Was this why Dumbledore would no longer meet Harry's eyes? Did he expect to see Voldemort staring out of them, afraid, perhaps, that their vivid green might turn suddenly to scarlet, with catlike slits for pupils? Harry remembered how the snakelike face of Voldemort had once forced itself out of the back of Professor Quirrell's head and ran his hand over the back of his own, wondering what it would feel like if Voldemort burst out of his skull.
He felt dirty, contaminated, as though he were carrying some deadly germ, unworthy to sit on the Underground train back from the hospital with innocent, clean people whose minds and bodies were free of the taint of Voldemort ... he had not merely seen the snake, he had been the snake, he knew it now ...
A truly terrible thought then occurred to him, a memory bobbing to the surface of his mind, one that made his insides writhe and squirm like serpents.
What's he after, apart from followers?
Stuff he can only get by stealth ... like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time.
I'm the weapon, Harry thought, and it was as though poison were pumping through his veins, chilling him, bringing him out in a sweat as he swayed with the train through the dark tunnel. I'm the one Voldemort's trying to use, that's why they've got guards around me everywhere I go, it's not for my protection, it's for other people's, only it's not working, they can't have someone on me all the time at Hogwarts ... I did attack Mr. Weasley last night, it was me. Voldemort made me do it and he could be inside me, listening to my thought's right now—’
‘Are you all right, Harry, dear?’ whispered Mrs. Weasley, leaning across Ginny to speak to him as the train rattled along through its dark tunnel. ‘You don't look very well. Are you feeling sick?’
They were all watching him. He shook his head violently and stared up at an advertisement for home insurance.
‘Harry, dear, are you sure you're all right?’ said Mrs. Weasley in a worried voice, as they walked around the unkempt patch of grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place. ‘You look ever so pale ... are you sure you slept this morning? You go upstairs to bed right now and you can have a couple of hours of sleep before dinner, all right?’
He nodded; here was a ready-made excuse not to talk to any of the others, which was precisely what he wanted, so when she opened the front door he hurried straight past the trolls-leg umbrella stand, up the stairs and into his and Ron's bedroom.
Here, he began to pace up and down, past the two beds and Phineas Nigellus's empty picture frame, his brain teeming and seething with questions and ever more dreadful ideas.
How had he become a snake? Perhaps he was an Animagus ... no, he couldn't be, he would know ... perhaps Voldemort was an Animagus ... yes, thought Harry, that would fit, he would turn into a snake of course ... and when he's possessing me, then we both transform ... that still doesn't explain how I got to London and back to my bed in the space of about five minutes ... but then Voldemort's about the most powerful wizard in the world, apart from Dumbledore, it's probably no problem at all to him to transport people like that.
And then, with a terrible stab of panic, he thought, but this is insane—if Voldemort's possessing me, I'm giving him a clear view into the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix right now! He'll know who's in the Order and where Sirius is ... and I've heard loads of stuff I shouldn't have, everything Sirius told me the first night I was here ...
There was only one thing for it: he would have to leave Grimmauld Place straightaway. He would spend Christmas at Hogwarts without the others, which would keep them safe over the holidays at least ... but no, that wouldn't do, there were still plenty of people at Hogwarts to maim and injure. What if it was Seamus, Dean or Neville next time? He stopped his pacing and stood staring at Phineas Nigellus's empty frame. A leaden sensation was settling in the pit of his stomach. He had no alternative: he was going to have to return to Privet Drive, cut himself off from other wizards entirely.
Well, if he had to do it, he thought, there was no point hanging around. Trying with all his might not to think how the Dursleys were going to react when they found him on their doorstep six months earlier than they had expected, he strode over to his trunk, slammed the lid shut and locked it, then glanced around automatically for Hedwig before remembering that she was still at Hogwarts—well, her cage would be one less thing to carry—he seized one end of his trunk and had dragged it halfway towards the door when a snide voice said, ‘Running away, are we?’
He looked around. Phineas Nigellus had appeared on the canvas of his portrait and was leaning against the frame, watching Harry with an amused expression on his face.
‘Not running away, no,’ said Harry shortly, dragging his trunk a few more feet across the room.
‘I thought,’ said Phineas Nigellus, stroking his pointed beard, ‘that to belong in Gryffindor house you were supposed to be brave? It looks to me as though you would have been better off in my own house. We Slytherins are brave, yes, but not stupid. For instance, given the choice, we will always choose to save our own necks.’
‘It's not my own neck I'm saving,’ said Harry tersely, tugging the trunk over a patch of particularly uneven, moth-eaten carpet right in front of the door.
‘Oh, I see,’ said Phineas Nigellus, still stroking his beard, ‘this is no cowardly flight—you are being noble.’
Harry ignored him. His hand was on the doorknob when Phineas Nigellus said lazily, ‘I have a message for you from Albus Dumbledore.’
Harry span round.
‘What is it?’
‘"Stay where you are.” ’
‘I haven't moved!’ said Harry, his hand still upon the doorknob. ‘So what's the message?’
‘I have just given it to you, dolt,’ said Phineas Nigellus smoothly. ‘Dumbledore says, “Stay where you are.”’
‘Why?’ said Harry eagerly, dropping the end of his trunk. ‘Why does he want me to stay? What else did he say?’
‘Nothing whatsoever,’ said Phineas Nigellus, raising a thin black eyebrow as though he found Harry impertinent.
Harry's temper rose to the surface like a snake rearing from long grass. He was exhausted, he was confused beyond measure, he had experienced terror, relief, then terror again in the last twelve hours, and still Dumbledore did not want to talk to him!
‘So that's it, is it?’ he said loudly. ‘"Stay where you are”? That's all anyone could tell me after I got attacked by those dementors, too! Just stay put while the grown-ups sort it out, Harry! We won't bother telling you anything, though, because your tiny little brain might not be able to cope with it!’
‘You know,’ said Phineas Nigellus, even more loudly than Harry, ‘this is precisely why I loathed being a teacher! Young people are so infernally convinced that they are absolutely right about everything. Has it not occurred to you, my poor puffed-up popinjay, that there might be an excellent reason why the Headmaster of Hogwarts is not confiding every tiny detail of his plans to you? Have you never paused, while feeling hard-done-by, to note that following Dumbledore's orders has never yet led you into harm? No.No, like all young people, you are quite sure that you alone feel and think, you alone recognise danger, you alone are the only one clever enough to realise what the Dark Lord may be planning—’
‘He is planning something to do with me, then?’ said Harry swiftly.
‘Did I say that?’ said Phineas Nigellus, idly examining his silk gloves. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have better things to do than listen to adolescent agonising ... good-day to you.’
And he strolled to the edge of his frame and out of sight.
‘Fine, go then!’ Harry bellowed at the empty frame. ‘And tell Dumbledore thanks for nothing!’
The empty canvas remained silent. Fuming, Harry dragged his trunk back to the foot of his bed, then threw himself face down on the moth-eaten covers, his eyes shut, his body heavy and aching.
He felt as though he had journeyed for miles and miles ... it seemed impossible that less than twenty-four hours ago Cho Chang had been approaching him under the mistletoe ... he was so tired ... he was scared to sleep ... yet he did not know how long he could fight it ... Dumbledore had told him to stay ... that must mean he was allowed to sleep ... but he was scared ... what if it happened again?
He was sinking into shadows ...
It was as though a film in his head had been waiting to start. He was walking down a deserted corridor towards a plain black door, past rough stone walls, torches, and an open doorway on to a flight of stone steps leading downstairs on the left ...
He reached the black door but could not open it... he stood gazing at it, desperate for entry ... something he wanted with all his heart lay beyond ... a prize beyond his dreams ... if only his scar would stop prickling ... then he would be able to think more clearly ...
‘Harry,’ said Ron's voice, from far, far away, ‘Mum says dinners ready, but she'll save you something if you want to stay in bed.’
Harry opened his eyes, but Ron had already left the room.
He doesn't want to be on his own with me, Harry thought. Not after what he heard Moody say.
He supposed none of them would want him there any more, now that they knew what was inside him.
He would not go down to dinner; he would not inflict his company on them. He turned over on to his other side and, after a while, dropped back off to sleep. He woke much later, in the early hours of the morning, his insides aching with hunger and Ron snoring in the next bed. Squinting around the room, he saw the dark outline of Phineas Nigellus standing again in his portrait and it occurred to Harry that Dumbledore had probably sent Phineas Nigellus to watch over him, in case he attacked somebody else.
The feeling of being unclean intensified. He half-wished he had not obeyed Dumbledore ... if this was how life was going to be for him in Grimmauld Place from now on, maybe he would be better off in Privet Drive after all.
Everybody else spent the following morning putting up Christmas decorations. Harry could not remember Sirius ever being in such a good mood; he was actually singing carols, apparently delighted that he was to have company over Christmas. Harry could hear his voice echoing up through the floor in the cold drawing room where he was sitting alone, watching the sky growing whiter outside the windows, threatening snow, all the time feeling a savage pleasure that he was giving the others the opportunity to keep talking about him, as they were bound to be doing. When he heard Mrs. Weasley calling his name softly up the stairs around lunchtime, he retreated further upstairs and ignored her.
Around six o'clock in the evening the doorbell rang and Mrs. Black started screaming again. Assuming that Mundungus or some other Order member had come to call, Harry merely settled himself more comfortably against the wall of Buckbeak's room where he was hiding, trying to ignore how hungry he felt as he fed dead rats to the hippogriff. It came as a slight shock when somebody hammered hard on the door a few minutes later.
‘I know you're in there,’ said Hermione's voice. ‘Will you please come out? I want to talk to you.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Harry asked her, pulling open the door as Buckbeak resumed his scratching at the straw-strewn floor for any fragments of rat he may have dropped. ‘I thought you were skiing with your mum and dad?’
‘Well, to tell the truth, skiing's not really my thing,’ said Hermione. ‘So, I've come here for Christmas.’ There was snow in her hair and her face was pink with cold. ‘But don't tell Ron. I told him skiing's really good because he kept laughing so much. Mum and Dad are a bit disappointed, but I've told them that everyone who is serious about the exams is staying at Hogwarts to study. They want me to do well, they'll understand. Anyway,’ she said briskly, ‘let's go to your bedroom, Ron's mum has lit a fire in there and she's sent up sandwiches.’
Harry followed her back to the second floor. When he entered the bedroom, he was rather surprised to see both Ron and Ginny waiting for them, sitting on Ron's bed.
‘I came on the Knight Bus,’ said Hermione airily, pulling off her jacket before Harry had time to speak. ‘Dumbledore told me what had happened first thing this morning, but I had to wait for term to end officially before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under her nose, even though Dumbledore told her Mr. Weasley was in St. Mungo's and he'd given you all permission to visit. So ...’
She sat down next to Ginny, and the two girls and Ron all looked up at Harry.
‘How're you feeling?’ asked Hermione.
‘Fine,’ said Harry stiffly.
‘Oh, don't lie, Harry,’ she said impatiently. ‘Ron and Ginny say you've been hiding from everyone since you got back from St. Mungo's.’
‘They do, do they?’ said Harry, glaring at Ron and Ginny. Ron looked down at his feet but Ginny seemed quite unabashed.
‘Well, you have!’ she said. ‘And you won't look at any of us!’
‘It's you lot who won't look at me!’ said Harry angrily.
‘Maybe you're taking it in turns to look, and keep missing each other,’ suggested Hermione, the corners of her mouth twitching.
‘Very funny,’ snapped Harry, turning away.
‘Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood,’ said Hermione sharply. ‘Look, the others have told me what you overheard last night on the Extendable Ears—’
‘Yeah?’ growled Harry, his hands deep in his pockets as he watched the snow now falling thickly outside. ‘All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it.’
‘We wanted to talk toyou, Harry,’ said Ginny, ‘but as you've been hiding ever since we got back—’
‘I didn't want anyone to talk to me,’ said Harry, who was feeling more and more nettled.
‘Well, that was a bit stupid of you,’ said Ginny angrily, ‘seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels.’
Harry remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he wheeled round.
‘I forgot,’ he said.
‘Lucky you,’ said Ginny coolly.
‘I'm sorry,’ Harry said, and he meant it. ‘So ... so, do you think I'm being possessed, then?’
‘Well, can you remember everything you've been doing?’ Ginny asked. ‘Are there big blank periods where you don't know what you've been up to?’
Harry racked his brains.
‘No,’ he said.
‘Then You-Know-Who hasn't ever possessed you,’ said Ginny simply. ‘When he did it to me, I couldn't remember what I'd been doing for hours at a time. I'd find myself somewhere and not know how I got there.’
Harry hardly dared believe her, yet his heart was lightening almost in spite of himself.
‘That dream I had about your dad and the snake, though—’
‘Harry, you've had these dreams before,’ Hermione said. ‘You had flashes of what Voldemort was up to last year.’
‘This was different,’ said Harry, shaking his head. ‘I was inside that snake. It was like I was the snake ... what if Voldemort somehow transported me to London—?’
‘One day,’ said Hermione, sounding thoroughly exasperated, ‘you'll read Hogwarts: A History, and perhaps it will remind you that you can't Apparate or Disapparaie inside Hogwarts. Even Voldemort couldn't just make you fly out of your dormitory, Harry.’
‘You didn't leave your bed, mate,’ said Ron. ‘I saw you thrashing around in your sleep for at least a minute before we could wake you up.’
Harry started pacing up and down the room again, thinking. What they were all saying was not only comforting, it made sense ... without really thinking, he took a sandwich from the plate on the bed and crammed it hungrily into his mouth.
I'm not the weapon after all, thought Harry. His heart swelled with happiness and relief, and he felt like joining in as they heard Sirius tramping past their door towards Buckbeak's room, singing ‘God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs’ at the top of his voice.
How could he have dreamed of returning to Privet Drive for Christmas? Sirius's delight at having the house full again, and especially at having Harry back, was infectious. He was no longer their sullen host of the summer; now he seemed determined that everyone should enjoy themselves as much, if not more than they would have done at Hogwarts, and he worked tirelessly in the run-up to Christmas Day, cleaning and decorating with their help, so that by the time they all went to bed on Christmas Eve the house was barely recognisable. The tarnished chandeliers were no longer hung with cobwebs but with garlands of holly and gold and silver streamers; magical snow glittered in heaps over the threadbare carpets; a great Christmas tree, obtained by Mundungus and decorated with live fairies, blocked Sirius's family tree from view, and even the stuffed elf-heads on the hall wall wore Father Christmas hats and beards.
Harry awoke on Christmas morning to find a stack of presents at the foot of his bed and Ron already halfway through opening his own, rather larger, pile.
‘Good haul this year,’ he informed Harry through a cloud of paper. ‘Thanks for the Broom Compass, it's excellent; beats Hermione's—she got me a homework planner—’
Harry sorted through his presents and found one with Hermione's handwriting on it. She had given him, too, a book that resembled a diary except that every time he opened a page it said aloud things like: ‘Do it today or later you'll pay!’
Sirius and Lupin had given Harry a set of excellent books entitled Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts, which had superb, moving colour illustrations of all the counter-jinxes and hexes it described. Harry flicked through the first volume eagerly; he could see it was going to be highly useful in his plans for the DA. Hagrid had sent a furry brown wallet that had fangs, which were presumably supposed to be an anti-theft device, but unfortunately prevented Harry putting any money in without getting his fingers ripped off. Tonks's present was a small, working model of a Firebolt, which Harry watched fly around the room, wishing he still had his full-size version; Ron had given him an enormous box of Every-Flavour Beans, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley the usual hand-knitted jumper and some mince pies, and Dobby a truly dreadful painting that Harry suspected had been done by the elf himself. He had just turned it upside-down to see whether it looked better that way when, with a loud crack, Fred and George Apparated at the foot of his bed.
‘Merry Christmas,’ said George. ‘Don't go downstairs for a bit.’
‘Why not?’ said Ron.
‘Mum's crying again,’ said Fred heavily. ‘Percy sent back his Christmas jumper.’
‘Without a note,’ added George. ‘Hasn't asked how Dad is or visited him or anything.’
‘We tried to comfort her,’ said Fred, moving around the bed to look at Harry's portrait. ‘Told her Percy's nothing more than a humungous pile of rat droppings.’
‘Didn't work,’ said George, helping himself to a Chocolate Frog. ‘So Lupin took over. Best let him cheer her up before we go down for breakfast, I reckon.’
‘What's that supposed to be, anyway?’ asked Fred, squinting at Dobbys painting. ‘Looks like a gibbon with two black eyes.’
‘It's Harry!’ said George, pointing at the back of the picture, ‘says so on the back!’
‘Good likeness,’ said Fred, grinning. Harry threw his new homework diary at him; it hit the wall opposite and fell to the floor where it said happily: ‘If you've dotted the “i"s and crossed the “t"s then you may do whatever you please!’
They got up and dressed. They could hear the various inhabitants of the house calling ‘Merry Christmas’ to one another. On their way downstairs they met Hermione.
Thanks for the book, Harry,’ she said happily. ‘I've been wanting that New Theory of Numerology for ages! And that perfume's really unusual, Ron.’
‘No problem,’ said Ron. ‘Who's that for, anyway?’ he added, nodding at the neatly wrapped present she was carrying.
‘Kreacher,’ said Hermione brightly.
‘It had better not be clothes!’ Ron warned her. ‘You know what Sirius said: Kreacher knows too much, we can't set him free!’
‘It isn't clothes,’ said Hermione, ‘although if I had my way I'd certainly give him something to wear other than that filthy old rag. No, it's a patchwork quilt, I thought it would brighten up his bedroom.’
‘What bedroom?’ said Harry, dropping his voice to a whisper as they were passing the portrait of Sirius's mother.
‘Well, Sirius says it's not so much a bedroom, more a kind of—den,’ said Hermione. ‘Apparently he sleeps under the boiler in that cupboard off the kitchen.’
Mrs. Weasley was the only person in the basement when they arrived there. She was standing at the stove and sounded as though she had a bad head cold as she wished them ‘Merry Christmas', and they all averted their eyes.
‘So, is this Kreacher's bedroom?’ said Ron, strolling over to a dingy door in the corner opposite the pantry. Harry had never seen it open.
‘Yes,’ said Hermione, now sounding a little nervous. ‘Er ... I think we'd better knock.’
Ron rapped on the door with his knuckles but there was no reply.
‘He must be sneaking around upstairs,’ he said, and without further ado pulled open the door. ‘Urgh!’
Harry peered inside. Most of the cupboard was taken up with a very large and old-fashioned boiler, but in the foot of space underneath the pipes Kreacher had made himself something that looked like a nest. A jumble of assorted rags and smelly old blankets were piled on the floor and the small dent in the middle of it showed where Kreacher curled up to sleep every night. Here and there among the material were stale bread crusts and mouldy old bits of cheese. In a far corner glinted small objects and coins that Harry guessed Kreacher had saved, magpie-like, from Sirius's purge of the house, and he had also managed to retrieve the silver-framed family photographs that Sirius had thrown away over the summer. Their glass might be shattered, but still the little black-and-white people inside them peered up at him haughtily, including—he felt a little jolt in his stomach—the dark, heavy-lidded woman whose trial he had witnessed in Dumbledore's Pensieve: Bellatrix Lestrange. By the looks of it, hers was Kreacher's favourite photograph; he had placed it to the fore of all the others and had mended the glass clumsily with Spellotape.
‘I think I'll just leave his present here,’ said Hermione, laying the package neatly in the middle of the depression in the rags and blankets and closing the door quietly. ‘He'll find it later, that'll be fine.’
‘Come to think of it,’ said Sirius, emerging from the pantry carrying a large turkey as they closed the cupboard door, ‘has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?’
‘I haven't seen him since the night we came back here,’ said Harry. ‘You were ordering him out of the kitchen.’
‘Yeah ...’ said Sirius, frowning. ‘You know, I think that's the last time I saw him, too ... he must be hiding upstairs somewhere.’
‘He couldn't have left, could he?’ said Harry. ‘I mean, when you said “out", maybe he thought you meant get out of the house?’
‘No, no, house-elves can't leave unless they're given clothes. They're tied to their family's house,’ said Sirius.
‘They can leave the house if they really want to,’ Harry contradicted him. ‘Dobby did, he left the Malfoy's’ to give me warnings two years ago. He had to punish himself afterwards, but he still managed it.’
Sirius looked slightly disconcerted for a moment, then said, ‘I'll look for him later, I expect I'll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother's old bloomers or something. Of course, he might have crawled into the airing cupboard and died ... but I mustn't get my hopes up.’
Fred, George and Ron laughed; Hermione, however, looked reproachful.
Once they had eaten their Christmas lunch, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione were planning to pay Mr. Weasley another visit, escorted by Mad-Eye and Lupin. Mundungus turned up in time for Christmas pudding and trifle, having managed to ‘borrow’ a car for the occasion, as the Underground did not run on Christmas Day. The car, which Harry doubted very much had been taken with the consent of its owner, had been enlarged with a spell like the Weasleys’ old Ford Anglia had once been. Although normally proportioned outside, ten people with Mundungus driving were able to fit into it quite comfortably. Mrs. Weasley hesitated before getting inside—Harry knew her disapproval of Mundungus was battling with her dislike of travelling without magic—but, finally, the cold outside and her children's pleading triumphed, and she settled herself into the back seat between Fred and Bill with good grace.
The journey to St Mungo's was quite quick as there was very little traffic on the roads. A small trickle of witches and wizards was creeping furtively up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital. Harry and the others got out of the car, and Mundungus drove off around the corner to wait for them. They strolled casually towards the window where the dummy in green nylon stood, then, one by one, stepped through the glass.
The reception area looked pleasantly festive: the crystal orbs that illuminated St. Mungo's had been coloured red and gold to become gigantic, glowing Christmas baubles; holly hung around every doorway; and shining white Christmas trees covered in magical snow and icicles glittered in every corner, each one topped with a gleaming gold star. It was less crowded than the last time they had been there, although halfway across the room Harry found himself shunted aside by a witch with a satsuma jammed up her left nostril.
‘Family argument, eh?’ smirked the blonde witch behind the desk. ‘You're the third I've seen today ... Spell Damage, fourth floor.’
They found Mr Weasley propped up in bed with the remains of his turkey dinner on a tray on his lap and a rather sheepish expression on his face.
‘Everything all right, Arthur?’ asked Mrs. Weasley, after they had all greeted Mr. Weasley and handed over their presents.
‘Fine, fine,’ said Mr. Weasley, a little too heartily. ‘You—er—haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?’
‘No,’ said Mrs Weasley suspiciously, ‘why?’
‘Nothing, nothing,’ said Mr. Weasley airily, starting to unwrap his pile of gifts. ‘Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Harry— this is absolutely wonderful!’ For he had just opened Harry's gift of fuse-wire and screwdrivers.
Mrs. Weasley did not seem entirely satisfied with Mr. Weasley's answer. As her husband leaned over to shake Harry's hand, she peered at the bandaging under his nightshirt.
‘Arthur,’ she said, with a snap in her voice like a mousetrap, ‘you've had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow.’
‘What?’ said Mr Weasley, looking rather frightened and pulling the bed covers higher up his chest. ‘No, no—it's nothing—it's—I—’
He seemed to deflate under Mrs. Weasley's piercing gaze.
‘Well—now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea ... he's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in ... um ... complementary medicine ... I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies ... well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on—on Muggle wounds—’
Mrs. Weasley let out an ominous noise somewhere between a shriek and a snarl. Lupin strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Mr. Weasley; Bill muttered something about getting himself a cup of tea and Fred and George leapt up to accompany him, grinning.
‘Do you mean to tell me,’ said Mrs. Weasley, her voice growing louder with every word and apparently unaware that her fellow visitors were scurrying for cover, ‘that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?’
‘Not messing about, Molly, dear,’ said Mr. Weasley imploringly, ‘it was just—just something Pye and I thought we'd try—only, most unfortunately—well, with these particular kinds of wounds—it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hoped—’
‘Meaning?’
‘Well ... well, I don't know whether you know what—what stitches are?’
‘It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together,’ said Mrs. Weasley with a snort of mirthless laughter, ‘but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid —’
‘I fancy a cup of tea, too,’ said Harry, jumping to his feet.
Hermione, Ron and Ginny almost sprinted to the door with him. As it swung closed behind them, they heard Mrs. Weasley shriek, ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?’
‘Typical Dad,’ said Ginny, shaking her head as they set off up the corridor. ‘Stitches ... I ask you ...’
‘Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds,’ said Hermione fairly. ‘I suppose something in that snake's venom dissolves them or something. I wonder where the tearoom is?’
‘Fifth floor,’ said Harry, remembering the sign over the welcomewitch's desk.
They walked along the corridor, through a set of double doors and found a rickety staircase lined with more portraits of brutal-looking Healers. As they climbed it, the various Healers called out to them, diagnosing odd complaints and suggesting horrible remedies. Ron was seriously affronted when a medieval wizard called out that he clearly had a bad case of spattergroit.
‘And what's that supposed to be?’ he asked angrily, as the Healer pursued him through six more portraits, shoving the occupants out of the way.
’ ‘Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and more gruesome even than you are now—’
‘Watch who you're calling gruesome!’ said Ron, his ears turning red.
‘—the only remedy is to take the liver of a toad, bind it tight about your throat, stand naked at the full moon in a barrel of eels’ eyes—’
‘I have not got spattergroit!’
‘But the unsightly blemishes upon your visage, young master—’
‘They're freckles!’ said Ron furiously. ‘Now get back in your own picture and leave me alone!’
He rounded on the others, who were all keeping determinedly straight faces.
‘What floor's this?’
‘I think it's the fifth,’ said Hermione.
‘Nah, it's the fourth,’ said Harry, ‘one more—’
But as he stepped on to the landing he came to an abrupt halt, staring at the small window set into the double doors that marked the start of a corridor signposted SPELL DAMAGE. A man was peering out at them all with his nose pressed against the glass. He had wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes and a broad vacant smile that revealed dazzlingly white teeth.
‘Blimey!’ said Ron, also staring at the man.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ said Hermione suddenly, sounding breathless. ‘Professor Lockhart.’
Their ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher pushed open the doors and moved towards them, wearing a long lilac dressing gown.
‘Well, hello there!’ he said. ‘I expect you'd like my autograph, would you?’
‘Hasn't changed much, has he?’ Harry muttered to Ginny, who grinned.
‘Er—how are you, Professor?’ said Ron, sounding slightly guilty. It had been Ron's malfunctioning wand that had damaged Professor Lockhart's memory so badly that he had landed in St. Mungo's in the first place, though as Lockhart had been attempting to permanently wipe Harry and Ron's memories at the time, Harry's sympathy was limited.
‘I'm very well indeed, thank you!’ said Lockhart exuberantly, palling a rather battered peacock-feather quill from his pocket. ‘Now, how many autographs would you like? I can do joined-up writing now, you know!’
‘Er—we don't want any at the moment, thanks,’ said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry, who asked, ‘Professor, should you be wandering around the corridors? Shouldn't you be in a ward?’
The smile faded slowly from Lockhart's face. For a few moments he gazed intently at Harry, then he said, ‘Haven't we met?’
‘Er ... yeah, we have,’ said Harry. ‘You used to teach us at Hogwarts, remember?’
‘Teach?’ repeated Lockhart, looking faintly unsettled. ‘Me? Did I?’
And then the smile reappeared upon his face so suddenly it was rather alarming.
‘Taught you everything you know, I expect, did I? Well, how about those autographs, then? Shall we say a round dozen, you can give them to all your little friends then and nobody will be left out!’
But just then a head poked out of a door at the far end of the corridor and a voice called, ‘Gilderoy, you naughty boy, where have you wandered off to?’
A motherly-looking Healer wearing a tinsel wreath in her hair came bustling up the corridor, smiling warmly at Harry and the others.
‘Oh, Gilderoy, you've got visitors! How lovely, and on Christmas Day, too! Do you know, he never gets visitors, poor lamb, and I can't think why, he's such a sweetie, aren't you?’
‘We're doing autographs!’ Gilderoy told the Healer with another glittering smile. ‘They want loads of them, won't take no for an answer! I just hope we've got enough photographs!’
‘Listen to him,’ said the Healer, taking Lockhart's arm and beaming fondly at him as though he were a precocious two-year-old. ‘He was rather well known a few years ago; we very much hope that this liking for giving autographs is a sign that his memory might be starting to come back. Will you step this way? He's in a closed ward, you know, he must have slipped out while I was bringing in the Christmas presents, the door's usually kept locked ... not that he's dangerous! But,’ she lowered her voice to a whisper, ‘he's a bit of a danger to himself, bless him ... doesn't know who he is, you see, wanders off and can't remember how to get back ... it is nice of you to have come to see him.’
‘Er,’ said Ron, gesturing uselessly at the floor above, ‘actually, we were just—er—’
But the Healer was smiling expectantly at them, and Ron's feeble mutter of ‘going to have a cup of tea’ trailed away into nothingness. They looked at each other helplessly, then followed Lockhart and his Healer along the corridor.
‘Let's not stay long,’ Ron said quietly.
The Healer pointed her wand at the door of the Janus Thickey Ward and muttered, ‘Alohomora.’ The door swung open and she led the way inside, keeping a firm grasp on Gilderoy's arm until she had settled him into an armchair beside his bed.
‘This is our long-term residents’ ward,’ she informed Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny in a low voice. ‘For permanent spell damage, you know. Of course, with intensive remedial potions and charms and a bit of luck, we can produce some improvement. Gilderoy does seem to be getting back some sense of himself; and we've seen a real improvement in Mr. Bode, he seems to be regaining the power of speech very well, though he isn't speaking any language we recognise yet. Well, I must finish giving out the Christmas presents, I'll leave you all to chat.’
Harry looked around. The ward bore unmistakeable signs of being a permanent home to its residents. They had many more personal effects around their beds than in Mr Weasley's ward; the wall around Gilderoy's headboard, for instance, was papered with pictures of himself, all beaming toothily and waving at the new arrivals. He had autographed many of them to himself in disjointed, childish writing. The moment he had been deposited in his chair by the Healer, Gilderoy pulled a fresh stack of photographs towards him, seized a quill and started signing them all feverishly.
‘You can put them in envelopes,’ he said to Ginny, throwing the signed pictures into her lap one by one as he finished them. ‘I am not forgotten, you know, no, I still receive a very great deal of fan mail ... Gladys Gudgeon writes weekly ... I just wish I knew why ...’ He paused, looking faintly puzzled, then beamed again and returned to his signing with renewed vigour. ‘I suspect it is simply my good looks ...’
A sallow-skinned, mournful-looking wizard lay in the bed opposite staring at the ceiling; he was mumbling to himself and seemed quite unaware of anything around him. Two beds along was a woman whose entire head was covered in fur; Harry remembered something similar happening to Hermione during their second year, although fortunately the damage, in her case, had not been permanent. At the far end of the ward flowery curtains had been drawn around two beds to give the occupants and their visitors some privacy.
‘Here you are, Agnes,’ said the Healer brightly to the furry-faced woman, handing her a small pile of Christmas presents. ‘See, not forgotten, are you? And your son's sent an owl to say he's visiting tonight, so that's nice, isn't it?’
Agnes gave several loud barks.
‘And look, Broderick, you've been sent a pot plant and a lovely calendar with a different fancy hippogriff for each month; they'll brighten things up, won't they?’ said the Healer, bustling along to the mumbling man, setting a rather ugly plant with long, swaying tentacles on the bedside cabinet and fixing the calendar to the wall with her wand. ‘And—oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?’
Harry's head span round. The curtains had been drawn back from the two beds at the end of the ward and two visitors were walking back down the aisle between the beds: a formidable-looking old witch wearing a long green dress, a moth-eaten fox fur and a pointed hat decorated with what was unmistakeably a stuffed vulture and, trailing behind her looking thoroughly depressed—Neville.
With a sudden rush of understanding, Harry realised who the people in the end beds must be. He cast around wildly for some means of distracting the others so that Neville could leave the ward unnoticed and unquestioned, but Ron had also looked up at the sound of the name ‘Longbottom', and before Harry could stop him had called out, ‘Neville!’
Neville jumped and cowered as though a bullet had narrowly missed him.
‘It's us, Neville!’ said Ron brightly, getting to his feet. ‘Have you seen—? Lockhart's here! Who've you been visiting?’
‘Friends of yours, Neville, dear?’ said Neville's grandmother graciously, bearing down upon them all.
Neville looked as though he would rather be anywhere in the world but here. A dull purple flush was creeping up his plump face and he was not making eye contact with any of them.
‘Ah, yes,’ said his grandmother, looking closely at Harry and sticking out a shrivelled, clawlike hand for him to shake. ‘Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you.’
‘Er—thanks,’ said Harry, shaking hands. Neville did not look at him, but surveyed his own feet, the colour deepening in his face all the while.
‘And you two are clearly Weasleys,’ Mrs. Longbottom continued, proffering her hand regally to Ron and Ginny in turn. ‘Yes, I know your parents—not well, of course—but fine people, fine people ... and you must be Hermione Granger?’
Hermione looked rather startled that Mrs. Longbottom knew her name, but shook hands all the same.
‘Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots, haven't you? He's a good boy,’ she said, casting a sternly appraising look down her rather bony nose at Neville, ‘but be hasn't got his father's talent, I'm afraid to say.’ And she jerked her head in the direction of the two beds at the end of the ward, so that the stuffed vulture on her hat trembled alarmingly.
‘What?’ said Ron, looking amazed. (Harry wanted to stamp on Ron's foot, but that sort of thing is much harder to bring off unnoticed when you're wearing jeans rather than robes.) ‘Is that your dad down the end, Neville?’
‘What's this?’ said Mrs. Longbottom sharply. ‘Haven't you told your friends about your parents, Neville?’
Neville took a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. Harry could not remember ever feeling sorrier for anyone, but he could not think of any way of helping Neville out of the situation.
‘Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of!’ said Mrs. Longbottom angrily. ‘You should be proud, Neville, proud!They didn't give their health and their sanity so their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!’
‘I'm not ashamed,’ said Neville, very faintly, still looking anywhere but at Harry and the others. Ron was now standing on tiptoe to look over at the inhabitants of the two beds.
‘Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!’ said Mrs. Longbottom. ‘My son and his wife,’ she said, turning haughtily to Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, ‘were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who's followers.’
Hermione and Ginny both clapped their hands over their mouths. Ron stopped craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Neville's parents and looked mortified.
‘They were Aurors, you know, and very well respected within the wizarding community,’ Mrs Longbottom went on. ‘Highly gifted, the pair of them. I—yes, Alice dear, what is it?’
Neville's mother had come edging down the ward in her nightdress. She no longer had the plump, happy-looking face Harry had seen in Moody's old photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix. Her face was thin and worn now, her eyes seemed overlarge and her hair, which had turned white, was wispy and dead-looking. She did not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she was not able to, but she made timid motions towards Neville, holding something in her outstretched hand.
‘Again?’ said Mrs Longbottom, sounding slightly weary. ‘Very well, Alice dear, very well— Neville, take it, whatever it is.’
But Neville had already stretched out his hand, into which his mother dropped an empty Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper.
‘Very nice, dear,’ said Neville's grandmother in a falsely cheery voice, patting his mother on the shoulder.
But Neville said quietly, ‘Thanks, Mum.’
His mother tottered away, back up the ward, humming to herself. Neville looked around at the others, his expression defiant, as though daring them to laugh, but Harry did not think he'd ever found anything less funny in his life.
‘Well, we'd better get back,’ sighed Mrs. Longbottom, drawing on long green gloves. ‘Very nice to have met you all. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough of them to paper your bedroom by now.’
But as they left, Harry was sure he saw Neville slip the sweet wrapper into his pocket.
The door closed behind them.
‘I never knew,’ said Hermione, who looked tearful.
‘Nor did I,’ said Ron rather hoarsely.
‘Nor me,’ whispered Ginny.
They all looked at Harry.
‘I did,’ he said glumly. ‘Dumbledore told me but I promised I wouldn't tell anyone ... that's what Bellatrix Lestrange got sent to Azkaban for, using the Cruciatus Curse on Neville's parents until they lost their minds.’
‘Bellatrix Lestrange did that?’ whispered Hermione, horrified. ‘That woman Kreacher's got a photo of in his den?’
There was a long silence, broken by Lockhart's angry voice.
‘Look, I didn't learn joined-up writing for nothing, you know!’
这就是丹伯多为什么不再愿意与哈利对视的原因吗？他认为会在哈利的眼睛中看到伏地魔的凝视？也许，他担心那鲜绿色的眼睛会突然变成猩红色，然后象猫一样眯向学生？哈利想起，有一次伏地魔是怎样强行把它的蛇脸从奎勒尔教授的后脑勺上伸出来，然后把奎勒尔教授的手扭到背后的。哈利惶惑地想，如果伏地魔从自己的头盖骨中冒出，会是一种什么感觉。
他感到自己被污染了，很肮脏，就象携带了致命的细菌，根本不配与这些身心都没有受到伏地魔玷污的清白无辜的人们一起坐在这列从医院开回来的地铁上。他不但已经看到过那蛇，而且自己就是那条蛇，现在他明白了。
他突然产生了一种真的很可怕的想法，一段记忆浮现在他的脑海中，使他觉得似乎身体内有一条蛇在翻滚和蠕动。
他接下来该怎么办，摆脱这个寄生者？
伏地魔只能通过秘密行动来得到他要的东西，就象一件武器。那是他上次没有得到过的。
我就是这武器，哈利暗自思量道，他感到仿佛有一剂毒药流窜在他的血管中，使他浑身发冷，令他在随着火车晃动着穿过黑暗的隧道时大汗淋漓。我是伏地魔想要利用的人，因此，无论我去任何地方，他们都会派人守卫着我，这并不是为了保护我，而是为了保护别人。只是这并不起作用，在霍格沃兹我身边不可能永远有人守卫。昨晚确实是我袭击了威斯里先生，是的，是我。是伏地魔使我这么做的，他也许在我体内，现在正倾听着我的想法……
"你没事吧？亲爱的哈利。" 在火车"卡嗒卡嗒"地穿过漆黑的隧道时威斯里太太斜过身子，隔着金妮对哈利轻声说道，"你看起来不大对头，你病了吗？"他们都朝他看去，他使劲摇了摇头，然后便目不转睛地看起一张家庭保险的广告来。
"哈利，你确定你没事？" 当他们绕过Grimmauld Place 中央那片零星的草地时，威斯里太太不安地询问哈利，"你的脸色更苍白了，你今天早上真的睡着过？现在到晚餐时间还有几个小时的时间，上楼睡个好觉吧，好吗？"他点点头，现在这儿有个现成的借口可以避免跟别人交谈了，这正是他所希望的。因此当她打开前门的时候，他赶忙径直绕过旋转伞架，走上楼，进了他和罗恩的卧室。
他开始在屋里来回地踱步。走过了两张床和Phineas Nigellus的空画架后，他的大脑被无数的问题和一些更可怕的想法填得满满的，像是要炸开了似的。
他怎么会变成一条蛇呢？也许他是个Animagus。不，那是不可能的，否则的话他会知道。也许伏地魔是个Animagus。是的，哈利想，这就对了，他当然可以变成一条蛇。然后当我被他控制时，我们都变形了。但这也不能解释我为什么会能在去伦敦，并又在五分钟后返回这儿的事啊。但伏地魔算得上是世界上最强大的巫师之一，在这远离丹伯多的地方对人施瞬间转移的法术对他来说应该是小菜一碟。
那么，他的心猛地一揪，他想：虽然这个想法也许很荒谬，但如果伏地魔控制了我，他就会利用我，从而对凤凰令总部了如指掌！他会知道是谁在发号施令，他也会知道天狼星的所在。我已经听了很多我不该听的东西，我来这儿的第一个晚上，天狼星告诉我的那一切都是。
现在他只有一种选择：他只能立即离开Grimmauld Place。他将在霍格沃兹独自度过圣诞节，没有众人的陪伴，这至少能让他们在节日平安。但是，那也没用，霍格沃兹还有足够多的人能供他伤害、袭击。如果下次遇袭的是Seamus、Dean或Neville呢？他停下步子，凝视着Phineas Nigellus的空画架。有一种沉重的感觉郁积在他的心中。他别无选择：他要回女贞路，完全地脱离魔法界。
是的，如果他不得不这样做的话，他想，就不能再犹豫不决了。他尽量不去想当Dursleys一家看到他比预计的要提前六个月出现在门口时，他们会怎样反应。他大踏步走到他的行李箱边，"砰"地关上箱子并将它锁上，他机械地向周围扫视，搜寻着Hedwig，然后才想起它现在仍然呆在霍格沃兹。好的，他可以少带一个笼子了。他抓起箱子的一端，拖着它向门走去，此时，一个声音嘲讽道："我们要潜逃吗？"他四处张望，Phineas Nigellus出现在他肖像的帆布上，斜倚着画框，满脸滑稽地看着哈利。
"不是潜逃，不是。"哈利简要地说，同时又拖着他的行李箱穿过房间走了几步。
Phineas Nigellus抚着他尖尖的胡须说，"我原来以为，作为属于Gryffindor学院的一员，你应该被认为是勇敢的。在我看来，似乎你在我屋里的表现本来应该更好。我们Slytherins是勇敢的，没错，但是并不愚蠢。例如，面对选择，我们总是选择保住自己的生命。""我现在并不是在保自己的命，"哈利一语带过，用力地把行李箱拖过门边一片极不平坦的、虫蛀的地毯。
"哦，我知道了，" Phineas Nigellus仍然抚着他的胡须，"这当然不算胆怯的逃亡—你在表现你的高尚啊。"哈利不理他。当哈利握住门把手的时候，Phineas Nigellus懒洋洋地说道："阿尔巴斯·丹伯多让我带个口信给你。"哈利转过身子：
"他怎么说？"
"'呆着别动。'"
"我没有动！"哈利说，他的手仍然抓着门把，"现在你可以把他的口信告诉我了吧。""我刚刚不是已经告诉你了吗，笨蛋，" Phineas Nigellus平静地说道，"丹伯多说'呆着别动。'""为什么？"哈利放下行李箱，急切地询问道， "为什么他要让我呆在这儿？他还说了别的什么吗？""什么也没有。" Phineas Nigellus扬了扬他那稀疏的眉毛，似乎觉得哈利是无关紧要的。
哈利再也控制不住情绪的外露，就象蛇头在草丛中高高扬起。他已经疲惫透了，又迷惑得不能再迷惑。他经历了恐怖、被解救、最后的十二个小时又再度陷入恐怖，但丹伯多仍然不想跟他交谈。
"就这么句话，是吗？"他大声地说，"'呆着别动。'！在我被Dementors袭击后每个人都这么对我说！'哈利，在大人们解决此事以前呆在原位别动！我们不会费心告诉你任何事，因为你的小脑瓜会应付不来的'！""你要知道，" Phineas Nigellus的声音压过了哈利，"这正是我讨厌成为老师的原因，该死的年轻人总是确信他们所做的任何事都是绝对正确的。你这可怜的骄傲家伙，难道你就从来没有想到，霍格沃兹的校长之所以不把他计划中的所有细节都告诉你，是有其极佳的理由的吗？当你感到受到不公正待遇时，你从来没有停下来想一下，是不是只要按丹伯多的命令去做就永远不会使你自己受到伤害。没有，没有，就像所有的年轻人一样，你太相信只有你才有感觉和思想，只有你才能识别危险，只有你才是唯一聪明到足以知道黑巫师可能正在计划着的事……""那么，他正在计划着和我有关的什么事吗？"哈利即刻问道。
"我这样说了吗？" Phineas Nigellus懒懒地检查他的丝绸手套，"现在，请原谅，我有更重要的事要做，没有时间听青春期少年的烦恼了，祝你日安！"他悠闲地走到他的画框边，从哈利的视野中消失了。
"好极了，你滚吧！"哈利向空画框吼道，"告诉丹伯多我一点儿都不感激他！"空画布保持着沉寂。哈利窝着一肚子火，把行李箱拖回床脚，就势俯倒在虫蛀的箱盖上，闭上眼睛，他感到全身又沉重又疼痛。
他感到像是走了很远很远的路。难以想象就在不到二十四小时前，Cho Chang还曾在槲寄生下靠近过他（在槲寄生下可以亲吻任何人并不被责怪：硕鼠）。他太累了。他不敢睡，但他不知道自己能坚持多久。丹伯多告诉他呆着别动，那一定也就是说他可以睡觉，但他还是感到恐惧。如果那种事再发生呢？
他沉没在阴暗中。
他的头脑中似乎有一场电影等待着开映。他正穿过一条荒凉的走廊，经过粗糙的石墙，绕过火炬，走下石阶，向着一扇普通的黑门走去。
他到了黑门前，但怎么也打不开它。他站着凝视它，不顾一切地想要进去。他全心全意想要得到的东西就在那后面，是一个他梦中的奖品。要是他的伤疤会停止刺痛的话就好了，那他就可以更清晰地思考了。
"哈利，"罗恩的声音，从很远很远的地方传来，"妈妈说晚餐已经准备好了，但是如果你还想睡的话她会为你保留一些的。"哈利睁开了眼睛，但是罗恩已经离开了房间。
"他不想看见我，"哈利想，"在他听到Moody的话以后。"他设想他们中没有人会希望他再在这儿呆下去了，因为现在他们已经知道他体内潜藏着什么。
他不会下去用餐的；他不会陪伴在他们左右。他翻了个身，不一会，便再度睡去。他起来得很晚，已经是清晨了，他的身心因饥饿和邻床罗恩的鼾声感到疼痛不堪。环顾房间四周，他看到了Phineas Nigellus黑暗的轮廓再次站在他的肖像上，这令哈利想到丹伯多也许派了Phineas Nigellus来监视他，以免他再去袭击别人。
一种不明的情绪在增长着。他有点希望他不曾服从过丹伯多。如果这就是此后他在Grimmauld Place的生活，也许他应该离开这里回到女贞路。
*
其他所有人都把整个早晨花在制作圣诞节装饰品上。哈利想不起来天狼星以前什么时候有过如此好的兴致。事实上，天狼星正在唱圣诞颂歌，显然他很高兴有人陪他过圣诞节。寒冷的客厅里只坐着哈利一个人，哈利可以听到天狼星歌声的回音。看着窗外的天空变得越发苍白，雪花飘飞下来，他感到他正给他们一个不停地谈论他的机会，一想到这里，他就感到一种残忍的快乐。当他听到威斯里夫人在午餐时间在楼下轻柔的叫着他的名字时，他向楼上退了几步，不理她。
晚上六点左右，门铃响了，Black夫人又开始尖叫起来。躲藏在Buckbeak的屋子里的哈利猜想Mundungus或者其他的成员已经来过了，他动了一下，以便让自己靠着墙坐得更舒服点。他用死老鼠喂饲着Hippogriff，试图不理睬他自己有多么饥饿。当有人在几分钟后大声敲门时，哈利吃了一惊。
"我知道你在里面，" 那是荷米恩的声音，"请你出来，我想跟你谈一谈。""你在这儿干什么？"哈利一边问，一边打开了门。这时Buckbeak正重新开始在铺满稻草的地板上搜寻是否有被它漏掉的老鼠肉。"我还以为你现在正在和你爸爸妈妈一起滑雪呢。""好吧，说实话，其实滑雪并不是我的事，" 荷米恩说，"因此，我到这儿来过圣诞节。"她的头上布满了雪花，脸被冻得通红："但别告诉罗恩。因为罗恩老是在笑，所以我跟他说滑雪真好。我的父母有点失望，但是我告诉他们所有重视考试的人现在都呆在霍格沃兹学习。他们希望我好，他们会明白的。不管怎样，" 她精神奕奕地说，"让我们去你的卧室吧。罗恩的母亲在那里生了火，并且派发三明治。
哈利跟着她回到三楼，当他进入卧室时，他惊讶地看到罗恩和金妮都坐在罗恩的床上等他们。
"我是搭Knight公共汽车来的，" 荷米恩欢快地说，一边在哈利有时间说话前脱下她的夹克，"丹伯多早上告诉我今天一大早发生了什么事情，但是我得等到学期正式结束才出发，尽管丹伯多已经向Umbridge说明威斯里夫人在St Mungo并且你们已经得到许可去拜访，Umbridge仍然因你们这帮人从她眼皮底下溜走而感到恼火。"她坐到金妮身边，她们两个女孩和罗恩都看向哈利。
"你感觉怎么样？" 荷米恩问。
"很好，" Harry面无表情。
"噢，别撒谎了，哈利，"她不耐烦地说，"罗恩和金妮说你自从从St Mungo回来后就躲着所有人。""他们这么说？"哈利对罗恩和金妮怒目而视。罗恩低下头看着自己的叫，但是金妮看上去却若无其事。
"你就是这么做的！"她说，"你根本不想看到我们中的任何人！""是你们这帮家伙不想看到我！"哈利怒冲冲地说。
"也许你们都想看到对方，只是都错过了机会。" 荷米恩说，她的嘴角颤搐着。 "真可笑。"哈利猛地说道，转身走了。
"噢，停止一切误解吧！" 荷米恩急忙说道，"听着，已经有人告诉了我你昨晚用窃听耳朵偷听到了什么""是吗？"哈利咆哮道，当他看到外面的雪花飞快地落下时，他把手深埋入自己的衣兜里，"都在谈论我，不是吗？哼，我正在让自己习惯这一切。""我们想跟你谈谈，哈利。"金妮说，"但你从我们回来时一直躲到现在……""我不想跟任何人说话，"哈利感到越来越烦恼。
"嘿，那就是你有点儿蠢的地方！"金妮愤怒地说道，"要知道，除我之外你不认识任何被那个人控制过的人，只有我可以告诉你被控制时的感受！"哈利一言不发，任凭这些词语狠狠地撞击着他。
"我忘了。"他说。
"你很幸运。"金妮不动声色地说。
"对不起，"哈利很认真地说，"原来这样。那么，你认为我被那个人控制了吗？""嗯，你能否记得你做过的所有事？"金妮问，"你的记忆中是否有长时间段的空白，你不知道自己在那段时间里做过什么？"哈利努力地在大脑中搜索着。
"没有。"他说。
"那么那个人还没有控制你。"金妮轻描淡写地说，"当他那样对我做的时候，我每次都有一段时间想不起来在前几个小时中我做过什么，我会发现我在某个地方，但我不知道我是怎样到那里的。"哈利几乎不敢相信她，但不由自主地心里感到亮堂了。
"我做的关于你父亲和那条蛇的梦，虽然……""哈利，你以前早就做过这种梦，" 荷米恩说，"去年你的脑海里就闪现过伏地魔在做什么的场景。""这次不一样，"哈利摇着头说，"我在那条蛇体内。那感觉就象我就是那条蛇。如果是伏地魔为了某种目的把我瞬间转移到伦敦……"荷米恩十分恼火，"当你在某天读到《霍格沃兹，一段校史》时，那或者会提醒你，你无法在霍格沃兹突然出现或突然消失。甚至连伏地魔也不能令你飞离你的宿舍，哈利。""你没有离开过你的床，伙计，"罗恩说，"在我们能够叫醒你之前我至少看到你在睡梦中翻来覆去有一分钟之久。"哈利又开始在屋子里一边来回踱步，一边思考起来。他们所说的一切不仅让他感到安慰，还真有其意义。不及细想，他就从床上的盘子里拿了块三明治，饥饿难耐地将它塞进嘴里。
我到底不是他的武器，哈利想道。他的心里充满了幸福和释然，他想重新回到他伙伴们的队伍。
天狼星大步经过他们的门，走向Buckbeak的屋子，放开了嗓子，一路欢歌："上帝使你们宁静, Hippogriffs快乐"*
他怎么会曾想要回到女贞路过圣诞节呢？天狼星因房子里又聚满了人而深感喜悦，尤其是哈利的归来更加深了这种喜悦，使它极富感染力。他不再是他们夏天的那个闷闷不乐的屋主了；他现在坚决认为每个人都应该像他一样快乐，至少不能比他们在霍格沃兹感受的的快乐要少。他不知疲倦的做着圣诞节前的准备工作，在他们的帮助下打扫并装饰屋子，因此，他们在平安夜上床睡觉时，整间屋子已经焕然一新，几乎让人认不出来。和失去光泽的灯饰悬挂在一起的不再是层层蛛丝，而是花环和冬青树以及金银彩带。成堆的雪花不可思议的在破旧的地毯上闪闪发光。Mundungus弄到的一株巨大的圣诞树被仙女装点一新，遮住了天狼星的家树。甚至连大厅里的stuffed elf-heads也被戴上了圣诞老人的帽子和胡须。
哈利在圣诞节的早晨醒来后，发现他床脚有一大堆礼物。罗恩已经把他自己的礼物拆开了一半，比哈利的更多，是成堆的。
"Good haul this year，"他隔了一大堆纸片向哈利祝福。"太感谢Broom Compass了，这真好；欠揍的荷米恩，她送给我一个家庭作业笔记本。"哈利把他的礼物分了类，并发现其中一个上有荷米恩s的笔迹，她也送了他一份，那是一本很像日记的书，除了每翻一页它就会这么大声说："今天的事今天做，不然你今后仍要补做。"天狼星和卢平送了哈利一套极棒的书，书名是《防御魔法实例》和《用于黑魔法防御》。它们有华丽的封面以及其中记述的所有魔法和法物的彩色活动图解，哈利急切的翻开第一册，他可以看到它将对他的DA计划起很高的实用价值。Hagrid送了一只有齿的棕色皮毛做的皮夹，大概是为了防止被偷窃，但不幸的是，这样一来，哈利也无法在不撕裂自己手指的情况下把钱放进去。Tonkss的礼物是一个小型的Firebolt 活动模型，他看着它在房间里飞来飞去，心中祈祷着希望自己仍能保有完整的version。罗恩送了他一只巨大的Every-Flavour Beans盒子。威斯里夫妇像往常一样赠送了自己织的外套和碎馅饼。多比送了一幅着实可怕的画像，以至于哈利怀疑那是否是Elf的真迹。他拿着它颠来倒去地查看着以找出它怎么放置看起来比较顺眼。这时，随着一记响亮的爆裂声，Fred和George出现在他床脚边。
"圣诞快乐，" George说，"别经常下楼。"
"为什么？"罗恩问道。
"妈妈又在大喊大叫了，" Fred大声说，"Percy把他收到的圣诞外衣退还给了妈妈。""没有来一封短信，" George补充道，"也没有问候爸爸一声，也没有去看看他或者做些别的什么。""我们试图安慰她，告诉她Percy不过是堆巨大的老鼠粪。" Fred边说边围着床走动以便观看哈利手中的肖像，"但那没用，" George说着把一块巧克力蛙塞进自己嘴里，"所以卢平现在正在安慰他。最好他能在我们下楼吃早餐前让她重新打起精神来。"“不管怎样，告诉我那到底是什么？” Fred斜视着Dobby的画作，问哈利，“看上去好象是长着一对黑眼睛的长臂猿。”
“那是哈利！” George画的背面，“背面这么写着。”
“真太像了！” Fred大笑起来，哈利把他的新家庭作业笔记本向Fred丢去。但它只打中了墙壁并反弹到地上，然后躺在那里快乐地说：“如果你会在"i"上加点，会在"t"上划横，那么你就可以做任何你想做的事。”
他们穿上衣服从床上起来，他们可以听到房里的各位居住者们正相互祝福：“圣诞快乐”。他们下楼的时候遇见了荷米恩。
“谢谢你送我书，哈利。”她愉快的说，“我早就想要那《New Theory oj Numerology》了！还有罗恩，谢谢你送我那瓶与众不同的香水，。”
“小意思。”罗恩说，他向她手那份包装好的礼物点点头，问，“那是给谁的？”
“Kreacher。” 荷米恩一脸愉悦。
“那最好不是是衣物！（给家庭小精灵衣物代表着释放他）”罗恩警告她，“你知道天狼星怎么说吗？他说‘Kreacher知道得太多了，我们不能释放他’！”
“那不是衣物，” 荷米恩说，“尽管我很想给他些穿的来替换他穿的那些肮脏的旧袜子。但这只是件用碎布缝补起来的棉被，我想，它会令他的卧室看上去漂亮些。” 在他们经过天狼星母亲的肖像时，哈利压低了声音说：“什么卧室？”
“是的，天狼星说那不太像一间卧室，倒更像一个洞穴。” 荷米恩说，“他显然是睡在厨房外碗柜里的锅子下面。” 当他们到达地下室时，里边只有威斯里夫人一个人。她站在炉子前面，当她对他们说“圣诞快乐”时，她的声音听起来像患了重感冒似的。他们都移开了自己的视线，看向别处。
Ron踱到食品室对角的一扇肮脏的门前，问：“那么，这就是Kreacher的卧室吧？”
“是的，” 荷米恩，她的声音中透出点紧张，“恩，我认为我们最好先敲门。” 罗恩用他的指关节轻扣门扉，但是里边没有响动。
“他一定在楼上悄悄地走来走去，”他说，接着便不假思索地拉开了门。“啊！”
哈利向里面窥视，只见碗柜的大部分都用来装一只老式的锅子，Kreacher就在碗柜下部的管子下面为自己做了个像鸟巢一样的东西。抹布和臭熏熏的毯子杂乱无章地堆陈在地板上，从中间那个小小的凹陷处可以知道Kreacher每晚都蜷缩着睡在那里。在那些东西上，到处多是陈年面包和发霉奶酪的碎屑。在较远的角落处，一些小物品和硬币闪烁着光芒，哈利猜想那应该是Kreacher的收藏，其中有天狼星清洁屋子时扔掉的magpie-like。Kreacher甚至找回了天狼星在夏末扔掉的有家庭成员照片的镶银相框，相框的玻璃也许已经碎了，但是相片中那些黑白的小人仍然傲慢地看着他，照片中有——他心中一动——他曾在丹伯多的Pensieve看到过那个黝黑的、戴着帽子的女人：Bellatrix Lestrange。看来她的照片是Kreacher最喜欢的一张，他把它放在所有其他照片的前面，并且笨拙地用Spellotape修补过相框上的玻璃。
“我想，我会只把礼物留在这里，” 荷米恩把包裹地放在抹布和毯子中间那个凹陷处，然后轻轻的关上门，“迟点，他会看到它的，那就好了。” 他们关上柜门后，天狼星突然扛着一只火鸡出现在柜前：“想想看，最近谁看到过Kreacher？”
“自从我们在那天晚上回来后我就一直没有看到过他了，”哈利说，“你命令他离开厨房。”
“是啊，”天狼星皱了皱眉头，“我也认为那是我最后一次看到他，他一定正躲在楼上的某个地方。”
“他难道不可能已经离开这里吗？”哈利说，“我是说，当你说‘出去’的时候，他会不会以为你是叫他离开这间屋子？”
“不，不会的，除非他们拿到衣物，否则家庭小精灵是不能离开屋子的。他们和他们所属的家族房屋是一体的。”天狼星说。
“如果他们真想离开的话，他们就可以离开。”哈利提出异议，“Dobby这么做了，他在两年前离开Malfoy来给我警告。这之后他必须自我惩罚，但他还是这么做了。”
天狼星一时间看起来有点慌乱，然后他说：“我迟点会去寻找他的，我希望我会在楼上找到他正在我母亲的旧灯笼裤或别的什么东西上哭得一塌糊涂。当然，他也可能爬进正在风干的碗柜里，死了。但是我不会放弃希望。”
Fred、George和Ron都笑了；不过荷米恩却是一脸严肃。
吃完圣诞午餐以后，威斯里一家、Harry 和荷米恩就开始计划起在疯眼和卢平的护送下去拜访威斯里先生的事来。因为地铁在圣诞节不开通的关系，Mundungus“借”到了一辆车，他来到的时候，正赶上圣诞布丁上桌。哈利怀疑这车是在未经车主同意的情况下“借”来的。这辆车像以前威斯里家的老牌福德一样被施了放大魔咒。尽管它外表看来与寻常汽车无异，实际上却可以让十个人再加上一个作为驾驶员的Mundungus坐得舒舒服服。威斯里夫人在进车前有些踟躇——哈例知道她不赞成用魔术旅行。但最后，她禁不住外面的寒冷和她孩子们的劝说，终于进入后座，在Fred和Bill之间优雅地坐下来。
因为路上的车辆很少，他们用了很短的时间就到了St Mungo。为数极少的男女巫师正悄悄通过一条荒芜的小路去医院。哈利和其他人走下车，Mundungus把车开到拐角处等他们回来。他们闲散地走向一个窗口，窗口的绿色尼龙架上有个布娃娃。接着，他们一个接一个的穿过草地。
接待处看上去充满了节日的喜庆色彩：照亮St Mungo的水晶圆球被涂上红色和金色的色彩，随处可见生气勃勃的圣诞节小玩意，每个门口都挂着冬青树，华丽的圣诞树覆盖在魔法变幻出的雪上，冰柱在各个角落熠熠生辉，每根冰柱的顶端都有一颗闪光的金星。这儿不像他们上次来的时候那么拥挤，虽然已穿过了房间的一半，哈利发现自己只被一个用无核小蜜橘塞住左鼻孔的巫师弄到一边。
“全家一起来的，是吗？”桌后那个金发碧眼的女巫假笑着问，“这已经是我今天第三次看到这种情况了。损伤咒，四楼。”
他们看到威斯里先生正靠在床上，他腿上的盘子里放着他吃剩的火鸡晚餐，一脸羞怯的样子。
当他们依次问候过威斯里 先生并转交了他们的礼物后，威斯里夫人问“一切都好吧，Arthur？”
“很好，很好。” 威斯里忙不迭地答道，态度似乎有点热忱过度，“你…嗯…你还没有见过Healer Smethwyck吧，是吗？”
“还没有，” 威斯里狐疑地问到，“为什么这么问？” “没什么，没什么。” 威斯里先生一脸欢快地说，并开始打开他收到的那堆礼物来，“嗯，大家都好吗？你们都得到了些什么圣诞礼物？哦，哈利，这真太好了！”他一打开哈利送给他的金属保险丝和螺丝起子就这样开心地叫了起来。 威斯里夫人看起来并不满意他丈夫的答案。当威斯里先生倾过身子去跟哈利握手时，她偷偷地观察了一下他丈夫睡衣下的绷带。
“Arthur，”她说，“你换过你的绷带了，为什么你一天前就换了绷带？他们告诉我直到明天他们才会为你换。”
“什么？” 威斯里先生一脸惊慌失措的样子，把被单拉高到他的胸口，“不，不，这没什么，这……” 他似乎在威斯里夫人尖锐目光的凝视下缩小了。
“好的，先别生气，Molly，但Augustus Pye有个主意。你知道的，他是个新手，一个可爱的小家伙，他对…嗯…辅助治疗很有兴趣，其实也就是麻瓜的一些老治疗法。这种疗法叫做‘缝补’，Molly，这种方法对麻瓜的伤口很有用。”
威斯里夫人发出一种介于尖叫和咆哮的怪声，卢平从床边走开，走向那个无人理睬的，正带着一脸渴望表情注视着威斯里身边的人群的狼人。Bill嘴里咕哝着想来一杯茶之类的话，Fred 和George跳过去陪伴着他，开心地笑起来。
“你是不是想告诉我，你让他用麻瓜的治疗方法随便摆弄你？” 威斯里夫人的声音越来越响，丝毫没有察觉到跟她一起来的拜访者们都为了自保而匆匆跑开了。 “并不是随便摆弄，亲爱的Molly，” 威斯里先生露出一副哀求的表情，“这只是，只是Pye和我都想作的尝试，不过，很不幸的是，嗯，对这些特殊的伤口来说，那看起来并不像我们想的那么有用。”
“到底怎么了？”
“好的，好的，我不知道你是否知道，嗯，是否知道缝线是什么。”
“听起来好像是你一直在试图把你的皮肤缝回到一起。” 威斯里夫人从鼻孔里发出冷笑，“但是Arthur，就算是你，也不能愚蠢到这个程度。”
“我也想来杯茶，”哈利说，跳到一旁。
荷米恩、Ron和金妮 几乎是随着他向门口弹了出去，当门在他们身后关上时，他们听到里面传来威斯里夫人的咆哮：“你什么意思？那是常规的思维吗？” 当他们离开走廊时，金妮摇了摇头，说道：““典型的妻管严。”
“缝线是什么？”
“嗯，你知道，它们对非魔法创伤很有效，” 荷米恩公正地说，“我猜是那条蛇毒液里面的什么东西溶解了它们或者是别的什么。我想知道茶室在哪儿。” “五楼。”哈利说，他还记得迎宾女巫桌上的标识。
他们沿着走廊，穿过一组双重门，发现了一个摇摇晃晃的楼梯，上面排列着更多的江湖医生的肖像，很多肖像看上去就象野兽。他们上楼梯的时候，江湖医生们纷纷向他们打招呼，声称他们患有奇怪的疾病，并提出可怕的处方。在一个象中世纪巫师般的游医说罗恩患有“死斑高皮”病的时候，罗恩真的生气了。
那游医一边推开其它肖像，一边追赶罗恩，一连追过六张肖像后，罗恩愤怒地问：“那到底是什么鬼病？”
“这是一种让人不忍提及的罕见皮肤病，小少爷，那会让你长满痘疮，使你看上去比现在更面目可憎。”
“看清楚你正在说谁面目可憎！”罗恩连耳朵都气红了。
“唯一的治疗方法就是把一只蟾蜍的肝脏紧紧地绑在你的喉咙上，在满月的时候站在一个放满了鳗鱼眼睛的桶子里……”
“我根本就没得‘死斑高皮’病！”
“但是那些肮脏的痘疮已经损害了你的容貌，小少爷……”
“那只是些雀斑！”罗恩被气得发疯，“现在给我滚回你原来的画像中，离我越远越好！”
罗恩看向周围同伴们诚实的面容：“这是几楼？”
“我想这是五楼。” 荷米恩答道。
“不，这是四楼，”哈利说，“还有一层……”
但是他在正要踏上台阶的时候却突然停住了脚步，他盯着双重门上的一个小窗户看，这扇双重门后是一条走廊，上面挂着“损伤咒”的标牌。那儿有个男人把整个鼻子都贴在玻璃上，正向外窥视着他们。他有一头波浪形的金发，一对明亮的蓝眼睛，一脸茫然的微笑，一口灿烂的白牙在他微笑时显露在阳光下。
“呀！”罗恩叫道，也盯向那个男人。
“噢，我的天哪！” 荷米恩突然叫起来，听起来像是快喘不过气了，“洛哈特教授！” 他们的前黑魔法防御课老师身上穿着一件淡紫色的晨衣，推开门，向他们走来。
“大家好！”他说，“我希望你们喜欢我的签名，你们喜欢吗？”
“他并没改变多少，对吧？”哈利对正咧嘴微笑的金妮咕哝道。
“嗯，你好吗，教授？”罗恩有点心虚地说。毕竟是罗恩那根出了故障的魔杖严重损坏了洛哈特的记忆，才害他不得不进入St Mungo接受治疗。但一想到洛哈特教授曾试图永远抹去哈利和罗恩的记忆，哈利就不那么同情他了。
“我好得很呢，谢谢你，” 洛哈特自命不凡地说，随后他从自己的口袋中拿出一支已经压扁了的孔雀羽毛笔，问道：“现在，你们想要几个签名？你们要知道，我现在能够写连笔字！” “嗯，我们现在一个签名也不想要，谢谢。”罗恩一边说，一边朝哈利扬了扬眉。
哈利马上明白了他的意思：“教授，你怎么可以在走廊上闲逛呢？你不是应该被看护着吗？”
洛哈特脸上的笑容慢慢褪去。又过了一会儿，他专心地凝视着哈利，说：“我们以前没见过吧？”
“嗯，我们见过的，”哈利说，“你以前曾在霍格沃兹任教，还记得吗？”
“任教？” 洛哈特一脸迷茫地重复道，“我，我教过书？” 笑容突然又展现在他脸上，表情变化的速度令所有人都大吃一惊。
“教会了你们一切？是吗？嘿，那么这些签名怎么样？要来一整打吗？你们可以分发给你们所有的小朋友，人人有份。”
但正在这时，有人从走廊尽头的一扇门中探出头来，然后有一个声音喊道：“Gilderoy，你这个淘气鬼，你想逛到哪里去？”
一个看起来像母亲似的医生，头发上戴着金银丝线织就的花圈，匆匆地向走廊这头走来，边走边对着哈利和其他人和蔼的微笑着。
“哦，Gilderoy，有人来探望你了！多好啊，而且还是在圣诞节！你知道吗，还从来没有人来探望过他呢，可怜的小家伙，我真不知道这是为什么，他是一个那么迷人的小伙子，你们不那么认为吗？”
“我正在给他们签名！” Gilderoy笑着对医生说，“他们想要一大堆签名，别说‘不’！我真希望我有足够的照片。”
“听他说，” Healer说道，她挽着洛哈特的手，愉快的看着他，好象把他当作一个早熟的两岁小孩。“几年前他非常出名，我们真希望他分发签名的这种爱好是他将会恢复记忆的一个迹象。请过来这边，好吗？他被封闭式看护着，你们知道。他一定是趁我把圣诞礼物带进去的时候偷偷溜出来的，平时那门总是锁着的。不然他会遇到危险的！但是，”她压低了声音说，“他对自己来说也是个危险因素，老天保佑。你看，他不知道他是谁，走出去也不知道怎么回来。你们能来看他真是太好了。”
“嗯，”罗恩手足无措地对地面作着手势，“其实，我们只是……”
但那位医生微笑着，用期许的目光看着他们，这使得罗恩将他接下来要说的“想去喝杯茶。”咽回了肚子里。他们面面相觑，无可奈何地跟随着洛哈特和他的医生沿着走廊走。
“我们别呆太久。”罗恩轻声说。
医生用她的魔杖指着Janus Thickey 看护室的门，念道：“阿拉霍洞开。”，门开了。她紧抓着Gilderoys的手臂，带着他们进入室内。直到她将他安顿在床边的扶椅上，她才松开了手。
“这是我们的长期普通‘看护’。”她低声告诉哈利、罗恩以及荷米恩和金妮，“你们知道，对于永久的损伤咒而言，当然，在药物治疗、魔咒治疗多管其下的情况下，再借助一点运气，我们确实能让病状有所改善。看来Gilderoy已经恢复了一些他自己的个性了。我们在Bode先生身上也看到了显著的进步。他的演讲才能看起来似乎有所恢复，尽管迄今我们还听不懂他的任何语言。好的，我必须去分发圣诞礼物了，你们慢慢聊吧。”
哈利环顾四周，看护房上的标志明白无误地说明它是病人永久的家园。与威斯里先生的病房相比，在病床周围更多了些人性化的东西；比如，在Gilderoy床头板周围的墙上，就是把Gilderoy本人的照片用作墙纸的，所有的照片都显得喜气洋洋，向新来者或呲牙咧嘴，或挥手致意。他用不连笔的儿童体给自己签了很多名。这时他已经被治疗师按在椅子里，Gilderoy拉过一叠刚洗出来的照片，拿起羽毛笔，又兴高采烈地签起名来。
“你可以把它们放进信封里，”他告诉金妮，他把签好了名的照片一张一张地丢到她腿上，“我没有被遗忘，你知道的，没有，我仍然收到许多崇拜者的来信。Gladys Gudgeon每星期都写信给我。我只想知道为什么他能坚持这么做。”他一脸疑惑，但很快他便又恢复笑容，重新鼓起劲头开始签名。“我认为这完全要归功于我英俊的长相。”
对面床上有一个面如菜色，满脸忧伤的巫师正躺在床上凝视着天花板。他正在喃喃自语，似乎对他周围的事情毫不觉察。顺着前面数过去的第二张床上躺着一个女人，她的整个头部都被毛发覆盖着。哈利回忆起这种事在他们二年级的时候也曾在荷米恩身上发生过，还好发生在她身上的那次损伤不是永久的。护室另一端的两张床被一条华丽的帘子遮住了，这是为了使探病者保有一些隐私。
“Agnes，这给你，” Healer快乐地对满脸是毛的那个女人说，一边递给她一小堆圣诞礼物，“看，你没有被遗忘，对吧。你的儿子派猫头鹰送了信来，说他今晚就会来探望你，这真好，不是吗？”
Agnes高声地咆哮了几下。
“看，Broderick，有人送了你一盆盆栽植物还有一本有趣的日历，每个月都有不同的Hippogriff会出现在那本日历上。它们会使这儿看起来更漂亮的，不是吗？” Healer边说边匆匆向那个喃喃自语的男人走去，把一盆有着长长的、摆动的触角的很难看的植物放在他的窗头柜上，然后亲手把日历固定在墙上。“还有，噢，隆巴顿太太，你正准备要离开吗？”
哈利的头转来转去。看见遮着护室末端那两张床的帘子被拉起了。两个探病者穿过床与床之间的走道，走向门口：其中一个是看上去很可怕的老女巫，她穿着一条绿色长裙，披着一张虫蛀斑斑的狐皮，戴着一顶无疑是用一只吃饱了的秃鹫做装饰的尖角帽。那个跟在她身后的看起来极度悲伤的人是——奈威！
突然之间，哈利明白了在最后那两张床上躺的人是谁。他做出一些十分夸张的动作来吸引其他人的注意力，试图能让奈威在没有人注意和没有人盘问的情况下离开看护室。但是罗恩也根据隆巴顿的声音听出了他是谁，并且在哈利能够制止他以前已经叫出声来：“奈威！”
奈威跳了起来，又马上退缩，象是差一点点被子弹击中。
“嘿，奈威！我们在这儿。”罗恩兴高采烈地喊道，getting to his feet：“看到了吗？洛哈特也在这里。你来看望谁？”
“是你的朋友们？奈威，” 奈威的祖母一面和蔼地说，一面向他们走近。 奈威真希望有个地洞可以钻下去。一抹带暗紫色的红晕爬上了他那胖乎乎的脸，他没有直视他们中的任何一位。
“哎，是的，”他的祖母紧盯着哈利看了一会，向哈利伸出了她那满是皱纹的象爪子一样的手：“是的，是的，我当然知道你是谁。奈威对你评价非常高。”
“嗯，谢谢，” 哈利说着和她握了握手。奈威把目光集中在自己的脚上，没有去看哈利，脸上的颜色越来越深。 “你们俩显然就是威斯里家的孩子了，” 隆巴顿夫人接着说，同时象伟人般把手依次伸给罗恩和金妮：“是的，我认识你们父母，当然不算很熟，但他们是好人，好人。那你就一定是荷米恩 Granger了？”
荷米恩一脸惊讶，她想不出隆巴顿夫人怎么会知道她的名字，但她还是照例和 隆巴顿夫人握了握手。 “奈威对我提起过你。你帮他解过几次围，是吗？他是个好孩子。”她说，她那严厉的目光越过瘦骨嶙峋的鼻子，投向奈威，“但我恐怕得说他确实没有承袭他父亲的才干。”说到这里，她猛把头转向看护室末端那两张床的方向，她帽子上的秃鹰随着她的动作剧烈地颤动起来。
“什么？”罗恩吃了一惊（哈利试图踩罗恩一脚，但是当你穿着牛仔裤而非长袍时，这种动作很难不引起他人的注意）。“那张床上躺着的是你的父亲吗，奈威？”
“怎么回事？” 隆巴顿夫人以尖锐的嗓音说道，“你没有把你父母的事告诉过你的朋友吗，奈威？” 奈威深深地吸了口气，看着天花板，摇了摇头。哈利此前从不曾为谁感到过这样遗憾，但他却又想不出任何办法帮奈威脱离窘境。
“这并不是什么让人感到可耻的事！” 隆巴顿夫人恼火地说道，“你应该感到骄傲，奈威！骄傲！你要知道，他们失去健康和健全的心智并不是为了让他们的独子为他们感到羞愧。” “我并没有感到羞耻。”奈威含混不清地说道，他依旧四处游移着目光，就是不愿正视哈利和其他人。罗恩现在踮起了脚，张望着躺在那两张床上的人。
“好，你们已经获得了展示它的一种滑稽的方式，” 隆巴顿夫人说，“那是我的儿子和他的妻子。” 她傲慢地转向哈利、罗恩、荷米恩和金妮，“他们被那个人的信徒折磨至神经错乱。”
荷米恩和金妮用手捂住了嘴。罗恩缩回了脖子，强忍着不再把目光瞥向奈威的父母。
“他们都是奥罗，你们知道，在魔法界颇受尊重，” 隆巴顿夫人接着说：“他们夫妇有很高的天分。我……，啊，爱丽丝，亲爱的，怎么啦？” 奈威的母亲已经穿着睡衣缓缓走来。哈利在穆迪那张陈旧的原凤凰令成员合影中见到过的那张充满生机和愉悦的脸庞，已经不复存在；取而代之的是一张消瘦而憔悴的面孔。她的眼睛看上去显得很大，已经变白了的头发显得干枯而脆弱。她看上去不想说话，或者说她没有能力说话。她伸着手小心翼翼地移向奈威，手中握着什么东西。
“又来了？”隆巴顿夫人用疲惫的声音说，“很好，爱丽丝，亲爱的，很好。奈威，拿着，不管它是什么。”
奈威已经伸出了他的手，他母亲把一张空的Drooble口香糖包装纸丢进他的手心。
“很好，亲爱的。”奈威的祖母装出一副很愉快的样子，拍了拍奈威母亲的肩膀。
奈威也平静地说，“谢谢你，妈妈。”
他的母亲步履蹒跚地走回看护病床，开始喃喃自语。奈威挑衅地环顾众人，似乎怕他们笑，但是哈利觉得在他的一生中再也没有比这更不好笑的事了。
“好，我们该走了。”隆巴顿夫人一边戴上绿色的长手套，一边叹息着说：“很高兴遇见你们。奈威，把那张糖纸扔进垃圾箱吧。她给你的糖纸应该已经够你贴满你的卧室了。”
但当他们离开的时候，哈利却分明看到奈威把那张口香糖的包装纸放进了他的口袋。
门在他们身后关上了。
“我从来都不知道。” 荷米恩的眼泪在眼眶里打转。 “我也是。”罗恩哽咽地说。
“我也是。”金妮低声说。
他们都看向哈利。
“我本来就知道，”哈利阴郁地说，“丹伯多告诉过我，但我向他承诺过我决不把这件事告诉任何人。Bellatrix Lestrange就是为此被送进阿兹卡班的，他对奈威的父母施用了钻心咒，最终使他们丧失记忆。”
“是Bellatrix Lestrange干的？”荷米恩以耳语般的声音惊恐地说，“我们在Kreacher的洞穴里看到过她的照片。”
有很长一段时间，谁也没有说话，最后洛哈特怒气冲冲的嗓音打破了沉寂。
“喂，你们要知道，我可不能白白苦练连笔字。”
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