He got up off the floor, stretched, and moved across to his desk. Hedwig made no movement as he began to flick through newspapers, throwing them into the rubbish pile one by one. The owl was asleep or else faking; she was angry with Harry about the limited amount of time she was allowed out of her cage at the moment.
As he neared the bottom of the pile of newspapers, Harry slowed down, searching for one particular issue that he knew had arrived shortly after he had returned to Privet Drive for the summer; he remembered that there had been a small mention on the front about the resignation of Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts. At last he found it. Turning to page ten, he sank into his desk chair and reread the article he had been looking for.
ALBUS DUMBLEDORE REMEMBERED
By Elphias Doge
I met Albus Dumbledore at the age of eleven, on our first day at Hogwarts. Our mutual attraction was undoubtedly due to the fact that we both felt ourselves to be outsiders. I had contracted dragon pox shortly before arriving at school, and while I was no longer contagious, my pock-marked visage and greenish hue did not encourage many to approach me. For his part, Albus had arrived at Hogwarts under the burden of unwanted notoriety. Scarcely a year previously, his father, Percival, had been convicted of a savage and well-publicized attack upon three young Muggles.
Albus never attempted to deny that his father (who was to die in Azkaban) had committed this crime; on the contrary, when I plucked up courage to ask him, he assured me that he knew his father to be guilty. Beyond that, Dumbledore refused to speak of the sad business, though many attempted to make him do so. Some, indeed, were disposed to praise his father’s action and assumed that Albus too was a Muggle-hater. They could not have been more mistaken: As anybody who knew Albus would attest, he never revealed the remotest anti-Muggle tendency. Indeed, his determined support for Muggle rights gained him many enemies in subsequent years.
In a matter of months, however, Albus’s own fame had begun to eclipse that of his father. By the end of his first year he would never again be known as the son of a Muggle-hater, but as nothing more or less than the most brilliant student ever seen at the school. Those of us who were privileged to be his friends benefited from his example, not to mention his help and encouragement, with which he was always generous. He confessed to me later in life that he knew even then that his greatest pleasure lay in teaching.
He not only won every prize of note that the school offered, he was soon in regular correspondence with the most notable magical names of the day, including Nicolas Flamel, the celebrated alchemist; Bathilda Bagshot, the noted historian; and Adalbert Waffling, the magical theoretician. Several of his papers found their way into learned publications such as Transfiguration Today, Challenges in Charming, and The Practical Potioneer. Dumbledore’s future career seemed likely to be meteoric, and the only question that remained was when he would become Minister of Magic. Though it was often predicted in later years that he was on the point of taking the job, however, he never had Ministerial ambitions.
Three years after we had started at Hogwarts, Albus’s brother, Aberforth, arrived at school. They were not alike: Aberforth was never bookish and, unlike Albus, preferred to settle arguments by dueling rather than through reasoned discussion. However, it is quite wrong to suggest, as some have, that the brothers were not friends. They rubbed along as comfortably as two such different boys could do. In fairness to Aberforth, it must be admitted that living in Albus’s shadow cannot have been an altogether comfortable experience. Being continually outshone was an occupational hazard of being his friend and cannot have been any more pleasurable as a brother. When Albus and I left Hogwarts we intended to take the then-traditional tour of the world together, visiting and observing foreign wizards, before pursuing our separate careers. However, tragedy intervened. On the very eve of our trip, Albus’s mother, Kendra, died, leaving Albus the head, and sole breadwinner, of the family.
I postponed my departure long enough to pay my respects at Kendra’s funeral, then left for what was now to be a solitary journey. With a younger brother and sister to care for, and little gold left to them, there could no longer be any question of Albus accompanying me.
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Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
“If you had actually read the article
“If you had actually read the article in question, Mr. Finnigan, you would have known that the so-called Inferius was nothing but a smelly sneak thief by the name of
Mundungus Fletcher.”
“I thought Snape and Mundungus were on the same side,” muttered Harry to Ron and Hermione. “Shouldn't he be upset Mundungus has been arrest —”
“But Potter seems to have a lot to say on the subject,” said Snape, pointing suddenly at the back of the room, his black eyes fixed on Harry. “Let us ask Potter how
we would tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost.”
The whole class looked around at Harry, who hastily tried to recall what Dumbledore had told him the night that they had gone to visit Slughorn.
“Er—well—ghosts are transparent —” he said.
“Oh, very good,” interrupted Snape, his lip curling. “Yes, it in easy to see that nearly six years of magical education have not been wasted on you, Potter. Ghosts
are transparent.”
Pansy Parkinson let out a high-pitched giggle. Several other people were smirking. Harry took a deep breath and continued calmly, though his insides were boiling,
“Yeah, ghosts are transparent, but Inferi are dead bodies, aren't they? So they'd be solid —”
“A five-year-old could have told us as much,” sneered Snape. “The Inferius is a corpse that has been reanimated by a Dark wizard's spells. It is not alive, it is
merely used like a puppet to do the wizard's bidding. A ghost, as I trust that you are all aware by now, is the imprint of a departed soul left upon the earth ... and
of course, as Potter so wisely tells us, transparent. ”
“Well, what Harry said is the most useful if we're trying to tell them apart!” said Ron. “When we come face-to-face with one down a dark alley, we're going to be
having a look to see if it's solid, aren't we, we're not going to be asking, ‘Excuse me, are you the imprint of a departed soul?'”
There was a ripple of laughter, instantly quelled by the look Snape gave the class.
“Another ten points from Gryffindor,” said Snape. “I would expect nothing more sophisticated from you, Ronald Weasley, the boy so solid he cannot Apparate half an
inch across a room.”
“No!” whispered Hermione, grabbing Harry's arm as he opened his mouth furiously. “There's no point, you'll just end up in detention again, leave it!”
“Now open your books to page two hundred and thirteen,” said Snape, smirking a little, “and read the first two paragraphs on the Cruciatus Curse.”
Ron was very subdued all through the class. When the bell sounded at the end of the lesson, Lavender caught up with Ron and Harry (Hermione mysteriously melted out of
sight as she approached) and abused Snape hotly for his jibe about Ron's Apparition, but this seemed to merely irritate Ron, and he shook her off by making a detour
into the boys’ bathroom with Harry.
“Snape's right, though, isn't he?” said Ron, after staring into a cracked mirror for a minute or two. “I dunno whether it's worth me taking the test. I just can't
get the hang of Apparition.”
Mundungus Fletcher.”
“I thought Snape and Mundungus were on the same side,” muttered Harry to Ron and Hermione. “Shouldn't he be upset Mundungus has been arrest —”
“But Potter seems to have a lot to say on the subject,” said Snape, pointing suddenly at the back of the room, his black eyes fixed on Harry. “Let us ask Potter how
we would tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost.”
The whole class looked around at Harry, who hastily tried to recall what Dumbledore had told him the night that they had gone to visit Slughorn.
“Er—well—ghosts are transparent —” he said.
“Oh, very good,” interrupted Snape, his lip curling. “Yes, it in easy to see that nearly six years of magical education have not been wasted on you, Potter. Ghosts
are transparent.”
Pansy Parkinson let out a high-pitched giggle. Several other people were smirking. Harry took a deep breath and continued calmly, though his insides were boiling,
“Yeah, ghosts are transparent, but Inferi are dead bodies, aren't they? So they'd be solid —”
“A five-year-old could have told us as much,” sneered Snape. “The Inferius is a corpse that has been reanimated by a Dark wizard's spells. It is not alive, it is
merely used like a puppet to do the wizard's bidding. A ghost, as I trust that you are all aware by now, is the imprint of a departed soul left upon the earth ... and
of course, as Potter so wisely tells us, transparent. ”
“Well, what Harry said is the most useful if we're trying to tell them apart!” said Ron. “When we come face-to-face with one down a dark alley, we're going to be
having a look to see if it's solid, aren't we, we're not going to be asking, ‘Excuse me, are you the imprint of a departed soul?'”
There was a ripple of laughter, instantly quelled by the look Snape gave the class.
“Another ten points from Gryffindor,” said Snape. “I would expect nothing more sophisticated from you, Ronald Weasley, the boy so solid he cannot Apparate half an
inch across a room.”
“No!” whispered Hermione, grabbing Harry's arm as he opened his mouth furiously. “There's no point, you'll just end up in detention again, leave it!”
“Now open your books to page two hundred and thirteen,” said Snape, smirking a little, “and read the first two paragraphs on the Cruciatus Curse.”
Ron was very subdued all through the class. When the bell sounded at the end of the lesson, Lavender caught up with Ron and Harry (Hermione mysteriously melted out of
sight as she approached) and abused Snape hotly for his jibe about Ron's Apparition, but this seemed to merely irritate Ron, and he shook her off by making a detour
into the boys’ bathroom with Harry.
“Snape's right, though, isn't he?” said Ron, after staring into a cracked mirror for a minute or two. “I dunno whether it's worth me taking the test. I just can't
get the hang of Apparition.”
Harry slipped on his Invisibility Cloak
Harry slipped on his Invisibility Cloak once he had found an empty passage, but he need not have bothered. When he reached his destination he found it deserted. Harry
was not sure whether his chances of getting inside the room were better with Malfoy inside it or out, but at least his first attempt was not going to be complicated by
the presence of Crabbe or Goyle pretending to be an eleven-year-old girl.
He closed his eyes as he approached the place where the Room of Requirement's door was concealed. He knew what he had to do; he had become most accomplished at it last
year. Concentrating with all his might he thought, I need to see what Malfoy's doing in here... I need to see what Malfoy's doing in here... I need to see what Malfoy's
doing in here...
Three times he walked past the door; then, his heart pounding with excitement, he opened his eyes and faced it—but he was still looking at a stretch of mundanely blank
wall.
He moved forward and gave it an experimental push. The stone remained solid and unyielding.
“Okay,” said Harry aloud. “Okay... I thought the wrong thing...”
He pondered for a moment then set off again, eyes closed, concentrating as hard as he could.
“I need to see the place where Malfoy keeps coming secretly... I need to see the place where Malfoy keeps coming secretly...”
After three walks past, he opened his eyes expectantly.
There was no door.
“Oh, come off it,” he told the wall irritably. “That was a clear instruction... fine...”
He thought hard for several minutes before striding off once more.
“I need you to become the place you become for Draco Malfoy...”
He did not immediately open his eyes when he had finished his patrolling; he was listening hard, as though he might hear the door pop into existence. He heard nothing,
however, except the distant twittering of birds outside. He opened his eyes.
There was still no door.
Harry swore. Someone screamed. He looked around to see a gaggle of first years running back around the corner, apparently under the impression that they had just
encountered a particularly foul-mouthed ghost.
Harry tried every variation of “I need to see what Draco Malfoy is doing inside you” that he could think of for a whole hour, at the end of which he was forced to
concede that Hermione might have had a point: the room simply did not want to open for him. Frustrated and annoyed, he set off for Defense Against the Dark Arts,
pulling off his Invisibility Cloak and stuffing it into his bag as he went.
“Late again, Potter,” said Snape coldly, as Harry hurried into the candlelit classroom. “Ten points from Gryfrindor.” Harry scowled at Snape as he flung himself
into the seat beside Ron. Half the class were still on their feet, taking out books and organizing their things; he could not be much later than any of them.
“Before we start, I want your Dementor essays,” said Snape, waving his wand carelessly, so that twenty-five scrolls of parchment soared into the air and landed in a
neat pile on his desk. “And I hope for your sakes they are better than the tripe I had to endure on resisting the Imperius Curse. Now, if you will all open your books
to page—what is it, Mr. Finnigan?”
“Sir,” said Seamus, “I've been wondering, how do you tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost? Because there was something in the Prophet about an
Inferius —”
“No, there wasn't,” said Snape in a bored voice.
“But sir, I heard people talking —”
was not sure whether his chances of getting inside the room were better with Malfoy inside it or out, but at least his first attempt was not going to be complicated by
the presence of Crabbe or Goyle pretending to be an eleven-year-old girl.
He closed his eyes as he approached the place where the Room of Requirement's door was concealed. He knew what he had to do; he had become most accomplished at it last
year. Concentrating with all his might he thought, I need to see what Malfoy's doing in here... I need to see what Malfoy's doing in here... I need to see what Malfoy's
doing in here...
Three times he walked past the door; then, his heart pounding with excitement, he opened his eyes and faced it—but he was still looking at a stretch of mundanely blank
wall.
He moved forward and gave it an experimental push. The stone remained solid and unyielding.
“Okay,” said Harry aloud. “Okay... I thought the wrong thing...”
He pondered for a moment then set off again, eyes closed, concentrating as hard as he could.
“I need to see the place where Malfoy keeps coming secretly... I need to see the place where Malfoy keeps coming secretly...”
After three walks past, he opened his eyes expectantly.
There was no door.
“Oh, come off it,” he told the wall irritably. “That was a clear instruction... fine...”
He thought hard for several minutes before striding off once more.
“I need you to become the place you become for Draco Malfoy...”
He did not immediately open his eyes when he had finished his patrolling; he was listening hard, as though he might hear the door pop into existence. He heard nothing,
however, except the distant twittering of birds outside. He opened his eyes.
There was still no door.
Harry swore. Someone screamed. He looked around to see a gaggle of first years running back around the corner, apparently under the impression that they had just
encountered a particularly foul-mouthed ghost.
Harry tried every variation of “I need to see what Draco Malfoy is doing inside you” that he could think of for a whole hour, at the end of which he was forced to
concede that Hermione might have had a point: the room simply did not want to open for him. Frustrated and annoyed, he set off for Defense Against the Dark Arts,
pulling off his Invisibility Cloak and stuffing it into his bag as he went.
“Late again, Potter,” said Snape coldly, as Harry hurried into the candlelit classroom. “Ten points from Gryfrindor.” Harry scowled at Snape as he flung himself
into the seat beside Ron. Half the class were still on their feet, taking out books and organizing their things; he could not be much later than any of them.
“Before we start, I want your Dementor essays,” said Snape, waving his wand carelessly, so that twenty-five scrolls of parchment soared into the air and landed in a
neat pile on his desk. “And I hope for your sakes they are better than the tripe I had to endure on resisting the Imperius Curse. Now, if you will all open your books
to page—what is it, Mr. Finnigan?”
“Sir,” said Seamus, “I've been wondering, how do you tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost? Because there was something in the Prophet about an
Inferius —”
“No, there wasn't,” said Snape in a bored voice.
“But sir, I heard people talking —”
“Yes, we will,” Hermione said
“Yes, we will,” Hermione said, getting to her feet and stretching. “But, Harry, before you get all excited, I still don't think you'll be able to get into the Room
of Requirement without knowing what's there first. And I don't think you should forget,” she heaved her bag onto her shoulder and gave him a very serious look, “that
what you're supposed to be concentrating on is getting that memory from Slughorn. Goodnight.”
Harry watched her go, feeling slightly disgruntled. Once the door to the girls’ dormitories had closed behind her he rounded on Ron.
“What d'you think?”
“Wish I could Disapparate like a house-elf,” said Ron, staring at the spot where Dobby had vanished. “I'd have that Apparition Test in the bag.”
Harry did not sleep well that night. He lay awake for what felt like hours, wondering how Malfoy was using the Room of Requirement and what he, Harry, would see when he
went in there the following day, for whatever Hermione said, Harry was sure that if Malfoy had been able to see the headquarters of the D.A., he would be able to see
Malfoy's ... what could it be? A meeting place? A hideout? A store room? A workshop? Harry's mind worked feverishly and his dreams, when he finally fell asleep, were
broken and disturbed by images of Malfoy, who turned into Slughorn, who turned into Snape...
Harry was in a state of great anticipation over breakfast the following morning; he had a free period before Defense Against the Dark Arts and was determined to spend
it trying to get into the Room of Requirement. Hermione was rather ostentatiously showing no interest in his whispered plans for forcing entry into the room, which
irritated Harry, because he thought she might be a lot of help if she wanted to.
“Look,” he said quietly, leaning forward and putting a hand on the Daily Prophet, which she had just removed from a post owl, to stop her from opening it and
vanishing behind it. “I haven't forgotten about Slughorn, but I haven't got a clue how to get that memory off him, and until I get a brain wave why shouldn't I find
out what Malfoy's doing?”
“I've already told you, you need to persuade Slughorn,” said Hermione. “It's not a question of tricking him or bewitching him, or Dumbledore could have done it in a
second. Instead of messing around outside the Room of Requirement,” she jerked the Prophet out from under Harry's hand and unfolded it to look at the front page,” you
should go and find Slughorn and start appealing to his better nature.”
“Anyone we know—?” asked Ron, as Hermione scanned the headlines.
“Yes!” said Hermione, causing both Harry and Ron to gag on their breakfast. “But it's all right, he's not dead—it's Mundungus, he's been arrested and sent to
Azkaban! Something to do with impersonating an Inferius during an attempted burglary ... and someone called Octavius Pepper has vanished ... oh, and how horrible, a
nine-year-old boy has been arrested for trying to kill his grandparents, they think he was under the Imperius Curse...”
They finished their breakfast in silence. Hermione set off immediately for Ancient Runes; Ron for the common room, where he still had to finish his conclusion on
Snape's Dementor essay, and Harry for the corridor on the seventh floor and the stretch of wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls to do
ballet.
of Requirement without knowing what's there first. And I don't think you should forget,” she heaved her bag onto her shoulder and gave him a very serious look, “that
what you're supposed to be concentrating on is getting that memory from Slughorn. Goodnight.”
Harry watched her go, feeling slightly disgruntled. Once the door to the girls’ dormitories had closed behind her he rounded on Ron.
“What d'you think?”
“Wish I could Disapparate like a house-elf,” said Ron, staring at the spot where Dobby had vanished. “I'd have that Apparition Test in the bag.”
Harry did not sleep well that night. He lay awake for what felt like hours, wondering how Malfoy was using the Room of Requirement and what he, Harry, would see when he
went in there the following day, for whatever Hermione said, Harry was sure that if Malfoy had been able to see the headquarters of the D.A., he would be able to see
Malfoy's ... what could it be? A meeting place? A hideout? A store room? A workshop? Harry's mind worked feverishly and his dreams, when he finally fell asleep, were
broken and disturbed by images of Malfoy, who turned into Slughorn, who turned into Snape...
Harry was in a state of great anticipation over breakfast the following morning; he had a free period before Defense Against the Dark Arts and was determined to spend
it trying to get into the Room of Requirement. Hermione was rather ostentatiously showing no interest in his whispered plans for forcing entry into the room, which
irritated Harry, because he thought she might be a lot of help if she wanted to.
“Look,” he said quietly, leaning forward and putting a hand on the Daily Prophet, which she had just removed from a post owl, to stop her from opening it and
vanishing behind it. “I haven't forgotten about Slughorn, but I haven't got a clue how to get that memory off him, and until I get a brain wave why shouldn't I find
out what Malfoy's doing?”
“I've already told you, you need to persuade Slughorn,” said Hermione. “It's not a question of tricking him or bewitching him, or Dumbledore could have done it in a
second. Instead of messing around outside the Room of Requirement,” she jerked the Prophet out from under Harry's hand and unfolded it to look at the front page,” you
should go and find Slughorn and start appealing to his better nature.”
“Anyone we know—?” asked Ron, as Hermione scanned the headlines.
“Yes!” said Hermione, causing both Harry and Ron to gag on their breakfast. “But it's all right, he's not dead—it's Mundungus, he's been arrested and sent to
Azkaban! Something to do with impersonating an Inferius during an attempted burglary ... and someone called Octavius Pepper has vanished ... oh, and how horrible, a
nine-year-old boy has been arrested for trying to kill his grandparents, they think he was under the Imperius Curse...”
They finished their breakfast in silence. Hermione set off immediately for Ancient Runes; Ron for the common room, where he still had to finish his conclusion on
Snape's Dementor essay, and Harry for the corridor on the seventh floor and the stretch of wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls to do
ballet.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
“What does it matter if we're smuggling Dark stuff OUT?”
“What does it matter if we're smuggling Dark stuff OUT?” demanded Ron, eyeing the long thin Secrecy Sensor with apprehension. “Surely you ought to be checking what
we bring back IN?”
His cheek earned him a few extra jabs with the Sensor, and he was still wincing as they stepped out into the wind and sleet.
The walk into Hogsmeade was not enjoyable. Harry wrapped his scarf over his lower face; the exposed part soon felt both raw and numb. The road to the village was full
of students bent double against the bitter wind. More than once Harry wondered whether they might not have had a better time in the warm common room, and when they
finally reached Hogsmeade and saw that Zonko's Joke Shop had been boarded up, Harry took it as confirmation that this trip was not destined to be fun. Ron pointed, with
a thickly gloved hand, toward Honeydukes, which was mercifully open, and Harry and Hermione staggered in his wake into the crowded shop.
“Thank God,” shivered Ron as they were enveloped by warm, toffee-scented air. “Let's stay here all afternoon.”
“Harry, m'boy!” said a booming voice from behind them.
“Oh no,” muttered Harry. The three of them turned to see Professor Slughorn, who was wearing an enormous furry hat and an overcoat with matching fur collar, clutching
a large bag of crystalized pineapple, and occupying at least a quarter of the shop.
“Harry, that's three of my little suppers you've missed now!” said Slughorn, poking him genially in the chest. “It won't do, m'boy, I'm determined to have you! Miss
Granger loves them, don't you?”
“Yes,” said Hermione helplessly, “they're really —”
“So why don't you come along, Harry?” demanded Slughorn.
“Well, I've had Quidditch practice, Professor,” said Harry, who had indeed been scheduling practices every time Slughorn had sent him a little, violet ribbon-adorned
invitation. This strategy meant that Ron was not left out, and they usually had a laugh with Ginny, imagining Hermione shut up with McLaggen and Zabini.
“Well, I certainly expect you to win your first match after all the hard work!” said Slughorn. “But a little recreation never hurt any body. Now, how about Monday
night, you can't possibly want to practice in this weather....”
“I can't, Professor, I've got — er—an appointment with Professor Dumbledore that evening.”
“Unlucky again!” cried Slughorn dramatically. “Ah, well... you can't evade me forever, Harry!”
And with a regal wave, he waddled out of the shop, taking as little notice of Ron as though he had been a display of Cockroach Clusters.
“I can't believe you've wriggled out of another one,” said Hermione, shaking her head. “They're not that bad, you know... they're even quite fun sometimes...” But
then she caught sight of Ron's expression. “Oh, look—they've got Deluxe Sugar Quills—those would last hours!”
Glad that Hermione had changed the subject, Harry showed much more interest in the new extra-large Sugar Quills than he would normally have done, but Ron continued to
look moody and merely shrugged when Hermione asked him where he wanted to go next.
“Let's go to the Three Broomsticks,” said Harry. “It'll be warm.”
we bring back IN?”
His cheek earned him a few extra jabs with the Sensor, and he was still wincing as they stepped out into the wind and sleet.
The walk into Hogsmeade was not enjoyable. Harry wrapped his scarf over his lower face; the exposed part soon felt both raw and numb. The road to the village was full
of students bent double against the bitter wind. More than once Harry wondered whether they might not have had a better time in the warm common room, and when they
finally reached Hogsmeade and saw that Zonko's Joke Shop had been boarded up, Harry took it as confirmation that this trip was not destined to be fun. Ron pointed, with
a thickly gloved hand, toward Honeydukes, which was mercifully open, and Harry and Hermione staggered in his wake into the crowded shop.
“Thank God,” shivered Ron as they were enveloped by warm, toffee-scented air. “Let's stay here all afternoon.”
“Harry, m'boy!” said a booming voice from behind them.
“Oh no,” muttered Harry. The three of them turned to see Professor Slughorn, who was wearing an enormous furry hat and an overcoat with matching fur collar, clutching
a large bag of crystalized pineapple, and occupying at least a quarter of the shop.
“Harry, that's three of my little suppers you've missed now!” said Slughorn, poking him genially in the chest. “It won't do, m'boy, I'm determined to have you! Miss
Granger loves them, don't you?”
“Yes,” said Hermione helplessly, “they're really —”
“So why don't you come along, Harry?” demanded Slughorn.
“Well, I've had Quidditch practice, Professor,” said Harry, who had indeed been scheduling practices every time Slughorn had sent him a little, violet ribbon-adorned
invitation. This strategy meant that Ron was not left out, and they usually had a laugh with Ginny, imagining Hermione shut up with McLaggen and Zabini.
“Well, I certainly expect you to win your first match after all the hard work!” said Slughorn. “But a little recreation never hurt any body. Now, how about Monday
night, you can't possibly want to practice in this weather....”
“I can't, Professor, I've got — er—an appointment with Professor Dumbledore that evening.”
“Unlucky again!” cried Slughorn dramatically. “Ah, well... you can't evade me forever, Harry!”
And with a regal wave, he waddled out of the shop, taking as little notice of Ron as though he had been a display of Cockroach Clusters.
“I can't believe you've wriggled out of another one,” said Hermione, shaking her head. “They're not that bad, you know... they're even quite fun sometimes...” But
then she caught sight of Ron's expression. “Oh, look—they've got Deluxe Sugar Quills—those would last hours!”
Glad that Hermione had changed the subject, Harry showed much more interest in the new extra-large Sugar Quills than he would normally have done, but Ron continued to
look moody and merely shrugged when Hermione asked him where he wanted to go next.
“Let's go to the Three Broomsticks,” said Harry. “It'll be warm.”
“It was a laugh!” said Ron, upending a ketchup bottle over his sausages
“It was a laugh!” said Ron, upending a ketchup bottle over his sausages. “Just a laugh, Hermione, that's all!”
“Dangling people upside down by the ankle?” said Hermione. “Who puts their time and energy into making up spells like that?”
“Fred and George,” said Ron, shrugging, “it's their kind of thing. And, er—”
“My dad,” said Harry. He had only just remembered.
“What?” said Ron and Hermione together.
“My dad used this spell,” said Harry. “I—Lupin told me.”
This last part was not true; in fact, Harry had seen his father use the spell on Snape, but he had never told Ron and Hermione about that particular excursion into the
Pensieve. Now, however, a wonderful possibility occurred to him. Could the Half-Blood Prince possibly be—?
“Maybe your dad did use it, Harry,” said Hermione, “but he's not the only one. We've seen a whole bunch of people use it, in case you've forgotten. Dangling people
in the air. Making them float along, asleep, helpless.”
Harry stared at her. With a sinking feeling, he too remembered the behavior of the Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup. Ron came to his aid.
“That was different,” he said robustly. “They were abusing it. Harry and his dad were just having a laugh. You don't like the Prince, Hermione,” he added, pointing
a sausage at her sternly, “because he's better than you at Potions —”
“It's got nothing to do with that!” said Hermione, her cheeks reddening. “I just think it's very irresponsible to start performing spells when you don't even know
what they're for, and stop talking about ‘the Prince’ as if it's his title, I bet it's just a stupid nickname, and it doesn't seem as though he was a very nice person
to me!”
“I don't see where you get that from,” said Harry heatedly. “If he'd been a budding Death Eater he wouldn't have been boasting about being ‘half-blood,’ would he?
”
Even as he said it, Harry remembered that his father had been pure-blood, but he pushed the thought out of his mind; he would worry about that later.
“The Death Eaters can't all be pure-blood, there aren't enough pure-blood wizards left,” said Hermione stubbornly. “I expect most of them are half-bloods pretending
to be pure. It's only Muggle-borns they hate, they'd be quite happy to let you and Ron join up.”
“There is no way they'd let me be a Death Eater!” said Ron indignantly, a bit of sausage flying off the fork he was now brandishing at Hermione and hitting Ernie
Macmillan on the head. “My whole family are blood traitors! That's as bad as Muggle-borns to Death Eaters!”
“And they'd love to have me,” said Harry sarcastically. “We'd be best pals if they didn't keep trying to do me in.”
This made Ron laugh; even Hermione gave a grudging smile, and a distraction arrived in the shape of Ginny.
“Hey, Harry, I'm supposed to give you this.”
It was a scroll of parchment with Harry's name written upon it in familiar thin, slanting writing.
“Thanks, Ginny... It's Dumbledore's next lesson!” Harry told Ron and Hermione, pulling open the parchment and quickly reading its contents. “Monday evening!” He
felt suddenly light and happy. “Want to join us in Hogsmeade, Ginny?” he asked.
“I'm going with Dean—might see you there,” she replied, waving at them as she left.
Filch was standing at the oak front doors as usual, checking off the names of people who had permission to go into Hogsmeade. The process took even longer than normal
as Filch was triple-checking everybody with his Secrecy Sensor.
“Dangling people upside down by the ankle?” said Hermione. “Who puts their time and energy into making up spells like that?”
“Fred and George,” said Ron, shrugging, “it's their kind of thing. And, er—”
“My dad,” said Harry. He had only just remembered.
“What?” said Ron and Hermione together.
“My dad used this spell,” said Harry. “I—Lupin told me.”
This last part was not true; in fact, Harry had seen his father use the spell on Snape, but he had never told Ron and Hermione about that particular excursion into the
Pensieve. Now, however, a wonderful possibility occurred to him. Could the Half-Blood Prince possibly be—?
“Maybe your dad did use it, Harry,” said Hermione, “but he's not the only one. We've seen a whole bunch of people use it, in case you've forgotten. Dangling people
in the air. Making them float along, asleep, helpless.”
Harry stared at her. With a sinking feeling, he too remembered the behavior of the Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup. Ron came to his aid.
“That was different,” he said robustly. “They were abusing it. Harry and his dad were just having a laugh. You don't like the Prince, Hermione,” he added, pointing
a sausage at her sternly, “because he's better than you at Potions —”
“It's got nothing to do with that!” said Hermione, her cheeks reddening. “I just think it's very irresponsible to start performing spells when you don't even know
what they're for, and stop talking about ‘the Prince’ as if it's his title, I bet it's just a stupid nickname, and it doesn't seem as though he was a very nice person
to me!”
“I don't see where you get that from,” said Harry heatedly. “If he'd been a budding Death Eater he wouldn't have been boasting about being ‘half-blood,’ would he?
”
Even as he said it, Harry remembered that his father had been pure-blood, but he pushed the thought out of his mind; he would worry about that later.
“The Death Eaters can't all be pure-blood, there aren't enough pure-blood wizards left,” said Hermione stubbornly. “I expect most of them are half-bloods pretending
to be pure. It's only Muggle-borns they hate, they'd be quite happy to let you and Ron join up.”
“There is no way they'd let me be a Death Eater!” said Ron indignantly, a bit of sausage flying off the fork he was now brandishing at Hermione and hitting Ernie
Macmillan on the head. “My whole family are blood traitors! That's as bad as Muggle-borns to Death Eaters!”
“And they'd love to have me,” said Harry sarcastically. “We'd be best pals if they didn't keep trying to do me in.”
This made Ron laugh; even Hermione gave a grudging smile, and a distraction arrived in the shape of Ginny.
“Hey, Harry, I'm supposed to give you this.”
It was a scroll of parchment with Harry's name written upon it in familiar thin, slanting writing.
“Thanks, Ginny... It's Dumbledore's next lesson!” Harry told Ron and Hermione, pulling open the parchment and quickly reading its contents. “Monday evening!” He
felt suddenly light and happy. “Want to join us in Hogsmeade, Ginny?” he asked.
“I'm going with Dean—might see you there,” she replied, waving at them as she left.
Filch was standing at the oak front doors as usual, checking off the names of people who had permission to go into Hogsmeade. The process took even longer than normal
as Filch was triple-checking everybody with his Secrecy Sensor.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Chapter 69
Chapter 69
The prince communicated his good humor to his own family and his friends, and even to the German landlord in whose rooms the Shtcherbatskys were staying.
On coming back with Kitty from the springs, the prince, who had asked the colonel, and Marya Yevgenyevna, and Varenka all to come and have coffee with them, gave orders for a table and chairs to be taken into the garden under the chestnut tree, and lunch to be laid there. The landlord and the servants, too, grew brisker under the influence of his good spirits. They knew his open-handedness; and half an hour later the invalid doctor from Hamburg, who lived on the top floor, looked enviously out of the window at the merry party of healthy Russians assembled under the chestnut tree. In the trembling circles of shadow cast by the leaves, at a table, covered with a white cloth, and set with coffeepot, bread-and-butter, cheese, and cold game, sat the princess in a high cap with lilac ribbons, distributing cups and bread-and-butter. At the other end sat the prince, eating heartily, and talking loudly and merrily. The prince had spread out near him his purchases, carved boxes, and knick-knacks, paper-knives of all sorts, of which he bought a heap at every watering-place, and bestowed them upon everyone, including Lieschen, the servant girl, and the landlord, with whom he jested in his comically bad German, assuring him that it was not the water had cured Kitty, but his splendid cookery, especially his plum soup. The princess laughed at her husband for his Russian ways, but she was more lively and good-humored than she had been all the while she had been at the waters. The colonel smiled, as he always did, at the prince's jokes, but as far as regards Europe, of which he believed himself to be making a careful study, he took the princess's side. The simple-hearted Marya Yevgenyevna simply roared with laughter at everything absurd the prince said, and his jokes made Varenka helpless with feeble but infectious laughter, which was something Kitty had never seen before.
Kitty was glad of all this, but she could not be light-hearted. she could not solve the problem her father had unconsciously set her by his goodhumored view of her friends, and of the life that had so attracted her. To this doubt there was joined the change in her relations with the Petrovs, which had been so conspicuously and unpleasantly marked that morning. Everyone was good humored, but Kitty could not feel good humored, and this increased her distress. She felt a feeling such as she had known in childhood, when she had been shut in her room as a punishment, and had heard her sisters' merry laughter outside.
"Well, but what did you buy this mass of things for?" said the princess, smiling, and handing her husband a cup of coffee.
"One goes for a walk, one looks in a shop, and they ask you to buy. 'Erlaucht, Durchlaucht?' Directly they say 'Durchlaucht,' I can't hold out. I lose ten thalers."
"It's simply from boredom," said the princess.
"Of course it is. Such boredom, my dear, that one doesn't know what to do with oneself."
"How can you be bored, prince? There's so much that's interesting now in Germany," said Marya Yevgenyevna.
"But I know everything that's interesting: the plum soup I know, and the pea sausages I know. I know everything."
"No, you may say what you like, prince, there's the interest of their institutions," said the colonel.
"But what is there interesting about it? They're all as pleased as brass halfpence. They've conquered everybody, and why am I to be pleased at that? I haven't conquered anyone; and I'm obliged to take off my own boots, yes, and put them away too; in the morning, get up and dress at once, and go to the dining room to drink bad tea! How different it is at home! You get up in no haste, you get cross, grumble a little, and come round again. You've time to think things over, and no hurry."
"But time's money, you forget that," said the colonel.
"Time, indeed, that depends! Why, there's time one would give a month of for sixpence, and time you wouldn't give half an hour of for any money. Isn't that so, Katinka? What is it? why are you so depressed?"
"I'm not depressed."
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The prince communicated his good humor to his own family and his friends, and even to the German landlord in whose rooms the Shtcherbatskys were staying.
On coming back with Kitty from the springs, the prince, who had asked the colonel, and Marya Yevgenyevna, and Varenka all to come and have coffee with them, gave orders for a table and chairs to be taken into the garden under the chestnut tree, and lunch to be laid there. The landlord and the servants, too, grew brisker under the influence of his good spirits. They knew his open-handedness; and half an hour later the invalid doctor from Hamburg, who lived on the top floor, looked enviously out of the window at the merry party of healthy Russians assembled under the chestnut tree. In the trembling circles of shadow cast by the leaves, at a table, covered with a white cloth, and set with coffeepot, bread-and-butter, cheese, and cold game, sat the princess in a high cap with lilac ribbons, distributing cups and bread-and-butter. At the other end sat the prince, eating heartily, and talking loudly and merrily. The prince had spread out near him his purchases, carved boxes, and knick-knacks, paper-knives of all sorts, of which he bought a heap at every watering-place, and bestowed them upon everyone, including Lieschen, the servant girl, and the landlord, with whom he jested in his comically bad German, assuring him that it was not the water had cured Kitty, but his splendid cookery, especially his plum soup. The princess laughed at her husband for his Russian ways, but she was more lively and good-humored than she had been all the while she had been at the waters. The colonel smiled, as he always did, at the prince's jokes, but as far as regards Europe, of which he believed himself to be making a careful study, he took the princess's side. The simple-hearted Marya Yevgenyevna simply roared with laughter at everything absurd the prince said, and his jokes made Varenka helpless with feeble but infectious laughter, which was something Kitty had never seen before.
Kitty was glad of all this, but she could not be light-hearted. she could not solve the problem her father had unconsciously set her by his goodhumored view of her friends, and of the life that had so attracted her. To this doubt there was joined the change in her relations with the Petrovs, which had been so conspicuously and unpleasantly marked that morning. Everyone was good humored, but Kitty could not feel good humored, and this increased her distress. She felt a feeling such as she had known in childhood, when she had been shut in her room as a punishment, and had heard her sisters' merry laughter outside.
"Well, but what did you buy this mass of things for?" said the princess, smiling, and handing her husband a cup of coffee.
"One goes for a walk, one looks in a shop, and they ask you to buy. 'Erlaucht, Durchlaucht?' Directly they say 'Durchlaucht,' I can't hold out. I lose ten thalers."
"It's simply from boredom," said the princess.
"Of course it is. Such boredom, my dear, that one doesn't know what to do with oneself."
"How can you be bored, prince? There's so much that's interesting now in Germany," said Marya Yevgenyevna.
"But I know everything that's interesting: the plum soup I know, and the pea sausages I know. I know everything."
"No, you may say what you like, prince, there's the interest of their institutions," said the colonel.
"But what is there interesting about it? They're all as pleased as brass halfpence. They've conquered everybody, and why am I to be pleased at that? I haven't conquered anyone; and I'm obliged to take off my own boots, yes, and put them away too; in the morning, get up and dress at once, and go to the dining room to drink bad tea! How different it is at home! You get up in no haste, you get cross, grumble a little, and come round again. You've time to think things over, and no hurry."
"But time's money, you forget that," said the colonel.
"Time, indeed, that depends! Why, there's time one would give a month of for sixpence, and time you wouldn't give half an hour of for any money. Isn't that so, Katinka? What is it? why are you so depressed?"
"I'm not depressed."
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Monday, November 22, 2010
"Oh, yes," she said, and she began
"Oh, yes," she said, and she began telling him about everything from the beginning: her journey with Countess Vronskaya, her arrival, the accident at the station. Then she described the pity she had felt, first for her brother, and afterwards for Dolly.
"I imagine one cannot exonerate such a man from blame, though he is your brother," said Alexey Alexandrovitch severely.
Anna smiled. She knew that he said that simply to show that family considerations could not prevent him from expressing his genuine opinion. She knew that characteristic in her husband, and liked it.
"I am glad it has all ended so satisfactorily, And that you are back again," he went on. "Come, what do they say about the new act I have got passed in the council?"
Anna had heard nothing of this act, And she felt conscience-stricken at having been able so readily to forget what was to him of such importance.
"Here, on the other hand, it has made a great sensation," he said, with a complacent smile.
She saw that Alexey Alexandrovitch wanted to tell her something pleasant to him about it, and she brought him by questions to telling it. With the same complacent smile he told her of the ovations he had received in consequence of the act the had passed.
"I was very, very glad. It shows that at last a reasonable and steady view of the matter is becoming prevalent among us."
Having drunk his second cup of tea with cream, and bread, Alexey Alexandrovitch got up, and was going towards his study.
"And you've not been anywhere this evening? You've been dull, I expect?" he said.
"Oh, no!" she answered, getting up after him and accompanying him across the room to his study. "What are you reading now?" she asked.
"Just now I'm reading Duc de Likke, Poesie des Enfers," he answered. "A very remarkable book."
Anna smiled, as people smile at the weaknesses of those they love, and, putting her hand under his, she escorted him to the door of the study. She knew his habit, that had grown into a necessity, of reading in the evening. She knew, too, that in spite of his official duties, which swallowed up almost the whole of his time, he considered it his duty to keep up with everything of note that appeared in the intellectual world. She knew, too, that he was really interested in books dealing with politics, philosophy, and theology, that art was utterly foreign to his nature; but, in spite of this, or rather, in consequence of it, Alexey Alexandrovitch never passed over anything in the world of art, but made it his duty to read everything. She knew that in politics, in philosophy, in theology, Alexey Alexandrovitch often had doubts, and made investigations; but on questions of art and poetry, and, above all, of music, of which he was totally devoid of understanding, he had the most distinct and decided opinions. He was fond of talking about Shakespeare, Raphael, Beethoven, of the significance of new schools of poetry and music, all of which were classified by him with very conspicuous consistency.
"Well, God be with you," she said at the door of the study, where a shaded candle and a decanter of water were already put by his armchair. "And I'll write to Moscow."
He pressed her hand, and again kissed it.
"All the same he's a good man; truthful, good-hearted, and remarkable in his own line," Anna said to herself going back to her room, as though she were defending him to someone who had attacked him and said that one could not love him. "But why is it his ears stick out so strangely? Or has he had his hair cut?"
Precisely at twelve o'clock, when Anna was still sitting at her writing table, finishing a letter to Dolly, she heard the sound of measured steps in slippers, and Alexey Alexandrovitch, freshly washed and combed, with a book under his arm, came in to her.
"It's time, it's time," said he, with a meaning smile, And he went into their bedroom.
"And what right had he to look at him like that?" thought Anna, recalling Vronsky's glance at Alexey Alexandrovitch.
Undressing, she went into the bedroom; but her face had none of the eagerness which, during her stay in Moscow, had fairly flashed from her eyes and her smile; on the contrary, now the fire seemed quenched in her, hidden somewhere far away.
"I imagine one cannot exonerate such a man from blame, though he is your brother," said Alexey Alexandrovitch severely.
Anna smiled. She knew that he said that simply to show that family considerations could not prevent him from expressing his genuine opinion. She knew that characteristic in her husband, and liked it.
"I am glad it has all ended so satisfactorily, And that you are back again," he went on. "Come, what do they say about the new act I have got passed in the council?"
Anna had heard nothing of this act, And she felt conscience-stricken at having been able so readily to forget what was to him of such importance.
"Here, on the other hand, it has made a great sensation," he said, with a complacent smile.
She saw that Alexey Alexandrovitch wanted to tell her something pleasant to him about it, and she brought him by questions to telling it. With the same complacent smile he told her of the ovations he had received in consequence of the act the had passed.
"I was very, very glad. It shows that at last a reasonable and steady view of the matter is becoming prevalent among us."
Having drunk his second cup of tea with cream, and bread, Alexey Alexandrovitch got up, and was going towards his study.
"And you've not been anywhere this evening? You've been dull, I expect?" he said.
"Oh, no!" she answered, getting up after him and accompanying him across the room to his study. "What are you reading now?" she asked.
"Just now I'm reading Duc de Likke, Poesie des Enfers," he answered. "A very remarkable book."
Anna smiled, as people smile at the weaknesses of those they love, and, putting her hand under his, she escorted him to the door of the study. She knew his habit, that had grown into a necessity, of reading in the evening. She knew, too, that in spite of his official duties, which swallowed up almost the whole of his time, he considered it his duty to keep up with everything of note that appeared in the intellectual world. She knew, too, that he was really interested in books dealing with politics, philosophy, and theology, that art was utterly foreign to his nature; but, in spite of this, or rather, in consequence of it, Alexey Alexandrovitch never passed over anything in the world of art, but made it his duty to read everything. She knew that in politics, in philosophy, in theology, Alexey Alexandrovitch often had doubts, and made investigations; but on questions of art and poetry, and, above all, of music, of which he was totally devoid of understanding, he had the most distinct and decided opinions. He was fond of talking about Shakespeare, Raphael, Beethoven, of the significance of new schools of poetry and music, all of which were classified by him with very conspicuous consistency.
"Well, God be with you," she said at the door of the study, where a shaded candle and a decanter of water were already put by his armchair. "And I'll write to Moscow."
He pressed her hand, and again kissed it.
"All the same he's a good man; truthful, good-hearted, and remarkable in his own line," Anna said to herself going back to her room, as though she were defending him to someone who had attacked him and said that one could not love him. "But why is it his ears stick out so strangely? Or has he had his hair cut?"
Precisely at twelve o'clock, when Anna was still sitting at her writing table, finishing a letter to Dolly, she heard the sound of measured steps in slippers, and Alexey Alexandrovitch, freshly washed and combed, with a book under his arm, came in to her.
"It's time, it's time," said he, with a meaning smile, And he went into their bedroom.
"And what right had he to look at him like that?" thought Anna, recalling Vronsky's glance at Alexey Alexandrovitch.
Undressing, she went into the bedroom; but her face had none of the eagerness which, during her stay in Moscow, had fairly flashed from her eyes and her smile; on the contrary, now the fire seemed quenched in her, hidden somewhere far away.
Chapter 33
Chapter 33
Alexey Alexandrovitch came back from the meeting of the ministers at four o'clock, but as often happened, he had not time no come in to her. He went into his study to see the people waiting for him with petitions, and to sign some papers brought him by his chief secretary. At dinner time (there were always a few people dining with the Karenins) there arrived an old lady, a cousin of Alexey Alexandrovitch, the chief secretary of the department and his wife, and a young man who had been recommended to Alexey Alexandrovitch for the service. Anna went into the drawing room to receive these guests. Precisely at five o'clock, before the bronze Peter the First clock had struck the fifth stroke, Alexey Alexandrovitch came in, wearing a white tie and evening coat with two stars, as he had to go out directly after dinner. Every minute of Alexey Alexandrovitch's life was portioned out and occupied. And to make time to get through all that lay before him every day, he adhered to the strictest punctuality. "Unhasting and unresting," was his motto. He came into the dining hall, greeted everyone, and hurriedly sat down, smiling to his wife. "Yes, my solitude is over. You wouldn't believe how uncomfortable" (he laid stress on the word uncomfortable) "it is to dine alone."
At dinner he talked a little to his wife about Moscow matters, and, with a sarcastic smile, asked her after Stepan Arkadyevitch; but the conversation was for the most part general, dealing with Petersburg official and public news. After dinner he spent half an hour with his guests, and again, with a smile, pressed his wife's hand, withdrew, and drove off to the council. Anna did not go out that evening either to the Princess Betsy Tverskaya, who, hearing of her return, had invited her, nor to the theater, where she had a box for that evening. She did not go out principally because the dress she had reckoned upon was not ready. Altogether, Anna, on turning, after the departure of her guests, to the consideration of her attire, was very much annoyed. She was generally a mistress of the art of dressing well without great expense, and before leaving Moscow she had given her dressmaker three dresses to transform. The dresses had to be altered so that they could not be recognized, and they ought to have been ready three days before. It appeared that two dresses had not been done at all, while the other one had not been altered as Anna had intended. The dressmaker came to explain, declaring that it would be better as she had done it, and Anna was so furious that she felt ashamed when she thought of it afterwards. To regain her serenity completely she went into the nursery, and spent the whole evening with her son, put him to bed herself, signed him with the cross, and tucked him up. She was glad she had not gone out anywhere, and had spent the evening so well. She felt so light-hearted and serene, she saw so clearly that all that had seemed to her so important on her railway journey was only one of the common trivial incidents of fashionable life, and that she had no reason to feel ashamed before anyone else or before herself. Anna sat down at the hearth with an English novel and waited for her husband. Exactly at half-past nine she heard his ring, and he came into the room.
"Here you are at last!" she observed, holding out her hand to him.
He kissed her hand and sat down beside her.
"Altogether then, I see your visit was a success," he said to her.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
The slowly revolving Professor
The slowly revolving Professor Trelawney sank back into the silver mass below and vanished.
The silence within the office was absolute. Neither Dumbledore nor Harry nor any of the portraits made a sound. Even Fawkes had fallen silent.
‘Professor Dumbledore?’ Harry said very quietly, for Dumbledore, still staring at the Pensieve, seemed completely lost in thought. ‘It ... did that mean ... what did that mean?’
‘It meant,’ said Dumbledore, ‘that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times.’
Harry felt as though something was closing in on him. His breathing seemed difficult again.
‘It means—me?’
Dumbledore surveyed him for a moment through his glasses.
‘The odd thing, Harry,’ he said softly, ‘is that it may not have meant you at all. Sybill's prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom.’
‘But then ... but then, why was it my name on the prophecy and not Neville's?’
‘The official record was re-labelled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child,’ said Dumbledore. ‘It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be the one to whom Sybill was referring.’
‘Then—it might not be me?’ said Harry.
‘I am afraid,’ said Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, ‘that there is no doubt that it is you.’
‘But you said— Neville was born at the end of July, too—and his mum and dad—’
‘You are forgetting the next part of the prophecy, the final identifying feature of the boy who could vanquish Voldemort ... Voldemort himself would mark him as his equal.And so he did, Harry. He chose you, not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse.’
‘But he might have chosen wrong!’ said Harry. ‘He might have marked the wrong person!’
‘He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him,’ said Dumbledore. ‘And notice this, Harry: he chose, not the pure-blood (which, according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing) but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far— something that neither your parents, nor Neville's parents, ever achieved.’
‘Why did he do it, then?’ said Harry, who felt numb and cold. ‘Why did he try and kill me as a baby? He should have waited to see whether Neville or I looked more dangerous when we were older and tried to kill whoever it was then—’
The silence within the office was absolute. Neither Dumbledore nor Harry nor any of the portraits made a sound. Even Fawkes had fallen silent.
‘Professor Dumbledore?’ Harry said very quietly, for Dumbledore, still staring at the Pensieve, seemed completely lost in thought. ‘It ... did that mean ... what did that mean?’
‘It meant,’ said Dumbledore, ‘that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times.’
Harry felt as though something was closing in on him. His breathing seemed difficult again.
‘It means—me?’
Dumbledore surveyed him for a moment through his glasses.
‘The odd thing, Harry,’ he said softly, ‘is that it may not have meant you at all. Sybill's prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom.’
‘But then ... but then, why was it my name on the prophecy and not Neville's?’
‘The official record was re-labelled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child,’ said Dumbledore. ‘It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be the one to whom Sybill was referring.’
‘Then—it might not be me?’ said Harry.
‘I am afraid,’ said Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, ‘that there is no doubt that it is you.’
‘But you said— Neville was born at the end of July, too—and his mum and dad—’
‘You are forgetting the next part of the prophecy, the final identifying feature of the boy who could vanquish Voldemort ... Voldemort himself would mark him as his equal.And so he did, Harry. He chose you, not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse.’
‘But he might have chosen wrong!’ said Harry. ‘He might have marked the wrong person!’
‘He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him,’ said Dumbledore. ‘And notice this, Harry: he chose, not the pure-blood (which, according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing) but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far— something that neither your parents, nor Neville's parents, ever achieved.’
‘Why did he do it, then?’ said Harry, who felt numb and cold. ‘Why did he try and kill me as a baby? He should have waited to see whether Neville or I looked more dangerous when we were older and tried to kill whoever it was then—’
‘We entered your third year
‘We entered your third year. I watched from afar as you struggled to repel dementors, as you found Sirius, learned what he was and rescued him. Was I to tell you then, at the moment when you had triumphantly snatched your godfather from the jaws of the Ministry? But now, at the age of thirteen, my excuses were running out. Young you might be, but you had proved you were exceptional. My conscience was uneasy, Harry. I knew the time must come soon ...
‘But you came out of the maze last year, having watched Cedric Diggory die, having escaped death so narrowly yourself ... and I did not tell you, though I knew, now Voldemort had returned, I must do it soon. And now, tonight, I know you have long been ready for the knowledge I have kept from you for so long, because you have proved that I should have placed the burden upon you before this. My only defence is this: I have watched you struggling under more burdens than any student who has ever passed through this school and I could not bring myself to add another—the greatest one of all.’
Harry waited, but Dumbledore did not speak.
‘I still don't understand.’
‘Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He set out to kill you when you were still a baby, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill you backfired. And so, since his return to his body, and particularly since your extraordinary escape from him last year, he has been determined to hear that prophecy in its entirety. This is the weapon he has been seeking so assiduously since his return: the knowledge of how to destroy you.’
The sun had risen fully now: Dumbledore's office was bathed in it. The glass case in which the sword of Godric Gryffindor resided gleamed white and opaque, the fragments of the instruments Harry had thrown to the floor glistened like raindrops, and behind him, the baby Fawkes made soft chirruping noises in his nest of ashes.
‘The prophecy's smashed,’ Harry said blankly. ‘I was pulling Neville up those benches in the— the room where the archway was, and I ripped his robes and it fell ...’
‘The thing that smashed was merely the record of the prophecy kept by the Department of Mysteries. But the prophecy was made to somebody, and that person has the means of recalling it perfectly.’
‘Who heard it?’ asked Harry, though he thought he knew the answer already.
‘I did,’ said Dumbledore. ‘On a cold, wet night sixteen years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head inn. I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher, though it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all. The applicant, however, was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer and I thought it common politeness to meet her. I was disappointed. It seemed to me that she had not a trace of the gift herself. I told her, courteously I hope, that I did not think she would be suitable for the post. I turned to leave.’
Dumbledore got to his feet and walked past Harry to the black cabinet that stood beside Fawkes's perch. He bent down, slid back a catch and took from inside it the shallow stone basin, carved with runes around the edges, in which Harry had seen his father tormenting Snape. Dumbledore walked back to the desk, placed the Pensieve upon it, and raised his wand to his own temple. From it, he withdrew silvery, gossamer-fine strands of thought clinging to the wand and deposited them into the basin. He sat back down behind his desk and watched his thoughts swirl and drift inside the Pensieve for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he raised his wand and prodded the silvery substance with its tip.
A figure rose out of it, draped in shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size behind her glasses, and she revolved slowly, her feet in the basin. But when Sybill Trelawney spoke, it was not in her usual ethereal, mystic voice, but in the harsh, hoarse tones Harry had heard her use once before:
‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ...’
‘But you came out of the maze last year, having watched Cedric Diggory die, having escaped death so narrowly yourself ... and I did not tell you, though I knew, now Voldemort had returned, I must do it soon. And now, tonight, I know you have long been ready for the knowledge I have kept from you for so long, because you have proved that I should have placed the burden upon you before this. My only defence is this: I have watched you struggling under more burdens than any student who has ever passed through this school and I could not bring myself to add another—the greatest one of all.’
Harry waited, but Dumbledore did not speak.
‘I still don't understand.’
‘Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He set out to kill you when you were still a baby, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill you backfired. And so, since his return to his body, and particularly since your extraordinary escape from him last year, he has been determined to hear that prophecy in its entirety. This is the weapon he has been seeking so assiduously since his return: the knowledge of how to destroy you.’
The sun had risen fully now: Dumbledore's office was bathed in it. The glass case in which the sword of Godric Gryffindor resided gleamed white and opaque, the fragments of the instruments Harry had thrown to the floor glistened like raindrops, and behind him, the baby Fawkes made soft chirruping noises in his nest of ashes.
‘The prophecy's smashed,’ Harry said blankly. ‘I was pulling Neville up those benches in the— the room where the archway was, and I ripped his robes and it fell ...’
‘The thing that smashed was merely the record of the prophecy kept by the Department of Mysteries. But the prophecy was made to somebody, and that person has the means of recalling it perfectly.’
‘Who heard it?’ asked Harry, though he thought he knew the answer already.
‘I did,’ said Dumbledore. ‘On a cold, wet night sixteen years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head inn. I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher, though it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all. The applicant, however, was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer and I thought it common politeness to meet her. I was disappointed. It seemed to me that she had not a trace of the gift herself. I told her, courteously I hope, that I did not think she would be suitable for the post. I turned to leave.’
Dumbledore got to his feet and walked past Harry to the black cabinet that stood beside Fawkes's perch. He bent down, slid back a catch and took from inside it the shallow stone basin, carved with runes around the edges, in which Harry had seen his father tormenting Snape. Dumbledore walked back to the desk, placed the Pensieve upon it, and raised his wand to his own temple. From it, he withdrew silvery, gossamer-fine strands of thought clinging to the wand and deposited them into the basin. He sat back down behind his desk and watched his thoughts swirl and drift inside the Pensieve for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he raised his wand and prodded the silvery substance with its tip.
A figure rose out of it, draped in shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size behind her glasses, and she revolved slowly, her feet in the basin. But when Sybill Trelawney spoke, it was not in her usual ethereal, mystic voice, but in the harsh, hoarse tones Harry had heard her use once before:
‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ...’
‘Five years ago, then,’ continued Dumbledore
‘Five years ago, then,’ continued Dumbledore, as though he had not paused in his story, ‘you arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well-nourished as I would have liked, perhaps, yet alive and healthy. You were not a pampered little prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well.
‘And then ... well, you will remember the events of your first year at Hogwarts quite as clearly as I do. You rose magnificently to the challenge that faced you and sooner—much sooner—than I had anticipated, you found yourself face to face with Voldemort. You survived again. You did more. You delayed his return to full power and strength. You fought a man's fight. I was ... prouder of you than I can say.
‘Yet there was a flaw in this wonderful plan of mine,’ said Dumbledore. ‘An obvious flaw that I knew, even then, might be the undoing of it all. And yet, knowing how important it was that my plan should succeed, I told myself that I would not permit this flaw to ruin it. I alone could prevent this, so I alone must be strong. And here was my first test, as you lay in the hospital wing, weak from your struggle with Voldemort.’
‘I don't understand what you're saying,’ said Harry.
‘Don't you remember asking me, as you lay in the hospital wing, why Voldemort had tried to kill you when you were a baby?’
Harry nodded.
‘Ought I to have told you then?’
Harry stared into the blue eyes and said nothing, but his heart was racing again.
‘You do not see the flaw in the plan yet? No ... perhaps not. Well, as you know, I decided not to answer you. Eleven, I told myself, was much too young to know. I had never intended to tell you when you were eleven. The knowledge would be too much at such a young age.
‘I should have recognised the danger signs then. I should have asked myself why I did not feel more disturbed that you had already asked me the question to which I knew, one day, I must give a terrible answer. I should have recognised that I was too happy to think that I did not have to do it on that particular day ... you were too young, much too young.
‘And so we entered your second year at Hogwarts. And once again you met challenges even grown wizards have never faced; once again you acquitted yourself beyond my wildest dreams. You did not ask me again, however, why Voldemort had left that mark on you. We discussed your scar, oh yes ... we came very, very close to the subject. Why did I not tell you everything?
‘Well, it seemed to me that twelve was, after all, hardly better than eleven to receive such information. I allowed you to leave my presence, bloodstained, exhausted but exhilarated, and if I felt a twinge of unease that I ought, perhaps, to have told you then, it was swiftly silenced. You were still so young, you see, and I could not find it in myself to spoil that night of triumph ...
‘Do you see, Harry? Do you see the flaw in my brilliant plan now? I had fallen into the trap I had foreseen, that I had told myself I could avoid, that I must avoid.’
‘I don't—’
‘I cared about you too much,’ said Dumbledore simply. ‘I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act.
‘Is there a defence? I defy anyone who has watched you as I have—and I have watched you more closely than you can have imagined—not to want to save you more pain than you had already suffered. What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in the vague future, if in the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy? I never dreamed that I would have such a person on my hands.
‘And then ... well, you will remember the events of your first year at Hogwarts quite as clearly as I do. You rose magnificently to the challenge that faced you and sooner—much sooner—than I had anticipated, you found yourself face to face with Voldemort. You survived again. You did more. You delayed his return to full power and strength. You fought a man's fight. I was ... prouder of you than I can say.
‘Yet there was a flaw in this wonderful plan of mine,’ said Dumbledore. ‘An obvious flaw that I knew, even then, might be the undoing of it all. And yet, knowing how important it was that my plan should succeed, I told myself that I would not permit this flaw to ruin it. I alone could prevent this, so I alone must be strong. And here was my first test, as you lay in the hospital wing, weak from your struggle with Voldemort.’
‘I don't understand what you're saying,’ said Harry.
‘Don't you remember asking me, as you lay in the hospital wing, why Voldemort had tried to kill you when you were a baby?’
Harry nodded.
‘Ought I to have told you then?’
Harry stared into the blue eyes and said nothing, but his heart was racing again.
‘You do not see the flaw in the plan yet? No ... perhaps not. Well, as you know, I decided not to answer you. Eleven, I told myself, was much too young to know. I had never intended to tell you when you were eleven. The knowledge would be too much at such a young age.
‘I should have recognised the danger signs then. I should have asked myself why I did not feel more disturbed that you had already asked me the question to which I knew, one day, I must give a terrible answer. I should have recognised that I was too happy to think that I did not have to do it on that particular day ... you were too young, much too young.
‘And so we entered your second year at Hogwarts. And once again you met challenges even grown wizards have never faced; once again you acquitted yourself beyond my wildest dreams. You did not ask me again, however, why Voldemort had left that mark on you. We discussed your scar, oh yes ... we came very, very close to the subject. Why did I not tell you everything?
‘Well, it seemed to me that twelve was, after all, hardly better than eleven to receive such information. I allowed you to leave my presence, bloodstained, exhausted but exhilarated, and if I felt a twinge of unease that I ought, perhaps, to have told you then, it was swiftly silenced. You were still so young, you see, and I could not find it in myself to spoil that night of triumph ...
‘Do you see, Harry? Do you see the flaw in my brilliant plan now? I had fallen into the trap I had foreseen, that I had told myself I could avoid, that I must avoid.’
‘I don't—’
‘I cared about you too much,’ said Dumbledore simply. ‘I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act.
‘Is there a defence? I defy anyone who has watched you as I have—and I have watched you more closely than you can have imagined—not to want to save you more pain than you had already suffered. What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in the vague future, if in the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy? I never dreamed that I would have such a person on my hands.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
I would also advise Transfiguration
‘I would also advise Transfiguration, because Aurors frequently need to Transfigure or Untransfigure in their work. And I ought to tell you now, Potter, that I do not accept students into my NEWT classes unless they have achieved “Exceeds Expectations” or higher at Ordinary Wizarding Level. I'd say you're averaging “Acceptable” at the moment, so you'll need to put in some good hard work before the exams to stand a chance of continuing. Then you ought to do Charms, always useful, and Potions. Yes, Potter, Potions,’ she added, with the merest flicker of a smile. ‘Poisons and antidotes are essential study for Aurors. And I must tell you that Professor Snape absolutely refuses to take students who get anything other than “Outstanding” in their OWLs, so —’
Professor Umbridge gave her most pronounced cough yet.
‘May I offer you a cough drop, Dolores?’ Professor McGonagall asked curtly, without looking at Professor Umbridge.
‘Oh, no, thank you very much,’ said Umbridge, with that simpering laugh Harry hated so much. ‘I just wondered whether I could make the teensiest interruption, Minerva?’
‘I daresay you'll find you can,’ said Professor McGonagall through tightly gritted teeth.
‘I was just wondering whether Mr. Potter has quite the temperament for an Auror?’ said Professor Umbridge sweetly.
‘Were you?’ said Professor McGonagall haughtily. ‘Well, Potter,’ she continued, as though there had been no interruption, ‘if you are serious in this ambition, I would advise you to concentrate hard on bringing your Transfiguration and Potions up to scratch. I see Professor Flitwick has graded you between “Acceptable” and “Exceeds Expectations” for the last two years, so your Charmwork seems satisfactory. As for Defence Against the Dark Arts, your marks have been generally high, Professor Lupin in particular thought you—are you quite sure you wouldn't like a cough drop, Dolores?’
‘Oh, no need, thank you, Minerva,’ simpered Professor Umbridge, who had just coughed her loudest yet. ‘I was just concerned that you might not have Harry's most recent Defence Against the Dark Arts marks in front of you. I'm quite sure I slipped in a note.’
‘What, this thing?’ said Professor McGonagall in a tone of revulsion, as she pulled a sheet of pink parchment from between the leaves of Harry's folder. She glanced down it, her eyebrows slightly raised, then placed it back into the folder without comment.
‘Yes, as I was saying, Potter, Professor Lupin thought you showed a pronounced aptitude for the subject, and obviously for an Auror—’
‘Did you not understand my note, Minerva?’ asked Professor Umbndge in honeyed tones, quite forgetting to cough.
‘Of course I understood it,’ said Professor McGonagall, her teeth clenched so tightly the words came out a little muffled.
‘Well, then, I am confused ... I'm afraid I don't quite understand how you can give Mr. Potter false hope that—’
‘False hope?’ repeated Professor McGonagall, still refusing to look round at Professor Umbridge. ‘He has achieved high marks in all his Defence Against the Dark Arts tests—’
‘I'm terribly sorry to have to contradict you, Minerva, but as you will see from my note, Harry has been achieving very poor results in his classes with me—’
‘I should have made my meaning plainer,’ said Professor McGonagall, turning at last to look Umbridge directly in the eyes. ‘He has achieved high marks in all Defence Against the Dark Arts tests set by a competent teacher.’
Professor Umbridge's smile vanished as suddenly as a light bulb blowing. She sat back in her chair, turned a sheet on her clipboard and began scribbling very fast indeed, her bulging eyes rolling from side to side. Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry, her thin nostrils flared, her eyes burning.
‘Any questions, Potter?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘What sort of character and aptitude tests do the Ministry do on you, if you get enough NEWTs?’
‘Well, you'll need to demonstrate the ability to react well to pressure and so forth,’ said Professor McGonagall, ‘perseverance and dedication, because Auror training takes a further three years, not to mention very high skills in practical Defence. It will mean a lot more study even after you've left school, so unless you're prepared to—’
‘I think you'll also find,’ said Umbridge, her voice very cold now, ‘that the Ministry looks into the records of those applying to be Aurors. Their criminal records.’
‘—unless you're prepared to take even more exams after Hogwarts, you should really look at another—’
‘Which means that this boy has as much chance of becoming an Auror as Dumbledore has of ever returning to this school.’
‘A very good chance, then,’ said Professor McGonagall.
‘Potter has a criminal record,’ said Umbridge loudly.
‘Potter has been cleared of all charges,’ said McGonagall, even more loudly.
Professor Umbridge stood up. She was so short that this did not make a great deal of difference, but her fussy, simpering demeanour had given place to a hard fury that made her broad, flabby face look oddly sinister.
‘Potter has no chance whatsoever of becoming an Auror!’
Professor McGonagall got to her feet, too, and in her case this was a much more impressive move: she towered over Professor Umbridge.
‘Potter,’ she said in ringing tones, ‘I will assist you to become an Auror if it is the last thing I do! If I have to coach you nightly, I will make sure you achieve the required results!’
Professor Umbridge gave her most pronounced cough yet.
‘May I offer you a cough drop, Dolores?’ Professor McGonagall asked curtly, without looking at Professor Umbridge.
‘Oh, no, thank you very much,’ said Umbridge, with that simpering laugh Harry hated so much. ‘I just wondered whether I could make the teensiest interruption, Minerva?’
‘I daresay you'll find you can,’ said Professor McGonagall through tightly gritted teeth.
‘I was just wondering whether Mr. Potter has quite the temperament for an Auror?’ said Professor Umbridge sweetly.
‘Were you?’ said Professor McGonagall haughtily. ‘Well, Potter,’ she continued, as though there had been no interruption, ‘if you are serious in this ambition, I would advise you to concentrate hard on bringing your Transfiguration and Potions up to scratch. I see Professor Flitwick has graded you between “Acceptable” and “Exceeds Expectations” for the last two years, so your Charmwork seems satisfactory. As for Defence Against the Dark Arts, your marks have been generally high, Professor Lupin in particular thought you—are you quite sure you wouldn't like a cough drop, Dolores?’
‘Oh, no need, thank you, Minerva,’ simpered Professor Umbridge, who had just coughed her loudest yet. ‘I was just concerned that you might not have Harry's most recent Defence Against the Dark Arts marks in front of you. I'm quite sure I slipped in a note.’
‘What, this thing?’ said Professor McGonagall in a tone of revulsion, as she pulled a sheet of pink parchment from between the leaves of Harry's folder. She glanced down it, her eyebrows slightly raised, then placed it back into the folder without comment.
‘Yes, as I was saying, Potter, Professor Lupin thought you showed a pronounced aptitude for the subject, and obviously for an Auror—’
‘Did you not understand my note, Minerva?’ asked Professor Umbndge in honeyed tones, quite forgetting to cough.
‘Of course I understood it,’ said Professor McGonagall, her teeth clenched so tightly the words came out a little muffled.
‘Well, then, I am confused ... I'm afraid I don't quite understand how you can give Mr. Potter false hope that—’
‘False hope?’ repeated Professor McGonagall, still refusing to look round at Professor Umbridge. ‘He has achieved high marks in all his Defence Against the Dark Arts tests—’
‘I'm terribly sorry to have to contradict you, Minerva, but as you will see from my note, Harry has been achieving very poor results in his classes with me—’
‘I should have made my meaning plainer,’ said Professor McGonagall, turning at last to look Umbridge directly in the eyes. ‘He has achieved high marks in all Defence Against the Dark Arts tests set by a competent teacher.’
Professor Umbridge's smile vanished as suddenly as a light bulb blowing. She sat back in her chair, turned a sheet on her clipboard and began scribbling very fast indeed, her bulging eyes rolling from side to side. Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry, her thin nostrils flared, her eyes burning.
‘Any questions, Potter?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘What sort of character and aptitude tests do the Ministry do on you, if you get enough NEWTs?’
‘Well, you'll need to demonstrate the ability to react well to pressure and so forth,’ said Professor McGonagall, ‘perseverance and dedication, because Auror training takes a further three years, not to mention very high skills in practical Defence. It will mean a lot more study even after you've left school, so unless you're prepared to—’
‘I think you'll also find,’ said Umbridge, her voice very cold now, ‘that the Ministry looks into the records of those applying to be Aurors. Their criminal records.’
‘—unless you're prepared to take even more exams after Hogwarts, you should really look at another—’
‘Which means that this boy has as much chance of becoming an Auror as Dumbledore has of ever returning to this school.’
‘A very good chance, then,’ said Professor McGonagall.
‘Potter has a criminal record,’ said Umbridge loudly.
‘Potter has been cleared of all charges,’ said McGonagall, even more loudly.
Professor Umbridge stood up. She was so short that this did not make a great deal of difference, but her fussy, simpering demeanour had given place to a hard fury that made her broad, flabby face look oddly sinister.
‘Potter has no chance whatsoever of becoming an Auror!’
Professor McGonagall got to her feet, too, and in her case this was a much more impressive move: she towered over Professor Umbridge.
‘Potter,’ she said in ringing tones, ‘I will assist you to become an Auror if it is the last thing I do! If I have to coach you nightly, I will make sure you achieve the required results!’
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Harry didn't quite know how to set about telling them
Harry didn't quite know how to set about telling them, and still wasn't sure whether he wanted to. Just as he had decided not to say anything, Hermione took matters out of his hands.
‘Is it Cho?’ she asked in a businesslike way. ‘Did she corner you after the meeting?’
Numbly surprised, Harry nodded. Ron sniggered, breaking off when Hermione caught his eye.
‘So—er—what did she want?’ he asked in a mock casual voice.
‘She—’ Harry began, rather hoarsely, he cleared his throat and tried again. ‘She—er—’
‘Did you kiss?’ asked Hermione briskly.
Ron sat up so fast he sent his ink bottle flying all over the rug. Disregarding this completely, he stared avidly at Harry.
‘Well?’ he demanded.
Harry looked from Ron's expression of mingled curiosity and hilarity to Hermione's slight frown, and nodded.
‘HA!’
Ron made a triumphant gesture with his fist and went into a raucous peal of laughter that made several timid-looking second-years over beside the window jump. A reluctant grin spread over Harry's face as he watched Ron
rolling around on the hearthrug.
Hermione gave Ron a look or deep disgust and returned to her letter.
‘Well?’ Ron said finally, looking up at Harry. ‘How was it?’
Harry considered for a moment.
‘Wet,’ he said truthfully.
Ron made a noise that might have indicated jubilation or disgust, it was hard to tell.
‘Because she was crying,’ Harry continued heavily.
‘Oh,’ said Ron, his smile fading slightly. ‘Are you that bad at kissing?’
‘Dunno,’ said Harry, who hadn't considered this, and immediately felt rather worried. ‘Maybe I am.’
‘Of course you're not,’ said Hermione absently, still scribbling away at her letter.
‘How do you know?’ said Ron very sharply.
‘Because Cho spends half her time crying these days,’ said Hermione vaguely. ‘She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place.’
‘You'd think a bit of kissing would cheer her up,’ said Ron, grinning.
‘Ron,’ said Hermione in a dignified voice, dipping the point of her quill into her inkpot, ‘you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet.’
‘What's that supposed to mean?’ said Ron indignantly. ‘What sort of person cries while someone's kissing them?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, slightly desperately, ‘who does?’
Hermione looked at the pair of them with an almost pitying expression on her face.
‘Don't you understand how Cho's feeling at the moment?’ she asked.
‘No,’ said Harry and Ron together.
Hermione sighed and laid down her quill.
‘Well, obviously, she's feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying. Then I expect she's feeling confused because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry, and she can't work out who she likes best. Then she'll be feeling
guilty, thinking it's an insult to Cedric's memory to be kissing Harry at all, and she'll be worrying about what everyone else might say about her if she starts going out with Harry. And she probably can't work out what her
feelings towards Harry are, anyway, because he was the one who was with Cedric when Cedric died, so that's all very mixed up and painful. Oh, and she's afraid she's going to be thrown off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team
because she's been flying so badly.’
A slightly stunned silence greeted the end of this speech, then Ron said, ‘One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode.’
‘Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have,’ said Hermione nastily, picking up her quill again.
‘She was the one who started it,’ said Harry. ‘I wouldn't've—she just sort of came at me—and next thing she's crying all over me—I didn't know what to do—’
‘Don't blame you, mate,’ said Ron, looking alarmed at the very thought.
‘You just had to be nice to her,’ said Hermione, looking up anxiously. ‘You were, weren't you?’
‘Well,’ said Harry, an unpleasant heat creeping up his face, ‘I sort of—patted her on the back a bit.’
Hermione looked as though she was restraining herself from rolling her eyes with extreme difficulty.
‘Well, I suppose it could have been worse,’ she said. ‘Are you going to see her again?’
‘I'll have to, won't I?’ said Harry. ‘We've got DA meetings, haven't we?’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Hermione impatiently.
Harry said nothing. Hermione's words opened up a whole new vista of frightening possibilities. He tried to imagine going somewhere with Cho—Hogsmeade, perhaps—and being alone with her for hours at a time. Of course,
she would have been expecting him to ask her out after what had just happened ... the thought made his stomach clench painfully.
‘Oh well,’ said Hermione distantly, buried in her letter once more, ‘you'll have plenty of opportunities to ask her.’
‘What if he doesn't want to ask her?’ said Ron, who had been watching Harry with an unusually shrewd expression on his face.
‘Don't be silly,’ said Hermione vaguely, ‘Harry's liked her for ages, haven't you, Harry?’
He did not answer. Yes, he had liked Cho for ages, but whenever he had imagined a scene involving the two of them it had always featured a Cho who was enjoying herself, as opposed to a Cho who was sobbing
uncontrollably into his shoulder.
‘Who're you writing the novel to, anyway?’ Ron asked Hermione, trying to read the bit of parchment now trailing on the floor. Hermione hitched it up out of sight.
‘Viktor.’
‘Krum?’
‘How many other Viktors do we know?’
Ron said nothing, but looked disgruntled. They sat in silence for another twenty minutes, Ron finishing his Transfiguration essay with many snorts of impatience and crossings-out, Hermione writing steadily to the very end of
the parchment, rolling it up carefully and sealing it, and Harry staring into the fire, wishing more than anything that Sirius's head would appear there and give him some advice about girls. But the fire merely crackled lower and
lower, until the red-hot embers crumbled into ash and, looking around, Harry saw that they were, yet again, the last ones in the common room.
‘Well, night,’ said Hermione, yawning widely as she set off up the girls’ staircase.
‘What does she see in Krum?’ Ron demanded, as he and Harry climbed the boys’ stairs.
‘Well,’ said Harry, considering the matter, ‘I s'pose he's older, isn't he ... and he's an international Quidditch player ...’
‘Yeah, but apart from that,’ said Ron, sounding aggravated. ‘I mean, he's a grouchy git, isn't he?’
‘Bit grouchy, yeah,’ said Harry, whose thoughts were still on Cho.
They pulled off their robes and put on pyjamas in silence; Dean, Seamus and Neville were already asleep. Harry put his glasses on his bedside table and got into bed but did not pull the hangings closed around his four-
poster; instead, he stared at the patch of starry sky visible through the window next to Neville's bed. If he had known, this time last night, that in twenty-four hours’ time he would have kissed Cho Chang ...
‘Night,’ grunted Ron, from somewhere to his right.
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‘Is it Cho?’ she asked in a businesslike way. ‘Did she corner you after the meeting?’
Numbly surprised, Harry nodded. Ron sniggered, breaking off when Hermione caught his eye.
‘So—er—what did she want?’ he asked in a mock casual voice.
‘She—’ Harry began, rather hoarsely, he cleared his throat and tried again. ‘She—er—’
‘Did you kiss?’ asked Hermione briskly.
Ron sat up so fast he sent his ink bottle flying all over the rug. Disregarding this completely, he stared avidly at Harry.
‘Well?’ he demanded.
Harry looked from Ron's expression of mingled curiosity and hilarity to Hermione's slight frown, and nodded.
‘HA!’
Ron made a triumphant gesture with his fist and went into a raucous peal of laughter that made several timid-looking second-years over beside the window jump. A reluctant grin spread over Harry's face as he watched Ron
rolling around on the hearthrug.
Hermione gave Ron a look or deep disgust and returned to her letter.
‘Well?’ Ron said finally, looking up at Harry. ‘How was it?’
Harry considered for a moment.
‘Wet,’ he said truthfully.
Ron made a noise that might have indicated jubilation or disgust, it was hard to tell.
‘Because she was crying,’ Harry continued heavily.
‘Oh,’ said Ron, his smile fading slightly. ‘Are you that bad at kissing?’
‘Dunno,’ said Harry, who hadn't considered this, and immediately felt rather worried. ‘Maybe I am.’
‘Of course you're not,’ said Hermione absently, still scribbling away at her letter.
‘How do you know?’ said Ron very sharply.
‘Because Cho spends half her time crying these days,’ said Hermione vaguely. ‘She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place.’
‘You'd think a bit of kissing would cheer her up,’ said Ron, grinning.
‘Ron,’ said Hermione in a dignified voice, dipping the point of her quill into her inkpot, ‘you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet.’
‘What's that supposed to mean?’ said Ron indignantly. ‘What sort of person cries while someone's kissing them?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, slightly desperately, ‘who does?’
Hermione looked at the pair of them with an almost pitying expression on her face.
‘Don't you understand how Cho's feeling at the moment?’ she asked.
‘No,’ said Harry and Ron together.
Hermione sighed and laid down her quill.
‘Well, obviously, she's feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying. Then I expect she's feeling confused because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry, and she can't work out who she likes best. Then she'll be feeling
guilty, thinking it's an insult to Cedric's memory to be kissing Harry at all, and she'll be worrying about what everyone else might say about her if she starts going out with Harry. And she probably can't work out what her
feelings towards Harry are, anyway, because he was the one who was with Cedric when Cedric died, so that's all very mixed up and painful. Oh, and she's afraid she's going to be thrown off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team
because she's been flying so badly.’
A slightly stunned silence greeted the end of this speech, then Ron said, ‘One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode.’
‘Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have,’ said Hermione nastily, picking up her quill again.
‘She was the one who started it,’ said Harry. ‘I wouldn't've—she just sort of came at me—and next thing she's crying all over me—I didn't know what to do—’
‘Don't blame you, mate,’ said Ron, looking alarmed at the very thought.
‘You just had to be nice to her,’ said Hermione, looking up anxiously. ‘You were, weren't you?’
‘Well,’ said Harry, an unpleasant heat creeping up his face, ‘I sort of—patted her on the back a bit.’
Hermione looked as though she was restraining herself from rolling her eyes with extreme difficulty.
‘Well, I suppose it could have been worse,’ she said. ‘Are you going to see her again?’
‘I'll have to, won't I?’ said Harry. ‘We've got DA meetings, haven't we?’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Hermione impatiently.
Harry said nothing. Hermione's words opened up a whole new vista of frightening possibilities. He tried to imagine going somewhere with Cho—Hogsmeade, perhaps—and being alone with her for hours at a time. Of course,
she would have been expecting him to ask her out after what had just happened ... the thought made his stomach clench painfully.
‘Oh well,’ said Hermione distantly, buried in her letter once more, ‘you'll have plenty of opportunities to ask her.’
‘What if he doesn't want to ask her?’ said Ron, who had been watching Harry with an unusually shrewd expression on his face.
‘Don't be silly,’ said Hermione vaguely, ‘Harry's liked her for ages, haven't you, Harry?’
He did not answer. Yes, he had liked Cho for ages, but whenever he had imagined a scene involving the two of them it had always featured a Cho who was enjoying herself, as opposed to a Cho who was sobbing
uncontrollably into his shoulder.
‘Who're you writing the novel to, anyway?’ Ron asked Hermione, trying to read the bit of parchment now trailing on the floor. Hermione hitched it up out of sight.
‘Viktor.’
‘Krum?’
‘How many other Viktors do we know?’
Ron said nothing, but looked disgruntled. They sat in silence for another twenty minutes, Ron finishing his Transfiguration essay with many snorts of impatience and crossings-out, Hermione writing steadily to the very end of
the parchment, rolling it up carefully and sealing it, and Harry staring into the fire, wishing more than anything that Sirius's head would appear there and give him some advice about girls. But the fire merely crackled lower and
lower, until the red-hot embers crumbled into ash and, looking around, Harry saw that they were, yet again, the last ones in the common room.
‘Well, night,’ said Hermione, yawning widely as she set off up the girls’ staircase.
‘What does she see in Krum?’ Ron demanded, as he and Harry climbed the boys’ stairs.
‘Well,’ said Harry, considering the matter, ‘I s'pose he's older, isn't he ... and he's an international Quidditch player ...’
‘Yeah, but apart from that,’ said Ron, sounding aggravated. ‘I mean, he's a grouchy git, isn't he?’
‘Bit grouchy, yeah,’ said Harry, whose thoughts were still on Cho.
They pulled off their robes and put on pyjamas in silence; Dean, Seamus and Neville were already asleep. Harry put his glasses on his bedside table and got into bed but did not pull the hangings closed around his four-
poster; instead, he stared at the patch of starry sky visible through the window next to Neville's bed. If he had known, this time last night, that in twenty-four hours’ time he would have kissed Cho Chang ...
‘Night,’ grunted Ron, from somewhere to his right.
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Tuesday, November 16, 2010
‘I'm going to get started on some homework,’
‘I'm going to get started on some homework,’ said Ron angrily and stomped off to the staircase to the boys’ dormitories and vanished from sight. Hermione turned to Harry.
‘Was he lousy?’
‘No,’ said Harry loyally.
Hermione raised her eyebrows.
‘Well, I suppose he could've played better,’ Harry muttered, ‘but it was only the first training session, like you said ...’
Neither Harry nor Ron seemed to make much headway with their homework that night. Harry knew Ron was too preoccupied with how badly he had performed at Quidditch practice and he himself was having difficulty in getting the ‘Gryffindor are losers’ chant out of his head.
They spent the whole of Sunday in the common room, buried in ! heir books while the room around them filled up, then emptied. It was another clear, fine day and most of their fellow Gryffindors spent the day out in the grounds, enjoying what might well be some of the last sunshine that year. By the evening, Harry felt as though somebody had been beating his brain against the inside of his skull.
‘You know, we probably should try and get more homework done during the week,’ Harry muttered to Ron, as they finally laid aside Professor McGonagall's long essay on the Inanimatus Conjurus Spell and turned miserably to Professor Sinistra's equally long and difficult essay about Jupiter's many moons.
‘Yeah,’ said Ron, rubbing slightly bloodshot eyes and throwing his fifth spoiled bit of parchment into the fire beside them. ‘Listen ... shall we just ask Hermione if we can have a look at what she's done?’
Harry glanced over at her; she was sitting with Crookshanks on her lap and chatting merrily to Ginny as a pair of knitting needles flashed in midair in front of her, now knitting a pair of shapeless elf socks.
‘No,’ he said heavily, ‘you know she won't let us.’
And so they worked on while the sky outside the windows became steadily darker. Slowly, the crowd in the common room began to thin again. At half past eleven, Hermione wandered over to them, yawning.
‘Nearly done?’
‘No,’ said Ron shortly.
‘Jupiter's biggest moon is Ganymede, not Callisto,’ she said, pointing over Ron's shoulder at a line in his Astronomy essay, ‘and it's Io that's got the volcanoes.’
‘Thanks,’ snarled Ron, scratching out the offending sentences.
‘Sorry, I only— ’
‘Yeah, well, if you've just come over here to criticise—’
‘Ron—’
‘I haven't got time to listen to a sermon, all right, Hermione, I'm up to my neck in it here— ’
‘No—look!’
Hermione was pointing to the nearest window. Harry and Ron both looked over. A handsome screech owl was standing on the windowsill, gazing into the room at Ron.
‘Isn't that Hermes?’ said Hermione, sounding amazed.
‘Blimey, it is!’ said Ron quietly, throwing down his quill and getting to his feet. ‘What's Percy writing to me for?’
He crossed to the window and opened it; Hermes flew inside, landed on Ron's essay and held out a leg to which a letter was attached. Ron took the letter off it and the owl departed at once, leaving inky footprints across Ron's drawing of the moon Io.
‘That's definitely Percy's handwriting,’ said Ron, sinking back into his chair and staring at the words on the outside of the scroll: Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts. He looked up at the other two. ‘What d'you reckon?’
‘Open it!’ said Hermione eagerly, and Harry nodded.
Ron unrolled the scroll and began to read. The further clown the parchment his eyes travelled, the more pronounced became his scowl. When he had finished reading, he looked disgusted. He thrust the letter at Harry and Hermione, who leaned towards each other to read it together:
Dear Ron,
I have only just heard (from no less a person than the Minister for Magic himself, who has it from your new teacher, Professor Umbridge) that you have become a Hogwarts prefect.
I was most pleasantly surprised when f heard this news and must firstly offer my congratulations. I must admit that I have always been afraid that you would take what we might call the ‘Fred and George’ route, rather than following in my footsteps, so you can imagine my feelings on hearing you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to shoulder some real responsibility.
But I want to give you more than congratulations, Ron, I want to give you some advice, which is why I am sending this at night rather than by the usual morning post. Hopefully, you will be able to read this away from prying eyes and avoid awkward questions.
‘Was he lousy?’
‘No,’ said Harry loyally.
Hermione raised her eyebrows.
‘Well, I suppose he could've played better,’ Harry muttered, ‘but it was only the first training session, like you said ...’
Neither Harry nor Ron seemed to make much headway with their homework that night. Harry knew Ron was too preoccupied with how badly he had performed at Quidditch practice and he himself was having difficulty in getting the ‘Gryffindor are losers’ chant out of his head.
They spent the whole of Sunday in the common room, buried in ! heir books while the room around them filled up, then emptied. It was another clear, fine day and most of their fellow Gryffindors spent the day out in the grounds, enjoying what might well be some of the last sunshine that year. By the evening, Harry felt as though somebody had been beating his brain against the inside of his skull.
‘You know, we probably should try and get more homework done during the week,’ Harry muttered to Ron, as they finally laid aside Professor McGonagall's long essay on the Inanimatus Conjurus Spell and turned miserably to Professor Sinistra's equally long and difficult essay about Jupiter's many moons.
‘Yeah,’ said Ron, rubbing slightly bloodshot eyes and throwing his fifth spoiled bit of parchment into the fire beside them. ‘Listen ... shall we just ask Hermione if we can have a look at what she's done?’
Harry glanced over at her; she was sitting with Crookshanks on her lap and chatting merrily to Ginny as a pair of knitting needles flashed in midair in front of her, now knitting a pair of shapeless elf socks.
‘No,’ he said heavily, ‘you know she won't let us.’
And so they worked on while the sky outside the windows became steadily darker. Slowly, the crowd in the common room began to thin again. At half past eleven, Hermione wandered over to them, yawning.
‘Nearly done?’
‘No,’ said Ron shortly.
‘Jupiter's biggest moon is Ganymede, not Callisto,’ she said, pointing over Ron's shoulder at a line in his Astronomy essay, ‘and it's Io that's got the volcanoes.’
‘Thanks,’ snarled Ron, scratching out the offending sentences.
‘Sorry, I only— ’
‘Yeah, well, if you've just come over here to criticise—’
‘Ron—’
‘I haven't got time to listen to a sermon, all right, Hermione, I'm up to my neck in it here— ’
‘No—look!’
Hermione was pointing to the nearest window. Harry and Ron both looked over. A handsome screech owl was standing on the windowsill, gazing into the room at Ron.
‘Isn't that Hermes?’ said Hermione, sounding amazed.
‘Blimey, it is!’ said Ron quietly, throwing down his quill and getting to his feet. ‘What's Percy writing to me for?’
He crossed to the window and opened it; Hermes flew inside, landed on Ron's essay and held out a leg to which a letter was attached. Ron took the letter off it and the owl departed at once, leaving inky footprints across Ron's drawing of the moon Io.
‘That's definitely Percy's handwriting,’ said Ron, sinking back into his chair and staring at the words on the outside of the scroll: Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts. He looked up at the other two. ‘What d'you reckon?’
‘Open it!’ said Hermione eagerly, and Harry nodded.
Ron unrolled the scroll and began to read. The further clown the parchment his eyes travelled, the more pronounced became his scowl. When he had finished reading, he looked disgusted. He thrust the letter at Harry and Hermione, who leaned towards each other to read it together:
Dear Ron,
I have only just heard (from no less a person than the Minister for Magic himself, who has it from your new teacher, Professor Umbridge) that you have become a Hogwarts prefect.
I was most pleasantly surprised when f heard this news and must firstly offer my congratulations. I must admit that I have always been afraid that you would take what we might call the ‘Fred and George’ route, rather than following in my footsteps, so you can imagine my feelings on hearing you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to shoulder some real responsibility.
But I want to give you more than congratulations, Ron, I want to give you some advice, which is why I am sending this at night rather than by the usual morning post. Hopefully, you will be able to read this away from prying eyes and avoid awkward questions.
Monday, November 15, 2010
‘His soul? They didn't take—he's still got his—’
She seized Dudley by the shoulders and shook him, as though testing to see whether she could hear his soul rattling around inside him.
‘Of course they didn't get his soul, you'd know if they had,’ said Harry, exasperated.
‘Fought ‘em off, did you, son?’ said Uncle Vernon loudly, with the appearance of a man struggling to bring the conversation back on to a plane he understood. ‘Gave ‘em the old one-two, did you?’
‘You can't give a Dementor the old one-two,’ said Harry through clenched teeth.
‘Why's he all right, then?’ blustered Uncle Vernon. ‘Why isn't he all empty, then?’
‘Because I used the Patronus—’
WHOOSH. With a clattering, a whirring of wings and a soft fall of dust, a fourth owl came shooting out of the kitchen fireplace.
‘FOR GOD'S SAKE!’ roared Uncle Vernon, pulling great clumps of hair out of his moustache, something he hadn't been driven to do in a long time. ‘I WILL NOT HAVE OWLS HERE, I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS, I TELL YOU!’
But Harry was already pulling a roll of parchment from the owl's leg. He was so convinced that this letter had to be from Dumbledore, explaining everything—the dementors, Mrs. Figg, what the Ministry was up to, how he, Dumbledore, intended to sort everything out—that for the first time in his life he was disappointed to see Sirius's handwriting. Ignoring Uncle Vernons ongoing rant about owls, and narrowing his eyes against a second cloud of dust as the most recent owl took off back up the chimney, Harry read Sirius's message.
Arthur has just told us what's happened. Don't leave the house again, whatever you do.
Harry found this such an inadequate response to everything that had happened tonight that he turned the piece of parchment over, looking for the rest of the letter, but there was nothing else.
And now his temper was rising again. Wasn't anybody going to say ‘well done’ for fighting off two dementors single-handed? Both Mr. Weasley and Sirius were acting as though he'd misbehaved, and were saving their tellings-off until they could ascertain how much damage had been done.
‘—a peck, I mean, pack of owls shooting in and out of my house. I won't have it, boy, I won't—’
‘I can't stop the owls coming,’ Harry snapped, crushing Sirius's letter in his fist.
‘I want the truth about what happened tonight!’ barked Uncle Vernon. ‘If it was demenders who hurt Dudley, how come you've been expelled? You did you-know-what, you've admitted, it!’
Harry took a deep, steadying breath. His head was beginning to ache again. He wanted more than anything to get out of the kitchen, and away from the Dursleys.
‘I did the Patronus Charm to get rid of the dementors,’ he said, forcing himself to remain calm. ‘It's the only thing that works against them.’
‘But what were Dementoids doing in Little Whinging?’ said Uncle Vernon in an outraged tone.
‘Couldn't tell you,’ said Harry wearily. ‘No idea.’
His head was pounding in the glare of the strip-lighting now. His anger was ebbing away. He felt drained, exhausted. The Dursleys were all staring at him.
‘It's you,’ said Uncle Vernon forcefully. ‘It's got something to do with you, boy, I know it. Why else would they turn up here? Why else would they be down that alleyway? You've got to be the only—the only—’ Evidently, he couldn't bring himself to say the word ‘wizard'. The only you-know-what for miles.’
‘I don't know why they were here.’
But at Uncle Vernon's words, Harry's exhausted brain had ground back into action. Why had the dementors come to Little Whinging? How could it be coincidence that they had arrived in the alleyway where Harry was? Had they been sent? Had the Ministry of Magic lost control of the dementors? Had they deserted Azkaban and joined Voldemort, as Dumbledore had predicted they would?
‘Of course they didn't get his soul, you'd know if they had,’ said Harry, exasperated.
‘Fought ‘em off, did you, son?’ said Uncle Vernon loudly, with the appearance of a man struggling to bring the conversation back on to a plane he understood. ‘Gave ‘em the old one-two, did you?’
‘You can't give a Dementor the old one-two,’ said Harry through clenched teeth.
‘Why's he all right, then?’ blustered Uncle Vernon. ‘Why isn't he all empty, then?’
‘Because I used the Patronus—’
WHOOSH. With a clattering, a whirring of wings and a soft fall of dust, a fourth owl came shooting out of the kitchen fireplace.
‘FOR GOD'S SAKE!’ roared Uncle Vernon, pulling great clumps of hair out of his moustache, something he hadn't been driven to do in a long time. ‘I WILL NOT HAVE OWLS HERE, I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS, I TELL YOU!’
But Harry was already pulling a roll of parchment from the owl's leg. He was so convinced that this letter had to be from Dumbledore, explaining everything—the dementors, Mrs. Figg, what the Ministry was up to, how he, Dumbledore, intended to sort everything out—that for the first time in his life he was disappointed to see Sirius's handwriting. Ignoring Uncle Vernons ongoing rant about owls, and narrowing his eyes against a second cloud of dust as the most recent owl took off back up the chimney, Harry read Sirius's message.
Arthur has just told us what's happened. Don't leave the house again, whatever you do.
Harry found this such an inadequate response to everything that had happened tonight that he turned the piece of parchment over, looking for the rest of the letter, but there was nothing else.
And now his temper was rising again. Wasn't anybody going to say ‘well done’ for fighting off two dementors single-handed? Both Mr. Weasley and Sirius were acting as though he'd misbehaved, and were saving their tellings-off until they could ascertain how much damage had been done.
‘—a peck, I mean, pack of owls shooting in and out of my house. I won't have it, boy, I won't—’
‘I can't stop the owls coming,’ Harry snapped, crushing Sirius's letter in his fist.
‘I want the truth about what happened tonight!’ barked Uncle Vernon. ‘If it was demenders who hurt Dudley, how come you've been expelled? You did you-know-what, you've admitted, it!’
Harry took a deep, steadying breath. His head was beginning to ache again. He wanted more than anything to get out of the kitchen, and away from the Dursleys.
‘I did the Patronus Charm to get rid of the dementors,’ he said, forcing himself to remain calm. ‘It's the only thing that works against them.’
‘But what were Dementoids doing in Little Whinging?’ said Uncle Vernon in an outraged tone.
‘Couldn't tell you,’ said Harry wearily. ‘No idea.’
His head was pounding in the glare of the strip-lighting now. His anger was ebbing away. He felt drained, exhausted. The Dursleys were all staring at him.
‘It's you,’ said Uncle Vernon forcefully. ‘It's got something to do with you, boy, I know it. Why else would they turn up here? Why else would they be down that alleyway? You've got to be the only—the only—’ Evidently, he couldn't bring himself to say the word ‘wizard'. The only you-know-what for miles.’
‘I don't know why they were here.’
But at Uncle Vernon's words, Harry's exhausted brain had ground back into action. Why had the dementors come to Little Whinging? How could it be coincidence that they had arrived in the alleyway where Harry was? Had they been sent? Had the Ministry of Magic lost control of the dementors? Had they deserted Azkaban and joined Voldemort, as Dumbledore had predicted they would?
‘I heard—that awful boy—telling her about them—years ago,
’ she said jerkily.
‘If you mean my mum and dad, why don't you use their names?’ said Harry loudly but Aunt Petunia ignored him. She seemed horribly flustered.
Harry was stunned. Except for one outburst years ago, in the course of which Aunt Petunia had screamed that Harry's mother had been a freak, he had never heard her mention her sister. He was astounded that she had remembered this scrap of information about the magical world for so long, when she usually put all her energies into pretending it didn't exist.
Uncle Vernon opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it once more, shut it, then, apparently struggling to remember how to talk, opened it for a third time and croaked, ‘So—so—they—er—they—er—they actually exist, do they—er— Dementy-whatsits?’
Aunt Petunia nodded.
Uncle Vernon looked from Aunt Petunia to Dudley to Harry as if hoping somebody was going to shout ‘April Fool!’ When nobody did, he opened his mouth yet again, but was spared the struggle to find more words by the arrival of the third owl of the evening. It zoomed through the still-open window like a feathery cannon-ball and landed with a clatter on the kitchen table, causing all three of the Dursleys to jump with fright. Harry tore a second official-looking envelope from the owl's beak and ripped it open as the owl swooped back out into the night.
‘Enough—effing—owls...’ muttered Uncle Vernon distractedly, stomping over to the window and slamming it shut again.
Dear Mr. Potter,
Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on the twelfth of August, at which time an official decision will be taken.
Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further enquiries.
With best wishes,
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
Improper Use of Magic Office
Ministry of Magic
Harry read this letter through three times in quick succession. The miserable knot in his chest loosened slightly with the relief of knowing he was not yet definitely expelled, though his fears were by no means banished. Everything seemed to hang on this hearing on the twelfth of August.
‘Well?’ said Uncle Vernon, recalling Harry to his surroundings. ‘What now? Have they sentenced you to anything? Do your lot have the death penalty?’ he added as a hopeful afterthought.
‘I've got to go to a hearing,’ said Harry.
‘And they'll sentence you there?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘I won't give up hope, then,’ said Uncle Vernon nastily.
‘Well, if that's all,’ said Harry, getting to his feet. He was desperate to be alone, to think, perhaps to send a letter to Ron, Hermione or Sirius.
‘NO, IT RUDDY WELL IS NOT ALL!’ bellowed Uncle Vernon. ‘SIT BACK DOWN!’
‘What now?’ said Harry impatiently.
‘DUDLEY!’ roared Uncle Vernon. ‘I want to know exactly what happened to my son!’
‘FINE!’ yelled Harry, and in his temper, red and gold sparks shot out of the end of his wand, still clutched in his hand. All three Dursleys flinched, looking terrified.
‘Dudley and I were in the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk,’ said Harry, speaking fast, fighting to control his temper. ‘Dudley thought he'd be smart with me, I pulled out my wand but didn't use it. Then two dementors turned up—’
‘But what ARE Dementoids?’ asked Uncle Vernon furiously. ‘What do they DO?’
‘I told you—they suck all the happiness out of you,’ said Harry, ‘and if they get the chance, they kiss you—’
‘Kiss you?’ said Uncle Vernon, his eyes popping slightly. ‘Kiss you?’
‘It's what they call it when they suck the soul out of your mouth.’
Aunt Petunia uttered a soft scream.
‘If you mean my mum and dad, why don't you use their names?’ said Harry loudly but Aunt Petunia ignored him. She seemed horribly flustered.
Harry was stunned. Except for one outburst years ago, in the course of which Aunt Petunia had screamed that Harry's mother had been a freak, he had never heard her mention her sister. He was astounded that she had remembered this scrap of information about the magical world for so long, when she usually put all her energies into pretending it didn't exist.
Uncle Vernon opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it once more, shut it, then, apparently struggling to remember how to talk, opened it for a third time and croaked, ‘So—so—they—er—they—er—they actually exist, do they—er— Dementy-whatsits?’
Aunt Petunia nodded.
Uncle Vernon looked from Aunt Petunia to Dudley to Harry as if hoping somebody was going to shout ‘April Fool!’ When nobody did, he opened his mouth yet again, but was spared the struggle to find more words by the arrival of the third owl of the evening. It zoomed through the still-open window like a feathery cannon-ball and landed with a clatter on the kitchen table, causing all three of the Dursleys to jump with fright. Harry tore a second official-looking envelope from the owl's beak and ripped it open as the owl swooped back out into the night.
‘Enough—effing—owls...’ muttered Uncle Vernon distractedly, stomping over to the window and slamming it shut again.
Dear Mr. Potter,
Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on the twelfth of August, at which time an official decision will be taken.
Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further enquiries.
With best wishes,
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
Improper Use of Magic Office
Ministry of Magic
Harry read this letter through three times in quick succession. The miserable knot in his chest loosened slightly with the relief of knowing he was not yet definitely expelled, though his fears were by no means banished. Everything seemed to hang on this hearing on the twelfth of August.
‘Well?’ said Uncle Vernon, recalling Harry to his surroundings. ‘What now? Have they sentenced you to anything? Do your lot have the death penalty?’ he added as a hopeful afterthought.
‘I've got to go to a hearing,’ said Harry.
‘And they'll sentence you there?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘I won't give up hope, then,’ said Uncle Vernon nastily.
‘Well, if that's all,’ said Harry, getting to his feet. He was desperate to be alone, to think, perhaps to send a letter to Ron, Hermione or Sirius.
‘NO, IT RUDDY WELL IS NOT ALL!’ bellowed Uncle Vernon. ‘SIT BACK DOWN!’
‘What now?’ said Harry impatiently.
‘DUDLEY!’ roared Uncle Vernon. ‘I want to know exactly what happened to my son!’
‘FINE!’ yelled Harry, and in his temper, red and gold sparks shot out of the end of his wand, still clutched in his hand. All three Dursleys flinched, looking terrified.
‘Dudley and I were in the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk,’ said Harry, speaking fast, fighting to control his temper. ‘Dudley thought he'd be smart with me, I pulled out my wand but didn't use it. Then two dementors turned up—’
‘But what ARE Dementoids?’ asked Uncle Vernon furiously. ‘What do they DO?’
‘I told you—they suck all the happiness out of you,’ said Harry, ‘and if they get the chance, they kiss you—’
‘Kiss you?’ said Uncle Vernon, his eyes popping slightly. ‘Kiss you?’
‘It's what they call it when they suck the soul out of your mouth.’
Aunt Petunia uttered a soft scream.
‘Right,’ Harry said, ‘I've changed my mind, I'm staying.’
He flung himself down at the kitchen table and faced Dudley and Aunt Petunia. The Dursleys appeared taken aback at his abrupt change of mind. Aunt Petunia glanced despairingly at Uncle Vernon. The vein in his purple temple was throbbing worse than ever.
‘Who are all these ruddy owls from?’ he growled.
‘The first one was from the Ministry of Magic, expelling me,’ said Harry calmly. He was straining his ears to catch any noises outside, in case the Ministry representatives were approaching, and it was easier and quieter to answer Uncle Vernon's questions than to have him start raging and bellowing. The second one was from my friend Ron's dad, who works at the Ministry.’
‘Ministry of Magic?’ bellowed Uncle Vernon. ‘People like you in government? Oh, this explains everything, everything, no wonder the country's going to the dogs....’
When Harry did not respond, Uncle Vernon glared at him, then spat out, ‘And why have you been expelled?’
‘Because I did magic.’
‘AHA!’ roared Uncle Vernon, slamming his fist down on top of the fridge, which sprang open; several of Dudley's low-fat snacks toppled out and burst on the floor. ‘So you admit it! What did you do to Dudley?’
‘Nothing,’ said Harry, slightly less calmly. ‘That wasn't me—’
‘Was,’ muttered Dudley unexpectedly, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia instantly made flapping gestures at Harry to quieten him while they both bent low over Dudley.
‘Go on, son,’ said Uncle Vernon, ‘what did he do?’
‘Tell us, darling,’ whispered Aunt Petunia.
‘Pointed his wand at me,’ Dudley mumbled.
‘Yeah, I did, but I didn't use—’ Harry began angrily, but...
‘SHUT UP!’ roared Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia in unison.
‘Go on, son,’ repeated Uncle Vernon, moustache blowing about furiously.
‘All dark,’ Dudley said hoarsely, shuddering. ‘Everything dark. And then I h-heard ... things. Inside m-my head...’
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged looks of utter horror. If their least favourite thing in the world was magic, closely followed by neighbours who cheated more than they did on the hosepipe ban, people who heard voices were definitely in the bottom ten. They obviously thought Dudley was losing his mind.
‘What sort of things did you hear, popkin?’ breathed Aunt Petunia, very white-faced and with tears in her eyes.
But Dudley seemed incapable of saying. He shuddered again and shook his large blond head, and despite the sense of numb dread that had settled on Harry since the arrival of the first owl, he felt a certain curiosity. Dementors caused a person to relive the worst moments of their life.... What would spoiled, pampered, bullying Dudley have been forced to hear?
‘How come you fell over, son?’ said Uncle Vernon, in an unnaturally quiet voice, the kind of voice he might adopt at the bedside of a very ill person.
‘T-tripped,’ said Dudley shakily. ‘And then—’
He gestured at his massive chest. Harry understood: Dudley was remembering the clammy cold that filled the lungs as hope and happiness were sucked out of you.
‘Horrible,’ croaked Dudley. ‘Cold. Really cold.’
‘OK,’ said Uncle Vernon, in a voice of forced calm, while Aunt Petunia laid an anxious hand on Dudley's forehead to feel his temperature. ‘What happened then, Dudders?’
‘Felt ... felt ... felt ... as if ... as if...’
‘As if you'd never be happy again,’ Harry supplied dully.
‘Yes,’ Dudley whispered, still trembling.
‘So!’ said Uncle Vernon, voice restored to full and considerable volume as he straightened up. ‘You put some crackpot spell on my on so he'd hear voices and believe he was—was doomed to misery, or something, did you?’
‘How many times do I have to tell you?’ said Harry, temper and voice both rising. ‘It wasn't me! It was a couple of dementors!’
‘A couple of—what's this codswallop?’
‘De—men—tors,’ said Harry slowly and clearly. ‘Two of them.’
‘And what the ruddy hell are dementors?’
‘They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban,’ said Aunt Petunia.
Two seconds of ringing silence followed these words before Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her. Harry's brain reeled. Mrs. Figg was one thing—butAunt Petunia?
‘How d'you know that?’ he asked her, astonished.
Aunt Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Uncle Vernon in fearful apology, then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsy teeth.
‘Who are all these ruddy owls from?’ he growled.
‘The first one was from the Ministry of Magic, expelling me,’ said Harry calmly. He was straining his ears to catch any noises outside, in case the Ministry representatives were approaching, and it was easier and quieter to answer Uncle Vernon's questions than to have him start raging and bellowing. The second one was from my friend Ron's dad, who works at the Ministry.’
‘Ministry of Magic?’ bellowed Uncle Vernon. ‘People like you in government? Oh, this explains everything, everything, no wonder the country's going to the dogs....’
When Harry did not respond, Uncle Vernon glared at him, then spat out, ‘And why have you been expelled?’
‘Because I did magic.’
‘AHA!’ roared Uncle Vernon, slamming his fist down on top of the fridge, which sprang open; several of Dudley's low-fat snacks toppled out and burst on the floor. ‘So you admit it! What did you do to Dudley?’
‘Nothing,’ said Harry, slightly less calmly. ‘That wasn't me—’
‘Was,’ muttered Dudley unexpectedly, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia instantly made flapping gestures at Harry to quieten him while they both bent low over Dudley.
‘Go on, son,’ said Uncle Vernon, ‘what did he do?’
‘Tell us, darling,’ whispered Aunt Petunia.
‘Pointed his wand at me,’ Dudley mumbled.
‘Yeah, I did, but I didn't use—’ Harry began angrily, but...
‘SHUT UP!’ roared Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia in unison.
‘Go on, son,’ repeated Uncle Vernon, moustache blowing about furiously.
‘All dark,’ Dudley said hoarsely, shuddering. ‘Everything dark. And then I h-heard ... things. Inside m-my head...’
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged looks of utter horror. If their least favourite thing in the world was magic, closely followed by neighbours who cheated more than they did on the hosepipe ban, people who heard voices were definitely in the bottom ten. They obviously thought Dudley was losing his mind.
‘What sort of things did you hear, popkin?’ breathed Aunt Petunia, very white-faced and with tears in her eyes.
But Dudley seemed incapable of saying. He shuddered again and shook his large blond head, and despite the sense of numb dread that had settled on Harry since the arrival of the first owl, he felt a certain curiosity. Dementors caused a person to relive the worst moments of their life.... What would spoiled, pampered, bullying Dudley have been forced to hear?
‘How come you fell over, son?’ said Uncle Vernon, in an unnaturally quiet voice, the kind of voice he might adopt at the bedside of a very ill person.
‘T-tripped,’ said Dudley shakily. ‘And then—’
He gestured at his massive chest. Harry understood: Dudley was remembering the clammy cold that filled the lungs as hope and happiness were sucked out of you.
‘Horrible,’ croaked Dudley. ‘Cold. Really cold.’
‘OK,’ said Uncle Vernon, in a voice of forced calm, while Aunt Petunia laid an anxious hand on Dudley's forehead to feel his temperature. ‘What happened then, Dudders?’
‘Felt ... felt ... felt ... as if ... as if...’
‘As if you'd never be happy again,’ Harry supplied dully.
‘Yes,’ Dudley whispered, still trembling.
‘So!’ said Uncle Vernon, voice restored to full and considerable volume as he straightened up. ‘You put some crackpot spell on my on so he'd hear voices and believe he was—was doomed to misery, or something, did you?’
‘How many times do I have to tell you?’ said Harry, temper and voice both rising. ‘It wasn't me! It was a couple of dementors!’
‘A couple of—what's this codswallop?’
‘De—men—tors,’ said Harry slowly and clearly. ‘Two of them.’
‘And what the ruddy hell are dementors?’
‘They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban,’ said Aunt Petunia.
Two seconds of ringing silence followed these words before Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her. Harry's brain reeled. Mrs. Figg was one thing—butAunt Petunia?
‘How d'you know that?’ he asked her, astonished.
Aunt Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Uncle Vernon in fearful apology, then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsy teeth.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
‘Still not finished?’ she said, poking her head into the cupboard.
‘I thought you might be here to tell us to have a break!’ said Ron bitterly. ‘D'you know how much mould we've got rid of since we arrived here?’
‘You were so keen to help the Order,’ said Mrs. Weasley, ‘you can do your bit by making Headquarters fit to live in.’
‘I feel like a house-elf,’ grumbled Ron.
‘Well, now you understand what dreadful lives they lead, perhaps you'll be a bit more active in S.P.E.W.!’ said Hermione hopefully, as Mrs. Weasley left them to it. ‘You know, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to show people
exactly how horrible it is to clean all the time—we could do a sponsored scrub of Gryffindor common room, all proceeds to S.P.E.W., it would raise awareness as well as funds—’
‘I'll sponsor you to shut up about spew,’ Ron muttered irritably, but only so Harry could hear him.
Harry found himself daydreaming about Hogwarts more and more as the end of the holidays approached; he could not wait to see Hagrid again, to play Quidditch, even to stroll across the vegetable patches to the Herbology
greenhouses; it would be a treat just to leave this dusty, musty house, where half of the cupboards were still bolted shut and Kreacher wheezed insults out of the shadows as you passed, though Harry was careful not to say
any of this within earshot of Sirius.
The fact was that living at the Headquarters of the anti-Voldemort movement was not nearly as interesting or exciting as Harry would have expected before he'd experienced it. Though members of the Order of the Phoenix
came and went regularly, sometimes staying for meals, sometimes only for a few minutes of whispered conversation, Mrs. Weasley made sure that Harry and the others were kept well out of earshot (whether Extendable or
normal) and nobody, not even Sirius, seemed to feel that Harry needed to know anything more than he had heard on the night of his arrival.
On the very last day of the holidays Harry was sweeping up Hedwig's owl droppings from the top of the wardrobe when Ron entered their bedroom carrying a couple of envelopes.
‘Booklists have arrived,’ he said, throwing one of the envelopes up to Harry, who was standing on a chair. ‘About time, I thought they'd forgotten, they usually come much earlier than this....’
Harry swept the last of the droppings into a rubbish bag and threw the bag over Ron's head into the wastepaper basket in the corner, which swallowed it and belched loudly. He then opened his letter. It contained two pieces
of parchment: one the usual reminder that term started on the first of September; the other telling him which books he would need for the coming year.
‘Only two new ones,’ he said, reading the list, ‘The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk, and Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard.’
Crack.
Fred and George Apparated right beside Harry. He was so used to them doing this by now that he didn't even fall off his chair.
‘We were just wondering who assigned the Slinkhard book,’ said Fred conversationally.
‘Because it means Dumbledore's found a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,’ said George.
‘And about time too,’ said Fred.
‘What d'you mean?’ Harry asked, jumping down beside them.
Well, we overheard Mum and Dad talking on the Extendable Ears a few weeks back,’ Fred told Harry, ‘and from what they were saying, Dumbledore was having real trouble finding anyone to do the job this year.’
‘Not surprising, is it, when you look at what's happened to the last four?’ said George.
‘One sacked, one dead, one's memory removed, and one locked in a trunk for nine months,’ said Harry, counting them off on his fingers. ‘Yeah, I see what you mean.’
‘What's up with you, Ron?’ asked Fred.
Ron did not answer. Harry looked round. Ron was standing very still with his mouth slightly open, gaping at his letter from Hogwarts.
‘What's the matter?’ said Fred impatiently, moving around Ron to look over his shoulder at the parchment.
Fred's mouth fell open, too.
‘Prefect?’ he said, staring incredulously at the letter. ‘Prefect?’
George leapt forward, seized the envelope in Ron's other hand and turned it upside-down. Harry saw something scarlet and gold fall into George's palm.
‘No way,’ said George in a hushed voice.
‘There's been a mistake,’ said Fred, snatching the letter out of Ron's grasp and holding it up to the light as though checking for a watermark. ‘No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect.’
The twins’ heads turned in unison and both of them stared at Harry.
‘We thought you were a cert!’ said Fred, in a tone that suggested Harry had tricked them in some way.
‘We thought Dumbledore was bound to pick you!’ said George indignantly.
‘Winning the Triwizard and everything!’ said Fred.
‘I suppose all the mad stuff must've counted against him,’ said George to Fred.
‘Yeah,’ said Fred slowly. ‘Yeah, you've caused too much trouble, mate. Well, at least one of you's got their priorities right.’
He strode over to Harry and clapped him on the back while giving Ron a scathing look.
‘Prefect ... ickle Ronnie the prefect...’
‘Oh, Mum's going to be revolting,’ groaned George, thrusting the prefect badge back at Ron as though it might contaminate him.
Ron, who still had not said a word, took the badge, stared at it for a moment, then held it out to Harry as though asking mutely for confirmation that it was genuine. Harry took it. A large ‘P’ was superimposed on the Gryffindor
lion. He had seen a badge just like this on Percy's chest on his very first day at Hogwarts.
The door banged open. Hermione came tearing into the room, her cheeks flushed and her hair flying. There was an envelope in her hand.
‘Did you—did you get—?’
She spotted the badge in Harry's hand and let out a shriek.
‘I knew it!’ she said excitedly, brandishing her letter. ‘Me too, Harry, me too!’
‘No,’ said Harry quickly, pushing the badge back into Ron's hand. ‘It's Ron, not me.’
‘It—what?’
‘Ron's prefect, not me,’ Harry said.
‘Ron?’ said Hermione, her jaw dropping. ‘But ... are you sure? I mean—’
She turned red as Ron looked round at her with a defiant expression on his lace.
‘It's my name on the letter,’ he said.
‘I....’ said Hermione, looking thoroughly bewildered. ‘I ... well ... wow! Well done, Ron! That's really—’
‘Unexpected,’ said George, nodding.
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‘You were so keen to help the Order,’ said Mrs. Weasley, ‘you can do your bit by making Headquarters fit to live in.’
‘I feel like a house-elf,’ grumbled Ron.
‘Well, now you understand what dreadful lives they lead, perhaps you'll be a bit more active in S.P.E.W.!’ said Hermione hopefully, as Mrs. Weasley left them to it. ‘You know, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to show people
exactly how horrible it is to clean all the time—we could do a sponsored scrub of Gryffindor common room, all proceeds to S.P.E.W., it would raise awareness as well as funds—’
‘I'll sponsor you to shut up about spew,’ Ron muttered irritably, but only so Harry could hear him.
Harry found himself daydreaming about Hogwarts more and more as the end of the holidays approached; he could not wait to see Hagrid again, to play Quidditch, even to stroll across the vegetable patches to the Herbology
greenhouses; it would be a treat just to leave this dusty, musty house, where half of the cupboards were still bolted shut and Kreacher wheezed insults out of the shadows as you passed, though Harry was careful not to say
any of this within earshot of Sirius.
The fact was that living at the Headquarters of the anti-Voldemort movement was not nearly as interesting or exciting as Harry would have expected before he'd experienced it. Though members of the Order of the Phoenix
came and went regularly, sometimes staying for meals, sometimes only for a few minutes of whispered conversation, Mrs. Weasley made sure that Harry and the others were kept well out of earshot (whether Extendable or
normal) and nobody, not even Sirius, seemed to feel that Harry needed to know anything more than he had heard on the night of his arrival.
On the very last day of the holidays Harry was sweeping up Hedwig's owl droppings from the top of the wardrobe when Ron entered their bedroom carrying a couple of envelopes.
‘Booklists have arrived,’ he said, throwing one of the envelopes up to Harry, who was standing on a chair. ‘About time, I thought they'd forgotten, they usually come much earlier than this....’
Harry swept the last of the droppings into a rubbish bag and threw the bag over Ron's head into the wastepaper basket in the corner, which swallowed it and belched loudly. He then opened his letter. It contained two pieces
of parchment: one the usual reminder that term started on the first of September; the other telling him which books he would need for the coming year.
‘Only two new ones,’ he said, reading the list, ‘The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk, and Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard.’
Crack.
Fred and George Apparated right beside Harry. He was so used to them doing this by now that he didn't even fall off his chair.
‘We were just wondering who assigned the Slinkhard book,’ said Fred conversationally.
‘Because it means Dumbledore's found a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,’ said George.
‘And about time too,’ said Fred.
‘What d'you mean?’ Harry asked, jumping down beside them.
Well, we overheard Mum and Dad talking on the Extendable Ears a few weeks back,’ Fred told Harry, ‘and from what they were saying, Dumbledore was having real trouble finding anyone to do the job this year.’
‘Not surprising, is it, when you look at what's happened to the last four?’ said George.
‘One sacked, one dead, one's memory removed, and one locked in a trunk for nine months,’ said Harry, counting them off on his fingers. ‘Yeah, I see what you mean.’
‘What's up with you, Ron?’ asked Fred.
Ron did not answer. Harry looked round. Ron was standing very still with his mouth slightly open, gaping at his letter from Hogwarts.
‘What's the matter?’ said Fred impatiently, moving around Ron to look over his shoulder at the parchment.
Fred's mouth fell open, too.
‘Prefect?’ he said, staring incredulously at the letter. ‘Prefect?’
George leapt forward, seized the envelope in Ron's other hand and turned it upside-down. Harry saw something scarlet and gold fall into George's palm.
‘No way,’ said George in a hushed voice.
‘There's been a mistake,’ said Fred, snatching the letter out of Ron's grasp and holding it up to the light as though checking for a watermark. ‘No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect.’
The twins’ heads turned in unison and both of them stared at Harry.
‘We thought you were a cert!’ said Fred, in a tone that suggested Harry had tricked them in some way.
‘We thought Dumbledore was bound to pick you!’ said George indignantly.
‘Winning the Triwizard and everything!’ said Fred.
‘I suppose all the mad stuff must've counted against him,’ said George to Fred.
‘Yeah,’ said Fred slowly. ‘Yeah, you've caused too much trouble, mate. Well, at least one of you's got their priorities right.’
He strode over to Harry and clapped him on the back while giving Ron a scathing look.
‘Prefect ... ickle Ronnie the prefect...’
‘Oh, Mum's going to be revolting,’ groaned George, thrusting the prefect badge back at Ron as though it might contaminate him.
Ron, who still had not said a word, took the badge, stared at it for a moment, then held it out to Harry as though asking mutely for confirmation that it was genuine. Harry took it. A large ‘P’ was superimposed on the Gryffindor
lion. He had seen a badge just like this on Percy's chest on his very first day at Hogwarts.
The door banged open. Hermione came tearing into the room, her cheeks flushed and her hair flying. There was an envelope in her hand.
‘Did you—did you get—?’
She spotted the badge in Harry's hand and let out a shriek.
‘I knew it!’ she said excitedly, brandishing her letter. ‘Me too, Harry, me too!’
‘No,’ said Harry quickly, pushing the badge back into Ron's hand. ‘It's Ron, not me.’
‘It—what?’
‘Ron's prefect, not me,’ Harry said.
‘Ron?’ said Hermione, her jaw dropping. ‘But ... are you sure? I mean—’
She turned red as Ron looked round at her with a defiant expression on his lace.
‘It's my name on the letter,’ he said.
‘I....’ said Hermione, looking thoroughly bewildered. ‘I ... well ... wow! Well done, Ron! That's really—’
‘Unexpected,’ said George, nodding.
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Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Christian Speed Dating An Innovative Way to Reach Out To Your Potential Date
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：139 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 1:28:44
How many times before you have heard about Christian speed dating? Does not this idea sound new to you? If yes is your answer, no need to get panicked. It is really a latest process adapted in online dating process where Christian singles are invited to join in an event, let interact with each other for specified time and later their likings towards each other is judged by the organizers and if likings between any pair matches, organizers help establish communication among such couples.
Finding a competent partner has become a great challenge for all including Christian singles who looks for suitable partners belonging to Christian community, who follow Christian principles in life and possess enough good qualities and Christian values in life. Hence with so many "best" criteria, it is really difficult to narrow your search until you find a suitable process that opens a way for you to meet many promising partners and Christian speed dating is just that apt process that leads you to prospective dates.
With rat run lifestyle, you may not be able to attain worship sessions and may altogether lack the opportunity to get in touch with young members of Christian community. Furthermore, it is rather difficult to come across a suitable partner in sparsely populated congregation. Thus this specialized Christian dating service is meant for such people who are desperately looking for partner to date but have less time to socialize.
Christian online speed dating process takes not more than an hour or two and confers an interactive session with drinks and other refreshments. Limited time of 5-10 minutes of talk and selecting striking partner at the end is definitely a unique in itself and a quite challenging process. Although the process can not be sidelined as many people have been successful in finding apt partner through this exceptional Christian dating service.
Thus if you fall under the tagline of "most busy fellow", you search for dating partner could end by the process of Christian online speed dating. Get registered to some active speed dating website today and plan your availability according to the date fixed by the organizers. Be the one to create history in your family or church by finding a suitable partner through most innovative Christian online dating services.
How many times before you have heard about Christian speed dating? Does not this idea sound new to you? If yes is your answer, no need to get panicked. It is really a latest process adapted in online dating process where Christian singles are invited to join in an event, let interact with each other for specified time and later their likings towards each other is judged by the organizers and if likings between any pair matches, organizers help establish communication among such couples.
Finding a competent partner has become a great challenge for all including Christian singles who looks for suitable partners belonging to Christian community, who follow Christian principles in life and possess enough good qualities and Christian values in life. Hence with so many "best" criteria, it is really difficult to narrow your search until you find a suitable process that opens a way for you to meet many promising partners and Christian speed dating is just that apt process that leads you to prospective dates.
With rat run lifestyle, you may not be able to attain worship sessions and may altogether lack the opportunity to get in touch with young members of Christian community. Furthermore, it is rather difficult to come across a suitable partner in sparsely populated congregation. Thus this specialized Christian dating service is meant for such people who are desperately looking for partner to date but have less time to socialize.
Christian online speed dating process takes not more than an hour or two and confers an interactive session with drinks and other refreshments. Limited time of 5-10 minutes of talk and selecting striking partner at the end is definitely a unique in itself and a quite challenging process. Although the process can not be sidelined as many people have been successful in finding apt partner through this exceptional Christian dating service.
Thus if you fall under the tagline of "most busy fellow", you search for dating partner could end by the process of Christian online speed dating. Get registered to some active speed dating website today and plan your availability according to the date fixed by the organizers. Be the one to create history in your family or church by finding a suitable partner through most innovative Christian online dating services.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
The Art of Hanging Wallpaper
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：94 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 1:03:33
Successful wallpaper installation is the product of meticulous wall preparation and the employment of the right tools for the job, as well as following the proper application guidelines. Though developments have already given
rise to innovative changes in wallpaper, (e.g.: pre-pasted and strip wallpaper and borders, etc.), some homeowners still use traditional wallpaper, which of course, takes some time to hang.
Heres what you are going to need (usage detailed in the instructions below):
1. Steel tape measure 2. Plumb Bob or 48" Level 3. Water tray 4. Seam roller 5. Wallpaper smoothing brush 6. Razor knife with lots of blades 7. Broad knife 8. Large sponge 9. Bucket 10. Pencil 11. Ladder
Before you start hanging your wallpaper, make sure you have turned off the electricity, removed all sockets, switches, and plates. Also make sure to prep the walls. A clean and smooth wall is critical to the successful
application of your wall covering.
Getting Ready
1. The first thing to do is to create a plumb line and mark the wall with the width of the wallpaper minus inch. You must then draw a straight vertical line at the mark. This is where the first two strips must meet. 2. Partially unroll
the wallpaper and press it against the wall to decide where you want the pattern to fall. Mark the spot with a pencil (on the back of the paper). 3. Cut the strip with a straightedge, giving a 2-inch allowance on the top and
bottom edges. 4. Apply or activate the adhesive on the back of the wallpaper. For traditional wallpapers, gently lay the strip on a flat table and evenly coat the back with adhesive using a paint roller or a wide brush. Use only
the type of adhesive recommended by the manufacturer. For pre-pasted types of wall covering and wallpaper border, submerge the roll into a water trough filled with 2/3 warm water. Soak for the amount of time suggested by
the manufacturer, and then slowly roll out the strips. 5. Once the adhesive is applied/activated, book the strip by folding both the top and bottom half to the middle --- pasted side to pasted side --- where the edges must meet
and align. Keep them booked for 3-5 minutes.
Hanging
1. Unbook the top half of the strip and press it on the wall, with the marked spot at the back of the wallpaper aligning with the top of the wall. Unbook the lower half and roll until flat. In case of air bubbles, poke them with a pin
and roll again. Wash off excess adhesive immediately with a wet sponge. 2. Trim the excess paper with a scraper and a sharp razor knife. Change the blades often to avoid tears. 3. Use the same procedure with the rest of
the strips. Do check the wall for inconsistencies after applying the 3rd strip.
Other tips:
After you have applied the wall covering, wait for 15 minutes then gently go over the seams with a seam roller. When hanging wallpaper borders, you can do the same procedures except that you have to soak them in
lukewarm water for 20 seconds and book them for not more than 3 minutes.
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Successful wallpaper installation is the product of meticulous wall preparation and the employment of the right tools for the job, as well as following the proper application guidelines. Though developments have already given
rise to innovative changes in wallpaper, (e.g.: pre-pasted and strip wallpaper and borders, etc.), some homeowners still use traditional wallpaper, which of course, takes some time to hang.
Heres what you are going to need (usage detailed in the instructions below):
1. Steel tape measure 2. Plumb Bob or 48" Level 3. Water tray 4. Seam roller 5. Wallpaper smoothing brush 6. Razor knife with lots of blades 7. Broad knife 8. Large sponge 9. Bucket 10. Pencil 11. Ladder
Before you start hanging your wallpaper, make sure you have turned off the electricity, removed all sockets, switches, and plates. Also make sure to prep the walls. A clean and smooth wall is critical to the successful
application of your wall covering.
Getting Ready
1. The first thing to do is to create a plumb line and mark the wall with the width of the wallpaper minus inch. You must then draw a straight vertical line at the mark. This is where the first two strips must meet. 2. Partially unroll
the wallpaper and press it against the wall to decide where you want the pattern to fall. Mark the spot with a pencil (on the back of the paper). 3. Cut the strip with a straightedge, giving a 2-inch allowance on the top and
bottom edges. 4. Apply or activate the adhesive on the back of the wallpaper. For traditional wallpapers, gently lay the strip on a flat table and evenly coat the back with adhesive using a paint roller or a wide brush. Use only
the type of adhesive recommended by the manufacturer. For pre-pasted types of wall covering and wallpaper border, submerge the roll into a water trough filled with 2/3 warm water. Soak for the amount of time suggested by
the manufacturer, and then slowly roll out the strips. 5. Once the adhesive is applied/activated, book the strip by folding both the top and bottom half to the middle --- pasted side to pasted side --- where the edges must meet
and align. Keep them booked for 3-5 minutes.
Hanging
1. Unbook the top half of the strip and press it on the wall, with the marked spot at the back of the wallpaper aligning with the top of the wall. Unbook the lower half and roll until flat. In case of air bubbles, poke them with a pin
and roll again. Wash off excess adhesive immediately with a wet sponge. 2. Trim the excess paper with a scraper and a sharp razor knife. Change the blades often to avoid tears. 3. Use the same procedure with the rest of
the strips. Do check the wall for inconsistencies after applying the 3rd strip.
Other tips:
After you have applied the wall covering, wait for 15 minutes then gently go over the seams with a seam roller. When hanging wallpaper borders, you can do the same procedures except that you have to soak them in
lukewarm water for 20 seconds and book them for not more than 3 minutes.
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Monday, November 8, 2010
Top 3 organic skin care tips
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：47 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 0:29:53
Top 3 Organic Skin Care Tips
Organic skin care has become a huge business within the past decade, gaining popularity due to both its effectiveness and ability to revitalize skin. The natural minerals, salts and ingredients placed into organic skin care products naturally moisturize the skin, making it as healthy and beautiful as possible. Recently, the term 'organic skin care' has been placed into uncertainty, though, due to products on the market being dubbed 'naturally organic' that either contain high contents of water or contain completely unnatural ingredients.
Below are the top 3 tips one could utilize to be certain of their organic skin care products:
#1 - Make Sure Product is Actually Natural
Oftentimes in the cosmetics and organic skin care industries, the term 'natural' becomes hazy in definition. Instead of the general assumption that the ingredients of the organic skin care product are all-natural, some cosmetics companies define natural as any ingredient derived from a natural substance. So instead of organic skin care utilizing completely natural products, the market has become flooded with chemically-enhanced "natural ingredients," when in actuality, they are not natural at all.
When dealing with organic skin care, make sure no processed chemicals are listed in the ingredients. Otherwise, all of the magical benefits of organic skin care begin to disappear with the arrival of artificial ingredients.
#2 - Purchase Certified Organic Products!
Witnessing the benefits of organic skin care is dependent on the level of organic ingredients within the product. Excluding water and salt minerals, certified organic skin care products must contain a minimum of 95 organic," but really that means that the product is over 70 of organic ingredients.
Purchasing certified products for organic skin care is the safest route in ensuring the effectiveness of your products.
#3 - Miracle Products Do Not Exist
It is true that organic skin care can improve the beauty and health of your skin far greater than many unnatural, processed skin care products. It is untrue, however, that any organic, or non-organic products for that matter, contain miraculous ingredients that are going to give you perfect skin.
Good skin is a result of feeding the body, and organic skin care helps create beautiful skin through natural, unrefined ingredients. High quality, certified organic products are an extremely beneficial way of feeding your skin.
By understanding and abiding by the above 3 tips, you are already light years ahead of most organic skin care product consumers. Proper organic skin care is a wonderful way of treating both you and your body right.
Top 3 Organic Skin Care Tips
Organic skin care has become a huge business within the past decade, gaining popularity due to both its effectiveness and ability to revitalize skin. The natural minerals, salts and ingredients placed into organic skin care products naturally moisturize the skin, making it as healthy and beautiful as possible. Recently, the term 'organic skin care' has been placed into uncertainty, though, due to products on the market being dubbed 'naturally organic' that either contain high contents of water or contain completely unnatural ingredients.
Below are the top 3 tips one could utilize to be certain of their organic skin care products:
#1 - Make Sure Product is Actually Natural
Oftentimes in the cosmetics and organic skin care industries, the term 'natural' becomes hazy in definition. Instead of the general assumption that the ingredients of the organic skin care product are all-natural, some cosmetics companies define natural as any ingredient derived from a natural substance. So instead of organic skin care utilizing completely natural products, the market has become flooded with chemically-enhanced "natural ingredients," when in actuality, they are not natural at all.
When dealing with organic skin care, make sure no processed chemicals are listed in the ingredients. Otherwise, all of the magical benefits of organic skin care begin to disappear with the arrival of artificial ingredients.
#2 - Purchase Certified Organic Products!
Witnessing the benefits of organic skin care is dependent on the level of organic ingredients within the product. Excluding water and salt minerals, certified organic skin care products must contain a minimum of 95 organic," but really that means that the product is over 70 of organic ingredients.
Purchasing certified products for organic skin care is the safest route in ensuring the effectiveness of your products.
#3 - Miracle Products Do Not Exist
It is true that organic skin care can improve the beauty and health of your skin far greater than many unnatural, processed skin care products. It is untrue, however, that any organic, or non-organic products for that matter, contain miraculous ingredients that are going to give you perfect skin.
Good skin is a result of feeding the body, and organic skin care helps create beautiful skin through natural, unrefined ingredients. High quality, certified organic products are an extremely beneficial way of feeding your skin.
By understanding and abiding by the above 3 tips, you are already light years ahead of most organic skin care product consumers. Proper organic skin care is a wonderful way of treating both you and your body right.
Best practise to teeth whitening
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：40 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 0:30:21
So many people are self-conscious to let their smiles show. Bright smiles often become a reminiscence of the past due to age, coffee, or tea. However, there are many teeth whitening techniques available today to bring back your pearly whites. Here are quite a few options for the person who wants to enjoy a whiter, brighter smile. Laser teeth whitening is an option that has increased in popularity in recent years.
One of the most popular options is the Zoom Teeth Whitening procedure, which can make your teeth up nine shades lighter. Laser teeth whitening can give you a brighter smile, but you can look forward to a fairly high price tag. This procedure can also be fairly time-consuming. With correct care and regular touch-ups, your new bright smile should last for years. On the other hand coffee, tea, red wine, blueberries and other foods can take their toll on your pearly whites. Avoid these foods and cigarettes to keep your smile looking its best.
After a professional in-office treatment, over the counter products can be used every few months to get rid of new surface stains. Teeth whitening is from time to time called teeth bleaching. It refers to the process of removing the stains off your teeth to disclose their whiteness or to bring back their shine or luster. Normally, the tooth whitening procedure entails the use of whiteners or chemicals that are for oxidation, such as carbamide peroxide and hydrogen peroxide.
These two known teeth whiteners can get into the deeper layers of your teeth, carefully eliminating the hard-to-remove stains on your teeth. Depending on the harshness of the discoloration, the teeth whitening or teeth bleaching process can last for months. One of the most successful teeth whitening treatment options is the Zoom whitening, which is performed at a local salon or at your home. The process is very quick and simple. It begins with a short grounding to cover your lips and gums so that only your teeth are exposed to be whitened.
The Zoom clinician will then apply the proprietary Zoom whitening gel which was designed to be used specifically with the Zoom light. The light and gel will then work jointly to gently penetrate your teeth and break off stains and discoloration, leaving your teeth clean and gorgeous.
Okay, a teeth whitening specialist doesn't have a source of youth nor are they the tooth fairy. What would you call someone though who can make your smile look years younger in only one visit? It's possible to re-establish your teeth back to their earlier, more brilliant colour. We all know were getting older. The person looking back at you in the mirror is certainly older and no longer the teenager they once were. In a society where appearance continues to be an important factor of success and relationships, you owe it to yourself to preserve a youthful smile. The magic of a teeth whitening dentist can restore your smile to that original bright white colour. There are several good reasons you should consider the teeth whitening services of a professional dentist.
So many people are self-conscious to let their smiles show. Bright smiles often become a reminiscence of the past due to age, coffee, or tea. However, there are many teeth whitening techniques available today to bring back your pearly whites. Here are quite a few options for the person who wants to enjoy a whiter, brighter smile. Laser teeth whitening is an option that has increased in popularity in recent years.
One of the most popular options is the Zoom Teeth Whitening procedure, which can make your teeth up nine shades lighter. Laser teeth whitening can give you a brighter smile, but you can look forward to a fairly high price tag. This procedure can also be fairly time-consuming. With correct care and regular touch-ups, your new bright smile should last for years. On the other hand coffee, tea, red wine, blueberries and other foods can take their toll on your pearly whites. Avoid these foods and cigarettes to keep your smile looking its best.
After a professional in-office treatment, over the counter products can be used every few months to get rid of new surface stains. Teeth whitening is from time to time called teeth bleaching. It refers to the process of removing the stains off your teeth to disclose their whiteness or to bring back their shine or luster. Normally, the tooth whitening procedure entails the use of whiteners or chemicals that are for oxidation, such as carbamide peroxide and hydrogen peroxide.
These two known teeth whiteners can get into the deeper layers of your teeth, carefully eliminating the hard-to-remove stains on your teeth. Depending on the harshness of the discoloration, the teeth whitening or teeth bleaching process can last for months. One of the most successful teeth whitening treatment options is the Zoom whitening, which is performed at a local salon or at your home. The process is very quick and simple. It begins with a short grounding to cover your lips and gums so that only your teeth are exposed to be whitened.
The Zoom clinician will then apply the proprietary Zoom whitening gel which was designed to be used specifically with the Zoom light. The light and gel will then work jointly to gently penetrate your teeth and break off stains and discoloration, leaving your teeth clean and gorgeous.
Okay, a teeth whitening specialist doesn't have a source of youth nor are they the tooth fairy. What would you call someone though who can make your smile look years younger in only one visit? It's possible to re-establish your teeth back to their earlier, more brilliant colour. We all know were getting older. The person looking back at you in the mirror is certainly older and no longer the teenager they once were. In a society where appearance continues to be an important factor of success and relationships, you owe it to yourself to preserve a youthful smile. The magic of a teeth whitening dentist can restore your smile to that original bright white colour. There are several good reasons you should consider the teeth whitening services of a professional dentist.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
West Virginia Bad Credit Car Loans Time to Have a Personal Car
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：124 UpdateTime：2008-10-18 23:43:59
Almost every person in this world desire to owe a car however due to lack of finance and bad credit records most of the people in West Virginia sacrifice their dreams and desires. One of the main reasons for this is their wrong opinion about bad credit loans which is that bad credit scorers are not entertained by financial institutions. However, the reality is that there are several financial institutions which are ready to cater the needs of all the people with bad credit. Most of the financial institutions in West Virginia have designed a particular loan known as car loans with bad credit for those people with bad credit history. These loans are very easy to avail if you are residing in Bridgeport, Bethany, Charles Town, Dunbar, Fairmont, Grafton, Huntington, Wayne, and Pleasant Valley etc.
Types of Bad Credit Car Loans
Therere two kinds of bad credit car loans available in West Virginia which include credit car loans of the secured nature and unsecured poor credit car loans. Secured bad credit car loans To avail of secured bad credit car loans borrowers have to pledge collateral as a security in lieu of the loan amount they borrow. Through this type of loan borrowers can avail a huge sum of money at a very low rate of interest where-in the repayment duration is even longer. However, if borrower fails to make prompt payments then the loan lender can forfeit the security placed by the borrower. So, it is necessary for the borrower to make timely payments. Unsecured bad credit car loans To avail unsecured bad credit car loans borrowers do not have to pledge collateral. In this case the loan amount is very low and the interest rates re higher with repayment duration being small. For people who need quick money, unsecured car loans with bad credit are one of the best solutions. Mostly, the rate of interest on both the West Virginia bad credit car loans is higher because bad credit factor is associated with them. However, this must not be the only reason for every bad credit scorer to be depressed instead this is the reason for celebration because despite of the bad credit it gives them complete power to purchase their dream car. In addition, they have a great chance of improving their credit rating if they make repayments on time.
Conclusion
In order to avail West Virginia car loans, internet is one of the best tools where-in you can not only get quick loans but at reasonable rate. Most of the loan lenders in West Virginia offer online bad credit car loans. With the help of online calculators you can easily get quick quotes from many loan lenders. These quotes can be compared in order to get one of the best deals that suit your requirement. However, another important aspect when availing a loan online and that is to check if the loan lender is legitimate or not. Besides online loan lenders, you can even approach car dealerships, credit unions and banks to obtain a bad credit car loan in West Virginia. So, through the funds available from these loans you can easily fulfill your dream of owning a car.
Almost every person in this world desire to owe a car however due to lack of finance and bad credit records most of the people in West Virginia sacrifice their dreams and desires. One of the main reasons for this is their wrong opinion about bad credit loans which is that bad credit scorers are not entertained by financial institutions. However, the reality is that there are several financial institutions which are ready to cater the needs of all the people with bad credit. Most of the financial institutions in West Virginia have designed a particular loan known as car loans with bad credit for those people with bad credit history. These loans are very easy to avail if you are residing in Bridgeport, Bethany, Charles Town, Dunbar, Fairmont, Grafton, Huntington, Wayne, and Pleasant Valley etc.
Types of Bad Credit Car Loans
Therere two kinds of bad credit car loans available in West Virginia which include credit car loans of the secured nature and unsecured poor credit car loans. Secured bad credit car loans To avail of secured bad credit car loans borrowers have to pledge collateral as a security in lieu of the loan amount they borrow. Through this type of loan borrowers can avail a huge sum of money at a very low rate of interest where-in the repayment duration is even longer. However, if borrower fails to make prompt payments then the loan lender can forfeit the security placed by the borrower. So, it is necessary for the borrower to make timely payments. Unsecured bad credit car loans To avail unsecured bad credit car loans borrowers do not have to pledge collateral. In this case the loan amount is very low and the interest rates re higher with repayment duration being small. For people who need quick money, unsecured car loans with bad credit are one of the best solutions. Mostly, the rate of interest on both the West Virginia bad credit car loans is higher because bad credit factor is associated with them. However, this must not be the only reason for every bad credit scorer to be depressed instead this is the reason for celebration because despite of the bad credit it gives them complete power to purchase their dream car. In addition, they have a great chance of improving their credit rating if they make repayments on time.
Conclusion
In order to avail West Virginia car loans, internet is one of the best tools where-in you can not only get quick loans but at reasonable rate. Most of the loan lenders in West Virginia offer online bad credit car loans. With the help of online calculators you can easily get quick quotes from many loan lenders. These quotes can be compared in order to get one of the best deals that suit your requirement. However, another important aspect when availing a loan online and that is to check if the loan lender is legitimate or not. Besides online loan lenders, you can even approach car dealerships, credit unions and banks to obtain a bad credit car loan in West Virginia. So, through the funds available from these loans you can easily fulfill your dream of owning a car.
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