take it with you.”
He chanced a glance at her. She was not tearful; that was one of the many wonderful things about Ginny, she was rarely weepy. He had sometimes thought that having six brothers must have toughened her up.
She took a step closer to him.
“So then I thought, I’d like you to have something to remember me by, you know, if you meet some veela when you’re off doing whatever you’re doing.”
chanel outlet
cheap uggs on sale
burberry outlet
nike outlet store
cheap uggs for sale
Monday, November 29, 2010
“I think I saw a hand in the water—a human hand!”
“I think I saw a hand in the water—a human hand!”
“Yes, I am sure you did,” said Dumbledore calmly.
Harry stared down into the water, looking for the vanished hand, and a sick feeling rose in his throat.
“So that thing that jumped out of the water—?” But Harry had his answer before Dumbledore could reply; the wandlight had slid over a fresh patch of water and showed
him, this time, a dead man lying faceup inches beneath the surface, his open eyes misted as though with cobwebs, his hair and his robes swirling around him like smoke.
“There are bodies in here!” said Harry, and his voice sounded much higher than usual and most unlike his own.
“Yes,” said Dumbledore placidly, “but we do not need to worry about them at the moment.”
“At the moment?” Harry repeated, tearing his gaze from the water to look at Dumbledore.
“Not while they are merely drifting peacefully below us,” said Dumbledore. “There is nothing to be feared from a body, Harry, any more than there is anything to be
feared from the darkness. Lord Voldemort, who of course secretly fears both, disagrees. But once again he reveals his own lack of wisdom. It is the unknown we fear when
we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.”
Harry said nothing; he did not want to argue, but he found the idea that there were bodies floating around them and beneath them horrible and, what was more, he did not
believe that they were not dangerous.
“But one of them jumped,” he said, trying to make his voice as level and calm as Dumbledore's. “When I tried to Summon the Horcrux, a body leapt out of the lake.”
“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “I am sure that once we take the Horcrux, we shall find them less peaceable. However, like many creatures that dwell in cold and darkness,
they fear light and warmth, which we shall therefore call to our aid should the need arise. Fire, Harry,” Dumbledore added with a smile, in response to Harry's
bewildered expression.
“Oh... right...” said Harry quickly. He turned his head to look at the greenish glow toward which the boat was still inexorably sailing. He could not pretend now that
he was not scared. The great black lake, teeming with the dead ... it seemed hours and hours ago that he had met Professor Trelawney, that he had given Ron and Hermione
Felix Felicis... he suddenly wished he had said a better goodbye to the... and he hadn't seen Ginny at all...
“Nearly there,” said Dumbledore cheerfully.
Sure enough, the greenish light seemed to be growing larger at last, and within minutes, the boat had come to a halt, bumping gently into something that Harry could not
see at first, but when he raised his illuminated wand he saw that they had reached a small island of smooth rock in the center of the lake.
“Careful not to touch the water,” said Dumbledore again as Harry climbed out of the boat.
The island was no larger than Dumbledore's office, an expanse of flat dark stone on which stood nothing but the source of that greenish light, which looked much
brighter when viewed close to. Harry squinted at it; at first, he thought it was a lamp of some kind, but then he saw that the light was coming from a stone basin
rather like the Pensieve, which was set on top of a pedestal.
Dumbledore approached the basin and Harry followed. Side by side, they looked down into it. The basin was full of an emerald liquid emitting that phosphorescent glow.
“What is it?” asked Harry quietly.
“I am not sure,” said Dumbledore. “Something more worrisome than blood and bodies, however.” Dumbledore pushed back the sleeve of his robe over his blackened hand,
and stretched out the tips of his burned fingers toward the surface of the potion.
“Sir, no, don't touch—!”
“I cannot touch,” said Dumbledore, smiling faintly. “See? I cannot approach any nearer than this. You try.”
Staring, Harry put his hand into the basin and attempted to touch the potion. He met an invisible barrier that prevented him coming within an inch of it. No matter how
hard he pushed, his fingers encountered nothing but what seemed to be solid and flexible air.
“Out of the way, please, Harry,” said Dumbledore.
He raised his wand and made complicated movements over the surface of the-potion, murmuring soundlessly. Nothing happened, except per haps that the potion glowed a
little brighter. Harry remained silent while Dumbledore worked, but after a while Dumbledore withdrew his wand, and Harry felt it was safe to talk again.
“You think the Horcrux is in there, sir?”
“Yes, I am sure you did,” said Dumbledore calmly.
Harry stared down into the water, looking for the vanished hand, and a sick feeling rose in his throat.
“So that thing that jumped out of the water—?” But Harry had his answer before Dumbledore could reply; the wandlight had slid over a fresh patch of water and showed
him, this time, a dead man lying faceup inches beneath the surface, his open eyes misted as though with cobwebs, his hair and his robes swirling around him like smoke.
“There are bodies in here!” said Harry, and his voice sounded much higher than usual and most unlike his own.
“Yes,” said Dumbledore placidly, “but we do not need to worry about them at the moment.”
“At the moment?” Harry repeated, tearing his gaze from the water to look at Dumbledore.
“Not while they are merely drifting peacefully below us,” said Dumbledore. “There is nothing to be feared from a body, Harry, any more than there is anything to be
feared from the darkness. Lord Voldemort, who of course secretly fears both, disagrees. But once again he reveals his own lack of wisdom. It is the unknown we fear when
we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.”
Harry said nothing; he did not want to argue, but he found the idea that there were bodies floating around them and beneath them horrible and, what was more, he did not
believe that they were not dangerous.
“But one of them jumped,” he said, trying to make his voice as level and calm as Dumbledore's. “When I tried to Summon the Horcrux, a body leapt out of the lake.”
“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “I am sure that once we take the Horcrux, we shall find them less peaceable. However, like many creatures that dwell in cold and darkness,
they fear light and warmth, which we shall therefore call to our aid should the need arise. Fire, Harry,” Dumbledore added with a smile, in response to Harry's
bewildered expression.
“Oh... right...” said Harry quickly. He turned his head to look at the greenish glow toward which the boat was still inexorably sailing. He could not pretend now that
he was not scared. The great black lake, teeming with the dead ... it seemed hours and hours ago that he had met Professor Trelawney, that he had given Ron and Hermione
Felix Felicis... he suddenly wished he had said a better goodbye to the... and he hadn't seen Ginny at all...
“Nearly there,” said Dumbledore cheerfully.
Sure enough, the greenish light seemed to be growing larger at last, and within minutes, the boat had come to a halt, bumping gently into something that Harry could not
see at first, but when he raised his illuminated wand he saw that they had reached a small island of smooth rock in the center of the lake.
“Careful not to touch the water,” said Dumbledore again as Harry climbed out of the boat.
The island was no larger than Dumbledore's office, an expanse of flat dark stone on which stood nothing but the source of that greenish light, which looked much
brighter when viewed close to. Harry squinted at it; at first, he thought it was a lamp of some kind, but then he saw that the light was coming from a stone basin
rather like the Pensieve, which was set on top of a pedestal.
Dumbledore approached the basin and Harry followed. Side by side, they looked down into it. The basin was full of an emerald liquid emitting that phosphorescent glow.
“What is it?” asked Harry quietly.
“I am not sure,” said Dumbledore. “Something more worrisome than blood and bodies, however.” Dumbledore pushed back the sleeve of his robe over his blackened hand,
and stretched out the tips of his burned fingers toward the surface of the potion.
“Sir, no, don't touch—!”
“I cannot touch,” said Dumbledore, smiling faintly. “See? I cannot approach any nearer than this. You try.”
Staring, Harry put his hand into the basin and attempted to touch the potion. He met an invisible barrier that prevented him coming within an inch of it. No matter how
hard he pushed, his fingers encountered nothing but what seemed to be solid and flexible air.
“Out of the way, please, Harry,” said Dumbledore.
He raised his wand and made complicated movements over the surface of the-potion, murmuring soundlessly. Nothing happened, except per haps that the potion glowed a
little brighter. Harry remained silent while Dumbledore worked, but after a while Dumbledore withdrew his wand, and Harry felt it was safe to talk again.
“You think the Horcrux is in there, sir?”
“But why have they let us?”
“But why have they let us?” asked Harry, who could not shake off the vision of tentacles rising out of the dark water the moment they were out of sight of the bank.
“Voldemort would have been reasonably confident that none but a very great wizard would have been able to find the boat,” said Dumbledore. “I think he would have
been prepared to risk what was, to his mind, the most unlikely possibility that somebody else would find it, knowing that he had set other obstacles ahead that only he
would be able to penetrate. We shall see whether he was right.”
Harry looked down into the boat. It really was very small.
“It doesn't look like it was built for two people. Will it hold both of us? Will we be too heavy together?”
Dumbledore chuckled.
“Voldemort will not have cared about the weight, but about the amount of magical power that crossed his lake. I rather think an enchantment will have been placed upon
this boat so that only one wizard at a time will be able to sail in it.”
“But then—?”
“I do not think you will count, Harry: you are underage and unqualified. Voldemort would never have expected a sixteen-year-old to reach this place: I think it
unlikely that your powers will register compared to mine.”
These words did nothing to raise Harry's morale; perhaps Dumbledore knew it, for he added, “Voldemort's mistake, Harry, Voldemort's mistake... age is foolish and
forgetful when it underestimates youth... now, you first this time, and be careful not to touch the water.”
Dumbledore stood aside and Harry climbed carefully into the boat. Dumbledore stepped in too, coiling the chain onto the floor. They were crammed in together; Harry
could not comfortably sit, but crouched, his knees jutting over the edge of the boat, which began to move at once. There was no sound other than the silken rustle of
the boat's prow cleaving the water; it moved without their help, as though an invisible rope was pulling it onward toward the light in the center. Soon they could no
longer see the walls of the cavern; they might have been at sea except that there were no waves.
Harry looked down and saw the reflected gold of his wandlight sparkling and glittering on the black water as they passed. The boat was carving deep ripples upon the
glassy surface, grooves in the dark mirror...
And then Harry saw it, marble white, floating inches below the surface.
“Professor!” he said, and his startled voice echoed loudly over the silent water.
“Harry?”
“I think I saw a hand in the water—a human hand!”
“Yes, I am sure you did,” said Dumbledore calmly.
“Voldemort would have been reasonably confident that none but a very great wizard would have been able to find the boat,” said Dumbledore. “I think he would have
been prepared to risk what was, to his mind, the most unlikely possibility that somebody else would find it, knowing that he had set other obstacles ahead that only he
would be able to penetrate. We shall see whether he was right.”
Harry looked down into the boat. It really was very small.
“It doesn't look like it was built for two people. Will it hold both of us? Will we be too heavy together?”
Dumbledore chuckled.
“Voldemort will not have cared about the weight, but about the amount of magical power that crossed his lake. I rather think an enchantment will have been placed upon
this boat so that only one wizard at a time will be able to sail in it.”
“But then—?”
“I do not think you will count, Harry: you are underage and unqualified. Voldemort would never have expected a sixteen-year-old to reach this place: I think it
unlikely that your powers will register compared to mine.”
These words did nothing to raise Harry's morale; perhaps Dumbledore knew it, for he added, “Voldemort's mistake, Harry, Voldemort's mistake... age is foolish and
forgetful when it underestimates youth... now, you first this time, and be careful not to touch the water.”
Dumbledore stood aside and Harry climbed carefully into the boat. Dumbledore stepped in too, coiling the chain onto the floor. They were crammed in together; Harry
could not comfortably sit, but crouched, his knees jutting over the edge of the boat, which began to move at once. There was no sound other than the silken rustle of
the boat's prow cleaving the water; it moved without their help, as though an invisible rope was pulling it onward toward the light in the center. Soon they could no
longer see the walls of the cavern; they might have been at sea except that there were no waves.
Harry looked down and saw the reflected gold of his wandlight sparkling and glittering on the black water as they passed. The boat was carving deep ripples upon the
glassy surface, grooves in the dark mirror...
And then Harry saw it, marble white, floating inches below the surface.
“Professor!” he said, and his startled voice echoed loudly over the silent water.
“Harry?”
“I think I saw a hand in the water—a human hand!”
“Yes, I am sure you did,” said Dumbledore calmly.
But we don't know what the thing was
“But we don't know what the thing was,” said Harry, looking at the sinisterly smooth water.
“What the things are, you mean,” said Dumbledore. “I doubt very much that there is only one of them. Shall we walk on?”
“Professor?”
“Yes, Harry?”
“Do you think we're going to have to go into the lake?”
“Into it? Only if we are very unfortunate.”
“You don't think the Horcrux is at the bottom?”
“Oh no ... I think the Horcrux is in the middle.”
And Dumbledore pointed toward the misty green light in the center of the lake.
“So we're going to have to cross the lake to get to it?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Harry did not say anything. His thoughts were all of water monsters, of giant serpents, of demons, kelpies, and sprites...
“Aha,” said Dumbledore, and he stopped again; this time, Harry really did walk into him; for a moment he toppled on the edge of the dark water, and Dumbledore's
uninjured hand closed tightly around his upper arm, pulling him back. “So sorry, Harry, I should have given warning. Stand back against the wall, please; I think I
have found the place.”
Harry had no idea what Dumbledore meant; this patch of dark bank was exactly like every other bit as far as he could tell, but Dumbledore seemed to have detected
something special about it. This time he was running his hand, not over the rocky wall, but through the thin air, as though expecting to find and grip something
invisible.
“Oho,” said Dumbledore happily, seconds later. His hand had closed in midair upon something Harry could not see. Dumbledore moved closer to the water; Harry watched
nervously as the tips of Dumbledore's buckled shoes found the utmost edge of the rock rim. Keeping his hand clenched in midair, Dumbledore raised his wand with the
other and tapped his fist with the point.
Immediately a thick coppery green chain appeared out of thin air, extending from the depths of the water into Dumbledore's clenched hand. Dumbledore tapped the chain,
which began to slide through his fist like a snake, coiling itself on the ground with a clinking sound that echoed noisily off the rocky walls, pulling something from
the depths of the black water. Harry gasped as the ghostly prow of a tiny boat broke the surface, glowing as green as the chain, and floated, with barely a ripple,
toward the place on the bank where Harry and Dumbledore stood.
“How did you know that was there?” Harry asked in astonishment.
“Magic always leaves traces,” said Dumbledore, as the boat hit the bank with a gentle bump, “sometimes very distinctive traces. I taught Tom Riddle. I know his
style.”
“Is ... is this boat safe?”
“Oh yes, I think so. Voldemort needed to create a means to cross the lake without attracting the wrath of those creatures he had placed within it in case he ever
wanted to visit or remove his Horcrux.”
“So the things in the water won't do anything to us if we cross in Voldemort's boat?”
“I think we must resign ourselves to the fact that they will, at some point, realize we are not Lord Voldemort. Thus far, however, we have done well. They have allowed
us to raise the boat.”
“What the things are, you mean,” said Dumbledore. “I doubt very much that there is only one of them. Shall we walk on?”
“Professor?”
“Yes, Harry?”
“Do you think we're going to have to go into the lake?”
“Into it? Only if we are very unfortunate.”
“You don't think the Horcrux is at the bottom?”
“Oh no ... I think the Horcrux is in the middle.”
And Dumbledore pointed toward the misty green light in the center of the lake.
“So we're going to have to cross the lake to get to it?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Harry did not say anything. His thoughts were all of water monsters, of giant serpents, of demons, kelpies, and sprites...
“Aha,” said Dumbledore, and he stopped again; this time, Harry really did walk into him; for a moment he toppled on the edge of the dark water, and Dumbledore's
uninjured hand closed tightly around his upper arm, pulling him back. “So sorry, Harry, I should have given warning. Stand back against the wall, please; I think I
have found the place.”
Harry had no idea what Dumbledore meant; this patch of dark bank was exactly like every other bit as far as he could tell, but Dumbledore seemed to have detected
something special about it. This time he was running his hand, not over the rocky wall, but through the thin air, as though expecting to find and grip something
invisible.
“Oho,” said Dumbledore happily, seconds later. His hand had closed in midair upon something Harry could not see. Dumbledore moved closer to the water; Harry watched
nervously as the tips of Dumbledore's buckled shoes found the utmost edge of the rock rim. Keeping his hand clenched in midair, Dumbledore raised his wand with the
other and tapped his fist with the point.
Immediately a thick coppery green chain appeared out of thin air, extending from the depths of the water into Dumbledore's clenched hand. Dumbledore tapped the chain,
which began to slide through his fist like a snake, coiling itself on the ground with a clinking sound that echoed noisily off the rocky walls, pulling something from
the depths of the black water. Harry gasped as the ghostly prow of a tiny boat broke the surface, glowing as green as the chain, and floated, with barely a ripple,
toward the place on the bank where Harry and Dumbledore stood.
“How did you know that was there?” Harry asked in astonishment.
“Magic always leaves traces,” said Dumbledore, as the boat hit the bank with a gentle bump, “sometimes very distinctive traces. I taught Tom Riddle. I know his
style.”
“Is ... is this boat safe?”
“Oh yes, I think so. Voldemort needed to create a means to cross the lake without attracting the wrath of those creatures he had placed within it in case he ever
wanted to visit or remove his Horcrux.”
“So the things in the water won't do anything to us if we cross in Voldemort's boat?”
“I think we must resign ourselves to the fact that they will, at some point, realize we are not Lord Voldemort. Thus far, however, we have done well. They have allowed
us to raise the boat.”
Thursday, November 25, 2010
“—do you honestly like Snape?”
“—do you honestly like Snape?”
“I neither like nor dislike Severus,” said Lupin. “No, Harry, I am speaking the truth,” he added, as Harry pulled a skeptical expression. “We shall never be bosom
friends, perhaps; after all that happened between James and Sirius and Severus, there is too much bitterness there. But I do not forget that during the year I taught at
Hogwarts, Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I usually do at the full moon.”
“But he ‘accidentally’ let it slip that you're a werewolf, so you had to leave!” said Harry angrily.
Lupin shrugged.
“The news would have leaked out anyway. We both know he wanted my job, but he could have wreaked much worse damage on me by tampering with the potion. He kept me
healthy. I must be grateful.”
“Maybe he didn't dare mess with the potion with Dumbledore watching him!” said Harry.
“You are determined to hate him, Harry,” said Lupin with a faint smile. “And I understand; with James as your father, with Sirius as your godfather, you have
inherited an old prejudice. By all means tell Dumbledore what you have told Arthur and me, but do not expect him to share your view of the matter; do not even expect
him to be surprised by what you tell him. It might have been on Dumbledore's orders that Severus questioned Draco.”
... and now you've torn it quite apart
I'll thank you to give back my heart!
Celestina ended her song on a very long, high-pitched note and loud applause issued out of the wireless, which Mrs. Weasley joined in with enthusiastically.
“Eez eet over?” said Fleur loudly. “Thank goodness, what an ‘orrible —”
“Shall we have a nightcap, then?” asked Mr. Weasley loudly, leaping to his feet. “Who wants eggnog?”
“What have you been up to lately?” Harry asked Lupin, as Mr, Weasley bustled off to fetch the eggnog, and everybody else stretched and broke into conversation.
“I neither like nor dislike Severus,” said Lupin. “No, Harry, I am speaking the truth,” he added, as Harry pulled a skeptical expression. “We shall never be bosom
friends, perhaps; after all that happened between James and Sirius and Severus, there is too much bitterness there. But I do not forget that during the year I taught at
Hogwarts, Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I usually do at the full moon.”
“But he ‘accidentally’ let it slip that you're a werewolf, so you had to leave!” said Harry angrily.
Lupin shrugged.
“The news would have leaked out anyway. We both know he wanted my job, but he could have wreaked much worse damage on me by tampering with the potion. He kept me
healthy. I must be grateful.”
“Maybe he didn't dare mess with the potion with Dumbledore watching him!” said Harry.
“You are determined to hate him, Harry,” said Lupin with a faint smile. “And I understand; with James as your father, with Sirius as your godfather, you have
inherited an old prejudice. By all means tell Dumbledore what you have told Arthur and me, but do not expect him to share your view of the matter; do not even expect
him to be surprised by what you tell him. It might have been on Dumbledore's orders that Severus questioned Draco.”
... and now you've torn it quite apart
I'll thank you to give back my heart!
Celestina ended her song on a very long, high-pitched note and loud applause issued out of the wireless, which Mrs. Weasley joined in with enthusiastically.
“Eez eet over?” said Fleur loudly. “Thank goodness, what an ‘orrible —”
“Shall we have a nightcap, then?” asked Mr. Weasley loudly, leaping to his feet. “Who wants eggnog?”
“What have you been up to lately?” Harry asked Lupin, as Mr, Weasley bustled off to fetch the eggnog, and everybody else stretched and broke into conversation.
“Mphf?” said Mr. Weasley,
“Mphf?” said Mr. Weasley, whose head had been nodding over the satsuma he was peeling. “Oh yes ... marvelous tune...”
With an effort, he sat up a little straighter and looked around at Harry, who was sitting next to him.
“Sorry about this,” he said, jerking his head toward the wireless as Celestina broke into the chorus. “Be over soon.”
“No problem,” said Harry, grinning. “Has it been busy at the Ministry?”
“Very,” said Mr. Weasley. “I wouldn't mind if we were getting anywhere, but of the three arrests we've made in the last couple of months, I doubt that one of them is
a genuine Death Eater—only don't repeat that, Harry,” he added quickly, looking much more awake all of a sudden.
“They're not still holding Stan Shunpike, are they?” asked Harry.
“I'm afraid so,” said Mr. Weasley. “I know Dumbledore's tried appealing directly to Scrimgeour about Stan... I mean, anybody who has actually interviewed him agrees
that he's about as much a Death Eater as this satsuma... but the top levels want to look as though they're making some progress, and ‘three arrests’ sounds better
than ‘three mistaken arrests and releases'... but again, this is all top secret...”
“I won't say anything,” said Harry. He hesitated for a moment, wondering how best to embark on what he wanted to say; as he marshaled his thoughts, Celestina Warbeck
began a ballad called “You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me.”
“Mr. Weasley, you know what I told you at the station when we were setting off for school?”
“I checked, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley at once. “I went and searched the Malfoys’ house. There was nothing, either broken or whole, that shouldn't have been there.”
“Yeah, I know, I saw in the Prophet that you'd looked... but this is something different... well, something more ...”
And he told Mr. Weasley everything he had overheard between Malfoy and Snape. As Harry spoke, he saw Lupin's head turn a little toward him, taking in every word. When
he had finished, there was silence, except for Celestina's crooning.
Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone?
It's left me for a spell...
“Has it occurred to you, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley, “that Snape was simply pretending—?”
“Pretending to offer help, so that he could find out what Malfoy's up to?” said Harry quickly. “Yeah, I thought you'd say that. But how do we know?”
“It isn't our business to know,” said Lupin unexpectedly. He had turned his back on the fire now and faced Harry across Mr. Weasley. “It's Dumbledore's business.
Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought to be good enough for all of us.”
“But,” said Harry, “just say—just say Dumbledore's wrong about Snape —”
“People have said it, many times. It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore's judgment. I do; therefore, I trust Severus.”
“But Dumbledore can make mistakes,” argued Harry. “He says it himself. And you—”
He looked Lupin straight in the eye.
With an effort, he sat up a little straighter and looked around at Harry, who was sitting next to him.
“Sorry about this,” he said, jerking his head toward the wireless as Celestina broke into the chorus. “Be over soon.”
“No problem,” said Harry, grinning. “Has it been busy at the Ministry?”
“Very,” said Mr. Weasley. “I wouldn't mind if we were getting anywhere, but of the three arrests we've made in the last couple of months, I doubt that one of them is
a genuine Death Eater—only don't repeat that, Harry,” he added quickly, looking much more awake all of a sudden.
“They're not still holding Stan Shunpike, are they?” asked Harry.
“I'm afraid so,” said Mr. Weasley. “I know Dumbledore's tried appealing directly to Scrimgeour about Stan... I mean, anybody who has actually interviewed him agrees
that he's about as much a Death Eater as this satsuma... but the top levels want to look as though they're making some progress, and ‘three arrests’ sounds better
than ‘three mistaken arrests and releases'... but again, this is all top secret...”
“I won't say anything,” said Harry. He hesitated for a moment, wondering how best to embark on what he wanted to say; as he marshaled his thoughts, Celestina Warbeck
began a ballad called “You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me.”
“Mr. Weasley, you know what I told you at the station when we were setting off for school?”
“I checked, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley at once. “I went and searched the Malfoys’ house. There was nothing, either broken or whole, that shouldn't have been there.”
“Yeah, I know, I saw in the Prophet that you'd looked... but this is something different... well, something more ...”
And he told Mr. Weasley everything he had overheard between Malfoy and Snape. As Harry spoke, he saw Lupin's head turn a little toward him, taking in every word. When
he had finished, there was silence, except for Celestina's crooning.
Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone?
It's left me for a spell...
“Has it occurred to you, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley, “that Snape was simply pretending—?”
“Pretending to offer help, so that he could find out what Malfoy's up to?” said Harry quickly. “Yeah, I thought you'd say that. But how do we know?”
“It isn't our business to know,” said Lupin unexpectedly. He had turned his back on the fire now and faced Harry across Mr. Weasley. “It's Dumbledore's business.
Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought to be good enough for all of us.”
“But,” said Harry, “just say—just say Dumbledore's wrong about Snape —”
“People have said it, many times. It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore's judgment. I do; therefore, I trust Severus.”
“But Dumbledore can make mistakes,” argued Harry. “He says it himself. And you—”
He looked Lupin straight in the eye.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Harry had a sudden and vivid mental
Harry had a sudden and vivid mental image of a great swollen spider, spinning a web around it, twitching a thread here and there to bring its large and juicy flies a little closer.
“I tell you all this,” Dumbledore continued, “not to turn you against Horace—or, as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn—but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you, Harry. You would be the jewel of his collection; ‘the Boy Who Lived'... or, as they call you these days, ‘the Chosen One.'”
At these words, a chill that had nothing to do with the surrounding mist stole over Harry. He was reminded of words he had heard a few weeks ago, words that had a horrible and particular meaning to him:
Neither can live while the other survives...
Dumbledore had stopped walking, level with the church they had passed earlier.
“This will do, Harry. If you will grasp my arm.”
Braced this time, Harry was ready for the Apparition, but still found it unpleasant. When the pressure disappeared and he found himself able to breathe again, he was standing in a country lane beside Dumbledore and looking ahead to the crooked silhouette of his second favorite building in the world: the Burrow. In spite of the feeling of dread that had just swept through him, his spirits could not help but lift at the sight of it. Ron was in there... and so was Mrs. Weasley, who could cook better than anyone he knew...
“If you don't mind, Harry,” said Dumbledore, as they passed through the gate, “I'd like a few words with you before we part. In private. Perhaps in here?”
Dumbledore pointed toward a run-down stone outhouse where the Weasleys kept their broomsticks. A little puzzled, Harry followed Dumbledore through the creaking door into a space a little smaller than the average cupboard. Dumbledore illuminated the tip of his wand, so that it glowed like a torch, and smiled down at Harry.
“I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it, Harry, but I am pleased and a little proud at how well you seem to be coping after everything that happened at the Ministry. Permit me to say that I think Sirius would have been proud of you.”
Harry swallowed; his voice seemed to have deserted him. He did not think he could stand to discuss Sirius; it had been painful enough to hear Uncle Vernon say “His godfather's dead?” and even worse to hear Sirius's name thrown out casually by Slughorn.
“It was cruel,” said Dumbledore softly, “that you and Sirius had such a short time together. A brutal ending to what should have been a long and happy relationship.”
Harry nodded, his eyes fixed resolutely on the spider now climbing Dumbledore's hat. He could tell that Dumbledore understood, that he might even suspect that until his letter arrived, Harry had spent nearly all his time at the Dursleys’ lying on his bed, refusing meals, and staring at the misted window, full of the chill emptiness that he had come to associate with dementors.
“It's just hard,” Harry said finally, in a low voice, “to realize he won't write to me again.”
His eyes burned suddenly and he blinked. He felt stupid for admitting it, but the fact that he had had someone outside Hogwarts who cared what happened to him, almost like a parent, had been one of the best things about discovering his godfather... and now the post owls would never bring him that comfort again...
“Sirius represented much to you that you had never known before,” said Dumbledore gently. “Naturally, the loss is devastating...”
“But while I was at the Dursleys'...” interrupted Harry, his voice growing stronger, “I realized I can't shut myself away or—or crack up. Sirius wouldn't have wanted that, would he? And anyway, life's too short... Look at Madam Bones, look at Emmeline Vance... It could be me next, couldn't it? But if it is,” he said fiercely, now looking straight into Dumbledore's blue eyes gleaming in the wandlight, “I'll make sure I take as many Death Eaters with me as I can, and Voldemort too if I can manage it.”
“Spoken both like your mother and father's son and Sirius's true godson!” said Dumbledore, with an approving pat on Harry's back. “I take my hat off to you—or I would, if I were not afraid of showering you in spiders.
“And now, Harry, on a closely related subject... I gather that you have been taking the Daily Prophet over the last two weeks?”
“Yes,” said Harry, and his heart beat a little faster.
“Then you will have seen that there have been not so much leaks as floods concerning your adventure in the Hall of Prophecy?”
“Yes,” said Harry again. “And now everyone knows that I'm the one—”
“No, they do not,” interrupted Dumbledore. “There are only two people in the whole world who know the full contents of the prophecy made about you and Lord Voldemort, and they are both standing in this smelly, spidery broom shed. It is true, however, that many have guessed, correctly, that Voldemort sent his Death Eaters to steal a prophecy, and that the prophecy concerned you.
“Now, I think I am correct in saying that you have not told anybody that you know what the prophecy said?”
“No,” said Harry.
“A wise decision, on the whole,” said Dumbledore. “Although I think you ought to relax it in favor of your friends, Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger. Yes,” he continued, when Harry looked startled, “I think they ought to know. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them.”
“I didn't want —”
“— to worry or frighten them?” said Dumbledore, surveying Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “Or perhaps, to confess that you yourself are worried and frightened? You need your friends, Harry. As you so rightly said, Sirius would not have wanted you to shut yourself away.”
Harry said nothing, but Dumbledore did not seem to require an answer. He continued, “On a different, though related, subject, it is my wish that you take private lessons with me this year.”
“Private—with you?” said Harry, surprised out of his preoccupied silence.
“Yes. I think it is time that I took a greater hand in your education.”
“What will you be teaching me, sir?”
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that,” said Dumbledore airily.
Harry waited hopefully, but Dumbledore did not elaborate, so he asked something else that had been bothering him slightly.
“If I'm having lessons with you, I won't have to do Occlumency lessons with Snape, will I?”
“Professor Snape, Harry—and no, you will not.”
“Good,” said Harry in relief, “because they were a —”
He stopped, careful not to say what he really thought.
“I think the word ‘fiasco’ would be a good one here,” said Dumbledore, nodding.
Harry laughed.
“Well, that means I won't see much of Professor Snape from now on,” he said, “because he won't let me carry on Potions unless I get ‘Outstanding’ in my O.W.L., which I know I haven't.”
“Don't count your owls before they are delivered,” said Dumbledore gravely. “Which, now I think of it, ought to be some time later today. Now, two more things, Harry, before we part.
“Firstly, I wish you to keep your Invisibility Cloak with you at all times from this moment onward. Even within Hogwarts itself. Just in case, you understand me?”
Harry nodded.
“And lastly, while you stay here, the Burrow has been given the highest security the Ministry of Magic can provide. These measures have caused a certain amount of inconvenience to Arthur and Molly—all their post, for instance, is being searched at the Ministry before being sent on. They do not mind in the slightest, for their only concern is your safety. However, it would be poor repayment if you risked your neck while staying with them.”
“I understand,” said Harry quickly.
“Very well, then,” said Dumbledore, pushing open the broom shed door and stepping out into the yard. “I see a light in the kitchen. Let us not deprive Molly any longer of the chance to deplore how thin you are.”
chanel outlet
cheap uggs on sale
cheap uggs
uggs sale
cheap uggs
burberry outlet
gucci outlet
“I tell you all this,” Dumbledore continued, “not to turn you against Horace—or, as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn—but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you, Harry. You would be the jewel of his collection; ‘the Boy Who Lived'... or, as they call you these days, ‘the Chosen One.'”
At these words, a chill that had nothing to do with the surrounding mist stole over Harry. He was reminded of words he had heard a few weeks ago, words that had a horrible and particular meaning to him:
Neither can live while the other survives...
Dumbledore had stopped walking, level with the church they had passed earlier.
“This will do, Harry. If you will grasp my arm.”
Braced this time, Harry was ready for the Apparition, but still found it unpleasant. When the pressure disappeared and he found himself able to breathe again, he was standing in a country lane beside Dumbledore and looking ahead to the crooked silhouette of his second favorite building in the world: the Burrow. In spite of the feeling of dread that had just swept through him, his spirits could not help but lift at the sight of it. Ron was in there... and so was Mrs. Weasley, who could cook better than anyone he knew...
“If you don't mind, Harry,” said Dumbledore, as they passed through the gate, “I'd like a few words with you before we part. In private. Perhaps in here?”
Dumbledore pointed toward a run-down stone outhouse where the Weasleys kept their broomsticks. A little puzzled, Harry followed Dumbledore through the creaking door into a space a little smaller than the average cupboard. Dumbledore illuminated the tip of his wand, so that it glowed like a torch, and smiled down at Harry.
“I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it, Harry, but I am pleased and a little proud at how well you seem to be coping after everything that happened at the Ministry. Permit me to say that I think Sirius would have been proud of you.”
Harry swallowed; his voice seemed to have deserted him. He did not think he could stand to discuss Sirius; it had been painful enough to hear Uncle Vernon say “His godfather's dead?” and even worse to hear Sirius's name thrown out casually by Slughorn.
“It was cruel,” said Dumbledore softly, “that you and Sirius had such a short time together. A brutal ending to what should have been a long and happy relationship.”
Harry nodded, his eyes fixed resolutely on the spider now climbing Dumbledore's hat. He could tell that Dumbledore understood, that he might even suspect that until his letter arrived, Harry had spent nearly all his time at the Dursleys’ lying on his bed, refusing meals, and staring at the misted window, full of the chill emptiness that he had come to associate with dementors.
“It's just hard,” Harry said finally, in a low voice, “to realize he won't write to me again.”
His eyes burned suddenly and he blinked. He felt stupid for admitting it, but the fact that he had had someone outside Hogwarts who cared what happened to him, almost like a parent, had been one of the best things about discovering his godfather... and now the post owls would never bring him that comfort again...
“Sirius represented much to you that you had never known before,” said Dumbledore gently. “Naturally, the loss is devastating...”
“But while I was at the Dursleys'...” interrupted Harry, his voice growing stronger, “I realized I can't shut myself away or—or crack up. Sirius wouldn't have wanted that, would he? And anyway, life's too short... Look at Madam Bones, look at Emmeline Vance... It could be me next, couldn't it? But if it is,” he said fiercely, now looking straight into Dumbledore's blue eyes gleaming in the wandlight, “I'll make sure I take as many Death Eaters with me as I can, and Voldemort too if I can manage it.”
“Spoken both like your mother and father's son and Sirius's true godson!” said Dumbledore, with an approving pat on Harry's back. “I take my hat off to you—or I would, if I were not afraid of showering you in spiders.
“And now, Harry, on a closely related subject... I gather that you have been taking the Daily Prophet over the last two weeks?”
“Yes,” said Harry, and his heart beat a little faster.
“Then you will have seen that there have been not so much leaks as floods concerning your adventure in the Hall of Prophecy?”
“Yes,” said Harry again. “And now everyone knows that I'm the one—”
“No, they do not,” interrupted Dumbledore. “There are only two people in the whole world who know the full contents of the prophecy made about you and Lord Voldemort, and they are both standing in this smelly, spidery broom shed. It is true, however, that many have guessed, correctly, that Voldemort sent his Death Eaters to steal a prophecy, and that the prophecy concerned you.
“Now, I think I am correct in saying that you have not told anybody that you know what the prophecy said?”
“No,” said Harry.
“A wise decision, on the whole,” said Dumbledore. “Although I think you ought to relax it in favor of your friends, Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger. Yes,” he continued, when Harry looked startled, “I think they ought to know. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them.”
“I didn't want —”
“— to worry or frighten them?” said Dumbledore, surveying Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “Or perhaps, to confess that you yourself are worried and frightened? You need your friends, Harry. As you so rightly said, Sirius would not have wanted you to shut yourself away.”
Harry said nothing, but Dumbledore did not seem to require an answer. He continued, “On a different, though related, subject, it is my wish that you take private lessons with me this year.”
“Private—with you?” said Harry, surprised out of his preoccupied silence.
“Yes. I think it is time that I took a greater hand in your education.”
“What will you be teaching me, sir?”
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that,” said Dumbledore airily.
Harry waited hopefully, but Dumbledore did not elaborate, so he asked something else that had been bothering him slightly.
“If I'm having lessons with you, I won't have to do Occlumency lessons with Snape, will I?”
“Professor Snape, Harry—and no, you will not.”
“Good,” said Harry in relief, “because they were a —”
He stopped, careful not to say what he really thought.
“I think the word ‘fiasco’ would be a good one here,” said Dumbledore, nodding.
Harry laughed.
“Well, that means I won't see much of Professor Snape from now on,” he said, “because he won't let me carry on Potions unless I get ‘Outstanding’ in my O.W.L., which I know I haven't.”
“Don't count your owls before they are delivered,” said Dumbledore gravely. “Which, now I think of it, ought to be some time later today. Now, two more things, Harry, before we part.
“Firstly, I wish you to keep your Invisibility Cloak with you at all times from this moment onward. Even within Hogwarts itself. Just in case, you understand me?”
Harry nodded.
“And lastly, while you stay here, the Burrow has been given the highest security the Ministry of Magic can provide. These measures have caused a certain amount of inconvenience to Arthur and Molly—all their post, for instance, is being searched at the Ministry before being sent on. They do not mind in the slightest, for their only concern is your safety. However, it would be poor repayment if you risked your neck while staying with them.”
“I understand,” said Harry quickly.
“Very well, then,” said Dumbledore, pushing open the broom shed door and stepping out into the yard. “I see a light in the kitchen. Let us not deprive Molly any longer of the chance to deplore how thin you are.”
chanel outlet
cheap uggs on sale
cheap uggs
uggs sale
cheap uggs
burberry outlet
gucci outlet
Monday, November 22, 2010
Chapter 54
Chapter 54
Vronsky was staying in a roomy, clean, Finnish hut, divided into two by a partition. Petritsky lived with him in camp too. Petritsky was asleep when Vronsky and Yashvin came into the hut. "Get up, don't go on sleeping," said Yashvin, going behind the partition and giving Petritsky, who was lying with ruffled hair and with his nose in the pillow, a prod on the shoulder.
Petritsky jumped up suddenly onto his knees and looked round.
"Your brother's been here," he said to Vronsky. "He waked me up, damn him, and said he'd look in again." And pulling up the rug he flung himself back on the pillow. "Oh, do shut up, Yashvin!" he said, getting furious with Yashvin, who was pulling the rug off him. "Shut up!" He turned over and opened his eyes. "You'd better tell me what to drink; such a nasty taste in my mouth, that..."
"Brandy's better than anything," boomed Yashvin. "Tereshtchenko! brandy for your master and cucumbers," he shouted, obviously taking pleasure in the sound of his own voice.
"Brandy, do you think? Eh?" queried Petritsky, blinking and rubbing his eyes. "And you'll drink something? All right then, we'll have a drink together! Vronsky, have a drink?" said Petritsky, getting up and wrapping the tiger-skin rug round him. He went to the door of the partition wall, raised his hands, and hummed in French, "There was a king in Thule." "Vronsky, will you have a drink?"
"Go along," said Vronsky, putting on the coat his valet handed to him.
"Where are you off to?" asked Yashvin. "Oh, here are your three horses," he added, seeing the carriage drive up.
"To the stables, and I've got to see Bryansky, too, about the horses," said Vronsky.
Vronsky had as a fact promised to call at Bryansky's, some eight miles from Peterhof, and to bring him some money owing for some horses; and he hoped to have time to get that in too. But his comrades were at once aware that he was not only going there.
Petritsky, still humming, winked and made a pout with his lips, as though he would say: "Oh, yes, we know your Bryansky."
"Mind you're not late!" was Yashvin's only comment; and to change the conversation: "How's my roan? is he doing all right?" he inquired, looking out of the window at the middle one of the three horses, which he had sold Vronsky.
"Stop!" cried Petritsky to Vronsky as he was just going out. "Your brother left a letter and a note for you. Wait a bit; where are they?"
Vronsky had never spoken to him of his passion
Vronsky had never spoken to him of his passion, but he was aware that he knew all about it, and that he put the right interpretation on it, and he was glad to see that in his eyes.
"Ah! yes," he said, to the announcement that Vronsky had been at the Tverskoys'; and his black eyes shining, he plucked at his left mustache, and began twisting it into his mouth, a bad habit he had.
"Well, and what did you do yesterday? Win anything?" asked Vronsky.
"Eight thousand. But three don't count; he won't pay up."
"Oh, then you can afford to lose over me," said Vronsky, laughing. (Yashvin had bet heavily on Vronsky in the races.)
"No chance of my losing. Mahotin's the only one that's risky."
And the conversation passed to forecasts of the coming race, the only thing Vronsky could think of just now.
"Come along, I've finished," said Vronsky, and getting up he went to the door. Yashvin got up too, stretching his long legs and his long back.
"It's too early for me to dine, but I must have a drink. I'll come along directly. Hi, wine!" he shouted, in his rich voice, that always rang out so loudly at drill, and set the windows shaking now.
"No, all right," he shouted again immediately after. "You're going home, so I'll go with you."
And he walked out with Vronsky.
"Ah! yes," he said, to the announcement that Vronsky had been at the Tverskoys'; and his black eyes shining, he plucked at his left mustache, and began twisting it into his mouth, a bad habit he had.
"Well, and what did you do yesterday? Win anything?" asked Vronsky.
"Eight thousand. But three don't count; he won't pay up."
"Oh, then you can afford to lose over me," said Vronsky, laughing. (Yashvin had bet heavily on Vronsky in the races.)
"No chance of my losing. Mahotin's the only one that's risky."
And the conversation passed to forecasts of the coming race, the only thing Vronsky could think of just now.
"Come along, I've finished," said Vronsky, and getting up he went to the door. Yashvin got up too, stretching his long legs and his long back.
"It's too early for me to dine, but I must have a drink. I'll come along directly. Hi, wine!" he shouted, in his rich voice, that always rang out so loudly at drill, and set the windows shaking now.
"No, all right," he shouted again immediately after. "You're going home, so I'll go with you."
And he walked out with Vronsky.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
"Oh, yes, you fancy! And how if she really is
"Oh, yes, you fancy! And how if she really is in love, and he's no more thinking of marriage than I am!... Oh, that I should live to see it! Ah! spiritualism! Ah! Nice! Ah! the ball!" And the prince, imagining that he was mimicking his wife, made a mincing curtsey at each word. "And this is how we're preparing wretchedness for Kitty; and she's really got the notion into her head..."
"But what makes you suppose so?"
"I don't suppose; I know. We have eyes for such things, though women-folk haven't. I see a man who has serious intentions, that's Levin: and I see a peacock, like this feather-head, who's only amusing himself."
"Oh, well, when once you get an idea into your head!..."
"Well, you'll remember my words, but too late, just as with Dolly."
"Well, well, we won't talk of it," the princess stopped him, recollecting her unlucky Dolly.
"By all means, and good night!"
And signing each other with the cross, the husband and wife parted with a kiss, feeling that they each remained of their own opinion.
The princess had at first been quite certain that that evening had settled Kitty's future, and theat there could be no doubt of Vronsky's intentions, but her husband's words had disturbed her. And returning to her own room, in terror before the unknown future, she, too, like Kitty, repeated several times in her heart, "Lord, have pity; Lord, have pity; Lord, have pity."
"But what makes you suppose so?"
"I don't suppose; I know. We have eyes for such things, though women-folk haven't. I see a man who has serious intentions, that's Levin: and I see a peacock, like this feather-head, who's only amusing himself."
"Oh, well, when once you get an idea into your head!..."
"Well, you'll remember my words, but too late, just as with Dolly."
"Well, well, we won't talk of it," the princess stopped him, recollecting her unlucky Dolly.
"By all means, and good night!"
And signing each other with the cross, the husband and wife parted with a kiss, feeling that they each remained of their own opinion.
The princess had at first been quite certain that that evening had settled Kitty's future, and theat there could be no doubt of Vronsky's intentions, but her husband's words had disturbed her. And returning to her own room, in terror before the unknown future, she, too, like Kitty, repeated several times in her heart, "Lord, have pity; Lord, have pity; Lord, have pity."
She, pleased and happy after her conversation
She, pleased and happy after her conversation with her daughter, had gone to the prince to say good-night as usual, and though she had no intention of telling him of Levin's offer and Kitty's refusal, still she hinted to her husband that she fancied things were practically settled with Vronsky, and that he would declare himself so soon as his mother arrived. And thereupon, at those words, the prince had all at once flown into a passion, and began to use unseemly language.
"What have you done? I'll tell you what. First of all, you're trying to catch an eligible gentleman, and all Moscow will be talking of it, and with good reason. If you have evening parties, invite everyone, don't pick out the possible suitors. Invite all the young bucks. Engage a piano player, and let them dance, and not as you do things nowadays, hunting up good matches. It makes me sick, sick to see it, and you've gone on till you've turned the poor wench's head. Levin's a thousand times the better man. As for this little Petersburg swell, they're turned out by machinery, all on one pattern, and all precious rubbish. But if he were a prince of the blood, my daughter need not run after anyone."
"But what have I done?"
"Why, you've..." The prince was crying wrathfully.
"I know if one were to listen to you," interrupted the princess, "we should never marry our daughter. If it's to be so, we'd better go into the country."
"Well, and we had better."
"But do wait a minute. Do I try and catch them? I don't try to catch them in the least. A young man, and a very nice one, has fallen in love with her, and she, I fancy..."
"Oh, yes, you fancy! And how if she really is in love, and he's no more thinking of marriage than I am!... Oh, that I should live to see it! Ah! spiritualism! Ah! Nice! Ah! the ball!" And the prince, imagining that he was mimicking his wife, made a mincing curtsey at each word. "And this is how we're preparing wretchedness for Kitty; and she's really got the notion into her head..."
"But what makes you suppose so?"
"I don't suppose; I know. We have eyes for such things, though women-folk haven't. I see a man who has serious intentions, that's Levin: and I see a peacock, like this feather-head, who's only amusing himself."
"Oh, well, when once you get an idea into your head!..."
"Well, you'll remember my words, but too late, just as with Dolly."
"What have you done? I'll tell you what. First of all, you're trying to catch an eligible gentleman, and all Moscow will be talking of it, and with good reason. If you have evening parties, invite everyone, don't pick out the possible suitors. Invite all the young bucks. Engage a piano player, and let them dance, and not as you do things nowadays, hunting up good matches. It makes me sick, sick to see it, and you've gone on till you've turned the poor wench's head. Levin's a thousand times the better man. As for this little Petersburg swell, they're turned out by machinery, all on one pattern, and all precious rubbish. But if he were a prince of the blood, my daughter need not run after anyone."
"But what have I done?"
"Why, you've..." The prince was crying wrathfully.
"I know if one were to listen to you," interrupted the princess, "we should never marry our daughter. If it's to be so, we'd better go into the country."
"Well, and we had better."
"But do wait a minute. Do I try and catch them? I don't try to catch them in the least. A young man, and a very nice one, has fallen in love with her, and she, I fancy..."
"Oh, yes, you fancy! And how if she really is in love, and he's no more thinking of marriage than I am!... Oh, that I should live to see it! Ah! spiritualism! Ah! Nice! Ah! the ball!" And the prince, imagining that he was mimicking his wife, made a mincing curtsey at each word. "And this is how we're preparing wretchedness for Kitty; and she's really got the notion into her head..."
"But what makes you suppose so?"
"I don't suppose; I know. We have eyes for such things, though women-folk haven't. I see a man who has serious intentions, that's Levin: and I see a peacock, like this feather-head, who's only amusing himself."
"Oh, well, when once you get an idea into your head!..."
"Well, you'll remember my words, but too late, just as with Dolly."
Chapter 15
Chapter 15
At the end of the evening Kitty told her mother of her conversation with Levin, and in spite of all the pity she felt for Levin, she was glad at the thought that she had received an OFFER. She had no doubt that she had acted rightly. But after she had gone to bed, for a long while she could not sleep. One impression pursued her relentlessly. It was Levin's face, with his scowling brows, and his kind eyes looking out in dark dejection below them, as he stood listening to her father, and glancing at her and at Vronsky. And she felt so sorry for him that tears came into her eyes. But immediately she thought of the man for whom she had given him up. She vividly recalled his manly, resolute face, his noble self-possession, and the good nature conspicuous in everything towards everyone. She remembered the love for her of the man she loved, and once more all was gladness in her soul, and she lay on the pillow, smiling with happiness. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry; but what could I do? It's not my fault," she said to herself; but an inner voice told her something else. Whether she felt remorse at having won Levin's love, or at having refused him, she did not know. But her happiness was poisoned by doubts. "Lord, have pity on us; Lord, have pity on us; Lord, have pity on us!" she repeated to herself, till she fell asleep.
Meanwhile there took place below, in the prince's little library, one of the scenes so often repeated between the parents on account of their favorite daughter.
"What? I'll tell you what!" shouted the prince, waving his arms, and at once wrapping his squirrel-lined dressing-gown round him again. "That you've no pride, no dignity; that you're disgracing, ruining your daughter by this vulgar, stupid match-making!"
"But, really, for mercy's sake, prince, what have I done?" said the princess, almost crying.
At the end of the evening Kitty told her mother of her conversation with Levin, and in spite of all the pity she felt for Levin, she was glad at the thought that she had received an OFFER. She had no doubt that she had acted rightly. But after she had gone to bed, for a long while she could not sleep. One impression pursued her relentlessly. It was Levin's face, with his scowling brows, and his kind eyes looking out in dark dejection below them, as he stood listening to her father, and glancing at her and at Vronsky. And she felt so sorry for him that tears came into her eyes. But immediately she thought of the man for whom she had given him up. She vividly recalled his manly, resolute face, his noble self-possession, and the good nature conspicuous in everything towards everyone. She remembered the love for her of the man she loved, and once more all was gladness in her soul, and she lay on the pillow, smiling with happiness. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry; but what could I do? It's not my fault," she said to herself; but an inner voice told her something else. Whether she felt remorse at having won Levin's love, or at having refused him, she did not know. But her happiness was poisoned by doubts. "Lord, have pity on us; Lord, have pity on us; Lord, have pity on us!" she repeated to herself, till she fell asleep.
Meanwhile there took place below, in the prince's little library, one of the scenes so often repeated between the parents on account of their favorite daughter.
"What? I'll tell you what!" shouted the prince, waving his arms, and at once wrapping his squirrel-lined dressing-gown round him again. "That you've no pride, no dignity; that you're disgracing, ruining your daughter by this vulgar, stupid match-making!"
"But, really, for mercy's sake, prince, what have I done?" said the princess, almost crying.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Harry felt very uneasy.
Harry felt very uneasy. He glanced around to see whether Ron or Hermione had noticed what he had, but Professor Marchbanks came walking behind him at that moment and, not wanting to look as though he was sneaking looks at anyone else's work, Harry hastily bent over his star-chart and pretended to be adding notes to it while really peering over the top of the parapet towards Hagrid's cabin. Figures were now moving across the cabin windows, temporarily blocking the light.
He could feel Professor Marchbanks's eyes on the back of his neck and pressed his eye again to his telescope, staring up at the moon though he had marked its position an hour ago, but as Professor Marchbanks moved on he heard a roar from the distant cabin that echoed through the darkness right to the top of the Astronomy Tower. Several of the people around Harry ducked out from behind their telescopes and peered instead in the direction of Hagrid's cabin.
Professor Tofty gave another dry little cough.
‘Try and concentrate, now, boys and girls,’ he said softly.
Most people returned to their telescopes. Harry looked to his left. Hermione was gazing transfixed at Hagrid's cabin.
‘Ahem—twenty minutes to go,’ said Professor Tofty.
Hermione jumped and returned at once to her star-chart; Harry looked down at his own and noticed that he had mis-labelled Venus as Mars. He bent to correct it.
There was a loud BANG from the grounds. Several people cried ‘Ouch!’ when they poked themselves in the face with the ends of their telescopes as they hastened to see what was going on below.
Hagrid's door had burst open and by the light flooding out of the cabin they saw him quite clearly, a massive figure roaring and brandishing his fists, surrounded by six people, all of whom, judging by the tiny threads of red light they were casting in his direction, seemed to be attempting to Stun him.
‘No!’ cried Hermione.
‘My dear!’ said Professor Tofty in a scandalised voice. ‘This is an examination!’
But nobody was paying the slightest attention to their star-charts any more. Jets of red light were still flying about beside Hagrid's cabin, yet somehow they seemed to be bouncing off him; he was still upright and still, as far as Harry could see, fighting. Cries and yells echoed across the grounds; a man yelled, ‘Be reasonable, Hagrid!’
Hagrid roared, ‘Reasonable be damned, yeh won’ take me like this, Dawlish!’
Harry could see the tiny outline of Fang, attempting to defend Hagrid, leaping repeatedly at the wizards surrounding him until a Stunning Spell caught him and he fell to the ground. Hagrid gave a howl of fury, lifted the culprit bodily from the ground and threw him; the man flew what looked like ten feet and did not get up again. Hermione gasped, both hands over her mouth; Harry looked round at Ron and saw that he, too, was looking scared. None of them had ever seen Hagrid in a real temper before.
‘Look!’ squealed Parvati, who was leaning over the parapet and pointing to the foot of the castle where the front doors had opened again; more light was spilling out on to the dark lawn and a single long black shadow was now rippling across the lawn.
‘Now, really!’ said Professor Tofty anxiously. ‘Only sixteen minutes left, you know!’
But nobody paid him the slightest attention: they were watching the person now sprinting towards the battle beside Hagrid's cabin.
‘How dare you!’ the figure shouted as she ran. ‘How dare you!’
He could feel Professor Marchbanks's eyes on the back of his neck and pressed his eye again to his telescope, staring up at the moon though he had marked its position an hour ago, but as Professor Marchbanks moved on he heard a roar from the distant cabin that echoed through the darkness right to the top of the Astronomy Tower. Several of the people around Harry ducked out from behind their telescopes and peered instead in the direction of Hagrid's cabin.
Professor Tofty gave another dry little cough.
‘Try and concentrate, now, boys and girls,’ he said softly.
Most people returned to their telescopes. Harry looked to his left. Hermione was gazing transfixed at Hagrid's cabin.
‘Ahem—twenty minutes to go,’ said Professor Tofty.
Hermione jumped and returned at once to her star-chart; Harry looked down at his own and noticed that he had mis-labelled Venus as Mars. He bent to correct it.
There was a loud BANG from the grounds. Several people cried ‘Ouch!’ when they poked themselves in the face with the ends of their telescopes as they hastened to see what was going on below.
Hagrid's door had burst open and by the light flooding out of the cabin they saw him quite clearly, a massive figure roaring and brandishing his fists, surrounded by six people, all of whom, judging by the tiny threads of red light they were casting in his direction, seemed to be attempting to Stun him.
‘No!’ cried Hermione.
‘My dear!’ said Professor Tofty in a scandalised voice. ‘This is an examination!’
But nobody was paying the slightest attention to their star-charts any more. Jets of red light were still flying about beside Hagrid's cabin, yet somehow they seemed to be bouncing off him; he was still upright and still, as far as Harry could see, fighting. Cries and yells echoed across the grounds; a man yelled, ‘Be reasonable, Hagrid!’
Hagrid roared, ‘Reasonable be damned, yeh won’ take me like this, Dawlish!’
Harry could see the tiny outline of Fang, attempting to defend Hagrid, leaping repeatedly at the wizards surrounding him until a Stunning Spell caught him and he fell to the ground. Hagrid gave a howl of fury, lifted the culprit bodily from the ground and threw him; the man flew what looked like ten feet and did not get up again. Hermione gasped, both hands over her mouth; Harry looked round at Ron and saw that he, too, was looking scared. None of them had ever seen Hagrid in a real temper before.
‘Look!’ squealed Parvati, who was leaning over the parapet and pointing to the foot of the castle where the front doors had opened again; more light was spilling out on to the dark lawn and a single long black shadow was now rippling across the lawn.
‘Now, really!’ said Professor Tofty anxiously. ‘Only sixteen minutes left, you know!’
But nobody paid him the slightest attention: they were watching the person now sprinting towards the battle beside Hagrid's cabin.
‘How dare you!’ the figure shouted as she ran. ‘How dare you!’
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
For Harry had just run both his hands hard
For Harry had just run both his hands hard over his forehead as though trying to iron it.
‘Yeah ... fine ...’ he said, lowering his hands, which were trembling. ‘I just feel a bit ... I don't like Occlumency much.’
‘I expect anyone would feel snaky if they'd had their mind attacked over and over again,’ said Hermione sympathetically. ‘Look, let's get back to the common room, we'll be a bit more comfortable there.’
But the common room was packed and full of shrieks of laughter and excitement; Fred and George were demonstrating their latest bit of joke shop merchandise.
‘Headless Hats!’ shouted George, as Fred waved a pointed hat decorated with a fluffy pink feather at the watching students. ‘Two Galleons each, watch Fred, now!’
Fred swept the hat on to his head, beaming. For a second he merely looked rather stupid; then both hat and head vanished.
Several girls screamed, but everyone else was roaring with laughter.
‘And off again!’ shouted George, and Fred's hand groped for a moment in what seemed to be thin air over his shoulder; then his head reappeared as he swept the pink-feathered hat from it.
‘How do those hats work, then?’ said Hermione, distracted from her homework and watching Fred and George closely. ‘I mean, obviously it's some kind of Invisibility Spell, but it's rather clever to have extended the field of
invisibility beyond the boundaries of the charmed object ... I'd imagine the charm wouldn't have a very long life though.’
Harry did not answer; he was feeling ill.
‘I'm going to have to do this tomorrow,’ he muttered, pushing the books he had just taken out of his bag back inside it.
‘Well, write it in your homework planner then!’ said Hermione encouragingly. ‘So you don't forget!’
Harry and Ron exchanged looks as he reached into his bag, withdrew the planner and opened it tentatively.
‘Don't leave it till later, you big second-rater!’ chided the book as Harry scribbled down Umbridge's homework. Hermione beamed at it.
‘I think I'll go to bed,’ said Harry, stuffing the homework planner back into his bag and making a mental note to drop it in the fire the first opportunity he got.
He walked across the common room, dodging George, who tried to put a Headless Hat on him, and reached the peace and cool of the stone staircase to the boys’ dormitories. He was feeling sick again, just as he had the
night he had had the vision of the snake, but thought that if he could just lie down for a while he would be all right.
He opened the door of his dormitory and was one step inside it when he experienced pain so severe he thought that someone must have sliced into the top of his head. He did not know where be was, whether he was
standing or lying down, he did not even know his own name.
Maniacal laughter was ringing in his ears ... he was happier than he had been in a very long time ... jubilant, ecstatic, triumphant ... a wonderful, wonderful thing had happened ...
‘Harry? HARRY!’
Someone had hit him around the face. The insane laughter was punctuated with a cry of pain. The happiness was draining out of him, but the laughter continued ...
He opened his eyes and, as he did so, he became aware that the wild laughter was coming out of his own mouth. The moment he realised this, it died away; Harry lay panting on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, the scar on
his forehead throbbing horribly. Ron was bending over him, looking very worried.
‘What happened?’ he said.
‘I ... dunno ...’ Harry gasped, sitting up again. ‘He's really happy ... really happy ...’
‘You-Know-Who is?’
‘Something good's happened,’ mumbled Harry. He was shaking as badly as he had done after seeing the snake attack Mr. Weasley and felt very sick. ‘Something he's been hoping for.’
The words came, just as they had back in the Gryffindor changing room, as though a stranger was speaking them through Harry's mouth, yet he knew they were true. He took deep breaths, willing himself not to vomit all over
Ron. He was very glad that Dean and Seamus were not here to watch this time.
‘Hermione told me to come and check on you,’ said Ron in a low voice, helping Harry to his feet. ‘She says your defences will be low at the moment, after Snape's been fiddling around with your mind ... still, I suppose it'll help
in the long run, won't it?’ He looked doubtfully at Harry as he helped him towards his bed. Harry nodded without any conviction and slumped back on his pillows, aching all over from having fallen to the floor so often that
evening, his scar still prickling painfully. He could not help feeling that his first foray into Occlumency had weakened his mind's resistance rather than strengthening it, and he wondered, with a feeling of great trepidation, what
had happened to make Lord Voldemort the happiest he had been in fourteen years.
gucci outlet
burberry outlet
chanel 2.55
gucci shoes for men
cheap uggs on sale
‘Yeah ... fine ...’ he said, lowering his hands, which were trembling. ‘I just feel a bit ... I don't like Occlumency much.’
‘I expect anyone would feel snaky if they'd had their mind attacked over and over again,’ said Hermione sympathetically. ‘Look, let's get back to the common room, we'll be a bit more comfortable there.’
But the common room was packed and full of shrieks of laughter and excitement; Fred and George were demonstrating their latest bit of joke shop merchandise.
‘Headless Hats!’ shouted George, as Fred waved a pointed hat decorated with a fluffy pink feather at the watching students. ‘Two Galleons each, watch Fred, now!’
Fred swept the hat on to his head, beaming. For a second he merely looked rather stupid; then both hat and head vanished.
Several girls screamed, but everyone else was roaring with laughter.
‘And off again!’ shouted George, and Fred's hand groped for a moment in what seemed to be thin air over his shoulder; then his head reappeared as he swept the pink-feathered hat from it.
‘How do those hats work, then?’ said Hermione, distracted from her homework and watching Fred and George closely. ‘I mean, obviously it's some kind of Invisibility Spell, but it's rather clever to have extended the field of
invisibility beyond the boundaries of the charmed object ... I'd imagine the charm wouldn't have a very long life though.’
Harry did not answer; he was feeling ill.
‘I'm going to have to do this tomorrow,’ he muttered, pushing the books he had just taken out of his bag back inside it.
‘Well, write it in your homework planner then!’ said Hermione encouragingly. ‘So you don't forget!’
Harry and Ron exchanged looks as he reached into his bag, withdrew the planner and opened it tentatively.
‘Don't leave it till later, you big second-rater!’ chided the book as Harry scribbled down Umbridge's homework. Hermione beamed at it.
‘I think I'll go to bed,’ said Harry, stuffing the homework planner back into his bag and making a mental note to drop it in the fire the first opportunity he got.
He walked across the common room, dodging George, who tried to put a Headless Hat on him, and reached the peace and cool of the stone staircase to the boys’ dormitories. He was feeling sick again, just as he had the
night he had had the vision of the snake, but thought that if he could just lie down for a while he would be all right.
He opened the door of his dormitory and was one step inside it when he experienced pain so severe he thought that someone must have sliced into the top of his head. He did not know where be was, whether he was
standing or lying down, he did not even know his own name.
Maniacal laughter was ringing in his ears ... he was happier than he had been in a very long time ... jubilant, ecstatic, triumphant ... a wonderful, wonderful thing had happened ...
‘Harry? HARRY!’
Someone had hit him around the face. The insane laughter was punctuated with a cry of pain. The happiness was draining out of him, but the laughter continued ...
He opened his eyes and, as he did so, he became aware that the wild laughter was coming out of his own mouth. The moment he realised this, it died away; Harry lay panting on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, the scar on
his forehead throbbing horribly. Ron was bending over him, looking very worried.
‘What happened?’ he said.
‘I ... dunno ...’ Harry gasped, sitting up again. ‘He's really happy ... really happy ...’
‘You-Know-Who is?’
‘Something good's happened,’ mumbled Harry. He was shaking as badly as he had done after seeing the snake attack Mr. Weasley and felt very sick. ‘Something he's been hoping for.’
The words came, just as they had back in the Gryffindor changing room, as though a stranger was speaking them through Harry's mouth, yet he knew they were true. He took deep breaths, willing himself not to vomit all over
Ron. He was very glad that Dean and Seamus were not here to watch this time.
‘Hermione told me to come and check on you,’ said Ron in a low voice, helping Harry to his feet. ‘She says your defences will be low at the moment, after Snape's been fiddling around with your mind ... still, I suppose it'll help
in the long run, won't it?’ He looked doubtfully at Harry as he helped him towards his bed. Harry nodded without any conviction and slumped back on his pillows, aching all over from having fallen to the floor so often that
evening, his scar still prickling painfully. He could not help feeling that his first foray into Occlumency had weakened his mind's resistance rather than strengthening it, and he wondered, with a feeling of great trepidation, what
had happened to make Lord Voldemort the happiest he had been in fourteen years.
gucci outlet
burberry outlet
chanel 2.55
gucci shoes for men
cheap uggs on sale
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
She pointed at the window
She pointed at the window. Harry looked round. Hedwig was perched on the narrow window ledge, gazing through the thick glass at him, a letter tied to her leg. Harry could not understand it; they had just had breakfast, why on earth hadn't she delivered the letter then, as usual? Many of his classmates were pointing out Hedwig to each other, too.
‘Oh, I've always loved that owl, she's so beautiful,’ Harry heard Lavender sigh to Parvati.
He glanced round at Professor Binns who continued to read his notes, serenely unaware that the class's attention was even less focused upon him than usual. Harry slipped quietly off his chair, crouched down and hurried along the row to the window, where he slid the catch and opened it very slowly.
He had expected Hedwig to hold out her leg so that he could remove the letter and then fly off to the Owlery, but the moment the window was open wide enough she hopped inside, hooting dolefully. He closed the window with an anxious glance at Professor Binns, crouched low again and sped back to his seat with Hedwig on his shoulder. He regained his seat, transferred Hedwig to his lap and made to remove the letter tied to her leg.
Only then did he realise that Hedwig's feathers were oddly ruffled; some were bent the wrong way, and she was holding one of her wings at an odd angle.
‘She's hurt!’ Harry whispered, bending his head low over her. Hermione and Ron leaned in closer; Hermione even put down her quill. ‘Look—there's something wrong with her wing—’
Hedwig was quivering; when Harry made to touch the wing she gave a little jump, all her feathers on end as though she was inflating herself, and gazed at him reproachfully.
‘Professor Binns,’ said Harry loudly, and everyone in the class turned to look at him. ‘I'm not feeling well.’
Professor Binns raised his eyes from his notes, looking amazed, as always, to find the room in front of him full of people.
‘Not feeling well?’ he repeated hazily.
‘Not at all well,’ said Harry firmly, getting to his feet with Hedwig concealed behind his back. ‘I think I need to go to the hospital wing.’
‘Yes,’ said Professor Binns, clearly very much wrong-footed. ‘Yes ... yes, hospital wing ... well, off you go, then, Perkins ...’
Once outside the room, Harry returned Hedwig to his shoulder and hurried off up the corridor, pausing to think only when he was out of sight of Binns's door. His first choice of somebody to cure Hedwig would have been Hagrid, of course, but as he had no idea where Hagrid was his only remaining option was to find Professor Grubbly-Plank and hope she would help.
He peered out of a window at the blustery, overcast grounds. There was no sign of her anywhere near Hagrid's cabin; if she was not teaching, she was probably in the staff room. He set off downstairs, Hedwig hooting feebly as she swayed on his shoulder.
Two stone gargoyles flanked the staff-room door. As Harry approached, one of them croaked, ‘You should be in class, Sonny Jim.’
‘This is urgent,’ said Harry curtly.
‘Oh, I've always loved that owl, she's so beautiful,’ Harry heard Lavender sigh to Parvati.
He glanced round at Professor Binns who continued to read his notes, serenely unaware that the class's attention was even less focused upon him than usual. Harry slipped quietly off his chair, crouched down and hurried along the row to the window, where he slid the catch and opened it very slowly.
He had expected Hedwig to hold out her leg so that he could remove the letter and then fly off to the Owlery, but the moment the window was open wide enough she hopped inside, hooting dolefully. He closed the window with an anxious glance at Professor Binns, crouched low again and sped back to his seat with Hedwig on his shoulder. He regained his seat, transferred Hedwig to his lap and made to remove the letter tied to her leg.
Only then did he realise that Hedwig's feathers were oddly ruffled; some were bent the wrong way, and she was holding one of her wings at an odd angle.
‘She's hurt!’ Harry whispered, bending his head low over her. Hermione and Ron leaned in closer; Hermione even put down her quill. ‘Look—there's something wrong with her wing—’
Hedwig was quivering; when Harry made to touch the wing she gave a little jump, all her feathers on end as though she was inflating herself, and gazed at him reproachfully.
‘Professor Binns,’ said Harry loudly, and everyone in the class turned to look at him. ‘I'm not feeling well.’
Professor Binns raised his eyes from his notes, looking amazed, as always, to find the room in front of him full of people.
‘Not feeling well?’ he repeated hazily.
‘Not at all well,’ said Harry firmly, getting to his feet with Hedwig concealed behind his back. ‘I think I need to go to the hospital wing.’
‘Yes,’ said Professor Binns, clearly very much wrong-footed. ‘Yes ... yes, hospital wing ... well, off you go, then, Perkins ...’
Once outside the room, Harry returned Hedwig to his shoulder and hurried off up the corridor, pausing to think only when he was out of sight of Binns's door. His first choice of somebody to cure Hedwig would have been Hagrid, of course, but as he had no idea where Hagrid was his only remaining option was to find Professor Grubbly-Plank and hope she would help.
He peered out of a window at the blustery, overcast grounds. There was no sign of her anywhere near Hagrid's cabin; if she was not teaching, she was probably in the staff room. He set off downstairs, Hedwig hooting feebly as she swayed on his shoulder.
Two stone gargoyles flanked the staff-room door. As Harry approached, one of them croaked, ‘You should be in class, Sonny Jim.’
‘This is urgent,’ said Harry curtly.
Monday, November 15, 2010
‘She's waiting for us just up here,’ said Mrs. Weasley stiffly, averting her eyes from the lolloping black dog beside Harry.
An old woman greeted them on the corner. She had tightly curled grey hair and wore a purple hat shaped like a pork pie.
‘Wotcher, Harry,’ she said, winking. ‘Better hurry up, hadn't we, Molly?’ she added, checking her watch.
‘I know, I know,’ moaned Mrs. Weasley, lengthening her stride, ‘but Mad-Eye wanted to wait for Sturgis.... If only Arthur could have got us cars from the Ministry again ... but Fudge won't let him borrow so much as an empty ink bottle these days... How Muggles can stand travelling without magic...’
But the great black dog gave a joyful bark and gambolled around them, snapping at pigeons and chasing its own tail. Harry couldn't help laughing. Sirius had been trapped inside for a very long time. Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips in an almost Aunt Petunia-ish way.
It took them twenty minutes to reach King's Cross on foot and nothing more eventful happened during that time than Sirius scaring a couple of cats for Harry's entertainment. Once inside the station they lingered casually beside the barrier between platforms nine and ten until the coast was clear, then each of them leaned against it in turn and fell easily through on to platform nine and three-quarters, where the Hogwarts Express stood belching sooty steam over a platform packed with departing students and their families. Harry inhaled the familiar smell and felt his spirits soar.... He was really going back ...
‘I hope the others make it in time,’ said Mrs. Weasley anxiously, staring behind her at the wrought-iron arch spanning the platform, through which new arrivals would come.
‘Nice dog, Harry!’ called a tall boy with dreadlocks.
‘Thanks, Lee,’ said Harry, grinning, as Sirius wagged his tail frantically.
‘Oh good,’ said Mrs. Weasley, sounding relieved, ‘here's Alastor with the luggage, look...’
A porter's cap pulled low over his mismatched eyes, Moody came limping through the archway pushing a trolley loaded with their trunks.
‘All okay,’ he muttered to Mrs. Weasley and Tonks, ‘don't think we were followed....’
Seconds later, Mr. Weasley emerged on to the platform with Ron and Hermione. They had almost unloaded Moody's luggage trolley when Fred, George, and Ginny turned up with Lupin.
‘No trouble?’ growled Moody.
‘Nothing,’ said Lupin.
‘I'll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore,’ said Moody, ‘that's the second time he's not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus.’
‘Well, look after yourselves,’ said Lupin, shaking hands all round. He reached Harry last and gave him a clap on the shoulder. ‘You too, Harry. Be careful.’
‘Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled,’ said Moody, shaking Harry's hand too. ‘And don't forget, all of you—careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don't put it in a letter at all.’
‘It's been great meeting all of you,’ said Tonks, hugging Hermione and Ginny. ‘We'll see you soon, I expect.’
A warning whistle sounded; the students still on the platform started hurrying on to the train.
‘Quick, quick,’ said Mrs. Weasley distractedly, hugging them at random and catching Harry twice, ‘Write.... Be good.... If you've forgotten anything we'll send it on.... Onto the train, now, hurry....’
For one brief moment, the great black dog reared on to its hind legs and placed its front paws on Harry's shoulders, but Mrs. Weasley shoved Harry away towards the train door, hissing, ‘For heaven's sake, act more like a dog, Sirius!’
‘See you!’ Harry called out of the open window as the train began to move, while Ron, Hermione, and Ginny waved beside him. The figures of Tonks, Lupin, Moody, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shrank rapidly but the black dog was bounding alongside the window, wagging its tail; blurred people on the platform were laughing to see it chasing the train, then they rounded a bend, and Sirius was gone.
‘He shouldn't have come with us,’ said Hermione in a worried voice.
‘Oh, lighten up,’ said Ron, ‘he hasn't seen daylight for months, poor bloke.’
‘Well,’ said Fred, clapping his hands together, ‘can't stand around chatting all day, we've got business to discuss with Lee. See you later,’ and he and George disappeared down the corridor to the right.
The train was gathering still more speed, so that the houses outside the window flashed past, and they swayed where they stood.
‘Shall we go and find a compartment, then?’ Harry asked.
An old woman greeted them on the corner. She had tightly curled grey hair and wore a purple hat shaped like a pork pie.
‘Wotcher, Harry,’ she said, winking. ‘Better hurry up, hadn't we, Molly?’ she added, checking her watch.
‘I know, I know,’ moaned Mrs. Weasley, lengthening her stride, ‘but Mad-Eye wanted to wait for Sturgis.... If only Arthur could have got us cars from the Ministry again ... but Fudge won't let him borrow so much as an empty ink bottle these days... How Muggles can stand travelling without magic...’
But the great black dog gave a joyful bark and gambolled around them, snapping at pigeons and chasing its own tail. Harry couldn't help laughing. Sirius had been trapped inside for a very long time. Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips in an almost Aunt Petunia-ish way.
It took them twenty minutes to reach King's Cross on foot and nothing more eventful happened during that time than Sirius scaring a couple of cats for Harry's entertainment. Once inside the station they lingered casually beside the barrier between platforms nine and ten until the coast was clear, then each of them leaned against it in turn and fell easily through on to platform nine and three-quarters, where the Hogwarts Express stood belching sooty steam over a platform packed with departing students and their families. Harry inhaled the familiar smell and felt his spirits soar.... He was really going back ...
‘I hope the others make it in time,’ said Mrs. Weasley anxiously, staring behind her at the wrought-iron arch spanning the platform, through which new arrivals would come.
‘Nice dog, Harry!’ called a tall boy with dreadlocks.
‘Thanks, Lee,’ said Harry, grinning, as Sirius wagged his tail frantically.
‘Oh good,’ said Mrs. Weasley, sounding relieved, ‘here's Alastor with the luggage, look...’
A porter's cap pulled low over his mismatched eyes, Moody came limping through the archway pushing a trolley loaded with their trunks.
‘All okay,’ he muttered to Mrs. Weasley and Tonks, ‘don't think we were followed....’
Seconds later, Mr. Weasley emerged on to the platform with Ron and Hermione. They had almost unloaded Moody's luggage trolley when Fred, George, and Ginny turned up with Lupin.
‘No trouble?’ growled Moody.
‘Nothing,’ said Lupin.
‘I'll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore,’ said Moody, ‘that's the second time he's not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus.’
‘Well, look after yourselves,’ said Lupin, shaking hands all round. He reached Harry last and gave him a clap on the shoulder. ‘You too, Harry. Be careful.’
‘Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled,’ said Moody, shaking Harry's hand too. ‘And don't forget, all of you—careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don't put it in a letter at all.’
‘It's been great meeting all of you,’ said Tonks, hugging Hermione and Ginny. ‘We'll see you soon, I expect.’
A warning whistle sounded; the students still on the platform started hurrying on to the train.
‘Quick, quick,’ said Mrs. Weasley distractedly, hugging them at random and catching Harry twice, ‘Write.... Be good.... If you've forgotten anything we'll send it on.... Onto the train, now, hurry....’
For one brief moment, the great black dog reared on to its hind legs and placed its front paws on Harry's shoulders, but Mrs. Weasley shoved Harry away towards the train door, hissing, ‘For heaven's sake, act more like a dog, Sirius!’
‘See you!’ Harry called out of the open window as the train began to move, while Ron, Hermione, and Ginny waved beside him. The figures of Tonks, Lupin, Moody, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shrank rapidly but the black dog was bounding alongside the window, wagging its tail; blurred people on the platform were laughing to see it chasing the train, then they rounded a bend, and Sirius was gone.
‘He shouldn't have come with us,’ said Hermione in a worried voice.
‘Oh, lighten up,’ said Ron, ‘he hasn't seen daylight for months, poor bloke.’
‘Well,’ said Fred, clapping his hands together, ‘can't stand around chatting all day, we've got business to discuss with Lee. See you later,’ and he and George disappeared down the corridor to the right.
The train was gathering still more speed, so that the houses outside the window flashed past, and they swayed where they stood.
‘Shall we go and find a compartment, then?’ Harry asked.
Chapter 10 Luna Lovegood
Chapter 10 Luna Lovegood
Harry had a troubled night's sleep. His parents wove in and out of his dreams, never speaking; Mrs. Weasley sobbed over Kreacher's dead body, watched by Ron and Hermione who were wearing crowns, and yet again Harry found himself walking down a corridor ending in a locked door. He awoke abruptly with his scar prickling to find Ron already dressed and talking to him.
‘...better hurry up, Mums going ballistic, she says we're going to miss the train....’
There was a lot of commotion in the house. From what he heard as he dressed at top speed, Harry gathered that Fred and George had bewitched their trunks to fly downstairs to save the bother of carrying them, with the result that they had hurtled straight into Ginny and knocked her down two flights of stairs into the hall; Mrs. Black and Mrs. Weasley were both screaming at the top of their voices.
‘—COULD HAVE DONE HER A SERIOUS INJURY, YOU IDIOTS—’
‘—FILTHY HALF-BREEDS, BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS—’
Hermione came hurrying into the room looking flustered, just as Harry was putting on his trainers. Hedwig was swaying on her shoulder, and she was carrying a squirming Crookshanks in her arms.
‘Mum and Dad just sent Hedwig back'—the owl fluttered obligingly over and perched on top of her cage—'are you ready yet?’
‘Nearly—Ginny all right?’ Harry asked, shoving on his glasses.
‘Mrs. Weasley's patched her up,’ said Hermione. ‘But now Mad-Eye's complaining that we can't leave unless Sturgis Podmore's here, otherwise the guard will be one short.’
‘Guard?’ said Harry. ‘We have to go to King's Cross with a guard?’
‘You have to go to King's Cross with a guard,’ Hermione corrected him.
‘Why?’ said Harry irritably. ‘I thought Voldemort was supposed to be lying low, or are you telling me he's going to jump out from behind a dustbin to try and do me in.’
‘I don't know, it's just what Mad-Eye says,’ said Hermione distractedly, looking at her watch, ‘but if we don't leave soon we're definitely going to miss the train ....’
‘WILL YOU LOT GET DOWN HERE NOW, PLEASE!’ Mrs. Weasley bellowed and Hermione jumped as though scalded and hurried out of the room. Harry seized Hedwig, stuffed her unceremoniously into her cage, and set off downstairs after Hermione, dragging his trunk.
Mrs. Black's portrait was howling with rage but nobody was bothering to close the curtains over her; all the noise in the hall was bound to rouse her again, anyway.
‘Harry, you're to come with me and Tonks,’ shouted Mrs. Weasley over the repeated screeches of ‘MUDBLOODS! SCUM! CREATURES OF DIRT!’ ‘Leave your trunk and your owl, Alastor's going to deal with the luggage.... Oh, for heavens sake, Sirius, Dumbledore said no!’
A bearlike black dog had appeared at Harry's side as he was clambering over the various trunks cluttering the hall to get to Mrs. Weasley.
‘Oh honestly...’ said Mrs. Weasley despairingly, ‘well, on your own head be it!’
She wrenched open the front door and stepped out into the weak September sunlight. Harry and the dog followed her. The door slammed behind them and Mrs. Black's screeches were cut off instantly.
‘Where's Tonks?’ Harry said, looking round as they went down the stone steps of number twelve, which vanished the moment they reached the pavement.
Harry had a troubled night's sleep. His parents wove in and out of his dreams, never speaking; Mrs. Weasley sobbed over Kreacher's dead body, watched by Ron and Hermione who were wearing crowns, and yet again Harry found himself walking down a corridor ending in a locked door. He awoke abruptly with his scar prickling to find Ron already dressed and talking to him.
‘...better hurry up, Mums going ballistic, she says we're going to miss the train....’
There was a lot of commotion in the house. From what he heard as he dressed at top speed, Harry gathered that Fred and George had bewitched their trunks to fly downstairs to save the bother of carrying them, with the result that they had hurtled straight into Ginny and knocked her down two flights of stairs into the hall; Mrs. Black and Mrs. Weasley were both screaming at the top of their voices.
‘—COULD HAVE DONE HER A SERIOUS INJURY, YOU IDIOTS—’
‘—FILTHY HALF-BREEDS, BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS—’
Hermione came hurrying into the room looking flustered, just as Harry was putting on his trainers. Hedwig was swaying on her shoulder, and she was carrying a squirming Crookshanks in her arms.
‘Mum and Dad just sent Hedwig back'—the owl fluttered obligingly over and perched on top of her cage—'are you ready yet?’
‘Nearly—Ginny all right?’ Harry asked, shoving on his glasses.
‘Mrs. Weasley's patched her up,’ said Hermione. ‘But now Mad-Eye's complaining that we can't leave unless Sturgis Podmore's here, otherwise the guard will be one short.’
‘Guard?’ said Harry. ‘We have to go to King's Cross with a guard?’
‘You have to go to King's Cross with a guard,’ Hermione corrected him.
‘Why?’ said Harry irritably. ‘I thought Voldemort was supposed to be lying low, or are you telling me he's going to jump out from behind a dustbin to try and do me in.’
‘I don't know, it's just what Mad-Eye says,’ said Hermione distractedly, looking at her watch, ‘but if we don't leave soon we're definitely going to miss the train ....’
‘WILL YOU LOT GET DOWN HERE NOW, PLEASE!’ Mrs. Weasley bellowed and Hermione jumped as though scalded and hurried out of the room. Harry seized Hedwig, stuffed her unceremoniously into her cage, and set off downstairs after Hermione, dragging his trunk.
Mrs. Black's portrait was howling with rage but nobody was bothering to close the curtains over her; all the noise in the hall was bound to rouse her again, anyway.
‘Harry, you're to come with me and Tonks,’ shouted Mrs. Weasley over the repeated screeches of ‘MUDBLOODS! SCUM! CREATURES OF DIRT!’ ‘Leave your trunk and your owl, Alastor's going to deal with the luggage.... Oh, for heavens sake, Sirius, Dumbledore said no!’
A bearlike black dog had appeared at Harry's side as he was clambering over the various trunks cluttering the hall to get to Mrs. Weasley.
‘Oh honestly...’ said Mrs. Weasley despairingly, ‘well, on your own head be it!’
She wrenched open the front door and stepped out into the weak September sunlight. Harry and the dog followed her. The door slammed behind them and Mrs. Black's screeches were cut off instantly.
‘Where's Tonks?’ Harry said, looking round as they went down the stone steps of number twelve, which vanished the moment they reached the pavement.
Lupin had come running into the room
Lupin had come running into the room, closely followed by Sirius, with Moody stumping along behind them. Lupin looked from Mrs. Weasley to the dead Harry on the floor and seemed to understand in an instant. Pulling out his own wand, he said, very firmly and clearly, ‘Riddikulus!’
Harry's body vanished. A silvery orb hung in the air over the spot where it had lain. Lupin waved his wand once more and the orb vanished in a puff of smoke.
‘Oh—oh—oh!’ gulped Mrs. Weasley, and she broke into a storm of crying, her face in her hands.
‘Molly,’ said Lupin bleakly, walking over to her. ‘Molly, don't...’
Next second, she was sobbing her heart out on Lupin's shoulder.
‘Molly it was just a boggart,’ he said soothingly, patting her on the head. ‘Just a stupid boggart...’
‘I see them d-d-dead all the time!’ Mrs. Weasley moaned into his shoulder. ‘All the t-t-time! I d-d-dream about it...’
Sirius was staring at the patch of carpet where the boggart, pretending to be Harry's body, had lain. Moody was looking at Harry, who avoided his gaze. He had a funny feeling Moody's magical eye had followed him all the way out of the kitchen.
‘D-d-don't tell Arthur,’ Mrs. Weasley was gulping now, mopping her eyes frantically with her cuffs. ‘I d-d-don't want him to know.... Being silly...’
Lupin handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose.
‘Harry, I'm so sorry. What must you think of me?’ she said shakily. ‘Not even able to get rid of a boggart...’
‘Don't be stupid,’ said Harry, trying to smile.
‘I'm just s-s-so worried,’ she said, tears spilling out of her eyes again. ‘Half the f-f-family's in the Order, it'll b-b-be a miracle if we all come through this.... and P-P-Percy's not talking to us.... What if something d-d-dreadful happens and we've never m-m-made it up with him? And what's going to happen if Arthur and I get killed, who's g-g-going to look after Ron and Ginny?’
‘Molly, that's enough,’ said Lupin firmly. ‘This isn't like last time. The Order are better prepared, we've got a head start, we know what Voldemort's up to—’
Mrs. Weasley gave a little squeak of fright at the sound of the name.
‘Oh, Molly, come on, it's about time you got used to hearing his name—look, I can't promise no one's going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we're much better off than we were last time. You weren't in the Order then, you don't understand. Last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one....’
Harry thought of the photograph again, of his parents’ beaming faces. He knew Moody was still watching him.
‘Don't worry about Percy,’ said Sirius abruptly. ‘He'll come round. It's only a matter of time before Voldemort moves into the open; once he does, the whole Ministry's going to be begging us to forgive them. And I'm not sure I'll be accepting their apology,’ he added bitterly.
‘And as for who's going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died,’ said Lupin, smiling slightly, ‘what do you think we'd do, let them starve?’
Mrs. Weasley smiled tremulously.
‘Being silly,’ she muttered again, mopping her eyes.
But Harry, closing his bedroom door behind him some ten minutes later, could not think Mrs. Weasley silly. He could still see his parents beaming up at him from the battered old photograph, unaware that their lives, like so many of those around them, were drawing to a close. The image of the boggart posing as the corpse of each member of Mrs. Weasley's family in turn kept flashing before his eyes.
Without warning, the scar on his forehead seared with pain again and his stomach churned horribly.
‘Cut it out,’ he said firmly, rubbing the scar as the pain receded.
‘First sign of madness, talking to your own head,’ said a sly voice from the empty picture on the wall.
Harry ignored it. He felt older than he had ever felt in his life and it seemed extraordinary to him that barely an hour ago he had been worried about a joke shop and who had got a prefect's badge.
Harry's body vanished. A silvery orb hung in the air over the spot where it had lain. Lupin waved his wand once more and the orb vanished in a puff of smoke.
‘Oh—oh—oh!’ gulped Mrs. Weasley, and she broke into a storm of crying, her face in her hands.
‘Molly,’ said Lupin bleakly, walking over to her. ‘Molly, don't...’
Next second, she was sobbing her heart out on Lupin's shoulder.
‘Molly it was just a boggart,’ he said soothingly, patting her on the head. ‘Just a stupid boggart...’
‘I see them d-d-dead all the time!’ Mrs. Weasley moaned into his shoulder. ‘All the t-t-time! I d-d-dream about it...’
Sirius was staring at the patch of carpet where the boggart, pretending to be Harry's body, had lain. Moody was looking at Harry, who avoided his gaze. He had a funny feeling Moody's magical eye had followed him all the way out of the kitchen.
‘D-d-don't tell Arthur,’ Mrs. Weasley was gulping now, mopping her eyes frantically with her cuffs. ‘I d-d-don't want him to know.... Being silly...’
Lupin handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose.
‘Harry, I'm so sorry. What must you think of me?’ she said shakily. ‘Not even able to get rid of a boggart...’
‘Don't be stupid,’ said Harry, trying to smile.
‘I'm just s-s-so worried,’ she said, tears spilling out of her eyes again. ‘Half the f-f-family's in the Order, it'll b-b-be a miracle if we all come through this.... and P-P-Percy's not talking to us.... What if something d-d-dreadful happens and we've never m-m-made it up with him? And what's going to happen if Arthur and I get killed, who's g-g-going to look after Ron and Ginny?’
‘Molly, that's enough,’ said Lupin firmly. ‘This isn't like last time. The Order are better prepared, we've got a head start, we know what Voldemort's up to—’
Mrs. Weasley gave a little squeak of fright at the sound of the name.
‘Oh, Molly, come on, it's about time you got used to hearing his name—look, I can't promise no one's going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we're much better off than we were last time. You weren't in the Order then, you don't understand. Last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one....’
Harry thought of the photograph again, of his parents’ beaming faces. He knew Moody was still watching him.
‘Don't worry about Percy,’ said Sirius abruptly. ‘He'll come round. It's only a matter of time before Voldemort moves into the open; once he does, the whole Ministry's going to be begging us to forgive them. And I'm not sure I'll be accepting their apology,’ he added bitterly.
‘And as for who's going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died,’ said Lupin, smiling slightly, ‘what do you think we'd do, let them starve?’
Mrs. Weasley smiled tremulously.
‘Being silly,’ she muttered again, mopping her eyes.
But Harry, closing his bedroom door behind him some ten minutes later, could not think Mrs. Weasley silly. He could still see his parents beaming up at him from the battered old photograph, unaware that their lives, like so many of those around them, were drawing to a close. The image of the boggart posing as the corpse of each member of Mrs. Weasley's family in turn kept flashing before his eyes.
Without warning, the scar on his forehead seared with pain again and his stomach churned horribly.
‘Cut it out,’ he said firmly, rubbing the scar as the pain receded.
‘First sign of madness, talking to your own head,’ said a sly voice from the empty picture on the wall.
Harry ignored it. He felt older than he had ever felt in his life and it seemed extraordinary to him that barely an hour ago he had been worried about a joke shop and who had got a prefect's badge.
The little people in the photograph jostled
The little people in the photograph jostled among themselves and those hidden right at the back appeared at the forefront of the picture.
‘That's Dumbledore's brother Aberforth, only time I ever met him, strange bloke ... That's Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort killed her personally ... Sirius, when he still had short hair ... and ... there you go, thought that would interest you!’
Harry's heart turned over. His mother and father were beaming up at him, sitting on either side of a small, watery-eyed man whom Harry recognised at once as Wormtail, the one who had betrayed his parents’ whereabouts to Voldemort and so helped to bring about their deaths.
‘Eh?’ said Moody.
Harry looked up into Moody s heavily scarred and pitted face. Evidently Moody was under the impression he had just given Harry a bit of a treat.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, once again attempting to grin. ‘Er ... listen, I've just remembered, I haven't packed my...’
He was spared the trouble of inventing an object he had not packed. Sirius had just said, ‘What's that you've got there, Mad-Eye?’ and Moody had turned towards him. Harry crossed the kitchen, slipped through the door and up the stairs before anyone could call him back.
He did not know why it had been such a shock; he had seen pictures of his parents before, after all, and he had met Wormtail ... but to have them sprung on him like that, when he was least expecting it.... No one would like that, he thought angrily...
And then, to see them surrounded by all those other happy faces ... Benjy Fenwick, who had been found in bits, and Gideon Prewett, who had died like a hero, and the Longbottoms, who had been tortured into madness ... all waving happily out of the photograph forever more, not knowing that they were doomed ... well, Moody might find that interesting ... he, Harry, found it disturbing....
Harry tiptoed up the stairs in the hall past the stuffed elf-heads, glad to be on his own again, but as he approached the first landing he heard noises. Someone was sobbing in the drawing room.
‘Hello?’ Harry said.
There was no answer but the sobbing continued. He climbed the remaining stairs two at a time, walked across the landing and opened the drawing-room door.
Someone was cowering against the dark wall, her wand in her hand, her whole body shaking with sobs. Sprawled on the dusty old carpet in a patch of moonlight, clearly dead, was Ron.
All the air seemed to vanish from Harry's lungs; he felt as though he were falling through the floor; his brain turned icy cold—Ron dead, no, it couldn't be—’
But wait a moment, it couldn't be— Ron was downstairs—
‘Mrs. Weasley?’ Harry croaked.
‘R-r-riddikulus!’ Mrs. Weasley sobbed, pointing her shaking wand at Ron's body.
Crack
Ron's body turned into Bill's, spread-eagled on his back, his eyes wide open and empty. Mrs Weasley sobbed harder than ever.
‘R-riddikulus!’ she sobbed again.
Crack.
Mr. Weasley's body replaced Bill's, his glasses askew, a trickle of blood running down his face.
‘No!’ Mrs. Weasley moaned. ‘No ... riddikulus! Riddikulus! RIDDIKULUS!’
Crack. Dead twins. Crack. Dead Percy. Crack. Dead Harry...
‘Mrs. Weasley, just get out of here!’ shouted Harry, staring down at his own dead body on the floor. ‘Let someone else—’
‘What's going on?’
‘That's Dumbledore's brother Aberforth, only time I ever met him, strange bloke ... That's Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort killed her personally ... Sirius, when he still had short hair ... and ... there you go, thought that would interest you!’
Harry's heart turned over. His mother and father were beaming up at him, sitting on either side of a small, watery-eyed man whom Harry recognised at once as Wormtail, the one who had betrayed his parents’ whereabouts to Voldemort and so helped to bring about their deaths.
‘Eh?’ said Moody.
Harry looked up into Moody s heavily scarred and pitted face. Evidently Moody was under the impression he had just given Harry a bit of a treat.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, once again attempting to grin. ‘Er ... listen, I've just remembered, I haven't packed my...’
He was spared the trouble of inventing an object he had not packed. Sirius had just said, ‘What's that you've got there, Mad-Eye?’ and Moody had turned towards him. Harry crossed the kitchen, slipped through the door and up the stairs before anyone could call him back.
He did not know why it had been such a shock; he had seen pictures of his parents before, after all, and he had met Wormtail ... but to have them sprung on him like that, when he was least expecting it.... No one would like that, he thought angrily...
And then, to see them surrounded by all those other happy faces ... Benjy Fenwick, who had been found in bits, and Gideon Prewett, who had died like a hero, and the Longbottoms, who had been tortured into madness ... all waving happily out of the photograph forever more, not knowing that they were doomed ... well, Moody might find that interesting ... he, Harry, found it disturbing....
Harry tiptoed up the stairs in the hall past the stuffed elf-heads, glad to be on his own again, but as he approached the first landing he heard noises. Someone was sobbing in the drawing room.
‘Hello?’ Harry said.
There was no answer but the sobbing continued. He climbed the remaining stairs two at a time, walked across the landing and opened the drawing-room door.
Someone was cowering against the dark wall, her wand in her hand, her whole body shaking with sobs. Sprawled on the dusty old carpet in a patch of moonlight, clearly dead, was Ron.
All the air seemed to vanish from Harry's lungs; he felt as though he were falling through the floor; his brain turned icy cold—Ron dead, no, it couldn't be—’
But wait a moment, it couldn't be— Ron was downstairs—
‘Mrs. Weasley?’ Harry croaked.
‘R-r-riddikulus!’ Mrs. Weasley sobbed, pointing her shaking wand at Ron's body.
Crack
Ron's body turned into Bill's, spread-eagled on his back, his eyes wide open and empty. Mrs Weasley sobbed harder than ever.
‘R-riddikulus!’ she sobbed again.
Crack.
Mr. Weasley's body replaced Bill's, his glasses askew, a trickle of blood running down his face.
‘No!’ Mrs. Weasley moaned. ‘No ... riddikulus! Riddikulus! RIDDIKULUS!’
Crack. Dead twins. Crack. Dead Percy. Crack. Dead Harry...
‘Mrs. Weasley, just get out of here!’ shouted Harry, staring down at his own dead body on the floor. ‘Let someone else—’
‘What's going on?’
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Harry did not look at the twins
. His face felt hot; he deliberately dropped his fork and dived down to retrieve it. He heard Fred say overhead, ‘Ask us no questions and we'll tell you no lies, Hermione. C'mon, George, if we get
there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology.’
Harry emerged from under the table to see Fred and George walking away, each carrying a stack of toast.
‘What did that mean?’ said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron. ‘"Ask us no questions ...” Does that mean they've already got some gold to start a joke shop?’
‘You know, I've been wondering about that,’ said Ron, his brow furrowed. ‘They bought me a new set of dress robes this summer and I couldn't understand where they got the Galleons ...’
Harry decided it was time to steer the conversation out of these dangerous waters.
‘D'you reckon it's true this year's going to be really tough? Because of the exams?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Ron. ‘Bound to be, isn't it? OWLs are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice, too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what NEWTs you want to do
next year.’
‘D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?’ Harry asked the other two, as they left the Great Hall shortly afterwards and set off towards their History of Magic classroom.
‘Not really,’ said Ron slowly. ‘Except ... well ...’
He looked slightly sheepish.
‘What?’ Harry urged him.
‘Well, it'd be cool to be an Auror,’ said Ron in an off-hand voice.
‘Yeah, it would,’ said Harry fervently.
‘But they're, like, the elite,’ said Ron. ‘You've got to be really good. What about you, Hermione?’
‘I don't know,’ she said. ‘I think I'd like to do something really worthwhile.’
‘An Auror's worthwhile!’ said Harry.
‘Yes, it is, but it's not the only worthwhile thing,’ said Hermione thoughtfully, ‘I mean, if I could take SPEW further ...’
Harry and Ron carefully avoided looking at each other.
History of Magic was by common consent the most boring subject ever devised by wizardkind. Professor Binns, their ghost teacher, had a wheezy, droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within
ten minutes, five in warm weather. He never varied the form of their lessons, but lectured them without pausing while they took notes, or rather, gazed sleepily into space. Harry and Ron had so far managed to scrape passes
in this subject only by copying Hermione's notes before exams; she alone seemed able to resist the soporific power of Binns's voice.
Today, they suffered an hour and a half's droning on the subject of giant wars. Harry heard just enough within the first ten minutes to appreciate dimly that in another teacher's hands this subject might have been mildly
interesting, but then his brain disengaged, and he spent the remaining hour and twenty minutes playing hangman on a corner of his parchment with Ron, while Hermione shot them filthy looks out of the corner of her eye.
‘How would it be,’ she asked them coldly, as they left the classroom for break (Binns drifting away through the blackboard), ‘if I refused to lend you my notes this year?’
‘We'd fail our OWL, said Ron. ‘If you want that on your conscience, Hermione ...’
‘Well, you'd deserve it,’ she snapped. ‘You don't even try to listen to him, do you?’
‘We do try,’ said Ron. ‘We just haven't got your brains or your memory or your concentration— you're just cleverer than we are—is it nice to rub it in?’
‘Oh, don't give me that rubbish,’ said Hermione, but she looked slightly mollified as she led the way out into the damp courtyard.
A fine misty drizzle was falling, so that the people standing in huddles around the edges of the yard looked blurred at the edges. Harry, Ron and Hermione chose a secluded corner under a heavily dripping balcony, turning up
the collars of their robes against the chilly September air and talking about what Snape was likely to set them in the first lesson of the year. They had got as far as agreeing that it was likely to be something extremely difficult,
just to catch them off guard after a two-month holiday, when someone walked around the corner towards them.
‘Hello, Harry!’
It was Cho Chang and, what was more, she was on her own again. This was most unusual: Cho was almost always surrounded by a gang of giggling girls; Harry remembered the agony of trying to get her by herself to ask her
to the Yule Ball.
‘Hi,’ said Harry, feeling his face grow hot. At least you're not covered in Stinksap this time, he told himself. Cho seemed to be thinking along the same lines.
‘You got that stuff off, then?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, trying to grin as though the memory of their last meeting was funny as opposed to mortifying. ‘So, did you ... er ... have a good summer?’
The moment he had said this he wished he hadn't—Cedric had been Cho's boyfriend and the memory of his death must have affected her holiday almost as badly as it had affected Harry's. Something seemed to tauten in her
face, but she said, ‘Oh, it was all right, you know ...’
‘Is that a Tornados badge?’ Ron demanded suddenly, pointing to the front of Cho's robes, where a sky-blue badge emblazoned with a double gold ‘T’ was pinned. ‘You don't support them, do you?’
‘Yeah, I do,’ said Cho.
‘Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?’ said Ron, in what Harry considered an unnecessarily accusatory tone of voice.
‘I've supported them since I was six,’ said Cho coolly. ‘Anyway ... see you, Harry.’
She walked away. Hermione waited until Cho was halfway across the courtyard before rounding on Ron.
‘You are so tactless!’
‘What? I only asked her if—’
‘Couldn't you tell she wanted to talk to Harry on her own?’
‘So? She could've done, I wasn't stopping—’
‘Why on earth were you attacking her about her Quidditch team?’
burberry outlet
prada outlet
chanel 2.55
ugg boots
uggs
there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology.’
Harry emerged from under the table to see Fred and George walking away, each carrying a stack of toast.
‘What did that mean?’ said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron. ‘"Ask us no questions ...” Does that mean they've already got some gold to start a joke shop?’
‘You know, I've been wondering about that,’ said Ron, his brow furrowed. ‘They bought me a new set of dress robes this summer and I couldn't understand where they got the Galleons ...’
Harry decided it was time to steer the conversation out of these dangerous waters.
‘D'you reckon it's true this year's going to be really tough? Because of the exams?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Ron. ‘Bound to be, isn't it? OWLs are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice, too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what NEWTs you want to do
next year.’
‘D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?’ Harry asked the other two, as they left the Great Hall shortly afterwards and set off towards their History of Magic classroom.
‘Not really,’ said Ron slowly. ‘Except ... well ...’
He looked slightly sheepish.
‘What?’ Harry urged him.
‘Well, it'd be cool to be an Auror,’ said Ron in an off-hand voice.
‘Yeah, it would,’ said Harry fervently.
‘But they're, like, the elite,’ said Ron. ‘You've got to be really good. What about you, Hermione?’
‘I don't know,’ she said. ‘I think I'd like to do something really worthwhile.’
‘An Auror's worthwhile!’ said Harry.
‘Yes, it is, but it's not the only worthwhile thing,’ said Hermione thoughtfully, ‘I mean, if I could take SPEW further ...’
Harry and Ron carefully avoided looking at each other.
History of Magic was by common consent the most boring subject ever devised by wizardkind. Professor Binns, their ghost teacher, had a wheezy, droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within
ten minutes, five in warm weather. He never varied the form of their lessons, but lectured them without pausing while they took notes, or rather, gazed sleepily into space. Harry and Ron had so far managed to scrape passes
in this subject only by copying Hermione's notes before exams; she alone seemed able to resist the soporific power of Binns's voice.
Today, they suffered an hour and a half's droning on the subject of giant wars. Harry heard just enough within the first ten minutes to appreciate dimly that in another teacher's hands this subject might have been mildly
interesting, but then his brain disengaged, and he spent the remaining hour and twenty minutes playing hangman on a corner of his parchment with Ron, while Hermione shot them filthy looks out of the corner of her eye.
‘How would it be,’ she asked them coldly, as they left the classroom for break (Binns drifting away through the blackboard), ‘if I refused to lend you my notes this year?’
‘We'd fail our OWL, said Ron. ‘If you want that on your conscience, Hermione ...’
‘Well, you'd deserve it,’ she snapped. ‘You don't even try to listen to him, do you?’
‘We do try,’ said Ron. ‘We just haven't got your brains or your memory or your concentration— you're just cleverer than we are—is it nice to rub it in?’
‘Oh, don't give me that rubbish,’ said Hermione, but she looked slightly mollified as she led the way out into the damp courtyard.
A fine misty drizzle was falling, so that the people standing in huddles around the edges of the yard looked blurred at the edges. Harry, Ron and Hermione chose a secluded corner under a heavily dripping balcony, turning up
the collars of their robes against the chilly September air and talking about what Snape was likely to set them in the first lesson of the year. They had got as far as agreeing that it was likely to be something extremely difficult,
just to catch them off guard after a two-month holiday, when someone walked around the corner towards them.
‘Hello, Harry!’
It was Cho Chang and, what was more, she was on her own again. This was most unusual: Cho was almost always surrounded by a gang of giggling girls; Harry remembered the agony of trying to get her by herself to ask her
to the Yule Ball.
‘Hi,’ said Harry, feeling his face grow hot. At least you're not covered in Stinksap this time, he told himself. Cho seemed to be thinking along the same lines.
‘You got that stuff off, then?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, trying to grin as though the memory of their last meeting was funny as opposed to mortifying. ‘So, did you ... er ... have a good summer?’
The moment he had said this he wished he hadn't—Cedric had been Cho's boyfriend and the memory of his death must have affected her holiday almost as badly as it had affected Harry's. Something seemed to tauten in her
face, but she said, ‘Oh, it was all right, you know ...’
‘Is that a Tornados badge?’ Ron demanded suddenly, pointing to the front of Cho's robes, where a sky-blue badge emblazoned with a double gold ‘T’ was pinned. ‘You don't support them, do you?’
‘Yeah, I do,’ said Cho.
‘Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?’ said Ron, in what Harry considered an unnecessarily accusatory tone of voice.
‘I've supported them since I was six,’ said Cho coolly. ‘Anyway ... see you, Harry.’
She walked away. Hermione waited until Cho was halfway across the courtyard before rounding on Ron.
‘You are so tactless!’
‘What? I only asked her if—’
‘Couldn't you tell she wanted to talk to Harry on her own?’
‘So? She could've done, I wasn't stopping—’
‘Why on earth were you attacking her about her Quidditch team?’
burberry outlet
prada outlet
chanel 2.55
ugg boots
uggs
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Is America Ready for Barack Obama to be president?
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：129 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 1:33:20
On June 3rd, 2008 Illinois Senator Barack Obama claimed the Democratic presidential nominee, and with this honor Obama become the first black candidate ever nominated by a major political party for the nation's highest office. While breaking this barrier, the question must be asked, is America ready for Obama? Besides the change in policies that Obama represents, his nomination will bring a change in America racially. Is America ready for a black president? Is it conceivable to think that a place where blacks were once enslaved could rise above racial disrimination and elect a black man for president?
Will white Americans and even some black Americans really vote for a black man to hold the nations highest position? Or, will he fall victim to the the politically correct population? The people who will smile in your face and say that they will/would vote for a black man because they don't want to be viewed as a racist (or feel that is the right thing to say especially if you are black) but behind close doors know that they will not vote for Obama? The polls are saying that older whites, and non-college educated whites will not vote for Obama; and that Obama's supporters are comprised of black Americans and young white college educated Americans who probably won't go out and actually cast a vote.
There are some older white blue collar democrats that supported and voted for Hillary Clinton who have stated they are staunch democrats, always vote for a Democrat but would never vote for Obama. I am specifically pointing out this group of people due to all the coverage this demographic received while the West Virginia primaries occurred.
There probably are white collar black and white voters who also feel this way but I am just going to point out what was shown on EVERY single news outlet during the voting. Many white Hillary supporters stated they are willing to sacrifice their political beliefs because they can't bear the thought of having a black man as president regardless if they agree with his views or not. Some even said they didn't think Obama was an American and that he was a Muslim. Now I know the media didn't show everyone they interviewed, like the people who said they would consider Obama and not make a quick judgment and not vote for him, but as usual the media likes to stir things up by showing footage that would get a rise out of their viewers and get under people's skin. That's what they do. You have to be smart enough to decipher what is fact and what is fiction. Just because it's on the news doesn't mean it true.
Just like with the polls. One minute Obama is blowing McCain out of the water then a few hours later or a channel change they are saying they are neck and neck, or McCain is ahead. The media is saying to you if you don't like these numbers you better make sure you get out and vote if you want your candidate to win. Don't feel comfortable if your candidate is ahead in these polls, the numbers we are hearing now don't matter, what matters is the final number on election day. So regardless of who you like you must get out and vote because EVERY vote DOES count!
On June 3rd, 2008 Illinois Senator Barack Obama claimed the Democratic presidential nominee, and with this honor Obama become the first black candidate ever nominated by a major political party for the nation's highest office. While breaking this barrier, the question must be asked, is America ready for Obama? Besides the change in policies that Obama represents, his nomination will bring a change in America racially. Is America ready for a black president? Is it conceivable to think that a place where blacks were once enslaved could rise above racial disrimination and elect a black man for president?
Will white Americans and even some black Americans really vote for a black man to hold the nations highest position? Or, will he fall victim to the the politically correct population? The people who will smile in your face and say that they will/would vote for a black man because they don't want to be viewed as a racist (or feel that is the right thing to say especially if you are black) but behind close doors know that they will not vote for Obama? The polls are saying that older whites, and non-college educated whites will not vote for Obama; and that Obama's supporters are comprised of black Americans and young white college educated Americans who probably won't go out and actually cast a vote.
There are some older white blue collar democrats that supported and voted for Hillary Clinton who have stated they are staunch democrats, always vote for a Democrat but would never vote for Obama. I am specifically pointing out this group of people due to all the coverage this demographic received while the West Virginia primaries occurred.
There probably are white collar black and white voters who also feel this way but I am just going to point out what was shown on EVERY single news outlet during the voting. Many white Hillary supporters stated they are willing to sacrifice their political beliefs because they can't bear the thought of having a black man as president regardless if they agree with his views or not. Some even said they didn't think Obama was an American and that he was a Muslim. Now I know the media didn't show everyone they interviewed, like the people who said they would consider Obama and not make a quick judgment and not vote for him, but as usual the media likes to stir things up by showing footage that would get a rise out of their viewers and get under people's skin. That's what they do. You have to be smart enough to decipher what is fact and what is fiction. Just because it's on the news doesn't mean it true.
Just like with the polls. One minute Obama is blowing McCain out of the water then a few hours later or a channel change they are saying they are neck and neck, or McCain is ahead. The media is saying to you if you don't like these numbers you better make sure you get out and vote if you want your candidate to win. Don't feel comfortable if your candidate is ahead in these polls, the numbers we are hearing now don't matter, what matters is the final number on election day. So regardless of who you like you must get out and vote because EVERY vote DOES count!
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Water Gardening
Author：Vera Pappas Source：none Hits：67 UpdateTime：2008-7-10 22:39:01
Choosing the site: The site should be ideally in part sun. This means sun preferably in the morning and shaded in the afternoon. This will keep the pond from getting too warm in the summer months. This will also help keep
the algae from getting out of control.
Hard or soft liner? In my experience a soft liner works best. The hard liners are pre-formed and not easy to get level. When you are installing a pre-formed liner many of them have built in plant shelves and different levels. Dig
the hole larger than the entire surface size of the pond and the total depth. This makes for a lot of digging. Once its dug and the bottom is level, install the liner and start back filling. Try to have more than one person back fill
with you, so the liner does not shift. Try to pack it down as you go. Putting some water in the liner will help anchor it in place while you are back filling it. If you live in an area of the country that has freezing temps in the winter,
BEWARE: Hard liners can pop out of the ground during the winter months.
A soft liner gives you more flexibility. With design, with layout and the edges are easier to hide. When digging for a soft liner install, spray paint the shape of the pond onto the ground, then start digging. This too should be as
level as possible, however the soft liner is very forgiving and will bend to any slight bumps or divets. To install shelves in the pond, you can dig the shape into the wall of the pond or use materials such as cinderblock to create
shelves. A pond fabric underlayment is extremely important. This will protect the liner from roots and rough edges. If you are using cinderblock or other rough materials to create ledges or shelves pad the edges well so they
will not rub against the liner itself. As you install the soft liner get the bottom set and smooth (you will have to get in the pond) and work your way up. Again adding water to the liner will add pressure and help smooth out
wrinkles. If you are building a waterfall, run a soft liner under the rocks and into the pond. Make sure it overlaps into the pond a good bit. This will reduce the amount of water loss.
With a hard or soft liner you will want to cover up the edges with some type of rock border. This is for decorative purposes if you are using a hard liner, however, if you are using a soft liner a rock border is a must. This will
anchor the liner in place and keep the edges from moving or sliding. You can use natural stone such as Slate or Bluestone for a natural look or for a more contemporary look, cut prefabricated concrete wall capping for a
clean custom look.
Filter Systems: There are two types of biological filter systems. In the water and above ground. The in the water systems are good for smaller ponds. The pump and filter system sit in the bottom of the pond. These systems
are relatively inexpensive, the down side is that when the filter needs to be cleaned (on a regular basis, at least bi-weekly) you are getting wet.
uggs
chanel 2.55
burberry outlet
coach outlet
Choosing the site: The site should be ideally in part sun. This means sun preferably in the morning and shaded in the afternoon. This will keep the pond from getting too warm in the summer months. This will also help keep
the algae from getting out of control.
Hard or soft liner? In my experience a soft liner works best. The hard liners are pre-formed and not easy to get level. When you are installing a pre-formed liner many of them have built in plant shelves and different levels. Dig
the hole larger than the entire surface size of the pond and the total depth. This makes for a lot of digging. Once its dug and the bottom is level, install the liner and start back filling. Try to have more than one person back fill
with you, so the liner does not shift. Try to pack it down as you go. Putting some water in the liner will help anchor it in place while you are back filling it. If you live in an area of the country that has freezing temps in the winter,
BEWARE: Hard liners can pop out of the ground during the winter months.
A soft liner gives you more flexibility. With design, with layout and the edges are easier to hide. When digging for a soft liner install, spray paint the shape of the pond onto the ground, then start digging. This too should be as
level as possible, however the soft liner is very forgiving and will bend to any slight bumps or divets. To install shelves in the pond, you can dig the shape into the wall of the pond or use materials such as cinderblock to create
shelves. A pond fabric underlayment is extremely important. This will protect the liner from roots and rough edges. If you are using cinderblock or other rough materials to create ledges or shelves pad the edges well so they
will not rub against the liner itself. As you install the soft liner get the bottom set and smooth (you will have to get in the pond) and work your way up. Again adding water to the liner will add pressure and help smooth out
wrinkles. If you are building a waterfall, run a soft liner under the rocks and into the pond. Make sure it overlaps into the pond a good bit. This will reduce the amount of water loss.
With a hard or soft liner you will want to cover up the edges with some type of rock border. This is for decorative purposes if you are using a hard liner, however, if you are using a soft liner a rock border is a must. This will
anchor the liner in place and keep the edges from moving or sliding. You can use natural stone such as Slate or Bluestone for a natural look or for a more contemporary look, cut prefabricated concrete wall capping for a
clean custom look.
Filter Systems: There are two types of biological filter systems. In the water and above ground. The in the water systems are good for smaller ponds. The pump and filter system sit in the bottom of the pond. These systems
are relatively inexpensive, the down side is that when the filter needs to be cleaned (on a regular basis, at least bi-weekly) you are getting wet.
uggs
chanel 2.55
burberry outlet
coach outlet
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)